The Proteus Cure (47 page)

Sheila shook her head. It sounded promising on the surface, but …

“If it’s all so wonderful,” Paul said, “why haven’t
you
taken VG-seven-twenty-three?”

She smiled up at him. “Oh, but I have.”

Paul blinked, obviously as surprised as Sheila at that answer.

“But it … you …”

“Haven’t changed? Not externally. Not in any way you can see. My skeleton stopped growing when I was a child. Thanks to seven-twenty-three I no longer have O-I, but stem cells cannot change my twisted spine, nor my short and bowed limbs. The change has been inside. The defective gene that kept me from producing sufficient collagen has gradually been eliminated. My body is now able to replace the old fragile bone with new, hard, tough bone. I still look like I should be in a sideshow, but at least my bones no longer break like saltines.”

That made sense to Sheila. She had wondered how Abra made it through the flood in one piece. Unlike a child, bone shape and size would not be affected by changing an adult’s genome, but defective bone
architecture
could be corrected without external signs.

“I’m glad for you,” Sheila said. “But it’s playing God. I can’t see what you planned to do with this … this Proteus. You said yourself the FDA would never—”

“Ah, but we have that covered. Given a few more years of research and clinical trials to perfect our technique and allow us to expand our genome library at VecGen, we would inform the FDA that we are shocked—
shocked!
—to learn that our seven-twenty-three, though one of the most successful cancer therapies in history, causes irreversible genetic changes. The FDA will call for an immediate withdrawal.”

Sheila shook her head. “I still don’t—”

“Don’t you see?” The light grew in her eyes. “We can cure cancer! We can cure AIDS! We can prevent a host of inheritable diseases! Do you think the public will allow the FDA to stand in the way of something like that? The government will
have
to let us make it available.”

Paul said, “But what about the people you’ve been using as guinea pigs? I don’t think they’ll be so happy.”

Abra’s eyebrow rose. “Really? You said yourself you would have approved of the treatment knowing it would save your son’s life.”

Sheila felt as if she’d fallen down an ethical rabbit hole. On one hand she found Proteus and the way it had been handled morally, ethically, legally odious. But then she thought of all the hopeless cases brought into Tethys on stretchers who had walked out with a cure.

Where was right and wrong here?

“We will open clinics all over the globe. We will transform humanity, make the world a better place, one person at a time.”

Sheila comprehended the magnitude of this phrase.

A harsh, hoarse voice spoke from the doorway.

“Except it wouldn’t have worked that way.”

Sheila whirled to see Bill Gilchrist slouched against the doorframe, his face swollen, bruised, and bloody from the beating Paul had given him.

He was holding a pistol.

•

“Billy!” he heard Abra cry. “You’re alive!”

Bill winced at the bolts of pain shooting through his head and his broken clavicle. His left arm was useless. Maybe his shoulder was broken too. Hard to say. His nose throbbed and his right eye was swollen shut. Blood oozed from who knew how many lacerations on his skin. Rocky Balboa after the big fight.

“Just barely.”

Rosko started for him. “You son of a—”

Bill lifted his pistol and pointed it at the big man’s midsection. “Not so fast, asshole.”

It took a supreme effort not to gut-shoot the fuck. The only thing that made restraint possible was the knowledge that he’d soon have the pleasure of doing just that. Very soon. Along with Sheila and the brat, who looked zoned out—hadn’t even looked up when Bill had come in. Shen looked like he was half gone already. Might simply let nature take its course in his case, even though the guy did get shot trying to save him.

All the players in one room. Perfect. What he needed now was to figure out how to orchestrate the carnage so that all the blame came to rest on Rosko.

“Billy! Put that down!”

Bill glanced at his sister. “You’ve got to be kidding, Abra.” His tongue snagged on a sharp tooth when he spoke. Three of his front teeth were chipped and one was missing. Another reason to blow Rosko’s head off. “This jerk almost killed me. You want me to give him a second chance?”

The icy water had revived him enough to break the surface and catch some air, but his clothes had weighed him down and his knees had been too weak to keep him upright. He’d thought he was going to die, but then found the strength to stand.

His first instinct had been flight, but he realized he could go nowhere in the flood. Then his foot had stepped on something small and hard. His pistol. With that in hand he knew what he had to do.

