The Janus Legacy

by Lisa von Biela

  Tim opened the door and stepped into the Subject’s room, which was located down a locked corridor, carefully isolated from the main part of SomaGene’s facility per Ivan’s instructions. He carried with him a tray which held a large plastic tumbler of water, as well as a cube-shaped portion of specially designed food. The shape and solid consistency made it possible to eat without utensils, and he and Glen varied the nutrition and hormone content to suit the stages of the Subject’s development. If medications were needed, they could also be included in the cube for easy administration. The Subject had accepted the food and had thrived on it.

  He stepped to the opening built into the front of the Subject’s enclosure, unlatched it, and slid the tray inside onto the waiting shelf. “Here you go.” He gazed at the Subject as he picked up the cube and began eating. He wondered what he understood of his surroundings, of his situation. While, thanks to the special nutrition and hormones packed into the designer food, the Subject appeared to be a young adult, he likely had the mental capacity of a two-year-old. With his relative isolation, it was hard to know what language he had or had not picked up.

  Tim sighed and shook his head. Ivan’s project had gone according to plan so far, but he often thought they never should have attempted such a thing in the first place. And even if the project itself didn’t push the bounds of ethics, was it right to keep the Subject so isolated, without any opportunity for education?

  The Subject focused completely on eating, and paid Tim no attention at all once he had been given his tray. Tim just stood and watched while he revisited his misgivings about the project, as he had done countless times before.

  “Hey, how’re things in here?” Glen entered the room and glanced at the Subject with a satisfied look. “Appetite looks good today. Seems to like the food, though I can’t imagine it tastes all that good with the enhancements we put in it.”

  “I suppose he wouldn’t know the difference since he’s never been exposed to seasonings.”

  Glen cast a sharp glance at Tim. “We don’t season the food for any other lab asset. Let’s not lose sight of his origin and why he’s here.”

  “Yeah. Sometimes that’s hard, because of, you know, how he looks.”

  “Well, don’t let that distract you from the goal of the project. Which reminds me, what do you think about Jeremy? Still seems a little reserved about taking over SomaGene, don’t you think?”

  Tim paused before answering. “Well, maybe. I don’t know how to read him, really. He did just lose his father, and they were estranged, so there’s probably some baggage there if nothing else.”

  “I hope that’s all it is. If he still has reservations about SomaGene’s mainline business, I can’t imagine his reaction to our special project. I don’t think it’s quite yet time to tell him, do you?”

  “No, not yet. Let him get settled first. It is only his first day.”

  “You know, I think we should be extremely careful. We need to be sure about him before saying anything.” Glen gazed at the Subject. “After all this work, we cannot take the chance that he would kill the project. I’d rather keep it under wraps indefinitely than have that happen.”

  “You can’t be serious. Like it or not, Ivan is dead and Jeremy owns SomaGene now. It’s one thing to let him settle in before telling him, but we can’t keep something like this from him indefinitely. He has a right to know what’s going on, and unfortunately, he has the right to stop it if he sees fit.”

  Glen glared at Tim. “He’s an idiot. He doesn’t have half the vision Ivan did, and he never will. He didn’t get SomaGene because he deserves it and is the right person to run it. He got it because of a freak accident. Damned right I’ll keep this project secret as long as I have to if there is any chance of him killing it.”

  Tim opened his mouth to object.

  Glen stabbed an angry finger in Tim’s direction. “Don’t you dare go around me on this. I promise you will regret it.” He stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

  Tim flinched and noticed the Subject looked up briefly, then continued eating as if nothing happened. Innocent as a baby. No idea his life depends on how we handle Jeremy. Tim wondered if he should side with Glen, but for a completely different reason. If the project were killed, what would become of the Subject? Was his very existence worse than if he were to be…disposed of?

  CHAPTER 9

  Kenneth Girard gazed out his office window at the early fall sky. Pink and orange hues lit up the clouds as the sun crept toward the horizon. It had been a busy day, and he was just now able to get to the stack of tickle files his legal assistant had dropped off that morning.

