Читать книгу The Immune - Doc Lucky Meisenheimer - Страница 10

It had been one week since the first televised airwar attack. John was with Cassandra, sitting on his couch in his condominium. He was trying to catch up on dictations from the emergency room where he’d been working for the last several days. The television was on, but he turned the sound down. Cassandra came into the room carrying a People magazine. The cover displayed a giant airwar with tentacles wrapped around photos of celebrities who had perished in airwar attacks.

“John, do you want me to turn the sound up?” asked Cassandra.

“Why bother?” said John, looking up from a chart, “Nothing but the airwar crisis has been on for the last week. I’m sick of seeing the ASC logo in the corner of the screen.”

“Well, they just flashed a number on the screen. It said we topped 100,000 deaths in the United States from airwars,” said Cassandra.

“Feels like I’ve seen half of them in the ER this week,” John said, flipping the last chart on a large pile.

“I thought you liked listening to the science updates.”

“Yeah, but you have to wade through repetitive ASC mandates and tripe about how you’re selfish if you fight back when an airwar attacks—what a bunch of crap!”

Cassandra nodded and said, “I agree, they’re a bit redundant, plus they overdo those videos of juveniles being released.”

“Yeah, the press makes it look like airwars are the victims. Go figure.”

Cassandra snuggled next to John. “Well, they do give nice tips on how to avoid airwars.”

John reached for the remote. “From what I see in the emergency room, their tips are bogus. I get my information from the Internet. That’s the only media ASC doesn’t control . . . speak of the devil.”

John hit the volume button on the remote and a newsreader ’s voice blathered about an Internet video.

“The posting of this video by Noble Laureate, Dr. Koehler, yesterday was determined to be illegal today by ASC . . .”

Dr. Koehler ’s German accented voice synced with the video. “I have absolute proof airwar movements aren’t random. Myself and other concerned scientists outside ASC demand access to airwars for research—” The clip ended abruptly.

A reporter standing in front of Dr. Koehler ’s lab appeared on screen. “Dr. Koehler was found dead today in his lab. Coroners report he suffered a deadly accidental sting from an airwar carcass, which he illegally acquired.”

Senator Beulah Snivaling’s image filled the screen. A U.S. senator, she now sat on the ASC High Council. A middle-aged woman with ash blonde hair in her early fifties, she was attractive for her age, but had the odd look of a face-lift done a bit too tight, giving her unnatural slitted openings for her green eyes. Botoxed to the max, she showed no facial expressions as she spoke.

John turned to Cassandra. “I’ve seen her on TV before. That’s the senator from Massachusetts I find so irritating,” John said and felt the muscles in his jaw tightening.

“Although Dr. Koehler was well-meaning,” said Senator Snivaling, “his death was unnecessary and avoidable. ASC was already aware airwar movements are not random. In his ill-advised push for more fame, Dr. Koehler ended up dead. His family members, who remain in seclusion, issued this statement—you there! Sit while I’m speaking!” she shrieked nastily while pointing her finger at a photographer who changed positions.

“Wow!” said Cassandra, “she seems lacking in people skills. I wonder how she got elected?”

Senator Snivaling read from a yellow legal pad, “We urge all scientists to leave airwar research in the superior hands of ASC, so other families are not torn apart by tragedy as ours has been.” Laying the pad down, the senator gave an expressionless nod and continued in a scolding voice, “Handling airwars is a serious business, not one for amateurs. Koehler ’s work created unnecessary panic and his findings were insignificant compared to ASC’s current fund of knowledge.” She then proceeded to list twenty recent deaths of other prominent scientists accidentally killed in their private research of airwars.

Cassandra touched John’s arm, “That’s a lot of dead scientists. Can airwars sting after they’re dead?”

John nodded and said, “It takes several hours after the hydrogen sac has been ruptured for the tentacles to lose their stinging power.”

Chairperson Snivaling droned on, “The Airwar Scientific Council has virtually unlimited resources and extensive safety features for handling airwars. There has not been a single sting suffered by ASC scientists. It is humanity’s duty to report unauthorized research on airwars, not only for the safety and well-being of researchers, but also for the safety of society. There is an ASC hotline for any unusual airwar behavior noted. Call this hotline. Don’t investigate it yourself.” Snivaling smiled an emotionless smile.

The local news cut in with a report of a nearby airwar attack on a women’s shelter, which involved several deaths.

“I’d feel more comfortable if you’d move in with me,” said John, looking thoughtfully at Cassandra, “I know you have a month left on your apartment lease, but it took thirty-five years to find the perfect woman, and under the circumstances, I don’t want something to happen to her now.” He leaned over and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

She gave him a beaming smile.

“I’ll bring the small stuff tomorrow. I won’t worry about the furniture until the end of the month.”

Before they went to bed, John watched Cassandra try to contact her stepbrother again without success, as she had done every night since the first airwar sighting.

“John, I’m worried about Chunky.”

“You said yourself he’d be out of communication at times,” he said, rubbing her back in a comforting way.

Cassandra, looking somewhat reassured, fell asleep in his arms.

John lay awake, troubled by thoughts of scenes he would again be experiencing at work the next morning.