The Mammoth Book of Terror (42 page)

“I think I’m making some progress,” offered Metzger testily, rankled at the other’s appropriation of data he had spent countless hours working toward. It would never do
for Froneberger to insinuate himself into this thing with matters such as they were.

“Where’s it leading you, buddy? Got anything backing this besides what the editors like to brush off as ‘artifacts of electron microscopy’?”

“I couldn’t say,” Geoff replied evasively. “I’m getting some new data off these labeled cultures that may lead somewhere.”

“May, and again may not, that’s the way it always is. I know the feeling, believe you me. Been a few times, buddy, when I damn near thought I . . . But, hell, maybe all the cherries
will roll up for you this time, you never know. Looks impressive so far, my fran. Could be we’re hearing the Nobel boys sniffing outside the door.”

“I think that’s your telephone.”

“Shit, it is that. And my secretary’s on break. Better catch it. Chow!” He lumbered off.

“Damn!” Geoff breathed, resorting his photographs with fumbling touch.

“Too late for you to help him, eh?”

“How’s that?” Geoff looked up from his evening paper and turned toward the man who was seating himself opposite him. It was Ira Festung, who busily rearranged his cafeteria
tray, smiling cheerfully as he smothered his hospital pot roast in catsup. He should have taken the paper back to the lab to finish reading, Geoff reflected. He had promised Gwen he would be home
before too late, and he could lose half an hour trying to break away from the garrulous epidemiologist.

“I noticed you were reading the headlines about the Supreme Court Justice,” said Dr Festung, doing nothing to clarify his greeting.

“I was,” Geoff admitted, glancing again at the lead article, which told of Justice Freeport’s death from cancer that morning. “Freeportwas a good man. The second justice
to die in the last few months, and both of them liberals. They’ll have a hard time replacing them – especially with the Administration we have right now.”

Festung snorted into his ice water. “Oh, they’ll probably find another couple Commies to fill their seats. Don’t see how you can seriously regret Freeport and Lloyd, after the
stands those leftists took on socialized medicine. Sure it sounds great to be the bleeding-heart humanitarian, but tell me how much of this fancy research you’d be doing as a salaried
pill-pusher. Hell, look at the disaster in Britain! Is that the kind of medical care you want to dish out to the public?”

If this got started again, Geoff knew he could plan to spend the whole evening in the hospital cafeteria. And afterward he’d have a sore throat, and his grey-haired colleagues would shake
their heads condescendingly and despair of his political judgment.

“What did you mean by what you said when you sat down?” he asked instead, hoping to steer the epidemiologist away from another great debate.

“That?” Festung wiped catsup from his full lips.

Whiskers, and he’d look like President Taft, Metzger decided.

“Well, Freeport had multiple myeloma, and from what I hear, aren’t you about to come up with the long-sought breakthrough in cancer?” Festung’s watery eyes were suddenly
keen.

Goddamn that sonofabitch Froneberger!
Geoff fought to hold a poker face. Let word go around that the Boy Wonder thought he had a cure for cancer, and he’d be a laughingstock if this
research didn’t pan out!

“Oh, is that the scuttlebutt these days?” He smiled carefully. “Well, I’m glad to hear somebody has even greater optimism for my project than I do. Maybe I ought to trade
notes with him.”

“If we didn’t have rumors to play with, wouldn’t this medical center be a dull place to live,” Dr Festung pronounced.

Geoff laughed dutifully, although he had his own opinion of the back-stabbing gossip that filled so many conversations here.

“Waste of time trying to cure cancer anyway,” the epidemiologist continued. “Nature would only replace it with another scourge just as deadly, and then we’d have to begin
all over again. Let it run its course and be done, I say.”

“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.”

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.

Dr Thackeray’s secretary was not present when Metzger entered the Department of Medicine offices the following morning – his nerves jagged after a sleepless night.
Since he knew he was expected, he knocked and entered the Chairman’s office.
Sanctum sanctorum,
soul of the Center, he thought with a tinge of hysteria.

“Dr Thackeray, I’ve been trying to get in touch with you all night . . .” He halted, startled to find the Chairman of Surgery seated within.

“It’s all right, Dr Metzger,” pronounced Dr Thackeray. “Dr Lipton is a party to . . . this matter we have to discuss.”

Numbly Geoff dropped into the room’s vacant chair. The two older men faced him with carefully composed mien – eyes alert as birds of prey.

Geoff thumped a fist against the black vinyl folders in his lap. “God, it’s all here!” His eyes were feverish. “Everything I’ve done, all I’d hoped to
establish – a number of aspects I’d never considered!”

Dr Thackeray nodded, eyes unblinking.

“Well, Christ, where did you get this? If you knew someone else was working in my field, why didn’t you tell me earlier? Hell, this is too important for professional jealousy.
I’ll gladly share any of my data with these researchers. To hell with who gets official credit!”

His voice began to shake. “This research – this information! My god – it means a definite cure for almost every form of human cancer! Why, this delineates each etiological
factor involved in cancer – pinpoints two definite stages where the causative agent can be destroyed, the disease process completely arrested! This research marks the triumph of medicine over
leukemia, most of the systemic dysplasias – individual organ involvement will be virtually eradicated!”

“Quite true,” Dr Lipton agreed. His long surgeon’s fingers toyed with the silver-and-onyx ring he wore.

“Well, no more suspense, please! Whose work is this? Where’s it being done?” Geoff s excitement was undiminished by the coolness of the other two physicians.

“One paper was prepared from the work of Dr C. Johnson Taggart,” Dr Thackeray told him.

“Taggart? No wonder it’s . . . But Taggart died ten years ago – brain tumor! You mean they’ve taken this long to piece together his notes?”

“The other paper, as you’ve noticed, is considerably older. Most of it was the work of Sir David Aubrey,” Dr Thackeray concluded.

Geoff stared at them to determine whether they were playing some horribly sick joke. “Aubrey died at the turn of the century.”