For the first time on the call, Wilhelm Schmidt stirred.
"Ah...I believe that Nic will shortly describe our current theory on why these phenomena may be being observed, however, I would caution that there is absolutely no question at this stage of any part of our treatment being 'responsible' for these phenomena, as you just mentioned."
"Spoken like a true lawyer, Mr Schmidt." The Scottish consultant waved his comment aside. "The question of liability is not being covered at the moment. I am just trying to understand what the hell is going on! Mr White, can you explain why almost every patient who receives the SP-X4 treatment, is reporting post-operative cellular memory phenomena?"
There was a pregnant pause across the video link.
In New York, Philip Grant frowned at Wilhelm Schmidt and waved his finger at him, indicating not to respond to the consultant's dig. In Delaware, Nic White asked himself how honest he was prepared to be at this stage.
"The answer to your question is 'No'. At this point in time, I cannot explain it with any degree of absolute certainty. However..., and this is a rather large 'however', because since so little time has elapsed since we have started to observe these phenomena, ... however I do think that I have an idea as to what is happening. The 'why' and the 'how' require further detailed research. A lot of it."
"Please elaborate, Mr White." The consultant directed.
"The science of Genetics is in its infancy." Nic continued. "We are just now scratching at the surface of its understanding. I have spent my life trying to peel away a few of the layers of its mystery, but the more I learn, the less I seem to understand...I stand in awe and worship at the altar of DNA. DNA is the signature of God. For me, it contains the mystery of Life itself. If we could just understand what it truly does, then I believe that we would be able to see into the mind of God Himself. I firmly believe that. The truth is that we know very little about what the components of DNA do. Only a fool would think that we do. True, we have a few ideas of what the various components that make up the DNA matrix may be responsible for. But these are just ideas. As for the rest of any DNA chain, the majority of it...we have no idea what it is there for or what functions its components perform. None...I personally still know too little about DNA to work with it. I am too fearful to tinker with it. To play with it. However, early on in my life I fell in love with stem cells. To me they are the magic dust of life. They have the power to transform themselves into anything they want to be. Besides DNA, they are the other unsung building blocks of life itself." Nic paused, took a sip of water, then continued.
"In spite of all my years of study, I would also suggest that I only know a fraction of all there is to know about stem cells. But I do believe that whereas we should not yet tinker with DNA itself, we can experiment with stem cells, although we must still treat them with respect. For me, what makes stem cells special is their ability to divide and form more cells, called 'daughter cells.' These daughter cells have no given identity. They can either become new stem cells (a process we call self-renewal), or they can look at the cells which surround them and decide to copy them. We call the latter process 'differentiation', during which the stem cells become specialized to perform a specific function. Let me give you an example...We could, for example, inject stem cells into a diseased heart. When the stem cells arrive, they look around, take note that they are in a 'heart', look at the cells that surround them, and then mimic and copy them. i.e. in a heart, injected stem cells become new heart muscle, or in a kidney, they become new kidney tissue. But the important thing is that they become NEW heart muscle, or NEW kidney tissue. Not diseased muscle or diseased tissue. In other words, the stem cells can help replace diseased and dying cells or tissues with brand new genetic material. The dream is that by using stem cells, a diseased kidney could be transformed from within to make it a new kidney. An old heart is given a new lease of life. A dying liver is transformed into a new one...We are at the start of this revolution...but, the early signs are amazing."
Nic took another sip of water, then spoke again.
"Okay, when I developed the SP-X4 treatment, looking back I was very naive..."
As he mentioned this, Mr Schmidt the legal counsel coughed nervously, but allowed Nic to continue.
"...It was my original intention to include stem cells in the treatment for two reasons. Firstly, I wanted to use the stem cells as a form of microscopic glue. In other words, as well as stitching an organ into place, we allow the stem cells to grown tissue at a microscopic level which binds the new genetic material we place into a body to the genetic material that is already there."
"Secondly, we optimise the chances of success for the transplant by also injecting the stem cells into the tissue that we are transplanting. By doing this, we are effectively super-charging the donated kidney or heart with the magic dust of life at the time of transplant. As the organ then acclimatises to its new body, the stem cells simultaneously repair it and transform it from within. Within a short period of time, if all goes well, the transplanted organ is improved through the process, becoming newer and more efficient than it was before, even more efficient than it was in its old body."
Dr Jamieson in Scotland smiled..."Which explains why the rate of post-operative organ failure is so low! That's fantastic!"
Philip Grant smiled back. As did the lawyer.
"But how do you explain the cellular memory phenomena in terms of the stem cell treatment?"
"Excellent question, Dr Jamieson. And this is the area that I need to conduct significant research in to understand. I have for some time been waiting for one of the patients of SP-X4 to die, so that I could potentially extract the donated organ, dissect it and examine it at a microscopic level. Unfortunately, all our patients seem to be getting better and thriving, not dying. We may have a long wait!" he laughed.
