The Romance Revival(9)
Annie’s Ick List is an ever-changing catalog of things men do/say/own that immediately rule them out as possible romantic partners. The total was up to seventy-six at last count, and includes big things, obviously, but also random and indefensible actions like no-show socks (or, as Annie calls them, socklettes), water shoes, air guitar (see also: finger guns), frowny-face emojis during text fights, listing height in a professional bio, engine revving at stoplights, natural deodorant, and the sight of any man treading water, ever.
It’s probably why she’s single and rarely ever dates. Though watching me attempt to juggle two lives unsuccessfully might also have something to do with it.
“I admit this situation isn’t ideal,” I say, stifling a nervous laugh, “but when you really think about it, it’s not all bad. After everyone calmed down, the billionaires were pretty stoked.”
“Give me one example of a billionaire being stoked about anything that ended up being good for the rest of us.” She throws up her hands. “We are on the verge of a potential trade war with France, Emery.”
“Vince made it sound like we’ve been doing this in secret, but they all approved this research!” I protest. Quietly, I add, “In theory.”
“Yes, darling of mine, they approved compound screening! But while the BioVIVE has been approved for preclinical animal trials, Compound Y hasn’t.”
I protest this with a loud groan. “We work for a company that doesn’t even technically exist. Since when do they care about rubber stamps? It’s the chicken-and-egg conundrum! We need proof-of-concept studies in order to get their full approval but aren’t allowed to do proof-of-concept studies until we have their full approval. Everyone knows the system is a mess. They’ve always just looked the other way!”
“Yeah, but they have plausible deniability,” Annie says, before slowly exhaling. “And now everyone thinks the goal of the BioVIVE is to create zombies. If France really pushes, the board could cut our funding. We’re lucky they only paused the project until they’re able to review the data; they could insist you be removed from it entirely.”
I sit down beside her. “They wouldn’t do that. It’s too important. Resurrection through medical science? Come on, the scientific community has been circling this possibility for decades and we’re the first to succeed? Even vive la France is too power hungry to give that up.”
She holds my gaze. “Then they’ll punt it over to Vince’s team, which does everything by the semi-broken books rather than by the completely corrupt books.”
“Is that why he did this? To get me kicked off the project and claim the glory for himself?” At the thought, I can feel my blood pressure rise. “Or does he want to shut it down so that the BioSCAN is the only technology we have?”
“I’m not sure, but you know how butthurt he is over the BioVIVE stealing his thunder. And he has never been Team Zombie. He’s against the whole Compound Y concept.”
Fuck.
Today is a mess. I can’t believe my probability dress failed me.
“His entire argument is absurd.” I stand and begin pacing. “The idea of reanimation scares people because when we hear the word, we think of divinity, not science.”
“Here we go,” Annie says, closing her eyes and leaning her head back. “Get it all out.”
“But we aren’t talking about divinity! This is the pinnacle of scientific innovation!”
Annie silently waves for me to continue.
“I mean, how do we define death?” I ask rhetorically. “The medical community can’t even agree.”
She only nods; she’s heard all this before.
“I am simply proposing that there are situations in which a patient is declared dead due to blood loss, pulse, and respiration, but could be saved by Compound Y.” I punch the air, frustrated. “I mean, fuck, Annie! Where is their curiosity? Where is their vision?”
“No idea,” Annie says dryly.
“Anyway,” I say, leaning back against my desk, “you’re right about Vince being against the resurrection studies. If he were put on the team, he’d undoubtedly derail my research. Or worse.”
“You don’t think—”
“That he’d destroy it?” I cut in. “Or that the vials of Compound Y would vanish or be mysteriously compromised? Maybe. Either way, I think we should move them until we have permission to continue the research.”
Annie goes deadly silent, her jaw slowly falling open. “Move the compound? To where? Your fridge at home in a little box marked EMERY’S MENSTRUAL VITAMINS?”
“Don’t be silly, my fridge doesn’t even lock.”
“That’s the part of the plan you’re worried about? We’re talking about a top secret experimental compound. Would having it off-site even be legal?”
“Honestly, Annie, it’s all so classified I’m not sure there are laws governing this kind of thing.” Pausing, I look over at her. “I don’t know if that makes it better or worse.”
Annie stares mutely ahead. I think she might be dissociating. I don’t blame her. I would if I could. “What about your old fridge? Does it lock?”
Annie looks aghast. “At the vet clinic?”
I nod. Annie sold her clinic to a friend but helps out on occasion and has access whenever she needs it. I can practically feel my eyes glimmering with hope. Ten years ago, Annie was the neighbor I would pass nightly as I shuffled up to my apartment at midnight and she was walking down to the street to exercise one of her roughly ten thousand foster dogs. After a few conversations initiated by one or another of her hounds escaping her grasp and bounding back up our steps for kisses and scratches, it became clear that she was not only a talented and loving veterinarian but a brilliant scientist to boot. A light bulb crackled on in my brain, and in the end, it was surprisingly easy to tempt Annie into saving animal lives in the uber-private sector for quadruple her current salary and full payment of all her vet school loans.