Living Proof

by Kira Peikoff

  With a sinking feeling, Trent changed the year in the archives to 2012.

  “Supreme Court Bans Embryonic Stem Cell Research,” read the news announcement. Trent remembered the decision well: it had sparked a giddy patriotism in his community—bumper stickers, flags, Republican campaign donations. The next announcement read: “Federal Government Allocates Funds for a Department of Embryo Preservation in Each State to Monitor Existing Embryos.” He slammed his laptop shut and threw it to the foot of the bed.

  But how could he pretend that a cluster of cells meant more than her life? He again pictured what would surely be her shell-shocked expression—and the terror of impending mortality in her eyes—and thought: There is no way I could live with myself. I would rather go to jail than send her there to die. So that makes me a killer of innocents. I am a killer.

  He struggled to believe the words. Embryos were dying as he stood by, at this very moment. Shame overwhelmed him, even as he knew his decision was final. The swiftness of his descent into immorality was staggering, and it frightened him. How could he, a person who had once been so consumed by a desire to do good that it had landed him at the DEP—how could he have sunk to the most depraved rung of all?

  But she stood there proudly. To live with herself, she had to be either inconceivably evil, or have a good reason for her peace of mind.

  Trent jumped off the bed and rushed to the door, propelled by the turbine force of a single thought: I have to know her reason.

  As he opened the door, he glanced down at his watch. It clung to his wrist like a barnacled spy, filled with incriminating evidence. He unhooked the leather strap and flung it against the wall.

  * * *

  “Trent!” Arianna exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

  She opened the door, motioning for him to step inside. He did not answer, but walked into the foyer and kissed her hard on the lips, those lips that he no longer had to fight, even if it damned him.

  She laughed a little bit before gently pushing him away. “What’s going on?”

  “I can deal with being a criminal,” he said, “but I have to know if that’s how it really is.”

  “A criminal?” She frowned and led him to the couch in her living room. He sank wearily beside her.

  “I’m no threat,” he reassured her. “I could never rat you out. But this is what I can’t reconcile: When does human life begin? The only answer I’ve ever heard is that life begins at conception. So does that mean killing embryos is killing a life? How do you live with yourself? And how can I?”

  Arianna looked thoughtful but unworried. “I thought you might have absorbed that notion, but you never said anything at the museum, so I assumed it didn’t bother you.”

  “All I know for sure is that no matter how much I should, I can’t care more about an embryo than about you. But I hate to think that makes me a criminal!”

  She took both his hands. “Neither of us are criminals—far from it. The problem is that you’re asking the wrong question.”

  “I am?”

  “Yes. This was a question posed by the Ancient Greeks: When does a potential human being become an actual human being who possesses the right to life? The issue is not when life begins—but rather, when does a potential become an actual? An acorn is alive, but far from the equivalent of an oak tree. It’s clear that an embryo, which is no bigger than a grain of sand, is only a cluster of undifferentiated cells that have the potential to grow into a human being. But saying an acorn is the same as a tree is as ridiculous as saying a cell cluster has rights. The potential is actualized only when a baby is born and becomes an independently existing individual. Before this happens, it’s a parasitic mass of developing cells dependent on its host. It’s not sentimental, but it’s a medical fact. Only religious mystics would assert that a cell cluster has a God-given soul.”

  “So you don’t believe we have souls?”

  “I believe that we have the power to think and love and hope—if you want to call that a soul—but not that it’s an entity within our bodies.”

  Trent recalled Dopp’s fury over her remorseless performance of abortions. “So if these cells are just a primitive mass, with no soul or rights, then early abortions are ethical, too.”

  “Yes. I used to perform them because I think a pregnant woman should be able to decide the fate of the cells within her own body. The religious right wing, far from being pro-life as they claim, would prefer a woman to sacrifice her life to an embryo within her, even if it threatens her health to give birth. They are the same people who would prefer me to die, rather than research cell clusters for a cure. I am pro-life, in the real sense of the term, and so are you. Human life is sacred, not because of a supernatural infusion, but because of the unique capacity of our minds to reason—to think, to love, to create. So your instincts were correct—my life is more valuable than an embryo. This makes the research moral, and it makes you rational, Trent, not criminal.”

  He closed his eyes for several seconds, feeling her words lift his guilt. All that remained was a fleeting regret for his self-torment. He opened his eyes.

  “I couldn’t imagine you as a murderer.”

  “That’s one thing you don’t have to worry about.” She smiled and pulled him against her. “Now does it all make sense?”

  He nodded. And now my love for you finally makes sense, he thought: it’s not wicked, but a response to what I have always valued most, but never realized—the joy of living, personified in you.

  “But I’m worried,” he said. “You’re taking such a big risk—”

  “Oh.” She waved her hand. “I don’t think the DEP will find us. We just passed another inspection a few weeks ago.”

  He felt sick. “So this means that the whole DEP is a moral fraud.”

  “Completely. They’re nothing but religious thugs forcing their ideology down science’s throat.”

  Trent felt strangely disassociated from his identity, as if he were viewing himself from the other side of the mirror, judging actions he had never thought to judge.

