Lasker Award (2)
The Lasker Award ceremony wrapped up in no time. As the youngest winner in history, more than a couple of people came up to chat with me. They all seemed awfully curious about who I was. Every eye in the banquet hall was fixed on me.
"Congratulations on the award. Back in the day, it would've been great if my research team had had someone like you..."
Just like this guy. But who was he? I shook hands with the elderly doctor. His face rang a bell, sort of.
"Thank you."
"I'm Dr. Salk. Nice to meet you."
I froze for a second.
"For real?"
I hadn't meant to say it that loud. Dr. Salk chuckled good-naturedly.
Jonas Salk. The man who'd invented the polio vaccine in the 1950s. The doctor famous for saying, "Could you patent the sun?"
"Looks real enough to me."
Classic Jewish humor.
"It's an honor to meet you."
I bowed my head to Dr. Salk again. A figure straight out of a textbook. But his face was more ordinary than I'd imagined. Even legends were human.
"I came because I heard a resident doctor had won the Lasker this year. Had to see what kind of wizard you are."
"I just got lucky with some help. I worked on this with Professor Berg."
Dr. Salk nodded slowly. If he'd sold the patent for his polio vaccine to a pharma company, estimates put it at around 8 trillion won in modern terms. And those same companies today? Slapped with fines in the tens or hundreds of billions of dollars for opioid painkillers alone...
No exaggeration to call it a romantic era. A completely different time.
"I've read your papers. Quite the insight. Imagine what the next generation could do with that kind of power."
"Thank you."
"Keep at it. Who knows? You might just change the world."
Dr. Salk grinned like he'd cracked a good joke and melted back into the crowd.
And so... the lounge was still packed with Lasker Award attendees. The ceremony had ended ages ago, but here we were in the Astoria Hotel lounge. I was sipping an iced Americano while Rigelotte had ordered an affogato.
I'd instinctively gone for the iced Americano, and the Italian-looking hotel barista had given me a weird look like I was some freak... Wait, this was America. What's wrong with Americano here?
If you hate it, go back to Italy. Anyway, that was just my guess from his face.
The vanilla ice cream in Rigelotte's affogato was melting slowly, like a glacier with a polar bear parked on it. Still not melted? It was the '70s, after all.
Rigelotte glanced at me again.
"Who was that guy earlier? The older man with glasses—you seemed to know him..."
"Jonas Salk. The one who invented the polio vaccine and refused to patent it."
"Oh, I remember his face now."
She stared off into space. Rigelotte was quick on the uptake. She seemed lost in thought for a moment, and her affogato had melted enough that the vanilla ice cream finally dove into the coffee.
"You're not busy tonight, right?"
"Uh, no."
"Let's take a walk. I was thinking of a gift to celebrate your award. I've got something prepared?"
Rigelotte smiled softly, and I nodded. What now? Nothing crazier than a helicopter, I hoped.
***
American Museum of Natural History. It was a weekend evening, past closing time, and the doors were shut—but we didn't look like regular visitors slipping in.
The museum interior was deserted. Rigelotte turned to me.
"In Prussian high society, culture wasn't a choice or hobby—it was essential. There was a time when natural history research was at the center of elite Western social circles?"
Rigelotte had mentioned it before. The Weiseman family were Prussian nobility. Sure, pre-WWII, but still.
Not just the center—history backed it up. Take Thomas Jefferson, third U.S. president and... a sloth? Anyway, he named weird prehistoric creatures. Those scientists' ideals basically built America.
Anyway. Point was, for traditional Western elites like Rigelotte, natural history museums held special meaning.
"Makes sense."
"Not just sightseeing, though."
Rigelotte breezed past the museum's grand exhibits like they were nothing. We headed into non-public areas deep inside.
A curator was waiting for us.
"Good evening. Charles Hamilton, curator. You're from the Weiseman Foundation?"
"Yes."
Rigelotte nodded.
"An honor. On behalf of the museum, thank you for your foundation's support."
We followed the curator down to the basement. Old-fashioned architecture with modern AC units jury-rigged on—probably for specimen preservation.
We soon reached a door.
"Call if you need anything."
The curator faded into the background. This had to be the museum's deepest vault.
I looked around. Mahogany drawers, looking a century old, lined the walls from floor to ceiling. Inside? Fossils, probably.
Rigelotte scanned the drawer numbers like she was browsing books, then pulled one open.
"Pick one you like."
"Uh, sure."
She had to be joking. I glanced over my shoulder at the curator, half-expecting someone to stop us, but he just leaned against the wall, waiting. They were seriously letting us rummage through fossil drawers...
"Collecting fossils is my hobby."
If you've got the money, you can waltz into a museum and poke around fossils, apparently. Rigelotte handed me a small trilobite fossil. Whoa. Thought it was a cockroach at first.
The trilobite was a bit bigger than my thumb. Long spines protruded along its back from the stone. Was that normal for trilobites? Hope it doesn't crumble.
She blew gently on it, dusting off the trilobite. The label in the drawer read:
-Spiny trilobite, species unknown.
-Discovered 1877.
-Arizona, near Grand Canyon.
-Cambrian strata.
Millions of years old. Discovered 200 years ago—artifact level. Not something you just handle casually.
Rigelotte smiled softly.
"Isn't it cute?"
"Looks like a cockroach."
I carefully set the fossil back. She looked at me—
"You're an interesting guy, Doctor."
"Why's that?"
"You're unusual, for one. Stanford and Lasker Foundation doctors calling you a once-in-a-century talent."
Rigelotte paused, covering her mouth thoughtfully.
"I thought you might find the museum boring. Glad you're not. Feels like we click."
"Yeah... guess so."
It was fun. Or shocking, which made it fun?
Rigelotte opened another drawer.
"This one's shiny?"
A palm-sized ammonite fossil with a metallic sheen. Its spiral shell iridesced like mother-of-pearl in the light. Opalized fossil.
-Opal ammonite.
-Purchased 1892.
-Discovery site unknown.
-Age unknown.
Rigelotte stared at it intently, like a kid with a new toy—or a cat spotting a bird.
"Gonna have to ask if I can take this one."
Yeah, right.
***
We emerged back into the exhibit hall after sunset. Dead dinosaurs loomed down at us. No visitors left—just cleaners and staff.
"You should've picked one too."
It happened. They put it in a jewel case with the certificate. No exaggeration when she said to pick what I liked...
Curator said specimens without special academic value could be sold to collectors. Kinda outside my norms, but this world's common sense differs from mine.
"I'm good."
"Anyway, thanks for humoring me!"
***
Meanwhile. Stanford Hospital, oncology ward.
Oncology professor Henry Kaplan. Already one of America's most famous doctors for discovering non-Hodgkin lymphoma, but even he couldn't figure this out...
The lung cancer had healed perfectly, but why was the mental state deteriorating so rapidly? Brain metastasis from the cancer?
"Ha..."
He felt like calling in a fortune teller.