Christ Clone

by McLeod, David

  In both cases, a combination of genetic cloning with digitization, or what was commonly called bio-digital cloning, came into effect. The thought of arriving instantly at your desired destination with no time constraints or passport boundaries gave Travis a real buzz.

  He finally arrived at the Sorrento lab's parking lot. Flashing his driver's license at the guard on the gate, he checked the clock on his dashboard. Happy that he'd made good time, even with the traffic, he drove under the raised barrier and parked in the CEO space. Once out of the car, he stretched his back again and admired the building before entering.

  The research lab was, on the surface, quite an unobtrusive building; nestled among a number of other industrial buildings in the park, it could easily pass as a paper or food manufacturing company. The reception area was very plain because it didn't really cater for visitors. A welcoming smile on the face of the receptionist, who was seated behind a grey desk, was the only greeting any would-be guest was likely to receive. Travis said hello and told her he was there to see Dr Androna.

  The waiting area was sparsely furnished with a few chairs and a coffee table covered with the mandatory company brochures and gossip tabloids. As Travis never had to wait long, this was a bittersweet treat for him. Of course he wouldn't have wanted to be kept waiting, but equally, he secretly liked to keep up to date with which celebrity was sleeping with whom that week. Ironically, the magazines were months out of date.

  The heavy door's security lock clicked and Dr Androna entered the reception area. They exchanged the usual formal greetings and then went back through the heavy door, heading for the main elevator. Most of the lab had been built underground; this allowed the scientists to work in a completely secret world, a world most people wouldn't understand, so they kept the place discreet. They walked in silence, each with his own thoughts. Dr Androna didn't want to give away his latest success too soon, and Travis just loved absorbing the feel and ambience of the lab.

  As he looked through the glass windows lining the sides of the corridor, Travis saw scientists and technicians in white lab coats bending over tabletops, engrossed in their work. There were test tubes being placed into centrifugal separators, vials of samples being rigged up to monitors, and results being logged onto sheets and into computer tables.

  Each time he visited, Travis tried to add to his knowledge of how it all worked. What he had gleaned so far was that the embryo laboratory was generally kept as a clean room with filtered air and limited access. Volatile materials were avoided, and the handling of test samples was carried out in laminar flow hoods or isolates, better described as glassed cubicles set into the wall. This limited the possibility of outside contamination, which he knew to be a bad thing. The lab maintained a five per cent CO2 environment via large air-conditioning units, to avoid pH drifts — another bad thing for experiments. The air-conditioning units' loud hum made the scientists' heads pound after a few hours, and therefore precluded long working hours. But the temperature control was vital, as under ambient conditions pH could rise above the physiological range within two minutes, which could have adverse effects on samples out of the main incubator, in effect screwing up the experiments. Lab temperature stability was particularly important for experiments, because chromosomes could break down or disorganize irreversibly with a reduction to room temperature.

  The main incubator looked to Travis like a giant oven. All samples were mass-screened and placed into it through a single door opening. The CO2 level in the main incubator chamber could take up to thirty minutes to recover from even a limited number of door openings. So much could go wrong, even the smallest change could affect the outcome of any experiment they did. Failed experiments meant a waste of money for the company, and of course its shareholders.

  Travis stood for a while longer watching the scientists work. They were lab rats themselves, he thought. They had their experiments, and in turn, they were his experiment. 'I wonder who's watching me?' he muttered.

  'Sorry, did you say something?' the doctor, slightly startled, asked Travis.

  Travis shook his head and moved on.

  Arriving at the office, Dr Androna went straight to the projector and switched it on. Travis admired the doctor's office. There were always piles of research folders and books neatly stacked around his desk and along the sideboards, and while it looked to Travis like absolute organized chaos, he understood how much of his company's fortune flowed from this room, and from the doctor's mind. Travis took a seat at the smoky glass table and picked up the documents in front of him.

  'You'll probably need to see the presentation before that will make any sense,' the doctor said. It was clear he didn't want Travis to jump the gun and steal his thunder.

  After a little more setting up, Dr Androna killed the lights and the presentation illuminated the large screen.

  Accelerated Growth, read the first slide.

  Dr Androna went through the experiment's mission: to stimulate rapid cell growth and expedite growth from single cell to adulthood.

  'In the late 1990s, scientists managed to bring fish to early maturity using of basic growth hormones. My team and I have taken this limited success, and through computer simulation, have developed the following theory. Accelerated growth can be achieved by germline expression of growth hormones and antifreeze proteins,' he announced.

  'Germline technology?' Travis was lost already, so Dr Androna backtracked a little. 'Germline technology is completely different to the genetic therapy of the past, which is described as somatic treating the soma, or body cells. Human germline manipulations are adaptations made to the genes of our germinal or reproductive cells — the first cell in the embryo to exist — so that the genetic changes will be copied into every cell of the future adult as it grows.

  Through in vitro fertilization, an artificial chromosome — with the expressed growth hormones and antifreeze proteins — is introduced to the cell. This genetic manipulation targets cell growth and later stimulates the pituitary gland into working overtime, manufacturing chemicals that tell body systems — both structure and cell — to grow, particularly during sleep.'

