A Desperate Cure
folder
Fantasy & Science Fiction › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
8
Views:
951
Reviews:
15
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Fantasy & Science Fiction › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
8
Views:
951
Reviews:
15
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
V.
More REVIEWS!
MOONSTAR
*squee!* This is my favorite chapter yet! It makes me all warm and bubbly inside! Finally, it's the kind of chapter that I rushed through from beggining to end just to find out what happens...and then it was over! :gonk: This part "he wore socks more to match his pants than to warm his ankles", made me giggle. I absolutely loved Alina and her great passion for chocolate...how she was glaring at him with her playfully threatening tone when he teased about not having any...it was awesome. xD So many parts I like in this one.
None of the descriptions were too wordy...and they flowed and made me happy. I learned bunches about Alina and Martin's 'relationship'...plus the wolf of course. =^.^= Next chapter! *bounce* But wait...you already have it written! xD Now the debate...do I beg you for the next bit...or torture myself so I get the giant bubbly happiness when I finally get to read the next part...:ninja: *chuckle*
Definitely my favorite update...make more like it! *grin* Till then...chao! (*evil laughter*) xD
-Moonstar
Alright, Moonstar, I’m glad you had fun… it was a fun section for me to write, too. Thanks for your faith. I certainly hope I can live up to your bouncing positivism. 8)
>>>>>
SARAH BRIDGET
Better.
Thank you, Sarah.
>>>>>
V.
Dr. Stephen Gasteyer was in love. Dizzy, crazy, forget to put the milk in the fridge love. It was all he could do to focus on his work, especially since he didn’t have a terribly clear picture of his purpose. He might have already proven his worth to his associates at State U, but that in no way influenced the opinions of the glorified lab technicians in the Reitz building. The government scientists looked down on his youth, envied his brilliance, and did their best to keep his particular star from ever reaching its zenith. No matter; he found it much more amusing to visualize the brown-haired lab assistant he’d found in hydroponics, and he passed most of his time dreaming of her as he cared for his ridiculously repetitive assignment.
Gasteyer had spent the better part of a month squirting exactly seven drops of an unnamed substance into the soil at the base of each of several thousand seedlings. He cared for the seedlings as though his own DNA had been involved in their conception. He knew the plants intimately, had spent months in a closed biosphere environment cultivating this particular species to the point of sustainable independence. He knew everything there was to know about his soils, his environment. He didn’t know what comprised the clear, viscous fluid, but he did know that it ate through latex gloves. He knew it itched. And he knew that if he accidentally got the fluid on the leaves of the seedlings, they shriveled immediately, taking three days to regenerate. Yes, regenerate. A lucky break for the absent-minded doctor. A band—aid, vinyl gloves, and his superiors need be none the wiser.
Gasteyer’s superiors were quite aware of the fetid patch of rotting skin on the back of his forefinger. In fact, they were more than aware. They were somewhat pleased with the mistake. While it was unfortunate that the young doctor would not reach his full potential, there were bigger issues at hand. The two billion dollar project could not be interrupted to find a new doctor to serve his purpose. And the injury he surreptitiously carried was being studied during Gasteyer’s sleep periods by a group of dermatologists and hematologists. All in all, the injury was a lucky break for the program.
- - - - - - - -
Alina took a final gulp of coffee; her head tilted back and her forehead knotted as she forwent breathing for the need to ingest that most necessary fluid. She could feel Martin’s eyes on her, and his disappointment rolled towards her, quiet and slick like a black wave of oil. Choking overdramatically on the last drips of her coffee, she drew Martin’s eye away from his preoccupation with whatever was making him sad, and felt his emotion transmute to worry. She grinned at him, and slid her coffee cup into the cup holder; he pursed his lips in annoyed amusement, and gathered his garbage and hers, snatching her cup back out of the holder and stacking it with his own in the bag. Alina stared at him. “You know they’ll clean the inside of the car as soon as we get out of it. Only the wolf’s allowed to leave prints around here.”
“That doesn’t mean we have to leave it a deliberate mess.”
“Only you, Martin. We get an urgent call at zero-dark-thirty and you want to help the housekeeping staff. Let’s go!”
Martin reluctantly left the bag on the floor of the car and gracefully gathered the handles of his small leather satchel. Alina jumped out of her side, her hair spilling messily over her shoulder, and went around to the back of the truck. She opened the truck door, and Gerad spilled out of the truck in a stately flash of silver fur. She grabbed the nylon straps of her giant bag, hauled it up to shoulder height and used her back to heave the bulk of it across the parking lot.
