Quaranteam: Project RED - Ch. 03

Thanks to CorruptingPower for permission to make my little contribution to the ever-growing world of Quaranteam, and thanks to the whole collective for their feedback on the writing, and keeping me on the straight and narrow when it comes to canon.

I hope you all like a slow and steady story. This isn't one of your fast-paced stories, full of action. It's about people, and people are complicated.

Thank you for all your support. Ratings and comments both greatly appreciated.

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Chapter 3: The Curtains Open

Project Update 7, 2020-08-14

The initial intake briefing is complete, and we'll be asking the potential participants for their decision tomorrow.

The briefing of candidate support personnel, as I previously reported, went very much according to expectations, based on my observations at vaccination and the material that Phil and Charlotte provided.

The briefing of study participants did not. Not by any stretch of the imagination. Our selection process has either produced an entire cohort of people who have very atypical reactions to distressing information, or it has succeeded beyond my expectations. I'm not sure I've ever seen anyone take the news so calmly. The questions they came up with were definitely not what I had been led to expect.

That unexpected development aside, operations are now proceeding to schedule. I will update you further tomorrow.

Dr Sarah Zedner

Lead Scientist, Project R. E. D.

PS: I've uploaded a recording of the meeting to the Veraxiontic servers. You look at that, and tell me if that's what any of you expected!

* * * * *

14th August 2020, 5:00 p. m.

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Welcome to Project RED

It had been said portentously, and while much of the audience appreciated it as a piece of drama, they were clearly largely unimpressed. Dr Zedner looked around the room, making eye contact with one person at each table before continuing.

"I appreciate all of you taking the time and effort to join us today. I am well aware that, even with the help of your escorts, that effort—to make this journey—will not have been a small one. I realise it may well have aggravated your symptoms. You will each be paid an honorarium for today, unless you now choose not to remain in the meeting.

"This is a choice. If you choose to leave now, we will still pay you a smaller fee for your time and inconvenience. However, this is a situation of utmost gravity. As you have already been told, our work is related to the ongoing pandemic. The information we will be sharing with you, today, is a matter of strict secrecy for multiple governments. As such, we will be asking you to commit to maintaining that secrecy.

"If you open your folders, you will each find an agreement. This provides for you to receive your honorarium in exchange for that discretion. If you will take the time to read it, please sign it if you are prepared to commit to its terms. If you are physically unable to sign, your escort will witness your agreement."

Dozens of folders around the room were opened, revealing a simple, one-page agreement. There was no complex legalese; its terms were precisely as Dr Zedner had described—a one-time honorarium of £1,000, and a commitment not to disclose anything from this meeting to anyone not present, unless they were working on Project R. E. D. or they were given permission to do so by the Secretary of State for Health and Social care. A few terms following this were the nearest the agreement came to legalese, a series of statements regarding what office took the place of the Secretary of State if there was no longer an office by that name, the ability of the leadership of Project R. E. D. to define people as working on the project, and the board of Veraxiontic, or such entity as they may nominate, to take over the role of Project R. E. D. following the completion of the project.

What was slightly more alarming was the note that the meeting would involve disclosure of sensitive information related to national security. Making this an even greater concern, it noted that 'under emergency powers related to the current national and international emergency (pandemic), disclosure of such information may result in indefinite detention to safeguard national interests and national security'.

None of the would-be participants was entirely sure if that was legal, but it certainly suggested that someone wasn't messing around.

Some couples had a brief discussion before signing the document, and the few carers that couples had brought with them had questions for their escorts, but everyone soon made their decision. At a few tables, escorts solemnly verified one of their charges' understanding and acceptance of the document, then signed to formally witness their agreement. Mr Sagoo's wife read the agreement to him, then helped him position his hand on the paper; he signed it himself, with their escort finally countersigning to verify that the document had been read to him in full. Seeing movement at the tables tailing off, Dr Zedner resumed speaking.

"Thank you. Harold will collect your agreements. Anyone who has not agreed will be escorted from the room. While he does so, feel free to talk among yourselves."

A gentle hubbub filled the room as the man who had escorted them to their tables—loud tie very noticeable as he moved about the room—gathered up the signed papers. No-one was asked to leave.

Harold brought the papers to a table to the left of the dais, where he passed them to the woman seated there. Her skin seemed more than tanned, her hair dark and straight, and her manner was brisk and efficient as she checked and counted the papers. She turned to meet Dr Zedner's eyes, and nodded sharply.

"I'm glad to see that you're all willing to hear what we have to say. This information may be shocking. I'm sure there will be questions. I would ask that you wait until I invite you to ask them; feel free to make notes." She scanned the room again, making sure she had everyone's full attention.

"Your government—as far as we can tell, all governments—have been concealing crucial details regarding the current pandemic. The first of these details is the death toll. It is vastly higher than has been reported. In the UK, at least 10 million people are dead; that's the ones we are sure of. Estimates of the true death toll vary, but every reasonable estimate is at least 15 million. The top of the range is completely uncertain, not only because there have been difficulties in ensuring an effective count of those whose deaths occurred in circumstances where they could be recorded. Those difficulties are considerable, and the paperwork recording deaths has developed a considerable backlog. It's also not always possible to readily determine which virus was responsible for a death, so these numbers do not differentiate between Covid and another disease; we believe that the vast majority are the latter."

She looked around the room to judge the reaction of her audience, but there was very little. If anything, the strongest reaction seemed to be impatience. One man could be heard telling his companion that this number 'wasn't as bad as we expected, eh duck?'.

