No Waste, No Change

Naomi rushed into the room. Everyone was already there.

“Ms. Freeman, you’re late again.” The director’s words sounded more like teasing than reproach.

“Only ten seconds,” she protested.

“Fifteen, actually,” Mr. Foster said with a smile. “But since you’re a genius, we’ll allow it.”

She flushed, but quickly recovered.

“Mrs. Newell, please begin.” Alan Foster gave her a small nod.

“We live in a world where personalized cancer vaccines have become routine and HIV is finally curable. Yet, ironically, anxiety rates are rising faster than ever.” Riya Newell paused for effect.

“Well, with taxes alone…” Jack Martines, a young biologist, cut in with a smile, but faltered under the serious looks around the room.

“And we don’t have to look far,” Riya continued. “An internal study among our employees showed that, besides the damage to health, anxiety has a measurable economic impact. We lose approximately fifty dollars per employee every week.”

A murmur went through the room.

“At the scale of our company, we’re approaching half a million dollars in losses a month.”

Riya changed the slide.

“Ms. Freeman, together with a team of medical researchers, biologists, neuroscientists, and chemists, has come close to a significant breakthrough.”

The diagram showed a stable effect lasting two weeks.

“What’s the main difference from, say, ketamine or the other stuff with impressive early results and no approval?” Mr. Redman asked with a grin. He was a chemist from another research team.

“Rare side effects. I mean, there are no significant ones we’ve identified,” said Mrs. Newell.

“How rare?” Curt Redman added skeptically. “Have you gone through all the possible tests? And what about insignificant ones?”

“All the required standard tests, yes. For now, the results are very promising,” Riya confirmed. “Only two percent of patients had any side effects: mild to severe headaches, though they didn’t last long, and sometimes insomnia.”

“Ha!” Mr. Redman almost breathed it out. “Sounds like nothing special.”

“Curt.” The director gave him a look. The man went silent.

“Yes, there is some work ahead. Still, the results are promising. But this is not the most surprising fact,” she added. “I’d better let Ms. Freeman explain it herself.”

Naomi took the remote and gave Mr. Redman a stern look.

“My mom suffered from anxiety,” she started. “As did some other relatives. I aimed to find a cure. That is why I entered medical school, as you may know. I know what good results are and what bad ones are. And I know what responsibility means.” She looked around the room. “We were thinking within our team: what if the cure not only reduces symptoms, but teaches our brain to behave in a new way? It was a hard task. We spent hundreds of hours modeling, testing, adjusting the formula. That is how we came to MDX. Its results are on the screen.”

“What makes you sure it is really working the way you intended?” asked Mrs. Jenkins, a neuroscientist and one of the company’s top researchers.

“For the last two months, we have witnessed something unusual, exceeding our expectations.” Naomi turned the slide.

Again, a whisper went through the audience.

“Yes, over time it works even better, with lower and less frequent doses.”

She stayed serious, but her eyes smiled. “Extrapolating the results, after half a year you may not need it anymore.” Ms. Freeman paused. “It essentially cures the problem instead of fighting symptoms. Our nervous system responds to the treatment as if it’s familiar to our natural biology.” She took a breath. “I went through grief and regret looking after my mom and relatives. Let it be a price paid for a discovery.”

Under the approving gazes around the room, she took a transparent pill from a box on the desk and showed it to the audience. “We’ve gone through many months of work. Testing on animals, then on humans. We have good results. And we’ll make them even better.”

Naomi asked if there were any questions.

“As far as we know,” Alan added after several minutes of discussion, “not a single company has come so far. You also know that national and international approval procedures were shortened due to technological advances. If everything works well, the drug will be on the market within two years.”

An hour later, no one but Phillip saw Naomi coming out of a storage room, putting her phone in her pocket, and locking the door. She looked as if she had cried.

“Hey, boss, what’s up?”

“It’s nothing,” she replied, walking quickly past him.

