At that moment, Aaron Solomon decided he was leaving. But, I'll ask to see the videos first, he decided. I'll even tell them why.
Because I think I've lost my mind, and I need to find it again—
But what if Denaro's image doesn't show up on the tape? What if there's nothing there? What then? Aaron hesitated in the doorway.
Then they'll have all the more reason to let me go, he decided, smiling for the first time. Paranoid delusions. Not a pretty reference, but one I'll be more than happy to toss aside.
He went out the door—his step firm for the first time in weeks. He'd see Justin Sacchara first, and if that didn't work, he'd approach Daniel Vizar directly. There was nothing to be done for Caroline Denaro—or what was left of her. At this point, he didn't even care if they found a way to dispose of her. Let them put her in the ground, he thought with a shudder. Let her go where she belongs.
* * * *
Rick found a small, slightly bent address book in the hole. More confident, he stood on tiptoe and reached in further.
There was a box inside, and some instinct made him withdraw his hand. He could think of a dozen things that could be hidden in a box that size—none of them good. It was only Denaro's silent urging—the pressure of her invisible presence—that made him grasp it and pull it out of the hole.
He balanced box and address book in one hand, and reached back up for a final feel. There was something flat, still lying on the bottom of the enclosure. Something that felt an awful lot like a CD. “Got it,” Rick grunted, then finally withdrew his hand.
Rick climbed down off the chair and looked at the CD in his hand. Obviously, some kind of record of her research. He flipped over the pages in the address book. Some of the notations were easily translatable from his own experience. Sneaky, he thought. She probably thought something as innocuous as an address book could go in and out of Genetechnic with ease. Apparently, she'd been right.
Between the disk and the address book, he could probably get a pretty good idea about her research. He deliberately avoided opening the box, and Denaro didn't pounce out of the woodwork to encourage him. “Maybe you're just as happy as I am to leave this closed,” he said aloud. Whatever was inside made no sound—not even the rustle of shifting paper. That meant whatever it was was cushioned. Like vials packed for transit, he thought. He hadn't forgotten what Denaro had told him about her condition. "Monster", she'd said. "Mutant." The words didn't exactly conjure up pretty images in his head. He looked distastefully at the box again, wondering if he should shove it back up in the hole. No, Denaro would never give him any peace if there was a chance Genetechnic could get it. Rick could almost feel her clamouring presence. “All right,” he said. “I'll take it with me.” He shook his head. “Talk about your Pandora's boxes.”
At this point, he felt exhausted. The spurt of energy that had started his day had faded, and all he wanted to do was go home—to his real home. But, if Sacchara popped his neighbourly head in again, he'd see the hole in the column and put two-and-two together. Then, Sacchara would never give him any peace.
Rick sighed. Between Denaro's ghoulish presence, Sacchara's nosiness, and Cole's, Jason's, and Simon's overwhelming helpfulness, he felt like he'd never get any peace again.
The thought of Sacchara's nosiness reminded Rick of the commotion he'd heard upstairs. What had the sneak been doing? Rick shrugged. He didn't intend to stay around any longer today to find out. He knew he should be more curious, but he was just too damned tired to care.
The grooved ring twisted back into place easily enough, but the broken ring took a little more imagination. Rick took out a pack of gum and chewed steadily for a few minutes, until it was soft and malleable. Then he smeared it on to the exposed wood, and pressed the broken ring bits into place. With any luck, it would hold, at least until he could buy some glue.
The cat suddenly turned up, and started purring at his feet. “No, I don't have any food for you today,” Rick said, feeling guilty. “Why don't you catch yourself a big rat—like Sacchara?” he said.
The cat rubbed his leg again, and Rick relented. With the cat door, it could come and go as it pleased, but it didn't appear to be too good in the hunting department. “Okay, you're coming with me,” Rick said. He carefully distributed the box, the CD, and the address book throughout the pockets of his jacket, then stooped down and picked up the cat. “Let's go,” he said.
