Immunity

1.

Wednesday, 17 January 2018:

The Wall Street Journal announced today that Cytoplex has added Unilab, a New Jersey research laboratory, to its growing body of subsidiaries. Cytoplex CEO Robert Probst stated that he and Unilab had come to an agreement after a year of complicated negotiations. Some procedural changes are to be expected, Probst said. Five Unilab executives resigned, others refused comment. There had been reports of a lawsuit but it was kept quiet.

2.

Robbinsdale, Minnesota. Saturday, 26 May 2018.

28-year-old Emily Dancer's Lake Drive apartment:

Thirty 100 mg. Nembutals lined up in haphazard rows on her bedside stand. Their yellow capsules glinted, promising barbiturate peace. Emily's hand trembled and water slopped from her glass, creating dark, geographic patterns on the bedspread. She gagged on the first capsule and spat it to the floor. She stared at the second for a full minute, and then tossed it under the bed.

The inner voice startled her. A sweep of her hand sent the remaining capsules cascading to the floor. She collapsed on the bed and pulled the pillow over her head. Her chest heaved in irregular spasms as she sobbed.

Minutes later she stood and brushed damp, amber curls from her face. Stumbled to the bathroom. Squinted at the pale countenance in the mirror. Dilated capillaries traced a crimson conjunctival network, contrasting sea-green irises. Her lower lip quivered and she blotted a drop of saliva from her chin.

"Coward. Right. You wuss, Emily." She flopped back on the bed and pounded a fist against a bedpost. "Okay then, wimp, let's do something about it."

3.

Don Eberley, the MetLife agent wouldn't say over the phone. What could be wrong? Feeling an ominous temporal displacement, Emily fidgeted, gnawed a fingernail. "Please come in, Emily. Please sit."

"I'll stand."

Eberley avoided eye contact. Tension hung in the air, a bright knifepoint. He clicked a key to bring a page to the iMac's screen. He turned it so Emily could see. He spoke in a whisper, as though the walls might overhear. "HIV, Emily. The screening ELISA test and Western Blot were positive. We can't cover you except within a narrow range of specialists approved by Obamacare. It's expensive as heck. Your laboratory technologist salary won't come close."

Her GI tract curled in a tight knot. "Impossible."

"Three repeats were positive, Emily. We also sent serum to the Mayo Clinic in Rochester. Their results were confirmatory. You've been exposed."

"Wrong, Don. I practice safe sex and I don't do drugs. Somebody's mixed up the test tubes." A glass panel cracked as Eberley's door slammed shut.

As Emily drove home, the memory surfaced, branding her frontal lobe cortex like a hot wire. Two years ago in Guatamala while on vacation. Emergency surgery for a ruptured ectopic pregnancy. A hastily procured live donor blood transfusion.

4.

Pasteur Institute trained 45-year-old David Lemieux, PhD, is clean-shaven and displays early gray streaks in dark sideburns. He is Chief of Virology Research at the University of Minnesota Hospitals. He reads a case history from his computer screen and nods. "Long term survivor, Emily. You are one tough lady. You almost went broke trying to continue on a Mayo Clinic anti-HIV drug regimen. Your Obamacare mandated insurance coverage fell short."

Emily sat beside him, reading as he scrolled pages. "You saved my butt, Prof."

Lemieux nodded. "You're a find, Emily. Hard working and dedicated. Remember, last year you interviewed with me a week after your abortive OD attempt and asked for a transfer to my research section. At first I thought you might be unstable but I took a chance."

She nibbled a thumbnail. "I hope it was worth it."

"Oh yes, Emily. The extra cost was well spent. Your HIV serology is still positive but your T-lymphocyte count remains steady at 750." He clicked a key to bring up another page. "Long term HIV survivors in other studies run very low counts, less than 200."

"I'm a little odd, Prof.," she said. "I take Xanax. It keeps my demons under control."

"I've noticed. I thought you could be a false positive, but after we recovered HIV retrovirus from your bone marrow, I was convinced. Look here." He slid an electron photomicrograph across the desk. The RNA cores of the hexagonal virions were sharp and clear.