“Bill, please,” Sheila said. “It’s over. The police are on their way. Don’t make matters worse.”

Worse? How could they get any worse? His luck had bottomed out. He had nowhere to go but up.

He had a vague memory of Sheila pulling Rosko off him. She’d probably saved his life, and he owed her for that, but not enough to let her walk out of here. She knew about Slade, Green, and Kaplan and probably Silberman, and would never be able to keep her mouth shut.

He waved the pistol at Rosko and Sheila.

“Back up. Both of you. Over by the settee.”

Right. Get all four of them in a tight little cluster where he could watch them.

He stepped over to his desk and sat on a corner. Christ, he was dizzy. And cold. He couldn’t remember when he’d felt this cold.

“Rosko, if you hadn’t been so conceited, none of us would be here now.” Bill wiped his bleeding lip with a wet cuff. “You were so disturbed that your son, the boy your wife gave birth to right before your eyes, wasn’t really yours.” He looked at the boy. “What do you think of that, kid? Your old man causing all this because his precious redneck DNA’s not in you anymore.”

The kid looked at him dully, then closed his eyes. Bill knew the signs: shock—physical and emotional.

“Shut up, Gilchrist.” Rosko seethed. “If it were your child you’d—”

“I’d what?” Maybe it was the cold, or the pain, or the complete arrogance of this thick-necked blue-collar felon, but Bill smiled. “If it were my kid? That what you’re asking?” Then it wasn’t funny anymore. “If it were my kid, I’d take my pride out of the equation and save her life.”

He looked over to Abra who was slowly shaking her head.

“No, Abra. I’m not keeping it secret anymore. Who’re they gonna tell?” Bill felt drunk with power. Couldn’t wait to finally tell Rosko, show him what a complete dick he’d been. “My daughter, my beautiful little girl was born with cystic fibrosis.”

He looked to Sheila who showed the right response: shock.

“No,” she mouthed.

Under other circumstances, this is where she would have hugged him and said,
I’m so sorry, Bill.
But those days were gone.

“We found out in vitro and Abra and I decided we weren’t gonna let it happen. Never told Elise. Never told anyone. Matched her skin and hair with a stem line and gave her the therapy right after birth. She’s been healthy ever since. And you think I give a damn whose DNA she has? Shit no. A real parent wouldn’t care.” He pointed the gun at Paul’s devastated face. “Go to your grave with
that
thought.”

“Billy, you could have handled all this another way,” Abra said.

“Yes, I could have,” he said without turning. “I wish to God I had. But I panicked when Sheila started in on me about the Slade woman. And once I’d started on that slippery slope …”

Exposure would have ruined his other plans—his and Mama’s. She’d fallen out with Abra about providing the public with full disclosure; she’d been dead set against Abra’s go-slow approach. Bill agreed with Mama that his sister was wrong, but had stayed on with Abra. Worked with only limited numbers of patients, tracked all their data … so small compared to what he and Mama wanted but it kept Abra under control. Created the façade for her and the public of following protocol and gave them access to the stem cells from her fertility clinic.

“You could have come to me and we’d have worked it out together. Instead, you arranged all these ‘accidents.’ ”

“Remember what you said when I told you? Your first reaction was, ‘Maybe God is telling us to go public now.’ You’ve always had a blind spot there, Abra. The government would shut us down—” he snapped his fingers “—like
that
, and people would
not
be clamoring for seven-twenty-three. Every organized religion in the world would be up in arms, screaming that it goes against God and nature. We’d have the entire ideological spectrum, right, left, and middle, condemning us as Nazis. We’d be tarred and feathered. It
must
be kept secret. Your problem, Abra, is you’ve always thought small. ‘One person at a time’? Sentimental crap! The human genome is going down the tubes. Humanity needs help and it’s getting that help in spite of itself.”

“What-what do you mean?” Abra said.

“Mama and I took matters into our own hands years ago, and we’ve been doing just that.”

Abra gasped. “How—?”

“We can discuss this later. Right now, we’ve got some nasty business to attend to.”

Could he do this? He’d have no qualms about shooting Rosko. But the kid? And Sheila?

He’d have to. Otherwise his whole life, and Abra’s and Mama’s, would have been for nothing.

He raised the pistol and pointed it at Rosko’s chest.

