by Kevin Ashman
‘With no oxygen supply? A few minutes maximum.’
‘That’s what I thought,’ said Craig. ‘Now, replace the slide with this one.’
He gave her two slides stuck together labelled with a capital ‘A’ in marker pen. Becky removed the top slide and placed the bottom one under the microscope.
‘Now, tell me what you see,’ said Craig.
‘Another cluster of blood cells,’ said Becky, ‘though abnormal in shape. They look grey in colour and seem to have some sort of thin protuberances coming from the cell walls. Similar to a parasite, but inside the cell walls themselves.’
‘Very good, Becky,’ said Craig. ‘The strange cells you see are indeed dead blood cells, but have been genetically altered to a different form. I have run various tests and the nearest infection I can find is a virus known as Neurotropic Lyssavirus, more commonly known to you and I as rabies.’
‘Rabies doesn’t infect blood cells,’ said Becky, ‘it is a stand-alone virus that infects the neurological cells, infecting the brain and spinal cord.’
‘I know,’ said Craig, ‘but for some unknown reason, the virus has taken this cell as a host, and it was the probable cause of the cell’s death. However, there is something else there. Those strange things sticking out from the cells are the external extremities of the Sporozoites of Plasmodium cells, otherwise known as?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Becky.
‘The malaria parasite,’ said Craig. ‘The dead cells under the scope are the unfortunate host of both a parasite and a virus. The exact genome type for either are unknown to me, or indeed any reference book I have referred to. However, suffice to say they are very similar to the rabies virus and the malaria parasite, both within the same cell.’
‘What are you getting at?’ said Becky.
‘First of all,’ said Craig, ‘I have never come across this sort of infection before. Two separate infections, both latching onto a blood cell and living long enough to alter the actual structure of the host. It is amazing and any haematologist would find enough data on this cell alone fascinating enough to fill an entire book of genetic research.’
‘But why?’ asked Becky. ‘We hear of this sort of thing all the time these days. Scientists are splicing genes together, cloning sheep and even transfusing artificial blood into humans until such time as the right type becomes available.’
‘I know,’ said Craig, ‘but the combination of these two infections seemed to have altered the actual state of the host cell. It must have taken a whole raft of coincidences for the host to be in just the right state, but happen it did, and when they merged in the bloodstream, something astonishing happened.’
‘What?’
‘It would seem that not only did they transform the genetic structure, but the cell retained enough of its previous identity for the host body not to reject it.’
‘Okay,’ said Becky, ‘I can grasp it so far, but surely if that were the case, then perhaps the subject died from the infection?’
‘No, I don’t think it did,’ said Craig, ‘I think the infection actually worked in the host’s favour and made it stronger, with a much more effective cell regeneration rate.’
‘You don’t know that,’ said Becky.
‘Oh, but I do,’ said Craig. ‘And I can prove it.’ He reached into his bag once more and withdrew a syringe. He squeezed another drop of blood from his thumb, and drew a tiny drop into the end of the syringe, before giving it to Becky.
‘Now,’ he said, ‘look at the dead cells again, but this time, add a drop of healthy blood. Tell me what you see.’
Once again, Becky did as she was asked, and added Craig’s blood to the slide already on the bed of the scope. The deep red of the oxygenated fresh blood stood out against the grey of the dead infected cells, and just as Becky was wondering what it was she was supposed to be seeing, a tiny movement caught her eye. Over the next few seconds, she stared into the microscope in astonishment as the supposedly dead grey cells, gradually absorbed the red cells. Within a few minutes, all the red cells were gone and the grey cells had taken on a pink hue. She looked up and stared at Craig.
‘That’s mad,’ said Becky, ‘I thought those cells were dead.’
‘As did I,’ said Craig, ‘but keep looking, the best is yet to come.’
Becky returned to the microscope and stared down at the infected strange cells. Again, she waited patiently and was soon rewarded with movement. As she looked, some of the cells started to stretch and within moments, many had duplicated themselves and though Becky had seen this process many times before, the implications of this process blew her mind.
