His words were not quite as eloquent or practiced as Father Cooney’s, but the rough edges of his speech were bolstered by an unwavering, infectious conviction. Pausing, Gray flashed a knowing smile. It appeared to be directed right at Hannah. His brilliant white teeth practically glowed.
“You have chosen the righteous path. You have not let the money-hungry capitalists tempt and defile you with an organ designed by man, who ate the apple. Man, who turned from Him, our Lord.”
For a moment, Hannah found Gray’s speech ironic. She assumed most of the people around her didn’t have the luxury of choice when it came to implanting one of the god organs. Most probably couldn’t afford it.
She chased away her doubt, though, and Gray continued to preach to an enraptured audience. The minutes slid away. By the end of the hybrid sermon and call-to-arms, she found herself nodding in agreement with Gray’s words.
“We must consider doing more,” Gray said. “I’m asking you—He’s asking you—to do more for our cause. We owe it to Him and to our fellow man to denounce the outrageous sins that our society has condoned for far too long. ”
A hearty applause followed as Gray lifted his hands to silence the crowd. “By this time next week, the pigs will be brought to their knees by the hands of God. He has told me it will be so. I promise you this as it is His promise to me. But I will need your help to ensure that these sacrilegious swine are stopped for good. Return again next week, and, I promise, we will rejoice together!”
The crowd erupted again. Gray nodded solemnly, signaling for quiet. He walked down the makeshift aisle at the center of the room, shaking hands as he departed. Murmured appreciation and approval coursed through the crowd and followed him as he sauntered to the back of the basement and through a wooden door in the back corner. A lone crucifix hanging in the same corner shook slightly when he shut the door.
Another man walked to the stage. He wore an ill-fitting suit, buttons struggling against pulled fabric. The man’s shoulders barely reached above the lectern, while his broad belly showed clear past the sides.
“Let’s get to some business.”
Hannah felt a light tap on her shoulder and turned around.
Charlotte leaned in to whisper. “Hi, Bug. There’s no need to stay for all this rote business. You’ve got someone waiting to meet you. Follow me.”
Hannah nodded.
Roy looked at her as she left her seat and she mouthed a quick goodbye. He smiled back and waved, then turned back to the rotund man announcing the St. Gemma’s meeting agenda.
Charlotte led Hannah to the door that Gray had disappeared through and knocked.
Hannah shivered. She couldn’t tell if it was slightly colder here, away from the crowd, or if she was just nervous.
Before she could decide, the door opened. Pastor Gray nodded, his lips stretched tight in a straight line. His mood was serious, yet his crisp hazel eyes appeared more friendly—welcoming, even. Gray opened the door wider and spread an arm out toward the tattered chairs in front of his metal desk. “Please, take a seat.”
Charlotte sat down, her posture perfect and her characteristic smile adorning her face. Hannah slumped into the other chair, crossing and then uncrossing her legs, trying to make herself more comfortable, more confident.
Deliberately and slowly, Gray stepped back behind the desk. There were no computers or electronics of any kind in the office, Hannah noticed, except for the humming lights above the preacher.
He nodded again at Charlotte. “Ms. Larson, it’s a pleasure to see you again. I often thank God for bringing you through those humble doors into St. Gemma’s sanctuary. It has been nothing but divine providence.”
Charlotte held a hand up over her mouth and looked away for a moment. “Pastor Gray, you flatter me.”
“Are your eyes always as brilliant blue as they are tonight? Last time I saw you, I don’t believe they were near as alluring.”
An expression of worry flashed across Charlotte’s face. Her words, at first, sounded jumbled and fretful. “Oh, I don’t know. I happen to believe my eyes are always such a fierce blue, but I suppose that might change with the clothes I wear. Aren’t you being a bit forward?”
A grin spread across Gray’s face as he turned to Hannah. Her heart jumped and a warmth crept across her cheeks.
“You must be Hannah,” he said.
