The voice on the other end was obviously not of human nature. The guy was using some kind of software to disguise his voice. Maybe the whole swinger club thing was actually a pretty hot lead. If he was making such a fuss about his anonymity...
But at least he knew his name. Apparently, Kjell was still shown a bit of appreciation within this company. He even knew how to flatter him.
"Please forgive my rather reserved approach, which in no way does justice to a man like you. I would have gladly invited you to a personal meeting, but at the given time, this is unfortunately not possible. After all, you, I, and the company still have much ahead of us."
"Do we?"
"Dr. Westerau, please. In our field, every fourth body perishes from an exécution de son propre corps. Cells turn against the rest of the body for the sake of their own immortality, draining it of life at an alarming pace. Cancer instills fear. People become afraid of melanoma when UV light burns their skin. They tremble at the thought of bronchial carcinoma when they learn their home's paint had been contaminated with asbestos for years. We want to free them from this fear."
A caricature of the plan that had just been laid out for him. "Then I don't quite understand the latest directives."
For a moment, only an electronic crackling sound filled the line.
"If you think in small terms, that may indeed be the case. Do you know René Goscinny?"
"Never heard of him." He could probably cross foreign investors off his list. His financier was far too – how should one put it? a sweet-talking chatterbox. This leaned more toward the politician type.
"Yes, it is truly a shame how much the literature of past days has faded into oblivion. The good man, may he rest in peace, told a story decades ago that has inspired me in a very particular way. In this story, a small but brave people fear, above all things, that the sky might fall on their heads. Naturally, an alchemist who could split the sky and grant direct sight into the darkness of the Milky Way would be showered with praise. With Sontacamid, we too can split the sky, if you follow me. We could wipe cancer off the face of the Earth and become heroes in the process. That could certainly be arranged. Yet, in the grand scheme of things, we wouldn't be changing much. Cancer would merely join the ranks of polio, tuberculosis, and the plague, and within a few years, we would be forgotten. Money, a Nobel Prize, a few lines in the history books—that's all we would have. This wouldn't drive the world forward in any meaningful way. Instead of the sky, people would fear the Milky Way beyond it, or the depths of the ocean. Fear is a constant. Soon enough, it will be a new influenza or SARS variant, multi-resistant bacteria, or a synthetic virus, released by accident or design, that takes cancer's place as the new nightmare. So, if you ask me whether we have a clear moral obligation to initiate a revolution in cancer therapy, my answer is a resounding no. No, that should not be the primary concern of anyone involved – it is, in a sense, my profession to fulfill desires. Instead, you must put yourself in the position of a Roman emperor, faced with a people who cannot be subdued through military means. But if he lets the sky itself come crashing down, you will see how quickly they are willing to surrender sovereignty, integrity, and financial resources for their salvation. That is precisely how we shall proceed: We will bring the sky down and shape the world to our design before we turn our gaze toward the Milky Way."
"A nice story, but at its core, it just means you're weighing the lives and suffering of countless people against a few billion euros."
"We won't settle for money. Sontacamid offers far greater possibilities than mere wealth acquisition. But apart from that, your summary is quite accurate."
"That you don't give a damn about ordinary people's lives doesn't surprise me. I just don't see why it's not enough to become the most profitable and valuable company in the world." Kjell took his feet off the table and sat up straight. He was actually starting to feel a bit nervous. Things were really escalating. His plans for the future seemed to be slipping out of his control.
"That might be enough if all I wanted was to display a million-year-old T-Rex skeleton in the foyer of my mansion."
Not bad. That got him a little. A mansion – sure – and he'd read about dinosaur skeletons as a trendy living room accessory. But of course, that was far from his central goal in life.
"Naturally, there are other objectives, but you need not concern yourself with them for now. At a certain point, money alone can no longer accomplish everything – human lives are more expensive than you think. I will sow the seed and ask only that you wait. Loyalty, reliability, and patience for just a few years, and then you can heal this world as a leader among angels."
Nah, that was a bit much metaphorical talk for a politician.
"I suppose you'll still be explaining why I should deprive myself, not to mention the fact that this would make me a criminal and force me to lie to a lot of people."
He tried to remain unaffected on the phone, but Kjell could feel himself getting warmer. When he ran his hand across his forehead, his fingers came away damp with sweat.