Her boots clomped toward the door, followed by the click of Gerad’s paws against the asphalt, followed by the almost dainty tread of Martin’s work shoes, a constant source of amusement to the rest of the locker room. They looked like dress shoes, but had rubber treads on the hard soles, and everyone knew Martin had had to find the specific paragraph and subparagraph to support his independent purchase of non-uniform footwear. Martin Caldwell would not be caught dead in trousers and boots.
Alina fished her pass out of her coat pocket with her free hand, hauled open the building door, and waited for Martin to pass through. Under her breath, she mumbled, “Ladies first.”
Martin stepped daintily through the door, curtsied sarcastically, and placed his bag on the conveyor belt, walking around the security arch and straight up to the guard, where he presented his pass. Alina didn’t bother, taking the bag with her as she stomped past the guard, holding her ID up over her head, not even bothering to angle it so the guard could see it. Gerad simply walked calmly at her side, perfectly obedient and looking as friendly as a cocker spaniel.
Leo, the building’s personnel safety technician, took umbrage to her behavior, but there wasn’t a single thing he could do about it, so he straightened his tie, passed Martin his bag, and sat down on his wobbly stool, thanking Mister Caldwell overly loudly for his adherence to policy. His sarcastic graciousness fell only to the ears of his partner, who shrugged as Caldwell’s running clip-step disappeared into a closing set of elevator doors behind Trudeau’s steady gait and the slipping scrape of the wolf’s nails against the polished floors.
- - - - - - - -
The offices of Brack, Dever, Poole, and Manhalter were located on the thirteenth floor of the Reitz building. A long hallway lined in government-green paint led to a rickety wooden door with a rattling frosted glass inset panel, the names on the door were cracked and peeled as though they had shriveled away in disgust.
This studied state of disrepair allowed Dr. Caldwell to maintain a public presence, and gave her government-employed team a mailing address that left no one exposed. The most important purpose of suite 1302, however, was to give the team a legitimate reason to enter the building through the front door. The Reitz building had been built in the era when housekeeping staff was a silent, badly-paid member of the family; a back stair and servant’s elevator ran through the core of the building. Over the course of years, the servants’ access points were blocked up, painted over, decorated around. Few of the tenants of the building knew the elevator existed; those that did didn’t particularly care. Most of the Reitz was populated by small data entry outfits, telemarketers, and failing legal practices. There were several sub-basements, mostly holding storage and maintenance shafts. The third sub-basement, however, was a staging area leading to a series of interconnecting tunnels which formed some of the most valuable unreal estate in the country.
Laboratories, libraries, two greenhouses, a hydroponics lab; genetic testing resources, a fully outfitted infirmary, and countless personal offices. One tunnel led to the cellar of a hotel which held dorm-style sleeping arrangements for anyone in the field. Access to nearly anything the team would need was assured. When Delia was still just Mr. Poole’s efficient secretary, she had passed the plans for the Reitz building on his desk. A mental note of the potential of the unusual structure bore fruit years later when the government informed her by form letter that her team would be housed in the old National Revenue Service building. The government lawyer was young and in love, and Delia had dealt with paperwork for far too long. She named forms the miniskirted lawyer had never even heard of, and filed her request for the Reitz building before anyone else knew it was available. Officially, the government owned the Reitz building, but Delia had prepared well, and even Marie-Andréé Reitz herself was not aware that the illegal activities being conducted in the penthouse suite by her rich, unprincipled children continued by the grace of one fifty-something woman renting half of the thirteenth floor.
- - - - - - -
The phone rang. The plain, white wall phone that came with the building. Delia looked up in surprise. She picked up the dusty handset; the metal cradle creaked, stuck, and then snapped up, sticky with rust and disuse. Holding it away from her face, she spoke clearly into the receiver. “Dr. Caldwell.”
“This is Leo at the security entrance.”
Pause.
Delia squinted, trying to remember. Grace. Graciousness would overshadow her inability to identify the whiny voice. “I’m sorry, Leo… How may I help you?”
“You have no idea who I am, do you?” Accusatory.
Delia was annoyed. Five minutes ago, she would have been ridiculously grateful for any interruption that would pull her from her work, but now she simply wanted to get the weird man of the phone. And stop touching it. Her fingers felt sticky and welded to the cheap plastic. “Please forgive me, Leo. Is there something I can do?”
