CHAPTER 50
Immari Corp. Research Complex
Outside Burang, China
Tibet Autonomous Region
Dorian watched the monitors as the researchers lead the 20 or so Chinese subjects out of the room. The therapy really did a number on them. Half could barely walk.
The observation room included a large wall with screens monitoring every inch of the research facility and several rows of computer workstations where eggheads typed on computers all day doing God knows what.
Across the room, Naomi leaned against a wall, clearly bored. She looked so strange with clothes on. Dorian motioned for her to come over. She wasn’t authorized to hear the scientist’s report.
“You want to get out of here?” Naomi said.
“In a bit. Go get acquainted with the facility. I have some work to do. I’ll come after you shortly.”
“I’ll survey the local talent.”
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
She wandered out of the room without a word.
Dorian turned to the nervous scientist who had been lurking, following, almost stalking him since he had arrived.
“Dr. Chang?”
The man stepped forward. “Yes sir.”
“What am I looking at here?”
“That’s the third cohort. We’re working as fast as we can, Mr. Sloane.” When Dorian said nothing, Chang continued. “Will, ah, Dr. Grey be joining us?”
“No. You’ll communicate with me about this project from here out. Understood?”
“Ah, yes sir. Is… there—”
“Dr. Grey is working on a new project. I’d like you to bring me up to speed.”
Chang opened his mouth to speak.
“And be brief.” Dorian stared at him impatiently.
“Of course sir.” Chang rubbed his palms together as if he were warming them by a campfire. “Well, as you know, the project dates back to the 1930s, but we’ve only really made substantial progress in the last few years — and it’s all thanks to a few breakthroughs in genetics, in particular rapid genome sequencing.”
“I thought they already sequenced the human genome — in the 90s.”
“Ah, that’s inco—, ah, a misnomer, if you will. There is no one human genome. The first human genome was sequenced in the 90s, and the draft sequence was published in February of 2001 — ah, that was the genome of Dr. Craig Venter. But we each have a genome and each is different. That’s part of the challenge.”
“I don’t follow.”
“Yes, sorry, I don’t often talk about the project.” He chuckled nervously, “Ah, for obvious reasons! And especially not to anyone in your position. Yes, where to start? Maybe a little history. Ah, the 1930s — the research then was… radical, but yielded some interesting results, despite the methods.” Chang looked around, as if wondering if he had offended Dorian. “Ah, well, we spent decades studying what the Bell actually does to its victims. As you know it’s a form of radiation that we don’t fully understand, but the effects are—”
“Don’t lecture me about its effects, Doctor. No one on this earth knows more about what it does than I do. Tell me what you know. And be quick.”
Chang looked down. He made several fists with his hands and then tried to dry them on his pants. “Of course you know, I only meant to contrast our past research with.. Yes, today, genetics, we sequence… We… The… breakthrough has been turning the research on its head — instead of studying the effects of the device, we’ve focused on finding a way to survive the machine. We’ve known since the 30s that some subjects fare better than others, but since they all die eventually—” Chang looked up to see Dorian leering at him. The doctor ducked his head and plowed on. “We, our theory is that if we can isolate the genes that impart immunity to the machine, we can develop a gene therapy to protect us from its effects. We would use a retrovirus to deliver this gene, what we’re calling ‘The Atlantis Gene.’”
“So why haven’t you found it?”
“We thought we were close a few years ago, but no one person seems to have full immunity. Our premise, as you know, was that there was a group of humans that could have withstood the machine at some point and that their DNA has been scattered across the earth — essentially we were on a global genetic egg hunt. But frankly, after as many experiments as we’ve run, given our sample size, we were beginning to believe that the Atlantis Gene didn’t exist — that it never existed in humans.”
Dorian held his hand up and the doctor stopped to catch his breath. If what the doctor said was true, it would require a re-examination of everything they believed. And it would vindicate his methods. Or at least come close. But could it be? There were a few problems. “How did the children survive?” Dorian said.
“Unfortunately we don’t know. We aren’t even sure what they were treated with—”
“I know that. Tell me what you know.”
“We know that the therapy they received was something cutting edge. Possibly something so new we don’t have anything to compare it to. But we have some theories. There’s been another recent breakthrough in genetics — what we call Epigenetics — the idea is that our genome is less like a static blueprint and more like a piano. The piano keys represent the genome. We each get different keys, and the keys don’t change throughout our life — we die with the same piano keys — or genome — we’re born with. What changes is the sheet music — the epigenetics — and that sheet of music determines what tune is played — what genes are expressed and those genes determine our traits — everything from IQ to hair color. The idea is that this complex interaction between our genome and the epigenetics that control gene expression really determines who we become. What’s interesting is that we have a hand in writing the music, in controlling our own epigenetics. And so do our parents and even our environment. If a certain gene is expressed in your parents and grandparents, it’s more likely to activate in you. Essentially our actions, those of our parents, and our environment influence what genes could be activated. Our genes might control the possibilities, but epigenetics determines our destiny. It’s an incredible breakthrough. We’ve known something more than pure static genetics was at work for some time. Our twin studies in the 30s and 40s told us that — some twins survived longer in the machine than others, despite having almost exactly the same genome. Epigenetics is the missing link.”
“What does this have to do with the kids?”
“My personal theory is that some new kind of therapy inserted new genes into the kids and that those genes had some sort of cascade effect, possibly operating at the Epigenetic level as well. We think surviving the Bell is a matter of having the right genes and turning this ‘Atlantis Gene’ on — that’s the key. It’s strange, the therapy operated almost like a mutation “
“Mutation?”
“Yes, a mutation is simply a random change in the genetic code, a genetic dice roll if you will — sometimes it pays off big, imparting a new evolutionary advantage and sometimes… you get six fingers or four! But this one provided immunity to the Bell. It’s so fascinating. I wonder if I could speak with Dr. Warner. It would be incredibly helpf—”
“Forget Dr. Warner.” Dorian rubbed his temple. Genetics, Epigenetics, mutations. It all added up to the same thing: failed research, no viable therapy for immunity to the Bell, and no time left on the clock. “How many subjects can your bell room hold?”
“Ah, we usually limit each trial to 50 subjects, but maybe 100, maybe a little more if we pack them in.”
Dorian gazed at the monitors. A cadre of white-coat-clad egg heads were corralling a new cohort of subjects into the lounge chairs, then hooking them up to clear plastic bags of death. “How long does it take to run?”
“Not long. Five or ten minutes is about as long as any subject goes.”
“Five or ten minutes.” His voice was just above a whisper. He leaned back in the chair, turning the idea over in his mind. Then he stood and took a step toward the door. “Start processing all your remaining subjects through the Bell — as quickly as you can.” Dr. Chang stepped forward to protest, but Dorian was already halfway out the door. “Oh, and remember, don’t destroy the bodies. We need them. I’ll be in the nuclear section, Doctor.”