"It is also an estimate," Dr Zedner continued, undaunted by this lack of reaction, "because there is reason to believe that there are many people who have died in circumstances where no-one would easily find out. There simply are not the resources for anyone to go house-to-house verifying the status of the occupiers. The military and law enforcement have been hit heavily by the pandemic. Healthcare workers have fared somewhat better than might have been expected, largely due to the precautions taken in that sector. However, early casualties were still heavy in many healthcare settings due to the substandard quality of PPE originally provided.

"That's the first, important thing you need to understand. Are there any questions?"

It might have been expected that an audience would ask why, or how, the government had managed to keep this under wraps. It was not unusual for people, on first hearing this information, to ask how certain it was—to have difficulty accepting it. That wasn't the case here.

"Are there any trends in deaths related to socioeconomic factors?" Kat asked. "Or any ethnic variations?"

"Um, just let me..." Dr Zedner temporised, rifling through her papers. There was no reasonable way of avoiding an honest answer. "I don't know. I would imagine people are looking at that, but I never asked for that information, and I wasn't given it."

"Oh, there certainly will be correlations," said a man with a refined Scottish accent on the other side of the room. "I'm sure we could all predict some likely ones. I suppose we will have to wait to find out." There was a distinct edge to his voice that suggested he did not enjoy having his time wasted.

"Perhaps it's best that I move on to the next point," Dr Zedner suggested. "If you could start the presentation, please," she asked, turning to her left. A projector came on, displaying a title card on the screen behind her. With logos for Veraxiontic and Project R. E. D in the bottom corners, large text in the centre of the screen read 'DuoHalo: An Introduction'.

"You will have heard the name DuoHalo. I suspect that governments would prefer that you hadn't. You will have seen it presented as a 'by-the-way' in the news, another illness that is circulating but nothing to worry about—that Covid is the real concern. In fact, the reason for the large number of deaths is not that anyone has concealed the dangers of Covid. The information that has been given about the novel coronavirus has, in truth, been somewhat exaggerated in order to encourage compliance with lockdown and social distancing measures. Those policies would not need to be as stringent as they are if we were only dealing with that one virus."

The display changed, displaying graphical representations of two viruses. There was still a distinct lack of reaction from the audience. One man was heard quietly telling someone, "okay, you won that one".

"On the left, you have the novel coronavirus. While this virus has proven unusually transmissible and virulent, its effects are usually treatable, and most people who contract it will find the experience unpleasant, but not likely to cause death or serious long-term effects.

"On the right is a representation of the second virus, DuoHalo. This virus is much more dangerous. Initial symptoms are similar to Covid—general malaise, lower respiratory tract symptoms, sometimes coryzal symptoms: a runny nose, a sore throat, and so on. However, in the majority of cases, it progresses to a more dangerous, frequently haemorrhagic stage. To make this even more difficult, the lag between initial symptoms and incapacity can be as short as 24 hours. Even with the best care we can provide, it is frequently fatal when it progresses. And I'm sure it is clear to many of you that, with the volume of cases we're seeing, and the short time between initial symptoms and a need for critical care, it is impossible to provide optimal care to many victims of this terrible illness."

The display shifted to images of people experiencing the later stages of DuoHalo infection. Some were coughing up bloody mucus; others had blood coming from their nose or their eyes.

"You would expect a high degree of infection risk when dealing with patients in this stage of infection, and you would be right. It is extremely contagious, and readily airborne. What is less typical is the degree of transmissibility seen in earlier stages of the condition. It is readily passed from one person to another in its earlier stage, and even for some time before any definite symptoms appear.

"I can give you one clear reassurance. Testing methods have been greatly improved; the tests performed before your arrival give us very high confidence that none of you are infected, at present, with either Covid or DuoHalo. While a little caution doesn't hurt, it is not necessary to distance as strictly as you were advised when you arrived. I hope you will forgive the misdirection, but it was considered necessary to avoid giving any additional information until you had signed those agreements. However, where testing is not available, or not conducted, the risk of transmission is highly concerning."

The display shifted to a series of graphs illustrating transmission rates in various scenarios. Murmured conversations passed around the room, but the tone was one of interest, not surprise.

"The most unusual feature of DuoHalo," Dr Zedner continued, "is the way it affects people differently depending on age and gender. Young children, who have yet to enter the early stages of puberty, develop only mild symptoms—in some cases, it may go entirely unnoticed; however, these children can still act as carriers. There is some data to suggest that older people, particularly post-menopausal women, may be somewhat less vulnerable." She took a deep breath before continuing, advancing the display to the next slide. This showed a graph of fatality rates by age, with an alarming saturation—total fatality—across part of the graph.

"The most extreme effect is on adolescents. Between the ages of around 11 and 18, no-one exposed to DuoHalo has survived. Let me be clear: DuoHalo is 100% fatal in adolescents, and we have not come across any confirmed cases of exposure by anyone in that age group where the child did not develop the illness."

She let silence settle upon the room. That particular piece of information never failed to stun people; everyone had relatives that age, or friends with children. Everyone knew someone who was now certainly dead, or someone who would, if they were alive, be experiencing that most acute loss—the death of their child. It was best to give people a moment to absorb the implications. When she had judged it long enough, she continued; the next part was almost as much of a kicker.

"For adults, survival rates are better. By 'better', however, I mean that over 50% of people infected will die. There is some improvement with optimal care, but it is limited. But those figures don't tell the whole story." The screen moved on to the next slide—a side-by-side comparison of male and female survival rates.

The graph was incredibly uneven.

"DuoHalo is far more deadly to men. Almost all men will progress to the haemorrhagic stage of the virus. Almost all of them will die. With the best care we can provide, survival rates are still estimated at barely 10%. And as I said, there is little opportunity to provide such optimal care. To put it bluntly, if a man is infected—and doesn't benefit from both excellent care and very good luck—he will, almost without exception, die.

