Genetics							by Jem Aura 
(c)


	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------->  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.

If you would like to show your support, all I ask is that you write to me using the link below. Tell me about your reading experience, ideas, or what we might have in common. Thank You.

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