Scuzzworms (34 page)

Imelda watched Trefarbe in surprise.  The passion she displayed was real.  She couldn’t ar
gue with what Trefarbe had said since all of it was partly true.  But Trefarbe had left out words describing the vigor with which she sought to control the researchers and the animosity she felt towards those doing the research.

“We all have our job to do, Trefarbe.”

“And yours has been to undermine me!”  Trefarbe was dangerous, ready to spring.

Imelda froze, not knowing how to defend herself against the half
-crazed woman.  She wished she could trust her muscles enough to run out of the room but knew she would only fall down. 

Camille and Kellogg were staring blankly at Trefarbe, not understanding what was going on.  Post sidled out of his chair quietly, edging towards Trefarbe.

The door opened and Caldwell entered.  He spied Trefarbe immediately and she swung around to face him.

“Why, hello, Trefarbe.  I wondered where you had slipped off to.  The group from CHA would like to speak with you again.”

Trefarbe’s face twisted into a sneer.  “Oh, they would, would they?  Well, I have already received their message, thank you, and I have nothing further to say to them without an attorney present.  When I do speak with them, I will tell them just how incompetent you have all been, how you lied to them!  I’ll make you pay for this!”  Her voice was rising uncontrollably.

“Pay for what?”
Caldwell asked reasonably.  “Nothing official has been decided yet.”

“She stabbed us in the back,
Caldwell!  The whole project!  I’m not going to take the blame for what happened!  It was Imelda’s fault!  The official record only shows that she requested clarification of the work assignment!”  Trefarbe glared at Imelda.  “You lied when you told them that I overruled your protest.”

Imelda frowned.  “I thought the proceedings were private.  How would you know what I said?”

Trefarbe paused, trapped.  She had been illegally listening.  Her eyes went incandescent as she realized that Imelda had exposed another of her trespasses.  Before anyone could move to stop her, Trefarbe leapt at Imelda, yanking her out of her chair, slamming her against the corner of Camille’s workstation.

Imelda’s arms flailed out and her wrist rammed painfully against a sharp edge of the workstation as she bumped to the floor.  Shaking her head dazedly, Imelda’s eyes widened as she realized that her arm was bleeding.  Aghast, she clenched the wound with her hand, crushing it against her chest.

Looking around wildly, she found Post and Kellogg wrestling with a struggling Trefarbe while Caldwell held Camille back.  Camille struggled angrily to add a few punches to the melee.

Trefarbe screamed, “Let me go!  Don’t you see what she has done?  She has destroyed us!”  Post and Kellogg were on top of her, trying to get control of hands clenched with fingernails ready.

Caldwell had a peculiar look on his face.  His eyes caught Post’s as Post finally managed to force Trefarbe’s arms behind her. “She would only get what she deserved,” said Caldwell pointedly.

Camille and Kellogg both turned to stare openmouthed at
Caldwell.  They could not believe that he would consider allowing Trefarbe to maul Imelda.

Post, however, paused in thought, looking at the blood splattered on the floor around Imelda.  His grip on Trefarbe loosened slightly.

“No!” three voices squalled at once.  Camille was the most violent of all. “How could you even consider..!”

Imelda interrupted.  “Post, I would never forgive you.  No one is deserving of this.”

Post turned his gaze to meet hers, his face hard, miserable.  “No one.  Not even you, Imelda.”

Caldwell
continued his grip on Camille, staying her rush to Imelda’s side as she realized that Imelda was bleeding.

“Post, let Kellogg and me handle Trefarbe.  We’ll get her down to security and file the appropriate charges.”

“Charges?”  Trefarbe’s head snapped up.

“Assault, bodily injury, whatever fits.”  He turned his attention back to Post, giving him a stern look. “You take care of Imelda.  Handle it appropriately.  We have had enough accidents on this project already.  Get her to sickbay pronto.  Her treatment will be given under orders.”

Post nodded.  As Trefarbe was hustled out, Post took Caldwell’s spot next to Camille, his grip on her arm replacing Caldwell’s.

Camille whirled to face Post.  “Postman, what in blazes is going on?  Why didn’t
Caldwell let me help, for god’s sake?  I thought he and Imelda had a thing going?”

Imelda, from her position sprawled on the floor, groaned.  Camille shook Post’s grip off angrily to go to Imelda’s side.  Both Imelda and Post bellowed, “Stop!”