"Women, on the other hand, have a greater chance to survive without intervention, and a better response to what supportive interventions are available."

The display changed again, now showing a graph of cases against time. It was a very jagged line.

"Thanks to the UK's strict lockdown, death rates are not as high as they might have been. New cases of DuoHalo continue to occur, with significant outbreak events, as you can see. The country has been fortunate that containment processes for outbreaks have been largely successful. However, sporadic cases not associated with outbreak events also occur. I understand that public health teams are still trying to understand the mechanism behind this." Dr Zedner paused, trying to read the room. People seemed to be showing more interest now, but there was still surprisingly little alarm. "Does anyone have any questions?"

For a few moments, there was silence. Then one voice was raised.

"So, this 'ere's man-made, bain't it?" a man observed, in a fairly broad West Country accent. "I reckon it'd be someone's bioweapon. Whose 'tis?"

There were puzzled looks on some of the project staff around the room, but Dr Zedner didn't look puzzled. She looked alarmed.

"I'm not aware of any clear evidence that DuoHalo is a man-made virus," she replied.

"Are you sure about that, now? 'twould be remarkable for a nat'ral virus to do even half what you've said. All that at once? Now mind, I'm not sayin' 'twould be a good bioweapon, but nothin's doing what you've been tellin' us unless some person's made it that way, and I can't see as why they'd be doing that unless 'twere a weapon."

An expectant silence hung over the room. The man raising the question and Dr Zedner had locked eyes, and neither was looking away.

"Well," said a raspy voice from another part of the room. The speaker was a woman in a wheelchair, wearing a mask connected to tanks on the back of the chair, speaking in short, broken sentences. "It shouldn't—be too hard—to work out." She paused, taking rasping breaths. "Who hasn't—been affected? Or who had—a treatment—ready quickly?"

"I don't think this is the time for such speculation," Dr Zedner cut in. "I have no information about any investigations of such a nature; I can't say if anyone else has been working on it. That is not, frankly, why any of you are here. We're asking for your help, but not to work out where a virus came from, if it came from anywhere."

The display on the screen changed again, showing a filled syringe, and one word that everyone hoped to hear when there was a deadly pandemic.

"We're asking for your help to improve the vaccine."

* * * * *

Kat noticed that this latest statement produced more surprise than anything else Dr Zedner had said, but by this point, it didn't surprise her. All the others who had been brought there as she and Rob had, and all the escorts, had been observing reasonable distancing; Toni—Dr Rossi—had told them to. Dr Zedner had explained that their testing reduced risks, certainly, but Kat had trouble believing that it really reduced them to zero. The behaviour of Gillian and the other escorts suggested they weren't convinced, that they thought there was still a risk. But it was clear that some of the other people in the room weren't concerned at all. The seats on the dais were reasonably spaced, but some people moved freely between them, and around the room. They might mix freely among themselves if they had all been isolated together here, but not with the new people who had been brought in. Certainly not when cases of DuoHalo were occurring outside of outbreaks. Yet the man with the loud tie—Harold, that's what Dr Zedner had called him—moved freely between the new people and the old.

Some people, including Harold, were clearly safe.

Safety, in this situation, could only mean one thing—a vaccine. What Kat wondered about now was something else.

The vaccine obviously works. What do they want with us? Why were we selected? Everyone in this room has some sort of illness or disability, that's clear. I think it's safe to assume some other characteristics in common.

But her thoughts ran along other lines at the same time.

Setting aside the people like us, setting aside the escorts, the people in this room are almost all women. Ratio of at least ten to one. Some of them are already vaccinated. Anyone who isn't will be soon, that's obvious. And that ratio is higher than the ratio of survivors implied by the figures Dr Zedner presented for the UK. There must be a reason for that, too.

She was definitely eager to hear about this vaccine; she was sure that it would give some more answers.

"There is a vaccine," Dr Zedner continued. "It works. It has some unusual features. Project RED is an effort to improve one of the more desirable of those features. Essentially, we are inviting you to join a clinical trial.

"A proportion of people who receive the vaccine experience what we are calling a regeneration." The display changed again, showing before and after pictures: a scarred torso, and the same torso smooth. "They can be quite minor—such that people might not even notice—or more significant, as the one you see here. They can also be, not to put too fine a point on it, frankly spectacular."

The screen changed again, and Kat, like many in the room, gasped. She reached for Rob's hand, found it seeking hers, and clasped it tightly.

This time the 'before' picture showed a woman missing one arm above the elbow, with hideous burn scars across that side of her torso and neck. Her face wasn't visible, but it seemed likely the scars continued there. The breast on that side was clearly badly damaged; not only was the skin plainly wrong, though not as bad as the rest of the burn scars, the shape made it clear that breast tissue had been lost as well. The reconstruction had been, she supposed, limited.

Yet in the other picture, there were no scars. The breast looked entirely normal. But that wasn't the most impressive part.

The arm was whole.

"When a regeneration occurs, there seems to be very little it can't do," Dr Zedner continued. "However, it doesn't always happen, and even when it does it doesn't always fix everything it could. There are also limits even when it does fix things. A repaired joint can still require considerable rehabilitation to restore full function; regeneration doesn't necessarily restore the tone of muscles, nor does it remind you how to walk normally if you have gotten used to adjusting for a dysfunctional hip or prosthetic leg. Sometimes, such rehabilitation is quick and relatively easy. Sometimes, it is just as painstaking as recovering from a month in traction.

