The Second Ship (The Rho Agenda #1)(61)
Heather lunged forward, grabbing Mark’s arm, trying to pull it free, but the corded muscles felt like rolled steel.
“Mark! Stop it. Please!” Heather begged as several students swung their gaze toward the commotion.
Mark glanced down at her, sanity leaching rapidly back into his face as he loosened his grasp on Doug.
The senior stepped forward, giving Mark a hard shove in the chest that somehow failed to move him. Pushing his way through the onlookers, Doug yelled back, “You’d better watch your back, Smythe. I will be.”
Without a moment’s hesitation, Heather pulled Mark into the crowd and down the hall toward their next class. As Jennifer joined them, Heather leaned over to her friend and whispered, “Someone please call the testosterone police.”
Chapter 42
The rat lay on its side. Its pink left foreleg twitched periodically, as if by doing so it might be able to roll its diseased body over and give some relief to the pressure the rat’s weight applied to the weeping sores on its underside. Not that the action would have made much difference, even if the animal's strength had permitted it. The sores had already ravaged every part of its dying body.
It blinked a beady eye covered so thickly in cloudy cataract tissue that it could not have seen him. Still, Dr. Ernesto Rodriguez could not shake the feeling that the rat stared up at him accusingly.
Dr. Rodriguez, Ernie as his friends called him, walked along the line of cages, each housing a rat in a different stage of disease. The diseases ran the gamut of genetic illness. Animals used for contagious experimentation were kept separately in a biohazard area.
At the end of the row, Ernie stopped before the next-to-last cage, bending low to stare at the readouts from the instruments attached to the little brown fellow. As opposed to its dying brother, this little guy was the epitome of health. Heart, lungs, circulatory system, and brain function—in every category the lucky fellow exceeded the norm.
Ernie reached a finger through the cage, gently stroking the tame animal's soft side with his fingertip. Noticing that his glasses had fogged, he withdrew his hand, dabbed at his eyes, and then wiped the lenses on his shirt.
As usual, Ernie had stayed at the lab until everyone else in this wing had called it a night. It was almost time for him to go home, although the thought ripped at his heart. He should be there now, helping Angela care for their son. Most women would have broken under the strain long ago. But not Angela.
For two years now, their son, Raul, had struggled valiantly against the cancer eating at his brain, maintaining a sunny attitude despite his deteriorating strength. Raul should be in his third year of high school; instead, he had to be rolled from side to side during the day to try and keep the bedsores under control.
They had tried everything: chemo, radiation, cryosurgery, self-administered homeopathic cures, everything. Now all that was left to them was self-administered hospice care to ease his final days. Angela had rejected the hospice workers who had offered to assist her with the burden, insisting that she would care for her son.
She had moved a rollout bed into Raul’s room and now slept next to his bed, just in case he needed something during the night. Sometimes, during the sleepless nights, Ernie would tiptoe down to Raul’s doorway and listen to his wife’s prayers to the Madre, to the santos, and to Jesus Christo himself to grant her just one miracle. Just one.
Ernie wiped his eyes once more and returned his glasses back to their accustomed position on his nose. He stared at the rat as it scurried about its cage sniffing for food, now completely accustomed to the wireless electrodes attached to its skin.
One week. Ernie could not get the thought out of his head. It had been only one week since he had applied the test serum to this rat. One week since this healthy rat had lain in a cage next to the dying rat, its condition even worse than its unfortunate sibling.
Human trials were scheduled to begin next month. He didn’t have a month. Angela didn’t have a month. And Raul damned sure didn’t have a month either.
Having made up his mind, Dr. Rodriguez walked over to the intercom and pressed one of the buttons. After several seconds, a familiar voice answered.
“Stephenson here.”
“Dr. Stephenson, this is Dr. Rodriguez from Omega Lab. May I speak with you? It is very urgent.”
After a brief hesitation, the deputy director's voice continued. “I’m in my office, Ernie. Come on down.”
Ernie logged himself out and switched off the lights, enabling the security system before locking the lab behind him. Then, exiting the Omega Wing, he made his way rapidly across the huge room that housed the Rho Ship.
Coming to a stop just outside the door into Deputy Director Stephenson’s private office, Ernie paused to wipe his glasses yet again. Then, with a deep breath, Ernesto Rodriguez straightened his shoulders and stepped through the doorway, one thought screaming in his mind.
“For Raul.”
Chapter 43
At breakfast, Heather was unusually quiet, despite the presence of the entire Smythe family, the twins bantering in their usual, boisterous fashion. The headaches were back, worse than before. If they lasted longer, Heather might have mentioned it to her friends. But this was brief, stabbing pain. It was probably only stress. After all, it wasn’t as if the three of them hadn’t been under some pressure lately.