“The results... were... the vestigial tail was real; it had too many vertebrae.”
“Is that even possible?”
“I really don't know. Given the fetus' size and condition following my procedure, the autopsy was messy. I couldn't bear to look at the photos. I could only read the report. It made my heart break. I kept thinking there was something wrong with me.”
“What did your gynecologist say?”
“She tried to assure me that what had happened was far more common than I knew. I couldn't take solace in what she said. But I did look at the ultrasonic images and I compared them to Tori's. His images were enlarged and grainy but the tail was pretty clear. Besides that, I couldn't tell one feature from another. At sixteen weeks, we all look alien. Some more so than others I suppose.”
She closed her eyes tightly and held her breath.
“Anything about the pouches?”
“That horrified me. The report said that the pharyngeal pouches were fully opened slits. The geneticist concluded that the fetus was severely and catastrophically deformed.”
“What about the DNA test?”
“Inconclusive. Neither of us are an exact genetic match.”
“What does that mean?”
“The test result was rejected. It was nonsensical that the DNA could differ from my husband's and mine.”
“Did you retest?”
“No. By then we had cremated the remains. There was too little tissue to re-test. I didn't want to re-test.”
“What did you do then?”
“We contacted CI.”
“Do you feel your daughter's treatment affected you?”
“Of course I've wondered if I've been exposed by the inhaler but the genetic tests my husband and I took proved against that. How could I get Tori's side effects?”
“Are these side effects?”
“That's not what I meant. My doctors and CI's assure me that there is no biological connection between what Tori has been taking and my recent pregnancy.”
“Why would you disclose this to CI?”
“I volunteered it. Without CI, my daughter would already be dead. They saved my first child. I kind-of hoped they could help with my son, too. And, CI has offered to help any way they can.”
“Of course they would. But do you have any reason to believe otherwise?”
“No.”
“Did you talk to the FDA?”
“We tried. That was a dead end.”
“Explain.”
“It was too late. The FDA's decision to grant CI a pharmaceutical license was yesterday. It could not include recent changes in our case study. As it is, we probably couldn't prove if my pregnancy was related anyway.”
“What will you do now?”
“I don't know. What can you do? Grieve and then try again.”
“You can talk.”
“Tell our story? What would that matter?”
“Would you be interested if I told you that there is another family that shares your experience?”
The story and video finished with a brief but similar description of events from the family of another of CI's RD-969 test participants. The last comment of note was eerie, a quote from a statistician:
The odds of a repeat case are vanishing small.
Café
“Glad to meet you in person.” Robb was cordial.
“I'm sure under better circumstances I would say likewise,” Ryan held back his feelings, “but the circumstances are less than ideal.”
“Yes they are,” Robb agreed.
“Why did you want to meet?” Ryan wasted no time.
“I want to assure you that we are not responsible for these anomalies,” Robb played a card.
“Is that classified?” Ryan was sarcastic.
Robb stared with disappointment.
“Who else could it be?” Ryan continued.
“I found your markers,” Robb said quietly. “Well, the isotopic ones at least.”
Ryan was stunned.
“Yeah,” Robb continued, “CI's markers were well placed but they weren't impossible to isolate.” He didn't gloat. “I was impressed.”
“We fingerprint all our technology.” Ryan did not brag.
“So do we.” Robb agreed. “Have you examined either of the anomalies?”
Ryan was taken aback.
“No, we have no access to that.”
“You don't?”
“They're outside our study scope.”
“Of course.”
“But my company's stock has nosedived.” Ryan pushed his agenda. “There are threats of lawsuits and...”
“And?”
“And death threats against me and my family.”
“Have you contacted the FBI?”
“I've hired a personal security detail.” Ryan was persnickety. “I'm not exactly confident about my government's non-involvement at this point.”
“You should be.” Robb assured. Before he could continue an older man approached. It was Pawluk.
“Dr. Pawluk.” Robb stood and addressed him with respect. “Please join us.”
“Thanks for including me,” Pawluk replied. He turned to face Ryan.
“Ryan, I assure you that Robb had nothing to do with this.”