  Reluctantly, he tore himself away from the sunset view and focused on the task at hand. He pulled the stack to the center of his desk and took the first file off the top. Magnusson. He flipped it open to remind himself of the case’s status and why he’d set a tickler for it.

  He skimmed through the various memos and documents. All the work appeared to have been completed. Ownership of the business, SomaGene, had been officially transferred to the son several weeks back. All the property had been formally transferred as well—the house, the liquid assets and other items. The son had assumed responsibility for the business, and so had satisfied the sole requirement to receive the assets of the entire estate.

  Kenneth shook his head. Given the value of that estate, it was a wonder the son had to think about that condition at all. For that matter, why did it even need to be a condition? He was no scientist or doctor, but surely the chance to own and run a company like SomaGene would be reward in itself. Why did the pot have to be sweetened with the conditional inheritance? He smiled. Well, if there were nothing else he’d learned in his years practicing estate law, it was that people could be funny about things.

  So what remained to be done? He flipped farther through the file. The letters. Ivan had prepared sealed letters to be sent simultaneously to the son and the two key SomaGene people, Tim Whitman and Glen Hawkins. Kenneth had no idea what was in the letters, but Ivan had been very clear and very insistent that they go out about a month after everything had settled, if Jeremy chose to take over SomaGene. If Jeremy had not taken over, they were to have been destroyed.

  Kenneth idly turned the envelopes over, wondering what they contained that was so crucial. Well, they were sealed and he had clear instructions. Whatever they contained was none of his business. He prepared them to go out in the next day’s mail, and selected the next file from the stack.

  CHAPTER 10

  Jeremy settled in at his desk late in the afternoon. He liked having a formal work routine, and that meant attacking the mundane, but necessary, paperwork at the end of the day when his energy tended to flag anyway. He reached for the stack of mail his assistant had left in his In box.

  He quickly sorted through the obvious solicitations and junk, then abruptly stopped. A letter addressed to him in his father’s writing caught his eye. Feeling like a character in a Twilight Zone episode, Jeremy held it in a trembling hand and examined it more closely. Then he realized the return address was that of Ivan’s lawyer.

  He opened the envelope, unfolded the pages of the letter within, and spread them out on his desk. It was all written in his father’s hand, but it was dated about a year ago. He hesitated for a moment, then began to read.

  Jeremy,

  If you’re reading this, then I am deceased and you own and are running SomaGene. I provided this letter—and one each for Glen Hawkins and Tim Whitman—to Kenneth Girard to forward upon my death. He does not know the contents of any of these letters.

  There are some things I need to tell you. Some of this concerns your mother. I think you’ve always blamed me for her early death. It’s the best I can surmise since you haven’t spoken to me since. I admit the rumors were true. I did see other women, and Anna was certainly aware of it. But she died of complications from Crohn’s. I know there was some talk that she had perhaps deliberately chosen to stop her meds in some
sort of suicidal effort. I don’t believe that was true. The disease was simply too much for her, and for the therapies that were available at the time.

  But as you must surely know, stress can aggravate the disease. So on that level, I’ve come to believe my behavior did at least contribute to her death. I now look back and regret what I did, and for what it’s worth, I sincerely apologize. I can’t change what happened now. I really wish I could—for your sake and hers.

  I can’t change what I’ve done, but I hope to change Crohn’s power to destroy lives. As I write this, I’ve begun work in that vein, and I hope it comes to fruition in time to help you fight—or perhaps even conquer—your own disease. My letters to Glen and Tim instruct them to inform you of the details of this work and its current status. I don’t wish to provide that information in letter form; you will surely have questions and they can answer them for you in person.

  I know we haven’t seen eye to eye in quite some time, and you have expressed reservations about my work, but I hope you will keep an open mind, and take SomaGene to new heights of success—both financially and in terms of continued advances in what it can offer patients to alleviate their suffering.

