Genetics
by Jem
Aura ©
I am a molecular biologist. I work in
a high tech lab for a leading genetic engineering company. However, my story
begins and ends in my basement, where I have my own lab of sorts. Really, my interests
lie in phenomenon of aging in animals, and particularly in humans. The secrets
lie somewhere in the intricacies of DNA.
No one, not even I, have grasped the vastness of the information
contained in the double-helix molecule. I realized quite a while ago, that the
patterns of human development, behavior, aging, healing, procreation, etc. all
have their secrets buried inside the molecule. To spare you a long technical
tirade of terms, theories, formulas, and micro-biological
science, I will move immediately to the gist of the matter:
During my schooling at a top tech
university, I had a long philosophical discussion with my professor about the
future of science in molecular biology. He assured me that it is the one field
of science that has the most potential for huge and numerous discoveries to
benefit mankind. The company I work for has no
interest in mankind per se, except for what they may
have in their bank accounts. Consequently, I developed my own private lab some twenty five years ago. During this discussion, we also
covered some "methodologies" that a lowly lab rat such as myself could employ to find success in the field. I have
always felt that the really big discoveries in science
are usually born of revelation, rather than strict scientific dogma – a single
person making an observation of some coincidental event that defies
explanation, but eventually comes to enlighten the world.
My professor was fascinated in my
philosophy and wanted to encourage me any way he could. He
unloaded two solid hours of ideas on me – directions in research that a single
person in a private lab could endeavor upon with some modicum for success. One idea in particular piqued my interest -
mainly because it was simple to do and required very little equipment or
capitol investment - the main investment being time, patience, and diligence. I
began by examining the DNA of mice. Specifically, I was studying the changes in
the DNA molecule in subsequent generations of cells. In affect, I was trying to
discover why cells age, hoping to shed light on how and why animals grow old.
The discovery of "tassels" at the ends of the DNA strands, and the
fact that the length of the tassels is an indication of the age of the cell
line, is not new, but that is where the key must lie. I was looking for the reason, the mechanical process behind the tassels shortening
each time the cell divides - aging the cell. The tassels act like a fuse or
timer on the longevity of the line of cells. BUT, in a
newly fertilized egg, the tassels are regenerated. There is a
mechanism within the code of DNA that allows the aging program to reset back to
infancy – or possibly anywhere in between. That was the knowledge I
sought in my quest.
Twelve years after I began my
research, I had filled twenty-six journals with observations, and outgrown
seven computers with the data from all the cultures I had been tracking,
including full data records with scanned images and DNA profiles. As is the
case with many discoveries, all of that data had nothing to do with what I
discovered on this particular night. I
had been walking around the lab with a sample of DNA. It appeared as though it
had gotten mixed up with another sample. I was trying
to figure out how I had been so careless. What I finally realized was that the
sample I had in my hand was in fact the correct sample. I had developed a bullet proof system for cataloguing the specimens and had it
so well ingrained into my routine that to simply "mix-up" something
was virtually impossible. The reason I thought that I had mixed them up was
that the sample was from Bessy, my oldest mouse, and
the DNA in this sample appeared to belong to a much younger mouse.
I took another sample from Bessy and examined it.
This sample showed her to be just as old as she should be. So I ran DNA
profiles on Bessy and the suspect sample: They
matched. So the samples did not get mixed up. I tested
for age again: Bessy old, sample young. Wow, what the hell
was going on?
Three days passed. It was autumn and
the breezes were wonderful. I had the window in my bedroom open. At two in the
morning I sat straight up in bed, jumped up, put my robe on and ran down to my
lab. Subconsciously I had developed a theory about Bessy's
young sample. I have a history of cooking an idea in the back chambers of my
mind and then, Wham - the turkey timer pops in the middle of the night. I had
discovered that only part of the sample actually had DNA that had changed. What
I had not considered was that they may all be from the
same cell. The reason this was not a consideration before is that there was no
sign of aging in the younger cells. They were all the same. So
they must have all been changed for the same reason, at the same time. But what if one cell somehow reverted to having long DNA tassles, and then started producing cells with the same
length tassels, its ability to shorten the tassels having been disabled
somehow.
