Now Jackson gaped at me. “You’re a Van Horn. As in, Regeneris. Drug that saves an asston of lives on Mars. As in, billionaire pharma executives who live in a bigass house in Boulder.”
“Those would be the Van Horns I mean, yep.” I hung my thumbs from my jeans pockets. “They have a bunch of other drugs in their portfolio, of course, but Regeneris is the one that gets the most press. Dillon is probably well acquainted with it after that whole helmet breach fiasco.”
“Fuck yeah. Some of that toxic sand got into his helmet and he breathed it. He would have ended up with a lot of lung damage if not for Regeneris.”
* * *
A moment to discuss the hazards of Mars. See, Mars is an overachiever. Death by suffocation isn’t enough. Oh, no, Mars can do better than that! All that red dirt is toxic to humans. It’s alsosharp, which means it will tear up the lining of your lungs and mambo as you gasp your last breath.
Mars dirt will poison you then slice your lungs into ground beef. But that’s not all! Mars also has terrible protection from the radiation sizzling through space. As the dirt poisons you and runs a blender in your lungs, the sky will irradiate you with its zesty radioactive energy to ensure an unhealthy glow.
Also, if you happen to be outside at night, you’ll probably freeze to death. And there’s dust storms. Both of those seem really mundane after the poison knife dirt and radiation.
Regeneris was a breakthrough for Mars forces. Jumping past all the complicated words and admittedlybadassbiologic science, it nullifies the toxins found in Martian soil, then it sweeps in and kicks your body to regenerate the lining of your lungs. What would have been a lethal exposure to Martian soil becomes a couple weeks under medical observation and a smidge of respiratory therapy.
For the cherry on top, it will mitigate a modest amount of radiation poisoning. Most soldiers who return with Martian surface exposure haven’t received a microwave-style irradiating. Their issues cook in the lungs, and the irradiation is garnish.
When I left, the research department had almost perfected a second iteration of Regeneris, called Trigeneris, with increased potency plus better handling of radiation exposures. Clinical trials had hit the media, but I hadn’t seen any news stories on it recently. I’d tailored my schooling to work on it, in fact, because its potential excited the nerd in me to a ridiculous degree. Aliteraldegree.Severalliteral degrees. Degrees I didn’t want, but if I had to get them, I could work towards a goal Ididhave interest in.
I’d considered Trigeneris my baby, waiting for me to slog through college so I could shepherd it into intravenous lines and release it to a waiting military market. I did internships and mentorships where I helped lay the foundation for its development. I wrote and published scientific papers about the wonders of the stuff. Never ask me about Trigeneris. I can gush science about it for hours.
Major digression. I apologize. The point here is that the Red Planet is a dick. Welcome to Mars, where the dirt wants you dead.
* * *
“I kind of thought he might have made friends with Regeneris,” I continued, as if I had not digressed at all. “It’s good stuff.”
“Your family’s good stuff.” Jackson gestured at the diploma he held. “I guess you’d know, though, since you have a degree in Biochemistry?”
“And Pharmaceutical Science. I double-majored.” At that point, it didn’t hurt to wave at the folder. “It’s probably under the first one. They weren’t the degrees I wanted, but my parents insisted I study with the goal of working in the family laboratory. My brother had already studied business so he could take over for my father. The lab rat work was mine to inherit.”
His eyes narrowed. “They told you what to study.”
“Why not? They dictated the rest of my life.” I tried a casual shrug and received a tense jerk of the shoulders instead. “You’ll find my Bachelors of Science in Biology in there, too, but it has the proper name on it. I received that one after I’d legally changed my name.”
This entire line of conversation hurt more than I wished it would. I’m not sure why I ever expect to talk about this without cutting myself on the edge of the topic then pouring vinegar over the wound. That part of my life sat six feet under in the past, or so I liked to tell myself, but it rose from the grave to haunt me more than I wanted it to. Which was at all.
Realistically? I could never leave it behind. Those days had their ghostly claws in everything I was, from the science knowledge I shared with borrowed classrooms to the stabs of pain in my hip on damp days. Without my parents’ bigotry, I would have had a fascinating job in a laboratory, good healthcare, and a house whose sewer pipes didn’t moonlight as pretzels.
But I wouldn’t have had Jackson. My parents might have charted out my life to the year, butmychoices had brought me to the man I loved.
Yep. I said it. No denying it. I loved Jackson, I wanted to spend my life with Jackson, and I couldn’t keep secrets from him anymore. Not if I wanted him to stay.
Jackson had gotten stuck on a previous point. “Your parents. Told you what you should take in college. You were an adult, and they told you how to live your life.”
“When I started college, I wasn’t an adult. I graduated high school a year early at seventeen. They didn’t talk to me about what I wanted to do, though. That was just how it was. Johann would take over the business side. He has a head for numbers and deals. I’d lead the laboratories and company research, because after I stole the maid’s cleaning solutions and did questionable things with them, it was clear I had a mind for science.” My parents probably should have realized how I’d turn out after that incident.
“You made a bomb, didn’t you.” Jackson tongued the inside of his cheek. The expression did things to his face that I think about when I’m alone.
I spread my hands. “I performed an experiment that included sudden and vigorous combustion.”
Laughter broke the tension. As it died down, he stroked his fingers over the elaborate calligraphy on my old diploma. “So they made you take biochemistry instead of letting you be a doctor.”
“Most parents want a doctor in the family. Not mine,” I said. “The thing is? If they’d asked, if they’d explained their position and talked about what they hoped for, I would have done what they wanted. Ienjoyedthe lab work. Regeneris, and the successor they’ve got in the pipeline, aremiraculous. I want to help. I want to heal. I could have done that in the lab, if they’d showed a milligram of interest or acceptance.”
“If they’d worked with you, you would have worked with them.” Jackson’s plain-spoken ways often distilled a matter down to its essence. I loved that about him.
“That. Yes.” I pointed at the tip of my nose, then at him. “So I got my degrees in Biochemistry and Pharmaceutical Science. They paid for those, and luckily, they’d pre-paid for my senior year, since my last semester was the one where I dared to kiss a boy. After that? I was on my own. The degree in Biology was easy to pick up. I already had most of the prerequisites, and it got me into pre-med. With a little molecular biology. For fun.”