by Edward Lee
Clare followed him across the well-shaded parking lot. “But now you can treat it, because of some drug the Air Force invented?”
“Right. It’s a monoclonal antibody, similar to older cancer treatments, only this one was genetically engineered. We call it Interthiolate. It was Air Force research that identified the exact gene-marker that initiates the growth of each cancer cell. By identifying that gene-marker, we were able to genetically manufacture an antibody that molecularly targets the marker itself, destroys it. It stops the cancer cold. Then the immune cells come in and wipe out all traces of it.” Dellin chuckled as they approached the clinic entrance. “So far we’ve had eight patients participate in the trial, and eight cures. If we keep maintaining results like that for another six months, FDA will fast-track our drug and have it on the market in a year. We’ll be saving a whole lot of people from one of the most painful kinds of cancer there is.”
Clare was astounded, and she appreciated Dellin’s effort to explain the highly intricate matter in layman’s terms. It sounded to Clare that she would be working for a facility that might become very newsworthy very soon.
But what was happening to her, right now, overplayed the clinic’s potential importance for the moment. Her life was about to change; someone had finally given her a second chance. She knew she couldn’t blow an opportunity like this.
The inside of the clinic appeared as she might have expected. Sterile decor; light, solid tones; muzak. Anatomical diagrams hung on the walls instead of drowsy art prints, and accommodating little murals like HAVE YOU CHECKED YOUR BLOOD PRESSURE TODAY? DON’T FIND OUT WHY THEY CALL IT THE SILENT KILLER! and AFTER FIFTY, GET YOUR PROSTATE CHECKED EVERY YEAR! It was the kind of stuff that would always be found in a military medical facility: overt and styleless but efficiently to the point. They’d obviously decorated here by Air Force interior-design protocol, which didn’t surprise Clare. “You’ll love this, it’s another great perk for employees,” Dellin said and unlocked a door that read STAFF AUTOMAT/BREAK ROOM. “Only security and higher-level med staff get a key to this place. There’s a public automat in the building but it’s no big deal and you have to pay. But here it’s free and it’s really top quality stuff.” There was a long couch, a knee-high table with some magazines, and a television. One small wall was fully taken over by a commercial-grade automatic coffee machine that offered a variety of types.
Clare immediately saw what he meant. “Maybe you don’t know this but free coffee is every security guard’s dream.”
“And it’s really top-notch gourmet coffee too, not the swill you’d usually find in machines.” He pointed to the end of the unit. “There’s the guards’ favorite right there—it’ll make all the iced coffee you want. The guards love it because they’re out in the heat a lot when making rounds.”
“It’s an expensive perk,” Clare noted, “but it actually makes great business sense. Security facilities in the Air Force do the same thing. When your guards are chugging free coffee all throughout their shift, they’re not falling asleep at their post.”
“Never thought of it from that point of view but, yeah, a great idea. Help yourself. I’m going to grab a water. Free bottled water and sodas too, in the fridge.”
Clare took full advantage of the benefit, got a big cup of the iced coffee and loaded it up with cream and sugar, which would provide a great pick-me-up considering she’d consumed no calories today save for her lucky fortune cookie. Good God, that’s good! she thought after the first sip. It was a test for her not to gulp it all down right away but she didn’t want to appear gluttonous in front of Dellin.
“I’ll give you your security key later,” Dellin said, taking her back out. “It opens this, the security office, all the interior doors, and the monitor stations. Each key is individually coded—a provision mainly for you, as security chief.”
“Coded?” Clare asked. “Oh, you mean with some kind of individual ID flag?”
“Yes. So the security computer can make a record of who goes where and when. For instance, when I unlocked the coffee room door, the computer logged it, so now it’s been recorded in an entrance file that it was my key that opened the door.”
“This is a great system,” Clare enthused. “We used similar equipment in the Air Force. So all the doors in the building are wired?”
“Pretty much. Exterior doors and windows have active alarms, but just about every keyed door is connected to the computer.”
“Well, that makes my job a lot easier.”
“To tell you the truth, this alarm system is so intricate, even I don’t know all of its functions,” he said. “And I’m the one who ordered it.”
“That’s just another thing for you to not have to worry about. I can run systems like this with my eyes closed.”
Dellin took her deeper into the building and showed her to the female side of the employees locker room. “My office is right down the hall,” he said. “Just come by when you’ve gotten cleaned up. There are some uniforms in the supply room over there.”
“Thanks. I won’t be long.”
Dellin left and suddenly Clare stood alone in the long, impeccably clean room. She stripped off her old clothes, grabbed a towel, and hurried into the shower—
“Oops! Sorry!”
Just as Clare was stepping into the shower room, she walked right into another woman who was just leaving.
“My mistake,” Clare blundered. “Didn’t think anyone else was here so I wasn’t paying attention.” She hoped the flash of embarrassment wasn’t making her blush; as quickly as she could, she wrapped her towel around herself.
“It’s so damn hot during these day shifts that I always take a quick shower during my break,” the other woman said. She was naked, dripping wet, and didn’t have a towel at the moment, yet she didn’t seem the least bit uncomfortable standing in front of a perfect stranger without a stitch on. In her past life, Clare would never have been inhibited either—during her military service, she’d virtually lived with other women and had dressed and showered with them perpetually. But her embarrassment, at this precise moment, couldn’t have been more plain.