‘Oh, my god,’ she whispered,’ they’ve split into exact replicas, not only of the cell, but the infections as well. How can that be?’
‘I know; it’s the strangest thing I have ever seen.’
Becky stood up and faced Craig.
‘Am I understanding this correctly?’ she asked. ‘That sometime in the past, a person with normal blood cells was infected with two different diseases at the same time, and due to circumstances we will probably never understand, they combined to create a completely new type of blood cell that fed on the host.’
‘That’s about it,’ said Craig.
‘But that would have killed the host,’ said Becky, ‘once the remaining blood was used up, then there would be no more left to nourish those that are infected.’
‘You are right, except for two things. First, if you were to keep watching the sample, you will see the cells eventually stop reproducing and start to feed on each other. The last cell that survives this microscopic cannibalism seems to withdraw into a sort of hibernation until a fresh source of blood is provided, which brings me onto the second thing. All you have to do to start the process all over again is introduce a fresh source of blood.’
‘Yet, that last cell never dies?’
‘Not unless you take positive intervention. Extreme heat seems to be the most effective. As with most things on this planet, if you burn something, the actual structure of the item itself is destroyed. A sort of natural disinfectant. The other thing is ultraviolet light. It has the same effect, but without the accompanying heat that fire brings, it takes a little longer to have an effect.’
‘So how long will these cells last if they are left alone?’
‘I can’t be sure,’ said Craig, ‘but that finger contains many such dormant cells and depending if what you say is true, may have lain that way for thousands of years. Don’t you get it?’ he continued, ‘What you have here, Becky, is a blood cell that doesn’t die and is able to reproduce itself very easily. It is a cycle of never ending cell renewal that needs no gene manipulation, just a source of oxygenated haemoglobin to enable reproduction. Imagine the implications, Becky, a potential cure for blood diseases, organ repairs or even cells within the rest of the body. Hell, the possibilities are endless and in theory, if manipulated correctly, they could even replace dying cells in every part of the body, slowing or even halting the aging process.’
Becky stared at Craig in disbelief.
‘No,’ she said, ‘that’s impossible.’
‘That’s what I thought,’ said Craig, ‘but I reproduced that experiment over a dozen times today. The results are robust and they happened the exact same way every time I tried it. The cells are dormant until the addition of fresh blood. As soon as that happens, they absorb the blood and reproduce. Continue to add more blood and the process repeats, but withdraw that source of blood and any cells touching each other turn cannibalistic, leaving only the strongest. That last remaining cell then withdraws into a state of hibernation.’
‘But how is that possible?’ asked Becky.
‘Oh, it’s possible,’ said Craig. ‘We already know there are fish eggs, seeds and even some actual animals that lay in a state of dormancy for many years, but these are by far exceeded by bacteria that have been found on the seabed beneath the arctic oceans. Some of those have lain dormant for millions of years unt
il climatic conditions are suitable for reproduction.’
‘Millions of years?’
‘Millions of years,’ confirmed Craig, ‘so the thought of a cell staying dormant for a few thousand isn’t that great a stretch of the imagination.’
‘This is unbelievable,’ said Becky, her mind racing.
‘I know,’ said Craig, ‘and that is why I asked if you were involved with some sort of organisation carrying out this sort of research.’
‘I’m not,’ said Becky, ‘I promise you. All I know is that I was sent that finger by…’ She hesitated, unsure of how much to tell the young man, ‘by somebody, and though he knew it was special, I doubt he knew all this.’
‘Where did he get it?’ asked Craig.
‘Off a body in Egypt,’ said Becky.
Craig spluttered, choking on his coffee.
‘A body,’ he gasped, ‘you mean you have the rest of the corpse?’
‘I don’t,’ said Becky, ‘but someone else does.’
‘Who?’
