Pandemic Page 81

“Temporarily immune,” Margaret said. All eyes turned to her.

“Let’s not forget that one dose doesn’t last forever. Tim’s inoculant is good for …” She turned to Tim. “For how long?”

His eyes glanced upward in thought. He pursed his lips, tilted his head left, then right.

“Oh, about a week,” he said. “Then it’s going to fully process through the body.”

Margaret nodded. “A week. So you’re not just talking three hundred and twenty million batches for the good ol’ USA, Murray, it’s three hundred and twenty million batches a week. If the disease gets to the mainland, the inoculant can slow the disease’s spread — but it can’t stop it altogether.”

Cheng huffed. “Unless the disease breaks out in the next three weeks, we’ll have enough repeat doses for everyone in North America.”

Margaret shook her head in amazement; Cheng was really starting to p.i.s.s her off.

“This disease could give a f.u.c.k about borders,” she said. “If you don’t get regular doses to the entire world, you’re looking at a disaster of epic proportions. This is about logistics as well as production. Across the planet, one person in seven is starving not because the world doesn’t produce enough food, but because we can’t get food to all the people. And you really think that you can get a regular supply of this to everyone?”

Cheng’s face turned red with anger. “Yes, that is exactly what I think. This event will bind the human race together.”

Margaret saw the expression on his face, understood it — he was annoyed because she doubted his ability to save the planet. He wanted to see his face in the history books.

Careful what you wish for, Cheng …

“We can’t even bind Americans together, let alone the world,” she said. “And what are your plans for the people who refuse to take it, like the idiots who refuse to vaccinate their own children? What do you do when the companies that are so helpful now decide that they’ve done their part and they have to go back to business as usual?”

Cheng’s face furrowed into a tight-lipped scowl. “Doctor Montoya, this is the answer to the problem. We will find a way.”

Margaret wanted to grab his fat cheeks with both hands, twist his head, make him whine like the little weakling he was. She wanted to slap him.

“We have a chance at a permanent solution,” she said. “What about the hydra organism? There were ten people in that human artificial chromosome clinical trial — have you tracked down the other nine?”

Cheng leaned back. The scowl faded. He looked smug, like he’d defeated her argument merely by letting her say it out loud. He waited.

Murray answered her question.

“The president doesn’t like the hydra solution,” he said. “She doesn’t like the idea of introducing one unknown disease to fight another. And as you pointed out, it’s possible that the hydras are an airborne contagion — if we use them, they could spread uncontrollably and we have no idea what they might do. President Blackmon told us to focus on the yeast. If Cheng’s … excuse me, if Feely’s inoculant works, there’s no need to expose the population to an unknown organism.”

Her face felt hot. Now Murray was against her as well?

“Blackmon doesn’t like it,” she said.

Margaret knew what was happening. Cheng was sabotaging her work, whispering in the president’s ear. Margaret felt an intense anger welling up inside of her.

She stared at Cheng. “So the president doesn’t like it, eh, Cheng? And who gave her the idea that the hydras were so G.o.dawful dangerous, huh?”

Cheng’s eyes sparkled with delight.

“You did, Doctor Montoya,” he said. “Your reports labeled the hydras an incalculable risk.”

She blinked. Her reports had said that.

“But … but that was before,” she said. “Surely you’re not so incompetent you can’t see what we’re up against. We still don’t even know if Tim’s yeast works. And if it does, what if the disease evolves to beat it? We have to at least pursue the hydras as an alternate solution.”

Cheng shrugged. “We have some people seeing if they can track down other patients of the HAC study, but to be blunt, I don’t put much credence in your theory, Doctor Montoya. I hardly think infecting people with your contagious s.p.a.ce worms is a viable solution.”

She reached her fist high and brought it down hard, pounded it on the table like a gavel.

“That’s the f.u.c.king point,” she said. “The hydras are contagious. If it is airborne, and I think it is, it will spread from person to person without your f.u.c.king bottles and G.o.dd.a.m.n distribution routes.”

Cheng leaned in, sure of himself. He had all the power and he knew it, relished it.

“We’ll look into it, Doctor Montoya. I appreciate what you’ve done so far, believe me, but there’s little you can do while you are isolated on that s.h.i.+p. My team is on the front lines. We’ll manage it from here.”

She stood so suddenly her chair shot from under her. “The front f.u.c.king lines? I’d like to come up there and see you face-to-face, you miserable, fat f.u.c.k. I’d like to cut off your motherf.u.c.king b.a.l.l.s and f.u.c.king feed them to you. Would you like that, you stupid c.u.n.t?”

A hand on her shoulder: Clarence, reaching across the table, looking at her in shock and concern.

“Margaret, take it easy.”