by S. L. Dunn
Professor Vatruvia clearly did not share Kristen and Cara’s reservations. He was accelerating headfirst into a technology so immensely groundbreaking that no regulations existed to control it. On the contrary, from what Kristen could gather from the Department of Defense representative at their meeting, governmental powers seemed keen on keeping apprised of the technology and promoting its progress. And now it was becoming clear that the basic properties of this technology were not fully understood by the very people who created it. Kristen cursed man’s lack of respect for the awesome forces of science and nature. How many times in history had an overzealous scientist endangered or even taken human lives in the name of progress? How many victim stories would have to be relived in each generation?
During the early days of X-ray technology, the first pioneers of radiology had no knowledge of the inherent ionizing radiation within their new marvel. The unobservable exposure, a byproduct of their own creation, eventually killed them all. Scientists demonstrated their new wonder to audiences and colleagues by sticking their own hands, even their heads, under the hazardous X-rays. The captivating images of their underlying skeletal structure were breathtaking, and in the process they all developed terminal cancer from the obscene levels of exposure. It was not until years later that scientists realized it was in fact their own technology causing the radiation poisoning.
Regulation came after it was too late.
Kristen also thought of the early days of nuclear bomb testing in Nevada. US government scientists tested their new toys of destruction in an area that came to be proudly named the Nevada Proving Ground. Twenty years later, people that had the misfortune of living downwind from the test site had developed fatal nuclear fallout poisoning. The government provided sincere condolences and monetary compensation, but it was no comfort to the people who had lost their loved ones to science’s brash enthusiasm.
Regulation came after it was too late.
The list went on and on, through every epoch of history. Collateral damage was an undeniable byproduct of any revolution, social or scientific. Now Kristen Jordan found herself, a scientist of the technologically and ethically mature modern age, jumping right onto the same bandwagon: blindly pushing a technology forward with little regard for the consequences and inherent dangers.
Kristen’s head ached from frustration and too much caffeine as she tried to figure out the root of the Vatruvian cell’s anomalous physical traits. She placed her bottle down and was about to delve back into her old notes, when a voice nearly startled her.
“Hi there, kiddo.”
Kristen swiveled to see Professor Vatruvia standing beside the door. He invited himself into her workspace and sat down in the seat beside her, crossing his legs and casting her a calm smile.
Pulling herself out of her internal ravine of morose thoughts, Kristen nodded. “Hey, professor.”
“How goes your workload?”
“Same as always.” Kristen minimized her genetic notes from the year previous and pulled up an application with her current work. “Monotonous mostly.”
“Well, we’ve all certainly spent long hours doing less spectacular laboratory chores in our day.” Professor Vatruvia’s eyes shifted from the computer screen back to her. “Monotony is, unfortunately, a necessary part of the research game.”
“The presentation seemed to go over well,” Kristen said, her tone measured.
“About that,” Professor Vatruvia leaned forward, the bottoms of his slacks lifting from his loafers and revealing patterned socks. “Kristen, I’d like to have a conversation with you about the Vatruvian cell research. I’ve been doing some serious thinking, and I believe you deserve some answers.”
Kristen allowed him to continue. “Deserve some answers” was the understatement of the century. Her knowledge of genetics had been used like a prize racehorse at first, and then cast away like nothing. She knew that in Professor Vatruvia’s mind, Kristen Jordan’s reservations were her fatal flaw as a scientist.
“It seems your sentiment toward the Vatruvian cell is spreading among the research team. Recently, Cara Williams has started asking me the same questions you’ve been asking for months now. It seems as though both of you are concerned about the practical applications for this technology.”
“Really?” Kristen said, barely bothering to feign surprise.
“Well, it certainly doesn’t surprise me. She is directly involved with the stress testing of the cells, and you are the most inquisitive of the team. Cara told me you two had a discussion about the physical traits of the Vatruvian cell this afternoon?”