“Your speech was very good,” she said, “and I thought you had a lot of very good points.”
Gray rolled back in his chair and let out a low, guttural laugh. “Lots of good points in my speech? You sound like my old rhetoric professor.”
Hannah couldn’t imagine Gray in any school. Although the man was striking and his jawline sharp, she saw the lines branching out from his eyes and the creases in his forehead now that he was close. The meager lighting of the basement, the constant pacing, and the distance between her and Gray during his exhortation had prevented her from noticing the gray stubble on his chin and the leathery toughness of his skin.
Charlotte fluttered her hands. “Oh, don’t mind her. She means well, but, you must understand, she’s a bit shy.”
Hannah scrunched her nose in frustration. She wished she could be as personable and charming as Charlotte. She made a mental note to be more careful about how she worded things around Gray—and anyone else. It was easy enough to talk to Charlotte, since the woman did most of the talking. And at work, her conversations had become similar to a loosely scripted play: “How are you? Can I help you find something? That outfit flatters your figure so well!”
But Gray wasn’t shopping for a pair of denims or plastic earrings to match his new tunic. Conversing with him was new and frightening.
“My apologies,” Gray said. “I don’t mean to be pedantic. Charlotte tells me that we can trust you. She’s always been a good judge of character and has continuously introduced me to upstanding, devoted individuals to help our cause.”
For a moment, Hannah considered who else Charlotte had brought here. Our cause?
“I expect you’re no different. While you might be light on words, I can sense that God’s good grace resides within you. This must be the reason Charlotte has brought you before me. And God has spoken to me about you. He has described your face to me and promised your devotion to His work on Earth. It is truly my good fortune to meet you. I’m fortunate to serve as His vessel to communicate to you.”
Charlotte squeezed Hannah’s hand, her face alight with giddy delight.
God had chosen her. He had been the only consistent presence in her life. The tribulations she had faced alone were challenges that He had placed before her. He wanted her to know she could survive alone, in a great metropolis, anonymous and self-sufficient. He had watched her faithfully attend his services, had listened to her prayers. Now, He had chosen her.
She had always imagined that such a miraculous moment would strike one of God’s chosen people in a setting not unlike Moses and the burning bush. Maybe He would make Himself known as a booming but ethereal voice across a vast, moonlit ocean, or maybe He would enter a dream, drawing around Himself a palace of clouds and angelic heralds.
But He had chosen to present Himself to her in the basement of St. Gemma’s. She reminded herself that the meek shall inherit the earth. It had been foolish of her to think God would come to her, or anyone else, in illustrious majesty.
“Will you open your ears to Him?”
Hannah nodded vigorously. “Yes, I will.” He was here. She felt it. Yes, it all made sense.
Charlotte squeezed Hannah’s hand even harder.
“Will you do all that is asked of you, like David and Abraham before him?”
“I will.”
“I am about to pass on to you a significant task. One of the utmost importance. Can He—can the Lord above—entrust you to never repeat these orders to any other mortal soul?”
“Yes, yes.” Her heart fluttered and she sat up straighter in her chair. “I will do all that He asks of me.”
&n
bsp; Charlotte smiled. Hannah thought she saw a glint of pride in the woman’s eyes, but there was something else, something more complicated in Charlotte’s expression.
Frightened, Hannah turned back to Gray and stared intently into his eyes. “I am God’s, here to do His will.”
Gray smiled. “Let His will be done.”
Chapter 35
Matthew Pierce
December 4, 2063
“When were you going to tell me about the internal investigations?” Matthew tried his best not to sound too accusatory, but he couldn’t completely conceal the sharpness in his tone.
Jacqueline winced. “Sorry. I wasn’t trying to hide anything from you. It just happened too quickly.” She closed the cardboard box that contained her holoscreen and a couple of notebooks. “Anil told me to keep things quiet.”
“Don’t you trust me?”