Eventually I concluded that a
contaminant was introduced at the exact moment when
the one cell was dividing, and it made the DNA believe that it was forming into
an undifferentiated mouse cell – similar to a fertilized egg. Adult cells are
always reproducing in a specific environment within the animal’s body with very
little change, ever. Only under laboratory conditions can cells continue to
live outside the body, where conditions can vary greatly. What if I
accidentally produced an environment that fooled the DNA into believing it was
supposed to form into a different type of cell. This may have happened in
laboratories many, many times. My luck is that I just happened to be looking at
the right thing - tassles, and, of all the cell types
it could have mistakenly formed into, it happened to be an undifferentiated
one, the only type that has long tassles. Now I had
to find the contaminant.
I
snuck the sample into the lab where I work and used the scanning electron
microscope and ultra-high resolution spectrometer to examine the sample for
impurities. What I found was not unusual, but it was
undoubtedly contaminated. Having had the windows in my house open during the
cool weather, some of my neighbors lawn fertilizer had apparently drifted in
the lab window and found it's way into my sample.
Thirteen years after this discovery, I
had a new story to tell. Indeed the presence of high concentrations of nitrogen
and a drastic but temporary shift in PH caused the cell to divide into an exact
duplicate but with reverted tassels. In the years that followed, I became
obsessed with discovering how to turn the discovery into a practical application.
Part of that quest had me investigating the nature of the tassels themselves:
How does length affect the cell, organ, tissue, person, and behavior. What I
found overwhelmed me. In affect, the tassels are a group of instructions that
direct the growth and maturity processes of the whole body. This means they
also have a drastic impact on human behavior, i.e.
childishness, romance, gender specific
behaviors, etc., which is fascinating but really has nothing to do with the
story. In any case, the tassels are a programmed set of instructions that
direct all aspects of age in the body and mind. Their length determines which
aspects of the program apply to the specific age, and the missing parts are
those related to a younger age, and no longer needed. But
the only way for me to further my research was to find a way to revert an
entire body of cells and study the results. The most promising way, (and the
only way I could even imagine) was in the pharmaceutical technique of
microencapsulating. Basically manufacturing a nitrogen
rich, PH specific agent that releases inside the cell at the exact time of DNA
separation. Needless to say, it was impossible to do
alone in my small lab. I did not dare share my discovery with anyone. I had to
trick a pharmaceutical company into believing that the micron
sized capsules were for research into crop fertilization, and a promise
to share the profits when the invention proves a success.
My first test was on Bessy's great great great great great
great.................. granddaughter. Even she was old by now. I
began a series of injections with my micron-sized capsules - tagged with
a synthetic molecule that looks like glucose - and suspended in simple saline.
It wasn't that difficult to figure out a way to get
the body to transport the tiny packages into the cells. The real trick was
getting the package to open at the moment of cell
division. This was where the pharmaceutical company really got suspicious. I
gave them specs for a synthetic polymer additive that reacts with the enzymes
released by the cell when it divides - bursting the capsule, along with an
incomprehensible set of genetic data on corn plants, with some gibberish notes
on chemical reactivity, blah, blah, blah...
Eventually they bought it.
Bessy's
multiple-great grandaughter showed no ill affects
from the injections. I kept her under close watch. I had a web-cam focused on
her so I could watch her from work.
After the fourth day, I was feeling the dread of failure seeping into my
mind. That night, as I was doing my rounds locking the house, I heard some
unusual noises coming from the cages. It was her. She
was sick. Very sick. Convulsing and soaking wet with
sweat. One of her ears was bleeding and her eyes were oozing yellowish puss.
Her breathing was fast but not congested. I donned some gloves and picked her
up. She was unconscious. Considering her fever, evident even through my gloves,
I let some cool water run over her under the faucet. It startled her at first
but then she settled down and actually seemed more comfortable. She sniffed in
my direction but fell unconscious again. I dried her off and moved her cage
into my room.
In the morning
I was dismayed to find her curled up in the corner barely breathing. When I
tried to rouse her, some of her fur came loose and left a pink
blotched bald spot on her back. Her skin was cracking and her nose was
dry. I took some pictures, applied some ointment to her and had to leave for
work. I expected to find her dead when I returned. On the contrary, she was awake and walking
around. She now had open wounds over two thirds of her body and almost all of
her hair was gone. She had emptied her water bottle, eaten half of the food in
her dish, and her abdomen was grotesquely distended.
She had terrible diahrea. I took more pictures and
drew some blood.
Three weeks later, the old mouse had
fully recovered. And to my greatest possible delight,
She was obviousely now a much younger, more vibrant
mouse. It has since become apparent that
cells with drastically different tassel lengths do not coexist very well together. Her
body had to painfully regress in its programmed age,
basically rejecting cells that failed to revert - hence the open wounds,
diarrhea, congestion, and puss from the nose and eyes.