"We have been working on the vaccine, and we believe that we have a version that produces reliable regenerations, as complete as possible, and should smooth any necessary rehabilitation. We have tested it as best we can without the involvement of more people. People like you.

"In a moment I will explain why you, each of you, was selected for this trial; I should, however, first explain more about the vaccine. Our work has been focused on regeneration, but it has other unusual features that you need to know. Before we move on, I'm happy to take any questions you might have about regeneration."

Suddenly there were more questions than Dr Zedner could easily handle. Yes, it can regenerate lost vision, lost hearing. Yes, it can replace whole limbs. Yes, it can treat autoimmune conditions—though they weren't yet sure if they were permanently cured. No, regeneration didn't seem to affect personality. It didn't seem to do anything for neurodevelopmental conditions—no-one was to be 'cured' of autism, nor of ADHD. Its effect on mental health conditions was limited; there had been some benefit reported in cases of post-traumatic stress, but otherwise very little definitive. Mood tended to improve when people had regained physical function that they had lost. Yes, it worked on brain injuries, though they had less experience of rehabilitation in such cases. How quickly function would be restored was still unclear.

"I think we should move on now," Dr Zedner cut across another question as a note was passed to her. "We still need to cover some important, practical idiosyncrasies of this vaccine. To begin with, it can't be given to men." This caused confusion in the room, but Kat felt she was beginning to see the shape of things. She caught Rob's attention and started writing—large, jagged letters drawn in pain. Before the noise died down, she had finished making a brief list. She turned the paper face down, gestured to Rob to wait, and turned back to the dais.

"It can't be given to men," Dr Zedner repeated. "And it kills women who are given it." Disordered voices in the room grew again, but she cut across them. "It kills women—unless they have certain forms of sexual contact with a man within a certain time. It also makes them quite eager to do so.

"In that sexual exchange, the vaccine is passed on to the man, like a beneficent version of a sexually transmitted infection. That much would be strange enough, but it's more complicated than that."

Kat smiled, and handed the paper to Rob.

* * * * *

Rob took the paper that Kat had so enigmatically written on and turned it over, scanning the words as Dr Zedner spoke.

—sexually transmitted vaccine

Okay, yes, Kat had gotten that much right, but that was obvious as soon as they said it couldn't be given to men.

—vaccine sexual bonding

And, sure enough, Dr Zedner was explaining that women who were fully vaccinated couldn't safely have sex with any other man—they would have an extreme reaction to another man's semen. The picture displayed for that point was particularly gruesome.

The next point wasn't one Kat had predicted. Apparently, the effectiveness of the vaccine in men reduced over time, and repeated sexual contact was required to 'top it up'; similarly, the woman would suffer ill effects if she didn't have sexual contact with the man with whom she was 'imprinted'.

"Fortunately," Dr Zedner explained, "there's a clear signal when a woman needs a fresh dose," seemingly an oblique reference to semen. "She experiences an increasing desire for sex with her partner. This can become extreme and distressing if it isn't fulfilled, and permanent damage and death can result from extended deprivation."

Kat's next point had Rob's eyebrows attempting to rise right off his head.

—multiple women bonded to each man

But Dr Zedner confirmed that as well.

"A single partner gives a man about the same survival rate against DuoHalo as an unvaccinated woman. Given the dependence a woman has on her partner, that's a risky situation for her as well. This makes it highly preferable that each man is partnered with multiple women. Current data suggests an acceptable level of protection is reached with around seven women to each man."

Seven! This will be the death of me...

"This has an additional advantage: If a man is exposed to DuoHalo, even if he has started to show symptoms, sex with a vaccinated partner is a fairly reliable treatment. Sex with several is safest."

So, if I catch a debilitating, deadly haemorrhagic disease, I just have to have sex with as many of my 'partners' as possible... yeah, that sounds practical.

"So, of course, over the course of this trial we expect to partner several women with each man participating. We've come to call these groups—a number of women partnered to the same man—'Teams'. Over the course of this trial, your Teams will grow. Some of your partners will be other study participants, and some will be other people involved in the programme or brought in for other reasons."

And that led on to Kat's last point.

—Gillian to bond with you!

Rob glanced over at the red-haired physiotherapist who'd been their escort. She glanced back at him, blushing, her smile suddenly shy.

"Here's what we're offering you. Each of you women will be vaccinated with our new variant of the vaccine and have sex with your existing partner. It is in that first sexual act after vaccination that the regeneration for both parties is expected to be triggered. Our new vaccine variant should guarantee both of you a regeneration, and it should be as complete as possible. We will support you through rehabilitation afterwards. We will, of course, run tests and do measurements before and after so we can trace the effects objectively."

Great. Tests of my balance. That's always fun.

"Each of you men will also imprint a health professional who will be part of that rehabilitation support. Your escorts have been selected in part for that reason, and each of them has already agreed, in principle, to the pairing. If either you or she doesn't feel comfortable with the pairing, but you still wish to participate in the study, we will try to find an alternative.

"If everything goes to plan, more women will be added to the study, each joining one of your Teams. We're not sure what the effect on the men will be; it is possible that a second regeneration will be triggered, though we don't know what exactly that will look like, or what its effects will be."

With that, Dr Zedner suggested it was a good time for more questions. There were plenty again, but this time they were all practical. How will our rent and bills be paid? Do we need to notify the Department for Work and Pensions about the study, and will it affect our benefits? What about carers funded by direct payments—that last coming from one of the few tables with four people sat around it. Dr Zedner made a creditable effort to answer each of them, though she was clearly unprepared for some.

Rob grabbed a pen and made a small amendment to Kat's note.

