I'M NOT DEAD: The Journals of Charles Dudley Vol.1 (24 page)

He’d worked miracles on parts of the body you didn’t even know you had, but
not
here—here he was reduced to collecting data and babysitting a zoo for the suits. The job description had a ring to it though: Head of the Name that sounds more important than what it really meant–Department.

The suits don’t want to hear excuses; they want results. They don’t want your opinion; they want cold hard facts. They don’t want setbacks; they want leaps and bounds. They want full proof product innovation— what else is new?

Millions upon ludicrous amount of millions later, they’re still asking us to do something with it…we don’t know what IT is, but do something with it. We know IT can do something. Make it happen. 

Because money can buy things to make things do things.

Today it was Windham’s duty to tell the board the product was defective
—the doggy wants off the leash.
 

NX-36 (Nanobioxin) is a highly intelligent, blue crystal microorganism that
fully
reconstructs, re-animates, and restores tissue
when it wants to,
but there no was telling when it was going to
want to.
It is compatible with species across the board before deciding if it likes its host or not. It is alien in nature, mixed with contrived insanity. It has a mind of its own, and you cannot control it.

The serum is both cure and disease. The cure means life—the disease means mutagen or death. When the serum doesn’t cooperate with its host, it doesn’t play nice. It renders the subject into either an agitated or vegetative state, and then the lab destroys the subjects–and then it’s back to the ole drawing board. 

One day it gives you the Garden of Eden with beautiful and intelligent plant life in the nursery, and the next it has a chimpanzee eating the eyes out of its own sockets during a neurotic meltdown. The neurotic meltdowns were fascinating in their own right.

On a good day, it works miracles beyond your wildest dreams, but not enough to break out the bubbly and noisemakers just yet. It was Windham’s job to find the middle ground, stabilize it, and keep it there, if not better—
Yeah, wishful thinking
.

Needing more time was an ongoing joke in the labs.

Dr. Windham had formed his own theory on the serum—
IT was screwing with us,
but who would believe such a thing? What’s it going to take? What does it want?

“See, this is what I can do—nice, right? You like the pretty colors. Now watch this, you’ll like this even more. Pay close attention, human, because I’m only going to show you this once. Here we go, amazing stuff, huh? Do it again? No, no—now you’ve seen too much.”

The origin of the NX-36 is classified. Jericho officials denied Dr. Windham access to Dr. Ludvig’s files because the suits filed Ludvig’s research under OBSOLETE shortly after he died.

Everyone who followed in Ludvig’s shadow became OBSOLETE shortly too–after dying.

Windham had limited access around Jericho because that’s the way the cookie crumbled around here—
no respect for the rookies.
More smoke screens and oil slicks for the monkeys slaving away in the labs, but
“we want results” 
they say.

When Dr. Ludvig passed away it seemed like there were too many cooks in the kitchen; too many cooks in the kitchen spoiled the soup. Why was this so important?

Fifty years of research and we are not one step closer from where Dr. Ludvig began? Zero progress—just a bunch of soups. God only knows how many times they had tampered with and manipulated the serum since its purest form.

One last trip to the office of administrations for a quick briefing with middle management, and it was off to the boardroom for
the hanging
.

The office of administrations was the epicenter of corporate assholes. The air was so tight in there you’ll have an aneurysm. It was the place where employees went to die. If the office of administrations beckoned during office hours, be sure to pick up some lube on the way over. Dr. Windham had thicker skin than the others. The politics hadn’t killed him—yet. He was already used to the bureaucratic mind games from the last gig in Montana.

Knowledge and experience may have made him feel
long in the tooth
at times, but, on the contrary, Dr. Windham had a severe case of stage fright. He couldn’t care less if they shot the messenger, just as long as he didn’t have to stand in front of a crowd and give the presentation. It was scar tissue from elementary school plays and ridicule for poor performances.

Never mind the four months worth of data that had once again gone
corrupt
or that three live subjects had gone missing under his watch.

Windham’s
only proof
of the NX-36’s bad behavior didn’t compare to stage fright.

