The Mammoth Book of Apocalyptic SF - Mike Ashley [145]
"My people used standard methods to produce our vaccine," he said. "Attenuated viruses have been employed for years. Successfully employed, yes. Mumps and chicken pox and measles have been conquered with these proven techniques. Our mistake was to believe that the wild virus was genuine. Which was everyone else's mistake too, I should add."
A woman at the other table held up her hand. "Where do you think the virus came from?"
"We have evidence," he began. Then he hesitated. Two assistants showed him pieces of paper, and he started to read, offering long words that might have been technical or might have been mangled by his failing mouth. Then he stopped talking, gathering himself with one deep breath before adding, "This bug is an ingenious monster."
"Is it military?" the woman asked. "Maybe the Chinese built it?"
"Certainly not. That's absurd. The Chinese are dying as fast as the rest of us."
"Then who is responsible?"
"Private hands," he said mysteriously.
Nobody was happy to hear this.
"Evidence," the woman demanded. "We need hard evidence."
"I wish I could offer some," he confessed. "I have to assume ... what the scant evidence shows ... some group with skills and a quality laboratory produced the virus and infected a few people. Those were the original epidemics. But those events were just to get our attention. These plotters understood that we would ... that someone had to ... generate a quick cheap vaccine in response ..."
A man at the end of the table began to stand, one arm clumsily swinging at the sky as he shouted, "Prion."
The witness quickly corrected him. "This is something else, Senator. Something we have never seen before. Prions manipulate a different protein. This particular agent ... well, it's a natural component of the phage's protein shell. It was hiding in plain sight, and we never imagined that it would have such devastating effects on the human nervous system."
The room buzzed with voices.
Someone called out, "Quiet."
Then the woman leaned forward, hands shaking. Voice shaking. Into her little black microphone, she asked, "This is a great conspiracy. Is that your explanation?"
"Yes, Senator."
"And your company is blameless.
The dying man hesitated. Then his face dropped as he admitted, "I'm not sure how to answer that, madam."
More voices, more pleas for silence.
"This was a crash program," he continued. "We hired consultants, experts from around the world ... and it is possible that some of those people were part of a secret group ..."
I looked over my shoulder again. The coldest woman in the world was weeping, mopping up tears with a handkerchief cut out of one of my father's left-behind shirts.
"You're blaming ... " the woman began. Then her voice failed her.
An ancient man was sitting beside her. The Shakes didn't kill the elderly as quickly as most. Maybe that's why he didn't have symptoms. His voice was level, his mind clear. With a rich voice, he pointed out, "Conspiracies demand goals. These people must have had some purpose. What do you think it was?"
"I can offer nothing but guesses," the witness replied, looking down at his own hands. When they stopped trembling, he looked up and said, "Power is one possibility. The survivors of this nightmare will be left with the entire planet at their disposal. But my better guess ... what seems more reasonable and even more awful to me ... is that an environmental group might have take these steps. If they felt that human overpopulation and pollution were putting the earth at severe risk. If they convinced themselves that this was for the best..."
"How many would it have taken?"
"Excuse me, Senator?"
"This shadow organization you're describing. I want to know how many of the criminals we should be chasing today."
"I don't know, Senator."
"Dozens? Hundreds?"
"Perhaps hundreds," he said.