Quaranteam: Phil's Tale (ch. 18)

Chapter 18

November 10

th

, 2020

It had been nearly a week since his meeting with the President, and he felt both satisfied and frustrated all at the same time. On one hand, they'd made a ton of progress in locking out bypasses in the system - as far as Phil could tell, they had every major loophole closed and were down to just the last handful of minor ones, and nobody had been able to do an unauthorized and untracked forced pairing since they'd begun looking at the flaws. They were even able to build a full list of where all the mispairings had been sent to, not that they could do a damn thing about it.

That was the bad news, though. They had a whole list of women who'd been inappropriately paired up with bad matches, and no real way to undo any of it. Not shy of killing the men who'd they'd been assigned to, and as much as that sounded like an appropriate solution to Phil, he somehow doubted anyone above him would go for it, especially since he suspected they were probably in on it, at least at some level.

Phil didn't trust Fielder, simply because it would've taken someone with exactly that level of access to help get this set up without himself or Miguel noticing. That meant they were swimming in shark infested waters and didn't really have any possible person they could pass things onto, unless he wanted to go straight to the President and her people.

They weren't there yet, but the option wasn't off the table.

For now, they just had their list.

Of people they couldn't tell were in bad matches.

Phil hated that this was where they were at, stuck with a bunch of people known to be in trouble and nothing he could do for them at this moment in time. It was a horrible feeling, one that he'd grown rather familiar with over the past year. Yes, he'd helped save millions, no, probably billions of lives at this point, but it was still easier to focus on the failures than the successes, when the stakes were so monumentally incomprehensible.

He'd gotten into medicine to help people, not to play God.

And yet, here he was, making decisions that affected millions.

Every day.

In addition to working on getting the back doors closed and the list populated, Phil had also spent more time than he'd like to admit unsuccessfully trying to find a solution that would allow gay men and women to be able to take the serum without complications, and as of yet, his total progress on that had been a staggering sweet fuck all.

There were too many problems for him to just focus on one or two, so he was doing his best to keep three or four in rotation, and whenever he felt like he was going to throw his laptop at a wall, that was time to shift to focus on something else.

One of the things that had come up was how long a mismatched man's sperm was dangerous to a woman he wasn't imprinted onto, and the request had come down that they were considering 'military' applications, which had Phil horrified. He was thankful that he could write back to them quickly, saying that a man's sperm's toxicity really only had a shelf life of half an hour after exposed to oxygen, and even if it was bottled immediately, the longest it would hold on to its potency was 24-36 hours,

tops

. On top of that, if someone tried to 'mix' a man's sperm into food or water, the toxicity would be almost immediately counteracted - they'd noticed that when using water to wash sperm off their test subject's skin when they were doing their initial research. Trying to kill a woman by mixing another man's sperm in with her salad wasn't going to do anything other than taste funny. The fact that someone had thought about this enough to send them an inquiry was more than a little disturbing.

They'd also been asking about how high Phil's confidence level was that the children born from two parents under the influence of the Quaranteam serum would be immune to DuoHalo, and while he felt like he was certain that those children wouldn't suffer under DuoHalo, he didn't blame the administration for wanting to have as much data to support that hypothesis as possible. But everything he'd learned about DuoHalo now told him that even with its high propensity to mutate, the serum was doing its job, and seemed to be able to build counter attacks for even the strangest of variants.

That was the thing that was taking up far more of Phil's time than he would've liked - the goddamn variants.

There were close to a dozen major variants of DuoHalo that had sprung up, about half natural, the other half intentional modifications to the virus strain, and the number of minor variants was staggering for something that hadn't really existed on the planet less than twelve months ago.

The variants could do strange things - cause people to lose their hair, cause strange changes in behavior, inversions of sleeping circadian rhythms, hair color changes, eye color changes... it was almost like the variants were starting to wreak havoc on basic physiology, and the serum, in tracking and trying to counter the effects of the variant, were having mutations of their own.

He'd started to put together a team of people whose entire function was to track and document DuoHalo variants, and the mutations it was causing within the Quaranteam serum, just in case they had to fall back with experimenting with earlier versions of the serum.