  Travis was trying very hard to follow the doctor, but as he told the story Dr Androna was growing increasingly excited and increasingly scientific. 'The Human Genome Project itself has provided the basis for both somatic therapy and for germline therapy because it's revealed our genetics. The information learned from the Human Genome Project is coupled with technologies like DNA chips — chips that can read a large number of genes at one time. Then with genomics — the application of computer technology — to decipher and interpret our genetics and the way they impact the human genotype, all of this makes possible the manipulation of human genetics for germline cells.'

  'Whoa, take a breath Doc!' Travis had lost the plot. 'Do you have all this in layman's language?'

  The doctor seemed a little embarrassed; he'd been carried away by his own enthusiasm. 'Maybe the slide show will be easier to follow,' he offered.

  The initial slides displayed computer-generated images of scientists adding chemicals to the cell's nucleus. Along the bottom of each slide, as it appeared, was a timeline. The egg was inserted into the reproductive system, and the clock was started. Travis looked in amazement as, within days, the embryo started to make moves towards a basic human shape. The heart was formed, and the basic structure of the limbs, spine, and nervous system. This was equal to one month's growth in an unmanipulated embryo. At the ten-day stage, the less essential characteristics (eyes, nose, and ears) had been developed, and the embryo resembled a human — typical of the normal ten-week stage. The embryo was growing at a rate of one day equalling one week of normal growth. At the fourteen-day mark, there was a distinct change in the rate of growth.

  Stunned, Travis looked at Dr Androna who summarized it for him. 'The major characteristics of the embryo have more or less been developed; it possesses all the requirements of a fully functional being. From this time onwards, the embryo will c
ontinue to grow in size rather than in complexity via cell division. This is where the pituitary gland is targeted.'

  From fertilization to birth in one month!

  The baby slides stopped at this point, replaced by an explanation of what had happened, including the cocktail of nutrients that had been pumped into the mother.

  The next steps were even more astounding. The image changed as dramatically as a museum poster showing human evolution from ape to man. The basic rule of thumb for growth was the equivalent of one normal year for every week, slowing down as the image hit the sixteen to seventeen-week mark.

  Once again Travis looked to the doctor, who explained: 'We've built a type of cut-off facility into the hormone; otherwise the subject would have a very short life. As it is, we're not sure what will happen during the mid-point of its life.' The doctor looked down at this point; he hated not having all the answers.

  The process — from conception to adulthood — took between five and six months on the timeline. Travis couldn't believe his eyes. The rest of the slides went deeper into the science and reinforced the theory. The simulation looked impressive, and Travis knew better than to ask if the theory would work in practice.

  'What about things like learning, education, speech, and so on?' Travis asked.

  'Once again, a bit hit and miss on this, but since we are introducing the signature of another human into this melting pot, we are expecting the inherent memory to be drawn out.'

  'This is fantastic!' Travis finally exclaimed.

  'You bet it is,' Dr Androna agreed, filled with a sense of pride.

  'This information and science has the ability to get our investors to pump huge capital into the research lab,' Dr Androna continued. He was playing the company executive game with Travis; more or less telling him what he thought he wanted to hear, even though he was more interested in the achievement than in the money, or what it did for the company.

  'I'm giving everyone in your group a twenty-thousand dollar bonus!' Travis announced. 'And as for you, well I have a special bonus for you, Dr Androna.'

  'And what might that be?' Dr Androna asked, with a small, contented smile on his face.

  'I'll get to that in good time. First of all though, I have a very strange request. I'm going to need all this information presentation-ready and on disk; we're going to share this information with the rest of the world — immediately.' As Travis was talking he was looking at the screen, paying no attention to Dr Androna's startled expression.

  'We're . . . You're what?' The doctor was aghast; he couldn't believe what he was hearing. They'd worked around the clock for three months in an overheated and oxygen-deprived lab. They'd used state-of-the-art techniques and some of the smartest brains in the genetic world to get this result, and finished ahead of the original schedule. Now Travis wanted to give it away?

  'You just can't do that,' Dr Androna said, still struggling to come to terms with the request.

  Travis was not used to anyone questioning his authority, and his anger began to rise. He took a deep breath and reminded himself that Dr Androna had been working relentlessly and was tired; also, he didn't know about the bonus yet.

  'Look, I can't explain the why at the moment. Please, just do as I say. A package will arrive here for you in a few days. Give me a call when it does. I want to be here when you open it.' Dr Androna knew it wasn't a request any more; it was a command.

  Knowing there was no point in arguing, the doctor relented. He moved to the computer and started to punch in the security passwords. He downloaded the presentation and all supporting documents and burnt it to a disk. With great reluctance, he removed the disk from the computer's CD tray, put it carefully into a case, and handed it to Travis. They walked back to Reception in complete silence; Dr Androna was devastated, and Travis had in his hand the next piece of the puzzle.

  Having said goodbye to the deflated doctor, Travis waited until the heavy door clicked shut then asked the receptionist for the phone.