The other woman was robust, heavily bosomed, glowing in good health, while Clare knew she looked terrible by comparison—bony, ribs showing, breasts tiny.
“I’m Joyce,” the other woman introduced and shook Clare’s hand.
“Clare.”
“Don’t mind me!” Joyce grabbed a towel, wrapped her long auburn hair up in it. She put one foot up on the bench and began to dry off with a second towel. As she bent over to dry one toned, tanned leg, a key swung before her, from around her neck. “I’ve got to get back to work.”
A hint of jealousy now mixed with Clare’s embarrassment. Joyce was beautiful, her short, compact frame accentuating her curves, waistline, and wide hips. The full, very deep tan made it clear that she sunbathed nude. “What do you do at the clinic?” Clare asked next. “Are you a doctor, a researcher or something?”
“Nope. Security guard.” Now she was stepping into a pair of khaki slacks with a black stripe down the leg. “And I’ve got to really be on my toes today, because they’re bringing in the new security chief.”
“Uh, that would be me,” Clare said.
“Oh, jeez! I’m sorry, I thought you were a, er…I had no idea!”
I’m so skinny, Clare thought, she probably thought I was a patient. “Yeah, Dellin’s going to brief me in a few minutes. I was a SECMAT platoon leader in the Air Force for four years.”
“Wow. Uh, I’ll be out of your way in a minute.” Suddenly Joyce was rushing; now that she knew that Clare was her boss, she seemed a little more modest, quickly buttoning her security shirt up over her ample breasts.
Along one wall, Clare noticed a Lexan gun locker containing some shotguns, and another one containing bullet-proof vests. “Dellin was telling me earlier that there isn’t much trouble on the site.” She pointed to the lockers. “But those are police-grade vests and late-series Remi
ngton pumps. Do you ever really need that kind of gear?”
Joyce had hauled up her trousers and was tying up her work boots. “Not really, but we have it just in case—because of poachers. But if you were an SP in the Air Force, you already know the story on vevlar vests. I’ll wear mine at night sometimes, but during day shifts? Forget it. It’s way way too hot.”
Clare knew exactly what she meant, especially in this environment. Ballistic vests and tropical heat didn’t mix. “Yeah, at MacDill, my skin was always breaking out from the damn things, so I’d only wear it on critical security details.”
“Same deal here,” Joyce said. “We almost never wear them, and we never sign out the scatter guns, either. For a security site like this, they really are overkill.”
Clare saw her point. But she couldn’t stave off her curiosity about the perimeter and its potential. “Any homicides out here?”
Joyce chuckled. “Oh, nothing like that.”
“What about arrests? You ever have to bust anyone?”
“We detain a trespasser on occasion but we turn them over to the police or the Park Service. But from what I’ve been told, that’s another thing that almost never happens.”
Dellin’s tone had been similar, and that’s what worried her. They seem to be a little too confident that nothing really serious could ever happen out here…
Joyce was dressed now. “I have to get back on my rounds. It was great meeting you!”
“Same here. You can show me around the site later.”
“Great! Bye!”
Joyce was striding out when Clare interrupted her. “Wait, Joyce? Aren’t you forgetting something?”
The younger woman turned, then blushed when she saw Clare pointing to her gunbelt hanging off an open locker. “Oh, great! What a terrific first impression! Sorry.”
“That’s all right.”
Joyce grabbed the belt in haste. “See you later. I look forwarding to working with you.”
Then she was gone.
Clare had to laugh to herself. She’s a little young but seems nice enough. Clare had little doubt that, with proper training, Joyce could develop into a fine security guard. She seemed motivated, enthusiastic.
The cool shower felt sinfully indulgent; she wished she could spend an hour under the hard torrent, but there would be no such luxury today. She dried off and dressed quickly. Though even the smallest-sized uniform was big on her, she did her best with it, and thanked the fates for the hair-dryer on the wall. Her blond hair only came down to the mid-neckline but it was straggly, untrimmed for quite a while. If anything, it looked like she cut it herself—which was true, since hair salons didn’t usually work into a homeless person’s budget. But the blow-dry let her puff it out until she was reasonably happy with it. There. Now I don’t look QUITE so much like a wino that just crawled out of the gutter. She left the locker room in a rush and went straight to Dellin’s office. First day on the job is no time to be late.
“Sorry about the Afrika Korp-looking uniforms but we got the best deal on them,” Dellin said. His small, cramped office was made even more cramped by two big computer screens and three walls of ceiling-high bookshelves.
“The color will reflect the heat pretty well,” Clare offered. “It doesn’t really matter how a uniform looks as long as it identifies the person wearing it as someone in a position of authority.”
“Good point.” He put away the patient charts he was reading. “I think I said before, we only have two other guards, Rick and—”
“Joyce,” Clare finished. “I just met her.”
