The conversation was not lost on the Doctor or Camelia, who listened intently during their long ascent to the tower. As soon as they'd made it into the elevator Camelia had tried to phone Berin to let him know, before realizing there were other voices on the line.
"They said the stairs have been compromised," she said. "Does that mean the infected could be on any floor?"
"Any floor but the tower. The only way up is through the elevator, and even then you need a key."
"Or a magic screwdriver."
"Sonic!"
"How did the outbreak happen, though?"
"It must have started in the basement. All those sensors Berin talked about—well, you can't have them in a lab where all you ever do is spread the disease. They'd have to jam the signal to hide what they were doing."
"So this is because we left the door open. The infected must have got out—and spread rhixis to the soldiers . . ."
"We don't know what happened. And we can't changed anything now. —Ahh, I believe this is our stop . . ."
They broke out of the elevator into a short hallway. The Doctor spun on his converse, trying to make sense of it. There was a miniature reception desk and a wraparound hallway—wrapping around one big, square isolation room with thick glass windows. From the looks of the equipment hooked up to it, that container inside had to be holding someone. The chancellor's son, perhaps?
"Excuse me!" came a powerful voice. They whirled around to see a large man by the reception desk glaring at them. "Who exactly might you be?"
"Oh—I'm the Doctor!"
"Where's Dr. Kreshner?"
"Oh, he's, um, slipped out for a bit. You must be Chancellor Barkhoff!"
The man narrowed his eyes. "He's not allowed to just 'slip out for a bit'. Where is he?"
So he was the chancellor. Whew. Couldn't afford to make any major mistakes on their timetable. The Doctor smoothed his hair. "Well—I dunno, actually! I did see him downstairs. Going—where was it, Camelia?"
"Oh, I think it was . . . the cafe, maybe?"
"Kreshner's been out of the hospital for the past hour. Who are you people?!"
"Ohhh, well, it was worth a shot," sighed the Doctor, and ran up to the door of the isolation room. He pulled the screwdriver out and scanned the monitor attached to the lock.
"That's giving up a bit quick, isn't it?" asked Camelia. She whipped out her pistol and trained it on the chancellor.
"We are in a hurry."
"Are you threatening me?" growled the chancellor, looking down at the gun.
"Hm? What do you mean, 'threatening'?" cried the Doctor, turning around. Camelia dropped her hand before he could see the pistol.
"I dunno," she said, shrugging. "What are you getting off that screen?"
"Hold on." He resumed scanning. She resumed holding the chancellor hostage.
"Please keep quiet," she said under her breath. "I don't have a problem with shooting you."
"You'll never get away with this," he hissed.
"Take a look in the mirror, mate. Have you been downstairs?"
"I'm not liable for any of Kreshner's methods, whatever they may or may not be," he said, loud enough for the Doctor to hear.
"Yeah," said Camelia. "The funny thing about being a leader is that people tend to assume your people do what you tell them. That makes you either a lousy leader and an idiot or an absolute monster. Which is it?"
"I'm telling you the truth! . . . and I don't have to answer to you either way."
The Doctor finished his scan. "No. But you will have to live with yourself."
"What is it, Doctor?"
"It's this boy, Grady. His rhixis: . . . It's not natural." He turned around, slowly, eyes on Barkhoff. "It was induced."
Camelia kept her eyes on the chancellor but frowned nonetheless. "Wait, what?!"
"According to that computer, he was put under before he got sick. They introduced a small sample of the virus into his blood stream themselves and have been trying to cure it ever since."
"Why?!"
Camelia tried to subtly lower the pistol so he wouldn't see it as he came close. He was so focused on Barkhoff, however, that it didn't matter. "Because the chancellor's scared. He knows his days are numbered. And because, in the grand scheme of things, Grady's not really your son, is he?" he asked, speaking directly to the man. "You're just his 'sponsor!'"
"Same difference, though," said Camelia.
"Not to everyone it isn't." He raised his eyebrow absently at the object in her hand. "Put it away, please? . . . Thank you. . . Didn't you say the chancellor had two sons? Can't imagine what happened to the first. Probably tried infecting him before realizing he was so young he hadn't activated the virus yet; made sense scientifically to find a host for the cure who was most compatible with your own physiology."
"That's very good," said Barkhoff drily. "Might've been nice to have someone like you on my payroll."
The Doctor didn't do anything for a second. Then, spat: "You make me sick."
They stood like that a long moment, glaring into each other's eyes. One defiant, the other incensed. Camelia thought the Doctor might hit him, but he remained otherwise relaxed.
". . . Can I shoot him now?"
"No." He walked away. If the outbreak reached the tower soon, they might not have to shoot him, he thought savagely. He had to focus. He had to find some way of stopping this, now.
A doctor. "I need a doctor!" he exclaimed.
"I thought you were a doctor," said Barkhoff. Camelia seemed to find this very funny.
He snapped his fingers. "Whatever happened to Berin? Is he still with us?"
When Barkhoff didn't answer—either because he didn't understand or didn't want to help—Camelia turned on him. "Your thugs, they were after a technician who was with us. Swarthy, good looking. Would you happen to know where he is?"
"If they haven't brought him up by now, they've probably been swarmed."
She narrowed her eyes, deliberating, then walked up to him till she was speaking up into his chin. "Listen to me very carefully," she snarled softly. "This man wants a doctor. He is going to have a doctor. Get. Him. A doctor."
Barkhoff sneered. "Screw you."
"With respect, sir. I am very much in the mood to hurt you. But instead I am going to let you help my friend. And you are going to be thankful when he saves your sorry self because you were smart enough to get him one. Or you can be a pigheaded, power-hungry numbskull and wish when all this is over that I had shot you."
She waited. For a second it looked like Barkhoff might hold his ground. Then he gnashed his teeth and said, "They just took someone into the back room." And he jabbed his thumb violently towards a door. The Doctor ran to it.
Camelia stepped back and shook herself off. "Thank you." He sneered again. "Fine, be bitter. You are the scumbag, after all."
"I'd advise you to remember who you're talking to."
"Oh, that's right, you are our chancellor, aren't you? Ugh." She frowned. What was the Doctor doing that was taking him so long?
A few minutes later the Doctor finally appeared, followed by Berin. "Right! We've got serious problems."
"Wow! That's new."
"It turns out . . . the infected might be able to get in here after all."
Barkhoff thundered: "What?!"
"How?" asked Camelia.
"Well, somehow they got into the elevators—"
"But you can't get up to the tower without a key."
"Unless someone rings up the elevator from here. And we're not entirely sure they can't find a way down from the roof."
She blinked, then burst out laughing.
He looked worried. ". . . Yes?"
"Sorry. It's nothing." She'd just had a mental image of a crowd of infected spilling into an elevator and having to go up and down from accidentally bumping into the buttons. "Keep going."
"Berin and I are going to follow up on a lead; can you block all the exits for us?"
"Of course I can . . ."
"Good! And watch him!" he shouted over his shoulder as he dragged Berin down the hall.
Camelia turned back to the chancellor, whom she seemed to have just caught in mid-step as though to attack her. She raised an eyebrow. He glared. She shot him.