Though the room was silent for only a couple of seconds, Matthew shook his head, perplexed.
“I do.” Jacqueline avoided making eye contact with him. “But you know how it goes.”
Matthew stood with his arms crossed and a frown on his face. Just days ago she had caressed him, held him, and kissed him, but she seemed to be avoiding him now.
“I understand.” He forced a smile. “You do what you got to do. But do you really need to move offices?”
She shrugged. “Anil wants me to be closer to him.” She smirked, but it lasted only a second. “Guess he wants to keep a close eye on my work.”
“Well... Let me know if I can help out with anything.”
Jacqueline nodded. “Keep me updated on your findings, too. I’m really interested in knowing what you discover.”
***
Matthew found it exceedingly difficult to concentrate. He tried to call Audrey again, but received no answer. Anxiety and frustration welled up as he clenched his fists and let out an exasperated breath. He’d managed to push away both Jacqueline and Audrey. He supposed he deserved it.
Putting his comm card down, he turned back to the lab equipment. He was close to completing another round of protein production simulations with the genetic data provided by the samples he had analyzed. He thought he might be able to start separating the concentration of DNA in each sample by identifying the amounts of DNA unique to each patient. If he could identify one gene that only Joel’s Sustain expressed, then he could make a rough estimation of how much of the total DNA from the combined samples actually belonged to Joel.
He hoped those estimations might lead him to more concretely predict whether or not the stroke-inducing genes had been present in all the patients or just one.
The cursor blinked in a blank box designated “Input sequence.” He couldn’t concentrate enough to even fill out the basic forms to begin the assessments.
His head pounded. The pressure behind his eyes started to get painful and he rubbed his temple. He couldn’t be sure if it was emotional stress or just another of the pressure headaches that plagued him. It didn’t feel like the usual throb of the pressure headache, though, so he attributed it to a combination of his emotional turmoil and the formidable tasks sitting in front of him on the computer. He needed to step away from the work for a moment and deal with the pressing thoughts on his mind.
His comm card rang out, the piercing sound sending nails into his skull. Audrey?
Anil Nayak’s name scrolled across the comm card and Matthew was filled with disappointment. “Hello?”
“I’ve got a couple of projects that are going to need your immediate attention.”
“More projects? Like what?”
“There are a couple of additional samples,” Anil said. “One is from a Henry Lockwood in Boston and the other is James Kim from Minneapolis.”
“More samples? You mean, more stroke victims with Sustains?”
“That’s precisely what I mean. I would appreciate it if you keep this information absolutely classified for now.”
Matthew nodded. “If someone did sabotage the last samples, they shouldn’t know these samples even exist yet.”
“Theoretically speaking, yes. I’m not convinced of your theory yet, but I assume that these precautions may help both of us in the event that you’re correct.”
Matthew needed those samples. With tissue that had not been blended and mixed into an indistinguishable soup of DNA, he could more precisely see the effects of the infected Sustain updates. He could visualize the extent to which the tissue had taken up the DNA, too, allowing him to determine more precisely where the genes enabling a stroke were added.
If the DNA was part of each cell along with all the tagged genetic material from Lockwood’s and Kim’s updates, then, almost certainly, the stroke modifications were included with, maybe even part of, the genes in the update.
“When can I pick those up?”
“Right now would be fantastic. Report your results directly to me. Do not tell anyone else. Absolutely no one else.”
“No problem.”
“As I’m sure you are well aware, solving this issue with the Sustain is in LyfeGen’s best interests. You have the entire company riding on your success, Mr. Pierce.”
“I’m aware,” Matthew said. “Thank you.”
“Good. Now, back to work for you.”
Matthew rubbed his eyes. After closing his holoscreen, he headed out into the hall. He had to restrain himself from jogging down the tiled halls, between the glass windows into laboratories and office spaces full of other engineers, researchers, and lab technicians.