Camille froze, confused.

“Stay where you are,” Post said in a quieter voice, and went to a closet in the corner of the room to pull out a decontamination pack.  Camille watched uncomprehendingly as he donned a sterile suit and proceeded to spray the splattered blood around Imelda with an antiseptic spray.

He tossed Camille a suit and continued with the decontamination procedure.  Camille, puzzled, donned the suit and joined him.

Finally they approached Imelda’s wound, which still oozed around her clenched fist.  Camille watched Post cautiously as he gently handled the gash, stanching it, spraying it to stop the bleeding.

Imelda was resigned, letting him do what was necessary, offering no argument.

Finally it clicked.  “You’re contagious!  What do you have, Imelda?  Is that why
Caldwell said...?”

“Hush,” said Post.  “You’ll figure it out later.  Just help me get her down to sickbay.”

Camille held her tongue with difficulty, her curiosity beside itself.  Finally the wound was wrapped tightly enough and the room cleaned well enough that no contagious particles were likely to remain.  Post, holding Imelda’s arm, gently led her away. Camille reluctantly remained behind to return the room to its previous order.

Camille sat alone at her works
tation to think.  After a while she made herself busy, checking data, mumbling to herself.  When Kellogg finally returned tears were running down her cheeks.

Kellogg plopped down in his seat.  “God almighty, we work for a bunch of lunatics, Millie.  You should have heard that woman!  And
Caldwell, what on Earth did he mean by...?” He stopped, catching sight of Camille’s face.  “Now what?  Have you gone crazy too?”

She shook her head hurriedly.  “No.  I’m just catching on, that’s all, finally catching on.”

She would not elaborate, and after a few fruitless attempts at questioning her, Kellogg wrote her off with the rest of his coworkers.

She was a tadpole, gills gasping, swimming toward a distant light and struggling to reach the sun in time for the change, the change to lungs for breathing, hopping instead of finning, plopping instead of floating.

It was more fun being a tadpole.  She ached. She had been transferred to an intermediate care residential area. The monitor attached to her arm was linked to the ambulatory care center and a capsule implanted under her skin administered her chronic medications.  The doctors had been furious when they discovered that she had been on oral medications for her infection, claiming that it was that daily reminder of her illness that had caused her to become despondent.

Fools.  She herself had insisted on taking pills.  She wanted a daily reminder.  Anyway, the medication tended to irritate the site of administration and she had tired of the tender knotty lumps under her skin.

She walked around the apartment slowly, seeing it for the first time.  She had been hospitalized for almost a year.  Most of that time she had been comatose or nearly so.  She vaguely remembered her few visitors during that time, although not what they had said to her.

Caldwell
had come with Jamison.  Camille, even Kellogg had shown up.  The old Caldwell had been by too, the one from the University.  She vaguely remembered him being upset, tears in his eyes.  She didn’t know why.

He had made a pass once. She had rebounded that one in a hurry.  He had no reason for any deeper attachment.

Upon opening a closet, she grimaced.  Her mail.  Still unopened.  Disks, hand-letters, parcels, packages, all of various ages and conditions.  She started to close the door, then paused.

What had the CHA johnnies said?  A Pauling Award?  For the life of her, she didn’t know what it was for.  Most basic biochemical research had been completed centuries before.  Biological principles were well established and accepted.  Modern research was mainly a matter of cataloguing odd alien beasties and unusual biochemical systems.  No real new thought
occurred in the literature anymore.  She herself certainly wasn’t guilty of any new thought.  Maybe the award committee had simply run out of names and hers had ended up on top of the barrel somehow.

Where was their letter?  Somewhere in that huge pile?  Oh well, she had nothing better to do with her time than dig through it.  Leaning down, she grabbed one of the smaller bags that appeared only slightly old.  The newest ones weren’t likely to hold what she sought.

It was several hours later as she was thumbing through a mound of journals, sales promotions, and cute gimmicks that the door buzzer sounded. She turned away from the table with relief.  The toil was serving as a ghastly reminder of why she had quit reading her mail in the first place.

Hitting the ID plate, she found herself not recognizing the man standing outside.  Without opening the door, she whispered, “Yes?  May I help you?”

“Good afternoon, Dr. Imelda.  I am Truett, your attorney.”