That was six months ago.
The mouse has since shown no signs of
aging. I had managed to procure enough
of the "serum" to test it on a human being. I spent long hours
contemplating the ethics behind such a move. It would be impossible to try on
myself. Who would do the recording of data while I'm
unconscious? Basically, I didn't care. As long as I don't misrepresent the risks, and I clearly and truthfully
explain my research, and I obtain very clearly written consent.... Shit, I'm obsessed
with this and I'm going to try it no matter what, and I can't explain the
predicted outcome to them, they would think I'm quacked. They can judge me on
the results.
I ran an ad and began interviewing
candidates. Of the seventeen people who answered the ad, I settled on a 62 year old woman who had recently been diagnosed with
leukemia. I promised her a very good chance of a cure. I was genuinely hopeful
that the strong impulse of the reverted cells to aggressively expel and expand
would at the least put her illness into remission - if not cure it all
together. She was a handsome woman, with a fit body and petite build.
Sometimes I think I'm
so smart. I arrogantly believe that I think of everything, all pitfalls and
possibilities. At the same time I know I make
mistakes. If I know this latter fact, the how can the former belief exist
within me? This is how I am able to dive
head first into a live human test thinking I'm so
brilliant. Here's
what I didn't consider: What if it
doesn't go smoothly and predictably?
What are all of the possible outcomes that don't
include me accepting the Nobel Prize? Needless to say, when the woman (Tessa -
originally from Ukraine) fell into full coma and began to experience hair loss
and blotchy skin, puffy abdomen, diarrhea, bleeding out of everywhere, and Oh
My GOD what have I gotten myself into?...
I am not a physician - nor a bedpan nurse. I had to constantly change
sheets, administer I.V.'s round the clock not just to
infuse the drug, but to keep her hydrated and fed. I
had to give her sponge baths, apply antibiotic ointments, and hope that her
blood loss did not kill her.
Three months passed and there was no
improvement to report on her condition. On the other hand, there was much to
report about my condition. I was falling apart. I couldn’t
sleep, I couldn’t concentrate at work. All I could do was
conduct damage control and try to see this through to some kind of conclusion.
It took eight weeks to administer enough of the serum,
according to the calculations I made as to the number of cells in the human
body and the maximum rate of delivery via an IV of my serum – Her body simply
could not absorb the saline at a rate fast enough to speed up the
transformation – if it was even occurring at all. My chief fear was that
the incompatibility war between the age differing cells in her body was being
won by the older cells rather than the younger, due to the slow rate if
infusion.
She had begun to awaken for a few
hours each morning. I would get her up and make her walk and exercise as much as
possible, and then give her a bath - before she passed out again. The most
disagreeable symptom was her eyes. Asleep, she looked like a normal, bald,
blotchy skinned, bleeding woman. Awake she looked like a monster straight out
of Night of the Living Dead. Her eyes were bulging, bloody balls with a black
dot in the middle. Thank god she could not see. If she
caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, well, who knows. Every day I would have to reassure her that
all was well and going as planned. At this point I was aware that I may be experiencing the life I will be living until my end -
caring for my experiment gone horribly wrong. However, after the thirteenth
week, she stopped asking me questions. In fact, she lost her memory altogether.
She began calling me her little Bobby. Bobby was her son's name. She would wax
into subjects that spun around and around with no sense of direction nor
completion. Something like "You know Bobby, when I drive in my bath, I
love the yellow smells. I just can't remember where I put the oven the other
day I went walking by the.... by the way where did I put my oven?"
Many times during the long months I contemplated checking her into a hospital and
walking away. I certainly could have. There were articles in the newspaper
about her. Apparently her family was wondering why she hadn’t
turned up dead from her illness and where her money was? But for reasons I
cannot understand, I kept up the routine for eight and a half months. Her skin
had slowly deteriorated into something akin to a cross between wet cardboard
and a rawhide doggie chew. And it smelled GAWD
AWFUL! Nothing would ever rid my home of
it, not to mention my mind. No amount of deoderant
soap or Lysol seemed to cut it.
In the shower one day, her eyelid shed
a huge scale of skin that floated to the drain. It was thick and stiff except
for the creases where it had been folding on itself as she blinked. Examining
her eye, I was amazed to see normal, if not slightly pink, skin for an eyelid.