He was almost out the door when he looked back and noticed Joe Cherub, still standing on the tile. He went back quickly, grabbed him, and headed for the door—cat under one arm, and plaster cherub under the other. “If what I think is true, Joe,” he muttered conversationally to the cherub's rear-end, “then I'm going to need all the luck I can get.”
* * * *
“I'll have to get authorisation.”
Aaron Solomon hoped the other man wouldn't see the sweat on his forehead. He'd decided he'd be a fool to approach either Sacchara or Vizar again, especially if he was having any doubts about his own stability. He had the feeling they'd find a way to use his doubts against him.
He forced a laugh. “Do you know who I am?”
It was Sy Morgan's turn to smile. “I know everyone on staff—temporary or otherwise.”
Aaron nodded, uncertain now what tact to pursue. He tried to sound both casual and convincing. “Then you'll know I have full charge of my patient. I need to do a comparative assessment of early symptomatology versus her present condition.”
Sy still didn't look convinced. He looked staunch, steadfast—the kind who'd take a secret to the grave. Well, thought Aaron, let's see how close to the grave you're willing to go. He lowered his voice confidentially. “I just want to be certain how subtle the early symptoms are.” He instilled a careful note of anxiety. “I have to be able to detect them—in other patients.”
Sy Morgan looked startled now. “Other patients?”
Aaron jumped, as though surprised that he'd let something slip. “When you call for authorisation, speak directly to Daniel. Don't go through another party, if you can help it.”
It was Sy's turn to sweat. He looked as though the Grim Reaper had just paid him a personal visit. He might pride himself on his coolness, but you couldn't watch a month's worth of horrorvision without some effect.
Aaron saw the other man's expression change—from something resembling belligerence to something closer to a determined effort to please. The doctor's value had escalated in direct proportion to the hazard.
“Which tapes do you need to see?”
“How many do you have?”
Sy played with the computer for a moment, then went on, “Six hundred eighty-five hours’ worth. Approximately.” He added, almost apologetically, “They're not really on tape, you know. I route them through the computer.”
“Can you route them to my terminal?”
“Of course. Any time you want.”
As Aaron turned to leave, he smiled. He was fairly confident that Daniel Vizar was never going to hear anything about this—unless he happened to see it in a report. And, by that time, I'll be long gone.
He couldn't help but feel a little badly about the anxiety he'd triggered in the other man. After all, I know what it's like to be paranoid. He gave Sy a brief smile. “Thanks, Sy,” he said. “By the way, am I photogenic?”
Sy grinned. “As long as you keep on the safety gear—”
Aaron chuckled. “Thanks a lot, Morgan.” He went out and closed the door behind him.
* * * *
Rick closed his front door with a decisive click. He started to walk away, remembered the nature of the paraphernalia in his pockets, and turned back to twist the lock. The gesture bothered him. Is this the way it's going to be from now on? I don't want the rest of my life to be a series of locked doors—
He walked tiredly up the hall, and stopped at the lounge door. “No wonder Cole was so weirded out,” he said conversationally to the cat in his arms. “This place is a wreck.”
The ca
t started to wriggle, but Rick held it tightly until he got to the fridge. He pulled out the milk, sniffed it, and made a face. “You like cheese?” he asked the squirming feline. After splatting some of the curdled milk out onto a dirty plate, he dropped the cat, then went through his pockets, carefully removing box, disk, and address book. Afterwards, he rummaged in the cupboard, but the only food available was a dusty can of bean dip. Rick dumped it out into the milk, then muttered tiredly to the cat, “Don't look at me like that. The stuff's high protein. Enjoy.”
Rick knew he couldn't delay things any longer. Reluctantly, he undid the catch on the box and lifted the lid. Just as he'd suspected, it contained vials, nested in soft foam. Frowning now, he closed the lid again and pushed the box way to the back of a cupboard.
