TO: [email protected]
CC: [email protected]
FROM: [email protected]
SUBJECT: R-1728 Roll out and a new project
Hi Sab,
Thanks for checking in. Yes, we’re still on course for the production of R-1728. The productionizing workflow’s mostly done and we’re getting good yields. We should be on course for initial runs from your facility Q2 2032.
I spoke to you on our last call about this so I wanted to give you a few more details. The nHMSV research to produce a variolae inoculant has been provisionally approved but with the federal requirements and funding we’ve got some weird requirements we need to meet. You can see our proposal at https://cdc.gov/submissions/nHMSV-2031/treatments/100653725-Itero and there’s a set of linked documents with the requirements.
As I mentioned, one of our team here’s an expert in variolae inoculants, and has been doing research work on creating them for theoretical viruses which are pretty close to what little we know about nHMSV.
I’ve tasked her with working with you to look at your facilities to see if they’ll work for her (currently theoretical) production model.
We’re going to send her across to you along with another person, Caitlin Morgen (yes, they have the same last name!) who can help with the building structure modifications we discussed to improve throughput for R-1728.
FYI, Dr. Morgen helps look after Caitlin Morgen’s kids, so they’ll be coming. I know you have a thing for kids.
I reminded Dr. Morgen that child care and sorting out somewhere to stay for all of them is their own problem. Don’t let them try and make it yours.
They are both included on travel permit T-001776252.
Please let me know if you have any questions.
Best,
Dr. Brandon Freeman
Head of Laboratory Services
Itero Biotechnology LLC
An OstBank Investment
P.S. I know you’re still into the research side, so I thought you might enjoy a couple of Dr Morgen’s more recent articles:
Methodological Barriers in Designing Chimeric Receptors for Glycan-Obscured Viral Vectors (http://doi.org/10.195723/advbiomed.v23.12055).
Computational Limitations when Modeling CD8+ Receptor Penetration. The impact of Dense Oligosaccharide Networks (http://doi.org/10.195723/advbiomed.v25.115842).
P.P.S. Do not call it vaccine, for God’s sakes – at least not on any calls with the feds.
#
The blacked-out Explorer nudges the back corner of the shit-box Model 3, nearly but not quite flipping it as it clips the median. Whoever the driver is just manages to keep control until a second nudge sends the back end slamming into the barrier and the car twists through a messy sideways roll, skidding to a stop. “Well, he won’t be running again in a hurry,” the narrator gleefully intones. “Homeland Asset Agents bag another deserter.” I flick away from the channel before I can hear the poor asshole’s fate. I only turned the TV on for President Miller’s speech. The news promised he’d deliver it as soon as he landed, but apparently the war on dissidents or something else pressing called him away. Or maybe he decided the press corps weren’t dressed prettily enough today. Who the hell knows. It's not like jerking around the press is exactly uncommon, but I'm surprised he hasn't made it on TV yet for more glamor shots. And, obviously, to explain just how his best bud Oaklen is completely innocent of any wrongdoing.
I hear Caitlin’s car pull up, but it’s several long minutes before the front door thunks closed behind her. Whenever that happens it’s been a lousy day at work and she’s usually stuck on the phone to some asshat who doesn’t think she knows what she’s doing and/or wants the impossible.
It’s normally better to wait it out and anyhow, this pizza won’t make itself.
“Hey mom!” Addy and Ash shout from upstairs. I breathe a sigh of relief that there’ve been no more phone calls. No sign of CPS turning up to ‘talk.’ Not even a sign of Homeland Education yet. In the tiny respite, both Addy and Ash seem to have bounced back at least a little.
“Hey C,” I add.
“Hey,” she replies wearily, a tremor in her voice.
“Do I have to?” she said this morning, into her pillow, before she managed to drag herself out of bed. On top of having to fill in for an ever-increasing number of absentee workers, she’s dealing with endless petty arguments from Jackson. She’s been pulled up for every infraction, imagined or real. A push to make her job so bad she leaves and damn the consequences. If he knew how desperately we want to leave he’d probably be worse. I hear the clatter of her belongings landing somewhere near the front door and eventually the dull thumps of her boots hitting the floor.
“Hey honey,” Caitlin says when she sags into the room, pulling up a stool and perching. “God. I am so done with this f’ing stupidity. Can’t we go now?”
“The second you think we can get away with it.”
I watch her rubbing the back of her neck, then stretching herself out. “I…” She glances to the door. “I’ve got some news… After dinner?” she says.