  “Do you think they are malicious?” he asked, fearing her answer. “The people at the DEP?”

  “Somebody must be evil to prefer me to die, and the millions of people like me. But I think most of them probably believe that what they are doing is right, even as they destroy all the boundaries between church and state. At best they’re misguided.”

  He nodded. “Let’s forget them.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  They stretched out under a throw and she nuzzled into his shoulder. He felt fiercely protective as he wrapped his arms around her, feeling the slow beat of her heart against his ribs. They lay inhaling parallel breaths, and he sensed that she did not often relinquish herself to the comfort of another’s arms. To think that she was fighting a two-front battle, both with slim odds, was agonizing; but then—to think that he was her opponent! His heart squeezed with shame.

  I’ll quit tomorrow, he thought. I’ll never have to face Dopp again.

  He owed nothing; he could give two weeks’ notice and let the door slam behind him. Then he could focus on making her life as enjoyable and full as she deserved—and maybe someday, hopefully long after she was out of danger from the DEP and from disease, he would tell her everything.

  But wait. Even if he quit the case, it didn’t mean they would.

  Dopp wouldn’t put the case to rest until he exhumed the gritty truth; so they would find another strategy without Trent—which would force him to tell her about the investigation. But then, if the stress didn’t kill her, she might never look at him again. The thought of losing her as a result of his own unwitting betrayal made him groan. In his arms, Arianna shifted but did not open her eyes.

  He mulled over his options, trying to steady his heartbeat so it wouldn’t startle her awake. Even if she came to accept his initial lying, what if Dopp discovered his disloyalty? A traitor to the U.S. government—that would be the end of him. Not to mention that if he
quit, he would be dangerously ignorant of Dopp’s next move.…

  No, he realized, I can’t quit. I can’t let them get to you.

  His path—despite its perilous double deception—was clear. It was his only feasible option.

  One day, he thought, when it doesn’t matter anymore, I’ll explain; and you won’t be angry, because you’ll understand what I saved you from.…

  He kissed the top of her head, cashmere against his lips. She did not stir. Even the light of the living room couldn’t hold off the exhaustion pulling his eyelids shut.

  * * *

  A vibration somewhere around his hips nudged him awake. She must have felt it, too, for her head snapped up, hitting his chin.

  “Ow,” he muttered, opening his eyes.

  “Sorry—oh my God, what time is it?”

  He shrugged, turning his stiff neck from side to side. Wan light streamed in, shining into Arianna’s eyes. She threw the blanket off their legs and dug into her pocket for her cell phone. It was still vibrating.

  “Hello?” she said, her voice throaty from sleep. A pause. “What? Right now? What time is it?” Pause. “Tell me what’s going on.” Her face drained. “I’ll be right there.” She snapped the phone closed. Trent saw that it was 8:15 A.M.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She stared blankly into space.

  “I have to run over to the lab right now. That was Sam. He said they’re having some kind of emergency.”

  TWELVE

  As Arianna hurried down the steps to the lab, the unmistakable sound of shouts emanated from the basement. A chill of apprehension cleared her nasal passages. She rapped on the door.

  The din stopped, and she heard footsteps shuffling closer.

  “Well?” came Sam’s voice.

  “You never told me the new password!” she yelled. “Just open up.”

  “Are you alone?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Yes.”

  Sam swung it open, revealing his heated pink face crowned by a few strands of white hair. She walked in and shut the door.

  “At least now you can use my batch,” Ian was saying to Patrick.

  “Don’t pretend to twist this into something good,” Patrick snapped.

  They stood in the center of the lab, as if they had been screaming at each other. A jumble of emotions clouded their expressions: Patrick looked frustrated, muttering at the floor, while Ian hung his head, refusing to meet Arianna’s gaze.

  Her grip on the cane tightened. “What is going on?”

  Nobody spoke.

  “C’mon, Ian,” Sam said, “don’t make us do your dirty work.”

  Ian raised his head and looked into Arianna’s eyes. “I’m quitting.”

  “You’re what?”

  “I’m sorry, Arianna, I don’t want to do this, but after you brought that man here yesterday, I don’t feel safe anymore. I can’t risk going to jail—my wife would never forgive me. Last night, I told her about it and she was outraged. She…”

  “She what?”

  “She threatened to leave me unless I quit today. And the truth is, I understand where she’s coming from—it’s just not fair to her to put myself in so much danger.…”

  “Ian. Trent is a good guy. I promise you he won’t threaten us.”

  Ian looked unmoved, and Arianna felt her reserve of diplomacy begin to falter.

  “A lot of good you did us,” Sam said to her.

  Arianna gulped a breath. “Ian, you are as safe here now as you were before.” She held up a hand. “I swear on my father’s grave that Trent poses no danger to us—we talked about the whole thing last night, and he is completely on our side.”

  Ian shook his head. “I’m sorry. I don’t know anything about him—it’s just too risky.”

  Arianna pulled her cell phone out of her purse and waved it in the air. “What do you want to know? I’ll call him right now, we can all sit down and talk—”

  “No, I promised my wife,” Ian mumbled. “It’s too late now. Maybe if I could have met him before … but you just sprung him on us.” His voice turned hard. “It’s really your fault, Arianna, not mine.”

