A knock sounded at the door, then Glen and Amanda came in, accompanied by someone he didn’t know. Amanda hurried to his bedside and took his hand. She looked tired, but happy. “Jeremy, you’re looking a lot better today.” She smiled and gave him a brief kiss on the cheek.
Glen stood near the foot of the bed with the stranger. “Jeremy, I’d like you to meet Dr. Rick Granada. He assisted me in your surgery. Quite impressively, I might add.”
Rick stepped forward and offered his hand to Jeremy. “Pleased to meet you. We were able to completely and cleanly remove your necrotic intestinal tract. Nothing escaped into the abdominal cavity, and so I think we’re past any fear of acute septicemia. You were in a pretty degraded condition by the time we began the procedure, and it was a little dicey here and there. You may have some soreness in your ribcage because we had to hit you with the paddles and a shot of epinephrine. I did some pretty aggressive compressions to get things going again. I’m sure that was all due to your compromised condition going in—nothing permanent to be concerned about.”
Glen spoke up. “I think we have a pattern identified, that if the Subject dies, so does the transplanted intestinal tract. I don’t understand the mechanism at all. We’re going to have to study that more closely. Meanwhile, I’ve started a new Subject from Ivan’s tissues and will look at ways to speed that up. Until that’s ready, I’m afraid, we’re back to the IV nutrition.” He nodded toward the bottle hanging above and slightly behind Jeremy.
Jeremy panicked as he realized that Glen had just mentioned the cloning project in front of this new person. He tried to signal him with his eyes.
Glen apparently picked up on his body language. “Jeremy, I couldn’t have performed this latest procedure by myself—not after doing the transplant and all the post-op care. And as it turned out, that cardiac event would have likely been fatal had I been operating alone. We recruited Rick because I absolutely needed another very capable pair of hands in surgery, and fortunately he agreed to come up.”
“I called him, Jeremy. We needed to get someone here who could help.” Amanda squeezed his hand.
Glen shifted his feet for a moment before continuing. “I made him a promise on your behalf, since you were in no condition and it needed to be done. I promised him a position at SomaGene—specifically on our project. He comes to us as an expert in the field of regenerative medicine, and I can tell you from firsthand observation—he’s a helluva surgeon.” He smiled at Rick, then Jeremy. “We needed to replace Tim, and Rick is actually a far superior surgeon.”
“Have you explained this project is not public knowledge?” Jeremy winced a little; talking aggravated his rib pain.
Rick took over. “They absolutely did. I’m clear on that. As a permanent member of your staff, I would of course keep all this information in absolute confidence.”
Jeremy got the point. Whether he liked it or not, he had a new staff member who expected to keep working on this project. At least he was clearly a brilliant surgeon. He nodded. “Sure. Welcome, Rick. And thank you.” He licked his dry lips. “If you all don’t mind, I’m a little tired right now.”
“Of course. I’ll be in to check on you later.” Glen turned to leave.
“Glen and I will be taking shifts to monitor your progress until you’re ready to recover at home.” Rick gave a brief wave and followed Glen out the door.
Amanda turned to him. “I’m so glad you made it through. You don’t know how scared I was. You looked really awful right before the surgery.” A tear ran down her cheek as she lifted his hand and kissed it. “I’ll go now, and let you sleep. I could use a little myself.” She smiled at him, then left and shut the door.
Jeremy closed his eyes and tried to rest. So much swirled around in his head; it was hard to absorb it all. The surgery was over, and now he was back on the IVs—for how long this time? And this Rick Granada. Where had he come from? He supposed he should be grateful, from the sound of it. The guy did seem sharp. Maybe they could figure out a more humane way to provide intestinal transplants…maybe Granada could help do that, and they could break this parasitic cycle he’d found himself on…
Exhaustion overcame him and he fell back asleep.
CHAPTER 70
“Here, let me help you with that.” Amanda deftly collapsed the telescoping IV rack and bent to maneuver it into the back seat of the Pathfinder.