Emily traced a fingertip on the photo. "But the bug won't replicate for us. We've tried to grow it in culture but something blocks reverse transcriptase activity. It won't make provirus DNA. Damn," Emily swore. "You say I'm making an antibody but why can't we pin it down?"

5.

"The longest-term HIV survivor died a week ago," Lemieux told her. "Fifteen years. He had full-blown clinical disease and a T-helper lymphocyte count of sixty. Yours is still normal."

Emily read the printout he handed her. "So now I make the Guinness Book of World Records?"

"You are the only one left, Emily."

"Have you ever read that Stephen King story The Stand?" she asked.

"Yes I have. Killer virus gets loose from an Army lab. Airborne spread, like the flu. Ordinary immune systems overwhelmed by mutations. The few survivors had extraordinary immune systems. A frightening scenario, Emily. It gave me nightmares."

"Me too. In our scenario everybody infected dies." She pounded the lab bench in frustration. "This is making me crazy."

"You could be the one with that extraordinary immune system, Emily. We must keep trying."

6.

Tuesday, 10 December:

Another six months had passed without progress. Emily had lost weight and become withdrawn. "Waste of time," she complained. Xanax was her constant companion.

1030 hours the next morning:

"Emily?" Dr. Lemieux's voice was tinged with urgency. "Come look at this. I tried a modification of the Western Blot test. It eliminates the electrophoresis step and provides us with faster results."

She eyed the drying nitrocellulose strip and squinted. "Show me."

Lemieux held a magnifying glass close. An ephemeral, millimeter-thin, bluish-purple shadow was visible against the white background. "It's a new reaction band."

He winced as Emily's hand grabbed his arm. Her eyes were wide, unblinking. "My antibody, David?"

His voice couldn't conceal his own excitement. "Too early to tell, Emily. We need more testing."

She opened a sterile syringe pack and rolled up her sleeve, moistened the skin over a vein with an alcohol swab. "You draw the blood. My hand is shaking."

Thursday, 20 February 2020:

Weeks of in vitro testing revealed evidence of the elusive antibody. It was effective against diverse HIV strains. Emily hugged herself, ecstatic. "It's blown away every mutation, David. We're close, I can feel it."

"It's an altered protein or polypeptide. Incredibly potent. Must be nanogram amounts," Dr. Lemieux said as he mopped his forehead with a handkerchief. "It'll be a bitch to isolate. We'll need to break down the HIV RNA cores. You know what that means, Emily."

She nodded. "I'll get the bone marrow tray."

Monday 20 April, 2020:

The intangible antibody molecule was identified as a minuscule polypeptide. Dr. Lemieux said, "It is so complex that only limited synthesis will be possible at first."

Emily danced on tiptoes, fidgeting with Xanax breakthrough. "Clinical trials, David? Now?"

Lemieux tapped on his computer keyboard. "Premature, Emily. Much too early. Protocol approval, appropriate controls. You know the FDA. Their guidelines are inflexible. We can't jeopardize a major breakthrough by ignoring regulations."

The HP printer spat out preliminary reports of their findings. Dr. Lemieux handed one to Emily. "Look this over. I'm faxing these to the Food and Drug Administration and National Institutes of Health. When they see our results they may agree to more grant money."

Emily read, then nodded. "Go for it, David."

7.

The following days passed with delusional lack of clarity. There was a leak. Newspaper and TV reporters swarmed the U. of Minnesota Hospital complex, screaming for details. Gay rights and activist groups joined in, seeking interviews. "Get out of my face," Emily would threaten with a half-lidded, withering glare. They kept their distance after she kicked over a CNN camera stand and questioned the anchorwoman's ancestry.

CEO Robert Probst's handpicked Cytoplex operatives with a much different agenda infiltrated the crowd. They just listened and took notes. Probst read their reports and smiled. "I will corner the HIV antibody market."