Dr Jamieson smiled.
The hyenas smiled too.
Nic continued. "However, I believe I can postulate what is happening, and it is rather miraculous. The stem cells are integrating the donor material into the new body in a way we had not thought previously possible. In effect, at the interface between the two different types of genetic material,-the donor material and the recipient host-, at a microscopic level we would see a mesh of new flesh being created, a hybrid between one type and the other. However, going deeper and further, into the cell structures themselves, the DNA of the donor material is being interrogated, and disassembled, and then components of the DNA of the donor are being incorporated into or influencing the DNA or new cell structures being built by the host body."
"These cells are then finding their way into the blood, and are being transported around the new host body, where they later grow and become further integrated into the genetic make-up of the host."
"Going back to what I said earlier...about our lack of understanding as to what information the DNA molecule holds, I believe, personally, that we completely underestimate its role in life. In the cycle of life."
"Personally, I believe the DNA is a codex, a library of information that relates not only to our own lives, but to the lives of our ancestors and those who have gone before us."
"Before you laugh...think about this...how does a child know when it is born that it should immediately suckle on the breast? How does a young man who is with a woman for the first time, know what to do in order to lose his virginity? Or what made Mozart able to compose music so young? Instinct and intelligence are surely encoded within the DNA matrix. When a child is born, their DNA contains a guide-book on everything they need to know for Life. Encoded there by the evolutionary process from the millions of years that have gone before. To a certain extent what makes each person an individual is literally encoded in their DNA. Their future personality, and their past."
"As a person grows older, their life experience is also encoded in their DNA, some of which is then passed onto the next generation through their children."
"I am coming to think that even our memories can be enc
oded with our DNA. Possibly. Maybe...I have no proof. No evidence. Currently it’s pure speculation. But, if we do assume for a second that our lives, everything about who we are, can be imprinted into our cell structures, either at a macroscopic or microscopic level, ...then when we then transplant the building blocks of one person into the body of another, and these building blocks are then incorporated into the genetic make-up of the host, then surely we should expect to see the genetic material and its encoded memories begin to register at the conscious level within the new host?"
"In the 'cellular memory' theory, it is believed that the neuropeptides contain our memories. We transplant memories from one person to another by importing bits of flesh from one person to another and releasing the neuropeptides from within the donor flesh into the host flesh. I think that the SP-X4 treatment goes way beyond that. The SP-X4 treatment somehow unlocks elements of data from within the DNA of the donor, and then helps re-encode this into the DNA of genetic material in the host body. In this way, the history or memories of the donor become integrated with those of the recipient host."
Nic paused.
"And completely off the record, I have quite recently begun to wonder about one other possibility..."
The lawyer sat bolt-upright.
"Mr White, I would caution you against saying anything off the record...please do not..."
Nic ignored him.
"And what is this ‘other possibility’?" Dr Jamieson asked from Scotland.
"That if you don't believe any of the genetic hocus-pocus that I have been spouting for the past ten minutes, that perhaps it is actually all a lot more simple than I am making it out to be. Namely, that each person is powered by an elemental life-force called a 'soul'. And that each and every single cell within our bodies is empowered, fuelled and given life by this unique soul."
"...And when you take cells from one body and put them into another, and treat them with SP-X4, then somehow we are facilitating one person to share their soul with another."
"In other words, SP-X4 is the key that has begun to unlock the secret of the human soul."
No one spoke. For the first time in thirty minutes there was silence.
Not even the hyenas spoke.
Chapter Seventy Four
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Knuttsford
The Grey Mare's Small Tail
May 5th
4.10 p.m.
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Peter was exhausted. He had been digging for hours. He was hungry, dirty, sweaty, starving and very thirsty. And he was worried.
What if there was nothing here?
As soon as the sun had risen, he had left the pub, driving back up through the countryside to where the road had diverged in front of the field. Once again, he had stopped the car at the junction, got out, and stood staring at the two options in front of him.
Yesterday he had been so convinced that 'right' was the way to go. Could he have got it so wrong? Was his 'instinct' flawed?
"There's only one way to find out," he said to himself, getting back into the car and taking the left fork.
He drove for about five minutes, the road so badly potholed and in need of repair, he wondered if it would have been simpler and better for the car to have driven across the fields.
The road soon petered out, but this time there was no grand parking area...the tarmac simply stopped, and a fence blocked any further way forward.
Picking his spade and small rucksack out of the car, he set off towards the forest, which started only ten metres away.
The sun was shining brightly today, but as soon as the canopy of the English Oaks, Ashes and Sycamores began to close over him it rapidly became much darker. The map he had was practically useless, it did not show any waterfall on it around here, so Peter was initially not too clear in which direction to head. Then thankfully, as his eyes accustomed to the forest lighting, he was able to make out that a path led onwards through the trees, and he hurried along it.
