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Verquotrine

by Olivia Vert (first published in the Journal of Immaterial Science on July 17th 2024)


I knew what I had to do – 50 milligrams of verquotrine and she would be normal again. Well, not exactly normal, but the way she was two decades ago, before the psychosis and the divorces. I could rip open the paper sachet and dump it in her afternoon tea. A few sips and she would get better – I was seventy percent sure of that. Or sixty, at least. I lifted my gaze from the tea, considered her face. She was asleep, her eyes sunk deep in her skull, wrinkled skin stretched over protruding cheekbones. Her lips were dry and bluish-grey, slightly open, her shallow breaths moving rhythmically with a thin grey hair strand stuck to her chin. I could probably have tipped the drug straight into her mouth, before the tranquilizers wore off.


Verquotrine, or more precisely its acetate salt, is a thermally stable and potent neuroplasticizer and grey matter stimulant. Approved by exactly zero internationally recognized health organizations, it is currently being tested in clinical trials for the treatment of various neurological and behavioural disorders. No one else at the Academy had seen the preliminary results, but the ethics committee would have freaked anyway if they knew what I planned. What did it matter? She was practically dead anyways, her body was just going through the motions. That being said, dead people don’t tend to go on two-hour unhinged monologues about nurses conspiring to steal their genetic information to sell it to The Big Corp. Besides, verquotrine was my invention, my baby – I knew how it worked. What would have been the point of spending five years at the Fundamental Particle Research Institute and the Academy of Health and Life Sciences if not to invent a cure for my mother’s ailing mind? The fact that I wasn’t able to defend my thesis was a natural consequence of my supervisor’s jealousy. Professor David Olm, my illustrious adviser, tried to sink my project. He went on at great length about my “baseless claims”, “generalisations” and “assumptions”. The old tool even implied I’d fabricated some of the data. He might have 60 years of experience in the field, but I don’t think he ever adapted to research in the 23rd century. Most of my friends had made the system work for them, though. My undergrad buddy Remmy had just received a hefty grant to establish his research group on Time Crystal refinement and X-Ray diffraction studies. We both knew the idea was nonsense – Remmy proved months ago that Time Crystals absorb X-rays efficiently, making any type of scattering or diffraction impossible. He stuck with it though, because it had all the buzzwords that the Academic Shareholders like.

“Whatever feeds you and the kids, huh?” I asked him once, glancing over his shoulder at his proposal.

“Pretty much, yeah,” he nodded, taking a sip of his sugar-free energy drink and fiddling with his wedding ring.

“How much harder must this have been under the old system? The publishing companies, the grants, the reviewers, so much hassle. It’s a wonder they got any work done at all” I said, leaning against the wall in his office. He nodded again, his face clouded in thought.

It’s a funny thing, progress. Remmy and I took the same courses back in our Fundamental Particle days. I can picture a day in late November – bright and warm even though the sun would set at exactly 3:06 PM where we lived. We were sitting on a stone bench just outside the main entrance to the Chemical Sciences building, watching A History of Research and Scientists from the 20th to the 22nd Century – an absurd seminar produced by our Communications department earlier that year. The notion of state-sponsored research facilities and multiple rounds of grant applications seemed so ridiculous. Nowadays, it is much more reasonable. Once a critical mass of academics left for industry jobs, corporations just moved in and privatized the rest. What it really means is that instead of appeasing this mythical “reviewer two”, it’s the corporate line manager who judges our research ideas, and dollars are the bottom line. I managed to fund my research on verquotrine precisely because my doctoral proposal was littered with words like ‘returns’, ‘synergy’, ‘novel and facile’ and ‘optimistic’. Everyone in my age group would agree that the two multinational hedge fund management conglomerates, Z1nq™ and Hexoid, are today’s biggest drivers of scientific and societal advancement. Their advent has made funding readily obtainable for both well-meaning, ethical researchers (myself included), but also by scientists simply seeking a salary. The introduction “review by AI” saved a lot of time and money, but it has also allowed less scrupulous researchers to game the system.

