The Metropolis Case_ A Novel - Matthew Gallaway [123]
“Well, it wasn’t to present me with another award,” Guillaume said quietly. “He wanted to confirm rumors about the vaccine, and whether it will work on a human being.”
“And you told him …”
Guillaume’s expression darkened. “I told him the truth, which is that I have made progress with mice—some of which seem quite happy and virile—but as for humans, there remain many questions.”
“And what did he say?”
“He wants answers—and sooner rather than later.”
“He can’t expect—”
“He’s the emperor, so he can,” Guillaume interrupted. “He was surprisingly frank with me. He didn’t pretend that things have been going perfectly from where he sits—between the food riots and the Prussians, he’s obviously preoccupied—and even offered that under different circumstances he would be happy to give me more time. But—you know how it is—given the political ramifications of such a discovery, he wants to know if a vaccine is viable.” Guillaume shook his head. “In a way I felt bad for him. He seemed very distraught—I could understand his position.”
“Meaning what?” Lucien quietly ventured, trying not to jump to conclusions.
“He wants me to test it on someone.”
“Couldn’t that be murder? Did you tell him it kills more than half the mice you give it to?”
“He wasn’t interested in statistics.”
“Then why don’t you test it on him?”
Guillaume frowned. “That occurred to me, but I thought better than to mention it.”
“Then who?”
Guillaume took a deep breath. “Me. I’m going to take it, Lucien. I know you already understand this—I could never force it on anyone.”
“He can’t do this to you!” Lucien cried.
“No? What would you suggest?”
Lucien’s mind raced as he searched his father’s face for some kind of clue. “You could drink some harmless concoction—or we could escape; we could leave this afternoon for Vienna—”
“I don’t want to leave,” Guillaume responded, in a steely voice that conveyed to Lucien he had already dismissed such options. “My guess is that the emperor would have been more than willing to let me administer the vaccine to someone else—after all, he doesn’t want me to die, since I know more about it than anyone—but I didn’t even explore the option, and had he suggested it, I would have insisted on my own plan.” He put his hand on Lucien’s knee before he continued. “I’m going to take it first, before anyone else. I had to sooner or later, and it’s time—before I’m old and frail. Look at me—I have no intention of dying—I’m much stronger than your average mouse.” His smile broadened as he gripped his bicep. “And think of what happens if it works—the possibilities! It would change everything.”
“What if it doesn’t—what if …” Lucien could not complete the sentence.
“What if I die?” Guillaume responded tersely. “Nothing meaningful is ever unveiled without great risk—isn’t that what you learned singing your opera?”
Lucien stared at his father and for a second despised him for making the comparison; he wanted to ask his father if he thought killing himself would bring his mother back to life. Then he remembered his earlier conversation with Codruta and knew that he was no longer capable—or even desirous—of following through on such an angry impulse. He was struck by the idea that while his father’s research may have been rooted in science and logic, his obsession was a means of coping with the pain of losing his wife, his greatest loss. Like a page being lifted from the score of his own life, the insight gave Lucien new empathy, and he knew his father was right, at least to a degree; there was always an irrational, emotional component to the opera, or at least any worth hearing or performing, and one of the reasons Lucien couldn’t—or wouldn’t—sing was his continuing fear since Eduard’s death of being overcome by the dissonant chaos he had once sought to embrace. For perhaps the first time in his life, he felt more experienced—albeit more destroyed—than his father and knew that his own reservations would mean nothing to Guillaume and—given that he had no power