  'Hi, it's Travis, I am sending you a data CD by courier; can you get this onto the science link as soon as possible? It will cover a lot of the questions you will be asked, and should please all the participants. Talk to you soon.' Ringing off, he passed the CD to the receptionist and gave her a forwarding address for the courier.

  12

  LOS ANGELES

  Detective Logan hated his job, his life, and although he was still not sure, probably his wife.

  Washing his face in the LAPD washroom, he watched the water spiral down the drain and thought his life was probably going the same way. Forty-eight years old and nothing to show for it; he was tired. His cases were stacking up and he was rapidly becoming the unsolved case king. He wondered how his life had got to this point; he was a good cop, he cared, perhaps sometimes he even cared too much. Looking at himself in the mirror, he found it hard to recognize the face staring back. Where did all those lines come from? Certainly not from laughter. Heavy bags under his tired-looking eyes, hair unkempt and receding. Who was this man staring back at him?

  His thoughts drifted back to his training and the first few years on the force. He'd keenly enjoyed the shooting range and the driving tasks. He'd been fit and energetic and did very well at the physical parts of the training. But it was in the classroom where he really excelled. He had a very logical approach to solving problems, with an uncanny ability to think outside the square.

  Finishing Police Academy at the head of his class, he'd had his choice of departments, so he chose Homicide. His passion was solving the difficult cases, the ones his peers had given up on. His tenacity and contacts in the Los Angeles area enabled him to achieve magical results. He juggled cases ten at a time and believed in following coincidences. Coincidences were leads, and leads solved cases.

  The only things that blew through his life quicker than his cases were his women. Girlfriends came and went, and most of the time he didn't even notice they'd gone. His first wife lasted longer than he really expected her to. His deep depressions, often brought on by fatigue, hurt him, but his moods had hurt her more. His obsession with his cases would have made Mother Teresa swear in frustration. He wouldn't come home for weeks at a time when he was on a trail or close to solving a crime, and when he did eventually arrive home, he was way too tired to do anything congenial — including having sex. Logan wondered why problems in his big head affected his little head equally; he was sure things had been different when he was younger.

  With his lack of libido came his lack of communication skills, but in his own defence Logan believed that no one else should be subjected to the monstrosities that surrounded his cases, so keeping the horrors of his job to himself was easy to justify.

  As he'd got older his enthusiasm had wavered, so the cases had accumulated. He had a current wife who was much younger than he was. They'd met in the station, she'd come in on a charge of soliciting, and they'd sneaked a few glances at each other while she was being processed. They became involved almost immediately. After a brief courtship they were married; her youth and lust for life was a major respite for him. Lately, he felt sure she was cheating on him; it was more than just a hunch. He hadn't been home for a few days now, not because of the cases he was working on, but because he didn't want to catch her. Ignorance, to Logan, was — at this moment in time — bliss.

  Recently he'd been sent to see the police psychologist. Some of the cases he was handling were too disgusting even for him; he didn't know how one human being could do such things to another. He just couldn't solve them, and he wasn't sure if he could go the distance with the force.

  During one of the evaluation sessions, he was asked a question that, if answered correctly, indicated your mind worked the same way as a psychopath's. It was a story about a girl. Attending the funeral of her own mother, she'd met this guy. He didn't seem to be with anyone, and none of her family seemed to recognize him. She thought he looked amazing; so much like her dream guy, she fell in love with him then and there. At the en
d of the funeral, the guy disappeared before she'd even had a chance to speak with him. A few days later, the girl killed her own sister.

  The question was: What was the girl's motive for killing her sister?

  The correct answer, if you could call it that, was: She killed her sister because she was hoping the guy would appear at the funeral again.

  This test was apparently formulated by a famous American psychologist and was used to determine if someone had the same mentality as a killer. Many arrested serial killers took part in this test and had answered it correctly.

  Logan answered it bang-on, and even went on to profile the girl. He gave her an age range and a history; he even chose where and how she would do it. The examiner noted Logan as a disturbed man.

  The rape cases were bad, the murder and mutilation cases were worse, and then there was the Malone case. He had witnessed, firsthand, the complete collapse of a good man. He had literally watched Michael Malone destroy himself, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He'd tried to help by taking him to AA, but it only reinforced what Logan had learned at an early age — you can't force a man to do something he doesn't want to do. Not for long anyway.

  He spent months following bullshit leads that every bone in his detective body screamed not to follow, just to give Malone some news — something to hold on to. Nothing eventuated. Logan couldn't explain why, but Malone's case had taken precedence, and not solving it had eaten deep into the pit of Logan's stomach. The years of eating on the run had been hard on his ageing intestines, but he felt that Malone's case had done more damage than the food. The ulcer that made itself known with hourly regularity reminded him of Malone. For the past few years it had been quiet but, with Malone's reappearance, was back with a vengeance.

  Logan finished his refresher by rubbing his wet hands through his hair, and then pulled a prescription bottle of antacids from his jacket pocket. The tablets were bitter on his tongue, but they had the desired effect of calming the burning sensation in his throat. He wished he could wash them down with a shot of Pepto-Bismol, but water would have to do for now. Wiping the overspill of water from his chin, he threw the paper towel into the rubbish bin and snatched open the bathroom door.