Kristen lifted her gaze from her notebook, unsure how to react. Cara told Professor Vatruvia about their conversation? He had threatened to fire her if she told anyone about her findings. Cara must have been willing to accept the threat of forced resignation over falsification of data.
“We spoke briefly,” Kristen said. “She told me the Vatruvian cells are exhibiting higher anatomical thresholds than the original cells they replicated. It’s not a total surprise. After all, that wouldn’t be the first peculiarity we’ve seen. The original Vatruvian cell from last year is still functioning in its petri dish. It’s still surviving despite the fact that it hasn’t received any nourishment in over a year. So, to some degree I had already considered what Cara told me.”
“Indeed,” Professor Vatruvia said, and fell into silent thought as he rubbed his chin. “From what I’ve found, the cells copy most of the physiology and anatomy of the template cells but share little of their biological limitations.”
“So it would seem,” Kristen said.
“Look . . . Kristen. I believe you only have the best intentions at heart in your concerns over our work. Is that correct?”
Kristen tilted her head tentatively and leaned back in her chair, uncertain what he was after. “Well, yes.”
“That’s good. That’s very good. It is, after all, a favorable trait for a scientist to be skeptical.”
“I’m skeptical, but of course I only have the best intentions in mind. That is to say, the best intentions for what the Vatruvian cell can provide for society and the furthering of applied science.”
“Yes,” Professor Vatruvia said. “For society, of course.”
“Look, professor.” Kristen sighed wearily. “The only thing I want to know is what the applied use of all this bioengineering is going to be. That’s it. The fact is we have one of the most unique technologies ever created at our disposal. Yet there hasn’t been the slightest word as to what the Vatruvian technology will provide. What it will actually do. We are forging an incomprehensibly elaborate and complex tool with no notion of its implementation.”
“I understand what you mean.” Professor Vatruvia nodded slowly. He removed his glasses and bit one of the stems, surveying her expression as if there was something to exhume in its subtleties.
Kristen was not in the mood to deal with his interrogative stare, and she shook her head in exasperation. “What is it?”
Professor Vatruvia leaned down to his messenger bag. He took out a black leather-bound planner and removed a piece of paper, handing it to Kristen. “You were—are—essential to the development of Vatruvian cell technology. I would like to give you the answers you seek, but you have to understand that I must protect myself and our fragile technology from any unforeseen obstructions that could hinder my vision for the Vatruvian cell.”
“What is—” Kristen began to ask, but her voice fell short as she recognized the paper was a nondisclosure contract. Covered in threatening legal argot and the names of various stern-sounding law firms, there was a line at the bottom for her signature. She held the paper at arm’s length, as if it was something sordid. And indeed she thought it was.
“You’re going to make me sign a nondisclosure agreement?” Kristen asked with revulsion. “Are you serious?”
“Quite serious, yes. You must understand how important this delicate period of our research is. One slip up and the entirety of th
e future of Vatruvian cell technology could be altered permanently. Before you sign, I would draw to your attention the signature of the Secretary of Defense on that paper. If you breach the agreement of the contract, you will be in jeopardy with the various contracted law firms listed, but you will also be accountable to the Department of Defense.”
Kristen looked up from the paper and blinked at Professor Vatruvia. “I don’t understand. Are you threatening me?”
“Goodness gracious, no. I want to impress upon you how seriously you should take that signature should you choose to sign your name. But if you do sign it, I will show it to you. I will show you what the Vatruvian cell will provide. Well, one of its more grandiose implementations at the very least.”
Kristen found herself staring at him, both dubious and apprehensive. What was he talking about? There was a tangible it that could to be shown to her? After hearing those words there was no way she would not sign the paper. This was too big not to be a part of. Kristen reached across her desk, picked up a black pen, and on the dotted line signed her name. She stood from her chair, holding out the signed contract to him. “Okay, my mouth is sealed. Show me.”
Professor Vatruvia took the contract and placed it in his planner. “You made the right choice.”
