03-06-2019, 01:44 AM
Jet lag sucked.
She did all the right things to combat the change in time zone, but they literally traversed the world from one side to the opposite. It was going to take more than a nap and melatonin to get her wake-cycles straight.
Thus, she was awake most of the night, wallet screens hovering like drones, all over her bed. She wore stretchy shorts and a tank-top, her typical sleep wear, and basically became a recluse until she was alive during the daylight. She sat cross-legged in the center of a cocoon of images with a data pad balanced on one knee.
Just like all human research trials, Orion Pharmacotherapies had to register their projects with a federal overwatch database. They monitored safety and ethical design of human subjects research and it read like a book of stereo instructions – whatever those were.
She scrolled through names of projects that were mostly beyond her comprehension. After the common cold was cured and the company that cured it made a gazillion dollars, others sought the keys to cure all human maladies. If the cold virus with all of its complexities had a real treatment, anything could be cured. Which was why the Sickness was so frustrating to basically the whole world of science. Nobody could cure it.
One study caught her eye, and she clicked on the link to its description page. The title wasn’t outstanding in any particular way. The odd thing was the date of submission.
It was approved in a fraction of the time of all the other projects.
She scrolled the page, making notes on her data pad as she went. The start date of the project was two years ago. There was information about participant recruitment, design and outcomes to achieve. Something to do with cancer lineages and immortalized cancer cell lines.. A long list of researchers populated the identity of the scientists…
Alberto Watt
Eliza Zamora
Gideon Eaton
Alistair Levine
Raul Diaz
Diaz’s name led her to opening yet another screen and looking up his credentials. Dark hair’ed, and big, flashy smile, she already found him irritating just looking at his picture. Nothing seemed unusual so she went back to the first screen.
Approval for the project that seemed to fly through the red tape of federal instutitions came from the office of Roswell Jenkins, a name that sounded familiar though she wasn’t sure why.
When she clicked on his picture, her brows lifted high.
She’d met him before. When she lived in DC, a gala, she remembered it clearly, particularly when she realized she was speaking with a doctor in a room full of politicians. They weren’t common in politics, though not outstandingly rare. He was an upper level administrator at the National Institutes of Health. Given that funding for the institute was cut dramatically in recent decades compared to the glory-days of its height in the early 2000’s, she assumed he was there to advocate for his institution. He was particularly chummy with Holden, the then Speaker of the House..
She added more notes, wrote out some names on the data pad and connected lines between them. Question marks filled the margins.
There was an address for the trial consistent with the headquarters of Orion Pharmacotherapies, but there was a second address listed as “off-site data analysis” – an odd addition. Why wouldn’t they analyze their data at HQ? Was it a collaboration? So she summoned what felt like the fiftieth screen and looked it up, expecting to find some sort of anonymous office building. Instead, the address wasn’t found at all.
Growling, she flicked to a more powerful satellite image server. All public domain, the grid-like view of streets and corners shifted to a 3d birds’ eye view of the surrounding area. She zoomed in, transitioned to walking-view and found herself staring at a chain-link fence, a brick building boarded up with plywood, and a sign dangling from the door that said CLOSED. An old building filled the view while the little symbol hovering overhead linked the correct address. She had no way of knowing what the building was originally.
Obviously that wasn’t right.
The images must be outdated. They must have demolished and rebuilt on the site. Maybe a bill of sale for the lot..? She soon fell down a rabbit hole for records of land sales.
Nothing.
She went back to the map, walked it frame by frame, but they seemed odd. The building’s image wasn’t quite as sharp as the frames up and down the block. More shadows stretched the yard compared to sunny views surrounding it.
Finally, she saw the time stamp in the corner, and she leaned in close to read the tiny print. That confirmed it. Every quadrant around the building had a last-updated satellite frame from 5 months ago. This one was years older.
Why update everything on the map except this one frame? Was it just not worth updating, or was something rebuilt in its place? What exactly was this building and what went on inside there?