“Ah, good. So I don’t need to tell you that we have to cut corners on the scheduling. We won’t get a budget increase till next fall, so we’ll have to go with the three of you till then.” He gave her a smile. “The schedule’s your problem now. I’ve got Joyce doing eight a.m. to four p.m. and Rick four to midnight. Midnight to eight we go guardless and rely on the alarm system.”
That was the worst possible schedule. Clare had learned well that alarm systems alone during peak crime times were never sufficient. “I’ll take care of the schedule then. We’ll go blank from noon to four, and I’ll take midnight to noon.”
Dellin looked at her. “We don’t expect you to work shifts that long.”
“It’s a piece of cake and it’s the best way,” Clare said with little concern. “I’m used to it from the Air Force, and since I’m in charge of security, I don’t mind losing a little sleep to prevent screw ups. I don’t want to lose my job the week after I’m hired. Whatever your security problems are, I’ll take care of them.”
“I love your attitude. I wish I could be as enthusiastic. You’ll find out quickly—things get damn boring around here.”
“Good, and it’s my job to make sure they get more boring.”
The statement amused him. “That’s inconceivable but please feel free to prove me wrong. Anyway, since we were talking about scheduling, there’s still some good news and bad news. The good news is, the clinic is closed on Saturdays and Sundays. Nobody needs to report, including security.”
“Everyone gets the weekends off?”
“Yep.” Dellin grinned mischievously. “Everyone except the security chief. You’ll be on call all weekend. If an alarm goes off, you get beeped. If delivery comes in, you open the loading dock and sign in the delivery. If a motion-detector gets triggered at a punch station, you get beeped. That’s the bad news. If you have a problem, you call the ranger, and if it’s a serious problem, you call the police and then me. It sounds like a big hassle but it’s really not that big a deal. Like I was just saying? Things are boring? Believe it. Not much happens out here, and just because you’re on call doesn’t mean you have to be on the site. For all we care you can go downtown, or sit in your cottage and watch tv all weekend—as long as you have your beeper. You can lay out on the beach in your bikini from sun-up till sundown—but if your beeper goes off, you have to respond.”
Clare shrugged. It wasn’t really bad news at all, especially when she considered the pay and the benefits. “In the Air Force, I was on call for almost every weekend for four years. It won’t be a problem.”
“You’ll get the hang of everything in no time.” He led her out of the congested office and down the hall. “Now, let me give you the twenty-five-cent tour.”
The facility proved unremarkable—essentially what Clare expected. Screening rooms, examination rooms, and a central treatment room equipped for surgery. There was a CAT scanner and an MRI machine, ultrasound, and typical other diagnostic coves.
“Check this out,” he said next. “Perfect example of Air Force indulgence.” He opened a door marked IRMT, which showed them a room containing a bank of computers, an examination table, and several large nozzle-like heads hanging from the ceiling from hinged braces. “Because this is a cancer clinic, the Air Force automatically supplied it with this machine. It’s an intensified radiation modulator—a tumor killer, the very latest in cancer technology. Multiple matrixes of low-dose radioactive beams essentially put a cross hair on a malignant tumor. It can destroy a tumor the size of a BB without harming any surrounding healthy tissue.”
“That sounds amazing.”
“It is.” Dellin laughed. “But we don’t need it. This machine is useless against the kind of cancer we deal with. We told them we didn’t need the machine but they sent it anyway; said that it was ‘Air Force inventory protocol’ that the machine be delivered. Ridiculous! This thing costs half a million bucks.”
More waste and imprudent expenditure, but Clare had seen it all the time.
The clinic seemed larger inside than it appeared from the exterior. Next to the automat was a small cafeteria and dining area, staffed by two civilians. “Believe it or not, the food’s pretty good here and it’s dirt cheap,” Dellin informed her. “Even though there’s no Air Force personnel on the premise, the clinic is still considered a military karserne.”
“So the food’s discounted, like a PX,” Clare supposed.<
br />
“Right. T-bone steak for two bucks. Fresh grilled fish, broasted chicken, all kinds of good stuff. Everybody who works in the clinic eats here every day. They even have all-you-can-eat ribs every Wednesday. Do yourself a favor and take advantage of the services. No offense, but..”
“I know,” she admitted. “I’m pretty thin. A one-hundred-pounds-in-the-rain security chief doesn’t make much of a visual presence of authority.”
Clare smelled onions grilling, and steak. The succulent aromas reminded her how hungry she was, and how long it had been since she’d had a good meal.
First thing on the To-Do list, she thought. Pig out.
“Yeah, it’s always best to look the part. How much confidence would my patients have in me if I weighed three hundred and chain-smoked? Same thing. And since we’re sort of on the same subject,” he said, pausing.
“Yes?”
Dellin seemed slightly uncomfortable now, his gaze moving about on the floor. “Uh, yeah. It’s your business, of course, and I’m not implying that you have anything to be ashamed of; I realize that you got a bum rap in the Air Force and all. All I mean to suggest is that it would probably be to your advantage to keep all that to yourself, especially the lousy luck you’ve had since your discharge. It might—you know—”
A cruel truth. “It will decredulize me in the minds of the personnel I’m in charge of,” she fully understood. “It’ll be hard for anyone to take the security chief seriously if they know she’s spent the last year standing in shelter lines.”
