Degrees of Wrong (33 page)

“No, Elyse. Just this once, don’t fight me.” And his mouth came down on mine.

It only took me a second to realize that I didn’t have any fight in me. He jerked me against him, pressing me into every contour of his body. His mouth moved on mine with a fervor. I lifted myself up to him, entwining my hands through his hair to make sure he didn’t try to pull away before I was ready. He groaned against my lips and increased the intensity of his battery.

Everything I had went into this kiss. Every stolen glance, every light brush of skin, every shared laugh, every wishful thought. Everything I wanted but couldn’t have. I gave it all to him, over and over.

I wasn’t sure how or why or who, but somehow it ended, leaving us both breathless.

“My God,” he whispered, his expression nothing less than incredulous.

I too could feel that my now-swollen mouth hung open in shock. It felt like every part of my body had caught fire. I pulled out of his arms and backed up toward the door, staring at him in horror.

“Elyse,” he pleaded, seeing my intent to flee.

“Set a date, Nicoli,” I said, choking on the words. I turned and ran down the hall, as fast as I could with my vision blurred by tears.

To his credit, he didn’t come after me.

I awoke with eyes swollen from a night of uncontrollable sobbing. I acknowledged it would be the first of many mornings like it.

I ran the hot water, knowing that the heat and steam would do nothing for the swelling, would make it worse, in fact. Still, there was just something to be said for a hot shower on a tired, aching, sleep-deprived body.

After dressing, I took a cloth and saturated it with cold water. I rolled it up and placed it over my eyes, lying down on the bed. After a while, I checked my reflection in the mirror. When I found that I was an acceptable degree of hideous, I made my way to Admiral Rudd’s office.

He sat at his large desk, reading one of his many, many books. I would miss this about him. I would miss many things about my life on the
Bellator
. I wouldn’t allow myself to think about the one I would miss the most.

After all, that was what long, lonely nights were for.

“Good morning, Dr. Morgan,” he greeted me warily. “What can I do for you?” I could see he was alarmed at my appearance. I wondered how long it would take him to adjust.

“I was hoping to speak to you about transferring to another UOC ship to complete my research. I feel that I need a change in…scenery.”

“All of the UOC ships are designed the same way. But I’m gathering it’s not the décor or the layout that you find offensive.”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Nicoli said you would be asking me for a transfer,” he admitted. “He said that it was unnecessary—”

“Shall I speak to Ralph then, Admiral?” I could feel the tears coming.

The admiral closed his book. “You didn’t let me finish, Dr. Morgan. Nicoli said it was unnecessary that you should have to transfer to another ship. He has taken an extended leave of absence, in your stead. He asked for me to give you his best wishes in finding the cure, and that you have no need to worry about his presence while you are here.”

“Wh-what? A leave of absence?”

“Yes. I’m afraid he wasn’t very specific, Dr. Morgan. He cited a need to attend to some family matters. He didn’t really say much else. He left this morning.”

The revelation knocked the wind out of me. I felt sickened as I remembered the last words I had said to him last night.
Set a date
. He had apparently taken my advice after all. And even before breakfast.

“Would you still like to request a transfer, Dr. Morgan?” His warm and sympathetic expression was almost too much to bear.

“Um. N-no. No thank you, Admiral.”

I stalked back to my room in a mortified daze. I undressed, pulled my pajamas back on and slinked under the covers. I decided I would start the first day of my new life tomorrow.

Today just hadn’t worked out as planned. I turned my pillow over. I needed to cry on the other side now.

The days began to run together.

As I did when I had lost my parents, I poured myself into my research with renewed enthusiasm. If I filled my head with scientific theories, chemical equations, the makings of DNA, then I could almost drown out the emotional, human part of me.

I found that with no distractions, my progress was quite rapid. I even settled on a solution to the problem of relinquishing control of the antivirus to any power-hungry agency, UN or not. That solution sat on my desk in my room, where it had been since Ralph sent it to me, unopened until the appropriate time. It was the first thing I looked at every morning, as a reminder of what I had to do, regardless of my personal cost. And it reminded me that this would all be over soon.

And, not soon enough. I grew frustrated with my proximity to the cure. I knew I had to transfer the unreceptive properties of the gene mutation to the patient’s cells, but everything I tried had failed, and miserably at that.

How could I transfer genetic information to a person whose DNA had already been decided at inception?

The answer came to me from, of all people, Lt. Horan. We were eating lunch in the mess hall, and he was relaying to me the chain of events leading up to his being promoted so rapidly.

“And then I told him, ‘It’s a dog-eat-dog world out there, scumbucket. You’ve got to fight fire with fire.’ He shut up after that,” he’d told me proudly.

It had instantly startled me out of the haze of my boredom. Something in the way he said it made everything click into place.

“
What
did you just say, Frank?”

“I told him that he needed to fight fire with fire,” he boasted.

“Fight fire with fire.” I repeated it to myself, mulling it over in my head.

It’s not that I had never heard the expression before…but something about it jumped out at me now, and suddenly, I knew just exactly what needed to be done.

In my excitement, I’d left Lt. Horan sitting at the table, gawking at my half-eaten chocolate cake and the empty seat behind it.

“I need to fight fire with fire!” I exclaimed to Dr. Folsom in the lab.

“I’m sorry?” Confusion registered in both her voice and her expression.

“A virus. I need to create a virus to fight the virus.”

Understanding enlightened her features. “Create a virus?”

