Overview
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781634241366 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Trine Day |
| Publication date: | 12/07/2016 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 68 |
| File size: | 1 MB |
About the Author
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The Final Vaccine
A Science Fiction Novella
By Judyth Vary Baker
Trine Day LLC
Copyright © 2016 Judyth Vary BakerAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-63424-136-6
CHAPTER 1
Hansen's Snake Oil
What happens to Jackson, when he uses Hansen's Snake Oil, isn't normal, but he really will have no choice, even though its contents might be dangerous ...
"Don't be embarrassed, sir," the pharmacist told him, handing him the small bottle. "According to my online records, 385,000 people are using it daily in this country alone. That's a 12% increase over last month."
Jackson was wearing a hat – they had come into style – along with sunglasses, hoping nobody would recognize him. The pharmacist was pleased, because he was making an extraordinary profit on the stuff. He placed the small bottle into an unmarked sack. Then, using tweezers, he handed the sack to Jackson.
"Just a precaution, of course," he told Jackson, as kindly he could. "It's not very contagious."
Did the pharmacist shudder as he said those words? Jackson snatched the sack from the counter. Surreptitiously, he looked to his left, then to his right. He punched the credit payment button, which the pharmacist immediately sprayed with some kind of antiseptic. As Jackson turned to leave, he was surprised to see that a line had formed behind him: as he passed the several men and women, not one of them looked at him. Jackson was not the only one who didn't want to be recognized.
Jackson hurried down the street, only briefly stopping at a meat market to buy the best steak they had. Then, lengthening his stride, he hastened on to the glass and steel high-rise building where he worked. He was going to be late again, but it couldn't be helped. As he pushed the security gate button, he rubbed his eyes, which were quite sore. He considered how it was getting harder for him to get up every morning. With Myra now gone, he had to get himself out of bed: he wasn't very good at that presently.
Jackson now preferred to open the balcony door (previously ignored), which had made his master bedroom so expensive, in order to let the sunlight come pouring in on him. What a splendid balcony it was! Why hadn't they used it before now? He was longing to just doze: sunbathing – letting the rays of a golden sun warm his body – his eyes closed (he didn't like the sun in his eyes) – it was his new delight in a hectic life. He'd spent half of Sunday sunbathing. Such a pleasure! It's the small things that make life good, and for so long, he had forsaken them all, in order to advance his career. Besides all of that, sun was something his skin seemed to need.
Too bad that Myra had walked out on him a few days ago. Her and her brat of a kid from her first marriage ... Well, good riddance to them! Why Myra should be so miffed over a mere affair with the boss's secretary-receptionist, he could scarcely fathom. After all, he kept returning to her every night, despite all the temptations out there. Didn't she notice that he could have a harem if he wished, with all the money he made? She should have been grateful that he was only sleeping around with one other woman, when he was virile enough to take a dozen wives from any man in the area, if he wished!
True, Jackson hadn't felt like cheating on Myra until recently. But then, he was changing. If Myra couldn't put up with it, he'd told her, he'd find plenty of women who could.
Well, she left.
Now, as Jackson braced himself for the elevator's jolting stop – the damn thing obviously needed some attention, but the Cyborg-incharge of the custodian robots was nowhere to be seen – Jackson stepped out of the elevator alone. Where in the hell was everybody, anyway?
As he approached the magnificent, newly refurbished office of H.S.O. International Law Offices (that was the brand-new name of his fast-growing law contracting firm), Jackson pulled an old-fashioned 3-D brochure from his pocket. He had put off reading it ever since his early morning visit two hours ago to Dr. Throckmorton, the priciest dermatologist in the city. "Better put your shirt back on," the Doctor had told him as he began washing his hands with an evil-smelling soap. "I've seen enough."
"What is it?" Jackson had dared ask.
