Caine stepped into the Hospital with company in tow. It was not terribly unusual to see him with an armed escort of one sort or another. What raised more than one brow and even an alarm system or two was the child. Caine was not one fond of children, nor had he been known to travel with them, or harbor them. The armed man led the trio and approached Dr. Terra Lowinn. "Doctor Lowinn?"The doctor nodded and looked up to Caine, recognizing him immediately. "Ahh, good evening. What can I help you with?"
Caine held up his hand in an almost casual gesture to silence his armed companion so that he might speak himself. "This child," he began to Terra, "he belongs to Mr. Lowinn ... and I suggest you attend to his health care. You'll find he is having a mild reaction to chemical virus lot EBC-104."
Stunned, and not comprehending the mention of the virus quite yet, she glanced to the child, shivering and sweating as he was. "Belongs to Garth?"
"Or the hospital ... whichever you prefer." Nonplused as always, Caine showed not the first sign of emotion. All of this was rather matter of fact to him and he had no interest in the reactions of others. "But basically, yes. He is Mr. Lowinn's responsibility."
It was as if Terra did not hear him as she ordered medics about through his speech. A gurney arrived and the boy was whisked off to the emergency room. Terra was soon to follow, but stopped mid-step by Caine's next statement.
"By the way, Dr. Lowinn ... " Oh, how he could not resist his digs on people. "It's one of those nasty viruses that you refused to give to me."
She whirled on him before entering the ER, her face a bit pale. "Oh?"
"I do hope that you can save him ... " he continued. She should have known that he would not have stopped there. "Who knows what could have been done had you helped me." That being said, he turned on his heel and headed back towards a table in the cafeteria.
She shot him a glaring look as she hurried after the gurney. She immediately donned gloves and a mask as she worked in time and around the others already present. If this child was Garth's responsibility, then she had better make damn sure that this boy lived. She looked over the preliminary stats of the child and frowned. "Not good," she murmured quietly, "not good."
Dr. Greg Calsso found Terra in the ER, feverishly working over the boy. "Any preliminary diagnosis?" he asked as he snapped on gloves and donned a mask.
"A virus. For the time being. I am awaiting the blood results. It doesn't ... look good at all. So far, high fever, dehydrated, swollen lymph glands. I’m still trying to see what it is."
Greg nodded over the unconscious boy, who had already drenched the bed in sweat. Vitals were taken every thirty seconds, and at each measurement, his skin remained clammy and his pulse erratic. "Taken a sample of the perspiration yet? It might give a clue if there's any secretions of toxins or viral remnants."
"No," she admitted, "actually just got him in here."
He nodded and stepped to a cabinet and retrieved a small sponge and bio-sample bag. Caine watched through a window from behind the quarantine barrier, curious, as Dr. Calsso used a sterile swab to take a sample from the boy's forehead. With the swab sealed in the bag, the bag was then handed to a nurse for transport to the lab for analysis. Terra shook her head and looked to Greg. "You know ... Caine had asked me for some deadly live virus. I wouldn't give it to him, and now ... this."
Greg glanced up at Terra. He did not blame her for the boy's condition. The fault lay entirely on another's shoulders as far as he was concerned. "I don't like that guy," he said, in obvious reference to Caine. "If this is his doing ... oath or no, I'll ..." and he stopped, unable to find the words for his possible future actions.
"So," began Terra slowly, her voice more somber. "We are looking at a disease ... that is often terminal, no cure ... " The boy's body jerked in a litany of involuntary and violent movements. Terra was cut off as the convulsions worsened. The small form lurched about the table as the brain's electrical centers were overloaded and horribly misfiring.
It was Greg who jumped into action first. "He's going into convulsions. Get the tongue guard in his mouth!" Terra and another nurse forced the rubber and plastic U-shaped object into the child's mouth. It would keep him from biting part of his tongue off and perhaps choking on it. As the febrile seizure continued, his breathing became labored and staccato in rhythm. The whites of his eyes gave the eerie appearance of the living dead as his eyes rolled back into his head. Greg sprinted away from the gurney and down the hall towards the lab. "I'm going to get those lab results!" he yelled over his shoulder. As he bolted around the corner, he managed to catch Terra's lingering comment ... something about 'EBC-104.'
And through it all, Caine kept his almost silent watch over the chaos. A sentinel who had seen much and knew even more. "Nasty little virus," came the whispered reply for his own benefit, "I must say."
Inside the lab, Greg swung into a chair at one of Elliot's terminals. "Elliot, give me a display on something called EBC-104."
The computer's cheery voice droned across the speaker. "Yes, Dr. Calsso."