Jeremy stood in the garage by the driver’s door, holding the IV bottle in one hand and his keys in the other. The ever-present tubing snaked out of the top of his snow jacket and led to the neck of the bottle. He loved Amanda, and he appreciated all she did for him, but this daily dance with the IV setup—rain, snow, or shine—felt degrading to him. But he couldn’t tell her that. She believed she was helping him, not humiliating him. He didn’t know how to tell her the truth without hurting her.
“Thanks. I’ll see you later.” He gave her a quick kiss and awkwardly slid into his seat while holding the IV bottle aloft. He hung it from a makeshift hook on the passenger seat’s headrest so the fluid would continue to flow by gravity while he drove to work.
He watched her step to the door that led into the kitchen, turn around, smile broadly, and wave at him before going inside. Every day she did that. She seemed so grateful for his very existence ever since the latest surgery. He was doing better, as these things went but she insisted on taking care of him at all times when he was home. She hadn’t given any indication she intended to return to work any time soon, even though he was out of crisis mode.
Every day it became that much more claustrophobic.
And he had to wonder about Rick. She’d finally admitted that she had called Rick because she knew him—not solely because he happened to have the right qualifications. Turns out he was the man she left him for a couple of years back. What a small world it was. So something about that guy had been attractive enough to take her away from him once. Could it happen again? Especially in his present state? She’d left him before because of his health, and his health was nowhere near this tenuous back then. Rick had relocated to Minnetonka, so he wasn’t that far away.
Was she seeing him now? What should he think when he didn’t see Rick at SomaGene during a given day? Was he just busy in another part of the facility—or was he busy with Amanda?
Jeremy tried to push those thoughts from his mind. It wasn’t fair for him to think such things. Amanda was totally devoted to him, and had been since his original surgery and the beginning of this long ordeal. He started the car and headed for the office. He needed to try to be busy. This line of thinking was just not healthy.
Jeremy sat down behind his desk and sighed wearily. It took him maybe twenty minutes just to get out of the car and into his office every morning, and it wore him out mentally and physically.
He hated that IV rack and trying to wrangle it out of the car every single morning. Then every single evening when he was ready to go home, it was the same thing in reverse, only Amanda wasn’t with him to help out. Tonight it would be especially frustrating because it was supposed to snow some more during the day. So he would have to drag the damned thing out to his car through the snow and try to get it loaded up, all while trying to keep his IV bottle at the right height and properly flowing.
He sent Glen a message to come see him ASAP.
Glen knocked and entered. “You wanted to see me?”
“Yeah, sit down.”
Glen sat, then crossed his legs. “What’s up?”
“I should ask you that. What’s the status of the new Subject?”
“Coming along. I know you wish it could go faster, and so do I. We’ve been testing out some ideas for how to accelerate the development, but so far they’ve all come with warning signs. The indications we’ve seen are that tampering with the speed any more than we have would lead to anomalies that might be far more dangerous than remaining on your current IV regimen in the interim.” He nodded toward the IV rack. “Sorry. I wish I had better news on that front. We jus
t don’t want to take any needless chances. It has to be right this time.”
“What does Rick think?”
“Oh, he agrees. He’s even more concerned about the various accelerants than I am. Funny, I figured he’d be more of a hot dog, but he can be quite conservative on protocols, it turns out.”
I’ll bet. He’d probably love for me to remain in this helpless limbo state for as long as possible. He knows an opportunity when he sees it, that’s for sure. Jeremy tried to shoo the thoughts away and focus on reality, not fantasy. “What have you figured out on why the organs failed both times?”
Glen leaned back in his chair and tilted his head. “Ah, that’s another story. Rick and I don’t see eye to eye on that one, and there isn’t much we can do to test our various theories, for obvious reasons.”
“What are your theories?”