The dermatologist looked at his watch. "I wish I had more time to fully explain it to you," he said apologetically, "but I have people out there ..." He jerked his thumb toward the reception room. "The disease you have is virus-based. I saw only a few cases a few weeks ago, but lately, it seems to be spreading. It seems to have hit high-end Cyborgs first. You're just 40% Cyborg, are you not?"
"You know I am," Jackson responded. "But why haven't we heard about this?"
"It seems that the government doesn't want people to panic," Throckmorton told him. He flipped open an electronic prescription pad and started hitting some buttons. "This prescription will take care of the most irritating symptoms." He looked up at Jackson and smiled. "I'm only 35% Cyborg, with enhanced intelligence. It seems the 90%-and-up Cyborgs have been getting the worst of this." The doctor smiled, as if pleased. "It seems that most of them have gone out of commission. Not that I care."
Of course Throckmorton wouldn't care. No high-percentage Cyborg needed a dermatologist. The doctor could get that kind of information through his underground connections.
"But still, how can they be attacked by a virus?" Jackson asked. "They never get sick."
"There's been talk that the Rebels got their hands on something," Throckmorton responded. "But it's just talk. Meanwhile," he said, "I'm sending this on to your pharmacy. While this oil is going to help, be aware that we're talking about a mutant strain of an affliction that a portion of humankind has harbored in its DNA from ancient times. You are aware," he went on, "that we used to be a bit short when it comes to genes, compared to many life forms?"
"I thought we were the most complex creature on earth," Jackson replied.
Throckmorton laughed. "We've been adding genes here, genes there, such as, glow-in-the-dark genes from jellyfish. You can light up like a lamp every time you have an orgasm. Or if you need to walk down a dark street. But did you ever wonder if that might not open up some doorway to a new disease? You know about GFP, of course?"
"GFP?"
"That's the jellyfish gene's light-up component that most humans and all the high-end Cyborgs have," the doctor said. "Look at the screen. It will help you understand your own condition."
A mouse, glowing green, appeared on the screen. The next slide showed a human being, glowing in the dark. Then a stentorian voice began speaking. A lot of it was scientific lingo, but Jackson was an intelligent man, and he cared. In fact, he cared a lot.
"Welcome to Wimp-pedia Live!" the voice greeted him. "You wish to know about GFP. The green fluorescent protein (GFP) is a protein composed of 238 amino acidresidues that exhibit bright green fluorescence when exposed to light in the blue to ultraviolet range. GFP refers to the protein first isolated from the jellyfish Aequorea victoria. All humans and Cyborgs with human tissues are mandated to accept the GFP gene by the end of the century. Originally, GFP was injected into cancer patients, along with a second, red-glowing tracer. This detection system, inserted into the genetic code, has helped wipe out cancer."
The doctor hit 'pause' and said, "So every fetus got injected with GFP. Unfortunately, we were unaware that by adding GFP to our genes, we provided a vector for Hansen's Disease."
"What's Hansen's Disease?" Jackson asked.
"Listen to the rest of this," Throckmorton told him.
"Many animals have also been created that express GFP," the screen explained. "The GFP gene can be introduced into organisms with or without their knowledge, along with any standard vaccination. By adding a nano-bot, GFP is now used to light up the bodies of released prisoners, rebels, pets, children and lazy workers who fail to meet their quotas. Good citizens who see someone light up, with red stripes added, report the criminal, the slacker, or the missing person. Informant rewards are guaranteed."
The doctor turned off the screen and pivoted to face Jackson. "We once used fluorescence to detect cancer cells, but little did we know that the disease you have would attach to your GFP genes through contamination by a flu vaccine you received."
"I thought we had cured the flu," Jackson said. "I haven't had a flu shot for years."
"Nobody has," Throckmorton agreed, opening the door to the reception room. "But it turns out there was a hidden "virus" in the vaccine. There was no way to have known it, because Hansen's Disease can disguise itself to act as a virus. It went undetected when it mutated and attached itself to a flu vaccine module.
"But what has this to do with GFP?"
"It seems the virus used GFP to propagate Hansen's Disease in our bodies."