  Good luck to you.

  Love,

  Ivan

  Jeremy set the letter down and rubbed his face with his hands. Damned straight he blamed Ivan for his mother’s early death. “Seeing other women” was such an understatement it would have been laughable under other circumstances. It wasn’t just a matter of quantity; Ivan didn’t seem to mind flaunting it as well. His picture was always in the paper or on the Internet with some new beauty or another. If he had at least been discreet, it would have been one thing. But the public humiliation of it—despite the fact of Mom’s ill health. That was unforgiveable. And now he’s sorry. He says.

  Casting aside the posthumous apology for the garbage that it was, Jeremy wondered about Ivan’s second point. What Crohn’s project had he been working on? Neither Glen nor Tim had mentioned anything along those lines in any of the status meetings they’d had since Jeremy had taken the reins. Why not?

  Tim set down the letter from Ivan, stood up and began to pace around his office. He and Glen had established a rather uneasy truce concerning the project. They’d both agreed to keep it from Jeremy indefinitely, albeit each for different reasons. Now Ivan had managed to force the issue from beyond the grave by instructing Jeremy to contact them for details.

  He wondered if Ivan had considered the possibility that informing Jeremy would backfire and result in the destruction of the project and all he had worked for. And if so, what would become of the Subject?

  His office door burst open and Glen strode in, brandishing an envelope. “Did you get one of these, too?”

  Tim nodded. “Yeah, I was thinking it’s not yet the right time to tell Jeremy. He still doesn’t even seem fully on board with the mainline business. I wish Ivan hadn’t arranged for simultaneous letters.”

  “Yeah, bad move considering their history. But now we’re stuck with it. We’d better think this through—and fast. We’ve got to do whatever it takes to convince him to let the project continue. It’s too damned important to let the fool scuttle it.”

  “I know. Well—” Tim’s phone rang. He cast a panicked glance toward Glen, then picked it up. “Hello, Tim speaking.”

  “Jeremy here. Get Glen and come to my office immediately. I think you know better than I what we need to discuss.” He hung up abruptly.

  Tim paled and set down the receiver. “He wants to see us. Now.”

  Glen frowned. “Better be ready for a fast tap dance.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Jeremy fidgeted at his desk as he waited for Glen and Tim. He was so keyed up, he could almost visualize his nerves as a network of tight, thin wires throughout his body—pulsing with electricity and close to snapping.

  He didn’t know what to expect, but he did know his trust in those two was severely damaged. He’d been at SomaGene for several months now, and they’d let on nothing whatsoever about this. What else were they keeping from him? And they were supposed to be his right-hand men in running SomaGene. Great.

  A knock sounded. “Come in.”

  Tim and Glen entered and took their seats in front of his desk. They looked uneasy, glancing around and avoiding eye contact. Good. Ivan’s overdue and wildly inadequate attempt at an apology had already put Jeremy in a foul mood; the secret project angered him even further. He had no intention of letting these two off easy—even if they had been following Ivan’s instructions.

  He waved his letter in the air. “I presume you also received your letters from Ivan. Let’s cut to the chase. What is this Crohn’s project he’s talking about—and why has it been kept from me?” Jeremy slapped the letter onto his desk, leaned forward and glared at them both.

  Tim and Glen exchanged a desperate look. Tim started to open his mouth, but Glen cut him off.

  “It was Ivan’s pet project. No one else at SomaGene knows anything about it. We’re the only ones who’ve ever worked on it. He wanted to develop a non-drug treatment for Crohn’s that would be 100% effective, or nearly so.”

  “So? That describes all of SomaGene’s line. Why has this been kept secret—even from me?”

  Glen shifted in his chair. “That’s how Ivan wanted it. He was very clear with us about that. This project is…more ambitious than any prior work. I suppose he didn’t want to risk word of it getting out and perhaps into the hands of competitors.”

