“Watch your mouth, Dr. McBride,” he snarled in my face, his eyes glinting with fury.
“If you wish to voice an opinion about my project, you may do so respectfully or not
at all.”
Prying at his fingers, I tried to lean away but he cupped the back of my head with
his other hand.
“Let go of me!” I gasped.
“Not until you’re ready to listen,” he said implacably.
“I’ve heard everything I need to. I’m leaving, Julian. I categorically refuse to be
a part of this experiment.”
“You’re not leaving until you’ve heard me out.”
I sent Colin a beseeching look. “Colin, help me.”
He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Rachel, but he’s right. There are things you need to
know before you run away.”
Feeling betrayed, I said, “Fine, I’ll listen but only if you take your hands off me.”
Julian’s jaw tensed and he looked like he might refuse, but finally his hold eased
and I slid out of his grasp. I immediately walked as far away from him as I could
get and still be in the same room.
Leaning back against the wall to support my shaking legs, I crossed my arms. “I’m
listening.”
He sighed and forked his hands through his hair. “I apologize. I should have thought
of a better way to present all this information.”
“Trust me, there’s no good way to present something like this, Julian,” I told him
flatly. “Just get on with it.”
After sending me a stern look, he sighed again. “All right, let me begin by making
it clear that the donor
will
die whether he participates in our experiment or not. That is not in doubt. It is
an absolute certainty.”
“How do you know?”
“He’s scheduled to die by lethal injection at ten p.m. on the day of the procedure,
and there will be no last-minute clemency.”
“Oh my God. Why?”
“He raped and murdered six teenage boys, one of them Prime Minister Lucescu’s grandson.”
My mouth worked soundlessly.
“The condemned prisoner’s name is Augustine Pohlson, and he is the last of only four
prisoners ever to occupy Montaneva’s death row. Right now the death penalty is available
only for the aggravated murder of children, but on November first, it will be abolished
for all offenses so that Montaneva can join the EU.”
“I’m…speechless,” I finally managed. “How did you manage to arrange this?”
“Dragos Lucescu is a personal friend of mine.”
Of course he was.
“And the prisoner has consented to the donation?”
“He has,” Julian said with a sharp nod.
“Just like that,” I said skeptically.
Colin’s jaw tensed. “He made numerous demands, all of which will have been met before
his execution.”
“Such as?”
“There’s a confidentiality agreement in place, which has been approved by the donor’s
legal counsel,” Julian said, clearly warning Colin with both look and tone not to
break it.
“Wow. That’s…” I shook my head. “It would be strange enough to have to adjust to living
with someone else’s body, but a serial killer’s?”
“Beggars can’t be choosers,” Julian said flatly. “The fact is, Pohlson is going to
die, and not only do we know the exact time, place and manner of his death and have
access to his body within minutes of cardiac arrest, but his age, size, body type
and skin tone are fairly consistent with the recipient’s. We’ll never have a better
opportunity. Why should we let his perfectly healthy body rot in the ground when it
can be used to save not just the recipient, but the lives of many innocent people?”
The words made sense but something in me still balked.
“Think about it, Rachel,” Colin urged. “A body is just like a gun, or a hammer, or
even a shoestring—any of them can be used for good or evil. Pohlson’s body was just
one of his tools. The true evil resides in his brain, which will be well and truly
dead once his head is severed from its blood supply.”
I shook my head. “I know you’re right, but I still don’t know if I’d choose that life
over death.”
“Fortunately, you don’t have to,” Julian replied. “Obviously the reciprocal procedure
will be considerably less involved since it’s only for aesthetic purposes. We just
need to provide an intact and reasonably normal-looking corpse for the grieving family
to bury.”
My stomach turned. “Why the whole head? If you’ve developed that kind of capability,
why not just the brain?”
“Mainly because the recipient will wish to carry on with his own life. That would
be very difficult to do wearing Augustine Pohlson’s face.”
“How can you possibly expect him to carry on with his life?” I asked. “Even assuming
you’ve discovered how to regenerate nerve axons, there’s no way to fully reconnect
the central nervous system once it’s severed. It’s just too mind-bogglingly complex
and too little understood.”