He took the CD and the address book and went over to his computer. As the computer was booting up, Rick undid the phone line to the modem. “I feel like a suspicious fool,” he muttered. He popped the CD into the machine, and watched as Denaro's private files came up on the screen. Gooseflesh was dancing down his back again. “Here we go,” he said.
* * * *
Sy Morgan couldn't forget Solomon's words about symptoms. Symptoms and “other patients". He was glad he'd gotten rid of the man so fast. He didn't want to take a chance on the doctor's sterile techniques. Sy had achieved his position of trust primarily because he didn't trust anyone else.
“I don't remember seeing any other patients,” Sy said quietly. “Where the hell are they, that they're not on video?” Obviously, Vizar had them stashed somewhere. Somewhere he didn't want other people in the complex to know about.
“A man has to protect himself,” Sy muttered, punching in commands on the computer. He began to scan images he never usually bothered with—places that Genetechnic usually kept sealed and off line. He began with Caroline Denaro's private lab.
* * * *
Rick quickly became absorbed in his reading, tracing the trail of Denaro's research. There was a lot of trial-and-error in the early days, and he realised she'd never had any real grounding in botany or plant physiology. Her premises were based on her knowledge of cell and molecular biology, and it had taken her a while to come around to plant and animal cell interactions.
It took him some time to figure out where her work had been heading. His original guess—that Denaro had been trying to instil plant characteristics into animals—had been correct. Having worked almost exclusively with animals, Denaro was fascinated by the adaptability of some plant cells—the way they could alter function, and even structure, to suit their environment.
Embryonic stem cells performed a similar function in developing humans, with their capacity to grow into any type of cell in the body. The difference was that meristematic cells in plants retained their versatility even into maturity. And the cells in the human body that continued to grow despite ageing—the nose and ears, for example—weren't nearly as interesting to Denaro as the cambium cells of plant stems, with their capacity, even in a mature plant, for the formation of adventitious root and stem growth. Denaro had seen the potential for a plant-derived component to directly influence both the healing and ageing processes of humans.
Rick tried to believe these initial exercises might be leading up to the development of pharmaceuticals, even though he knew Genetechnic was in another business altogether. It wasn't until he read Part Two of Denaro's notes, that his worst suspicions were realised. The Introduction said it all: "Successful adaptation of plant DNA to animal tissues is a necessary first step in re-examining the relationship between human beings and their environment—between human dependency and self-sufficiency. Independent survival mechanisms depend upon the elimination of our status as a secondary consumer. We must become a primary producer, to achieve our greatest potential."
Rick read the words with something akin to horror. "Primary producer"? Plants were primary producers because they were able to convert sunlight into energy. He read the statement again. No matter how many ways he considered it, it could only mean one thing: Denaro was proposing—as incredible as it seemed—that humans somehow begin to photosynthesize. And that meant doing more than beefing up their healing abilities, or helping to regenerate ageing tissues. That meant introducing chloroplasts, storage organelles, and transport mechanisms—altering human respiratory and digestive systems. In other words, entirely redesigning the human body.
"This would solve the dilemma of mass hunger. Resolution of additional problems (e.g., surplus methane from cattle, deterioration of the soil from farming practices) would occur over the long term, as humankind adapted to its new role."
Rick felt sick. “Impossible.” Even given the state of the technology, and the success of her previous experiments, it was unlikely she'd be able to do what she proposed—and he could almost guarantee that at least some of her results would be totally unexpected. The methods might be there, but there were too many uncertainties inherent in the technology.
This wasn't like cloning sheep. Denaro was taking long sequences of DNA and putting them into a different chemical environment entirely. Even if she were to overcome resistance, structural development was bound to be affected. He tried to imagine what the effects would be on a human metabolism.
There were so many variables to consider. How would part of a plant genome be expressed in a human form? How would it affect nerve function? The brain? Would the brain any longer have control over the body? Would mutated individuals be susceptible to both human and plant diseases? What about resistance—at what point would a body reject such a massive alteration to its basic structure? And—without a root system—how could a mutant ever hope to balance the complicated mineral, chemical, and nutrient interactions that were so vital in plants? Rick ran his fingers distractedly through his hair.