I give a quick thumbs-up.
We need to go, like a week ago. A month ago. But having us all chased down for ‘Dereliction of Occupational Duty’, or whatever bullshit title they’re calling it this week, on top of whatever financial crimes they’d charge Caitlin with, means we probably wouldn’t get out of the city, let alone the state. I replay the Model 3 sliding along on its side, sparks flying, in my head. Being chased down by asset retrieval then working your debt off in a labor camp? Augh.
I look down and realize the dough’s not so much kneaded as mauled. It’ll probably be tough as hell. At least the moisture’s right — it’ll probably be the one decent thing in this dinner. A quick stretch and a toss in the air and catching it on the back of my fist. Rinse and repeat. Well, don’t rinse — that really would screw up the moisture. Unfortunately, there’s no audience. Caitlin’s eyes are closed, her head propped up with her arms, and the kids haven’t made it downstairs yet. They were half the reason I learned to do it.
Normally it’d be homemade tomato sauce, but this week it’s canned and whatever vegetables look least inedible from the fridge.
“Thanks for getting dinner started,” she says. “You want salad with it?”
“I do.” She grimaces as she starts to move. “But love, I can get it, it’s okay.”
Shaky laughter comes first. Then, “Is it that obvious?”
“I mean, it’s not subtle.”
She drops her head onto her arms. Rolls it slowly backwards and forwards. “I am so beat.”
“Well, dinner’s gonna be all of about twelve minutes. So you can close your eyes and keep your pretty ass there.” I say, worrying for a moment about where we’re at; whether I've pushed the closeness too far. “I’ll throw together some salad.”
“Mmmhrm, sounds good,” she mumbles.
#
“Okay humans and humanoids! Come get your daily nutritional value.”
“Piiiiiiizzzza!” Ash exclaims as she sprints in, grabs a slice and takes a big mouthful. “Oh, is hoh, is hoh, is hoh,” she says, fanning her mouth. “Huh, what is this?” She adds, once she’s swallowed, pointing at the vaguely brown crumbled cube. “It tastes meatish…”
“Oh, Erika’s just making sure we get our carnivorous diet, so we don’t all get the plague.” Caitlin gives a slight laugh. “No, though, what is it meant to be? It’s like someone played telephone describing meat and this was the result.”
“Yeah — I think I know why these landed up at Great Discounts.” I concede. “I think it’s sort of meant to be pork-ish? It said chorizo flavor on the pack.”
Addy sticks her tongue out but thankfully continues eating it.
“It’s okay, sweetie,” Caitlin says, briefly leaning against me. “Thank you for cooking. It may not be the best meat substitute you’ve ever brought home, but it’s still a pretty good pizza.”
Both the kids seem to agree, at least, based on the number-of-slices-devoured to time-at-the-table ratio. Caitlin wipes off her hands and, after a moment grabs me round my waist and pulls me toward her.
“You’re a good wife,” she says, planting a brief kiss on my arm. I glance into her eyes, soft and gray, and for the first time in what feels like a lifetime, flecked with warmth.
“So, mini-humans:” They both roll their eyes. “Any homework left?”
“No, mom,” Ash says.
“It’s so unfair.” Addy glares at her. Or maybe at the world. “The school counselor sent me a bunch of assignments today. I’ve got to read some stupid twelve rules for teens thing before we meet next week. It’s so boring and it’s all be-a-man stupid stuff.”
“Oh no,” escapes my mouth before I can stop it. “Uh, can you show me the list? And the book? After we're all done?” She nods. “Great! Well since I did the cooking y’all get to clean up. There's a reward though, I also made brownies. With real chocolate. Annnnd I managed to find… almost ice cream,” I say, magnanimously. “Frozen yoghurt,” I whisper to Caitlin.
The promise of dessert gets them to work startlingly quickly.
“Let's get you at least onto the couch,” I say, as Caitlin sways slightly on her stool. “If not straight to bed.”
“I’m fine,” she says, raising her head up. “Oh no, you’re right, I’m not.” She sways as she stands. “Most of the guys didn’t turn up. Spent the whole day moving equipment and trying to get the place as weathertight as I could.” I walk with her to the couch; she just drops onto it. “Oof. Imma sleep for a month,” she says. “Screw work tomorrow. Imma stay here.