“I’m just calling to let you know that Agent Caldwell is coming up to see you.”
Pause again.
“Is that a problem?”
“No, Agent Caldwell is just the only one I can positively identify. I have no idea who the woman and the dog are, because I haven’t seen their passes.”
Recognition slammed into Delia’s brain, and she almost let the sticky handset touch her ear. “Leo! I’m sorry, Leo. I meant no disrespect. It’s quite fine for Trudeau and the wolf to come inside, you know that. Is there some problem that I’m not understanding?”
“Yes, ma’am! I’m trying to tell you that if your Agents and their animals are going to be traipsing through my lobby running roughshod over the protocol and ignoring our security measures, there is no way for us to keep you safe! The building rules clearly state that anyone entering the building must go through the security arch—“
“Leo,” Delia broke in. “I understand you have some concerns. Why don’t you come up to my office when your shift’s over and we can talk about it? “
“That would be just nice. Because this conversation is not over. There is a lot that needs to be fixed around here. And-“
Delia cut him off again. “I’m sorry, Leo, but I’m quite busy at the moment. When you come upstairs later, perhaps we can discuss all of this. Until then, I really do need to get back to work.” A loud buzzing sound came from the back of the lab.
“What was that? There should be no heavy equipment on the thirteenth floor. The building is not properly zoned for-“
“Leo! I can assure you that there is nothing illegal going on on the thirteenth floor. We will talk when your shift is over. Please understand, I simply must go.”
Leo’s voice continued to filter through the tinny speaker as she reached to hang up. The imbecile would be on the thirteenth floor at 8:01 am, if she guessed correctly. Smiling grimly, Delia went into the lab. She turned off the alarm on the centrifuge machine, then crossed to the lab fridge. Retrieving a small bottle, she toggled the intercom to her office on the thirteenth floor. “Jake?”
No answer. Delia rolled her eyes. Nightclub opening tonight, Key, down in Dempsey. She decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps he was in the lavatory. She left a message. “Jake, the security guard from the lobby is coming upstairs after his shift to speak with me. Please receive him cordially and allow him to wait in my office? I’ll send up a bit of tea, and we’ll send him home feeling …relaxed.”
(A/N: i expect chap. 6 for tuesday24jan2006)
MOONSTAR
*squee!* This is my favorite chapter yet! It makes me all warm and bubbly inside! Finally, it's the kind of chapter that I rushed through from beggining to end just to find out what happens...and then it was over! :gonk: This part "he wore socks more to match his pants than to warm his ankles", made me giggle. I absolutely loved Alina and her great passion for chocolate...how she was glaring at him with her playfully threatening tone when he teased about not having any...it was awesome. xD So many parts I like in this one.
None of the descriptions were too wordy...and they flowed and made me happy. I learned bunches about Alina and Martin's 'relationship'...plus the wolf of course. =^.^= Next chapter! *bounce* But wait...you already have it written! xD Now the debate...do I beg you for the next bit...or torture myself so I get the giant bubbly happiness when I finally get to read the next part...:ninja: *chuckle*
Definitely my favorite update...make more like it! *grin* Till then...chao! (*evil laughter*) xD
-Moonstar
Alright, Moonstar, I’m glad you had fun… it was a fun section for me to write, too. Thanks for your faith. I certainly hope I can live up to your bouncing positivism. 8)
>>>>>
SARAH BRIDGET
Better.
Thank you, Sarah.
>>>>>
V.
Dr. Stephen Gasteyer was in love. Dizzy, crazy, forget to put the milk in the fridge love. It was all he could do to focus on his work, especially since he didn’t have a terribly clear picture of his purpose. He might have already proven his worth to his associates at State U, but that in no way influenced the opinions of the glorified lab technicians in the Reitz building. The government scientists looked down on his youth, envied his brilliance, and did their best to keep his particular star from ever reaching its zenith. No matter; he found it much more amusing to visualize the brown-haired lab assistant he’d found in hydroponics, and he passed most of his time dreaming of her as he cared for his ridiculously repetitive assignment.