"I could, of course, tell you now, but I'd rather you form your own impression. As I said, it is, in a way, my purpose and passion to reward your willingness to make sacrifices. Take your time to weigh both sides carefully. I only want to encourage you to come to the right conclusion. I believe it goes without saying that right beside the carrot, I have a whip with rather tenacious straps. Consider whether Publius Terentius Afer's most famous quote applies to you. I will contact you again tomorrow."
With a steady beeping tone, the call was declared over.
Publius who? Oh man, this was going to be something. Why did everything have to go so off the rails at the last second? He really didn't have more than two options now: Either go public with the last five minutes and spend the rest of his life in fear of hitmen, or ignore society's imposed morality and prioritize his own well-being. Of course, neither choice was truly black and white.
But no matter how deeply he analyzed it, the second option was really the only one that aligned with his reality. Even though he worked in medicine, he was no messiah. He hadn't pursued a scientific career to help strangers. There were too many people in the world anyway. Over seven billion already. Somewhere, someone was dying every second, while nearly three were being born. If medicine really did find a way to immortality, the world would spiral out of control. Not that he cared. What happened fifty or sixty years after his death was just as irrelevant to him as the number of calories he consumed each week. But at least it gave him a way to justify his potential actions, even if the thought was somewhat absurd. This was really about calculating the risks to himself.
The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
Lost in thought, he had already made his way toward the lab. Down the stairs, left down the hall, through two security doors using the chip in his work ID, and through an air shower.
He was greeted by his six colleagues raising champagne glasses. The entire corridor was filled with the (in his opinion) unmelodic sounds of Rock Meets Classic.
"To you," they toasted in unison as Tabea handed him a champagne glass. She was the last person he wanted to accept it from. It would be just like her to slip some kind of aphrodisiac in there.
"What's going on here?" Kjell asked, clearly baffled.
Confusion flickered across his colleagues' faces.
"Didn't they call you in for this? Because of the extra bonus and the gourmet-ballsack enlargement we're getting on a premium-dick-licker basis?"
Arne – officially PD Dr. Arne-Wolfgang von Walsheim – wasn't big on formalities. He was incredibly intelligent, but his behavior was... eccentric. His way of speaking was an acquired taste, a mix of a thirty-one-year-old's slang and verbal expressionism. But by now, Kjell was mostly fluent in it.
Aside from an outline of a head and a mouth, the face consisted only of a ribbon, like the ones known as a symbol of solidarity for cancer awareness. However, as if to caricature that meaning, it was rotated 180 degrees and seemed to represent something like eyes and a nose.
One click later, Kjell knew who had chosen this obscure avatar. He recognized the computerized voice from just moments ago. The face on the white background remained motionless as it revealed astonishing news to him. He had missed a lot.
"Dear Westerau Research Group, I am pleased to personally express my appreciation to you in this setting. Shakespeare once wrote that hope is a hunting dog without a trail. Often, a cancer diagnosis means exactly that fate. The same is true in research. I am thinking, for example, of glioblastoma, a rapidly spreading brain tumor that relentlessly recurs after initial treatment success. Or osteosarcomas and bronchial carcinomas, which all too often rob people of any prospect of a future upon diagnosis. But for the first time, thanks to your outstanding achievements, the hope of patients—no, of the entire world—has found a trail.
As the CEO of this company, I would like to express my gratitude at this early stage. Since I am well aware that not all of you will remain with Glatag, I would prefer not to let this become a political issue. Each of you has just received a bonus payment of 50,000 euros in your account.
However, should you choose to stay with us, I would like to offer you the following positions:
Dr. Morgana Balun – I offer you a position on the board, along with a 22% salary increase.
Dr. Arne von Walsheim – We will be forming a new research group focused on the regeneration of ischemic tissues, particularly in the heart. I would like to offer you the position of research group leader. You are welcome to negotiate your salary with the board.
Dr. Tabea Morgenta – Since your expertise lies in galenics and pharmacodynamics, I would like to entrust you with the post-market surveillance of Sontacamid in Phase 4 studies. Your salary will also increase by 14%.
Titus Habret – upon completion of your doctoral thesis, I would like to offer you a permanent position with us.
Margit Daus and Ronald Klemm – Your salaries are hereby increased by 40%.
I hope you do not take offense at this impersonal message. Our public relations strategy will soon undergo a fundamental shift, and both Dr. Westerau and I will step more into the public eye.
With that, I bid you farewell for now and hope for your continued commitment. Vale salutem."
"I see. Those are good news," Kjell commented on what he had heard.
