The Stakes Are Raised
Doctor Wingerd walked with quick steps through the
halls of her research center. Her high
heels clicked on the polished white tiles, the tell-tale sound sending
scientists and researchers scurrying out of her way. She was a tall, striking woman, only in her
mid-forties, with short red hair just starting to grey and a long, slightly
angular face. A pair of glasses perched
on her nose, partially hiding her vivid green eyes. She was a beautiful woman, which she knew
full well, but beautiful in a dangerous way.
She was not the kind of person anyone really wanted to get close to or
was close to. She kept people at a
careful distance and they kept their distance from her. She had never been married, never even dated,
rather devoting her entire life to her studies.
Her breath caught in her throat as she opened the
pod room door and once again saw her life’s creation. It never ceased to excite and stun her that
she had actually succeeded. In the
center of the room stood a long, oval pod, roughly seven feet tall and four
feet wide. Wires and tubes surrounded
it, snaking along the ground. A short,
balding man, her head research doctor, stepped out from behind it, studying
several of the tubes, too absorbed in his work to even realize she was present.
“Doctor Gellert?” she said softly, a faint British
accent tingeing her tones.
The man looked up sharply and uttered a short
exclamation. “Doctor Wingerd!” he cried,
scurrying over to her and wringing his hands.
“I didn't see you there! My
apologies!”
She raised one graceful hand to silence him. “It does not matter, Doctor, I simply wanted to
see how you were faring here with the animal experiments and if you had the
latest batch of results.”
“Of course, of course!” he said, nodding
furiously. “Right over here!”
Holding back a sigh of annoyance, she followed the excited little man over to a table at the far corner of the room stacked with various files. The struggle to resist the urge to tap her foot, was more difficult as he struggled to find the correct file. Why on earth had she hired him in the first place, she wondered. Because he was the best and she would take nothing but the best, she reminded herself. And as strange and eccentric as the man could be, he was the best and if she were perfectly honest with herself, she never would have succeeded without him.
“Ah, here it is, ma’am!” he cried, triumphantly
holding up a thick file. “Terribly sorry
it took a moment, I’m not very organized you know, though I really should do
better considering –”
“Yes, thank you, Doctor Gellert,” she interrupted as
she held out her hand. “The files,
please.”
“Oh, yes, of course,” he said in a subdued voice, handing
her the file.
Silence reigned for a several minutes as she looked
over the information before her. She
closed the file with a snap before turning and glaring at her machine. Why wasn't it working perfectly?!
“We have succeeded at everything,” she stated matter-of-factly,
closing her eyes and pinching her nose as she thought. “Everything! Correcting birth defects, physical ailments, we
even cured cancer! But the mental
aspect!” She began to pace as she
continued talking. “We've succeeded at
everything there as well, except we've only been able to partially cure
Cerebral Palsy and Autism and then Depression, while completely cured
initially, eventually reverts within a year! What are
we doing wrong?!”
“But, ma’am, that’s just been with the
chimpanzees. It is quite possible that
humans will react quite differently and the cures will be permanent. There is no guarantee that the DNA will
reassert itself.”
Doctor Wingerd resisted the temptation to snort in
derision. “It doesn't matter what we
think, Gellert, or what we believe or what our various hypotheses might be if
we can’t give evidence for them. The
real issue here is the Depression. The
CDC will never allow us to move on to human testing at this point if we can’t
show that we can at least partially cure it.”
“But if we adjusted our parameters, focused on most,
not all physical and mental diseases, defects, and illnesses, then we could –”
“NO!” Doctor Wingerd slammed her fist onto the
table, her eyes almost wild. “No, we
will succeed with the parameters we have always had, I will not give in!”
“But we've been performing tests on animals for
nearly two years now and the only improvements we've seen have been with
Cerebral Palsy and Autism. For whatever
reason, Depression always reverts. If we
don’t change something, we’ll have to shut the program down!”
“I will not allow that to happen! But you have a point, we must do something,
and quickly. I just don’t know what!”
Doctor Wingerd turned and stood staring at her
creation for several minutes. An idea
was slowly beginning to form. It would
be dangerous, terribly dangerous, criminal in fact, if it were ever found out,
but it was the only way she could see getting everything to work out.
“Doctor Gellert, how far are you willing to go with
all this?” she asked quietly.
He stared at her, knowing his answer was crucial,
but uncertain of how deep he wanted to dig himself into the mess he was sure
she was about to create. She was a
brilliant woman, but she took risks that most would avoid. Still, her risks usually panned out. “As-as far as need be, ma’am,” he stammered
out.
“Good, then get Doctor Simmons and Assistant
Researcher Chang down here. I’m going to
call the CDC and see about getting permission for human testing to commence.”
“But, Doctor,” he gasped in shock, “we’re not
ready! We just talked about it!”
“I know!” she snapped. “We’re going to change the results, show that
we were able to completely cure Depression, permanently. I need you to convince Simmons and Chang and
then get to work.”
“But they’re going to want to run their own tests to
make sure we didn't falsify any of our results!”
“Do you think me a fool, Doctor?” she asked, turning
on him. “Because let me assure you, I am
not! I know how they work and I have a
plan to defeat their system. You leave
that to me and you get to work on changing those records.”
“Ye-Yes, ma’am.”
She stalked to the door, determination radiating
from her as she left him cowering.
She paused at the door and looked back, her long manicured nails tapping
the door frame. “Don’t fail me,
Doctor. I would hate to have to, dispose
of you.”
(Disclaimer: I am not a science or medical geek or know-it-all, so I am well aware that parts of my book here are going to be outside the realm of possibility. I have done what research I can to make it as authentic as possible, but due to the nature of my story, many of the science and medical aspects are going to be impossible. I hope you'll be able to ignore those shortcomings and just enjoy the story for what it is.)
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