In what was one of the

least

known facts about the Quaranteam serum, there wasn't just a single version of it, but

three

. Only one of them was practical on a scaling use case. Of the remaining two, one could have

very

specialized uses, but even then only under special guidance, and the other, well, they hadn't seen any real use case for it in any way, and considered it a dead end that just happened in the course of the development process.

The Quaranteam serum in common usage was known, officially as Quaranteam G, for green, the color of the serum itself. Quaranteam R, for red, had made in very small amounts, because it had both an added benefit and an added cost. The added benefit was that it

guaranteed

a regeneration cycle to both partners in the pairing. The downside was that the time between recharge sessions was

dramatically

reduces, so much so that the only people who'd been paired with Quaranteam R had to fuck once every 48 hours or so before they would start to get irrational. The third variant, Quaranteam B, for blue, had been tried, with the hopes that it could be an alternative, but as it turned out, it was a one-and-done serum, and locked people out from using further variations of the Quaranteam serum. QTB had been tried with the hopes that the single-use would be all that would be needed, but as it turned out, the immunity to DuoHalo it offered hadn't been sustained, so a person who'd used QTB to fight off DuoHalo once would simply catch it again and

then

die. So QTB was a dead end, QTR was a very rare remedy that could be used in cases of emergencies, although they'd done so little testing on it, it was possible there were far more complications with it than they'd already learned.

"Phil, babe," Linda said, as she walked into his office, closing the door behind her, flipping the lock on, which was a sign either she needed to talk to him or they were about fuck at work. "How much do you trust me?" The former then, he thought to himself, and not the latter.

"To the end of the earth, Linda," he told her. "You know that. Why?"

"We need to get six vials of QTR off-site and to a meeting point," she said to him, offering no further explanation.

"How soon?"

"Two hours."

"I'm on it."

As it turned out, being in charge of the base afforded Phil a huge amount of freedom and leeway, to the point where when he took six vials of QTR for "testing and use," he had to sign out for them, but didn't have to mark what the testing was for, when it was being done or even where he was doing it. And when they headed off the base, nobody even asked to look inside of Phil's briefcase, because as head of the project, if he couldn't be trusted, who could?

Phil also thought it was odd that it was just him and Linda in the car, but waited until they were out of the grounds of New Eden before he asked her any questions. They were down at the 580/680 interchange when Phil finally felt comfortable to ask.

"What the hell are we doing, Linda?" he finally brought himself to ask.

"Not everyone who joined Linda's Girls stayed with the unit, Phil," Linda said. "I got a phone call this morning from one of the gals who used to be part of my squad, asking if I could set up a meeting between you and her principal."

"Who's she work for these days?"

"Somewhere in the alphabet agencies, maybe, but probably one of the ones that doesn't officially have a name or an acronym, OGAs we call them. Other Government Agencies"

"That doesn't sound shady at all," Phil told her. "But I guess with all the changes the Quaranteam serum's caused across the world, maybe I should be surprised they haven't reached out to us sooner. What's your friend's name?"

"First Lieutenant Magdalene Luckey," Linda said. "She was a bright girl, and if she's got a deal we should hear about, I figured we shouldn't waste her time or ours. Our end of the deal was six vials of QTR, which I figure shouldn't be too abusable."

"Where are we meeting?"

"Livermore Municipal Airport," she said. "Luckey's contact said they didn't have a whole lot of time to spare, so we needed to meet up with them quickly. Thus the rush."

"This is way more your world than mine, Linda, so if you think it's a good idea—"

"I think Luckey wouldn't have reached out if they didn't have something monumentally good worth trading for the vials, so it's best we hear them out."

"And let me guess, she said bring no backup?"

"Just the principals and the chief bodyguard on each side, so you and me, her and her man."

"You don't think she's the principal herself?" Phil asked.

Linda shook her head. "If Luckey's got any flaws at all, it's that she's not proactive enough. This idea had to have come from her principal, not from her."

"Looks like we don't have too much longer to find out."

