Taji's Syndrome (38 page)

“You mean Aames Catalepsy?” Weyman asked. “Yeah, she called that one. And got it named for her. I give her credit: finding a food-stabilizing additive that brought about catalepsy in persons with a certain allergic history was drawing to an inside straight and winning. It doesn’t change the fact that she gives me the creeps.” He frowned at his hands. “Besides, I want to get a hold of this for myself. I have a vested interest. You found and described the shit, but I’ve
got
it and I want to blow it out of the water.”

“I hope you do,” Jeff said with feeling. “Come on: I’ll go with you. It won’t to do keep Theresa Ann waiting.” They went toward the door together, Weyman holding the printouts in his hands.

“I don’t want you to say anything to Sylvia just yet. Let me handle it, okay?”

“I wasn’t planning to say anything,” Jeff told him. “What would be the point? It’s up to you. I’ve only met the woman once.”

Their elevator was mercifully empty and they continued to talk as they rode to the isolation labs in the basement.

“How’re your kids taking the move?” Weyman asked.

“They’re philosophical. They’re both grown up enough that going to Europe is thrilling. As soon as they tested free of TS, I made sure they got away. I have pressure enough without having to worry about them as well.” He slipped his hands into his pockets. “I know that some of the department thinks I’m not playing fair, sending my kids away during this epidemic. They think I’m using my position unfairly.”

Weyman nodded. “Claire Lui sent her kids to relatives in New Zealand and no one minds.”

“She’s an executive secretary, not a doc, and for some reason that’s supposed to make my family fair game. Well, they’ve already got my wife. The terrorists who killed her haven’t been caught yet. I don’t intend to make another sacrifice to the general good, especially since I can’t see that it would be worthwhile. All we’d gain from it is another set of figures to add to the statistics.” He had started to jingle the keys in his pocket, but he noticed how loud they were and stopped.

“It bothers you, doesn’t it?” Weyman asked.

“All right; yes, it bothers me,” Jeff said with asperity. “But that doesn’t mean that—”

Weyman would not let him finish. “Why does it bother you? What makes you feel guilty? Do you think you’re doing something wrong in doing your best to keep your kids alive? You haven’t said that you think everyone ought to wait around to catch TS.” He patted Jeff on the shoulder. “Come on. It’s okay.”

“Drucker wouldn’t agree with you,” Jeff said bitterly. “He was one of those who were . . . unpleasant about it.” As the doors opened, he stopped talking.

“Drucker’s an ass. Everyone knows that.” Weyman did not lower his voice or make apology for his bald-faced statement.

“It’s hard enough working with him as things are,” Jeff objected as he gestured to Weyman to lower his voice.

“Well they aren’t going to get any easier, so you might as well have your cards on the table.” He hesitated at the door to Theresa Ann Aames’ laboratory door. “That woman reminds me of a lizard.”

“Go in and get it over with,” Jeff recommended. “I’ll bring you a cup of coffee. Black okay?”

“You’re chicken,” Weyman announced. “You don’t want to have anything to do with her, either.” He opened the door and called out, “Yoo-hoo, Doctor Aames!”

“You’re clowning again,” Jeff said.

“It’s that or shit in my pants,” Weyman made a show of explaining. “If you come back and I’ve dropped dead, you can blame it on Induced Aames Catalepsy. It’s a rare form of the disease brought about by spending time in her presence.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Jeff said.

Weyman made a face before be closed the door and Jeff went on to the lounge at the end of the hall where he took the time to brew fresh coffee for himself and Weyman. He appreciated the bravado Weyman was displaying but was glad of a respite from it. As he poured out coffee into styrofoam cups, he tried to imagine how he would feel in Weyman’s position and decided that his colleague was handling his predicament more successfully than he would if he had TS.

“About time,” said Weyman when Jeff came around the corner of the lab partition. “In another ten minutes I would have been comatose.” He reached out for the coffee cup and had to steady himself.

“Doctor Muggridge,” admonished Theresa Ann Aames, sounding like an ancient school librarian instead of the attractive woman of thirty-four she actually was.

“Sorry. I’m not supposed to move quickly, am I?” He sounded too bitter to be funny, but Jeff knew he was expected to smile.

