“Didn’t you refer to my patient, the boy, as the perfect extinction vector?” asked Ken.
“Yeah, exactly,” said Mike. “My theory is that the rogue mutation plays itself out quickly, because it doesn’t have a balance. But the extinction vector is the perfect balance. Do you see?”
“Not really, no.” Ken’s answer was clipped, his patience wearing thin.
“Remember, this is beyond survival of the fittest,” Mike said. “Any species benefits from mutation. Combined with natural selection, mutation is the change agent that helps species evolve. That all works in the short term, but in the long term, you might have a dead-end—something that causes temporary benefit, but in the long run will do the species damage.”
“Like what?” asked Ken.
“Like promiscuity coupled with a short life-span,” offered Mike. “Imagine if a bunch of people were prolific breeders, but all died by the time they were twenty-five. People need a longer life-span than that because it takes thirty years just to catch up with the world’s accumulated knowledge. If we all lived to be twenty-five, we’d never advance human knowledge.”
“This is very interesting, but I do have other company at the moment. Can we speed this along a little?” asked Ken.
“Sure. I’m sorry, Ken, I’ll get to the point. I’ve been tracking something that crawled out of a cave in New Hampshire and it’s headed east. I think it’s one of these rogue mutations I’ve been talking about, and I think it’s tracking an extinction vector.”
“What?”
“I know it sounds crazy, but if there was a more likely candidate in this part of the state, I would know about him or her.”
“Forget about if my case is the most likely extinction vector,” Ken made air quotes around Mike’s term, “the whole thing is just crazy. I really think you might need to get some help, man. This whole lawsuit thing has just worn you out or something.”
“No, no, this is totally testable. You don’t have to take my word.” Mike started to get really worked up, and sat on the very edge of the couch, waving his arms as he talked. “All you have to do is draw some blood from the boy. If I’m right, then he would have to be massively infectious; like aggressively infectious, just look for cells that attack…”
Ken cut him off, grabbing Mike’s flailing arms at the wrists. “Stop,” he said to Mike. “Just stop. We’re not taking any blood, and you need to stop talking about my case as part of your delusion.”
“But they’re not…” Mike objected, pulling his hands away from Ken’s grip.
“STOP!” yelled Ken. “Listen to me. This is beyond reasonable. You’ve always been a little manic during late-night conversations, but this is out of hand. I’m a professional, and I intend to keep acting like one.”
Mike looked down at the floor.
“I just talked to that boy’s mother this evening—he’s fine. I’ve nearly ruled out a medical cause for his symptoms. He’s seeing a psychiatrist and he’s better already. This is the last conversation we’re having about one of my cases. You hear me?”
“Yeah, I’m sorry,” said Mike.
“Are you going to be okay?” asked Ken.
“I will be,” said Mike, rubbing his eyes with his palms. “I’ve just had a lot going on. Everything is going wrong.”
“It will get better. You just have to keep going. Everything will be better,” assured Ken.
“I know, I know,” said Mike. “Did I tell you I might lose the house?”
“Oh man, I’m sorry to hear that. Didn’t your grandparents have that house paid off?”
“Yeah, but I had to mortgage it to buy the equipment and, well, you know. It’s just awful,” said Mike, dropping his shoulders and hanging his head once again.
“Listen, it’s getting late. Why don’t you hang out in my guest room tonight and we’ll get some breakfast in the morning? Can you do that?” asked Ken.
“I don’t want to put you out,” said Mike.
“It’s no bother—seriously. The room’s always made up, and you have your own bath. I miss talking to you. We can catch up some more at breakfast,” said Ken.
“That would be great, if you’re sure.”
Ken nodded.
“You know, you’re the only one left around here that I can really talk to. Like we used to, you know?” asked Mike.
“Definitely,” said Ken. He stood and gently pulled on Mike’s elbow. “Come on, I’ll get you settled.”
MIKE LAID AWAKE for several hours. He was exhausted by the emotions from earlier that night, but he couldn’t stop thinking about his theories, and how Ken hadn’t been willing to entertain them. When they were fresh out of school and sharing an apartment with a third post-grad, they had always given each other the benefit of the doubt. No theory, regardless of how outlandish, would have been dismissed without first establishing a way to test it for validity. Mike wasn’t bothered that Ken was protective of his patients—that fit perfectly with Ken’s personality. Ken and Mike shard the same devotion to helping people, so Mike completely understood that position.
What bothered Mike was that Ken had been so willing to write off Mike’s theory as absurd when Mike had offered a simple, benign way to test his hypothesis. Mike was offended that Ken hadn’t been willing to apply scientific principles; he had just rejected Mike and assumed he was crazy.
Twisting in his bed, sleepless, Mike never experienced a moment of doubt. Instead of questioning his own motives, he tried to determine why Ken had so easily come to the wrong conclusion. The most plausible explanation he could draw was that Ken had become indoctrinated into the culture of reactionary science which plagued the modern medical profession. This fit well with Mike’s opinion of most medical doctors, but it saddened him to think that Ken had become one of them.
Mike pushed up on his side and smiled in the dark. He realized that his old friend might not be completely unreasonable.
He must have had second thoughts about sharing the details of a case with someone not officially connected to his office, Mike thought. This explanation allowed for all of Ken’s admonishments without assuming that Ken really thought Mike was delusional. And furthermore, Ken had dropped a pretty obvious clue: he had mentioned talking to the boy’s mother on the phone that evening. Mike threw back the covers and swung his legs to the floor. By the time he got to the door of his bedroom, he was convinced that Ken wanted him to find the mother’s phone number, and he had devised a test to prove his theory.
Without turning on any lights, Mike relied on the glowing red and green lights from appliances to guide him down the hall towards the kitchen. He found what he was looking for on the wall next to the microwave. Mike lifted the cordless phone from the charger and took the phone over to the window, where a streetlight provided enough illumination for him to make out the buttons. Scrolling to the last number dialed, he pondered the digits and considered the odds that he was wrong. If this number happened to belong to Ken’s girlfriend, perhaps her cell phone, then Mike’s welcome might run out very quickly.
Mike took a chance and hit the call button. Pulling the phone away from his ear, Mike tried to listen to the handset while also straining to hear if there was a similar ringing from upstairs.
After four rings an answering machine picked up—“Thank you for calling China Town. Our hours are…” he turned off the phone. Glancing at the counter while putting the phone back on the charger, Mike saw the empty takeout bag with the restaurant’s logo. His confidence began to ebb as he trekked back down the hall towards the guest room.