The End of Men(69)

“Yes, we’ve continued with smaller batches of our usual vaccine production to keep polio at bay for babies and children who had not been vaccinated at the time of outbreak.” Tiffany pauses and looks as though she’s preparing herself. “We know you didn’t come to us first,” she says, in a rush. “You asked the French and the Germans, but they refused to pay and, besides, you must have been worried they would split the cost and share the vaccine with each other. The Japanese were nonresponsive. Your relations with the United States obviously make this level of cooperation impossible.”

I flash Florence a look to say, what the fuck? The Shanghai contingent clearly has a lot of information from somewhere and it’s not from me.

“It is not a problem,” Tiffany says. “I understand why you didn’t come to us first. Our former country is still gripped by civil war. I want to assure you that Shanghai State is a safe, secure place. But I also understand that those other countries refused to pay you. They are hoping you will relent. You are the most hated woman in the world,” Tiffany says looking directly at me. The entire room holds its breath. If this is a negotiating tactic, it’s not one I’ve ever seen before.

“You shouldn’t be,” Tiffany goes on, looking earnestly at me. “We understand your thinking. Why should you give something away for free that could help your country to succeed? That would be an act of self-sabotage and, worse, a betrayal of your country’s faith in you. We understand that Canada should be paid for the vaccine. We are serious buyers.”

I smile and sit back in my chair. I’m with like-minded people here, maybe for the first time since the discovery of the vaccine became public. Canadians revere me but they don’t necessarily understand me. To the rest of the world I’m a cartoonishly grotesque figure of evil.

“Thank you for setting out your position,” I say. “I appreciate it, more than you know. Before we can discuss price, however, we have to understand the exact nature of your production. This will be the first batch of the vaccine being produced outside of Canada and being given to non-Canadian citizens. If the first international batches are produced poorly—”

“The vaccine will lose value,” Tiffany interrupts.

I pause. It’s not entirely about money. “Yes, and more important, people will not be immune but may think they are. One of the conditions of the patent license will be a sample of ten thousand vaccines being produced under the strict supervision of scientists from a Canadian team. This will obviously be followed by extensive quality control. If those vaccines are of a sufficient standard, the full patent license will be granted.”

Tiffany nods in agreement. I expected some pushback but she seems to completely understand my thinking. “Yes, this is an acceptable condition. Our power supply is stable thanks to solar panels, so we can guarantee there won’t be any quality issues. We can start production right away.”

Florence raises an eyebrow. “How much do you predict being able to produce in the first six months?” she asks.

“Eight million,” Tiffany says, quick as a whip. This is a lot, lot higher than our vaccine production.

“Here is my suggestion,” Florence says. “The fee will be reduced”—What? I open my mouth to complain—“until the entire Canadian population has been vaccinated. The vaccines you produce will be split fifty-fifty between Canada and Shanghai. Once Canadian production and your vaccines have resulted in one hundred percent vaccination in Canada, you keep all of the vaccine you produce and the license fee increases but you will still have a reduction. You produce in batches of one hundred thousand, yes? Every second batch comes to us, until our needs are met.”

Let’s think. The population of Shanghai is 12.8 million, assuming a 10 percent male survival rate. Splitting the vaccine, Shanghai won’t be fully vaccinated for nine months. That’s relatively quick. Besides, they’ll create a system for prioritizing need the way we have. Tiffany and her colleagues confer quietly in Chinese for a few minutes.

“We agree in principle,” Tiffany says.

I exhale in relief as Florence smiles. “Excellent news. Now let’s move on to the fee.”





CATHERINE


Isle of Bute, the Independent Republic of Scotland

Day 705

I’m not sure what I’m expecting Amanda Maclean to look like in person. Her pictures with the interviews she’s done don’t give much away. She’s always sitting down, and they’re taken in such a way to make her look like the archetype of a grieving mother. She has bright red hair and pale, Celtic skin and that’s as much as I know. She sounds quite fearsome on the phone. Tall. I definitely expect her to be tall.

She comes toward me with a purposeful walk. I was right—she is tall. Her eyes are a startling blue.

“Catherine?” Her Scottish accent is strong. Although the woman we’re going to talk to today will no doubt have a far thicker accent than this so I’d better get used to it.

I keep telling Amanda how grateful I am for her time; she’s a busy lady. Head of Health Protection Scotland and arguably the most influential woman in medicine now in the Independent Republic of Scotland.

“I want Euan’s and Heather’s stories to be in your report. It’s important,” is all she says in response to my awkward gratitude. On the ferry across to Rothesay on the Isle of Bute I ask her to tell me everything she knows so far before we meet Euan’s wife. She says, “Let me get a Red Bull first,” and I’m reminded that when I asked what she missed more than anything from before the Plague she said, “Coffee,” in a tone of such longing it bordered on lust. She nearly became a dentist to avoid medicine’s early starts. However, she’s good in a crisis and so even at the age of eighteen knew that a career in which a root canal counts as a drama would not suffice.