Other researchers had been unable to isolate a similar antibody in their shrinking population of long-term HIV survivors. "We need some of your biologics, David," the biochemists at NIH pleaded. "We've got facilities better equipped than yours. Plus, we're under some pressure from Cytoplex. You could be next."

"What's Cytoplex?" Emily asked.

"It's a huge corporate complex of high-tech research labs. Their CEO is Robert Probst. He's a very powerful individual," Lemieux told her.

"He'd better steer clear of us. Our discovery is about saving lives, not for corporate profits."

Professor Lemieux gave a frustrated sigh. "Probst is a billionaire entrepreneur. He buys and sells research labs. He might negotiate a writ from a federal judge or judicial body to block any opposition by us. He has been investigated several times for shady or disreputable business practices but no evidence of wrongdoing was ever discovered. And this." He handed Emily a computer printout.

Emily twisted tawny curls around an index finger and read. "Death of a Probst business rival ruled probable homicide. Year long Investigation found no ties to Probst. Another Probst rival disappears without a trace three years ago. No Leads. Probst not implicated. He gets away with this? How does he get this kind of power?"

"He buys it with hostile takeover millions," David told her. "He bypasses management of the target laboratory by going to the shareholders with a tender offer to purchase a majority of shares. He changes the conquered company's policies to benefit his own ends, then sells it for a huge profit."

8.

Wednesday 17 June. 0930 hours:

When Emily arrived at the lab that morning a workman was repairing a broken window. Glass fragments littered the floor and workbench tops. She tiptoed with care between the jagged shards. Professor Lemieux was conferring with Security people. "What happened, David?" she asked.

"Somebody broke in last night, bypassed the security alarm sensors."

A shocked gasp. "What did they get? Our files? My biologics?"

"Nothing, thank God. Night tech heard glass breaking and dialed 911. The perpetrator escaped. He used latex gloves so no fingerprints or DNA residue were found."

Emily gave the lab bench a vicious kick, then hopped on one foot. "I'll bet Probst paid somebody to do this," she insisted. "He was trying to steal our HIV research data."

"Why?" Professor Lemieux asked. "We only have preliminary findings."

Emily rubbed a bruised toe and scowled. "I think he wants to own our discovery."

9.

Cooperation with the press was mandated despite Dr. Lemieux's objections. The Minnesota University Medical Center President and the FDA Director told Dr. Lemieux issuance of additional grant money depended on his compliance.

"You knew this would happen, David," Emily groused. "Probst is behind it. Money talks and B.S. walks."

""We have no choice, Emily. We'll be on live television by U. of Minnesota and FDA mandate."

"So Probst bought a TV show? You and I will be the puppets on his stage." Emily gagged as she swallowed her Xanax without water.

10.

Sunday morning, 21 June:

NBC's Meet the Press with host Alan Huxley began live at 10:00 hours CDT, Northrop Auditorium, U. of Minnesota campus. The guests were Professor David Lemieux, his associate Emily Dancer and Cytoplex CEO Robert Probst.

Emily squirmed under the hot lights and cast a baleful glare at the unblinking eyes of the video cameras. Her medication and a bottle of Smart Water rested on her chair arm.

CEO Probst was attired in a black Italian suit tailored to disguise his paunch. His eyes were beady and glittered from deep in the folds of his fleshy face. His smile reflected a calculated degree of fawning when the cameras went live. "You'll be the savior of millions with deadly diseases, Dr. Lemieux," he gushed. "And Ms. Dancer, why, you are a national treasure. Be assured, both of you, millions more research funds are on the way."

"It's really much too early, Dr. Lemieux said. "More needs to be accomplished before we can say anything definite." He winced at Emily's sharp intake of breath.

Her glare was razor sharp, her lips a thin, unwavering slit. Her fingers were pale and bloodless as she gripped the chair arms. She turned to the host. "Millions, Mr. Huxley?

"Something, Ms. Dancer?" he prompted.

"Who will the recipients of those millions be? Mister Probst hasn't explained it to our satisfaction."

