“This,” Elsa began, “is Dr. Caleb Beckham. Dr. Beckham is a slimy little prick, and has been since he tried unsuccessfully to get me drummed out for plagiarism after I wouldn’t suck his dick like all his other undergrads.”
“Figuratively?”
“Quite literally. He was known for picking grad students based on attributes outside of their academic performance. Physical attributes, specifically.”
“He liked to work around pretty young women?”
“Gender wasn’t an issue, so far as I could tell, so long as they looked like they came from a model-breeding facility. Seriously, the housing unit looked like a Dolce and Gabbana photo shoot most nights.”
“So why did you want to study with him?”
“Because he ran the best genetics programs in three systems and I didn’t know about his extracurricular requirements until after I’d accepted the position. It was an unpleasant surprise.”
“Not even with your dating opportunities pulled from such quality stock?”
Elsa’s countenance soured. “I was working a hundred hours a week just to keep up with clinicals and my own experiments. I didn’t have a lot of time for tickling privates with my colleagues.”
“I’m sorry,” Tyson said genuinely. “I was only trying to lighten the mood, not insult your professionalism. But do you think Dr. Beckham’s, ah, lecherousness makes him a suspect in creating a bioweapon whose very existence, to say nothing of deployment against civilians, carries the death penalty? As vices go, that’s a bit of a jump.”
“He was eventually fired from TCU three years ago over ethics complaints that rumor has it didn’t have anything to do with inappropriate student/staff relations. His personnel file is sealed, but getting tenure pulled is a big deal. It had to be serious. Like, opened himself up to blackmail or legal action serious.”
Tyson found himself salivating. He took another swallow of his drink to wash it all down. “Does the timeline fit?”
“How do you mean?”
“I mean, is the three years from when he was canned to the release of this bacteria fit with the time you would expect to take to develop and weaponize it?”
Elsa leaned back in her chair and exhaled. “There’s a lot of variables. What kind of facilities and equipment does he have access to? How big and how competent a staff? All that takes funding.”
“Assume money is no object. Trust me when I say it all becomes a little abstract when you’re moving around trillions. How long for a crash program with all the bells and whistles?”
“With my pick of the litter and unlimited funding? Eighteen months. Assuming everything goes off without a hitch, which it never does.”
“Still, that’s enough time for someone to recruit him, set up and staff a lab, crank out the research, and still have a bit of wiggle room for unforeseen issues. Would you agree?”
Elsa nodded along. “It’s a tight timeline, but it’s possible.”
“And where is the good doctor now?”
“Last I heard, he’d retired to a town house on Mars, but who knows?”
Tyson smiled a crisp, voracious grin. “We will, very soon. How do you find the sour?”
“Oh, right.” Elsa picked up the stein and gave it an exploratory sniff. “Smells like cherries.”
“It’s deceptive. Have a sip.”
Tyson watched stone-faced as she took a pull from the glass and her eyes and mouth twisted up into the shape of an asterisk. “God!” Elsa exclaimed. “It’s pure vinegar!”
“Not pure, my friend, but it does push back against the tongue pretty hard on the first pass. However, if you’ll wait a moment…”
“Oh, that’s different,” she said as the brew’s bouquet blossomed in the back of her mouth. “It’s … sweet, almost floral.”
“That’s the open vat fermentation you’re tasting. Natural yeasts and pollens from the lowlands of Denmark. It grows on you. That particular beer made a trip of more than thirty light-years for the pleasure of passing through your lips.”
“You seem to be going out of your way to impress me.”
“Not at all, this is just how I live.” Tyson saw the flash of disgust cross Elsa’s face like a tremor. “I’m sorry, that came out a bit more dickish than I intended.”
“That’s an understatement.”
“What I meant was, I can understand how it would appear that way to you. But my position comes with a great deal more pressure and responsibility, so the perks are commensurately larger as well.”
“Yes, poor little me, I’m only responsible for saving the lives of your employees and unraveling this industrial espionage you’ve fallen into.”
Tyson rapped his finger on the tabletop. “I’ve backed myself into a dead end here, haven’t I?”
“You think?” She winked as she took another drink of the sour beer.
“I apologize. I didn’t mean to demean your contributions. I’m … a little out of practice talking to people who aren’t C-level executives, if I’m going to be honest. And you’re quite a bit less deferential than even most of them.”
Elsa ran a fingertip around the lip of her mostly empty glass. It sang a pure note in response. “So, what’s our next move?”
“I thought the spy thing wasn’t your game?”
“It’s growing on me. Kind of like this beer.”
“Told you it would.”
“The spy shit, or the beer?”
“Both.” Tyson smirked. “I have an idea. But, I’m warning you right up front, it contains an element of risk.”
“I’m past the point of no return on that, aren’t I? I heard about that girl they pulled out of the wastewater plant.”
“You did? How?”
Elsa shrugged. “I know you’re proud of it, but this city isn’t that big, Tyson. Half a young woman’s body turns up in a pipe with no ID, word gets around. Especially among single ladies. We have to be on the lookout for predators as a matter of course.”
“I—hadn’t considered that aspect.”
“You’ve never had to.”
“Touché.”
Elsa sipped her beer. She didn’t make the same scrunched-up
