Authors: Paula Bradley
Lucas Recine, Chief of Hematology, cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. Manny Silverstein said softly, “Okay, Luke, put the icing on the cake.”
With a nervous cough, Dr. Recine picked up a few papers, staring at them through his Ben Franklin glasses. “These are the results of her CBC and RBC. Electrolytes are normal; red blood count is high, white count, high. And she has as many different types of platelets as I have ever seen. In fact, there are several I have
never
seen. Her immune system is at peak proficiency. I would be hard pressed to think of any known virus she couldn’t fight off with very little effort.”
Lucas Recine was a geneticist whose published research was widely read and quoted. He was also in charge of one of the most highly regarded DNA research labs in the world. Associated with St. Vincent’s Hospital and Griffin University, it was housed in its own building, maintaining its integrity and impartiality by being funded through private grants and investors.
He picked up a fairly thick sheaf of paper, clutching it as he looked at Art Bouzane. “You don’t know how close to the truth you came with that statement about a second childhood.” His eyes stared into Doctor Silverstein’s. Lucas tried to keep his voice professionally neutral, but failed miserably.
“These are the partial results of her DNA coding. It’s more of a ... I’ve found evidence that—” He took a deep breath and, buoyed by the look of encouragement on Manny’s face, said, “We have evidence—no,
proof
—that her DNA is remarkably atypical. Using a technique called Pulse Field Electrophoresis to separate chromosomes in an electrical field, we counted forty-eight chromosomes rather than the expected forty-six. We found the two extra to be, shall we say, unorthodox.” He paused again, wiping his brow. Doctor Silverstein leaned across the table toward him.
“Don’t keep us in suspense, Luke. Remember, you’re among friends. At the very least, their reports are just as
meshugga
as yours.” They all laughed at his attempt to lighten the tension.
His eyes flashing with excitement, Doctor Recine stated, “Simply put, we’ve found segments in Ms. Carpenter’s DNA that have never been seen before. They are not mutations of known DNA, they are
in addition to
. Regardless of what it may appear to be, I’ll bet my reputation that we are
not
seeing a case of accelerated evolutionary development.
“The Hayflick Finite Doubling Potential Phenomenon speculates that aging is due to a limited number of cell divisions. One theory is that the recurrent loss of telomeres at the end of chromosomes underlies the mechanism of cell death.”
Art Bouzane held up his hand like a student in a classroom and Lucas smiled at him. “Sorry, am I getting carried away?”
“Not at all, Luke. Your enthusiasm is contagious, but for those of us who are unenlightened, what is a ‘telomere’?” Doctor Recine replied, “It’s the repetitive sequence at the end of the DNA molecule. Just stop me if I’m getting too long-winded.
“Anyway, as an example, stem cells of skin, bowel, and marrow double only fifty times. In cells that are immortal, however, something called ‘telomerase’ extends the telomeres when the cell divides. So, if this process is reversed by continuously adding DNA sequences and replacing those cells that are lost, they will become immortal.”
The air crackled with expectancy as Lucas Recine removed his half-glasses. His eyes were glowing with the excitement that only an exceptional scientific discovery could put there.
“I can only speculate on the relationship between the additional chromosome and the overactive telomerase, but it may somehow contribute to creating an immortal individual by making
all
cells immortal. Think of it as cancer in all the cells: but rather than destructive, it’s constructive and protective.”
In varying degrees of shock, they watched him bounce in his chair. His words raced after each other like horses heading for the home stretch in the Kentucky Derby. His voice hushed in reverence, he said, “The theory is that we are programmed to die. However, in Ms. Carpenter’s case, the aging process has not only stopped, it is reversing itself.”
Luke scanned the stupefied faces before him. “We found telomerase where it shouldn’t be: in the cells that should have a finite existence. Not only has it stopped the destruction of the cell, it appears to be repairing the damage! Thymus tissue, gone by the late teens, has regenerated; cellularity of the bone marrow has increased; production of nitric oxide has increased and is keeping her blood vessels wide open; hepatic blood flow is the same as that of a child’s. Although the dermis and epidermis are of normal thickness, the hair covering her body is denser. Thicker. No evidence of any osteoarthritis even in the areas of her surgical procedures. No sign of presbyopia. And,” he said, each word annunciated and spoken in awe, “absolutely
no
brain cell loss.”