•

Shen knew as soon as Dr. Gilchrist stepped into the room what was on his mind. He’d seen it in his eyes: Kill everyone except
Jiù-zhù-zh
e
and blame it on Mister Rosko, the man wrongly accused of murdering Doctor Kaplan.

Kill the brave boy and the man who had saved his life? Kill the woman whose husband and baby he had stolen away? Shen Li always paid his debts.

He slipped his hand inside his jacket and found the handle of his 9mm semi-automatic. He was glad that he always kept a cartridge in the chamber, for he doubted he had the strength to work the slide now. He slid it free of the shoulder holster, clicked off the safety, and cocked the hammer. But when he tried to raise it in the doctor’s direction, his hand shook so that he could not aim it.

Someone else would have to do it. The boy was closest, but Shen could not give it to him. Rosko was too far away.

That left Dr. Sheila.

•

Sheila felt something nudge her calf. She glanced down and saw Shen holding something out to her in his wavering hand. It looked like—

Mother of God, a gun!

At first she thought he was pointing it at her, then realized he was holding it by the barrel.

Offering it to her.

For what? Protection against Bill? How? She’d never held a gun, let alone fired one. She might do more harm than good. Maybe Bill could be reasoned with. Violence was always a last resort.

She heard Abra cry out, and turned to see Bill pointing his pistol at Paul.

“You’re first, Rosko. I think I’m going to enjoy this.”

Without thinking, Sheila grabbed the gun and pointed it at Bill. She hadn’t found the trigger yet when she shouted.

“Don’t, Bill! Don’t make me shoot you!”

His eyes widened as he glanced her way and saw the pistol.

“Where the hell—?” Then he looked at Shen Li. “You’ve really disappointed the shit out of me, Shen. I’ll deal with you later. Right now …” He redirected his gaze at Sheila and smiled. “We both know you’re not going to fire that, Sheila, so why don’t you—?”

“I will!” She hooked her index finger over the trigger. “I swear I will! And it won’t be in the knees!”

She told herself that was true, but she was it?

Bill was still smiling that cocksure smile she’d once found so endearing. Wasn’t he aware that his new face was little more than tattered, blood-caked flesh around splintered teeth? He looked like he’d been ravaged by rats. He took a step closer.

“You know you won’t. It’s not in you. Besides, this is me, Bill, the guy who pulled you out of a career-ending funk.” Another step. “You owe me too much. You were an emotional basket case and I took a chance on you.” Another step. He was only three feet away now. His left arm hung at a funny angle. Mutilated scarecrow. “Think about it: Where would you be without me? What—?”

Where
would
she be? Dek? Bill had killed Dek and brought her here to spy on her.

“Don’t let him get too close!” Paul cried.

Bill began to swing his revolver toward Paul. “That does it! I’ve had all—”

“This is for murdering my husband.” Sheila’s pistol fired with a deafening report. She didn’t remember pulling the trigger but the gun jumped in her hand. She saw a bright brass casing arc through the air as Bill grabbed his left breast. He stumbled back, blood leaking between his fingers, eyes wide with shock and disbelief.

He turned and fell face first across his desk where his sister stared at him in open-mouthed horror. The pistol slipped from his fingers as he slid to the floor, leaving a red smear across the desktop.

He gasped twice, then lay still.

Sheila dropped the pistol and began to cry. Paul rushed over and threw his arms around her.

The shot seemed to have shocked Coog out of his daze. He was up and hugging her and his Dad. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Shen Li smiling up at her.

•

Sobbing, Abra rose and pulled herself out of her chair to crawl around the desk to where her Billy lay. She touched his throat to feel his carotid pulse—still there, but weak and slow. Her little brother, the darling of her life, was dying.

But what had happened to him to lead him to this fate?

Human nature.

He’d been wrong about many things, but she saw now that he’d been right about the dangers of enlightening the public.

…
the entire ideological spectrum, right, left, and middle, condemning us as Nazis.

Nazis. She gagged at the idea of being lumped with those beasts. Mama had fought so hard to erase the stigma of being the daughter of a party member. Married a nice Englishman to get his name and flush out the German image. Told Bill and Abra they were different. But the public would disagree. Today, tomorrow at the latest, their dream, the Proteus Cure, would be dragged out into the open. She could see—see clearly for the first time—what would follow.