Julian smiled. “As a matter of fact, we
have
discovered how to regenerate nerve axons. We’ve already treated the patient with
stem cells harvested from his own bone marrow, which were nourished with a targeted
blend of bio-engineered materials. The effects, unfortunately, were only temporary,
but they’ve given us enough time to reach this milestone. After the spinal cord is
microsurgically reattached, the attachment site will be treated with similarly nourished
stem cells obtained from stored cord blood.”
I stared at him, wide-eyed. “The donor’s parents banked his cord blood? He must be
pretty young.”
“Too young to die of Bain’s, I promise you.”
“All right, I’ll accept that you’re able to regenerate nerves, but properly reconnecting
the entire central nervous system? No way. It just can’t be done.”
His smile this time was cunning. “Would you care to bet on that?”
“Thanks, but no,” I said with a wary glance at Colin, who just grinned.
“All right, then. Come.” Julian took my hand, his eyes alight with excitement. “I
want to show you something.”
* * * * *
The castle was much larger than it looked from the front. Once we reached the first
floor, it took several minutes to walk from the northwest tower to the south wing.
Before we entered the lab, I heard the yipping and whining of dogs and braced myself
for all kinds of grotesque animal head transplants gone wrong.
Fortunately, all I saw was a variety of very normal dogs in large kennels. Most of
them went wild with excitement at the sight of us, jumping and pacing and barking,
begging for attention.
A dark-haired man poked his head around another door and then walked in. “Colin, Dr.
Kilmartin,” he said enthusiastically, wiping his hands on his coveralls before offering
one to Julian. “Sorry about the racket, but they’re going crazy being cooped up inside
and I haven’t exercised them all yet.”
“Not a problem, Michael,” Julian said as they shook hands. “I just wanted Dr. McBride
to meet our friends here.”
Colin squatted by a kennel housing two very similar black toy poodles. “Victor and
Hugo, meet Dr. Rachel McBride. Rachel, Victor and Hugo.”
Sending him a quizzical glance, I squatted, too, and reached through the chain link
door with my fingers. “Nice to meet you,” I said as they both licked at me.
“Victor and Hugo were our first successful reciprocal transplant subjects two years
ago,” Julian said.
My eyes widened and I stared hard at their necks. I couldn’t see a thing. “That can’t
be.”
“Ah, but it is. Look at Hugo’s neck. Feel it.”
Colin opened the small trap door at the bottom and reached in for one of the dogs.
Taking the wriggling , wagging little body, I managed to secure him in the crook of
my arm long enough to get an up-close look at his neck.
“Oh my God,” I breathed, tracing the barely-visible scar all the way around with my
fingers. “You actually did it?”
“We did. His head was originally on Victor’s body and vice-versa.”
“I can’t believe it. They’re both…”
“Perfectly functional in every way,” Julian finished with a satisfied smile. “In fact,
both have sired a litter of puppies since the surgery.”
My mind reeled as I stroked the dog’s head. “But how?”
“We devised a chemical process called neurocode marking,” Colin explained. “New axons
tend to follow previously traced pathways, and by chemically marking them in both
bodies prior to surgery, we can dictate which neural pathways the regenerated axons
should follow—kind of like laying down a highly individualized trail of breadcrumbs
for each of them.”
I looked around. All the kennels contained pairs of almost identical dogs. “So all
of these were reciprocal transplants?”
Julian nodded. “All eight pairs, yes.”
“And how many more were unsuccessful?”
“At least that many,” he said flatly. “But none after Victor and Hugo. None after
we finally hit upon the proper neurochemical compound.”
“And you believe you can achieve this same level of function in human subjects?”
“I know we can,” he said. “Everything the donor body was able to accomplish, the recipient
should be able to accomplish. With the exception, of course, of occupations that require
a great deal of knowledge and training, such as musician, artist or surgeon. The donor
body will lack muscle memory, and probably the fine motor skills, for pursuits like
neurosurgery, but it’s a small price to pay for an otherwise full life.”