They were pulling up on the Livermore Municipal Airport, a mostly smaller private airport that still did a decent amount of business for private jets out of the East Bay. It had probably been where Air Force One had touched down a few days ago when the President had visited, so as to be discreet. They were stopped by security, but as soon as Linda flashed her credentials, they were waved on through, told they were being expected down at Hangar 13.

The Tesla Model Y quietly zipped on down, heading from hangar to hangar before reaching 13, seeing a small Cessna waiting just out in front of it, as well as a couple of people sitting in lawn chairs on the tarmac, a small igloo cooler resting in between them.

The woman was black, in her early 30s, pint sized but certainly in excellent shape, with her hair pulled back into a tight bun, dressed in nondescript blacks and greys, and had a rifle of some kind resting across her lap. The guy next to her had to be in his late fifties with a mustache that was far too bushy for Phil to abide by. 'The Magnum P.I. look went out like thirty years ago, my dude,' Phil thought to himself as Linda brought the car to stop in front of the two of them.

"Hey there Captain," the woman said, a strong Southern accent layered in her voice. Phil would've guessed Georgia or Alabama. "Good to see you. I'm guessing the beefcake with you's your man, Dr. Marcos?"

'

Beefcake?

' Phil thought to himself. 'First time anyone's called me that.'

"Affirmative Luckey, and you aren't in the Air Force anymore, so you don't have to call me Captain," Linda said to her, offering her a hand to shake, which her old colleague did. "Who's the walrus?"

"Linda, this is my principal, Agent Greerson. Boss? This is Captain Linda Hayes, and her partner, Doctor Phillip Marcos, one of the inventors of the Quaranteam serum."

"You think I don't know the face of the most valuable man on the planet, Mags?" Greerson joked. "Not to mention Captain Hayes looks like she knows which end of the rifle to hold when the shit hits the fan. Apologies, Dr. Marcos. I would've rightly much rather we'd have met under better circumstances, but no plan survives contact with the enemy or politicians and all that shit. All said though, you've probably help save more people than anyone else on the planet, so not to sound like a mooning fan, I've got to shake your hand." The old, grizzled cowboy looking fella offered Phil a handshake, which Phil took him up on.

"I appreciate that, Agent Greerson, but you've gotta know, I'm currently one of the most heavily scrutinized scientists in the world, which means you went through no small challenge to get this meeting on your terms, so perhaps you'd better just get to the nuts and bolts of it."

"Good, not a man to mince words and waste time - I think I know some folks who would appreciate that more than you know. I'll admit I was worried you were going to be like the antisocial chair jockeys that end up on our analysis teams," Greerson said, leaning back and swirling the last dregs of beer in his bottle. "Here's the ballgame - word is you've got a fox or two in your henhouse and you're trying to flush 'em out. That about right?"

"I wouldn't say that I trust everyone I work with these days, no. That's probably a fair assessment."

"Now, see, that's the sort of issue that folks in my circle call an empathetic problem. Mags here has been instrumental in sniffing out rotten apples since she got hooked up with my organization, and according to her Captain Hayes is the woman she trusts the most. She says if Hayes agreed to hitch her wagon to you, Dr. Marcos, then you're a shiny McIntosh crisp off the tree and not some crab apple riddled with worms that's using this whole fucking disease to hide their ugliness."

"You gonna dance all night with your hand on my ass, Greerson, or you gonna make your move?" Phil asked. It was a line from a movie he liked, and he'd always wanted to say it to someone.

"How many of you put together the Quaranteam serum, Doctor Marcos?"

"Officially or unofficially?"

"Let's say both."

"Officially, I'm one of four. Unofficially, I'd say one of six."

"Would the name of someone else on that list be McCallister?"

"Based on that question, you know that it is." Phil was starting to wonder just where all this was heading, but at least he had an inkling of what it might be focusing on.

"More importantly, would it be the last name of

two

people on that list?" Phil knew he'd given something away as soon as the older man said that, because the smile that creeped in on his face gave something away back in return. "Thought it might. So, let me tell you a story—"

"Not sure I have time for that."

"It's not all that a long story, son, so keep your pants on," Greerson said, waving his beer around. "Now, if my info's good, the six of you who put together that serum were you, Dr. Bill McKenna, Dr. Dev Varma, Dr. Charlotte Varma, Dr. Adam McCallister and Dr. Eve McCallister, although you didn't know that Dr. Eve McCallister had contributed, because her husband kept her contributions secret. That square up?"