“Pay attention to her,” he warned Weyman.

“And Doctor Taji,” said Theresa Ann as if neither man had spoken, “I must take another blood sample while you’re here. I have not been permitted to use your samples for the last ten days and this will not do.” Her immaculate lab coat made her look more like an advertising executive’s notion of a physician instead of actually being one. “It will only take a moment or two. I will have Albert tend to it at once. Albert!”

“I’ll come back later,” Jeff said.

“That’s useless bother,” commented Theresa Ann brusquely. “You are here now and it will take less than five minutes. Albert!”

Her senior lab assistant, a second-generation Cuban, came around the partition. “Doctor Aames?”

“Take a standard blood sample and a second comparative sample from Doctor Taji.” She pointed to her intended victim.

“You don’t have—” Jeff began, doing his best to ignore Weyman’s laughter.

“It will be over before you can think of it,” said Theresa Ann. “Albert is very efficient.” She indicated a padded chair, not unlike those used by dentists. “Sit down, please.”

Weyman was finally on his feet. “I’ll get you some coffee, Jeff. I’ll be back in a couple minutes.” His good-natured malice did more to goad Jeff on than the blithe certainty of Theresa Ann.

“I’d like some cream in mine this time,” Jeff made himself quip. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” said Weyman, going toward the door and leaving Jeff to the ministrations of Albert and Theresa Ann.

—Sam Jarvis and Dien Paniagua—

Dien stood in the door of the hospital room and fiddled with her quarantine mask, using this simple task to postpone entering the room. Little as she wanted to admit it, she was afraid of what she would see, for now that Sam had TS, she felt that her bastions had crumbled beyond repair. When she could delay no longer, she stepped inside and called out, “Sam? It’s Dien.”

He turned to stare at her. “Hi, Dien,” he said after a moment. “It’s good of you to come.”

“I’m sorry I had to,” she admitted, taking much of the blame for his disease onto herself, though she knew it was folly.

Sam looked up at the ceiling through his isolation tent. “My kids were here yesterday, but I’ve told them I don’t want them taking any chances. We’re still not sure we know how this stuff spreads and I don’t want to increase their risks. Do I?” He winked at her. “Harper Ross is coming by this evening. So far he hasn’t got sick; that’s something.”

Dien pulled up a chair and sat down, her face set into a smile that was as fixed and rigid as concrete. “I’ve asked for your lab records.”

“Good; good.” He coughed once. “I signed a Public Benefit contract yesterday. A little late, but better than not doing it at all. I guess after Max died, I couldn’t accept that it could happen to me. I decided that I simply wouldn’t get it.” He tried to laugh and ended up coughing. “They tell me my blood’s breaking down faster than in most cases. I’ve been running on empty for the last week, it seems.” He waved his hand, brushing his fingers against the plastic hood that enclosed his upper body. “I should have been in one of these days ago.”

“You’ll do fine,” Dien said automatically, without thought.

He caught her at it. “You really think so?” As he saw the stricken look in her face, he relented and changed the subject. “What about that coach? Have you had any luck finding him?”

“No,” she admitted. “Atlanta has put in a form request to the VA to get a fix on him. I was told that this was not met with any serious cooperation.” Her body felt cold in the warm room. “A goose just walked over my grave,” she said, repeating what her paternal grandmother had said so many times.

“I know the feeling,” said Sam. “Have you even located Jackson?”

“No, nor any of the other survivors except that Channing woman in Dallas, and she’s being watched day and night in a private hospital.” Dien finally made herself speak. “Do you think they’re trying to keep the survivors in isolation? What’s the reason for it?”

Sam took two deep breaths as he prepared to answer. “The thing is, they probably have the same ability that Missus Channing does, or something like it. Harper has some test results that his grad students are analyzing right now, and they suggest that all the survivors we know of have some psychokinetic abilities. That’s very, very disquieting,” he said, drawing out the last words.

“Because of danger to others?” Dien asked hopefully.