He paused to catch his breath, placing both palms flat on the table as if he meant to use his arms to elevate out of his chair. Staring momentarily into the eyes of each doctor, he ended with Manny Silverstein. With a flourish like the sound of coronets, his conclusion rang out:
“In my opinion, with all that we have seen in the last week, Mariah Carpenter is evolving into a sentient being never before seen on this planet!”
In the protracted silence, Doctor Silverstein spoke. Gone were the avuncular mannerisms that gave him the nickname “Doctor Manny.” He was now Doctor Menachim Reuben Silverstein, Chief of Staff, St. Vincent’s Hospital, San José, California, one of the most prestigious hospitals in the United States—formerly General Silverstein of the Israeli army, a military genius in the Yom Kippur War.
“Colleagues, let us not forget that we are talking about a human being, not some research project. While these discoveries are, at the same time, bewildering and exciting, we must remember Mariah Carpenter needs our attention as would any other patient. Not to get off the track, but with all your findings, I am now inclined to believe this coma she’s in is no accident. And, let me add, she is keeping herself healthy and stable without our assistance.”
He stopped, looking at each doctor. They just stared at him, almost holding their breaths.
“We are well aware that research scientists and the news media would sell their souls for what we have here. However, we cannot allow this information to go beyond this room. Let me repeat in case something was not clear: at the risk of sounding melodramatic, this woman’s life is in our hands. If what we have discovered leaks to the press, she will be subjected to the most inhumane treatment ever before witnessed. I’m sure that conjures up in you what it does in me. The government would remove her to a facility that would perform never-ending experiments with her mind and body, including invasive surgical procedures ... all in the name of science
.”
Manny shook his head. “We have no standard against which to measure her. We have no method to determine why these physical and mental changes are occurring. However as physicians, we have sworn an oath to hold information about any patient completely confidential. And if there was ever a time to keep that pledge close to your heart, this is it. Believe me, this oath will not be broken in my hospital.
“Now, let’s talk about her present and future treatment.”
They discussed what they would do if she remained comatose indefinitely. They decided as a group what further tests would be necessary for her well-being and which ones were strictly for research purposes. They formulated a strategy on how to keep her records classified, as if it was a clandestine military operation.
At the end of the three hour brainstorming session, all of them had not only a clear understanding of their roles, but an agreed upon plan inspired by their Chief. Manny Silverstein could be your best friend or your worst enemy, depending on how you treated your patients. His staff saw the soft blue of his eyes turn the color of polished steel as he received affirmation from each one.
“I advise you to remind all the people in your respective departments about their responsibilities to this patient. If this information leaks out, I will personally fire everyone involved immediately and hire the most expensive attorney I can find for Ms. Carpenter’s law suit.”
His staff left the conference room murmuring to each other: Manny remained behind, tipped back in his swivel chair, his eyes looking skyward.
“What kind of
tsoris
have you dumped on me, God? How do I treat this woman who can no longer be considered human?”
But no amount of speculation would come vaguely close to what he really had on his hands.
Mariah knew he was about to leave when she felt his mind begin to withdraw. Desperately, she reached out to him telepathically in an attempt to keep him with her, if only for a few more minutes.
Her pupils dilated as her consciousness was abruptly seized by an overwhelming force. It compressed her essence until she felt like a molecular fragment in the universe. Light—brilliant, explosive, like Fourth of July fireworks—detonated in a riot of colors before her eyes. Illogically, it appeared more brilliant at a further distance.
She was consumed by one emotion: terror. Adrenaline surged dangerously through her body; her heart hammered so forcefully she thought it might punch a hole in her chest; her head threatened to implode from the increasing external pressure.
