Panacea by F. Paul Wilson

his breakfast and let Forman lead them to the empty doctors’ lounge.
    â€œTwo miracles,” Forman said. “Two overnight miracles.” He jabbed a finger at Pickens. “And don’t sling that ‘science’ bullshit at me. That will work on Ashcroft and Kim because they don’t know they were treated with the same compound. They each think they received something specially tailored to their condition. But we three know different. It’s not science—it’s anti -science, because the same compound cannot possibly treat staph and acute radiation poisoning. And no placebo effect in the universe could reverse their conditions overnight. So we’ve left science and entered the realm of the supernatural now.”
    Pickens snorted. “Really, Doctor—”
    â€œReally nothing. I’m a devout agnostic but I’m pretty damn sure I’ve just witnessed a miracle. Two of them.”
    A miracle … two of them …
    Nelson’s first instinct was to call his uncle, the abbot of their order, and tell him of the morning’s events. But he could almost hear his reply: You expected something less?
    With a stab of guilt he realized now that somewhere deep in his unworthy heart he had harbored doubts about his uncle’s tales of the panacea. He’d thought he believed, and he’d pursued the panacea with unquestioning zeal. But if he’d truly believed all along, why this profound sense of shock at seeing objective proof?
    Clearly he had failed a test of faith. He could not go back, for faith was no longer required in the face of such incontrovertible evidence. He could only go forward. And he would, with greater fervor and resolution than ever.
    â€œHave you got any more of that stuff?” Forman said. “Because I’ve got patients who need it.”
    Nelson shook his head. “Sorry. That was it.”
    â€œWell, you can make more, can’t you?”
    Nelson looked away. “It’s complicated.”
    â€œâ€˜Complicated,’ my ass! Either you can or you can’t!”
    â€œWe are tracking the source. We hope to be able to secure more in the near future.”
    â€œHope? Hope? How can—?”
    â€œYou’ll just have to trust us,” Pickens said.
    Forman laughed. “That’s a good one!” He pointed to Pickens again, then Nelson. “You’ve found something that defies logic as well as analysis.”
    â€œAnalysis?” Nelson said. “What do you mean?”
    â€œI took a droplet left in Kim’s dosing cup and put it through the center’s spectrograph.”
    Nelson wanted to shout NO! No one must know the components.
    â€œYou had no right!” Pickens said, reddening. “I’m going to have to impound—”
    â€œRelax,” Forman said. “There’s nothing to impound.”
    Pickens said, “I’ll decide what—”
    â€œWe found nothing.” He began pacing the lounge, flapping his arms like a chicken. “The analysis was a complete bust. Oh, we got water, of course, and believe it or not, we found clay, sand, and humus—in other words: dirt. Really, gentlemen … dirt? Under what conditions did you mix that stuff? But the machine kept crashing. I don’t know how you did it, but you’ve got a compound that we can’t break down into its components—at least not with the equipment available.”
    Nelson dropped into a chair to hide his relief. Maybe he would never learn the mystery ingredient, but at least Forman didn’t know.
    â€œYou’ll be under review,” Pickens told the doctor. “Count on that. In the meantime, remember the consequences for letting any of this out.”
    Dr. Forman had wandered behind Nelson.
    â€œFirst off, I’m loyal to my word. Second, I would only be jeopardizing my reputation as a rational human being by repeating this madness. I—”
    He