"Go on."

"I also have it on good authority that people have come after you twice - once it was the Ruskies, and the other time it was the Aussies," Greerson said. "The Aussies were mostly a mix up, but the Ruskies actually succeeded in getting the McCallisters out of the country and back to Russia. Monumental level of fuck up, one they're still playing hot potato with back in Washington. Not my circus, not my monkey, though."

"It's good intel, even if it's months old at this point."

"This one's hot off the presses, then. Eve McCallister's not with the Russians anymore."

Phil looked at Greerson with genuine interest now. He didn't know how Greerson would've come across such information, but it was certainly something that interested Phil. "Then she's in for a very short life, if she went without her husband, without him dying and getting her reassigned."

"That's what you'd think, but the people who smuggled her out, well, they reached out to me with a message from Dr. McCallister, and that's why I'm reaching out to you." Greerson nodded over to Mags, who reached forward and picked up a tablet computer from the top of the cooler, unlocking it, opening up a file before she held it out to him.

Phil took the tablet from her hand and looked at the screen where he saw the image of Adam McCallister's wife Eve staring back at him. She was inside of a shipping container and looked a little worse for wear, the last few months appearing to have been unkind to her. Her hair was shorter and the bags under her eyes were much deeper, as if she'd been a little underfed. He tapped the button to bring the image to life, and Eve McCallister began to speak.

"Hello, this message is for those in the development of the Quaranteam serum in the United States, specifically Drs. Phil Marcos and Bill McKenna. My name is Doctor Eve McCallister, and hopefully you will remember me from some of the parties I attended with my former husband, Dr. Adam McCallister, whom I suspect you also know at this point betrayed you and fled to Russia, dragging me along with him. I don't want to get into specifics, but if you can grant me asylum, and find a new person for me to get imprinted onto, I can provide you with a reliable method to reimprint women from one man to another. The method is single use, meaning a woman cannot use it multiple times, but it does not require the death of the man she's currently partnered with, which is why I have taken it and fled from Adam in a desperate attempt to get my life back. I was imprinted using perhaps the earliest version of the serum, and my age has further increased my willpower and my ability to go between sessions, meaning I can probably go somewhere between fourteen and sixteen days before I will start to lose my faculties. This means I can endure until somewhere around November 21

st

without enduring any permanent harm, which is good, because my transportation seems to think my arrival back to California wouldn't be before November 16

th

or 17

th

, and you can imagine, that's cutting it quite close. On top of that, there's no guarantee I wouldn't be branded a traitor as soon as I set foot on American soil, so I've reached out to whatever special forces contacts my smugglers have within the American military industrial complex and am attempting to get a message to Drs. Marcos and McKenna, assuring them I can be an incredibly vital asset and massively useful in their research. I can also bring with me this reassignment method, and a copy of all my former husband, Dr. Adam McCallister's notes from our time working for the Russians. This reassignment method can also be used to pair two women together, or two men, and provide them with a bareline resistance to DuoHalo, something which would help protect the gay populace, something the Russians didn't give two shits about. I'm willing to provide all of this, and my continued aid in working on the serum, for nothing more than asylum, a new man that I can be imprinted onto, and a living wage that I can survive on. If my transport team hasn't received confirmation and acceptance of my offer by Nov. 15

th

, I have prepared a second message, offering up this same offer to any who will take me and offer me sanctuary. I would much rather return to my home country, but at this point, I believe I'm looking out for myself first and foremost." She reached down and held up a piece of paper with an email address on it. "I will be checking this email address every twelve hours. You have until 11:59 pm Pacific time on Nov. 14

th

to notify me that you have accepted my offer, and include instructions on how I will be met and brought back to the Project Impulse laboratories, or I will disappear and pursue other options. I hope, however, that I will soon be back home, upon American soil. And Dr. Marcos? I'm sorry about my husband's betrayal. If it's any consolation, he fooled us all." She looked like she was about to say something else, then reached forward and tapped the camera to end the recording.