In a flash of understanding, she willed her mind to stop resisting ... and the fear subsided. As abruptly as it had begun, it was over. Her heart rate slowed to normal and the pressure surrounding her head lessened. Inhaling deeply, she opened her eyes.
Mariah found herself in a dark room, lit only by a glaring, large-screen monitor. She was not able to see what was on the screen because two men were blocking her view.
She turned her head to the left when she heard a gasp. Smiling radiantly at the one who made the sound, delight at her own success shone so brightly her face was almost a secondary source of illumination in the room. The two in front of the screen turned quickly, the shock on their faces a mirror image of their associate’s.
“Father,” she breathed, clapping her hands together like a thrilled child.
Emmanuel was speechless. His mind balked at what he saw and he involuntarily took a step backwards. Impossible! Even Anorasians could not achieve astral projection at such a distance. Nevertheless, she was here, her joyous smile a solace to his heart. He had not seen it since the death of her friend, Frannie.
She could now see him in total. Polished black boots peeked out from beneath the cuffs of a one-piece burgundy jumpsuit, the collar and sleeves trimmed with gold and black threads. Her eyes went back to his face, happy to see wonder rather than disapproval in those eyes that spoke to her heart.
The two at the screen now stood before her, their faces a study in amazement, disbelief, and delight.
The shorter of the two was Asian with skin the color of gold. A russet colored garment flowed loosely from shoulders to waist where a gold chain belted it. The legs of his willow green trousers were unrestricted until they gathered at the ankles. Well-worn black slippers encased his feet. His right hand held his left fist against his chest as though forcing himself to keep from touching her. Once over the shock of her presence, joy lit his serene face; he chuckled softly, the sound like tinkling wind chimes in a gentle breeze.
The one next to him was not as composed, an unrestrained
whoop
! of delight bursting from his lips. His complexion was swarthier than the one she had followed, and he was taller and lither. A sleeveless tunic of bright saffron covered his chest and capped his shoulders, displaying muscular biceps when he planted his fists on his hip. The tunic ended just above the belt of his snug fitting black trousers which came to mid-calf only. His laughing eyes, the color of bittersweet chocolate, traveled over her with the fiercely protective look of a brother reassuring himself that his sister was unharmed.
Mariah’s smile faltered, replaced by her own look of bewilderment. She scowled, staring more intently into the faces of the three men.
She inspects us as closely as we do her
. The thought came from the one with the laughing eyes. Unexpectedly, his name burst into her mind like he’d grabbed her hand and pumped it up and down:
al-Amin
.
Yes
, she thought,
he has the proud and arrogant look of an Arabian prince
. He laughed appreciatively and Mariah blushed, thankful her assessing thoughts had not offended him.
Turning to the Asian, obviously the eldest of the three, her mind filled gently with his name:
Siddhartha
. Mariah pictured herself sitting at his feet while he spoke of enlightenment to humankind, a way for man to save himself from the suffering of the soul. His demeanor had such a calming effect that she was filled with peace. His smile grew warmer still; she imagined a brook slipping over smooth stones amid the delicate plants in his garden.
Mariah returned her gaze to the one she called Father. She felt his heart beat with an abiding love, a gift to her spirit. It was this passion that had made her psychically reach for him as he left.
Emmanuel
, her mind received, a name that evoked images of a fire burning in a hearth and laughing children clamoring for his attention.
Mariah closed her eyes and took a shaky breath. Ancient history flooded her brain as she tried to comprehend the enormity of what was before her.
Siddhartha. Of the family Gautama. Known as Gautama Buddha.
al-Amin. Born in Mecca of the clan Hashim. al-Amin, the name meaning “the trusted one.” al-Amin, given at birth to Muhammad, or “prophet.”
Emmanuel. Hebrew name meaning, “God with us,” given to the son born to Mary and Joseph.
“How...?” The magnitude of the implication made her dizzy, her mouth so dry she could not get another word out.
“We three were cloned prior to our death. The replicas were created to take our place. They were not sentient, but made of plasmatics designed by ... by others, not ourselves. We were brought here.”
Her head shaking slightly from side to side, Mariah tried to negate what she heard. She was, at once, confused, thrilled, and frightened.
