“The drugs have improved quite a bit since then.”
“Drugs I didn’t need and that you didn’t tell me about. You realize I could turn you into the ethics board for this? I own you now.”
Rubio whimpered. Her back smacked into the wall.
“I hope she paid you well.”
“I don’t know what—”
Lila waved off the doctor and slipped off the bed onto the cold tile floor. The air chilled her through the backless gown. She searched her clothes for her star drive. She’d intended to ask Helen about Dubois’s records, but a compromised Rubio would suffice. “Look at this for me,” Lila said, passing her the drive. “There’s only one folder.”
Rubio shoved the drive into her computer and scanned the data. “Chief, I can’t—”
“Have you forgotten my words so quickly? Who controls this hospital? I would hate for your recent mistake to affect your employment.”
The doctor gulped and turned back to the screen. After several seconds of studying the file, she cocked her head. “I don’t specialize in men’s fertility.”
“I don’t care.” Lila longed to lie back down on the hospital bed. She grew more tired with every passing second, for her brain had wrapped itself in fluff.
She stood anyway.
“Whose files are these? Where did you get them?”
“That’s none of your concern.”
Rubio looked as though she might protest, then thought better of it. While Lila dressed, Rubio scrolled all the way through the file twice, squinting at the doctor’s notes. “This patient cannot conceive. There is almost no sperm in the samples.”
“So I read. What could cause that?”
“Genetics.” Rubio ejected the star drive.
Lila snatched it from the doctor’s hand. Senator Dubois had passed his testing as an intern. He had not been infertile then. Genetics did not seem likely. “What about other causes?”
“It could be any number of things. Chemotherapy, cancer, diabetes, kidney or liver failure, age. Any of those could cause it. Is this a friend of yours?”
“Perhaps.”
Rubio frowned. “Has he had any serious illnesses?”
“No, he’s been perfectly healthy.”
“Drug use?” the doctor pressed.
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
Lila’s annoyed expression silenced the doctor’s protest.
“How old is he?”
“Far too young for this.”
“It could be a blockage caused by a prior infection, but that seems unlikely from his physical exams. Like I told you before, it’s most likely genetic. Sometimes men just shoot blanks.”
“It’s not genetic.”
“Then if it’s not age, it’s idiopathic. Sometimes such a condition develops for no reason—at least no reason we can detect.”