Part 25 (1/2)
”Not in, I don't know, like three months.”
Shane's stomach clenched. ”Do you know how I can reach him?”
”Don't, sorry.”
”Wait, does he come in for messages?”
”Not that I know of.”
”I'd like to leave one. His brother. Tell him to call his brother.”
”Okay. Have a nice day.”
f.u.c.king college kids, Shane exhaled. He stared at the pads of his cubicle wall. Meant for thumbtacks, he supposed, but similarly good for bas.h.i.+ng a copy store clerk's head into.
This explained why Caleb hadn't responded to his letter about a present for Lily. Vague as it had been, Shane had expected some reply. There was no phone at the Happy Trails house. Where did June work, he wondered? Had she told him? If so, he could not recall. He stood, waved good night to Stacey, and walked slowly to his car.
This week, Dennis had sat him down to discuss adding a Phase Two Alzheimer's drug to his workload. Two hospital oncology departments in Oregon that had not had time for him suddenly asked him to make presentations on Sorion. Nicholas was starting to teethe, waking at night in fits of fury. He was overloading.
On Pinon Drive he saw Prajuk's white Volvo signaling out of a Taco Bell. He seemed to be manipulating a burrito in his car as he drove. Shane laughed; he liked this man very much.
The night had deepened; stars swept in from the ocean. Riding the elevator up with Prajuk, Shane felt a low rush of nicotine as if he were smoking by osmosis.
”We'll see how Thailand is doing. This thing,” Prajuk explained, ”should be generating some response by now.”
”And if it isn't?”
”Then the dosage may be wrong. I will administer more, and we will wait another week.”
”How many times would you do that before you figure it's not working at all?”
”Three, maybe four.”
”And after that?”
They stepped out on the third floor and walked past the other closed doors, some with m.u.f.fled voices coming from inside. What were they stressing, Shane wondered? How close were they to their dreams, or to failure?
”After that, we have to ask questions. How many months do we have to test a range of compositions and dosages? How many more mice will this thing need? How much more money can you obtain to build them? How much time is there before the baby's lungs atrophy?”
”I'm not a fan of those questions.”
”Don't worry, please. Definitely we are not ready to ask them yet.”
Prajuk walked to the deep stainless steel sink to wash his hands. Shane moved to the cage and looked at Thailand. Prajuk did not seem, he thought, to have developed any emotional attachment to this creature. He must have unleashed impossible cruelties upon generations of mice by now, given them tumors, asthma, open sores, blindness, diabetes, heart attacks, strokes, worse. But Shane could not help smiling at the tiny thing as Prajuk lifted him by the tail and brought him over to the Buxco box.
Once inside, Thailand adjusted to his claustrophobic gla.s.s. Only this time, Shane was watching a totally different animal. Instead of curling up, the mouse was up on its back two legs, attempting to climb out.
”Jesus, look at the guy.”
Prajuk squinted at the levels meter. ”He is processing significantly more air. Looks like eighty-five percent. Versus thirty percent when he arrived here.”
”Oh, man. Oh s.h.i.+t. It works?”
”Watch his movements.”
”I am. That's normal?”
”This thing is how a healthy mouse behaves.”
They weighed and measured him. Thailand had been carefully constructed to have the same disease as Lily, the same train whistle wheeze, the same swollen feet, the same inability to exhale. Only now, he did not have any of those things.
”We need to send his blood out to measure liver and kidney function,” Prajuk explained.
”How long will it take to get results?”
”Two or three days. While we wait, Healy and I will humanize the drug.”
Shane felt his lungs pus.h.i.+ng against his chest, as if the alpha-one ant.i.trypsin deficiency had somehow been pa.s.sed into him. Remembering Janelle's worry, he asked, ”Lily weighs a lot more than a mouse. And she's growing. How do you know the right dosage?”
”This thing is not like Tylenol. It is not a question of dosage, it is a question of efficacy. The drug carries the protein into her genes, instructs it to switch on. Will her body respond? With this type of treatment, we give a dose periodically to keep the process in forward motion.”
”Forward motion,” Shane muttered. ”I'm familiar with that concept.”
”Trust me, this thing will be the correct dosage for the baby.”
”You're giving this to a baby?”
Shane turned around. When had Healy come in? He stood there with his head c.o.c.ked, his short, cut arms plunging into his pockets, staring at them.
”Of course not,” Prajuk insisted, stumbling noticeably.
Right now, Shane knew, Healy was trying to re-create the conversation he had just heard. Everything would depend on his and Prajuk's reactions. If they communicated no emotion, then Healy might let himself dismiss these words. Anything else, and he would come for their jugulars; it seemed to be in his DNA.
”You said the exact dosage for the baby.”
”A baby mouse,” Shane began. ”In case we need to try again.”
”Listen,” Prajuk tried, ”Thailand is breathing at eighty-five percent normal. He has no wheezing.”
But Healy's face did not change. ”Who else at Helixia is working on this?”
”Just focus on what we're paying you to do.”
”I'm taking a p.i.s.s,” Shane laughed, hoping to end the conversation.