In order to introduce something as complex as a chloroplast, with its affiliated cellular components and storage systems, Caroline Denaro must have been playing with various gene sequences and recombinations—introducing them into animal tissues and looking for degrees of expression. It was a massive undertaking, and one which should have taken years to accomplish. Rick couldn't figure out how she'd overcome the resistance problem, which should have defeated her before she started. Plant proteins in animal cells often produced severe allergic reactions—like the rash from poison ivy. Animals and plants weren't placed in separate kingdoms for nothing. And the skin, which would have to be the primary site for photosynthesis, had its own set of resistance mechanisms, in addition to those found in other parts of the body. Melanin, salty sweat, hair, sloughing cells, and a natural barricade action were all meant to repel intruders—and protect the human body.
But, animal proteins had been successfully produced in plants. Why not the reverse? “Plants have hairs, too,” he said thoughtfully, considering the comparative anatomy between plant epidermis and human epidermis. “Stomata instead of pores. A waxy cuticle, instead of waxy exudate. Waxy, oily exudate in humans spells pimples,” Rick muttered, rubbing his eyes in fatigue. He knew he was missing something here; something important that he'd seen and should recognise. But, he was just too tired to figure out what it was. He realised he was getting giddy from exhaustion. Glancing over at the cat, he muttered, “Maybe all she really found was one helluva cure for acne.”
* * * *
He never heard Cole pounding on the door. The next thing he knew, someone was none-too-gently shaking him awake. “Rick!”
Rick rubbed his eyes again, suddenly realising that some long gap of time had passed since he'd performed that gesture before. “What time is it?” he asked groggily.
“Time to get your ass out of here,” Cole told him. “What happened to your face?” he asked, looking at the bruises. “Did you pass out again?”
Rick ignored him. He was suddenly fully alert. Somehow, in his sleep, the pieces of Caroline Denaro's puzzle had come together. “Hold on—” he said, impatiently scanning the file, looking for the images he'd seen earlier.
&nb
sp; “There they are!” he said excitedly.
Cole, knowing that he'd never reach Rick until he'd worked whatever bug this was out of his head, peered over his shoulder. “Nice photo—if you like abstract art. What do all those blotches mean?”
“She ran gels, to pinpoint which proteins were being expressed. Electrophoresis.”
“Great. So what?”
“So, I think I know what went wrong with Denaro's research.” Rick's eyes held a glimmer of excitement, mixed with a kind of shocked horror.
“Hold it! Denaro, as in the shredding skin phantom?” Rick nodded. Cole grabbed his arm and started to hoist him from the chair. “Say no more. We're leaving.”
“Hold it yourself!” Rick tugged his arm away, and highlighted the footer on the document, so Cole could see the “Caroline Denaro, Ph.D.” inscribed there.
“Where did you get this?” Cole was pale. It was one thing seeing ghosts; it was quite another playing with their possessions.
Rick glanced over at Cole. He realised his friend wasn't ready for any more revelations right now—at least about Denaro's visits. “Let's just say I found it,” he said quickly.
Cole was silent for a moment, so Rick went back to scanning the document, until he got to the place Cole had referred to as “abstract art". When Cole finally spoke, he sounded almost resigned, “Does Genetechnic know?”
“Nope.”
Rick decided to get back to what he considered was the important issue. “I've been reading through her research, and I think I know where she made her mistake.”
Cole, in spite of himself, was impressed. “Does this mean you're going to work for Genetechnic for real?”
“Are you out of your mind? Wait'll I tell you what they were trying to do.”
“Well—?” Cole pushed.
“She wasn't using a pure sample, Cole.” Rick leaned back in his chair, his hands moving animatedly as he spoke. “It was contaminated. With a plant virus.”
Light Play: Book One of The Light Play Trilogy Page 8
