by Jim Rudnick
At this time in the morning, it was so early that his own AI was probably asleep, he thought, and he groggily watched the screen fade from black to the face of an old friend from medical school.
Billy Normand had been his roommate a hundred years ago, it seemed. And while he'd not made the cut at the end of second year and had to drop out of the Neria University med program, he had bounced back and ended up owning one of the largest medical research supply companies in the RIM Confederacy. Fitting too, Kahil thought, as he could at least be counted on for help whenever there were rush research supply needs.
"Morning, Kahil" he said and pointed at the screen from his end. "What, got some babe there with you and don't want me to see her, right?" he said and smiled broadly.
Always the kidder, Kahil thought, and he said, "Engage and allow video," and the smile that then appeared on Billy's face broadened greatly.
"So ... I see I was wrong—quelle surprise, roomie." He shook his head with glee. "You wanted to know—and yes, I do wonder why by the way—if the Barony labs changed their supply levels. And they just did," he said and referred down to something in front of him.
Kahil nodded. It was important perhaps only tangentially, but then every bit of intel would help his quest.
"And as of today, their supply of media for the culture growths was just cut—by about seventy percent or so ... they need less it appears. Wonder why?" He looked back up at his old roommate and tilted his head to emphasize the question.
Kahil nodded. "And while you missed the research lectures in fifth year, what does that tell you, old roomie?" Kahil replied.
"In my world, when someone drops their growth media purchases, it's because they don't need to grow anything anymore. Maybe because they already have what they need—maybe?" Billy answered and Kahil knew he was right too.
"Exactly, old friend, and I much appreciate the heads-up too. I owe you one—and next time I'm back on Neria, I'll pay up too! Dinner and drinks on me!" Kahil said and that got a set of raised eyebrows on Billy's face.
"Wow—must be pretty important for you to pick up a tab—you research dudes are like way underpaid ... but I'll be glad to eat and drink my fill!" he said and they said their goodbyes.
Kahil had his AI end the call and then punched up his pillow and leaned back.
Less media meant less testing. Less testing meant that they had an angle, a slant, a road on which to build their vaccine. Less media meant that for all intents and purposes, the Barony Research lab had made headway, and he had to find out more.
He noodled that around in his brain for a bit. There was—at least so far—no way to know for sure. He had an idea how to approach the weak link in the research team but was now the time? All this could hinge on the timing of his pitch.
Was now the time?
That was his major thought, and he wanted to be sure before he leapt into the fray, and it consumed him through his morning shower and shave and donning his scrubs and lab coat. He worked his way down the ship to the walkway in the huge rotunda and rode it almost all the way around and over to the Caliphate module. In his office, he took in the necessary number of patients and consults and went up to a ward or two on rounds, and then it was lunchtime and he had it figured out.
He would make the offer today to Research Scientist Ward.
Not a hard-nosed approach, but a simple business deal. Not that as a plain GP doctor he knew much about business, but a branch held out to a drowning man was something even he could understand. Today. Lunchtime. It would be his chance to help the Caliph get what he wanted.
"Course," he said to himself, "at seventy or so, if he could take the vaccine himself he wondered what kind of doctor he'd be in fifty more years, in a hundred, or even two hundred more." That was well worth the thought, but then his office AI chimed the signal for lunch. He quickly went down the escalator and over to the big cafeteria and looked around. No one from the supposed secret lab was here ... at least from what he could see. He moved through the food service line and got one of his favorites, Jambalaya, asked for extra shrimps on the top, and then marched over to a seat near the entrance.
He slowly ate his food—it was excellent and the Cajun spices so very well done that he had to stop shoveling it in and tried to eat even slower. He wasn't here for the food—but for the chance to make that deal.
It took almost an hour for a couple members of the Barony Research team to appear, and Ward was not one of them. He watched as they all took seats over against the near wall, and he eyed them as they chatted and ate and joked. But no Ward.
Frustrated, he had hoped this would be simple—at least simpler than what it was.
He'd been there in the cafeteria for almost an hour and a half. Lunchtime was about over, so he sighed, bussed his table, and then went out the door, down the hallway, and back toward the moving walkway. Once on the walkway, he rode it along, glancing at the various patients, healthcare attendants, doctors, and nurses—and then he spied Ward, who was just leaving the Juice Bar in the rotunda lobby. He was slurping some kind of juice and walking with what appeared to be no destination.
Kahil jumped off the walkway and walked directly over to the target of his pitch and said, "Excuse me, Research Scientist Ward—am I correct?"
Ward looked at him as he sucked on his straw, the sides of the juice drink compressed, and he nodded.
"Then, young man, could I have a moment to chat with you—in private, please?" Kahil said and gently took the young man's arm and moved him over to the curved bench that was empty, and they sat half-facing each other.
Ward looked at him and said, "And, you are doctor ..."
"My name is Dr. Kahil Bassem, and I am the head of the Caliphate medical team here on the Hospital Ship, and I have been—um—empowered to talk to you on behalf of the Caliphate," he said and steeled himself for what would come next.
Ward looked a bit confused. That was going to be normal, Kahil thought, Wait'll he hears what comes next.
