Taji's Syndrome (41 page)

“Thanks,” he muttered.

Laurie had been staring at the blood specimens. “What does it mean when it changes color like that?”

“It means that TS is present,” said Ace, deliberately emotionless.

“Look how many,” she said softly.

“Too many,” said Mason, his eyes accusing both Ace and Jeff of terrible acts.

“And these?” Laurie pointed to those belonging to the carriers. “They’re ours?”

“Yes,” said Ace.

“What about this one?” she asked, indicating Jeff’s blood specimen.

“That’s mine,” said Jeff. “Just taken.”

“But it doesn’t look like the others,” said Laurie. “It looks like . . . just blood.”

“That’s because it hasn’t had time to change yet,” said Jeff, wondering how great his risk was. He had been expecting to find TS in his blood for the last two months.

“Give it time,” said Ace. “It’ll take a while before you can see what’s going on.”

“If all these other specimens have changed this way,” said Laurie, puzzled and distant, “does that mean that they all have TS?”

Ace sneaked a look at Jeff before he answered. “It means that TS is present, yes. The disease might not be active, but it is present.”

In a very small voice she said, “Oh.”

“If it doesn’t change, what would that mean?” Mason asked, some of his outrage lessened by curiosity.

“I don’t really know,” said Jeff. “Resistance, probably.”

“What about immunity?” asked Mason. “Aren’t there some people who’re supposed to be immune to TS?”

“There are a few,” said Jeff cautiously. “We don’t know why they’re immune, or if the immunity will last, but they do exist. Now that we have the equipment we can study blood factor by factor, until we find the answer.” He could hear the sound of conversation in the next room but was unable to make out the words or the sense.

“What if the immunity lasts? What about that?” Mason pursued, his attention more fully engaged.

“Then we’ll do our best to find out everything we can about the immunity and see if there’s a way to duplicate the conditions or the factors present in the blood that results in the immunity.” Jeff glanced at Ace. “Immunity might give us a clue to a cure. It would also give us . . . hope.”

“Then why aren’t you studying more immune people?” Laurie demanded.

“Because we have only four people who tested immune to TS who’ve signed Public Benefit contracts. It’s a lot trickier to get the court to approve those contracts when the person isn’t in immediate physical peril. Some judges won’t permit altruistic Public Benefit contracts, because they believe it isn’t within the purview of the courts to do so. There are families who have sued for wrongful death and won settlements because Public Benefit contracts were signed by men and women who were not at physical risk until they undertook the terms of the contracts.”

“That doesn’t make a lot of sense,” said Laurie. “If they want to help out and they can help out, why aren’t they allowed to?”

Jeff pulled up a standard office chair—unlike Ace he was not comfortable on the tall drafting stools—and sat down, looking squarely at the two kids. “Ten years ago, there was no Public Benefit contract at all. There were plenty of people out there, physically ill and willing to do anything that might advance the understanding of their disease and give them a chance, no matter how slim, at recovery. The courts then would not permit it because it was seen as part of the ‘cruel and inhuman punishment’ prohibitions, and as worse than laboratory use of animals for experimentation. That prevailed until the AIDS crisis, because AIDS was so very deadly, and there were so few ways to slow it down. If the courts had not approved the Public Benefit contract—and the Standard Public School Blood Screen—AIDS might still be killing people everywhere.”

“Why would anybody object to those things?” Laurie asked, more baffled than ever.

“For many reasons, but I’ve told you what the usual legal reasons were.” He looked over at Ace. “And without the Public Benefit contract, most of the staff would not be allowed to work here.”

“Yeah,” said Ace. “To work here you have to test positive for TS. The only exceptions are people like Jeff Taji there, who had to sign an exemption agreement with the Disease Control Center when he went to work, holding them blameless if anything happened to him because of his occupation. Right?” This last was directed to Jeff with a large smile.

“Right,” said Jeff wearily.

Ace got off his stool. “I need a cup of coffee. Any of you like one? Or an orange juice?”

Both Jeff and Mason opted for coffee; Laurie wanted the orange juice.

“I’ll come with you,” Mason volunteered. “I’ll help carry things.”

“Good idea,” said Ace, patting Mason’s shoulder with a dinner plate-sized hand as they went into the long hall that ran the length of the floor.