He knocked on the glass door for regulations and receiving. As usual, Whitney appeared to be scanning research papers on a lab bench via holoscreen. She jumped at Matthew’s knock and hurried over to the door. Frowning, she punched in a code to let him into the enclosed lab space.
“I’m back. Anil said there was a package here for me.”
Annoyed, she nodded and brushed back her dark hair. “Yep. Right there on the table for you. Says to keep it on dry ice or in liquid nitrogen to keep it frozen.”
Down in the basement laboratory, separated from the rest of the building, the air almost seemed cleaner. Matthew took a breath and imagined the pain in his head diminishing slightly. Just enough to lighten his mood.
He picked up the small Styrofoam container with labels for biohazardous animal tissue. “Reading your old papers again?”
Whitney’s eyes were narrowed, clearly skeptical of Matthew’s change in mood from his last visit. “Yeah.”
He paused by the door on his way out. He might need Whitney’s help in this work and it wouldn’t hurt to be a little more cordial with her than he’d been during his last visit. “Why do you read those old things?”
“Honestly, you can learn a lot from so-called successful tissue-engineering research of the teens and twenties, when people really thought they knew how to start vascularizing lab-grown kidneys and livers—you know, all the complex organs.”
“That’s true. But why are you so interested in those types of projects?”
She shrugged. “Well, since part of my job is troubleshooting, I like to look at what kind of problems people ran into years, sometimes decades ago.”
“That way you can apply them to what’s going on? You think we missed something upstairs?”
“I don’t know, but I’m not completely oblivious to what’s going on around here. Obviously vascularized issues and healthy vascular functions are a key component to preventing complications like embolic strokes. You have to know all the factors that go into causing a problem before you can solve it.”
Matthew nodded and started to edge out of the door, eager to begin work.
“Listen, Matthew,” Whitney said, “you’re not used to playing detective. I’m not claiming I am either, but I think I could help.”
“Help with what?”
“Oh, come on now.” Whitney raised an eyebrow. “I’ve been scouring the literature for data. I have no idea what you found upstairs running your PCR and bioinformatics analyses,
but I do know what the research literature says causes strokes. And I know who reported on those genes, who isolated them, and what methods were used. Now, say, if you had any information on what specific genes you found in your analyses, I could see if there were any patterns.”
“Patterns? Like what?”
“Honestly, I don’t know. But a lot of those genes were extensively studied in the pursuit of therapeutic drugs or whatever. Most of the time, it was only a couple of labs that openly studied and published for each gene. You see what I’m saying?”
Matthew nodded. “So, for instance, if I’m looking at a specific genetic factor like PDE4D—you would tell me which labs isolated those genes and had expertise in incorporating those genes in animal models?”
Whitney’s face lit up. “Exactly! See, I could tell you what labs knew the best methods to isolate those genes—and which knew exactly how to splice them and deliver them. I could identify who still knows those techniques and form a web full of names and associations. Maybe there are some people or groups who overlap. Someone with multiple connections that could lead you to your culprit—or culprits.”
Matthew contemplated that. To her credit, Whitney had been putting more work into his own directives than he had realized. Her plan seemed sound and certainly couldn’t hurt.
Still, he wasn’t sure if involving her in this project would peeve Nayak. Then again, Whitney had already involved herself.
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll send you the genes I found. I mean, I don’t have time to put any of that web together, but I think it’d be interesting to see if you found anything.”
“Great! Great! I can definitely do that,” Whitney said. “I’d love it if you kept me updated with anything you might find.”
Again, he started to head out the door and waved a goodbye.
“Good luck with those Kim and Lockwood samples.”
Matthew’s heart jumped to his throat. “I didn’t tell you their names.”
Whitney laughed. “Well, just because an incoming tissue sample is anonymous doesn’t mean I can’t add two and two. I mean, two brand new samples marked for high security and two stroke victim obituaries in the news streams...”
The God Organ Page 27