That day, Virelia Biotech had an early dismissal. It was July third. Martin, a security guard, waved Ms. Freeman goodbye.

“You’re the last one again, I believe.”

She smiled. “Happy Fourth!”

Naomi crossed the road, stopped at the riverbank, reached into her bag, and threw something forcefully into the river. She didn’t know Martin was still watching her.

Toby Robhins ran onto the stage of an immense training hall, followed by waves of applause and music.

“Why are you so noisy?” he asked, smiling. “I am not Tony, you know?” The audience laughed. “Yet, I agree with many things he does, many things that align with current research. Do you know what I am talking about?”

“No waste!” the audience replied.

“No waste what?!” he raised his voice.

“No waste of energy!”

“Exactly!” He made a sign with his free hand. “So, please sit down and relax. But do not lie on the floor!”

Jill laughed along with the others, taking her seat.

It had been a year since the earthquake in India. They had gone there together. It was their first journey as a married couple. She survived. He passed away. He wanted to stay with her, but she let him go hiking with the group while she stayed in the hotel, feeling under the weather.

She couldn’t find consolation for months after the tragedy.

With psychotherapy and various training sessions, Jill got better. She believed he was in a better place. Yet, sometimes nightmares returned.

Jill found new friends here, visited groups, and gradually recovered.

“Ask me what drains our energy the most!” Toby called to the audience.

Jill echoed the question with the rest of the hall.

“Good question!” he replied theatrically. “You know the answer. Grief, anxiety, guilt, fear, self-doubt…” he continued, counting them off on his fingers. “Forgive yourself for whatever you’ve done and be free!”

She returned home with her friend Alice, energized and happy again. They had a cozy talk during which she showed Alice her recent paintings.

“You have to move forward,” Alice told her at the door. “Let Sammy go… He won’t be happy if you are alone for years.”

Jill promised to think.

Milton Chen turned on the evening news.

“The site looks very busy now. A new youth sports center for the Chelsea community is long-awaited here. Construction began years ago but was put on hold due to legal and financial issues. Recently, it was restarted under the new mayor.”

Milton smiled. A youth injury had kept him from reaching a higher soccer league, and even when he trained with the team, the conditions had been poor. A new arena for kids was surely a good thing.

His phone rang. Hearing the first words, he could only exhale, “Holy cow!” He rushed to the car.

Late that night, Jill was at the police station.

“You were the last person who saw Alice, right?” asked Milton.

Jill nodded, her eyes full of tears.

“How did you know what happened?”

“Your officer called me from her phone.”

“You were recorded as ‘Jill — Best Friend.’”

“Yes.” Her voice trembled. “Why? She was such a peaceful person. Who would shoot her?”

“We found an empty bag nearby. Did she have anything worth stealing?”

Jill shrugged. “Will she live?”

“We don’t know yet.”

The questioning didn’t take long.

“What the hell is going on here?” Milton asked his companion, only then noticing he was on the phone. Bob signaled that the call was important.

“Okay. We’re going now.”

Then Bob turned to Chen. “They found the gun. On the riverbank. A couple of blocks from her. Let’s go.”

On the last Monday of July, Naomi entered Mr. Foster’s office. His greeting was cold. He offered her a seat and put a newspaper on the table.

“What does that mean?” He sounded anxious, almost angry.

Cold shivers ran down her spine. “I… I don’t… It can’t be true.”

On the front page, it read: “Medneureco Group Found the Cure for Anxiety,” and in smaller letters, “Breakthrough of the Century.” Beside a photo of smiling officials was a diagram showing the dose decreasing exactly as in Mrs. Freeman’s presentation.

“I believe you,” he said. “But things may get out of control.”

Early in the morning, a few days later, Naomi exited the elevator on the sixteenth floor of Virelia Biotech headquarters. She believed they had nothing against her. When she approached office 1609, Mrs. Newell had just come out. “Someone leaked the information,” she said.