His heart was beating faster now, both in anticipation of hopefully recognising something, or having a 'vision' that told him he was on track, and also of failure. If this didn't turn anything up, he would be back to square one again.
.
About five minutes into the wood, he stopped to listen.
Silence. Complete and absolute silence. Such quiet was both beautiful and scary and Peter realised just how alone he was. There was no one here. Perhaps there had been no one here for years? Maybe the last person to come down this path was KK, months or years ago?
It was then that he heard it. An almost imperceptible quiet wave of sound that washed gently over him. He listened more intently and then he heard it again, and again...it seemed to be coming in spasmodic bursts: the sound of falling water.
The sound was coming from his left, but the path went forward. For a second he thought about walking directly towards the sound and abandoning the path, but then he thought better of it. It would probably be rather silly to just walk off. He wasn't lost now, but he didn't know how big this forest was, and how lost he could possibly get. Best stick to the path!
He needn't have worried. As he picked up the pace, now jogging along through the trees, he found that the path did indeed turn left, and that soon he could hear the waterfall getting closer and closer.
Two minutes later he emerged into a small clearing, sunlight streaming through a gap in the trees and flooding the bottom of the forest with sunshine. In front of him was a steep cliff face that went up about twenty metres. Halfway up in its centre was a small cave, out of which a modest but still decent sized waterfall gushed from the rock face.
It was probably about a third of the size of its sister on the other side of the forest but it was still interesting...'cute' rather than 'awesome'.
The water tumbled down towards the ground, where it formed a small pool that immediately started to overflow into a little river that ran about twenty metres and then disappeared beneath the ground again.
Peter was exhausted. Swinging his rucksack off his back, he looked around for somewhere to sit down and drop his coat and his spade.
Just as Carolina had said, there was a good patch of clear ground to lie down on the left of the small river a few feet away from the rock face and the waterfall. He stepped over the river, dropped his stuff and happily lay down on the ground for a moment. He closed his eyes.
He felt the warm sunshine on his face. It was fantastic. Slowly his heart beat began to relax. The sound of the falling water resonated off the rock face, and cascaded over him in rhythmic pulses that quickly tipped him over the edge into a light sleep.
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After only about five minutes, a dream began to form and run in his mind. He was with Carolina. They were both naked. He was making love to her, lying on top of her on the ground where he now lay. It was a nice dream. Peter smiled from deep within his sleep.
Blackness.
Carolina was gone.
He was lying on the ground alone, still dreaming. He opened his eyes, and above the sunshine had vanished, replaced now with dark, foreboding black clouds.
Something tugged at his left arm, and automatically his right hand shot across his chest and grabbed at whatever it was. His fingers closed around something and Peter sat up quickly, looking down at what he had caught.
Fingers. A hand. Coming straight out of the ground.
Peter screamed involuntarily and shuffled away from the hand, staring at it.
The fingers were waving wildly in the air now, trying to grab at something. Then as he watched, they began to recede back into the ground, the soil closing around them. A second later they were gone.
Peter woke up, opened his eyes and sat up with a start, blinking as the sunshine startled him. Jumping quickly to his feet he stepped backwards and stared at the ground. There was nothing there. Blinking hard, and then looking around him, he realised it had all been a dream. All of it.
"Shit!"
He walk
ed towards the waterfall, dipping his hand into the water...it was surprisingly cold...and splashed it over his face and neck.
"What the fuck was that all about?" he asked aloud to himself.
He was breathing fast now. He bent down, squatting on his ankles and resting his arms on his knees, and took several large, long deep breaths to bring his breathing under control.
He looked back towards where he had been lying.
Did the dream or vision mean anything? Did it signify something?
Standing up, he walked back and stepped slowly around the patch of grass on which he had been sleeping. He tried to replay the vision in his mind again, and to visualise the hand sticking out of the ground, but without any success.
It was still quite early and the sun was not yet directly overhead. As he looked at the ground and walked around the patch where he had been lying, he noticed that the ground towards the edge of the area he had been lying on was slightly lower than the rest.
It wasn’t much: if he hadn't been looking for something specifically, he might not have noticed it.
He walked around the area again, squatting several times again on his haunches, lying flat on the ground and looking across the ground with his cheek on the ground.
The ground to the left of where he had been lying was definitely lower than the rest of the area.
Peter looked around himself. The small river and waterfall were on his right, the river about a metre away. The waterfall was about three metres in front of him. As he was looking around, he was facing the rock face, and he felt a few drops of water spray land on his face.
In an instant he was cast back to his dream, to when he had been digging a grave, and when water had landed on his right cheek, only to realise that it was not rain, but rather water spray.
Now, like in his dream, the water spray had landed on his right cheek again, caught by the wind and blown from the waterfall towards where he was standing now. The ground around his feet was slightly damp, not soaked, but certainly moist.
Knife After Death: A chilling crime thriller Page 11