  Jeremy slammed his hand down on his desk. “That does not explain why I would not be informed. I am ultimately responsible for this company and all it does. Ivan is dead. You should have informed me right at the outset.”

  Glen and Tim muttered vague apologies.

  “All right, so explain the project to me. All of it.”

  Glen took another quick glance at Tim, who paled and motioned to him to go ahead. He took a deep breath and began. “Well, Ivan was somewhat obsessed with Crohn’s, given what it did to your mother. He also told us that you’ve inherited it, so he really wanted to find a solution. The drug-based treatments, though improved in recent years, are no cure and have terrible side effects, as I’m sure you know all too well. He wanted to change that.”

  “So why not just develop another transplant protocol like all the rest?” Jeremy swept his arm in the general direction of the cultivation room.

  Tim cleared his throat and spoke up. “There are some significant differences. One problem with using our normal cultivation and transplantation protocol is that the recipient’s Crohn’s will, over time, again attack the transplanted intestine. And of course, the very genes that are implicated in Crohn’s would also be present in any organ generated by a client’s own tissue, and that would exacerbate the problem.”

  “Not only that, intestines are not yet amenable to cultivation in the in vitro environment—not like more solid organs. Because they’re tubular in shape and not rigid like a trachea, there is yet no known way to provide them a developmental framework to give them the appropriate form,” said Glen.

  “Well, so maybe it’s not possible to develop a solution for Crohn’s using cultivation and transplant as the therapeutic approach. SomaGene should stick with what works. It’s certainly successful enough. Sounds like a waste of time and money chasing something Ivan’s ego was driving,” said Jeremy.

  Glen looked down at his hands for a moment, then spoke in a low tone. “We have an approach that addresses all those issues, and so far looks quite promising.”

  “And what is that?”

  “The protocol addresses the genetic issue by using source tissues from a Crohn’s-free relative close enough to be compatible. We haven’t found a way to stop the eventual Crohn’s attack on the transplanted intestines, though, so we have to allow for potential repeat transplants.” Glen pressed his lips together for a moment before continuing. “We’ve addressed the cultivation problem by using a different host modality.”

  �
��What, transgenic sheep?”

  “Um, no. Native host. We’ve cloned the entire organism.” Glen cast another quick glance at Tim, who sat silent and deathly pale.

  Jeremy paused, the realization of what Glen was trying to sugarcoat slowly hitting him. His mouth suddenly became dry. “You’ve cloned a human being?” He couldn’t believe he had uttered such a sentence.

  Glen continued, appearing to choose his words carefully, as if navigating through a verbal minefield. “Uh, yes. Ivan provided the source tissue. He, uh, intended this—if it worked—to be a sort of gift to you. He believed his tissue would match yours, hopefully closely enough, but without the genetic predisposition to Crohn’s that Anna’s tissues would have carried.”

  “How long?” Jeremy could barely choke out the words.

  Tim found his voice and answered. “Nearly a couple of years now. We developed a special diet that included hormones to speed the growth process.”

  “Where is…this…?” Jeremy’s mind reeled trying to fathom what he should even call such an entity.

  Glen cleared his throat. “The Subject is kept separate from the other lab assets. Ivan designed the enclosure himself and it’s in a location not accessible to other SomaGene employees. We can show you, if you like.”

  Lab assets?

  “Take me there now.” Jeremy rose on unsteady legs. He wanted no part of this, wished he still knew nothing of it, yet felt ultimately responsible. He wanted to throttle Ivan for putting him in this position.

  Glen led the way as the three walked down the hall in uncomfortable silence. He entered a number on a keypad that controlled the door that walled off the project from the rest of SomaGene. They walked a short distance farther through a featureless white hallway to another door. Glen paused before proceeding. “Jeremy, I realize this must be difficult for you. Are you ready?”

  “I suppose.”

  Glen opened the door and motioned for the others to enter.