“Oh! Oh! No! I have news,” she adds after levering herself upright enough to peek at the kitchen, where the sounds of dishwasher loading continue. “No work tomorrow. Site’s closed. For a week, officially. Unofficially, F knows. “I,” she attempts to point grandly at herself and mostly succeeds in nearly knocking a picture off the side-table, “am on unpaid leave until I’m called back.” She drops her arms down, rapidly followed by the rest of her.
“We should load up the cat.” She scrunches her forehead adorably. “No? Oh! We should load up the car. Go. Go to Mary-Anne’s. Tomorrow though. Not now. Now I'm gonna sleep.”
She scrunches herself further back on the couch, hair falling across her face before she shoves it out of the way. “Can you deal with the terrors? And with the counselor assign—ass—uh—things? Do bedtime? I'm freaking exhausted. If I ever have to drag another chop saw down seven flights of stairs it’ll be too soon.”
I nod, lean down for a quick kiss on her head, and make my way back into the kitchen.”I’ve got this, sweetheart. You rest.”
#
“It's your bedtime too, hon,” I wake her with a gentle nudge.
“Only if you carry me,” Caitlin mumbles sleepily. “Or you can get that cute fireman we saw to lift me.” She giggles.
“The deal was he has to take us both. C’mon.” I grab her hand and gently lever her upright. Her hand feels warm, she feels warm, too warm even for hiding under the blanket. My stomach clenches. “Up-u, babe.”
She stands, unsteady, still half-asleep; staggers again. I worry that she's going to trip on the coffee table, or on the SNES cables left tangled on the floor. I wrap my arm around her waist and attempt to hold her up.
“Nope. Bedroom’s too far. I'll sleep here,” she slurs. It's only as she drops, her shirt rucking up against my arm that I see it. Running to the kitchen, grabbing the trash can, I vomit up every last piece of dinner.
Across her back are sprinkled is constellation of tiny red dots.
#
“Ash,” I say quietly. “I need you and your sister up now, and out in the garage.”
“Whaaaah?” she says, blearily.
I wait until she’s finished propping herself up, leaning on one elbow, blinking and rubbing her eyes. “Sweetheart, your Mom C is asleep downstairs, and I need you and your sister to help get the car packed. She’s too tired right now to help. So first up, I need both you two downstairs to help get the cover on the pickup.”
“What’s wrong mom?”
Arms folded across my chest, almost hugging myself. I can feel the clammy sweat on my hands through the fabric. “You know we said we were going to see Aunt Mary-Anne? And we might need to go suddenly? Well, now is that ‘suddenly’. We need to get stuff packed up and head off.”
“Is it the school?”
“No, but that’s part of it.”
She narrows her eyes and stares at me in the half-light. “But Mom C is too tired to help?”
“She’s… she’s feeling a bit sick right now.” I say, warily.
Ash’s eyes shoot fully open. “Has she got — it?” she whispers the last word. Like if she says it loudly it’ll make it true.
“Yeah, I think she has. We need to get Addy somewhere safer, but if we stay here Mom C is just going to get sicker and we won’t be able to go. So we need to head off as soon as we can.”
“If she’s going to get sicker, shouldn’t we take her to the hospital?”
“They— They don’t do anything for women with it. Just let us ride it out.” I try and ignore the hitch in my voice before us. I hope she does too. “Mom C is better off with us than there, and we’re all better off at Mary-Anne’s. I can explain why again, if you like.”
She shakes her head. “No, I ‘member.”
“Okay. So, you think you can get Addy, and bring her downstairs to help?” It takes a moment before she shrugs and scoots herself to the edge of the bed. As she stands up, I step over and grab her two go-bags.
“We really need to go? Right now?”
“Yes sweetheart, I’m sorry it’s late.” I pull her into a hug, feel her shaking. “It’s going to be okay. Mom C and I will do everything we can to make sure that happens.” She’s almost at the door before she turns, runs back and grabs a stuffie from the shelf over her bed.
“Can I bring Frankie?”
“Sure, sweetheart. Pop her on here and I’ll take her downstairs. You think you and Addy can bring down her go-bags?”
“Yep,” she says, suddenly standing up straight to her full height and somehow mimicking her mom’s can-do tone. She's out of the door this time and I hear her gently knocking on Addy's door and calling her name before I head downstairs.