Huxley gave a smile and a nod to Emily. "She's right, Robert. Please give us a statement for our studio audience."

Probst dug a finger in his shirt collar and loosened his tie. "Well, Ms. Dancer," he said, "It depends on a number of things. I'm sure you're aware that many major research groups are in competition with Cytoplex."

Volcano Dancer erupted. Her voice cracked and rose an octave. "Competition?" she shrieked. "You're telling me that the lives of patients with deadly diseases depend on a bunch of competing CEO's like yourself? You want unrestricted access to millions in federal funding targeted for research. I know how hostile takeovers work. You will use most of those millions to take over other competitor labs and change them to suit your own purposes. Then you'll sell them for an obscene profit. Please tell me this is not true."

Shocked silence from the live audience. "Response, Mr. Probst?" Huxley asked. "I and our audience are awaiting your answer."

Blindsided, Probst shot back. "This is corporate business. I wouldn't expect Ms. Dancer to understand the intricacies of the intense interplay between myself and other like-minded CEO's. Cytoplex is highly ranked in the research arena. These things take time."

Emily fixed Probst with a sniper rifle gaze. "Time for you to figure out how to split up those research funds to make more millions for yourself?

"Now, just wait one minute, Ms. Dancer," Probst shouted. "That's wrong. It's much more complex than that."

"How much of that federally funded research will actually be targeted for diseases of unknown cause? Cancer, diabetes, and yes, HIV. I am particularly attuned to that latter problem, as I'm sure you well know."

Probst glowered as drops of perspiration dotted his brow. "We will certainly make appropriate allowances for those situations."

Emily's face flushed an angry pink. "Appropriate allowances? Okay, perfect. Professor Lemieux and I will insist on careful and concise auditing of your use of all Federal funds allotted for research. He and I will select an outside and unbiased firm. Just to confirm that none of those research funds have gone astray, you understand. We will need notarized copies for our CPA's and attorneys. Agreed?

Probst wouldn't budge. "Nonsense. We have our own highly qualified experts," he screamed. "These federal funds are essential to multiple research avenues. They will be so apportioned under our very strict guidelines."

Emily stood, her features etched with disbelief. "Who establishes those strict guidelines? You, of course."

Probst's chair fell with a wooden thump as he launched to his feet. A vein throbbed at his temple and his face was crimson. "Cytoplex has been on the frontier of research and development for six years. We have received more than one Presidential Citation for our work."

"Enough of your bullshit," Emily shrieked. She ripped the mini-mike from her blouse. "I suspect those usurped funds are finding their way into your pockets as we speak."

Probst stalked from the platform, kicking over a TV monitor with a splintering crash. Huxley and Lemieux stared, mouths agape while the camera crews filmed furiously. A microsecond later the peacock logo popped up on TV screens around the country as NBC pulled the plug and went to contingency programming.

Emily turned on the moderator. "If I'm to be a savior, Mr. Huxley, it'll be for the afflicted populations of the world, not for CEO Probst's bank account."

Host Alan Huxley surrendered. "Thank you Dr. Lemieux, Ms. Dancer. It's been most enlightening."

Dr. Lemieux's voice was hesitant, subdued. "Mon Dieu, Emily. Probst will control our federal research grants when Cytoplex succeeds. We are definitely on his radar now. I think that is not a good place to be, considering his prior history."

11.

Cytoplex CEO Probst's blood pressure hovered near apoplectic levels as he stormed from the NBC stage, shedding his sweat soaked suit coat. "I have a very big friend, Ms. Dancer. I will have your cooperation very soon," he muttered, pounding a fist into his open palm.

The abortive edition of Meet the Press went viral on social internet sites. It provoked a media feeding frenzy. Public reaction was mixed. Gay rights groups praised Emily's stand. Others were pro Cytoplex and openly condemned Emily for her attack on a respected research and development company that promised immediate relief from many deadly diseases.

12.

Probst's schemes had always worked to his advantage. He would begin spending some strategically placed dollars. Millions of them. The press, TV and computer bloggers reacted favorably after the infusion of megabucks into their treasuries. Competing research companies soon capitulated to the Cytoplex financial onslaught.