She did all the right things to combat the change in time zone, but they literally traversed the world from one side to the opposite. It was going to take more than a nap and melatonin to get her wake-cycles straight.
Thus, she was awake most of the night, wallet screens hovering like drones, all over her bed. She wore stretchy shorts and a tank-top, her typical sleep wear, and basically became a recluse until she was alive during the daylight. She sat cross-legged in the center of a cocoon of images with a data pad balanced on one knee.
Just like all human research trials, Orion Pharmacotherapies had to register their projects with a federal overwatch database. They monitored safety and ethical design of human subjects research and it read like a book of stereo instructions – whatever those were.
She scrolled through names of projects that were mostly beyond her comprehension. After the common cold was cured and the company that cured it made a gazillion dollars, others sought the keys to cure all human maladies. If the cold virus with all of its complexities had a real treatment, anything could be cured. Which was why the Sickness was so frustrating to basically the whole world of science. Nobody could cure it.
One study caught her eye, and she clicked on the link to its description page. The title wasn’t outstanding in any particular way. The odd thing was the date of submission.
It was approved in a fraction of the time of all the other projects.
She scrolled the page, making notes on her data pad as she went. The start date of the project was two years ago. There was information about participant recruitment, design and outcomes to achieve. Something to do with cancer lineages and immortalized cancer cell lines.. A long list of researchers populated the identity of the scientists…
Alberto Watt
Eliza Zamora
Gideon Eaton
Alistair Levine
Raul Diaz
Diaz’s name led her to opening yet another screen and looking up his credentials. Dark hair’ed, and big, flashy smile, she already found him irritating just looking at his picture. Nothing seemed unusual so she went back to the first screen.
Approval for the project that seemed to fly through the red tape of federal instutitions came from the office of Roswell Jenkins, a name that sounded familiar though she wasn’t sure why.
When she clicked on his picture, her brows lifted high.
She’d met him before. When she lived in DC, a gala, she remembered it clearly, particularly when she realized she was speaking with a doctor in a room full of politicians. They weren’t common in politics, though not outstandingly rare. He was an upper level administrator at the National Institutes of Health. Given that funding for the institute was cut dramatically in recent decades compared to the glory-days of its height in the early 2000’s, she assumed he was there to advocate for his institution. He was particularly chummy with Holden, the then Speaker of the House..
She added more notes, wrote out some names on the data pad and connected lines between them. Question marks filled the margins.
There was an address for the trial consistent with the headquarters of Orion Pharmacotherapies, but there was a second address listed as “off-site data analysis” – an odd addition. Why wouldn’t they analyze their data at HQ? Was it a collaboration? So she summoned what felt like the fiftieth screen and looked it up, expecting to find some sort of anonymous office building. Instead, the address wasn’t found at all.
Growling, she flicked to a more powerful satellite image server. All public domain, the grid-like view of streets and corners shifted to a 3d birds’ eye view of the surrounding area. She zoomed in, transitioned to walking-view and found herself staring at a chain-link fence, a brick building boarded up with plywood, and a sign dangling from the door that said CLOSED. An old building filled the view while the little symbol hovering overhead linked the correct address. She had no way of knowing what the building was originally.
Obviously that wasn’t right.
The images must be outdated. They must have demolished and rebuilt on the site. Maybe a bill of sale for the lot..? She soon fell down a rabbit hole for records of land sales.
Nothing.
She went back to the map, walked it frame by frame, but they seemed odd. The building’s image wasn’t quite as sharp as the frames up and down the block. More shadows stretched the yard compared to sunny views surrounding it.
Finally, she saw the time stamp in the corner, and she leaned in close to read the tiny print. That confirmed it. Every quadrant around the building had a last-updated satellite frame from 5 months ago. This one was years older.
Why update everything on the map except this one frame? Was it just not worth updating, or was something rebuilt in its place? What exactly was this building and what went on inside there?