“I should have taken the Valium,” the good doctor reminded himself, massaging his temples—it would’ve subdued the pounding in his head.

Windham made a b-line straight past the rows of Stepford wife looking secretaries plugged into their desks, mostly mechanical and hot. Maybe a little too hot and aloof to be working at a disease control center for Homeland Security. He managed to work up seven different male fantasies and dialogue before reaching the door to the boss’s office.

The rectangular and shiny golden plaque on the door read, “MARCUS BRYCE – EXECUTIVE VICE PRESIDENT,” or what Windham liked to call
Executioner V.P.

“Get in here and close the door behind you, I’ll get to you in a second,” the gruff, and clearly annoyed voice, called from inside the room.

Windham wormed his way into the office, before Bryce’s oversized mahogany desk.  Bryce still had his eyes on his computer screen as the tips of his fingers hammered away at the keyboard with the grace of an elephant trying to knit a sweater. His face held off any emotion.

Windham slowly glanced over Bryce’s collection of official certificates, buttons, and medals of congressional badassery lining the walls of the office. He took a mental inventory of a glass showcase containing old books, a boot, knives, bullets, coins, and a broken stopwatch that all looked to be from the Civil War Era.

Bryce reminded Windham of his old principle back in high school, Mr. Armstrong, except Mr. Armstrong didn’t keep a Glock at his waist.

“Talk about
screwing the pooch
on this one, huh?” Bryce said with a flat and bone dry tone. Bryce was a difficult man to read, his mannerisms were as vacant as a man without a soul.

“How do you mean?” Windham replied.

“Someone fucked up. Obviously, someone isn’t doing their job in the pit. I’m the one who has to answer to the board for all the wonderful work you and your team are constantly flushing down the toilet—millions of dollars down the drain, Windham. Have a seat,” Bryce said with his eyes still on his monitor.

“Well, I didn’t anticipate…I could come back later,” Windham said, inching back towards the door, but he wasn’t going to get away that easily.

“Sit down. Luckily, for you, we have a shit storm coming in this morning, a super cell, they say, and it’s bought us some time. The board members won’t be here for at least another couple of hours.”

“That’s great news. It will give us more time to try to recover the data!” Windham said, relieved.

Bryce turned to Windham slowly removing the specs from his face and leaning forward, clasping his hands perfectly over another on the desk.

“Right, about that, this is why I asked you up here, Windham—to talk. Frankly, here’s the deal, I think it’s best if we don’t mention the data or the defects to the board—between you and me.”

“I don’t follow…”

“Damage control, Doctor. They shuffle their old asses in here once a month and stuff their faces with coffee and crumpets. Half of them are already taking their afternoon nap by the time the meeting’s over.
We tell them everything’s fine and on schedule as planned—and they’re back on the jet, back to wherever it is they came from.”

“Okay, why would we do that?”

“It’s simple. I’ve been here eight years now as an intermediary; rain or shine, the money keeps on coming. I don’t know why, but why stir up the roost? We just tell them what they want to hear, and we get a blank check. I keep my job, you keep yours, and everyone is happy. They know we don’t always get it right, but why worry anyone with the details?”

“They’ll eventually catch on that there’s trouble in paradise, won’t they?”

“Not necessarily. We throw a couple of the research samples and the chimps their way and do away with the rest. As long as the assholes overseas have a bone to gnaw on, it will keep them busy until NX is ready and stable. They don’t need to know the logistics. The Japanese are still talking about those cute little talking things we gave them months ago.”

“Well, that’s the problem, Marcus, our brainchild went up and missing last night with some of the other subjects. I don’t know where they are. Security can’t uplink the surveillance or the data. They could be anywhere.”

“Right, well, you don’t worry about that then. It’s been taken care of.”

“Oh, good, taken care of, so you have them?”

“Hmm,
had them
and taken care of.”

“So where are they?” Windham asked with sudden alarm.

“You can say they’re in a much better place now
.
I wouldn’t lose sleep over it.”       