Gasteyer had spent the better part of a month squirting exactly seven drops of an unnamed substance into the soil at the base of each of several thousand seedlings. He cared for the seedlings as though his own DNA had been involved in their conception. He knew the plants intimately, had spent months in a closed biosphere environment cultivating this particular species to the point of sustainable independence. He knew everything there was to know about his soils, his environment. He didn’t know what comprised the clear, viscous fluid, but he did know that it ate through latex gloves. He knew it itched. And he knew that if he accidentally got the fluid on the leaves of the seedlings, they shriveled immediately, taking three days to regenerate. Yes, regenerate. A lucky break for the absent-minded doctor. A band—aid, vinyl gloves, and his superiors need be none the wiser.
Gasteyer’s superiors were quite aware of the fetid patch of rotting skin on the back of his forefinger. In fact, they were more than aware. They were somewhat pleased with the mistake. While it was unfortunate that the young doctor would not reach his full potential, there were bigger issues at hand. The two billion dollar project could not be interrupted to find a new doctor to serve his purpose. And the injury he surreptitiously carried was being studied during Gasteyer’s sleep periods by a group of dermatologists and hematologists. All in all, the injury was a lucky break for the program.
- - - - - - - -
Alina took a final gulp of coffee; her head tilted back and her forehead knotted as she forwent breathing for the need to ingest that most necessary fluid. She could feel Martin’s eyes on her, and his disappointment rolled towards her, quiet and slick like a black wave of oil. Choking overdramatically on the last drips of her coffee, she drew Martin’s eye away from his preoccupation with whatever was making him sad, and felt his emotion transmute to worry. She grinned at him, and slid her coffee cup into the cup holder; he pursed his lips in annoyed amusement, and gathered his garbage and hers, snatching her cup back out of the holder and stacking it with his own in the bag. Alina stared at him. “You know they’ll clean the inside of the car as soon as we get out of it. Only the wolf’s allowed to leave prints around here.”
“That doesn’t mean we have to leave it a deliberate mess.”
“Only you, Martin. We get an urgent call at zero-dark-thirty and you want to help the housekeeping staff. Let’s go!”
Martin reluctantly left the bag on the floor of the car and gracefully gathered the handles of his small leather satchel. Alina jumped out of her side, her hair spilling messily over her shoulder, and went around to the back of the truck. She opened the truck door, and Gerad spilled out of the truck in a stately flash of silver fur. She grabbed the nylon straps of her giant bag, hauled it up to shoulder height and used her back to heave the bulk of it across the parking lot.
Her boots clomped toward the door, followed by the click of Gerad’s paws against the asphalt, followed by the almost dainty tread of Martin’s work shoes, a constant source of amusement to the rest of the locker room. They looked like dress shoes, but had rubber treads on the hard soles, and everyone knew Martin had had to find the specific paragraph and subparagraph to support his independent purchase of non-uniform footwear. Martin Caldwell would not be caught dead in trousers and boots.
Alina fished her pass out of her coat pocket with her free hand, hauled open the building door, and waited for Martin to pass through. Under her breath, she mumbled, “Ladies first.”
Martin stepped daintily through the door, curtsied sarcastically, and placed his bag on the conveyor belt, walking around the security arch and straight up to the guard, where he presented his pass. Alina didn’t bother, taking the bag with her as she stomped past the guard, holding her ID up over her head, not even bothering to angle it so the guard could see it. Gerad simply walked calmly at her side, perfectly obedient and looking as friendly as a cocker spaniel.
Leo, the building’s personnel safety technician, took umbrage to her behavior, but there wasn’t a single thing he could do about it, so he straightened his tie, passed Martin his bag, and sat down on his wobbly stool, thanking Mister Caldwell overly loudly for his adherence to policy. His sarcastic graciousness fell only to the ears of his partner, who shrugged as Caldwell’s running clip-step disappeared into a closing set of elevator doors behind Trudeau’s steady gait and the slipping scrape of the wolf’s nails against the polished floors.
- - - - - - - -
The offices of Brack, Dever, Poole, and Manhalter were located on the thirteenth floor of the Reitz building. A long hallway lined in government-green paint led to a rickety wooden door with a rattling frosted glass inset panel, the names on the door were cracked and peeled as though they had shriveled away in disgust.
This studied state of disrepair allowed Dr. Caldwell to maintain a public presence, and gave her government-employed team a mailing address that left no one exposed. The most important purpose of suite 1302, however, was to give the team a legitimate reason to enter the building through the front door. The Reitz building had been built in the era when housekeeping staff was a silent, badly-paid member of the family; a back stair and servant’s elevator ran through the core of the building. Over the course of years, the servants’ access points were blocked up, painted over, decorated around. Few of the tenants of the building knew the elevator existed; those that did didn’t particularly care. Most of the Reitz was populated by small data entry outfits, telemarketers, and failing legal practices. There were several sub-basements, mostly holding storage and maintenance shafts. The third sub-basement, however, was a staging area leading to a series of interconnecting tunnels which formed some of the most valuable unreal estate in the country.
