Death Match

THIRTY-NINE

The center’s research library did not look like a library at all. It was a low-ceilinged space, uncomfortably warm, its walls lined with carrels of blond wood. Each contained a seat, a desk, and a computer terminal. The room’s only occupant was the librarian, who looked up from her typing to stare suspiciously at Lash.

Goodkind chose a carrel in the far corner. “Where are all the books?” Lash asked in a low voice as he pulled over the chair from the adjoining carrel.

“In the basement stacks.” Goodkind drew the keyboard toward him. “You need to requisition titles from Ms. Gustus, there. But almost everything we need is online, anyway.”

Lash watched as the man typed in his name. A menu appeared, and Goodkind made a selection. The screen refreshed:

Goodkind looked at Lash, who nodded encouragingly. With a shrug, Goodkind completed the fields. A new screen appeared:

Goodkind looked over again. “What’s the name of the medication you’re interested in?”

“Scolipane.”

“Never heard of it.” Goodkind tapped a series of keys, and the screen filled with text. “Here it is.”

Lash peered more closely:

“Biochem was my worst subject at U. Penn. Remember?” Lash looked away from the screen. “Why don’t you hold my hand a little here.”

Goodkind scanned the text. “Scolipane’s primary use is as a skeletal muscle relaxant.”

“A muscle relaxant?”

“It’s a relatively new formulation, about five years old.”

“Dosage?”

“One milligram. A little feller.”

Lash slumped. The theory that had begun to seem so promising started to slip away again.

He glanced back morosely at the top of the screen. Between the chemical description and the formula was a line he didn’t recognize. “What’s ‘MR’ stand for?”

“Manufacturer. They all have codes. You know, sort of like airports. Take this one: PhG. That’s short for PharmGen.”

Lash straightened again.

PharmGen.

He began looking more closely at the data. The acute toxicity chart was a typical feature of such reports; it usually recorded the LD50, or dosage at which half the sample population would die. He ran down the columns.

“Canine mania,” he said quietly. “What the hell?”

“We have to scroll to page twenty for more information.”

“And look — it says to see page twenty for data on human overdosage, as well.” Lash glanced at Goodkind. “Primary use is as a muscle relaxant, you said.”

“Right.”

“But look here. There’s another use. A secondary use.” He pointed at the screen.

“Page twenty again,” Goodkind murmured. “Seems that page has a lot to tell us.”

“Then let’s go.”

Goodkind moused quickly forward, the screen blurring, until he reached page 20. Both men leaned in to read the dense text.

“Jesus,” Goodkind breathed.

Lash said nothing. But he found himself going cold in the overheated room.