I began examining her skin and could see where there were voids underneath,
where the skin is separating in places like large blisters. I had been avoiding
looking too closely at her - guilt or disgust, or both. I began picking - then
peeling her skin. Large pockets of puss sprayed out as I punctured the huge
blisters. Ahhhgh the SMELL, But this was the corner. She was turning
the corner. If I had been thinking rationally, I would have realized that
comparing a mouse's life span to a human's, it would take about 9 months for the
transformation to begin turning the corner.
My life, through my own choosing, has
become a grand rollercoaster. I climbed to the high pinnacle
of my initial discovery, plunged to the pit of hopelessness trying to find a
use for it, then climbing up to another pinnacle, named Bessy's
Grandaughter, Then riding Tessa's condition to the
blackest abyss, and now, with my new "daughter" I am again awakening
into the light, above the clouds on my rollercoaster of success.
Four more months have passed and she
is beautiful. A perfect young girl of maybe 11 years.
Eyes clear and eyesight perfect. Mind restored and sharp, all memories intact.
One minor problem I've
been trying to deal with is that Tessa is extremely grateful to me. Having no
recollection of the horrors her body experienced, waking as if reborn into a
new young body, and with the mind of a worldly adult woman, she is insistent on
showing me her gratification in ways you might be able to imagine, but I cannot
long contemplate. The problem is exacerbated by the behavioral programming that
is enacted in her younger body - specifically, hormones that trigger the
natural promiscuity and flirtatiousness of a young blossoming girl, mixed with
the knowledge and desires of an experienced woman. Her argument is that she is a grown woman
with a new body - perfectly legal - or at least not
illegal due to the lack of laws to cover such a situation. But
I'm not swayed in my convictions. I could just see me trying to justify my
actions to a judge and jury. In any case, I'm not letting her
out of my sight either - at that I feel like a protective father. I must admit however, I am rather fond of our
"check-ups", professionally speaking.
In my lab, on the table under the
broad examination light, Tessa lies wrapped in her robe. I make a ritual of
opening her robe and extracting her arms from the long sleeves. We’ve been through this so many times. The routine has
shifted considerably from purely scientific (and somewhat unpleasant) to
scientifically insignificant (and something I look forward to with great
anticipation). Now, Using various
ambiguous instruments and ointments, slowly I prod, squeeze, pinch, push, rub,
caress, massage and very closely examine and photograph her complete
anatomy. During these exams
we would talk. Amid discussions of getting her enrolled in school and managing
her estate, I would find my eye wandering to her modest bosom. My hands would
naturally reach out to satisfy my curiosity.
She watched me with knowing eyes, and I would squirm a little under her
gaze - knowing (but ignoring the fact that) she has the mind of a grown woman.
She would let these discrepancies lie.
Once, in the living room, she came to
me on the couch, rested her head on my shoulder, and said, "Isn't it time
for another check-up?" Wanting to
oblige, but too tired to go through the whole charade, I suggested that we do
it on the couch, while I watch the football game.
I knew that my professional detachment
regarding Tessa had been lessening considerably, but this was blatantly
unethical. I didn’t even bother getting my logbook to
note the examination had even taken place.
The fact is, I love her dearly, and that emotion clouds my
judgment.
Now, with her lying across my lap, my
right hand caressing the soft skin of her legs and bottom, while the left
scratched her back, I knew only too well that my
manhood was noticeable to her. Again, I elected to believe that she was too
young to understand such things, at least until she slid off the couch to her
knees on the floor in front of me, looked me in the eyes and said, "Look,
The way I see it, you need to do research into the natural behavior and
tendencies of your subjects. You can't treat me like a
child, because I'm not a child. And I'm going to prove it to you right
now."
So Tessa, in
her 62 year old mind and modified body, began to open my trousers.
“Tessa, please.
I cannot allow you to do this.”
She paused and looked up at him at
length before she spoke. At times there was a wisdom
in her eyes that belied the young girl she appeared to be. This was one of
those times. “Look,” Tessa began, “I am grateful to you more than you will ever
know. But I am not doing this to repay you. This is
what I need. This is what I crave – and must have. If you cannot provide for me then I will be forced to leave you and find what I need to survive
somewhere else, with someone else. I do
not relish the thought of that. What type of man would I fall in with that
could satisfy my needs? Would he believe me when I say I am really an old
woman? I can hear him saying so, with sarcasm, just to satisfy his
needs.”
Her words struck him in the chest as
if a cannonball had been fired point blank. He was
fiercely protective of her – and until this moment he
believed it to be a fatherly instinct. However, hearing her speak of another
man, alb he fictional,
his true emotional landscape had been veiled by a sense of ownership and
security. Once that veil was lifted, raw jealousy
pumped into every limb of his being, and consumed his consciousness.