‘I’m not sure,’ said Becky, ‘but I’ve got a good idea. Look, Craig, thanks for this. I’m not sure what we have here and I know I am going to have to go to the authorities about this, but can I ask that you keep all this to yourself at the moment? I think this is going to blow up in my face, and if it does, I don’t want to drag you down with me.’
‘Don’t worry,’ said Craig, ‘when I get back, I’ll destroy all the evidence. Do you want the finger back?’
‘No, burn it,’ said Becky, ‘but could you do one last favour?’
‘Sure.’
‘Could you prepare a vial of these sample cells for me? I’ll put them in my safe, and if it all falls apart, at least I can prove my story with them. Call it an insurance policy.’
‘Will do,’ said Craig, ‘but after that, I’m out. Wherever this is leading, I don’t want any part of it.’
‘Understood,’ said Becky.
‘The samples will be ready tomorrow,’ said Craig, ‘collect them at midday.’
‘Thanks, Craig,’ said Becky and walked him to the door. As he went to walk away, he turned one more time.
‘Oh,’ he said, ‘one more thing, our date on Saturday.’
‘What about it?’ asked Becky.
‘I’m a little busy,’ said Craig. ‘Could we put it off until a later date, you know, when all this is over?’
‘Of course,’ said Becky. ‘No problem. Goodnight, Craig, and thanks again.’
She closed the door and leaned against it, overwhelmed by the information she had just received.
Finally, she walked into the room.
‘I’ve got to speak to John,’ she said to herself and picked up the phone.
----
Amy got out of the taxi and nervously stood in front of the restaurant doors. She had been out to eat many times with her family, but this was by far the most famous restaurant she had been to, and the very first as a venue for a date.
She placed the change from the taxi driver in her purse and took a deep breath before walking up to the doors. The new dress she had bought for the occasion was figure hugging and though it was indeed black, it was far removed from the gothic influence she favoured. Her hair had been done and she looked every inch the elegant young lady. If her mother had seen her, she would have been very proud, but that hadn’t happened, as nobody knew she was even here. Nobody that is except Lucas Klein, and hopefully, he would be waiting inside.
Since the night of the dinner party, they had talked constantly on the phone, messaged each other on the social network pages and even talked face to face via webcam. They had got on like a house on fire, and when he had actually asked her on a date, Amy thought her heart would break through her chest; such was her excitement.
She had suggested the cinema, but Lucas had insisted on a fancy restaurant, so here she was. She knew she looked great and felt even better. This was special and unlike the two other dates she had in her life, this was going to be very grown up and sophisticated. She stepped through the door and was immediately met by the Maître d.
‘Good evening, Madame, do you have a reservation?’
‘Yes, I believe the table is booked in the name of Mr Lucas Klein.’
‘Of course,’ said the waiter, ‘Mr Klein is expecting you, please follow me.’
They walked through the restaurant toward the cubicles along the wall and Amy smiled when she saw Lucas stand up as she approached.
‘Hello, Amy,’ said Lucas. ‘You look beautiful.’
‘Hello, Lucas,’ said Amy. ‘Thank you, you look quite smart yourself.’
‘Please, let me take your wrap,’ said Lucas and took the thin garment from around her shoulders.
‘Would you like some drinks?’ asked the waiter.
‘If you could just give us a minute,’ said Lucas, ‘we’ll have a look at the wine list and call you over.’
‘Of course,’ said the waiter and left the table.
‘Wow, you look incredible,’ said Lucas.
‘You’ve already said that,’ giggled Amy.
‘I know, but still. I was expecting an awkward teenaged Goth. Instead I get a beautiful and sophisticated young woman. I am entranced.’
They settled down for the evening and although Amy was already overwhelmed by the occasion, it got better and better as the night went on. All too soon, it was over and Lucas saw her to her taxi.
‘Please,’ he said, as the car pulled up, ‘can I see you again soon?’
‘Yes,’ said Amy, ‘I would like that.’
‘When?’
‘Whenever you like. Tomorrow?’