Laboratories, libraries, two greenhouses, a hydroponics lab; genetic testing resources, a fully outfitted infirmary, and countless personal offices. One tunnel led to the cellar of a hotel which held dorm-style sleeping arrangements for anyone in the field. Access to nearly anything the team would need was assured. When Delia was still just Mr. Poole’s efficient secretary, she had passed the plans for the Reitz building on his desk. A mental note of the potential of the unusual structure bore fruit years later when the government informed her by form letter that her team would be housed in the old National Revenue Service building. The government lawyer was young and in love, and Delia had dealt with paperwork for far too long. She named forms the miniskirted lawyer had never even heard of, and filed her request for the Reitz building before anyone else knew it was available. Officially, the government owned the Reitz building, but Delia had prepared well, and even Marie-Andréé Reitz herself was not aware that the illegal activities being conducted in the penthouse suite by her rich, unprincipled children continued by the grace of one fifty-something woman renting half of the thirteenth floor.
- - - - - - -
The phone rang. The plain, white wall phone that came with the building. Delia looked up in surprise. She picked up the dusty handset; the metal cradle creaked, stuck, and then snapped up, sticky with rust and disuse. Holding it away from her face, she spoke clearly into the receiver. “Dr. Caldwell.”
“This is Leo at the security entrance.”
Pause.
Delia squinted, trying to remember. Grace. Graciousness would overshadow her inability to identify the whiny voice. “I’m sorry, Leo… How may I help you?”
“You have no idea who I am, do you?” Accusatory.
Delia was annoyed. Five minutes ago, she would have been ridiculously grateful for any interruption that would pull her from her work, but now she simply wanted to get the weird man of the phone. And stop touching it. Her fingers felt sticky and welded to the cheap plastic. “Please forgive me, Leo. Is there something I can do?”
“I’m just calling to let you know that Agent Caldwell is coming up to see you.”
Pause again.
“Is that a problem?”
“No, Agent Caldwell is just the only one I can positively identify. I have no idea who the woman and the dog are, because I haven’t seen their passes.”
Recognition slammed into Delia’s brain, and she almost let the sticky handset touch her ear. “Leo! I’m sorry, Leo. I meant no disrespect. It’s quite fine for Trudeau and the wolf to come inside, you know that. Is there some problem that I’m not understanding?”
“Yes, ma’am! I’m trying to tell you that if your Agents and their animals are going to be traipsing through my lobby running roughshod over the protocol and ignoring our security measures, there is no way for us to keep you safe! The building rules clearly state that anyone entering the building must go through the security arch—“
“Leo,” Delia broke in. “I understand you have some concerns. Why don’t you come up to my office when your shift’s over and we can talk about it? “
“That would be just nice. Because this conversation is not over. There is a lot that needs to be fixed around here. And-“
Delia cut him off again. “I’m sorry, Leo, but I’m quite busy at the moment. When you come upstairs later, perhaps we can discuss all of this. Until then, I really do need to get back to work.” A loud buzzing sound came from the back of the lab.
“What was that? There should be no heavy equipment on the thirteenth floor. The building is not properly zoned for-“
“Leo! I can assure you that there is nothing illegal going on on the thirteenth floor. We will talk when your shift is over. Please understand, I simply must go.”
Leo’s voice continued to filter through the tinny speaker as she reached to hang up. The imbecile would be on the thirteenth floor at 8:01 am, if she guessed correctly. Smiling grimly, Delia went into the lab. She turned off the alarm on the centrifuge machine, then crossed to the lab fridge. Retrieving a small bottle, she toggled the intercom to her office on the thirteenth floor. “Jake?”
No answer. Delia rolled her eyes. Nightclub opening tonight, Key, down in Dempsey. She decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps he was in the lavatory. She left a message. “Jake, the security guard from the lobby is coming upstairs after his shift to speak with me. Please receive him cordially and allow him to wait in my office? I’ll send up a bit of tea, and we’ll send him home feeling …relaxed.”
(A/N: i expect chap. 6 for tuesday24jan2006)