But he is not
a violent man. And his control, although teetering on
a razors edge, was due to the fact that he was being offered an option. All was not lost. He would have to bend his rigid nature in
order to please the person he loved, and thereby not be
abandoned by her. Could he do
it? He felt he could. In fact, now that
the decision was being essentially taken from him, or forced upon him, he felt
a grand release - mixed with some perverse pleasures he now anticipated, and
had kept suppressed, or stored in a compartment of his
mind that needn’t interrupt his perception of himself.
“you are
right Tessa. Of course
you are right. Searching my soul I find that while you
have been providing me with a great share of companionship, and even titillation.
I strongly desire to fulfill your every need. In fact, I believe I have the
same needs but have been denying myself.
Please, come here…”
He patted his lap for Tessa to climb
into, who had been kneeling on the floor in front of him, still naked. She
climbed into his lap and rested her head on his shoulder.
He continued, “Sweet heart, I think we
understand each other very well, and indeed I think we truly love each other.
However, I want to delay our…, union
for a day.”
“Oh, come on, why?” Tessa asked.
“You’re such a prude. And I wish you would stop talking like a
god-damned English gentleman.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t
mean to. I read a lot of English literature and it has crept into the voice in
my head. Especially when I’m trying to discuss topics
I find difficult. But
seriously, If we become physically intimate right now, I would feel
blackmailed. Can’t we wait a little
while?”
“Okay, tonight then.” Trisha stated
with a satisfied smile. She gently and passionately kissed his mouth. “Ta-ta !” she
said mocking him, and skipped from the room.
Fix this-----à and showed me her gratification
in a most expert way. That night, and for years to follow, we would make love,
until finally she graduated from high-school (for the
second time) and we had to move to a new town and enroll her in 6th grade
again. You see, she was not aging. In fact, as we continued to sleep together,
if we went longer than a week without having intercourse, her virginal membrane
would rejuvenate, and the defloration would have to be
performed all over again. And there was no
‘working her in’ to bring us some comfort during the act. That too would revert back to typical adolescence. This would obviously make it painful (for
both of us) and she would accuse me of waiting so I could pop her cherry again.
In reality, I was getting old and didn't have the
energy to have sex as much as she would like. When I explained this to her she
suggested that I simply give myself a dose of the magic serum.
You know, until that moment, I had not
even considered it. I said to her,
"Ah, but here is where you learn a lesson, my dear Tessa: When I am but a
small boy of 11 years, albeit in grasp of my mind - you will finally understand
my lack of enthusiasm to accept your gratitude. You will wish me to be a man
again and not nearly so young." But in spite of my arguments, she convinced me (more like
manipulated me) into doing the transformation.
It was
some time before they were ready. Tessa had to be instructed
in her multiple roles as physician, nurse, and scientist, which would be
necessary during his transformation. She excelled at nursing him and
administering to him as physician, but she completely ignored her role as
scientist. During the coma phase, she stopped collecting data and photographs
altogether. Only his insistence during his conscious moments would she be
compelled to do so, and even then, only half-heartedly.
.
new book idea: Illegally
clone a human for spare parts (including brain) by creating identical twins. technology in future
can link brains in parallel so that multiple people can experience what the one
is doing. "Spare Part" clone
lives in stasis but the brain matures and experiences the life of his brother.
When parts are needed due to accident, the clone is
awoken accidentally and he immediately understands he is in danger. The brother
is forced to live with his injuries and the clone is
free to live his life. however they are forever united
with identical memories up to that point.
friends, wife, etc.
Ideas
for the rest of the story:
They
conspire to keep her identity secret -
playing the role of his daughter.
He
must quit his job during his transformation .
After he
transforms, he takes proof of his discovery to the pharmaceutical company that
unknowingly helped him.
They
question him at length and then hold him prisoner while they are deciding what
to do. Several weeks.
He
escapes without divulging any real secrets, and realizes that he cannot trust
anyone.
The
two of them attempt to sell the treatment to some rich old people but none will
believe them, because they are just children. Using the last money from her
estate, they hire a crook to “sell” the treatment to rich old people.
Tessa
loses her estate to her greedy family.
They
decide to split up and become "lost" children. They are inducted into state foster care systems.
They
live separate lives for 35 years, then meet in Disney
World. They catch up on each other's bouncing from family to family to disguise
the fact that they don't age. Each of them have stories of adopted families that they miss. Etc.