They exited her lab, and he led her straight up the stairs to the off-limits laboratories on the third floor. The building was empty and quiet, most of the research staff having gone home for the day. Walking through the empty hallway, Kristen felt breathless and fearful at the notion of seeing something beyond the Vatruvian cell itself. Professor Vatruvia stopped before the keypad entry adjacent to one of the heavily locked doors.
“I don’t understand,” Kristen said as she waited beside him, arms folded across her chest, looking uneasily at the steel door. “What is it?”
“You’ll see,” Professor Vatruvia said, his voice distant as he entered a complex combination into the keypad. The lock beeped and the indicator turned from red to green. He pushed the heavy door open and a rush of air lightly pulled at Kristen’s hair. She turned her head in astonishment as her hair fell against her shoulders; the room was an air lock. Professor Vatruvia politely stepped aside and allowed Kristen to enter the laboratory. She stared into the pitch-black darkness beyond the threshold and felt uneasy. The air coming from the laboratory smelled recycled and clean. After brief indecision, Kristen’s curiosity claimed her and she stepped in. She stood in the sliver of light coming from the doorway, a high-pitched squeaking sound filling her ears. Professor Vatruvia turned a switch in the darkness, and fluorescent lights flickered on. They stood in a windowless room, similar in size to the downstairs laboratories. But this was the only likeness. No laboratory tables, no recognizable equipment, the lab was foreign to Kristen. The cold steel and recycled air provided the empty room with an unnatural and oddly alienating feel. The door shut behind them, and the whir of the airlock reengaged.
Kristen was alone in the closed atmosphere with Professor Vatruvia, who was standing silently and awaiting her reaction. Her shoulder’s slumped as she looked around the room, not sure what to find but expectant of anything. The room was entirely empty: tile floors and vacant walls. Kristen’s attention was drawn to the far wall where she heard many small squeaks in the otherwise silent surrounds.
“Uh . . .” Kristen vocalized unconsciously as she realized the source of the squeaking. The far wall was lined floor to ceiling with organized rows of enclosed glass cages, each housing a research mouse. There were dozens of mice, every one secluded in an individual cell.
“We don’t use animal testing.” Kristen said as she regarded the test mice with a growing unease. “What is this?”
“This is what you wanted to see,” Professor Vatruvia’s voice was cautious. “The applied technology resulting from all of our efforts.”
Kristen scanned up and down the row of cages, and then turned to make sure there was nothing else in the room she had missed. She had been expecting a table with an assembled microscope and a Vatruvian cell slide. “I don’t understand. Am I missing something here?”
Professor Vatruvia raised an arm and pointed to the mice. “Right there.”
“The test mice?” Kristen stared blankly at the scurrying mice.
“Yes, the mice,” Professor Vatruvia said. “Or, to be more specific, the Vatruvian mice.”
Kristen felt gooseflesh rise on her arms.
“No,” she blurted out, shrinking away from the cages and shaking her head with severity. “No. No. No. That’s not possible, absolutely not possible. Even it if were possible, that would be . . . years . . . decades . . . ahead of our progress. We’re still at the cellular level.”
“The team is still at the cellular level. I have been doing my own independent work, allowing the team to provide the appropriate progression for consistent funding.” Professor Vatruvia’s voice was steady, rehearsed.
Kristen was no longer apprehensive, but outright frightened. She interlocked her fingers on top of her head and shut her eyes. This was grossly unethical—even illegal? Or was it? The mice really represented no greater evil than cloning, and that was legal, though regulated intensely. Hell, cloning was an antiquated technology compared to the Vatruvian cell. But this was different—in some obvious yet elusive way it was inconceivably more disturbing to Kristen.
“These . . .” Kristen motioned to the glass cages in disbelief, her face pale, “ . . . aren’t real mice?”
“They’re Vatruvian mice.”
“These are artificial mice?” Kristen raised her voice.