—Gillian to bond with you! US!!

He handed it back to her, receiving a wry smile as she read it. Rob thought it was an important point—even if they were going to be part of one of these 'Teams', they were still a partnership, and any other woman brought into their lives was going to be as much a part of her world as his.

As the questions died down, Dr Zedner made her final points.

"This is a lot to take in, and a major decision to make. I can assure you that we will handle any complications with the government. You will not end up out of pocket. You will also receive a stipend to cover living costs while you are with us. One of the most important things for each of you to consider is whether you are willing to take a chance on our vaccine formulation. We are reasonably certain that the vaccine is fundamentally safe, but we can't predict all the outcomes; if we could, we wouldn't need to study it. The other is whether you think you can handle the known effects—the bonding, and the need for men to bond with more women. If you are content to face those factors, you and your escorts must also decide whether you are happy with the matches the system has made for you.

"In your folders are copies of all the information from this presentation, some of it in more detail. Take them back to your rooms, read them, think about it. Discuss among yourselves. Anyone who is willing to proceed should assemble back in this room at ten tomorrow morning.

"Before you go, I want to explain why you were selected for this trial. We had several points to consider. One was, obviously, that you had some sort of condition—in many cases more than one—that regeneration will hopefully treat. Another is that you all have a background suggesting that you can be trusted with confidential information, trusted to act in the public interest, and trusted not to reach your own conclusions on what is in the public interest without talking to anyone first."

And you seem to have taken down the mobile phone networks around the park so we can't tell anyone anything.

"You are also all, in one or more ways, exceptional. You have skills, knowledge, capabilities and intellect that will be valuable as society moves on from these terrible events. You are all limited in your ability to bring those abilities to bear. Our goal is to enable you all to do so. As such, we are asking you to make a commitment—no contract, just on your word—to public service, to the extent possible after your treatment.

"But there was a final element to your selection. I've no doubt that you all remember the surveys that you completed, before we made contact with you. They are part of a computer system, Oracle, which is responsible for making suggestions as to vaccine partners. It is capable of analysing many different factors, and considers different possible types of relationships—though all would have a sexual component. It considers the makeup of a Team as a whole, as it grows. For this project, we have also been able to utilise some other data sources to better understand your existing relationships.

"All of you, those in couples, have been rated as extremely compatible with one another, and your relationships as extremely stable. As far as we can predict, you are all expected to be able to cope with additional partners being added to your relationship. Those of you who have brought carers, your carers are also rated as compatible with you. And you have all been matched with a relevant health professional who could pass our background check, and who is rated as highly compatible. This was no small task. You are, to be entirely frank, the best prospects we could find.

"Now, please go and consider whether you wish to participate in our trial. The kitchen will still be open for several hours. Have some dinner, think about it, talk about it. Sleep on it. Talk about it some more over breakfast. We don't want anyone coming into this without having fully considered it."

* * * * *

As they rode the lift back to their rooms, folders tucked into the basket of Rob's rollator, Kat realised that Gillian didn't have one.

"Do you want to borrow one of our info packs, or did you already get this information?" she asked.

"We got a full briefing before I was sent out to pick you up," Gillian confirmed. "A written information pack as well. Though, if I get the chance, I wouldn't mind having a look through yours to see if they've given everyone the same information."

"Fetch yours and come over to ours, then, and we can compare. If this weren't so serious, we could probably make a drinking game of it."

They gathered on the sofas in the suite, starting by each reading their own packets, Rob and Kat frequently cross-checking to make sure the information they had was the same.

"Okay," Rob said once they were all done. He was the last to finish, Gillian having read hers before and just re-reading quickly, and Kat displaying her usual ability to read at implausible speed. "Let's summarise a bit here. Everything about the bonding, the 'imprinting', is as we were told in the meeting. If we go ahead, Gillian gets the standard vaccine, and we get this experimental one."

"Actually," Kat pointed out, smiling wickedly at her husband, "you get both. Or had you forgotten that you'll be 'imprinting' Gillian?"

Rob inclined his head, conceding the point. He glanced briefly at the red-haired physio. She was looking bashful again; he decided it was rather sweet.

"And the regeneration isn't the only difference between the two," Kat continued. "They don't have enough data yet to put a number on it, but women treated with the experimental serum need their 'top up' more often."

"They didn't mention that in ours," Gillian noted. "Just a general gloss that the version you're getting does things differently. They reckon seven to ten days between 'doses' for the standard version."

"Here," Kat passed Gillian a couple of sheets from her folder. "That explains more about the differences, or at least what they know about them. But I want to talk about this page." She flourished one of the last pages in the folder. "The timeline."

It showed what was supposed to happen when over the next few days. This page had also been in Gillian's folder, and she started to look a little sheepish.

"They might be willing to change the order of things, if that's a problem," she offered in a small voice, uncertain.

Rob looked confused. He'd read the timeline, but it took him a moment to realise why the two women thought there was a possible problem with it.

Obviously it makes sense that we're all going to spend a day or two having tests and scans to evaluate their conditions as they stand now, but then... oh.

He was supposed to imprint Gillian before Kat.

"If it was up to me," Gillian explained, "we could go in whatever order you preferred. The thing is, the way they explained it to us, they want us there for when you... bond, and we need to be there afterwards, of course. I can't help with your early rehab if I'm unconscious—for twelve hours, minimum—not long after you wake up."

"I think there's a more important question to think about first," Rob cut in. "Sorry, Kat, that detail needs working out, and I absolutely want to hear what you have to say about it. But first, we need to actually work out if all three of us are happy going through with this. We can work out details later, but first: in principle, do we want to do this?"