Ronald and Margit were medical laboratory assistants who had supported them in their work until two months ago. Now that everything had been settled, they had already transferred to another research group. But since they still had at least ten years to go before retirement, such a financial boost was almost life-changing. The others were climbing further up the career ladder. Maybe hard work really did pay off.
And compared to the board, the CEO actually seemed to have some clue about the field – or at least had looked up a few medical terms online.
"So, Arne, will you take the lead of your own research group? I'll be out of here anyway as soon as this thing is done." Though that timeline might now be slightly extended – despite this message falsely suggesting that Sontacamid would soon find its way into patients' bodies.
"Not everyone has a little wifey at home like you, boss. And if I sit around like a lazy, jerking bum, that won't change either. So I'll probably say yes to that dickhead. Better be the boss with the mammoth balls than the guy with the aching blue ones."
"Good." Arne wasn't willing to reveal his true feelings. Kjell knew him too well not to notice. Arne contradicted himself.
Dying undersexed with a load of crack in his system wasn't the issue. If his words were to be believed, he spent almost every free minute in a brothel, on a street corner, or on some date with women from sex meetup sites - women he slept with before they even introduced themselves. He had recently emphasized that he would never trade this lifestyle for a single woman.
The thing was, despite all his questionable tendencies, Arne was extremely ambitious in his career. Whoever he wanted to impress, he worked tirelessly and seemed eager for social recognition and status. He was also the only one in the group who had obtained his habilitation. Yet he persistently claimed he didn't care about this "bullshit," as he put it. His way of speaking only reinforced this defensive attitude. Yes, Arne was a pretty contradictory person. But Kjell wasn't here to play therapist.
"And you, Morgana?"
"Honestly, I don't want to give up lab work that easily. Plus, I was always bad with numbers in university. I only got a 1.0 in statistics because I copied two of your answers. But on the other hand, a comet never strikes the same place twice. We were incredibly lucky to make such a groundbreaking discovery. I'll probably never have such luck again. I don't want to become one of those people our professors warned us about – someone who spends their entire life developing medications, only for none of them to ever make it through all the clinical trial phases. Besides, I'm a little worried about all these carcinogenic substances; I fear I might be genetically predisposed to cancer. But if I stay home too long, my husband will definitely start to get on my nerves. And on the board, I might have more influence over which diseases we research treatments for. So yes, I think I'll take this opportunity."
"That sounds like a good decision." Morgana was honest. Her desire for harmony was a welcome contrast to their group of misfits. The thing about her genetic predisposition didn't sound great, but Kjell didn't feel it was appropriate to pry into her family's medical history.
"What about you, Tabea?"
"If you're really leaving, someone has to take over this department. Maybe I can put myself forward for the role. You'd have to train me accordingly, of course."
That was a bit complicated. Kjell had always suspected Tabea had feelings for him, and she made little effort to hide it. But he was in a committed relationship – one that didn't follow any modern polyamory trends.
"And you, Titus?"
"I owe you a lot. I've learned so much from you. But I think academia is my calling. I want to find a good postdoc position and eventually become a research group leader or even a professor."
"I can definitely see that for you." Titus was a classic overachiever, just with a bodybuilder's physique. He had come from a top university, absorbed knowledge like a sponge, and constantly asked questions. Kjell hadn't picked him; someone higher up had likely pulled strings.
Kjell took a sip of champagne, unable to suppress a grin at that thought.
That grin quickly faded, though, as he reminded himself of the situation he was really in. Lying to his team was one thing, but more than anything, he himself was in deep trouble.
"Then congratulations to all of you. Let's see what the future holds," he concluded. He should at least pretend to be happy. "Tabea, what's the latest patient data?"
"Everything's perfect. We're reaching bioavailability of almost 80%, with no new side effects or relapses reported."
"Good. And you, Arne? Any updates on toxicity tests?"
"Everything's peachy. The [Ti+/SC-] mice are all dead. The [Ti+/Sc+] specimens are chilling, stuffing their fat asses, and happily eating their own shit. You guys call it coprophagy – I just think these wanna-be gourmets are disgusting."
"Spare me the details. But good, no issues."
Soon, Kjell would have to tell Xaya everything. They had promised never to keep secrets. Well, no one ever really kept those promises anyway.
He'd see what she had to say. And even more, he'd see what kind of persuasion tactics his creepy boss had in store for him at home. It was probably the first time in his life that he wasn't looking forward to seeing Xaya after work.