Imelda frowned.  She hadn’t hired an attorney, had she?  “I beg your pardon?”

“Er, I was appointed by the court.  As your legal representative.  Because you were medically indigent.  I need to inform you of your case outcome.”

Medically indigent?  She wasn’t poor.  She hadn’t checked her bank balance in a while, of course, but she rarely spent anything either.  And what about Biotech’s insurance coverage?  And…?  “Oh.  Okay, I guess.”

He fed documentation to the ID plate which confirmed his story.

“Come in.”

He entered hesitantly.  He looked a bit shabby, tattered around the edges as many fledgling attorneys did.  If he were wealthy, of course, he would not be taking court-appointed cases.

She led him to the small table in the dining area where they sat facing each other.  He watched her oddly as she dumped the opened portion of her mail on the floor and stuffed the unopened back into its bag.  A date caught his eye.  “Two years old?  Some of your mail get lost?”

“No,” she answered, not caring to discuss it.  “So why are you here?”

He cleared his throat, pulling a certified disk out of his briefcase.  Plugging it into his PC, he displayed the contents.  “There, ah, was some disagreement among several parties as to who was responsible for your medical bill.”

He shifted uncomfortably.  “Um, as you know, the estate of Gerald Golden has been responsible for all medical charges related to your viral infection in the past.  However, his estate challenged the current expenses, stating that Biotech Inc. was responsible since it was their negligent psychiatric care that was responsible for your deterioration.”

Fish?  They were trying to blame this on Fish?

He cleared his throat again.  “However, Biotech Inc. stated that their liability insurance carrier should pay the charges because your illness was a result of the accident which occurred on Iago IV.”

Imelda’s eyebrows rose.  “So nobody wants to pay?”

He frowned.  “Um, well, that was what was so odd about the case.  None of the attorneys for the three parties wanted their clients to pay.  Because the liability wasn’t clear.  They didn’t want their clients to sue them for malpractice.  But the clients, when they found out, they went crazy.  All of them insisted on paying.  Mr. Golden, he flew in from his tour of Salsa nebula to fire his attorney.  Then he couldn’t find another attorney to take the case so he had to hire the first one back and sign a release allowing the attorney to reach an unsatisfactory agreement.”

Imelda’s mouth dropped open.

“That delayed the settlement for a while.  Meanwhile, the Board of Biotech, Inc. decided to award you a merit bonus large enough to cover the expenses because of your contribution to their research program on Iago IV.  The court, however, wouldn’t release the money to pay the medical bills until you were either competent to sign an approval or permanently declared incompetent.”

Imelda shut her mouth and sat back.  “You couldn’t sign it for me?”

He shifted uncomfortably again.  “Um, well, you see, if I had done that it would have released the other parties from their liability and you would have had to file a countersuit to regain the money.  I wasn’t sure how long you would remain incompetent and I didn’t want to allow the statute of limitations to run.”

Imelda stared at the man.  “But if Biotech intended the bonus to cover the expenses...?”

“You deserved the money.  Anyway, I spoke with their attorney.  He thought it was a stupid thing to do.”

“Well, what about the liability carrier?”

“Their attorney challenged the claim, said that you would not have reacted in this fashion without your preexisting illness.  But the carrier itself, upon reviewing the steps you took to contain the contamination, determined that you saved them approximately eighteen million credits.  The second contamination with the virus has saved them at least another hundred.  So they awarded you ten percent of that.”

“What?”

“I couldn’t release that either.  I am not your legal guardian, you know.”

“You’re not?  But who is?”

“Um, that was never settled.  The Universal Crèche challenged my assignment.  They wanted their attorney to handle the case.”

“Why?”

“Because of the amount of money involved, I think.  The money would have gone to them had you died.”

“Oh.  Figures.  So what happened?  You said there was a settlement?”

“Yes.  The liability was split three ways.  None of the attorneys were happy but their clients wanted it that way, just to get it out of court.  They’ve already signed their agreements.  Since it looked like you weren’t going to die after all, I made them wait until you were out of intensive care and off sedation so that you could sign this yourself.  The merit bonus and the award from the insurance carrier are listed in here separately as funds to be awarded to you directly and independently.”