“Well, you have to remember, he wasn’t present for either of the events. So he can’t see the pattern as clearly as I do. On the other hand, maybe that is a strength of his theory, that he isn’t blinded by the proximity of events. He thinks I’m confusing correlation with causation.”
“How so?”
“Well, in each case, the Subject died, and you immediately began to show symptoms. Immediately. There was no way on earth you could have known the Subject had died at that moment, so it couldn’t have been psychosomatic on your part. Further, you obviously had real physical manifestations. No amount of self-induced symptomology could cause necrosis of internal organs. Period. My theory, therefore, is that some sort of connection is created between you and the Subject when the full transplant occurs. If something happens to the Subject, his intestinal tract dies with him. If it’s implanted in you at the time, well, we’ve seen what happens. Necrosis and emergency surgery.”
Jeremy considered the theory for a moment. The connection certainly seemed to be there, but it was a bit too metaphysical for him to accept so readily. “And what is Rick’s explanation?”
“He reminds me, rightly so, that this is not a statistically significant sample, and so this could be simple coincidence. He thinks there is some causation at work, but is not willing to believe that the mere demise of the Subject is that cause. And of course, we have no way to test and prove either of our theories.”
“So what can you do to get to the bottom of this?”
“The only thing I feel safe doing. Next time we transplant, we do whatever it takes to keep the Subject at least minimally alive, even if it means artificial life support. We just can’t take the chance that it’s a coincidence. The stakes are too high.”
Jeremy couldn’t argue with that logic. “How far have you gotten in developing some other way to achieve this—some other way to cultivate an intestinal tract? Not just for me, but for the broader market—all those who suffer from Crohn’s.”
Glen shook his head. “Not very. We keep coming up against the same major roadblock. The intestinal tract’s very structure works against us. It’s tubular, and extremely long and flexible. We’re having a devil of a time trying to figure out what sort of scaffolding we could use to generate the tissue in the proper configuration. With tracheas, they’re rigid and of finite length, so we can create a scaffold for the tissues to adhere to and keep that shape. Not so with intestines.”
“Maybe there’s another way. Maybe something with the same functionality but perhaps in some form that doesn’t remotely resemble natural human intestines.”
“That’s the sensible alternate plan. The trick with that is to completely engineer something that performs all the functions of the large and small intestines—but from scratch. We’re not sure where to begin. So for now, we’re thinking we need to keep on with the clone method. It works—as long as the clone remains living.”
Jeremy suddenly felt too tired to continue discussing the topic. He hadn’t received any of the news he had hoped to hear. All the same dead ends and ethical snake pits. “Well, thanks, Glen. That’s all for now.”
Glen stood. “Hey, Jeremy, I know it must be tough for you. Believe me, we are working on this as hard as we can. It’s just an incredibly complex problem to solve. At least we have our original protocol to fall back on. We know that works, but you’ll have to be patient for some more months, probably more like a year, I think. I need to check the growth chart again. I’ll let you know.” He turned to go.
Jeremy gazed out his window and absently fingered the tubing where it emerged from his button-down shirt. Suddenly remembering, he glanced up and noticed his IV was getting low. He reached into his drawer where he kept spares and took out a new one. He stood, unhooked the old one, and swapped it out for the fresh bottle, which he hung aloft. He placed the old one in his trash, then sat down again.
Funny, in some ironic ways, the IV saved him time. He didn’t need to eat or drink—in fact, he couldn’t do either. So he didn’t need to buy groceries, didn’t need to make or get lunch. Didn’t need to cook. Put a lot of time back in his day. Time he could use to be miserable.
He mulled over his conversation with Glen. Looked like nothing new had happened, or was going to happen. It would be the same protocol and procedure as last time. Wait for a new Subject to be ready. Have another surgery. And shift the burden and pain of living like this onto the new Subject. For the rest of his natural and unnatural life. Because this time, there would be no escape, natural or assisted. Glen would see to that.
All so he could live a healthy life. Until Crohn’s destroyed the new intestinal tract and the whole cycle would begin anew.