Emmanuel reached out as if to stroke her hair. Before she could bombard him with questions, her eyes widened.
Something
...
Her eyes slid over Emmanuel’s shoulder—no, not there. Swiveling her head, she stared past al-Amin, continuing to turn until she faced the back wall. Although her vision was sharp enough to pierce the darkness, she saw nothing. Yes, she felt a presence, like the four of them were not alone.
With a shake of her head, Mariah turned back, her eyes suddenly locking onto the image on the vid-screen. Siddhartha and al-Amin stepped back; she walked hesitantly toward the monitor.
Mariah saw herself collapsed on the kitchen floor, Thomas and Gabriel kneeling, one on each side, as they stared in shock. What the hell had happened? The last thing she remembered was the conversation with Emmanuel as they stood in the blue light. Had she died? No, her chest was rising and falling, albeit shallowly.
Mariah was sad. She wanted to tell Thomas where she was and that he shouldn’t worry, but she was unable to communicate.
The Three stood close to her, relieved that she watched the vid-screen with no sign of fear, only deep interest as the emergency team arrived and loaded her onto a stretcher.
Her eyes drifted to the upper right corner of the screen. Green fluorescent numerals against a black background seemed to pulse a rhythm similar to her heartbeat:
She was sure the numbers didn’t come from the wires attached to her chest as she was wheeled into the ambulance. Although they meant nothing to her, she intuitively knew they were of some importance to the ones here.
Unwilling to think more about whom these three men were, Mariah became interested in her immediate surroundings. Her eyes returned to the vid-screen, unaware that she was the only sentient being in the Mobile Exploratory Research Station relay room who was unaffected by the numerals which had caused a commotion just milliseconds before her shocking arrival.
Ton Re’Aleris and Ton Re-Sateron, cloaked in mantles of invisibility and unable to communicate psychically with one another, were adrift in their own thoughts at the far end of the room.
While Siddhartha and al-Amin had maintained a vigil at the vid-screen, the Anorasians had withdrawn to discuss the female’s present state of unnatural sleep and how it might affect their progress in liberating their race.
When Emmanuel depressed the “Return” button on his transport belt, the blue-white glow of the hyperspatial transport surrounded his energy shield. Hidden by the glow’s intensity, the corridor in space created by the Hyper ST collapsed before vanishing. Right before it expanded to full size aboard the relay room, the MERS immediately translated the new reading currently glowing on the vid-screen.
Initially stunned, they had not even begun to discuss this latest development when the shimmering glow of the HST announced Emmanuel’s arrival—followed directly by the astonishing appearance of the female.
Sensing a second disruption in the energy field the second Emmanuel appeared, the geneticists responded instinctively. Employing a rarely used protective mode genetically programmed in them since the time they first came to awareness, they enveloped themselves in cloaks of undetectability by throwing up a psychic mind block. It made them virtual prisoners within their own consciousness.
The block was as debilitating and as anxiety-producing for Anorasians as loss of sight and hearing was for humans. It was also non-breachable by nearly ninety-five percent of all psychics. Approximately three percent of the Anorasian population was at level four; they might find a fissure in the block, but would deplete an extraordinary amount of energy in so doing. Aleris, who recorded a psychic reading of 4.7, had minimal success when she conducted her first (and last) experiment in trying to break one. Sateron, whose psychic energy recorded 4.4, had never been able to penetrate a block no matter how determined he had been.
Noble
, he reflected
. She has integrity. She does not violate the privacy of the Three by invading their minds and stealing their thoughts even though, for her, t’would be as difficult as breathing
.
Does she realize she has the capability? Of course she does, you addled cretin. This confinement and lack of psychic communication has raddled your intellect. Why has she not breached our blocks and seen through these blasted mantles? I almost wish she would; we would then not have to hide like cowards
.
Without the calming presence of his colleague, Sateron’s dark thoughts continued.
What have we done? Will we fall prey to a rogue psychic with power untrained and extravagant
? It was driving him made, not being able to move beneath this abhorrent shroud.