"I want to know what Hansen's Disease is!" Jackson demanded. The doctor handed him a brochure.
"Read this when you are in a nice, quiet place," he advised. "But before you do, get your prescription filled. Do that right away. We're fortunate to have found a temporary remedy. It's called 'HSO.'" Throckmorton smiled. "Among ourselves, we like to refer to it as 'Hansen's Snake Oil."
"Is it expensive?"
"Not at all. It's as cheap as bottled water," Throckmorton assured him. "But you'll need to take it the rest of your life. I also want you to use lubricaine three times a day to stop any eye pain. Now, I have a lot to do, so goodbye!"
The waiting room was so packed with people that Jackson decided to wait, as advised, to read the brochure later. He left the medical center, anxious to reach the pharmacy next door to fill the prescriptions. But as he walked the short distance to get there, Jackson realized that Throckmorton was right: there were no high-end Cyborgs on the streets. There were plenty of robots around, but the high-end Cyborgs were nowhere to be seen. It was shocking, how many problems their absence was causing. Transportation was spotty, the traffic signals were out, and several robots were spinning around in a circle, creating a safety hazard.
Once inside the Pharmacy, he'd had to stand in line, which gave him time to read the brochure. Should I read it now? he asked himself. Damn right, he'd read it now! But as he began reading the brochure, Jackson's body lit up, glowing a smoky green, which caused everyone to back away from him. " ... ohhhh ... no ...!" he whispered. "Ooooh ... no!"
Alongside a photo of a mutilated face, Jackson read the following: "Leprosy, also known as Hansen's disease after G. A. Hansen, who in 1878 identified the bacillus Mycobacterium leprae that causes the disease, is an infection characterized by abnormal changes of the skin."
"Omigod!" Jackson muttered. "I've got leprosy!" He read on ...
"In lepromatous (LL) leprosy, the more contagious form, the body's immune system is unable to cope with the invading organism. This type of leprosy is also called multibacillary (MB) leprosy, because of the presence of large numbers of bacteria. The characteristic feature of this disease is the appearance of large nodules or lesions all over the body and face. The eyes, nose, and throat may be involved. Facial involvement can produce a lion-like appearance (leonine facies).
"Just what I've always wanted," Jackson muttered again. "To look like a lion!"
"Do not be afraid of changes in appearance. In this mutant form, rather than creating open sores, the body builds up tissues that may change your appearance. You may gain muscle. If you develop tremors or other symptoms of brain damage, contact your physician immediately."
The brochure suggested that it would be best to cope with fast-growing hair (deemed a minor side effect) by buying an electric razor. "The bacterium will attack pigment and cuticle layers," Jackson read in a footnote. "You might experience a thickening of your fingernails, which will grow quickly, and expect a change in hair color. You may also experience some excessive hair growth in unusual places."
So far, Jackson had experienced only some itching and burning. His encounter with the Pharmacist, who had given him 'Hansen's Snake Oil' in an unmarked paper bag, holding it by tweezers, had not been an encouraging one.
Now, as Jackson stood restlessly before the office door, holding his three-pound bag of raw steak, which he'd picked up by detour, famished for some protein, he was grateful that, thanks to a fine backup system in the office building, the elevators were still working. He was already late: having to walk up twenty stories would have made him even later.
Still, he hesitated before opening the door. A small problem had come to mind. Mary, the secretary-receptionist, had been avoiding him ever since their last sexual encounter, claiming that he had hurt her! Well, he had to face her at some time. He sucked in a lungful of air, opened the door, and put on his bravest smile.
He was glad to see that Mary wasn't at the reception counter. Good. She was a vegetarian who was also objecting to the exotic lunches Jackson was lately ordering. He'd given up being a vegetarian several weeks ago, and that seemed to offend her, but Jackson was enjoying the new tastes and textures he'd avoided so many years. He went to the break room and opened the refrigerator, intending to tuck the meat package far to the rear. Maybe Mary wouldn't notice.