"Consolidation of effort," Probst chuckled as more of his millions were transferred to the pockets of federal and civilian administrations. High-ranking politicians, including members of Congress, benefited as well. Senate Bill 976, creating the new Deadly Disease Conglomerate, was drawn up with bipartisan efforts. Final voting in the Senate was a landslide, 50-0. The President, after similar monetary inducements to his various charities, signed it into law the following day.

The Executive Director of the new entity would be Cytoplex CEO Robert Probst. A heavily-imbursed media quickly squelched any negative public outcry.

Probst's grin was triumphant. He would be in direct charge of all federal funding directed to Cytoplex for distribution. "Ms. Dancer, you will be hearing from my friend very soon."

13.

Friday 26 June. 1130 hours:

Emily read the hand-delivered Express Mail Certified Letter with a bemused smile. "This is very strange, Dr. Lemieux." She handed him the Presidential Directive. "On July 9th I'll be reporting to the Communicable Disease Center in Atlanta. I'm to be the Research Associate at a new special unit for HIV research. It looks good on paper and I hate to doubt our President but I am getting some negative vibes."

He nodded and showed her a similar communication. "I'm being assigned there as well, as Head of HIV Research."

14.

Emily met Dr. Lemieux at the office after his urgent text message later that evening.

He handed her a computer printout. "First, read this. It appeared on the Fox News Channel earlier today."

Her eyes widened in surprise as she read. "The Center for Communicable Disease in Atlanta announces an agreement with Robert Probst, Executive Director of the new Deadly Disease Conglomerate. Probst will provide funding and staffing of a new Virology unit for exclusive study of the HIV virus."

Emily's expression was thoughtful. "Maybe I was wrong about Probst."

"Not so fast, Emily," Lemieux said. "A colleague at the Pasteur Institute called. He has a friend, a researcher at CDC in Atlanta. She has just returned to Paris. Said there was increased security regarding a new HIV research unit. One of the patient rooms has got bone marrow trays and blood collection gear in place. It is located adjacent to the Virology lab and is staffed by people she doesn't know. She was told it was a classified project, none of her concern."

Emily voice was an intense whisper. "My B.S. detection antenna just shot to the top. Probst wants a lab rat. Me. He has his people in place. Bone marrows taken by force. Assault and battery, but nobody finds out. It. I'm to leave for Atlanta on Thursday July 9th at eleven AM. First class air fare on Delta Airlines."

"I am booked on the same flight. We must be careful, Emily. You know his history. Probst's end game may be your disappearance once he and his crew have your antibody ready for clinical trials. I'll try to find out more. I could be on his hit list as well."

She took a swallow of Smart Water. "Let me run something by you, David. Do you have any influence with the French medical research community? I've done some investigation and got a wacko idea."

"I could call in a few markers, Emily. What do you have in mind?

She explained.

He nodded. "I'll start making calls to people I trust right now. We must act at once and be the soul of caution."

Emily gave Professor Lemieux a fist tap. "I've quit the Xanax. Let's do it."

15.

Professor Lemieux's office, one week later. 1030 hours:

"Step outside with me for a moment, Emily. These were E-mailed to me earlier."

She read the documents he handed to her as they sat on a bench by the sidewalk. "Wow. I'll be disobeying a Presidential Directive." She smiled. "I'm ready."

"I am, as well," Dr. Lemeiux said. "A friend from the French Consulate in St. Paul will pick us up here in an official vehicle at five-thirty Thursday morning July 9th. The timing must be precise."

"I'll pack light and sleep at our lab Wednesday night."

Later the same evening CEO Probst spoke to his Chief CDC Associate on his smart phone. "The package arrives tomorrow, 1830 hours, Delta Airlines flight 2110, nonstop from Minneapolis. You must have sedation on hand. She will be combative."

16.

Professor Lemieux's laboratory offices, 0930 hours July 9:

"They are not here, sir," Emily's assigned escort told CEO Probst on his iPhone. "I'll put the technician on."