“No, and you know it. Someone wants them for what they can do. Which might explain the problems we’ve had in getting emergency funds for finding a vaccine. We’ve got megabucks coming out of our ears for cure, but not a vaccine. We’re being blackmailed, manipulated. We’re being set up. Someone, somewhere in government wants this stuff stopped, but not eliminated. Someone wants the psychokinetic effect retained and to have more people with that ability.” He slapped his arm weakly against the sheets. “Fuck them all! They’re using people like robots. I
hate
that.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Dien asked, meaning it sincerely.

“You might try to talk to Jeff Taji; find out everything he knows and use his contacts with the media. Someone in the press or TV news must want to do an expose.” He folded his arms over his chest, as if to conceal his pain. “We need to wake the public up to the risk. We need to let them know that this isn’t being treated like AIDS or Tunis Flu. This is somebody’s gold mine, and that makes it more dangerous than Bubonic Plague and smallpox and cholera all lumped together, because there are people in the government, somewhere, who want TS to continue. And I have to tell you, Dien, it scares the crap out of me every time I think about it.” He leaned back, deliberately calming himself. “Those ACTH irregularities—they’re the key to all this. We ignore it because we don’t know what to do with it, but the fact of the matter is, that’s the secret, at least to the survivors. TS changes the chemistry of the blood—we all know about that and accept it—but it changes the chemistry of the brain as well, and we stay away from that because it’s so baffling.” He stopped, breathing quickly.

“You’re certain about that?” Dien asked, because it confirmed her own assumptions. “What if it has to do with the sexual hormones instead of the brain?”

“They’re interrelated,” said Sam when he had air enough to speak. “But if it were just sex hormones, then the balance of estrogen and testosterone would be in some way indicative and that doesn’t appear to be the case.” He paused to take a deep breath. “I’ve had Harper and his grad students working on it, and so far, they can’t find any specific correlation between the balance of sexual hormones and the onset of TS. All you have to do is enter puberty to be a target.”

She closed her eyes, willing herself to be sensible and steadfast. When she opened them again, she said, “Is there anything I can get for you? Anything I can do for you?”

“You can make sure they get all the information they can out of my body before they bury it. Harper knows where my will is and my kids have copies of it, in any case. Not that it matters all that much anymore.” As he said that last, his gaze drifted toward the window. “You know, I’d appreciate it if you’d set some time aside to help out with the orphaned kids who are left. They’re so young, aren’t they?”

“Yes,” said Dien, thinking of her own child. “And there are a lot of them.”

“And there’ll be more before we’re through. I hear that KDAL ran a week-long report on kids there in Texas, looking for foster homes for them. Trouble is, most people are too scared of them to take them in, and most of the facilities for kids are awful and overcrowded already.” It was an effort to continue speaking, but he forced himself to go on. “Listen to me, Dien. We’re going to have a whole generation in this country who will have no older family whatsoever. That’s going to make a mark on the country in ways none of us can anticipate now. And we’re not facing that. We’re more worried about those six kids in Atlanta than those hundreds of thousands who have lost their families. I got to tell you, that frightens me.” This time he needed almost a full minute to recover. “It’s what comes of having all this time on my hands.”

Dien listened to what he told her and wished that she had the courage and strength of character to take in two or three of the TS orphans. It wasn’t just the question of money, she told herself, offering acceptable excuses: she was a single parent who had little enough time to spend with her child as it was; to add more children would only serve to increase the neglect. She decided that her argument sounded like the rationalization it was. “Sam?” she asked.

“What?” He sounded faint and far off.

“If you had the chance, would you take in any of the orphans?” She dreaded his answer.

“Me? You mean, problematically?” He gave a nasty, sardonic wag of his hand. “If I had the chance, I don’t know what I’d do. I’d like to think that I’d have the guts to take a few of the kids, but that’s easy for me to say, here, now. Fact is, I don’t know.” When he had stifled his cough, he said, “I think I’d try. Because I felt guilty for being alive, I suspect. And that’s a crappy reason to help anyone.”

“But those kids do need help,” Dien said more urgently.

“Sure. Sure they do. And I don’t want to leave them to the tender mercies of the state. Trouble is, who’s to say that being a . . . a compensation would be any good for the kids? In another fifteen years, we’ll have an answer to that, but by then, the stain’ll be set.” There was a buzz on the intercom by his bed and both of them jumped at the sound.