Here’s how that system works:

  1. The researcher comes up with an idea for a project.
  2. They assemble a team of scientific staff and write up a proposal to their corresponding Faculty Shareholders, explaining how their idea will be beneficial to humanity (i.e. the businesses) and how it will solve an important issue (bring in a sizeable profit).
  3. The proposal is carefully evaluated and accepted or rejected based on scientific merit (the projected income).
  4. If their proposal is accepted, the researchers go on and work on their projects, publishing their findings in AI reviewed journals.
  5. Major breakthroughs and incredible results are achieved regularly within short, six month projects, and numerous papers are published.

The time-efficiency is the biggest benefit of our new system. Not only do we publish faster than ever, but we also are able to move on to the next project quickly too – that kind of turnaround could never be achieved in old-fashioned academia. Of course, there was the issue of no one actually knowing which published data was real and which was fabricated to balance the books. AI-powered reviewing was great for its unparalleled speed, but it struggled to discern real and fallacious findings. My colleagues at Meerlin University (Z1nq™) admitted to designing AI software specializing in generating untraceable and completely false scientific data on demand. Now they can write a paper in three hours, and they always have publishable data. What’s not to like?

I’m not like that, though – I would NEVER fabricate scientific data. Verquotrine was hard to synthesize. It took twenty-seven steps, including a deep-space vacuum reflux, addition of sensitive reagents below absolute zero and enantiomer resolution by chiral subatomic particle beams. I can cross my heart and confidently say that my preparation of Verquotrine acetate:
a) is energy efficient and atom economical.
b) produces clinically pure compound (except for those two pesky peaks that show up in the 1H NMR spectrum, but they’re probably solvent impurities).
c) shows positive outcomes in patients with serious personality disorders (the reports from the Biochem department say so. I believe them – they’re some of the good ones).


I poured the contents of the paper sachet into her teacup. The white, crystalline solid flowed in a neat stream and dissolved before it reached the bottom of the cup. That’s why we use acetates – good solubility. That’s been known for centuries though. I nudged her shoulder gently. She was still out cold. Sighing, I slumped back into to the grey visitor armchair, rubbed my temples and gazed out the window. Some time later, she opened her eyes, looking around hazily. I sat up, handing her the spiked tea, hoping she would start drinking it before she could start talking.


“Where am I?”


“Mom, you’re in your room at the hospital. Here, I made you some tea. Drink up.”


She took the cup reluctantly, her wrinkly hands shaking slightly.

“Did you really brew this? Because I can tell you, these nurses around here are no good. I saw one of them the other day – Leandra, or Lobelia – steal my dirty clothes. They are stealing my genetic information – I can guarantee you that! – to use that data against me, or to breed some super-human. I would never – NEVER – drink anything that hag Lydia has laid her hands on!” she croaked, shaking her finger towards me.


“Mom, seriously, don’t worry. Just drink up.”


She took a generous sip. I observed her carefully, making mind notes of the changes to her appearance. She scrunched her face, turning away from the teacup.

“Darling, what is this disgusting stuff?”

I raised my eyebrows, puzzled. It must be the Verquotrine. I’ve never actually tasted it myself, but ChemDraw v324 predicts it should be “mildly sweet”.

“It’s a herbal tea, Ma. It’ll help. Please finish this one for me, there isn’t much left in your mug. Wouldn’t want to let good tea go to waste, now, would you?”

She nodded slowly as she emptied her cup.

“You know, I always knew that you are a genius. Look, your father – he never even cared if you graduate. All he ever cared about is himself. Now look at you – my child, all grown-up, a doctor. Alyssa would explode with jealousy if she ever” -cough- “found out. And your sister – I always knew she’s good for nothing. We’re the only clever people in our family, darling.”

She coughed some more. I observed her. I hope the coughing isn’t linked to Verquotrine. Suddenly, her eyes seemed to pop out their sockets for a second, as she jolted up, grabbing her chest and gasping desperately for air. I called for a nurse, I could feel sweat breaking out under my shirt, but I knew it was too late.


I looked at the casket as it descended into a perfectly rectangular hole. Above it, the plaque read:


Roberta Orchid
2152-2221
Died peacefully, surrounded by loving family members
.


Maybe I should have asked those biochemists if they were using
the AI data generation software.