Naomi knew Darrel Peterson, director of the Corporate Security Department. He had run training sessions for employees and resolved problems with keycards. But the blond woman in a dark blue suit was new to her. They invited her to take a seat.

“Emilia Rockwell,” said the lady with a smile. “Legal and Compliance Department.”

“Ms. Freeman,” Darrel started, “Mr. Greendale ordered an internal investigation. Hopefully, we won’t need to invite the FBI guys.” He smiled politely. “If you have any information, feel free to share it.”

“I don’t have any. It was as shocking to me as to everyone else,” she responded.

“But,” she added, “I’m certain the report is fake.”

“Interesting. Then whom did you call privately in the storage room on July third? And why were you crying there?” His look grew colder. Mrs. Rockwell remained silent, taking notes.

“Do you suspect me?!” Naomi raised her voice.

“We just need the answers.”

She realized they had already found everything through CCTV or had even talked to Phillip.

“It’s personal,” she replied.

“Do you know Alice Smith? Or Jill Kent?”

“What?” She looked puzzled. “Who are they?”

“Martin, your security guard, saw you throwing something from the riverbank. Almost at the same place, police found a gun after Alice Smith was robbed and shot.”

“This is getting… crazy!” Naomi spoke with undisguised anger. “How dare you even think that way!”

Mr. Peterson sighed.

“We tend to protect our employees,” Mrs. Rockwell cut in, “as long as they comply with corporate culture and policy. Therefore, we need to know the answers. Are you covering for someone?”

Naomi slammed the door of office 1609 when it was over.

The next day, she came back to confess that she had thrown a ruby ring into the water. It was the one her fiancé had given her. She wasn’t entirely believed.

On Thursday, Alice came out of a coma and, though weak, told the police about the man who had attacked her. He was found on Saturday.

“What a crazy world, guys!” Milton said to his colleagues after leaving the interrogation room. “This guy was ready to shoot a stranger to rob her simply for food!”

“Yeah,” replied Bob. “No drugs, no previous crimes. People crack under pressure. Damn poverty.”

“I worried about my family. What could I do?” Chen mimicked the boy. “Find a job, maybe?” Others nodded, half smiling. “But his behavior is weird,” he continued. “We’d better have a psychiatrist or psychologist take a look at him. Otherwise, it could become a problem in court.”

Naomi knocked at Mr. Foster’s door. At his invitation, she entered and triumphantly put another newspaper in front of him.

The second-page title read, “Medneureco Needs Four More Years to Complete Research.”

After they talked, she was almost in the doorway when she turned and said, “The ring that I threw away was from Jamal, my fiancé. I talked to him in the storage room. He was here illegally. We broke up. Now he has left the States.”

Mr. Foster coughed. “I understand. Please, be careful. Love… You know…”

Naomi nodded, smiling sadly, and left.

Two years later, Jill, George, her boyfriend, and Alice tried MDX for the first time. Toby was promoting it during the training.

“Meridiaxine-7 carboxylate,” Alice read syllable by syllable.

“Well, no difference,” said George after several minutes.

“Maybe a placebo?” suggested Alice.

“Toby won’t lie,” Jill said thoughtfully. “Maybe we already have high vibes and don’t need it?”

“Aha!” the young man agreed. “You have to be right!”

When the makeup was done and the lights were set, Naomi and Riya took their seats in the National Talk Show studio.

“Mr. Greendale, CEO of Virelia Biotech, as well as Mr. Foster, their direct boss, gave high praise to these two ladies,” began Aisha Newton, the hostess of the event. “Ms. Newell, it has been a year since your pills came onto the market. Does everything work as predicted?”

“Not really.” She smiled. “It works much better!” The audience cheered.

“In more detail?”

“Our nervous system really learns to adjust better to all the shocks and hardships. And after half a year, people almost no longer need treatment, with rare exceptions.”

“Well, then it’s quite silly from the viewpoint of the financial model, no?” Mrs. Newton teased them.