I knew it sounded outlandish. But this was going to work. “Well, no, not
create
a virus. But I could strip an existing virus of its harmful properties. If I did that, it could serve as a transport vehicle to the appropriate cells.”

“But, I thought the gene mutation made the cells impervious to viruses? How would your virus be any different?”

I smiled at her as the steps unfolded in my head. I hoped when I relayed them to her it didn’t sound muddled. “The cells only lack the
receptor
that the Black Death needs to infiltrate it. Other viruses use other methods to penetrate cells. Some viruses dissolve through the cell membrane. I could use one of those.”

She inhaled sharply. “That could work, Elyse. That could really work.” And then she hesitated. “But…how can you be sure it will attack the right cells? That it won’t do more harm than good?”

“I could inject the genetic information from the gene mutation into the virus. Then, theoretically, I would need to attach the appropriate proteins it needs to target
only
the cells in questions…really, the proteins will direct it where it needs to go…and
theoretically
…”

“And theoretically, the cells infected with
your
virus become impervious to the Black Death,” she finished for me in astonishment. “And your virus spreads to all of the vulnerable cells and protects them.”

“Yes,” I said. “
Theoretically
, I think I just found the cure.”

Theoretically eventually gave way to absolutely.

After two weeks of painstakingly researching proteins, viruses and the extraction of genetic information, I was ready to conduct my experiments on a live host—time to order more rat clones.

I set about infecting the inanimate clones with the Black Death and subsequently infecting them with
my
virus. Each day, I documented my findings, imaging every stage of the process.

I found, of course, that the sooner the host was infected with my virus, the quicker the recovery. I found that if the HTN4 were allowed to reproduce for too long without intervention, it could still be deadly. The key to survival was inoculating the victim within the first twenty-four hours.

Today was day seven of the third string of tests. I took the vitals of each rat, viewing a small sampling of blood from each under the microscope. The results had been the same as the first and second string—every rat still lived.

I reported my findings to Dr. Folsom, setting up a three-dimensional hologram showing my virus in the different stages of the lytic cycle.

“The first twenty-four hours is the key,” I told her. “It’s important to provide extra support to the immune system while all of this is taking place. The patient will still get very ill, but the chances of death are dramatically reduced. Of course, there will still be casualties in patients with weakened immune systems.”

She regarded me now with a little awe and a little disbelief. “You…you did it,” she whispered.

“Yes,” I said hoarsely, realizing the gravity encompassed in that simple statement. “It’s ready for human testing.”

It was time to call Ralph.

“It’s very good to hear from you, Dr. Morgan,” he said, smiling.

I returned the hologram’s smile.

“Are you well, Dr. Morgan? You look tired—”

A person tended to tire out if they weren’t getting any rest. My sleepless nights were plagued by my first, my last, my
only
taste of Nicoli Marek. They were haunted by the losses of my past, and they were overrun by thoughts of my dismal future.

But even when I was able to lose consciousness, even when the physical exhaustion would overtake me, I would dream about Nicoli. I would have nightmares of his holding Inga in his arms, of his kissing her. And now that I knew just exactly what his kiss was like, sleep was more of a punishment than a relief.

At least if I stayed awake, I could block the images out.

“I’m fine,” I lied smoothly.

“You’re lying.”

“Did you want to discuss the discord in my sleeping patterns, Ralph, or did you want to know why we contacted you?” I snapped.

“Both.”

“Fine,” I said. “I can’t sleep at night because you tazed me all those months ago. I am suing the UN for stock in the—”

“At ease, Dr. Morgan. We don’t have to talk about it. I was just making sure you were being treated well.”

“Perfectly well.”

“So, what can I do for you today, Doctor?”

“You can arrange for my departure, Ralph. And a new place to live. I have your cure.”

That night, I packed my bags in preparation to leave the
Bellator
for the final time. I knew a very large and very marked chapter of my life was coming to a close, and I was more than ready to have done with it. The uncertainty of the next two days brewed around me like a storm, and oddly enough, the promise of the turmoil of it helped me sleep.

I dreamt of nothing the last night of my stay.

When I awoke, I dressed quickly, grabbed my bags and headed for the transport hallway. Before I left, I turned around one more time, imprinting the image of my quarters in my memory.

Admiral Rudd and Dr. Folsom were waiting for me. Lt. Horan too. He was there to take us to shore in the pod.

“Did you grab everything you need? You’re not forgetting anything?” asked Dr. Folsom, her eyes glistening.

“I believe so,” I rasped. “Where are we meeting Ralph?”

“Uh, well, there’s been a change of plans, actually,” Admiral Rudd told me hesitantly.

“A change in plans?” I said. “What change in plans?”

“It seems we’ll all be traveling a bit farther than originally expected, Dr. Morgan. The secretary-general has asked to meet with you personally. He has invited Dr. Folsom and I to stay as well.”

“The secretary-general…?”

He cleared his throat. “The Secretary-General of the United Nations.”

As the transport pod surfaced, my nerves threatened to riot. They had been put through so much these past months, but now I needed them more than ever.

Because now it would seem I had to tell the Secretary-General of the United Nations—arguably the most powerful man in the world—that there would be stipulations to my handing over the cure for the most deadly form of biological warfare in history.

And then I had to ask him for a ride home.

So, even the pound of chocolate I had eaten for breakfast would not placate the little nerve endings. They rebelled against me in my stomach, in my temples and even in my fingers as I clutched my bags tight.