Stacked go-boxes line the edge of the garage. MREs, IV fluids, TPN, and a modified ambulance gurney are the biggest part of my additions to the list. Fuck knows what the cops will say if they search the truck but… if Addy… When Addy gets sick…
My brain spirals with fear. What if she gets sicker than I can manage? Black market drugs and basic medical kits are only going to carry us so far. I can't put a breathing tube down. I can't put her in a protective coma. She's just going to have to ride it out like me. But what if that’s too much for her? I never thought about kids getting it. I never—
“Mom?”
I spin on my heel, trying to make it look more like I was planning than just lost in the horror. “Aces! You’re here,” I say, my voice too loud in my head. “Right, we need to get all C’s tools off and then put the top on.” I hoist Addy up and she passes equipment to me and Ash. Ignoring the situation, I find myself carefully putting Caitlin’s tools in their proper places on the shelves and racks. Lining up loose items with their silhouettes on the pegboard. Keeping it all tidy, so she can find it again. As though we’ll ever be back here.
But, I guess, for the kids it helps. It just seems like we're doing a weirdly urgent midnight version of a family visit. Like we do each summer with Caitlin’s parents. Like we used to do. There’ll be no more of that now.
Getting the canopy on with the help of two kids who’re both too short to easily reach the top of the sides is a challenge we hadn't planned for, but eventually we get it done and the boxes and gurney in. Each moment I'm thanking Caitlin. Everything else is planned down to the smallest details. I run through her checklist one more time. Double- and triple-check the permit on my phone. Everything is marked off, everything is done.
Almost everything.
There's one last task I should do before I get Caitlin and coax her into the truck.
“Okay, kiddos. Time’s a ticking. Go pee, refill your water bottles, back here in five. I’ll go get C.”
#
TO: [email protected]
FROM: [email protected]
SUBJECT: HMSV Variolae Inoculant
ATTACHMENTS:
Project_NN-1aa94v_pLenti_HMSV2_Provirus_Master_Final_v8.2.2_Really_Final_3[SEQ-08765].gb
Project_NN-1aa94v_Env_HMSV2_GlycanMap_v8.2.2_Final_3[SEQ-08765].dna
Project_NN-1aa94v_SVP_HMSV2_Decoy_Exp_Cass_v8.2.2_Final_3[SEQ-08765].gb
Ad26_HSRV2_Core_CD8_Opt[SEQ-19858].gb
HSRV2_Proteome_MHC_Class1_Screen_Retest_V3[SEQ-19858].ods
Vac_Prod_Plan_v19_Final_v2.2.odt
Vac_Prod_Estimates_v19_Final_v2.2.ods
A mutual acquaintance said to send you these.
She says thank you and good luck.
You may not have always been true to yourself but I think Tevin would be proud of you right now.
#
“Wait. Wait.” Caitlin says, using the door for support. “I should drive.”
“You’re not in a fit state to, sweetie.”
“But—”
“It’ll be fine. I’ll be a good girl.”
“Like that helps,” she says resignedly, as she drags herself up onto the seat and leans it back. Her eyes close almost immediately.
“Okay folks, who’s up for an adventure?” I say, shoving it into drive and pulling out onto the deserted street.
#
TO: [email protected]
FROM: [email protected]
SUBJECT: Bitch what the fuck did you do?
Hey fuck face,
Unless I’m having a multi-year period of insanity, I seem to recall that outside the helpful bitcoin transfer, your part of the deal with the ‘I get you a whole new identity’ thing was that you would keep a ‘low profile’.
There are two words in that, and since it seems it escaped your attention, I remind you that they were both important.
And I suppose, to be fair, you have done 50% of what was requested.
You’ve definitely kept a profile.
I would be hard pressed to call it low. Low is, I think, perhaps the polar opposite of the profile you have deigned to keep. High profile doesn’t even really cut it.
Literally every fucking agency in the US, and a not a small number outside the US seem very, very interested in Dr Tavish Shah.
And there’s a lot of folks all of a sudden looking at papers by this mysterious Dr Erika Morgen who’s real fucking good at viral genetics.
Bitch, in the last 24 hours I’ve intercepted searches from the FBI, HSS, CBP, AISI, Interpol and also a truly disturbing amount of traffic from Neuragene. All of them are still, thankfully, hammering on Tavish Shah.
I’ve fed Neuragene’s trash LLM a bunch of bullshit results generated by another LLM. I’ve done a lot of things I’m not writing down, too. Hopefully all that should poison the well out there.
You need to be more careful.
I’d be grateful if, in future, you could maybe just not.
I’ll let you know if it gets worse.
Bitch.
You’re lucky I like you…enough.
Penny xo