“I heard my Dad’s in the hospital,” said Laurie after more than three minutes of silence.

“That’s too bad.” Jeff did not know how to draw her out and knew better than to force her to speak.

“I guess it would have happened anyway, but I feel like I did it to him. I mean, the way TS is all over the place, it doesn’t matter that I carry it, does it? It would be in San Diego whether I had it or not, wouldn’t it?” She was pleading with him, though she sounded as if she were giving a report in class. “I didn’t make him sick, did I?”

“No,” said Jeff; his uncertainty must have shown more than he thought, for she started to cry.

“It
is
my fault.” She continued weeping, though with hardly any sobs.

“It’s the fault of TS, certainly, but it is not your fault that you are a carrier.” Jeff thought of his own children in their European haven with their aunt. “It’s hard to accept that these things can happen, especially if they happen to you.”

“Adam Barenssen said we’re the instruments of God’s vengeance against the sins of the world.” She wiped her face. “I told him he’s wrong, but sometimes . . .”

“Sometimes it gets to you, and you’re afraid that he could be right?” Jeff guessed, recalling the reports he had read on the Barenssen twins and their relentless insistence on the religious purpose of TS.

She nodded. “I hate it.”

“Small wonder,” said Jeff, not caring what
it
she referred to “I told Adam not to talk to me any more, but he still does, and so does Axel.” She folded her arms, looking very young. “They said it wasn’t safe to be around the horses because we’d make them sick, too.”

Jeff shook his head. “It doesn’t work that way. So far as we know no animal except laboratory mice and hamsters has got TS, and they were made to get it. You can spend all the time you like with the horses and they’ll be fine.” Privately, he hoped this turned out to be true. Blood tests on the horses, dogs and cats at the Control Facility had yet to reveal any trace of the disease, but the tests continued, and would continue for some time to come.

“I couldn’t stand it if dogs and horses got sick, too.”

“I know, Laurie; I know,” said Jeff, miserably aware of how little consolation he could offer her.

Ace and Mason came back with large containers of coffee—one orange juice—and Mason announced, “Ace said I can stay here as long as I want tonight and help him. He’ll show me how they get all the specimens ready and what they look for. Maybe I can help you guys find a cure, after all.”

“That sounds very interesting,” said Jeff, giving Laurie an encouraging half-smile.

“Yeah,” said Mason with determination. “We’re starting with the covered racks—including
your
specimen, Doctor Taji.”

“You let me know what you find out,” Jeff said as he took the styrofoam cup the boy held out.

“I’m going to learn how to write up the reports, too. If I can do that I’ll be—” He stopped himself and would not go on.

“Tell you what, Mason,” said Jeff as if he had not noticed the way he had broken off his words, “you do the paperwork on my specimen and show it to me at breakfast, okay? We can talk about it then.” He got up. “In the meantime, I have some paperwork of my own to do, and I’m tired. You night owls can keep going until four in the morning, if you want. I’m going to bed.” Taking his coffee with him, he left Ace and the two kids in the lab, and in an hour he drifted into sleep with papers spread around him.

He was awakened at ten minutes to seven.

“Doctor Taji, this is Mason Ross. I think you better get up to the lab right away.” The boy’s voice was husky with fatigue, but his excitement and concern overrode his exhaustion.

“Mason?” Jeff said, shaking his head and rubbing his eyes. “What’s the matter?”

“Your blood specimen? The one Ace took last night?” His voice cracked with excitement.

“I remember,” Jeff said with cold dread in his chest.

“It didn’t change. All night long it didn’t change.”

—Dale Reed and Irene Channing—

Her first impression was of the musty smell of the room. Irene looked around the cabin and turned to Dale. “When were you up here last?”

“Four weeks ago, but only for the night.” He dropped the suitcases by the worn and stained leather couch. “I told you it wasn’t fancy.”

“And you sure didn’t exaggerate,” she said, trying to make a joke of it. “Mice in the kitchen, too, no doubt.”

“Probably. And ’possums in the woodshed.” He suddenly doubted his decision to bring her here. “If you’d rather go back to the hospital, I’ll call Galen Simeon and make arrangements.”