  She glanced among the three men for an ally, knowing her poise was sliding. Her tone was a mixture of deference and fury: “I’m sorry, I should have warned you all before I brought him here, but imagine not being able to tell your partner that you have a chance to live. That there is reason to hope!”

  Ian half shrugged. “You could have told him in vague terms. Why did you have to bring him here?”

  Her eyes flashed as her blood pressure spiked. “This lab holds proof of concepts that are alien to the outside world—proof that this research can work! You wouldn’t believe it either if you were raised the way he was—unless you saw it in progress. I trust Trent—why isn’t that enough for you, Ian? Why don’t you trust my judgment anymore? I arranged every detail of this whole project; don’t you think I’d be the last person to upset it?”

  Ian pursed his lips. “Love is blind.”

  “Not for me,” she retorted, turning to Sam. “What about you, Sam? Don’t tell me, you, too—”

  Sam shook his head, but his expression was far from kind. “Even if you did screw up, I’m here to stay. What have I got to lose?”

  “Thank you, Sam,” she breathed. “Patrick?”

  Patrick was standing with his arms crossed over his chest. He pointed a thumb at Ian. “This coward’s got a point. It is riskier now, thanks to you. But I hope your judgment is as good as ever, because I can’t bear to walk out.” He looked at Ian. “We will never have this chance again.”

  Ian shrugged. “I know, but—”

  “But what?” Patrick demanded. “The three of us might be the only scientists left doing this kind of research. Don’t you think that outweighs our own worries? We could save Arianna’s life, not to mention revive this field.… Yes, it’s risky, but think about Copernicus, Galileo, Newton.… They weren’t cowards … and what if they had been? Where would we be today?”

  “I doubt we could be much worse off,” Ian muttered. “They don’t matter anymore, none of it matters—”

  “Nonsense!” Arianna shouted. “Do you hear yourself? Patrick is right: You are a coward, you have no vision, you’ve bought in to all the fear they want you to feel—you think you’re threatened by Trent?” She let out a bitter laugh. “It’s people like you, who know better but have no courage, who are the biggest threat of all!”

  Ian tore off his white lab coat, yanking his arms out of each slot. He pulled his elastic face mask over his head and stuffed it into the pocket of the coat. In his jeans and T-shirt, he looked like the outsider he was. He nodded at Patrick and Sam before walking up to Arianna. She didn’t flinch as he stopped in front of her and handed her the coat. She took it. He opened his mouth, but any parting words died on his tongue as she narrowed her eyes.

  “Don’t,” she said. “There’s nothing to say.”

  He closed his mouth, but studied her face. With a chill, Arianna realized that he was trying to memorize her face for posthumous recollection.

  “Get out,” she barked.

  He stepped around her and pulled open the door. Pale morning light streamed into the basement as he walked out and let the door slam. Arianna closed her eyes, but her lids were futile dams against her tears. She looked to Sam.

  “Don’t look at me,” he said angrily. “You deserve most of the credit.”

  The urge to protest faded with her strength. She turned to Patrick. He was already walking pointedly back to his microscope.

  Not knowing what else to do, she reached for the door. Sam said nothing as she stumbled out. Ian was gone. In front of her, the concrete stairs looked like mountains, requiring more energy to climb than she possessed. With a muted sob, she sank onto the first step and pulled out her cell phone.

  * * *

  At work, Trent felt jumpy; anxiety did more for his alertness than any espresso could. What emergency was she facing? What could he
do to help? And could he actually outwit Dopp? It was beyond any risk he had ever taken, and he had no idea how to pull it off.

  While Trent pondered his next move—and worried that his shifting loyalties were somehow apparent—the man himself stopped in the doorway. He looked authoritative in his crisp black suit with a cross pin fastened on its lapel, a gleaming golden reminder of past and purpose. Pretending to knock in the air, he half smiled down at Trent.

  “Hey, there,” he said in a deep voice suited to his stature.

  “Hi.” Careful with every word, Trent thought.

  “No surprises today, right?”

  Trent shook his head. “No, sir.”

  “I don’t work with quitters.”

  “Sorry about that.” He forced an apologetic smile.

  “You’re lucky that I have enough faith in you for both of us,” Dopp said, turning to leave.

  “Thanks.” Trent hesitated and then called, “By the way, did you know the stem cell heart is still on display at the Natural History Museum?”

  Dopp’s head whipped back around. “No kidding. How do you know that?”

  “A friend told me.”

  Trent felt his face grow hot—what was he hoping to accomplish? But part of him wanted to witness Dopp’s reaction, to find out if there was any hope for redemption in the man he had long admired.

  “It’s truly despicable,” Dopp said. “When you think about how many embryos they had to destroy to grow that heart…”

  Trent nodded, knowing he had backed himself into a corner. “I don’t know how they justified it,” he said. “I guess they thought it might have helped people someday.…”

  Dopp shook his head bitterly. “If you kill one person to save another, the sum is still zero. Put it another way: If a thief robbed a bank to give the money to charity, would that make it right?”

  Trent dutifully shook his head, not daring to debate the semantics of personhood.