Probst's wrath was majestic in proportion. "Where the hell are Dr. Lemieux and Ms. Dancer? They have an eleven AM flight to catch."

The virology tech answered, "They didn't show up this morning, sir. Weird. Everything's gone. All the Dancer specimens and a portable dry ice pack."

Probst's voice lowered to an ominous tone. "Research data?"

"Hard discs are gone and hardcopy files are empty, sir."

Probst's call to the FBI demanded immediate action. "No trace," the Minneapolis local agent in charge told him two hours later. "Bank accounts closed and credit cards canceled as of three days ago. Negative on airlines and rental car agencies. No passports issued."

"Lemieux is French. Call their embassy. Now."

"We did. Lemieux, David. Four visas, French nationals. Men in their seventies with their wives on vacation."

"Get me the Attorney-General. He owes me, big time."

Professor David Lemieux and Research Associate Emily Dancer were charged with theft of sensitive research material and unlawful flight to avoid prosecution. A $100,000 reward was offered.

17.

One year later:

CEO Probst glared at the newspaper science article his aide showed him. He read aloud, breath hissing through clenched teeth. "Children affected with HIV at birth became symptom-free and seronegative; complete arrest of disease in HIV encephalitis victims following treatment with a new antibody." A frown corrugated his forehead. "Where in hell is the Albert Schweitzer Hospital?"

"Gabon, sir. West coast of Africa. Used to be a French possession."

"French? Lemieux and Dancer. Of course." He buzzed his secretary. "Get me the White House and have my private jet stand by."

18.

The White House Oval Office, the next day:

"I've been contacted by the Gabonese Ambassador," the President said. "A limited amount of the antibody will be made available to any U.S. Research and Medical Centers not affiliated with Cytoplex."

"They can't do this, Mr. President," Probst argued. "It's Dr. Lemieux and Ms. Dancer. There are federal charges pending."

"Those two new researchers have valid passports issued by the French government to Louis and Marianne Gauthier. Pasteur Institute staff in Gabon for HIV research."

"No, sir," Probst howled. "There are no Gauthiers. Lemieux's worked some undercover B.S. with the Frogs. Mr. President, they've gotta be extradited."

"You're treading thin ice," the President warned, "In any case, Gabon has put a security lid on the Schweitzer Hospital. This anti-HIV antibody is a modern miracle, Mr. Probst. I'm cooperating. I will not jeopardize our chances by creating an international incident."

Probst was aghast. "I don't understand, Mr. President. After all the financial assistance I've provided you?"

The President stood and looked CEO Probst straight in the eyes. He lifted the phone and pressed his secretary's extension. "Now, Patty." Two uniformed and armed Federal Marshals entered the Oval Office and stood at attention.

"Mr. Probst, you will be charged with fraud, coercion, conspiracy, influence peddling, plus making false statements to the Federal Government. To me."

Probst's face turned a brilliant crimson. "Sir, you can't do this," he blustered. "I financed your reelection campaign."

The President rattled a sheaf of documents in his face. "You fooled me twice, shame on me. I am far from finished with you. These documents inform me that an associate of yours at CDC in Atlanta has been granted immunity from prosecution for her testimony. You and others will be found guilty of plotting to kidnap HIV Research Associate Emily Dancer. You planned to hold her captive against her will for medical experimentation. You are looking at a couple of life sentences."

He motioned to the two uniformed Federal Marshals waiting at the Oval Office door. "Read Mr. Probst his rights and remove him from my sight."

THE END

Bio: Stories by E. S. Strout (M.D.), a.k.a. Gene or Gino, have appeared in Planet Magazine, Anotherealm, Millennium F&SF, Beyond-sf, Jackhammer (Eggplant Productions), Static Movement, and Bewildering Stories. And, of course, many of his stories have appeared in Aphelion (most recently Asteroid, September 2013 and Collateral Damage, December 2013).

E-mail: E. S. Strout (Humanoids: replace '_AT_' with '@')