A video about all known facts of virus EBC-104 played on the monitor. Greg's eyes shifted between the video and the microscope eyepiece, as he tried to piece it all together. A tech tapped him on the shoulder, a grim and partially scared look on his face. Eyes turned to one of the medicine cabinets. The glass was smashed in and bottles were overturned. Someone had burglarized the cabinet, that had contained everything from virus and bacterial tests in progress to antidotes and vaccines.
The computer blipped at Greg and he looked back at the monitor and then through the eyepiece and back to the monitor. "Son of a ..." and his fears were confirmed. The child was infected with EBC-104. "Elliot," he barked, "cross reference EBC-104 and all known medical logs for cures or treatments." He swore under his breath as the message of "No data found" appeared. A waste of time, save for confirming what the child had, Dr. Calsso left the lab and made his way back to the ER.
Terra had been trying to do something, anything, to bring the boy's fever down. "Who knows how long he's had this temp." she said to another medic. Nothing they did seemed to work. Not to ease the convulsions, the pain, the fever, none of his symptoms abated. The situation only worsened as Greg reentered the ER, and the EKG beeped wildly with alternate racing and slowing of the tiny heart. Terra looked up to Greg, hopeful, though perhaps not terribly optimistic. "Have any results?"
"Bad news. The kid's infected with a virus named EBC-104. No known cures or treatment." And the day just kept on getting better. "All we can do is try to make 'I'm comfortable."
"What should we do? That's it?" she asked incredulously.
Dr. Calsso nodded in defeat. "That's it. Just put him on an IV drip of Ivocaliphine. That'll ease the pain."
Dr. Lowinn nodded and went to get the prescribed medication. Trembled speech slipped from the boy's lips, weak and sick though he was. "Mommy ... daddy ... sick ... sleeping ... wake up ... please ... wake up ..." Had he the water in his system to cry, tears surely would have fallen, but dehydration erased that possibility.
Terra returned with the pain reliever and began the IV. She watched Greg silently, perhaps waiting for some harbinger of good news. It was all too apparent that none was coming any time soon. And over all this, a face watched with detached interest through the window into the ER. It was almost as if he were taking inventory or studying something for a later exam ... he observed with about as much passion. "Who brought the kid in?" asked Greg of the boy.
"Caine," came the quiet, one-word reply.
"Begin a saline drip and get another blood sample," he instructed as he turned and made his way towards the lobby. He had not far to look, as Caine stepped back from the opening ER doors and Greg emerged. "Where'd you find the child?"
"Good evening to you too, Doctor. He was found wandering the outskirts of the city."
"What do you know about his condition?" An accusing undertone pervaded Greg's inquisition of the trader.
"I know that he is sick. His symptoms are in line with a very nasty virus" replied Caine in a matter of fact voice, without any clue or inclination of wrongdoing.
"And where did you hear the term EBC-104?"
"Doctor, doctor, doctor," came the condescending answer. "As I explained to Dr. Lowinn weeks ago ... My staff has been studying viral contaminants for some time." His words trailed off as he turned, as if in thought. "I had hoped to work with the Hospital to find cures for these things ... but I was refused. A shame ... "
Somehow, the doctor did not quite buy the story that Caine was so innocently selling. "Mhmm. And you just happened to mention a specific one with a child you just 'found'?"
"I am very well informed, Doctor." A slight edge crept into Caine's tone. "Now an innocent child is paying the price for this staff's petty suspicions."
His own voice lowered, as Greg did not appreciate the implied threats. "Look, Caine ... I know you know more, and are into more than you let on. But dragging innocent children into it ..."
Never one to allow any blame to be placed on him, or at least not on him alone, Caine needled further. "If we had just worked together ... this might have been avoided. Don't lay off your choices on me, Doctor." He honestly seemed to be enjoying the effect this was having on the good doctor. The clenched teeth and set jaw. He was definitely getting to the man. "I tried to help weeks ago ... you and your staff denied my help."
Greg was sorely tempted to break his oath. Caine, as one might imagine, had that effect on many. He narrowed his eyes as he struggled to control his rage. "Caine. Pray to whatever higher power you believe in that I don't find out you had anything to do with the child's infection."
"Doctor. Save your threats. And pray I don't ever start to take offense at them. Because I can promise you ... you won't live to regret it." The distinctive click of a round being chambered was heard, the armed man beside Caine readying his weapon to give further emphasis to the words. "I'd hate to misinterpret your threats and have to defend myself." The patronizing tone was palpable and sickening, not to mention infuriating.
All the posturing warranted little more than a glance from the doctor. "Don't threaten me. Who knows ... one day you might slip ... and infect yourself. And I might forget how to help you."
The alarms on the EKG machine began to ring like the firehouses of old in a long steady tone. Dr. Calsso dashed back to the ER as Caine laid his final words on the proverbial table. "I believe you are being paged doctor." That same serene smile remained on his lips, unconcerned as he was by the entire scene.