She scanned the agreement displayed on the monitor screen briefly.  It had numbers on it.  It seemed to have the appropriate amount of legalese.   She couldn’t fathom why attorneys thought that someone could actually understand one of these documents.  He fed a copy to her wall data bank and input his code to verify that the agreement was correct and binding.  After other verification procedures through a network connection with the court where the agreement had been filed, he turned back to her.

“Well, what do you think?  The settlement looks okay to me.  It’ll cover all current and all future medical bills.  It also compensates you for income loss and sundries. Pretty standard, really.  You want to think about it a while?”

She sat a moment, frowning.  “What about your fee?”

He shrugged.  “I’m court appointed.  I get a flat two hundred credits, period.  If you want to get another attorney to review the details, that’s fine by me.  The guy from Universal Crèche has been drooling over this case from the beginning.”

“You say it’s fair?”

“Yes, for the industry.  You could wheel and deal and get another few thousand credits maybe.  That’s up to you.”

She smiled.  “What do I need more money for?  I don’t even need cat food since I gave Igor away.  Sure, I’ll sign.”

She input her acceptance.  He typed some more and finally put away his PC.

“Now, about the rest of the money.  The second Pauling Award was placed in your general account along with the first one that you never collected, and the account was sealed until you woke up.”  He handed her another disk.

“Second Pauling award?”

“Um yes, didn’t you know?”

She frowned.  “I don’t even know why I received the first one.”

His eyes widened in surprise and he examined her suspiciously.  “Well, you probably just have amnesia from all that time you were in coma.  The first one was for refusing to abandon your study on predator
-prey relationships.  The second one was for saving the planet in the absence of proper instructions out on Iago IV.  They’ve done three documentaries on your life so far.”  He smiled.  “I watched them all.”

Imelda’s eyes widened.  “They gave me two Pauling Awards for insubordination?”

He cleared his throat.  “I believe they called it courageousness.  Anyway, I put the royalties from the production companies into your general account too.”

“Royalties?”

“Yes.  I almost forgot; there are also royalties from web sites, games, toys and so forth.  One of your web games was number one last Christmas, crashed a few networks.  Biotech can authorize marketing of your image based upon your contract with them.  You get 80%.  Those funds go into your general account also.”

“Oh.”  That was in her contract?  Well, could be, she never actually read it. 

“I declared you bankrupt until we could get the settlement finalized.  Since the settlement will cover all of your bills, the rest of the money is yours.  Notifications to your creditors are being automatically transmitted now, but it will be a while before you can get a loan again.  I would suggest that you only deal in immediate payment until your credit line is re-established.”

She nodded slowly.  “That shouldn’t be any problem.  I had accumulated a few credits before, anyway.”

He laughed.  “Doctor, unless you plan on buying your own planet, you shouldn’t have any problems at all.”

She watched him curiously as he signed off the computer and collected his briefcase.

“It has been an honor working for you.  Let me know if there is anything else you need,” he said, shaking her hand.  He was still chuckling as he left, shutting the door gently behind him.

She shrugged.  She didn’t care much about money.  You could buy only so much booze before you drowned in it.  A skinny bankroll kept you sober.  She plugged the disk into the wall data bank to file it and shut the wall off.  She sat staring at the bag of mail on the floor. She felt very, very lonely.

She had almost forgotten about Igor, her old buddy.  She wondered where he was now.  Post had said something about taking care of him for her.  Jamison had volunteered too, but Igor seemed fond of Post.  She hadn’t seen Post, that she could remember, since that trip to see the medic back in the research station.

She glanced down at her arm.  A faint scar recorded that day for her. Unaccountably tears came to her eyes.  She hurriedly wiped them away.  Her entire past was erased.  She wasn’t sure she would be allowed to enter research again should she recover enough to try it.  Too much had happened.

She remained too contagious to be allowed to walk on an alien planet again.  Her contact with others would be even more severely limited than in the past.  What had happened had made headlines.  She couldn’t walk into a room without instant recognition on any settled planet.

She paced about the room restlessly.  A message beeped on her wallscreen.  It was time for her to go to physical therapy.  A map showed the way.

Her apartment was grouped with several others around a central courtyard and covered walkway.  She was forced to go on foot, part of her rehabilitation.

The door outside loomed like a gate into hell.  She didn’t want to leave her asylum.  She grimaced.  A psychiatrist would be sent after her if she didn’t show up.  Uttering a curse word, she opened the door and walked out.