“How can you be so sure?” Ryan challenged.
“One can never be absolute,” Pawluk responded with the voice of an academic, “but that was not the program I bequeathed to him.”
Robb shifted imperceptibly in his seat.
“Why did you retire so suddenly?” Ryan asked.
“It wasn't sudden. I'd planned it for years.”
“You forgot to inform me.”
“Yes.” Pawluk sighed. He paused and refused to elucidate his reasons.
A waitress appeared and offered coffee. Pawluk accepted and Ryan waited with impatience as she poured three cups.
“Cream and sugar?” She asked.
“Of course,” Pawluk replied for all.
As she poured, Ryan studied his former boss. Pawluk had aged but he had not lost the dynamic personality that had marked his working career. Robb seemed to melt into the background.
“You were forced out.” Ryan surmised.
“I...” Pawluk averted his eyes. “I wasn't willing to take the technology in this direction.” He confirmed Ryan's suspicion.
“And others?”
“I made sure that everyone in my group was on board long ago.” Pawluk was defensive. He gestured toward Robb who seemed to start at the sudden attention.
“It's a big program,” Ryan said. “Big enough to have redundancies.”
“It's not the Lab.” Robb said bluntly, rejoining the conversation as the waitress reappeared with the trimmings for his coffee.
The intrusion allowed him to avoid Ryan's questions again.
“Could I interest you in something to eat?” The waitress beamed.
Ryan grunted. There were too many interruptions. They should have gone golfing but Robb did not golf.
Pawluk selected a Reuben, sans sauerkraut.
“Why not order a corned beef sandwich already?” Robb needled.
“I don't want a corned beef sandwich,” Pawluk told him with the tone of an umpteenth time repetition. “I like the dressing in the Reuben but not the fermented salad that goes with it.”
“Whatever.” Robb laughed and ordered a seared Ahi Tuna on Rye, dressing on the side and salad instead of fries. As he interacted with the waitress Ryan quietly observed.
Robb was sweating and fidgeting.
Ryan sensed that Robb was hiding something from both he and Pawluk. In a move of expediency he plagiarized Robb's order. The gambit gave him a chance to continue sizing up Pawluk's successor.
Robb tended to his coffee. First sugar then cream. He did not make eye contact with anyone at the table. Then he stirred his brew, staring out the cafe window at the passersby. When nobody was in view, he check
ed his phone.
What is he hiding? Ryan's suspicions mounted.
The waitress repeated their orders getting them mostly right. It was Pawluk who balked. He repeated the Reuben sans sauerkraut concept to the waitress who apologetically wrote it down verbatim. As Pawluk worked his order with the waitress, Ryan spoke quietly to Robb.
“How can you be so sure, Robb?”
Pawluk was oblivious to the query. He seemed to be flirting more than explaining and the waitress was wearing a loud smile and working the tip.
Before Robb answered the waitress announced that she'd return in a few minutes with their orders.
She turned away. Pawluk's smiled instantly disappeared, replaced with a seriousness that solidified his face.
“You were saying as I arrived that you had found the markers.”
He spoke to Robb, nullifying Ryan's question. There was a hint of disappointment directed at his successor.
“I found them and I replaced them with our own.” Robb answered. He was nonchalant, somewhat flippant, in his admission.
“Why did you do that?” Ryan broke in. He felt his temper flare again.
“To keep things separate and clear.” Robb's voice carried grit. He was not to be bullied. I cannot allow any contamination, nor conflict of interest or intent, in what I do. I cannot be in competition with your company.”
“No, but my company can be destroyed.” Ryan leveled.
“That crossed my mind.” Robb was nonplussed. “It would be foolish—collaborative suicide, in fact—to put our benefactors at risk.”
Ryan was somewhat taken aback. What Robb said had made sense. The pause allowed Robb to continue.
“As we hoped some recruits came up with clever solutions using the game as you had first developed it—bio-sensors and chemical detectors—but there were a few who steered it toward something else, something more... dangerous. We have continually acted to keep those trajectories under wraps.”
“How can you do that?” Ryan doubted.
“My lab controls the chemistry development from the games' predictions.”