"Are you joking?" Kat replied, her incredulity clear in her tone. "We do this, we get vaccinated early. Think about why they chose us for this project. When they get to vaccinating everyone, you can bet they'll be prioritising people for vaccination based on their 'value to society'; as it is, as we are now, we aren't going to be high on that list. Plus we have a good chance of at least some of our health problems getting sorted. Why wouldn't we?"

"I don't think we should jump into it for those reasons. First, are we ready to expand our relationship—whether Gillian here is involved or not?"

"We're going to have to anyway, Rob. Eventually the vaccine will come to everyone. If we're still alive, and don't want to end up being some sort of unvaccinated pariahs, we'll have to."

"Okay, fair point. Then there's the fact that they don't know what else this experimental vaccine will do."

"They don't really know everything the standard vaccine will do. Read between the lines—the original regenerations were a surprise to them. There's obviously things they aren't telling us, but I think those are outweighed by the things they just don't know."

Gillian's eyes swept back and forth between them, as if it were a tennis match.

"Okay, so you're a yes," Rob said, indicating Kat. He turned to Gillian. "Leaving aside what you think of us, are you up for this whole programme?"

"Of course, Rob. I told you, I knew almost all of this yesterday. The only question for me is whether I'm happy going ahead with it with you." A wave of her hand indicated both of them. "I had a file on you—I had files on a few different couples—before I was fully signed up to the project. I had the chance to say 'no' to any of them, and put the rest in order of preference. I know there's only so much you can get from what's on paper, but you two were actually my first choice.

"I had details on your health conditions, but I also had pictures, details of your education, what else you'd been doing with your life, and some details summarised from your Oracle surveys." Seeing the alarm on their faces—especially Kat's—she added, "none of the really personal stuff. Just some broad summaries. With as much information as they would give me on paper, I chose you."

Kat was obviously surprised; Rob was downright incredulous.

"No, I'm not going to explain why I put you as my first preference. Not now; maybe later, if we go through with this. Obviously, I knew that I might feel differently after meeting you, but if anything I'm more comfortable with the choice now. I'm beginning to realise that you're both smart enough that it's somewhat scary, but I like being around people smarter than I am. Kat, I already know you're fun, that I can talk to you. The drive up here turned out much more entertaining than I had expected. I'd rather have had the chance to get to know both of you equally," she gave Rob an amused smile, "but I learned some things from what Kat had to say, and I've learned more from what interaction I've had with you.

"Rob, you may be frighteningly intelligent, but you're also an idiot in some ways that are really very sweet." At his obvious discomfort, she went on. "Oh, don't look like that, your wife thinks of you that way even if she doesn't use the word. It's not a bad thing. It also doesn't hurt that you're both pretty good-looking, and you're going to look even better once this vaccine does its job. And don't even start on the age difference; it's not even ten years, and who cares anyway?"

Rob was still somewhat incredulous; Kat was starting to look embarrassed.

"As far as I'm concerned, the only thing that is going to stop me joining you, if you stay, is if you don't want me." She stood up. "Now, I'm going to find some wine, and let you two talk about this without me for a few minutes."

* * *

Once Gillian had left the room, Kat turned to her husband.

"You are either going to get over your inability to believe that anyone finds you attractive, or suck it up and deal with the situation anyway."

Rob was speechless; that was obvious in the way his mouth kept opening and closing without any sound coming out. It was cute, in its way.

"You always thought I was out of your league. From my point of view? You were the brilliant postgrad who was obviously going to go on to great things, and being in your workshops was a great chance to learn—and I enjoyed the view, as well. Half the girls in my year, and more than a few of the guys, wanted to be in your workshops just for the view. Did you have any idea, the faintest inkling, that people felt that way?"

His mouth was stuck open now. He shook his head slowly.

"No, I didn't think you did. You obviously enjoyed working with undergrads, and if things hadn't gone the way they did you would be the most popular lecturer in your department right now. Your passion for what you taught was amazing. But you would also have had at least half of every class crushing on you.

"So, do I have any trouble believing that Gillian would feel that way? No. If you don't get it, I'm just going to have to ask you to trust me. Okay?"

"Yes, love," he said, weakly.

"Good. Anything else bothering you about Gillian?"

"Um... no, I guess. I mean, I worry how we'll get on over a longer period of time, but I'd feel like that about anyone, I suppose. What about you? Are you okay with this?"

"Oh, Rob. I worked out that something like this might happen when we did those surveys. Didn't you?"

"Well, no. I..." he looked into the middle distance, and sighed, "I suppose I should have. I can see how you ended up there. But I don't think I let myself think of it. I wouldn't let myself see it as anything but an academic exercise."

"Gillian was right. You can be an idiot sometimes. And it is sweet. You work out how you're going to start acting normally around her, and have a look at dinner options. I'm going to go and find her—given she's doubtless trying to wait long enough to make sure I could beat some sense into you—and bring her back. I hope she has found that wine, though.

* * * * *

Kat and Gillian returned to the suite, each carrying a bottle of wine. Rob had opened the TV and was browsing the menu.

"Welcome back, ladies," he greeted them. "Gillian, I would love to cook for you both—if Kat hasn't told you about my cooking before now, I'm sure she will, but I love to cook for an appreciative audience. The facilities here are a bit lacking, though, so let's see what we can order. You've been here longer than we have—what's good?"

"Well, I've only been here three nights, but so far the menu has been different each night," she said, dropping onto one of the other sofas while Kat shuffled to the kitchenette to fetch glasses. "Whoever's running the kitchen, I think they don't like to cook the same things each day."