CHAPTER 71
Jeremy lifted his head and rubbed his eyes. He’d fallen asleep right on his desk. Not that uncommon for him anymore, since he had such little energy. Glen, and now Rick as well, had taken over day-to-day operations and shielded him from the rest of the SomaGene workforce while he was on the IV regimen. He just couldn’t handle a normal workday any more, and he didn’t want the rest of the staff to see his condition. He couldn’t remember the last time he assisted in surgery. He spread out his hands before him. What a waste. He had been a good surgeon.
He sat for a moment as the cobwebs of sleep cleared away. He gazed out the window at the sad, weak, late winter light. He felt just like that light. Tired, pallid. Hopeless.
He reached into his center desk drawer and rummaged through the disorganized mess until he found what he was looking for. He held up the scissors and examined them closely. Then, before he could change his mind, he grasped the tubing several inches from where the needle lodged in his subclavian artery and he snipped. He grabbed a metal binder clip and clamped it onto the end of the tubing to seal it. He unhooked the bottle from the rack and tossed it into the trash.
He stood, free of the IV cart for the first time in many months, and stepped out of his office.
He headed down the hall to the sequestered cultivation room, stepped inside and locked the door behind him. He did not wish to be disturbed.
Jeremy approached the glass receptacle that held the developing clone of his father. It rested on a suspended Lucite slab like an obscene jewel case. He stopped and stared down at it, both mesmerized and disgusted. The clone was the size of a small child now, one that would look like a young adult in about another year.
The receptacle was shaped like a small glass coffin with tubes that entered to serve intravenous nutrition and drugs and exited to remove waste and other by-products. The clone lay on his back, eyes shut. They kept him in some sort of suspended animation so he could spend all his energy in rapid growth.
He lifted the lid and carefully set it aside on the floating Lucite slab. He stared down at the face of the clone. He looked much like he did as a small boy. That made what he had to do all the harder. But he had to do it. He couldn’t sentence yet another human to the fate he had in store.
He wondered how sentient the clone was at this stage of development. He wasn’t sure what exactly was being done to keep him in that state, and whether he could sense anything despite his apparent lack of co
nsciousness. He decided not to take any chances on possibly causing him any pain or discomfort.
He turned and searched in the supply cabinet for something suitable. Most of the contents consisted of topical antibiotics, rubbing alcohol for disinfecting needles and other items, liquid nutritional supplements and other items for mixing into the perfusion fluid. He kept looking until he found a vial of sedative. Didn’t really matter what kind, as long as there was a sufficient amount to do what was necessary. He grabbed a large syringe and filled it with the liquid.
He turned toward the clone and gazed at him once more. He could still change his mind, return to his office, replace his snipped tubing and wait for his turn to live normally again. After all, it was his parting gift from Ivan. You know what they say about gift horses and their mouths. He set down the syringe and turned away from the little glass coffin.
Jeremy thought again about what he had been about to do. He’d been about to kill his brother. Or was it his father?
Then he reminded himself of what was going to happen if he didn’t act. That child—whatever its relationship to him—would grow prematurely into an adult. He would live in a lab, and he would be deprived of his intestinal tract and put on an IV for the rest of his miserable existence. Jeremy gazed down at the section of clamped tubing that hung from his upper chest.
He turned, picked up the syringe, and swiftly injected the entire contents into one of the inflow tubes. He gently placed his finger on the child’s carotid artery, and waited while the pulse slowed, slowed…then stopped. He carefully lifted one of the eyelids. A dilated, blank pupil stared back at him. He quietly placed the glass lid back on the little coffin and paused a moment out of respect for the newly dead.
Then he turned to the small incubator on the other end of the Lucite slab. And there it was—the glass vial containing the remainder of Ivan’s tissue sample, floating in that pinkish nutrient bath. He took out the vial and held it up for close inspection.
The Janus Legacy Page 22