Spore by David Kristoph

Author:David Kristoph [Kristoph, David]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-07-19T22:00:00+00:00

*

Susan Kendricks thought of that first meeting with Kohler as she strode through the medical room at NeuroDyne's Skyline facility, a thick folder in her hand, her steps long and purposeful. She recited the speech in her head, determined. The door responded to her badge with an electronic beep and slid open.

The lab was a cavernous room, dome-shaped, with the ceiling almost one hundred feet above. A wall split the room in half, with a decontamination door in the middle. Windows showed glimpses of the far side: technicians in white coats moved around the spore tank, the entire area bathed in glowing blue bioluminescence. The indirect light held Susan's attention for a few moments, as it always did.

The West Lab, the side into which she'd entered, held two rows of desks, computer screens filled with scrolling text and charts of data. Steeling herself, she walked toward the desk where Harald Müller and Randy Castillo sat, staring at a list of data. She tossed the folder onto the desk in what she hoped was a dramatic gesture.

"Four days of headaches," Susan began, "intensifying progressively. Fever. Visual and auditory hallucinations. Confusion. Agitation and irritability, both toward facility staff and other subjects. Persistent fatigue, and now nausea." She tapped the folder for emphasis. "It's a textbook case of encephalitis."

Müller turned back toward the computer screen. "Most likely. Yes."

Susan stared at him in shock. "And you don't care?"

"Of course I care. The subject's health is of paramount importance to his behavior, and the performance of our treatment."

"His name is John Harmon. He's a person, not just a number. And right now his behavior is unpredictable."

Monet, the scientist with a permanent sneer, chose that moment to walk up. "Is this about that stupid cat?" She snorted. "Good riddance. It belonged in the lab cages with the rest of the animals."

Susan wanted nothing more than to punch the woman. She pictured Smokey on the floor of her office after the previous night's test. Spread wide, belly open, blood like thick syrup...

She shook off the image. She'd received no sympathy from them.

"It's not about my cat," she said. "The incidents with Charlie and Kaitlin..."

"That is why we have such a robust legal team," Müller said.

"That is your only concern? The legal ramifications of what happened? Those three subjects--"

"You are being melodramatic."

"Melodramatic? Do you even know what encephalitis is, what it does to the brain?" She pointed to the primary display on the wall, as large as a home movie studio. It showed John Harmon in green night vision, violently punching the wall in his room, blood spraying in bright green flecks with every blow. "If we don't halt the injections and treat the infection he'll die too."

"We knew an infection of that sort was possible. Inevitable, even." Müller gave her a level stare. "We will halt the spore injections and give him the treatment of corticosteroids and pyrimethamine, as we discussed."

Susan opened her mouth, then closed it again. That was easier than I expected.

"But not," he continued, "until after the demonstration.

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