"Okay then, let's see. Looks like they're offering a few things that come as big dishes for sharing. There's options to say how many servings you want. I think they might be trying to encourage people to eat together."

"Makes sense," said Kat, delivering the glasses and taking a seat next to Rob. She quite obviously chose to sit on the side furthest from Gillian, elbowing him across to make him sit nearer to her. "Red or white?" she asked the room at large, brandishing an alarming-looking corkscrew that seemed to have been modelled on some sort of gun. Rob gestured his deference to Gillian.

"Red, please," she said, looking at the menu on the TV. "So, one of these sharing options. Lasagne sounds good. Or the stir-fry. But really, I don't mind, I'd be happy to eat anything on that list."

"Stir-fry," Kat announced, pouring them all a full glass. "Then we can switch to the white wine. I think, in these circumstances, it wouldn't be a bad idea to make good headway on the wine, and the food will presumably take a while. There's enough options there that they can't have them all sitting there ready to serve."

"Okay," said Rob, selecting the stir-fry. "3 people... there's also options. Pork, beef, king prawn, chicken, duck, tofu. And it looks like we can choose as many as we like!" They looked at Gillian.

"Not tofu," she said, sipping her wine and shaking her head. "Never could stand the stuff."

"Duck's tempting," Kat put in. "You never cook duck, so we never eat it."

"Right, duck it is." Rob made the selection. "Want another one? I'd suggest not pork or beef, they could swamp it. And prawns would clash; want to add chicken?"

Kat and Gillian shrugged simultaneously, then chuckled at each other for the reaction.

"Okay, let's throw in the chicken," Rob concluded. "It's asking about sides now. Do we want some extra stir-fried veg?"

"Yes please," announced Kat, making rapid headway with her wine.

"Got it. Prawn crackers? Apparently they can bring them up straight away, while we wait for the rest."

"Yes, some nibbles would be good," Gillian opined.

A few minutes later, they were half-way through the bottle of wine and enjoying prawn crackers with sweet chilli dip.

"I want to make sure you're clear about something with the vaccine," Gillian said seriously. "The bonding itself, and keeping a woman safe, just requires semen. It could be drunk from a cup." She regarded the cracker and dip in her hand. "Or used as a dip, if you want. Anyway, that sorts things out for the woman.

"But for the man to get his immunity, that needs contact with bodily fluids the other way. Oral, anal, vaginal—he has to be inside her. Best to actually come inside, I gather. The same goes for triggering a man's regeneration; if the contact is one-way, it's not going to happen."

"Why is it important for us to know that now?" Kat queried.

"Well... otherwise, we might do this with minimal contact between me and Rob. But if I'm going to contribute to his immunity, that doesn't work."

"Gillian, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't going to be jealous at all. For what we'll gain from this, though? It would be worth it. And given the limits on choice of men once a woman is vaccinated, it would be unfair to you anyway—unless that's what you wanted."

"Do I get a say in this?" asked Rob.

"Not really," Kat told him bluntly, before popping a whole cracker into her mouth at once. She waved her hand in the air as she chewed. Swallowing, she continued, "you get to say no to the whole thing. If not, you're going to accept what I tell you, because otherwise you'll get yourself tied in knots about it." She punched his shoulder lightly. "Plus, you know I'm right."

"Okay, fair point," he acknowledged, finishing his glass of wine. Stuffing a handful of prawn crackers in his mouth, he went to fetch fresh glasses and chopsticks, ready for the main meal. It arrived in a pair of woks that were still hot, with a stack of three bowls.

Their conversation became more relaxed over the meal, as they discussed whatever topics they stumbled into.

"You absolutely can't appreciate a band if you only listen to their singles," Gillian explained. They had slowed down their consumption of wine, and with a bit more food inside them they weren't feeling it quite so strongly. "You don't really know Clean Bandit if you only listen to the bits that made it onto the radio."

"True enough. I'll have to do that," replied Rob. "And I'll say the same for Matchbox Twenty. Especially Mad Season, that album is pretty much all bangers."

"I think people don't take the time to really appreciate some of the classics," Kat opined, "like no one seems to listen to Dire Straits any more."

"I'm surprised at how well you're handling those chopsticks," Gillian observed. The sticks lay across Kat's hand at odd angles, but she moved them as deftly as anyone. "I'd have thought, with your hands, that it would be more of a problem."

"It's just a matter of figuring out what works. And it's not just chopsticks—there's lots of things I've had to figure out different ways to do." Her tone seemed perfectly innocent, but she gave a blatant wink and nudged Rob in the side with an elbow, very nearly causing him to lose a mouthful of wine. He playfully slapped her shoulder and smiled.

As they sipped wine, food finished, they discussed their lockdown experiences.

"Mostly it meant we did more shopping online," Kat explained. "A lot of our social connections have been online, the last few years. Then, of course, more and more people just stopped posting or responding..."

"That was one of the first clues that something was up," Rob noted. "Our social circle obviously isn't the best sample, but the sheer scale of the drop-off, well." He paused to belch. "Either a lot more people were dying than we were being told, the people we knew—and we were talking to plenty of people in more typical life situations than us—were dying off much more than average, or people were disappearing from the internet without dying. And that last didn't seem very likely."

"Of course, that wasn't really enough to go on. But we started noticing patterns in the footage used on TV news. The same clips used over and again, and fewer and fewer different people being used for up-to-date talking heads."

"And the newsreaders, of course. And then the media consolidation. None of that made sense unless things were worse than they'd said."

"You know what—I didn't notice it at the time, but the proportion of women as talking heads definitely went up as well." Rob nodded his agreement with his wife's observations.