“Wait, hold on, Marcus, please, tell me you didn’t have them…Oh God, what have you done?”

Windham ran his hand over his face. “Do you have any idea how close I was to stabilizing them? This is the closest it’s ever come!” 

“Windham, I’m afraid you might be blurring your personal feelings with your work. This isn’t a petting zoo, you’re a doctor.  You understand there are consequences, especially in the sensitive nature of what we’re doing here. Learn to separate yourself from it. It might do you some good.”

“I’m sorry, I just feel like we should brief the board. We can’t keep them in the dark forever about the strain.”

Bryce took a long stern glare at Windham and almost looked like he wanted to smile. “That’s charming. First, drop any notion that you might have of teaching the old dogs any new tricks. These men have more money than you’ll ever see in multiple life times. They do this for recreation; they are not scientists. They will keep on dumping money into this sinkhole as long as they think we are all onto something. It’s the elusive pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, and sometimes the safest place for some of us to be, is in the dark. Don’t be a hero, Windham. Just keep doing what you are doing and leave the rest to me.”

“What if I told you I had the data?” Windham said, defiantly.

“I know, and that’s been taken care of also, so, in other words—
You don’t have it anymore.”

“How, how did you know?”

“Windham, you don’t get a job at Jericho and think you can take a bathroom break without anyone ever knowing how many times you shook your pecker or wiped your ass, do you? We keep logs of everything you do, on and off this island. I had the data extracted from your home this morning, as a precaution. Once I reviewed your presentation and saw how trigger happy you’d become about discussing certain aspects of the research to the board, I became concerned.”

“My home? Why didn’t you stop me before?”

“I don’t know, I guess a part of me trusts you. Maybe, I was curious to see how far you would go with it. However, I don’t know what would compel you to inject yourself with the serum. You must really like your job or have a death wish.”

“Great, you know about that too?”

“Oh, I know things about you that you probably don’t even know yourself yet, Doctor. How do you feel? Have there been any side effects from taking the serum that I need to be aware of?”

“I guess I feel okay. I’ve only treated myself with small doses at a time, just drops, and the effects are not always the same. One night I’ll feel euphoric and beside myself, the next night I’ll feel terrible: restless, severe migraines, lights bother me. So are you going to ask me for my resignation, are you going to fire me or…?”

“Neither. Relax. I’m afraid I can’t let you go. I have assigned you quarters on compound C. You will need to undergo evaluation because you look like hell, and believe me when I tell you, I do have the utmost respect for you, Clarence. We
are
in this together.”

“No.” Windham struck back, feeling a bearing he had never felt before in himself—the brand of dignity that made your balls feel like steel.

 “Listen, until we’re sure the serum has not had any significant influence on your body, you are official Jericho property now. We will discuss your job once we get clearance from the labs. The arrangement won’t be long term. I’ll write you up on sick leave, so you’re not discredited.”

“No,” Windham struck back again.

“Yes, and this is not a negotiation,” Bryce concluded.

“That’s funny, because I’m hoping you’re screwing with me.” This time, the steel balls had no bearing.

“I’m afraid I’m not. You know Marcus Bryce doesn’t screw with anyone. You’re classified as a
carrier,
and I can’t have you walking out of here until I’m sure you’re not a liability.

If any of this got out there, it could mean very bad things for a lot of people. You know that just as much as I do, and I won’t be taking that risk.”

“You’re going to detain me against my will? I can’t stay here. I’m flying out to Montana in the morning to see my family.”

“Your flight’s been canceled, and your family’s been very understanding. I’m sorry, Windham.”

“You called my family? Okay, I’ve heard enough. What’s stopping me from walking out of here right now?”

Bryce’s mouth curled into a smile. “Well, unless you are one hell of a swimmer, the ferry isn’t going anywhere in this storm. Other than that, there are three nice men standing outside my door waiting to kindly escort you to your quarters.”

“Do you have any idea what you’re doing?”

“I know. I feel terrible.”

“You can’t do this to me, Bryce!”

“I’m not doing this to you, I’m doing this for you.”