The exhausting two-hour health meeting had finally ended. Most members left the Belvedere to lunch at home, while a few retreated to their offices. As Chief of the Western Delegation, Gertrude von der Lügen had her own suite, and she could not wait to reach it and shut out the world.
Even her elegant, custom-made trousers could not disguise her crooked, waddling gait. She shuffled like a duck into the empty lift. The moment the doors closed, she peeled off the damp medicine mask. Wearing that ridiculous thing during every social interaction, no matter how brief, had become intolerable. Yet it was a necessary evil. If the Western Delegation expected the people to obey their draconian rules, the leaders had to set the example — masks, gloves, the full prescribed regalia. So far, the strategy had kept the mob subdued, forcing compliance with their absurd demands.
Gertrude could not tear her eyes from her phone. Since February she had been trying to finalise a deal with ByWell, a Gomorian pharmaceutical giant, for nine hundred thousand additional vaccine doses.
The Anglo-Saxon supplier, StellaZed, had failed to produce enough to protect the Western population from the engineered respiratory virus. Lockdowns and physical distancing had made little difference. People kept dying. To salvage her political career and avoid going down in history as the West's most incompetent leader, Gertrude had to act swiftly and decisively. She had rejected Scythia's offer to supply their already-tested and proven Mir-V vaccine. Instead, she yielded readily to pressure from Gomorian officials and agreed to procure theirs. The negotiations were nearing completion — until, an hour earlier, she received another text from Al Burland, ByWell's CEO, insisting on a phone call about the deal.
The message set Gertrude's nerves on edge. She loathed it when things slipped from her control, when people ignored deadlines, or when unforeseen problems forced her hand. Gomorians, she had learnt, could deliver all three at once and remain infuriatingly nonchalant until someone else cleaned up the mess. Their rudeness and carelessness clashed violently with her strict Almain precision; it had taken every ounce of self-discipline to steer the talks this far into April. The thought of yet another obstacle made her blood boil.
She strode into her office, went straight to her desk, dialled Al's number, and stared out of the wide window at the busy highway, waiting.
"Hello, Al! It's Gertrude. You wanted me to call."
"Oh, hi Gerry! Yeah, it's about the vaccines," Al replied in that maddeningly casual Gomorian drawl that always set her teeth on edge. She swallowed her irritation at the nickname he had bestowed on their first meeting. She had asked — politely, then less politely — for him to stop. He ignored her every time.
"What about them?"
"Nothing serious! Doesn't change a thing from what we agreed," Al rushed to assure her, sensing the tremor of anger in her voice even over the line. "I just wanted to make sure you're fully aware of the quality situation before you sign. The tests aren't finished yet, and the data we do have hasn't been fully processed."
Getrude gave a short, involuntary laugh. "That's not a problem at all. I was afraid the whole deal might fall through. StellaZed had its own side effects, after all. If anything does go wrong, the experts will chalk it up to age or pre-existing conditions." Her tone was brisk, businesslike, as though she were persuading both her counterpart and herself of the venture's unimpeachable logic.
"Well, in that case, deal sealed! I'll email you the contract right away," Al said, eager to escape the call.
He disliked her as much as she disliked him. Dealing with Gertrude — whether in person or on the phone — was a trial for Al. Her accent grated on him; he had been relieved when she preferred text messages and happily switched to SMS (though he always made sure to delete them promptly).
They exchanged curt goodbyes and hung up. Gertrude slipped the phone into her trouser pocket and folded her arms across her chest. The head of the Western Delegation exhaled in relief. She had fretted over nothing during the meeting.
So, what if the vaccines were not fully tested? StellaZed's had not been either and vaccination-related deaths remained within average bounds. Even if the figures rose, they could be adjusted — something they had done many times before. Besides, the Gomorian health agenda far outweighed any potential side effects. She had to align her priorities accordingly.
Gertrude gazed out with a contented smile. She could finally tick that task off her list and move on to other matters.
The sun broke through the clouds and struck the Belvedere's glass façade. The light refracted so sharply that Gertrude caught her own reflection in the window — and she did not like what she saw.
She still considered herself an attractive woman for her age, yet the transparent mirror showed a harsher truth. Her thick blond hair, parted centrally and cropped short these past few years, gleamed under the bright light. The stark dividing line turned the two halves into something like fur-covered devil's horns. Her oblong face had hollowed; the cheeks sunk inward, sharpening her features into an angular skull. Her cold grey eyes burned unnaturally bright in their sockets.
Von der Lügen shivered at the uncanny apparition. She raised her right hand to her face, as if to confirm it was still her own. Then she turned away from the window, sank into her chair with her back to the glass, and closed her eyes. A ten-minute nap, she thought, would do her good. It would help her forget whatever demon had stared back at her from the surface.