"When you say it, it seems weird that I didn't think of it," mused Gillian. "I mean, at first they were calling anyone with any useful skills in, and I can at least do blood draws and general examinations. Free up some doctors and nurses to do more crisis work, and even at A&E they could use extra bodies that had some sort of clinical experience. Then suddenly they didn't want us any more; almost overnight we were all told we weren't needed. That was about the time that they put a security cordon around the hospital—and they wouldn't tell us why.

"So I ended up furloughed, because there just wasn't much work going for physios. Then they revoked my pass and wouldn't let me in the building to pick up the things I'd left in my office." As her arms moved while she talked, Rob and Kat each noticed a small sticking plaster on the inside of her left arm, maybe half-way from the elbow.

"That fits," Kat observed, Rob nodding along. They sat in silence for a minute, reflecting on the last few months. "Was there anything important to you there?"

"Not really. There was a mug I was a bit attached to, but not really a big deal. Some equipment for me to demonstrate that the hospital wouldn't pay for—exercise bands and such."

"Oh, yeah," Rob broke the silence. "One other thing I should check you've both realised. Obviously, if we go through with this, we're committing to each other for the foreseeable. Well past the foreseeable, unless they find a way to reverse the bonding. But it's clear we're likely committing to being here, or wherever else they might decide to move us, for months. They're going to be expanding our 'Teams', they're going to be evaluating how we respond to the vaccine, and how the regenerations work. But we're also committing to some sort of public service—they're going to be trying to work out what they can get us to do. I wouldn't be surprised if opportunities come up and we're nudged into them, and I wouldn't be surprised if a lot of them are here.

"We should be planning on being here at least into the new year. We might get moved, either as Teams or en masse, but we'll likely still be here, and we certainly aren't likely to be going home."

"I think you're right," Kat agreed. "I hadn't thought of that. In fact, given the sizes of these Teams, I think most people can rely on never going back to their old home. How many people already have a home big enough? And here, for this study, we're almost certainly getting Teams made up of people from all over the country."

Gillian blinked at them.

"It's going to take some getting used to, being around people like you. Do you ever stop analysing everything?"

"He does when he's asleep," said Kat, elbowing her husband gently in the ribs. "I can relax sometimes. Get lost in a good book.

"And speaking of sleep, we should all probably get some. We can come back to the question of whether we stay in the morning. We can host Gillian for breakfast, eh love?"

"Sure," Rob agreed.

"I think I'll just walk Gillian back to her room. You clear up and we'll get to bed."

Rob's brow creased as the women left the suite, and as he tidied the room and loaded the dishwasher, he started analysing again—this time, the question of why his wife was walking Gillian to her room when it was all of ten metres away.

* * * * *

Not long after, they were curled up in bed, Kat's head nestled across Rob's shoulder. His fingers idly stroked her bare skin, and she gently caressed his side. Having reasoned the matter out as far as he could, and only coming up with a range of possibilities, Rob decided to take the direct route.

"So, what did you want to talk to Gillian about without me there?"

"I think," Kat replied thoughtfully, "that that's going to stay between us for now. If we stay, you'll find out most of it soon enough."

"That's fair." Rob's mind was turning to other things now, his hand tracing down his wife's arm with feather-light touches.

Neither of them had the energy for terribly elaborate lovemaking. For Rob especially, the paradoxical effects of the wine were wearing off, and he was getting sleepy. Still, his wife was curled against him, and he was acutely aware of the warmth and softness of her body.

She certainly seemed receptive, leaning into him and reaching for his slowly hardening cock through his shorts. Under her caresses, it stiffened much more quickly.

Rolling partly towards her, he brought his other hand to her chest, caressing a breast through her nightgown. Her breath caught, and she moaned her appreciation, until he caught her mouth with his and kissed her deeply.

Gently pushing her arm out of the way—prompting a mildly frustrated whine—he reached between her legs, parting her lips and teasing gently at her opening, finding just a little lubrication there. This wasn't unusual; the disease that had made such a wreck of her joints also affected how wet she got in unpredictable ways; it was, in any case, enough for present purposes.

Fingers moistened, he slid them up to her clit, and stroked patiently, finger slipping around her nub, now faster, now slower, now delicately, now firmly, until she buried her face in his shoulder and her teeth dug into him slightly.

He slowly, gently, stroked her through the aftershocks until her body relaxed against him, at which point she pushed away.

"My turn," she said, eagerly pushing back the covers and pulling down his shorts. She stroked him lovingly for a moment, then knelt carefully alongside his legs and lowered her mouth to his cock.

Holding it in place with one hand, she slowly, deliberately licked along the length of the underside, looking up and making eye contact to see his reactions. She licked the tip briefly, picking off a bead of pre-cum, then swirled her tongue around the head. As Rob's head fell back and his eyes closed, she dropped her mouth over his cock, sucking gently, and began to move slowly up and down on it.

After a few minutes, with Rob's breathing growing more intense, Kat let him slip from her mouth for a moment, gently stroking with a hand that wouldn't grip.

"I'll tell you one thing we talked about. Or, well, something that came out of it."

"Oh?"

"Well, let's just say that, if we do stay, it might not just be you having sex with Gillian."

With that, she drew his cock back into her mouth, lips sealing tight and head bobbing vigorously.

In his aroused and inebriated state, images came unbidden to Rob's mind. What Kat and Gillian might do. What all three of them might do together.

With no more warning than a grunt, he came in Kat's mouth, and she swallowed with a hum of satisfaction.

As he panted through the lingering buzz of his orgasm, she clambered back up the bed towards him, kissed his cheek, and curled back up under his arm.

"Let's see what the morning brings," she said, curling into him as he fell asleep.