“Actually,” answered Naomi, “no.” She paused, and the hall went silent. “Even the economic effect is positive within our own company, but I want to say that not everything is achieved for the sake of money.”

“Let me ask the audience,” she continued. “Who among you is taking MDX?”

Half raised their hands.

“Are you happy because you can now earn more, or ’cause you feel better?”

“Feel better!”

“Surely feel better,” came from the audience.

“See?” Riya added. “It helps us learn to be less anxious, more cooperative and friendly. Isn’t that what it means to be human?”

Milton was watching the game with his cousin and nephew at Chelsea Youth Stadium. Red Sox against Yankees. The stadium had been hosting many teams, even from overseas, for almost a year. He felt as if he were a teenager again.

When a batter hit the ball, at first the sound seemed like thunder. Only a moment later, a series of following thunderous cracks drew people’s attention. As everyone’s gaze turned from the players to the stands, Milton saw a huge section of the front-right stands collapse together with the roof, raising white dust high into the air.

They rushed to help the victims.

Jill watched the news a week later. There was an interview with a chief engineer who had been detained and prosecuted.

“Yes, after studying all the data again, I admit it was totally my mistake,” he said. “And I apologize for that in front of the victims and their relatives.”

“Do you repent? Do you regret it?”

Jill caught an unusual look on his face, as if he were trying to understand.

“Well… It sounds reasonable. But, honestly… No. What for? It would bring no change.”

And deep inside, Jill felt that he was damn right.

Naomi turned off the TV after the very same interview, having a vague premonition.

She had felt it even earlier, watching the behavior of her colleagues during meetings. Yes, they were productive, relaxed, and efficient every time. But people would rather start instantly forgiving themselves than take errors seriously.

Naomi shared her doubts first with Riya. Then with Mr. Foster. It wasn’t like a usual side effect. She even had no idea if it could be measured. Or if it was really negative at all.

“What are you worried about?” asked her boss. “People are happy, incomes are great. If you are getting too anxious, you’d better take the pills yourself, no?”

But after her own investigation, she knew that the chief engineer was not only to blame. He had also gone through the treatment.

Approaching journalists didn’t work well either.

“His mistake was not the effect of MDX. And if he doesn’t regret it, what’s the big deal?”

Yet, she soon realized that the world around her had changed. Anxiety, remorse, and regret were vanishing. But what if THEY were what made us truly human? She should have noticed the warning when the symptoms disappeared completely. Yes, we have to control them. But not destroy them.

Day after day, she grew more confident that she was right. But... what then? Virelia had millions of satisfied customers. Who would listen to a scientist complaining that her discovery made the world better?

One weekend, walking near Tufts University, she accidentally witnessed a quarrel.

“I’ve told you, cheating is wrong! Yeah, laugh!” a young blond girl rebuked her boyfriend. “Leave me!”

Naomi remembered how serious and principled she had been as a student herself and smiled.

“Yes, I cheated. I needed the score!” the young man said, gesturing. “And I’ll probably do it again. What?”

“Doesn’t that bother you?” The girl gave him a hard look. “Remember, you want to be a doctor!”

“Not really. Everyone does it!”

“Not me!” She took off a bracelet and threw it at him. “Take it back!”

“Hey, chill!” The boy raised his hands. “If you have a problem, just take the pills!”

Naomi turned away. She had never felt such embarrassment before.

That evening, Naomi sat alone at her kitchen table, another unanswered letter to a famous journalist glowing on her laptop.

Beside it lay a small transparent pill.

She picked it up.

Forgive yourself and be free. No wasted energy.

But what if anxiety and grief were like, say, selenium? What if they’re dangerous in excess, yet essential in traces?

She put it back.

“I may forgive myself for what I have done,” she said quietly. “But I’d better regret.”

Something new and uplifting seemed to rise from within her.

“Yes,” she said quietly but firmly. “I regret.”