The Interstellar Slave

Chapter 3: Injenite

“Hello? Hello? Are you still there?”

The woman’s voice reached Bituin’s ears for the second time when she hadn’t spoken aside from the word “Hello.”

“Y-yes. I am here. I-I think I called the wrong number,” she muttered slowly and haltingly and decided to hang up.

The woman held her up before she could, saying, “Oh, really? I think that’s quite impossible. Everyone who calls this number must know we’re recruiting patients for the late-stage clinical trial for the drug that we’re having a research on. I’m Dr. Smith. If you need help, you can tell me.”

Bituin’s brows furrowed, glancing at the other hover cars flying around that late afternoon. Not so long ago, there weren’t these many until this year. Air traffic regulations were immediately set up when personal flying commenced a few years ago. Flying cars still didn’t come cheap, so she was lucky her father could afford one for her even though she didn’t ask for it. To her, it was a luxury. She was fine with her automated car, which ran by electric power. However, she had to sell it as it was not wheelchair-friendly, and she now had a hover car.

Irrational it may be, she did tell her parents not to send her monthly allowance anymore, explaining she had savings and that she had invested in some stocks and was into bitcoin mining. But it was all a lie. She just didn’t want her parents to support her anymore because of what happened to her—the consequence of that underground fight she was involved with. Her mother was right. If she didn’t do it in the first place, she wouldn’t be in this depressing situation.

The soft humming of the hover car’s engine filled the silence for a few seconds. “W-what kind of drug, if I may ask?” Bituin finally queried, not knowing why her heart pumped hard because of anticipation.

“We call it Injenite,” Dr. Smith answered smoothly. “It is an injectable drug containing nanites that can cure paralytics no matter the type or degree of paralysis—partial, complete, permanent, temporary, flaccid or spastic.”

Bituin slightly inhaled audibly when she heard it.

“We are very optimistic that the late-stage clinical trial will produce ninety-nine percent success. It’s truly high, so we are excited to recruit more subjects for this test and help them live a normal life again,” Dr. Smith proceeded.

“H-how can one be recruited in this clinical trial?” she asked and gulped hard, blinking a few times.

There was a little pause on the other end. “Do you want to participate in this experiment?” Dr. Smith inquired straightforwardly.

Bituin took a deep breath and nodded as though the other woman could see her. “Y-yes. What should I do?”

“First, we need to see if you’re eligible for it. If you are, we need to inform you about the pros and cons of this clinical trial and ask for your consent, so we need you to sign some papers. And then, our staff will pick you up at your address, or the nearest place you prefer. You can sign the papers here at the lab if you want me to put you on the list right now.”

The woman continued to mumble on some other stuff with regards to the subject, and Bituin felt an excitement she’d never felt while being in this tragic suffering from paraplegia. She was overwhelmed by the possibilities that Dr. Smith promised her. There was no need for surgery, so it was a good thing for Bituin, who was afraid to undergo it. Maybe the only surgeon she could trust was her mother, who was a neurosurgeon. Nieves was also considered as a seasoned one and had helped a lot of patients.

***

It was around seven in the evening when a black van stopped in front of Bituin’s apartment building. She was at the parking lot, in her wheelchair, and waited for the Quasi-Spectra Pharmaceutical staff to arrive, despite the January wintry night. She hadn’t waited for long though, and her thick black winter coat protected and kept her warm.

Two large men came out, bearing a uniform of the company’s staff, and showed her their IDs. They helped her into the van, while the driver waited for the door to be closed and drove off. The snow was in heaps near the sidewalks.

It was a long drive to the outskirts of the city. Bituin made small conversations with the guys who were polite to talk with her.

“Am I the only one going in tonight?” she asked the bald-headed guy to her right.

“Yes, ma’am, but some are already at the research facility for the tests.”

“Do I need tests?”

“Yes, ma’am, and Dr. Smith will take care of you.”

She slightly nodded and transferred her gaze outside the window. The bald head then mumbled something to the guy who was seated behind her. She noticed a five-story building they were heading to. It was made of concrete and glass, and its lights were on. The one next to it was a high-rise one with a modern design. It had the company’s name and logo in front of it, which had neon lights of blue.

The van entered the basement and parked there. Then Bituin in her wheelchair was gently pushed by the bald guy into an elevator, going to level three basement.

Dr. Smith in her long white lab coat was waiting for them, and the short-haired silver-haired woman in her fifties greeted her. They went into a small white room, which had bright lights. As soon as the door was closed, the staff left the two of them inside.

Bituin’s eyes swept the room. There was a white bed to the far right while a cabinet was set opposite it, against the wall. The smell here was clean and fresh to her surprise, and the temperature was warm and comfortable. She did notice one CCTV camera in the left topside corner, which viewed the entire room.

“We’ll do the preliminary tests first after you finished signing these papers. Please read them carefully before you sign them. I’ll give you time for it, and I’ll be right back. All right?” Dr. Smith smiled at her before leaving her alone in the room.

Bituin hadn’t seen anyone like her in the facility since she came in. It was quiet and spotless. She didn’t know what to expect, however, since she had no idea what a research facility would look like. She decided to check the papers on the small table and thought it was all fine, so she signed them without hesitation.

If the trial was a failure, she was going to receive a large sum of money that would take care of her for lifetime. She thought it was not so bad. Given that she had a miserable life to begin with, what could go wrong except to die, which she was all ready to accept than to suffer for the rest of her life? This way, her parents could get rid of a stubborn daughter who was a paraplegic, and they could move on with their lives and maybe even start a new family each. And yet, it was a bitter and foreboding thought to contemplate on.

Bituin was brought to another room for different tests. Her vital signs were taken and monitored; blood tests were also ran; her paraplegia was re-diagnosed by running X-ray, CT scan, MRI, myelography, EMG and spinal tap tests; and her brain activities were checked. It was not only Dr. Smith who was present there but also others that assisted the older woman. Bituin could only guess these were her colleagues in the Injenite research.

She was unaware she had to stay for more than a couple days until all the test results came back, and Dr. Smith told her everything was fine—and bad—as it could be, considering the state she was in. Well, the bad part was not a surprise anymore. Still, the retelling of her medical condition in another setting pained her. But at least, she was given more hope this time.

“Are you ready for the test, Miss Lee?” the Caucasian research head asked as they entered the first room she was brought into, together with the bald guy.

Wearing only a white sleeveless fitted tank top paired with white loose pants, she was then laid down on the narrow white bed, on her right side.

She nodded and replied, “Yes.”

Dr. Smith glanced at her tattoo on her left arm. It was a rosary in black ink; the bead string wound around her arm, and the cross dangled.

“Just have faith that everything will be fine.” The researcher then went over to the glass cabinet and took the big syringe. “This drug will drug will most probably cure you before you even wake up, Miss Lee.”   

Bituin felt the sharp sting when the center of her nape was pierced by the big needle. A tear rolled down her left eye, crossing down the bridge of her pert nose and continuing to roll down the other side of her cheek.

Not a few more seconds passed by, Bituin was sucked into oblivion. She had no idea how long she was out, but when she awoke, she immediately realized it wasn’t the room she was in, in the research facility.