“You know the technology,” Professor Vatruvia said. He moved to the cages and looked in on the mice with an excited expression. “They are Vatruvian mice, no fundamentally or morally different than the Vatruvian cell.”
Kristen knew he was telling the truth. It would not have been a stretch for her to create the mice herself with her knowledge of the Vatruvian cell and genetics. The mice were Vatruvian organisms. She also recognized that on some perversely theoretical level he had a point—artificial life was artificial life, what did it matter the size or complexity? Yet it felt instinctively wrong as she stared at the frantic movements of the mice behind their glass cages.
“I know what you’re thinking. That this is unethical. But it isn’t. These mice are no more alive than the glass surrounding them or the steel on which you stand.”
“They seem pretty goddamn alive to me.” Kristen turned to him and spoke over the high-pitched squeaking of the mice.
Professor Vatruvia’s gaze moved from mouse to mouse. “All it took was the first cellular replication. Once I established that, the various tissue structures fell into place easily given the knowledge of the mouse genome. After I showed you the Vatruvian cell replication images earlier, I realized it was useless to hide this work from you; you would figure it out anyway. You’re just as capable a scientist as I.”
“Of course I could have figured it out . . . could have conceived of it.” Kristen felt herself getting angry, disgusted. “But I would never have gone ahead and done it!”
“To be perfectly honest, part of me was concerned you would consider moonlighting and creating a Vatruvian animal for a private research company.”
Kristen took a deep breath and tried to think clearly.
“This is bigger than me, professor. This is bigger than you. Artificial life is way, way too large a discovery to be sitting in an air-locked room like this. If Columbia finds out that you’ve been creating these mice without their approval, they will almost certainly let you go. If the government and international watchdog agencies get wind of this, I don’t even know what will happen. This is super, super immoral!”
“Now hold on one minute, Kristen!” Professor Vatruvia held out a stern finger. “First of all, no one is going to find out about this in the near future. You signed the contract. Secondly, nothing will happen when people find out about this development. These Vatruvian mice might be something we’re not accustomed to, b
ut for all intents and purposes they’re blunt instruments with biological construction. They’re no different than the first Vatruvian cell—and that was celebrated by the public and academia both.”
Kristen shook her head in frustration. “No one is going to consider these mice blunt instruments.”
“All new technologies are feared at first. But that fear can’t be allowed to hinder the search for potential in the unknown. Think about electricity, or the airplane o-o-or one of the first vaccines ever administered. Of course, they were a bit . . . scary at first. But think of how far they have brought civilization. There is nothing unethical going on here, just unadulterated pioneering. A synthetic organism is the only logical progression in synthetic biology. You said so yourself in your own undergraduate thesis. This is what we’ve been working toward.”
Kristen’s mouth moved to speak, but she stopped herself, in disbelief of his one-dimensionality.
“Professor,” she said with strained earnestness as she pointed to one of the mice. “This isn’t electricity, or transportation, or some medicine. We’re talking about the creation of a new form of life. A form of life that, according to our data, is more efficient than biological life. You really don’t think there is some inherent danger behind creating a synthetic mouse that is physically superior to a natural mouse?”
“No. I don’t," Professor Vatruvia said with a rising anger in his own voice. “Not at all. And don’t you dare go down that road, implying Vatruvian organisms are fundamentally dangerous. There is not one single solitary aspect of their construction that would substantiate that standpoint.”
“You mean beyond their very existence? Beyond being alive?”
“Being alive makes something dangerous now?
“Yes, it absolutely does.”
“How?”
“By ways so self-evident that they require no explanation.”
Professor Vatruvia took a step away from her, his expression hurt. “You yourself helped me create the genetic code for the Vatruvian cell, and thus for these mice. I assure you they are not dangerous in any way. Our computer scientists designed a computer chip that’s embedded in their brains; it controls their entire endocrine systems and brainwave functioning. They can only act through controlled response. I made that a fundamental part of their design.”