Free Resurrection by Ken McClure

on their team in any capacity let alone as leader. For them an academic appointment was, get-your-own-back time.
    Alison tells me there’s some bureaucratic problem,’ snapped Davidson, pointedly looking at his watch. Dewar noted it was a double Y-chromosome man’s watch, one that could probably tell you the time, in Tokyo at two hundred feet under the Baltic Sea. It looked like a soup plate on Davidson’s scrawny wrist.
    ‘There’s a problem with your audit return for the smallpox virus fragments you’ve been using, Mike,’ said Kelman.
    ‘Jesus,’ exclaimed Davidson. ‘Why don’t we all stop doing research and just fill in forms. That’s what it’s coming to.’
    If he expected an apologetic response from Dewar, he was badly disappointed. ‘If you don’t come up with good explanation for the discrepancy in your return that’s exactly what you’re going to be doing anyway, Dr Davidson,’ said Dewar, matter of factly.
    Davidson looked shell shocked. ‘Who is this … What the … Can he do this?’ he appealed to Kelman.
    Kelman shrugged his shoulders. ‘I understand the Sci-Med Inspectorate do have considerable powers should they choose to use them.’
    ‘Look, it was obviously just a clerical error,’ said Davidson, starting to back-pedal
    You’ll have to do better than that, thought Dewar.
    ‘Perhaps we could go through the audit statement and you could point out just where the error occurred, Doctor?’
    ‘I suppose I could try.’
    And you’ll have to do a lot better than that.
    Davidson’s lab was on the floor below. He led the way as if every step were an intrusion on his day and he wanted Dewar to know it. When they finally reached ‘The Davidson Lab’ as it was posted on the outside of the door, they were met by a tall blonde man who was just exiting with a rack of tubes in his hand.
    ‘Eric, I need the list of the smallpox fragments you made up for me,’ snapped Davidson.
    ‘Okay, just give me a moment.’
    ‘Now, Eric!’
    The big Swede, towering over Davidson gave an embarrassed shrug and retreated back into the lab. He put down his rack and went off to get the list. When he came back, Dewar gave him a smile of reassurance and it was returned. ‘There is a problem?’
    ‘We seem to have more fragments than the regulations allow.’ Davidson endowed the word with distaste. This gentleman has come to check up on us.’
    Dewar held out his hand and said, ‘Adam Dewar, Sci-Med Inspectorate.’
    ‘Eric Larsen. I’m a post doc here.’
    The two tall men stood with Davidson in between them like the meat in an under-filled sandwich.
    ‘You must have screwed up the paperwork, Eric,’ said Davidson petulantly.
    ‘I don’t think so,’ replied the Swede. ‘I think you checked it yourself when I was finished.’
    ‘I didn’t check it, I signed it. God, do I have to do every little thing myself in this place.’
    Larsen moved uncomfortably from one foot to the another. Dewar sympathised with the big man but decided to keep a stony countenance. It was always unwise to get involved in the politics of such a situation. He opened his brief case and brought out his copy of the official fragment list for the department. ‘Maybe you could read from yours and we can identify and agree the extra pieces.
    ‘Sure,’ said Larsen. He started through the list.
    Half way through, Dewar said, ‘No, I don’t have that one.’
    Larsen read out the number again.
    ‘No, definitely not.’
    Davidson snatched the paper from Larsen and asked, ‘Are you absolutely sure about this fragment?’
    ‘Sure I’m sure. I went through the fridge, just like you asked. This one was there. I couldn’t have made the number up,’ said Larsen, letting his anger show just a little.
    Dewar suddenly sensed in Davidson the stirring of a memory that he would rather not have recalled. It was something to do with his eyes that gave him away. There was a slight pause while Dewar presumed Davidson was searching for