But as an urge to savor the red, bloody meat overwhelmed him, Jackson ripped open the package and took a bite right out of the middle of the thickest raw steak. That's when Mary showed up. He was forced to smile, his mouth full of the juicy meat. ... When he saw her look of disgust, Jackson tossed the rest of the meat inside the refrigerator.
"Any calls for me, Mary?"
He kept his voice even and soft, almost like a purr, but even so, she backed away from him. She was such a pretty woman, with strong, meaty thighs and full, ripe breasts. He wondered why he hadn't been attracted to her thighs like that before.
"No calls. But there are a lot of cancellations." She slowly shook her head. "Don't you think you need a haircut?"
"Everybody's growing their hair long this season," he replied. "You need to catch up with the times. And when's the last time you thought about changing back to blonde?"
"I like my hair the way it is," Mary said defensively. Her hair was red, white and blue, the Patriot's Choice. Most people wore the Patriot's Choice. It was certainly the most politically correct choice for everyone in business. But hell, he didn't care anymore. He wanted it a "natural" color. The thought struck him that maybe he was getting order cancellations because he wasn't wearing the Patriot's Choice. No, ridiculous! Being Natural wasn't against the law, though it was a rather risky thing to do if you were in legal sales.
He hurried into his office, where indeed, he found his desk aglow with numerous lit-up problems marked 'urgent.' He worked hard the rest of the morning and managed to salvage several lost sales. "I'm so good!" he thought. "I'm the best damned sales director this law firm ever had! Myra will be sorry she ever left me, when I get moved up to Vice President!"
He had crafted a fine career for himself – she had never appreciated it. Never seemed to notice all his hours of hard work, for him and for her. Was he a workaholic? Only by her standards, he thought grimly. It was such a surprise when she left him, until he realized that it had been probably a year since they'd had a night out together, and that little matter of cavorting with Mary. As if any man could be satisfied with just one woman!
Well, just a few more years of hard work, and he'd be a multimillionaire ... then he'd get himself a couple of more suitable women. Maybe a set of sisters. On second thought, why stop with a pair? A surge of lust arose within him at the thought: he'd get himself a harem of beautiful blondes! And because he'd be filthy rich, they would belong to him. To hell with Myra and that spoiled cub of a brat she had from her first marriage! It was lucky the brat wasn't around. A mild urge to kill the little monster began to build up in his brain. He shook off the bizarre thought, and went back to work.
By late afternoon, having finished off the last of his problems and all the meat in the refrigerator, Jackson decided that enough was enough. He hadn't even stopped for a real lunch break. Now, it was time to go into the supply closet, as he had been doing the past few afternoons. There, in solitude, he had scratched and itched himself raw. But today, he would apply some of Hansen's Snake Oil to the itchiest parts of his body. He was told it was going to make his life much more comfortable ...
There, in the semi-darkness, surrounded by office supplies and old, discarded machines and reams of paper – nobody used paper anymore – Jackson poured some of the medication into his hand, felt its melting warmth. ... He started with his head. "Oh, God!" he breathed into the gloom. "Oh, God!" It was that good. He poured out some more and began to apply it to his neck and chest. ... He was working on the lower parts of his torso, with his pants down, when Mary opened the closet door – and screamed! She backed away, slamming the door shut. Well, too bad. The oil was comforting, healing, soothing. ... Suddenly, Jackson realized that the bottle was half-empty. He'd have to get a refill. Maybe it would be best to buy a lot of refills.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from The Final Vaccine by Judyth Vary Baker. Copyright © 2016 Judyth Vary Baker. Excerpted by permission of Trine Day LLC.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Table of Contents
Contents
cover,Title page,
Letters to the Cyborgs: As Humans becaome 51% Machine, or More, Who will Inherit the Earth?,
Epigraph,
The Final Vaccine,
Hansen's Snake Oil,
Hospital Zone,
Underground,