While Colin returned the dog to the kennel, Julian reached out to help me up.
I shook my head in wonder. “If this operation is successful, do you realize what it
could mean?”
“Besides an untimely end to wheelchair manufacturers?”
“Julian, how can you joke about this?”
“I’m not joking. The neurocoding process alone could save thousands of people from
wheelchairs every year.”
“
If
it’s successful.”
“It will be.”
I sighed. “All right, you’ve convinced me to stay.
But
,” I added, “it’s all got to be strictly by the book and documented every step of
the way. You’re skating on some very thin ice here, both morally and ethically, and
it won’t take much for everyone involved to fall through.”
“I promise you, Rachel, I’ve documented everything thoroughly. When we get back to
the—” Julian pulled his phone out of his jeans pocket and glanced at it. “Excuse me,
but I really must take this. Colin, why don’t you show Rachel to the exercise facilities
and have Hans prepare a training schedule for her. We can resume our tour after lunch.”
* * * * *
Bangenschloss was bursting at the seams with sadists.
Hans, it turned out, was a buff blond sadist of the personal trainer variety who didn’t
let the fact that I’d just flown in the previous day stand in the way of his plan
for salvaging my pathetic physique. When Colin made it clear we had nowhere to be
until lunch at one o’clock, Hans ordered me to the locker room to change into my workout
clothes. I was simultaneously thrilled and terrified to inform him I hadn’t brought
any.
Then I was simultaneously irked and relieved to be informed my locker was stocked
with everything I needed for an effective workout, including cross-training shoes.
Apparently shirts didn’t number among the things I needed for my workout to be effective.
I slunk out of the locker room feeling conspicuously naked in black spandex pants
and a white sports bra. Colin had changed, too, but he got to wear loose shorts and
a wife-beater.
Grinning like the rat he was, he went straight to the treadmill and started at a slow
jog.
Hans went straight for my vital statistics, humming and clucking and generally looking
very concerned as he jotted down measurements for my height, weight, thighs, hips
and waist.
When he got to my bust, I was surprised and a little unnerved to see an appreciative
smile curving his lips. “
Reichliche Titten
,” he murmured, as the backs of his fingers brushed over them. “I cannot wait to see
them freed of such confinement.”
I rolled my eyes. “You wouldn’t happen to be related to Dirk, would you?”
His smile widened. “
Ja
. He is my brother.”
Great. Did that mean there was chance he’d actually see my breasts freed of their
confinement?
The idea was less intimidating than intriguing, which disturbed me a bit. One day
into the lifestyle and I was already shedding inhibitions at an alarming rate.
After Hans wrote down the measurement, he pulled out calipers and began assessing
my body fat, which almost made me want to go back to bust measuring. That, at least,
had made him smile.
“Soft,” he pronounced, with a scowl, “which is splendid
für irhe Titten
, but not so much
für ihre Arme
. We will fix.”
“Don’t go overboard on the arms yet,” said Colin, who’d already moved on to the strength
training machines. “She has to be able to operate for at least the next couple of
weeks.”
“
Ja, ja
,” Hans muttered with a roll of his hazel eyes.
He put me on the treadmill for a ten-minute “warmup” that left me gasping and then
proceeded to torture me with circuit training, alternating between sets on the leg,
ab and back machines and short bursts on the treadmill. Then I went head-to-head with
the BOSU ball, but by that time my leg muscles were already trembling too much to
maintain balance and the ball kicked my butt.
“Pussy,” Hans snorted, squatting beside me when I flopped out on my back.
“Is that a request?” I joked, still gasping for breath.
“Is that an offer?” he countered, laying his big hand between my legs without waiting
for confirmation.
I rolled away, jackknifing to a sitting position. “I was kidding!”
He shrugged and stood up. “If you’ve been properly introduced to Dirk, you should
know better than to tease a German.”
“He’s right.” Colin pulled me to my feet and handed me a small towel. “Germans are
pretty hardcore.”