Stephen Jones - The Mammoth Book of Terror

“Well, that’s your specialty,” Geoff said with a thin smile, uncertain how serious his companion meant to be taken.

“Common sense,” confided Festung. “Common sense and simple arithmetic – that’s all there is to epidemiology. Every Age has its deadly plague, far back as you care to trace it.

“The great plagues of the ancient world – leprosy, cholera, the Black Death. They all came and went, left millions dead before they were finished, and for most of them we can’t even say for certain what disease it may have been.”

“Those were primitive times,” Geoff shrugged. “Plagues were expected – and accepted. No medicine, and filthy living conditions. Naturally a plague would go unchecked – until it either killed all those who were susceptible, or something like the London Fire came along to cauterize the centers of contagion.”

“More often the plagues simply ran their course and vanished.” Dr Festung went on in a tone of dismissal. “Let’s take modern times, civilized countries, then – after your London Fire (actually it was a change of dominant species of rat) and the ebbing of the bubonic plague. Comes the Industrial Revolution to Europe, and with it strikes smallpox and then tuberculosis. A little later, and you get the picture in this country too. OK, you finally vaccinate against smallpox, but what about TB? Where did TB come from, anyway? Industrialization? No sir, because TB went on the wane at the height of industrialization. And why did it? Biggest killer of its day, and now it’s a rare disease. And you know medicine had damn little to do with its disappearance. Then influenza. Killed millions, and not just because medical conditions weren’t what we have now. Hell, we still can’t do much about the flu. Froneberger tells me his research indicates there are two or three wholly new influenza strains ‘born’ (if you will) each year – that we know about. Hell, we still aren’t really sure what strain was the great killer at the early part of the century. And talk about confusion, why, when you say ‘flu,’ you can mean anything from several bacteria to any number of viral strains and substrains.”

“Well, how about polio?” challenged Metzger, digging for a cigarette. Festung hated tobacco smoke.

“Polio? Exactly. Another killer plague that appeared from nowhere. Sure, this time we came up with a vaccine. But so we know where it went – where did polio come from, though? Each generation seems to have its nemesis. When I was your age, the big killer was stomach cancer. Like bad weather, we talked a lot about stomach cancer, but nothing much was ever done, and it faded into the background just the same. Instead, we had heart disease. Now there’s the number one killer for these many years – the reason for billions of government dollars doled out for research. And what have we really done about it? Dietary fads, a few ghoulish transplants, and a pile of Rube Goldberg gadgetry that can keep things pumping for a few extra years. Sum total: too close to nothing to bother carrying. But that’s all right too, because now heart disease is on the way out, and for now our great slayer of mankind is cancer.

“History and figures tell the story, young man. Cancer is here for the moment. And maybe all your research will do something aboutit, then more likely it won’t. But it doesn’t matter in the long run, because cancer will have its heyday and fade like its predecessors at the scythe handle, and then we’ll find something new to die of. Wonder what it’ll be.”

“Someone else’s worry that’s what it’ll be. I suppose, as they say, you got to die of something.” Geoff pushed his chair back from the table. “Meanwhile I’ll chase after today’s problems. And one of the most immediate concerns a scintillation counter run that ought to be gone through by now. See you, Ira.”

“Sure. Hey, how about leaving that paper, if you’re finished reading it.”

Dr Thackeray was waiting in the lab when Geoff returned. The Great Man was leaning over Metzger’s desk, idly looking through several days’ loose data and notes. A long white lab coat, stylishly ragged after the Center’s peculiar snobbery, covered his sparse frame. A little imagination and he could make a good Hallowe’en phantom, mused Geoff, watching the blue cigar smoke swirl about his hawklike face.

Geoff stepped into his office alcove. “Keeping late hours, Dr Thackeray?” The Chairman of Medicine has no first name within the walls of his domain.

“Good evening, Dr Metzger,” returned his superior. “No, not particularly. I wanted to see how things were going with you, and I felt it likely you’d still be here. Your devotion to your work has caused some comment – even among our staff. Most commendable, but I hope you aren’t working yourself into an early grave.”

“I’ll manage,” Geoff promised. “I feel like I’m really getting somewhere right now though, and I hate to let up.”

“Yes. I see you’ve made progress, Dr Metzger.” His eyes black in the sterile glare of the fluorescents, Dr Thackeray let his gaze gesture about the crowded laboratory. “Very significant progress in the year you’ve been with us here at the Center.”

Geoff framed his words with care. “I don’t like to put myself down as saying – even off the record – just how far what I’m doing here might lead, Dr Thackeray. You’ve seen what I’ve accomplished so far, read the preliminary reports. But in the last few months I’ve . . . well, made a few unexpected breakthroughs. I think I know what it will mean, but I want absolute evidence to substantiate my findings before I speculate openly with regard to what I’ve learned. Forgive me if this seems melodramatic, but I’ve no desire to be labeled a fool, nor would I care to bring derision upon the Center.”

“Again commendable, Dr Metzger. I appreciate your position, naturally. As you know, there’s been some speculation among the staff relating to your most recent work – enough that some of us can understand what you’re trying to lead up to.”

“I’m making no preliminary claims,” Geoff repeated. “Between the two of us, I feel certain of my ground. But too many over eager researchers have gone off half cocked and regretted it when their errors were immediately apparent to more careful workers.”

“To be sure!” Dr Thackeray turned his piercing eyes into Geoff s. “I truly admire your discretion. Untold damage might result from foolish disclosures at this point. I agree.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Not at all.” Dr Thackeray waved his hand. His expression darkened. “It’s because of the position you find yourself in right now that I’ve left these two papers on your desk.”

Surprised, Geoff noticed for the first time the two dull black binders waiting beside a tangle of data tapes. Their vinyl covers bore no title – then, on closer glance, he was aware of a tiny silver seal embossed on either spine.

“It required considerable effort to obtain those two copies,” Dr. Thackeray advised. “Needless to say, I’ll expect you to examine them with care – the data is confidential, of course – and return them to me when you’ve finished. Reading them is explanation enough for the present, so I’ll say no more for now.

“I think you’ll want to discuss your thoughts on this with me. How about tomorrow morning at 8:00? I think you will have read through them to your satisfaction by then.”

“Certainly,” agreed Metzger in bewilderment. “If you feel this is important to my project . . .”

“It’s extremely important, Dr Metzger, I assure you. Very well, then. We’ll talk this over at eight.”

With a bizarre sense of foreboding, Geoff took up the first of the black folders.

IV