"While it is none of my business, the Caliphate Casino wanted me to talk to you. They are your creditor for at least what I'd call quite a large sum, son—and I've been empowered to make you a one-time offer to waive your debts. All your debts, wiped out ..." His voice was almost smarmy.
Ward about choked on his drink. The straw was yanked out of the cup, and it spurted some of the green juice on the bench between them, but Kahil ignored it. His eyes were on Ward. And only on Ward.
He sputtered and shook his head no, no, no and couldn't find the words.
Kahil leaned forward and put a hand on the young man's arm. "We both know that you owe what, more than 70,000 credits. That you're behind in your payments, and there is another large one due tomorrow. Say yes to our deal and it all goes away. Today. You'll never worry about it again. All I need is a yes—"
Ward now put his hand on Kahil's arm and said, "Wait just a minute, Doctor" and his voice quavered but was still pointed. "I don't know who you are, and I don't care who you are—you are totally wrong. I owe you—or the casino—not a credit," he said and looked at Kahil with a small narrowing of his eyes.
Kahil nodded. "You know and I know that you're lying, son. You made a partial payment last week of 4,000 credits, and it didn't even pay for your interest on the debt. You got that 4,000 credits up on the Neres Station and that's the truth. I know from where I speak here, Ward—the Caliph who owns the casino is my cousin—so you know that I'm not only plugged in but truthful. But before you deny your debts, don't you even want to know what it is we want in return, son? No curiosity at all?" Kahil said and again his voice was silky by intent.
Ward stared at him as his hands fit the straw back into the juice container he still held.
He knew he was lucky enough to even have the smoothie—the budget Nancy had him on as they combined pays to make those weekly payments was severe. And those payments stretched out for more than a year. A year of living very, very poor or ...
And then he nodded.
/> That's about halfway there, Kahil thought, and he nodded back.
"Simple—and this is about the easiest way to pay off a debt that anyone ever had, son. All I need you to do is to give me the successful vaccine that your Secret research lab is working on. You can just steal a sample, and I'll take it and you're debt free," he said and the look on Ward's face was one of astonishment.
Ward sat back, sucked in his lips, half-leaned forward, held out a finger in Kahil's face, and then stopped.
He leaned back again and pondered that idea. He pointed a finger and then took it back, and the two sat in silence.
He looked ashen then for a moment, then not so much—and then he nodded.
"Full disclosure, Doctor. I get the debts paid in full. You get the vaccine sample soon as it's verified. End of story—mums the word. Do I have it right?"
His voice, Kahil thought, was a bit thin but yes, he had it right.
He smiled at the young man, and then not knowing why, he held out his hand to shake on their deal.
The shake happened.
The deal was struck, and they both rose and went their opposite ways.
CHAPTER EIGHT
His psychiatrist was busy on his tablet, and Tanner once again was bored in his bland office.
There was no art. No pictures even. No knick-knacks on any shelves—in fact, no shelves either. A bookcase with books on shelves—Tanner wondered if any of them had ever been read as they had the look of one of those design magazine covers.
Nothing there at all to look at, in fact, Tanner thought as he glanced around. The room was pretty bare.
Beige. Comfy but in a manner that was definitely without personality.
While the office had no personality, Dr. Etter had a personality. Tanner was certain of that as he had run into it quite a bit over the past couple of months.
He had faced—well, to be honest, he really hadn't faced his alcoholism at all. As he was within that nineteen percent of the human population who had that certain variant of the opioid receptor gene OPRM1, it meant a simple shot had cleared his alcoholism completely.
He no longer, it appeared, was susceptible to the lure of drinking—he would never get a buzz from anything he drank. Not a whole night on Randi ales or an afternoon on big Quaran Cabernets would affect him whatsoever. Even a wonderful double-double coffee with that big splash of Scotch would mean nothing to him. His days of drinking were over.
At least that's what he understood—he'd have to check, but if so, this was excellent news.
So in fact, Tanner thought as he waited for the doctor to finish his notes on the previous patient, the only thing left was his PTSD.
He tried to think on that for a while and was interrupted by the doctor.
"Captain Scott—Tanner, nice to have this time together. I see from your schedule that we have only two more weekly appointments—and we still have some things to discuss—for instance, what about Tibah and you killing her?" he said point blank.
Tanner was taken aback, and yet he nodded and reached a hand down to his thigh where it met his knee and began to bounce two fingers in a pattern: one, two ... one, two, over and over. It was his measured response, which was supposed to give his brain something else to do when the PTSD suddenly reared its ugly head, and so far, it'd been okay.
Purple eyes ... the violet of that shade of Tibah's eyes was a color he'd never forget.
She was tall—taller than him by at least an inch or two but with jet-black hair, those violet eyes, and a shape that was a killer—and that's what he did.
There was that word again—and yes, he had killed her, and a sob did sneak out, but his fingers never stopped. He nodded once, sniffed back the loose snot in his nose, and nodded to the doctor again.
"I did that, Doctor, and yes, I will forever be the navy man who shot to kill—but had to. I just have to remind myself of that. Oh—I also killed her brother, and yet I feel no remorse for that whatsoever—but Tibah is a different matter," he said, his fingers still beating out that same pattern.