“Hell, no,” said Irene in rallying tones. “You should have seen the place I had in Winnemucca, right around the time Steven was born. That was after Tim moved out and went to Arizona. I had this three-room shack and . . .” Her eyes grew distant and she made an effort to put those memories behind her. “Thank goodness that’s over.”

Dale accepted this with reservations. “How long did you live there? Isn’t it—”

“—out in the middle of nowhere? Pretty much. I lived there until I came to my senses and realized that no matter how good my work was, no one was going to give a damn in that part of Nevada; or no one who could help me. No one was going to truck out to Winnemucca and search for a painter. And no one in Winnemucca had the contacts that might find an outlet for my work. I don’t mean that quite the way it sounds. Nevada can be beautiful in a stark way, and for a time it was exactly what I wanted to paint, that clean, honed landscape with its shadows and rocks equally hard-edged. There were actually a couple of Indians there who liked everything I did. They had very keen eyes, though not educated.” She stopped. “I’m sorry, Dale, I’m rattling along like . . . like nothing sensible.”

“You’re nervous,” he said, reaching to close the door.

“Yes,” she admitted. “It’s silly. I can’t understand why I should be so nervous. I’m not a convent-raised virgin. I’m not naive. But I don’t know what’s happening. You’d think I reverted to age sixteen.” Deliberately she took the time to study the main room of the cabin. “Does the fireplace work?”

“The chimney was cleaned in February,” said Dale. “I haven’t had it checked since. If there aren’t critters living in there, I suppose it’s fine.”

Her skin paled. “If there’s a chance that you’ve got something living in it, then let’s not use it. I don’t want to hurt anything.”

“I’ll have a look later. But do you want a fire? It’s summer, for God’s sake. You said you were roasting in the car.” He was as keyed-up as she was, though he did his best to conceal this.

“Later, it might be nice. If it’s not too hot at night.” She had brushed off the seat of the leather couch and now she sank onto it. “If you’ve got some Murphy’s I’ll clean this up for you,” she offered.

“It could use a good cleaning. I think there’s an old tub of Murphy’s in the kitchen somewhere. You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to.”

“I
do
want to, that’s why I brought it up,” she said with a touch of irritation. “This couch might be old, but it’s very well made and it needs care. A couple hours of washing and buffing would be . . . fun.”

“If you’re sure you’re up to it, we can think about it. And I’ll see if we’ve still got some Murphy’s.”

“We can get some in town,” she said without thinking, then looked over at him. “I’m sorry, Dale. I didn’t mean that. If we have to get something, I’ll let you arrange it.”

“Thanks,” he said, a trifle stiffly. “I don’t want you being hounded any more. That’s why we’re here, remember? I want you to be able to work and get . . . control of this thing you do.” By the time he finished talking, he was on the couch beside her. “I’ve arranged to have messages left at a general store at the lake. They do message holdings and act a little like a private post office.”

She let her head drop onto his shoulder. “Do you think it’s safe? Really? Do you think they won’t find us?”

“Oh, they might,” said Dale, his lips brushing her forehead. “But we’re a low priority for a while. They have their hands full with TS.”

“What about you?” she asked gently. “You have patients and they need you. You can’t walk away from them. TS is all over now, and you’re still healthy. Aren’t you?”

“Healthy?” He looked over her head, his eyes fixed on some point beyond the shuttered window. “So far.”

For a little while she said nothing. “How have your tests been?”

“We can talk about that later, when I’ve had the most recent results.” He took her hand and kissed it. “We’ll worry about this when and if we have to. Okay?”

“Okay,” she said.

He moved his hand through her hair, loving the texture of it, the way it slid through his fingers. “I’ve got to unpack the car.”

“I’ll help,” she said, not moving.

Reluctantly he moved away from her. “No, you stay here. I’ll take care of it.”

“Dale, don’t wrap me up in cotton batting. I was going nuts in that hospital because everyone tried to keep me from doing things other than the prescribed exercises and the reflex tests. They wanted to get more on the PK, not on me or my work.” She rose from the sofa. “I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to describe to you the way this made me feel. I can’t think about the life I’ve had to lead. If I do, I’ll throw myself in front of a train, I swear I will.” Her hands were up at her face and she moved away from him. “If you turn me into a freak, I won’t have anything left.”