‘I was hoping you would say that,’ said Lucas. ‘Tomorrow would be fantastic. I am flying back to Germany in a few days.’
‘Oh,’ said Amy, with a hint of disappointment in her voice, ‘won’t I see you again after that?’
‘Of course,’ said Lucas, ‘I am in London every couple of months, and now that I know you are here, I will probably be back even more.’
Amy smiled.
‘Well, that’s okay then,’ she said, ‘where shall I meet you?’
‘Shall I pick you up?’
‘No,’ she said a bit too quickly, ‘my parents don’t know yet, so if you don’t mind, perhaps we could meet somewhere else.’
‘Oh, I see,’ said Lucas, ‘Ok, I’ll tell you what. Meet me at the local train station at seven, but don’t dress up, just wear something warm.’
‘Why, where are we going?’ asked Amy.
‘It’s a surprise,’ said Lucas and leant over to give her a peck on the cheek. ‘Goodnight, beautiful Amy, I will see you tomorrow.’
‘Good night, Lucas,’ she said and got into the taxi. As it drove off, she recalled the entire evening minute by minute, and realised it had probably been the best night of her life.
----
Chapter Sixteen
Mulberry Lodge
‘So,’ said Leatherman, ‘you were chatting away in there like a couple of old apple women. What did she have to say?’
Samari and Leatherman were sitting in a tiny office somewhere in the basement area of the lodge. After he had been sick, one of the technicians had taken him to the washroom to clean up and then brought him to Leatherman’s office.
‘To be honest, not much,’ said Samari. ‘There was a lot of confusion at first, as we struggled to find common ground, but eventually we got there.’
‘What did you find out?’
‘Well the most astonishing thing,’ said Samari, ‘is that she believes she is from the time of Ramesses II. That’s over three thousand years ago.’
‘And do you believe her?’
‘I don’t know what to believe at the moment,’ said Samari. ‘With everything you have told me today, and then meeting that girl, I suppose anything is possible.’
‘What about her condition, did she shed any light on that?’
‘Condition?’
‘Yes, the reason for how she has lived in that
dormant state for so long.’
‘No, not really, though she has stated that she is one of the Nightwalkers, whatever that means, and as such, is immortal.’
‘You took a great risk in removing your helmet,’ said Leatherman, ‘I have seen her tear the throats of animals wide open.’
‘I know, but it was essential that I gained her trust. That was the only way I could do it, but it worked. What we have to do, Mr Leatherman, is give some ground. She has promised not to attack anyone if the room remains on moonlight.’
‘We can do that,’ said Leatherman, ‘but any funny business and she gets zapped.’
‘Understood,’ said Samari.
‘So is that it?’ asked Leatherman.
‘More or less,’ said Samari. ‘I’ll write up a transcript, but the main thing today was initial contact and to gain her trust. I feel we have achieved that, and now the worst is over, I think there is so much more she can give.’
‘Like what?’
‘Think about it,’ said Samari. ‘If she is telling the truth, then this girl grew up in the time of Ramesses II, the greatest king in Egypt’s history. She would have first-hand knowledge of the way they lived, their political systems, and day-to-day struggles of everyday life. All we have at the moment are carvings on walls and relatively few records etched onto fragile papyrus. Everything else is speculation from people such as me, who add two and two together, often getting five and accepting that as true. This girl will not only have actual evidenced information from her own time, but accurate cultural memories about their own history at that time. Her knowledge would be priceless and give us a picture of what life was really like.’
‘How would this be priceless?’ asked Leatherman.
‘Are you serious? Think about the access rights, the sales of documentaries and interviews across the globe. When Tutankhamen’s tomb was unveiled, the whole world went Egypt mad and that was in the time before media. Imagine what would happen if we presented this girl to the world, along with supporting evidence proving that she is genuine. It would be the greatest moneymaking scheme of all time.’
‘There may indeed be some value in that,’ said Leatherman, ‘but I suspect that it will be pocket change compared to the main product.’