His doctor must have noticed but said nothing and continued to stare at him.
They sat in the office staring at each other. Tanner's finger tapping made the only slightly noticeable noise.
A full minute went by, and his fingers skipped a bit and then slowed. Tanner was unaware but the finger movements stopped. He looked down at his hand, frowned, and moved his hand back up into his lap.
The doctor nodded as he typed something else onto his tablet, and then he turned it off and flipped it over.
"Captain Scott—Tanner, I think we're doing okay—and I will, of course, monitor you 'til you're gone from the Hospital Ship. I saw earlier that you have a new court date for the twelfth of next month—about twenty days from now, and you will be released from our care the day before. You could, if you wanted, let some friends know, and they can meet you down in Neres City Naval base on the eleventh around noon, I hear. They can help you get over to your quarters and re-settled. Court docs should be provided to you by then—but as you know, the decision has already been made—you are judged to be sane. I wonder how that happened," he said dryly and shook his head.
Tanner thought on that and the power of a Royal against a whole planet and their court systems for a moment. The Baroness—at least he thought it was her and not the Lady St. August—had simply told the courts what to do. Simple. As she was the head of state as well as royal blood—they obeyed.
As do I ... as do I.
####
Working of the second row from the top of the cages, Nathan skinned his knuckle, and the sudden sharp pain made him yelp right out loud.
That obviously upset the mouse that was cowering in the back of that cage, and it suddenly leapt out of the cage and all the way down to the floor. The drop should have stunned it—but instead it landed on its feet and scurried away under the big rack of cages beside its own.
Nathan cursed, popped the skinned knuckle into his mouth, and looked for the mouse, but it was gone.
He stopped for a moment, and he closed the cage that was now empty to look at the display screen.
The mouse that just flew was 158 days old and almost thirty-five percent past its life expectancy. It fell about five feet, yet it landed on its feet instead of flat on its back or belly like any geriatric mouse should have fallen and landed. Once it landed, it scurried away for security under a rack of cages, and it was hiding right now.
All, Nathan thought, traits of anything but a mouse living way past its lifespan.
Vaccine F-17 was truly, so far, the winner in the search to find the longevity cure.
As he knew, testing in mice was usually just the secondary step; human trials were the real last step in finding immortality, and that was the worry of others.
He looked at his knuckle and thought about the mouse that was somewhere on the floor.
It would be best if he caught the old geezer of a rodent and put it back in its cage.
If I could even catch it.
But then again, maybe I shouldn't do that—at least not yet.
He pushed an extra handful of excelsior into the corner for the nesting materials, ensured the food and water were right up to where they should be, and closed the cage.
On the side of the display, he found the display reset button and tried to figure out how to jam it somehow, but that was beyond him.
He thought it through though—if he left the display as it was, it would be updated by the testing lab AI at midnight, and then with the mouse not in its cage, the display would clear and be blank. If he left the door a teensy bit open and crammed in a thicker piece of the excelsior into the contact strips, the AI wouldn't sound any kind of an alarm notifying him it was open.
Might work, he thought and he smiled slightly. How easy it seemed to beat AI.
On the floor somewhere was his vaccine sample for the Casino, and that would give him and Nancy a fresh start.
Do I feel like I've been dishonest? Not at
all, as the loss of a mouse was no big deal.
Do I feel like I am morally wrong? Not at all, he thought again as all he was doing was helping him and his fiancée to get a fresh start without the huge load of debt.
How will I tell Nancy? His thoughts wandered next to his feelings about the whole thing. He realized he'd need to work on that still, as he jammed the cage door closed on the wad of excelsior and noted the door was still open yet wedged shut.
In case, just in case, he thought.
For a moment, he had a stray thought that was an awakening for how he felt about Nancy. If he gave the sample to the casino and didn't tell Nancy, then he'd have those weekly payments to make that didn't need to be made from his and Nancy's salary. She had also offered up her savings too, and those credits were supposedly paying off debt ... or maybe not, but that thought bugged him as being totally dishonest. I love my wife-to-be, so forget that ... right ... forget it.
####
Captain Eleanor Vennamo looked over at the helm and tilted her head to one side. Her lieutenant was either asleep at the switch or he had no idea of what lay ahead. She tapped a nail loudly on her console cabinet at the captain's station, and the resulting shake of his head was at least a signal he wasn't asleep.
He half-turned to face her, and the look on his face was one of wonder or surprise.
"Captain, I'm stumped here—there is no bloody way that this makes much sense, but here's what we're looking at—here," he said as he turned back to his console and the normal front display on the view-screen changed. Instead of the Valissian star the Compass was aiming at, a yellow super-giant star filled the screen. Yellow sort of, Captain Vennamo thought, was only part of the coloration that was on the screen yet it wasn't really yellow.
"Talk to me, Helm—and Science too," she said as she glanced behind her at the Compass Science officer of the watch. It was Lieutenant Commander Al Switzer on this shift, and he left his station to come up to stand beside her. I like him—a little bit much at times with the passing on of too, too much back-story, she thought as she took a strong gulp of her green tea, and she nodded to the helmsman.
