Hospital Ship (The Rim Confederacy #5) (22 page)

Anderson, the lab associate who was in charge of the media purchasing, held up a hand for a moment.

"Sir, will I still need to buy our normal requirements of the media and all? Or ..." he finished and his head tilted to one side.

"Not in the normal amounts, Anderson—cut them down by what, seventy percent will be fine. One more round of blind tests and we could be done here, right?" That got a smile all around, and he motioned for them to all go back to work except for Ward.

He joined the young team member as they walked out of the large labs and into the corridor toward the Animal Testing labs.

They didn't talk but were lost in thought and Toombs liked that.

While Ward was an all right team member, he didn't have, in Toombs opinion, the real stuff to ever be much more than a research associate, at the low end of the scientist scale.

At the labs, they walked in through the open door and went directly over to the racks of cages.

They stood side by side and studied each of the mice in each of the cages, beginning with the top left-hand cage.

Therein, the mouse was peeking out at them from the excelsior nesting materials in the back third of the cage. On the small LCD panel attached to the front of the cage, it held the profile of the mouse within the cage as was constantly scanned by the AI.

Normally, it would just display stats like age in days, general health statistics, height, weight, BP, vaccine testing dosage levels, and more.

But in this case, there was bright red flashing text that held the age in days and it said 149 days.

"Normal life expectancy for this varmint is what, Ward?" Toombs said.

Knowing his boss already knew the answer did not make his answer any easier and Ward nodded.

"Sir, life expectancy for the Garnuthian mouse is 120 days. Give or take within a normal range of three percent, Sir."

Toombs nodded and tilted his head slightly back as he did the math.

"So this mouse is twenty-nine days past the median, or twenty-four percent past the normal range, correct?" Toombs said.

Ward nodded and in a respectful tone, said, “Exactly, sir.”

"How many more like this one, Ward?" Toombs said as he slowly walked down the rack of cages.

Almost every single one had that same flashing red text and the variations between various caged mice had to do only with the vaccine dosage size.

Toombs had counted and said, "We have more than fifty mice here that are at least twenty-plus percent past their normal lifespans, do I have that correct, Ward?" he queried.

"Sir, that's correct, and depending on the vaccine testing dosage that we administered, the range of those percentages runs from a low of eighteen percent up to more than thirty percent. And based, as my report yesterday suggested, on that vaccine dosage, we may be able to make some recommendations on the vaccine purity too. Sir," he said and he looked at his team leader with a grin.

"Yes, Ward, I noted that in your report, but at this point, let's not get ahead of ourselves. We have done well so far—further testing will eventually lead us to that recommended dosage levels—but not until then. Understood?" he said, his voice firm and clipped.
No sense in giving this barely competent associate any kind of praise—at least not yet.

Ward hung his head and moved off a bit so Toombs could get around him as he left the lab.

Toombs walked back down the main secret lab corridor to his office well down the way, and as he did, he wondered if he should report this small success to the Baroness. There was nothing worse than building up expectations, which still might not be true, and that was one worry. But the pressure from the Royal on finding a vaccine was so very strong that even letting her know they were on solid footing might be worthwhile.

He nodded to himself and made it a promise that by the end of the week, he would notify the Baroness they had a start on a real vaccine. That might hold her off for a bit, and he sat in the chair behind his desk and began to go over Ward's report, editing out some of the more positive comments to de-tune the gist of same.

####

The Ansible call had come in surprisingly early, but seeing the caller was from his contact over at supply, Dr. Kahil Bassem took it immediately. He tucked his arm under his pillow, kept the video feed off, and said, "Answer call."

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. T
hat 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.