First Horseman, The (6 page)

‘Well,’ said Jim, ‘not really. I’m just trying to help people. Does that mean changing the world?’

‘I think so,’ said Cardini. ‘Great advances always change the world. Take penicillin,’ he boomed. ‘When it was discovered there were but two billion people in the world. Now, thanks to this panacea, there are seven billion. Dr Fleming is the grandfather of five billion people.’ He looked deep into Jim’s eyes. ‘Of course there is danger in progress, but it takes a man of vision to face these consequences with courage.’ He lowered his head. ‘Are you a man of vision, Mr Evans?’

Jim didn’t answer. His face was beginning to itch and he was trying not to scratch it for fear of getting the balm on his fingers. His left ear was whistling. He caught sight of a cowering rat covered with feeding mosquitoes. ‘I’m not sure I’m too keen on genetic engineering,’ he said. ‘What happens if you screw up? It’s like programming, right? Well, you know what happens with software – it’s always crashing.’

‘There is no second place in nature,’ said Cardini. ‘A flawed design will be gobbled up by the voracious environment that is life.’

‘What about a mistake that works – like those frogs in Australia?’

Cardini nodded. ‘Toads,’ he corrected. ‘A good example. Cane toads are not genetically engineered, quite the opposite. They are very “of nature”. Meanwhile, in all the years of genetic experimentation there has never been a single accident. It is clear that nature is far more dangerous than science. All you need do is ask yourself if you would prefer to sleep in a laboratory like this or in a jungle.’ He laughed at his own joke.

‘Jungles are OK,’ said Jim. ‘I’ve slept just fine in jungles.’ His eyes were drawn back to the glass case.

‘However, if you are uncomfortable with genetics, we have our biomechanics lab.’

‘What do you do there?’

‘We’re attempting to build replacement organs: kidneys, livers, hearts. There is a desperate shortage. Thousands die on waiting lists, hoping that some unfortunate will pass theirs on to them. One must die so others live. Clearly that is no real solution.’ Cardini held his giant hands out in supplication. ‘So we’re trying to create artificial ones. Would you like to see?’

‘Yes,’ said Jim, happy at the prospect of departing from the ghoulish mosquito lab.

They went up to the second floor, where a distant pulsating hum filled the atmosphere with an unsettling reverb straight out of a Chill Bill ambient track like
This time Orpheus does not look back
. Cardini gave him a lab coat and asked him to put on a pair of plastic clogs that looked rather like Crocs. They slipped masks over their noses and mouths, then went through a series of airlocks.

Cardini took him into a small room, with glass cases lining the four walls. ‘This is a pig’s kidney,’ he said. ‘We’re washing it so that all the cells come away. This will leave the structure behind. In this room we wash all the organs and next door we try to grow human kidney cells on them. Let me show you.’

They walked out into the corridor and into the next room.

‘This kidney is very advanced,’ said Cardini. ‘We have fitted it with artificial human veins, which we have grown and populated with cultured human cells. It’s very close to being complete.’

Jim marvelled at the apparatus holding the kidney, with its tubes of blood and fluid pumping through and over it. ‘Will this be used for a transplant?’ he asked.

‘Sadly not,’ said Cardini. ‘We must build and test innumerable versions before we can even start thinking about applying for medical approval. Even if this were a perfect kidney, we’d be years away from
in vivo
application. Not many of us will see this work reach a point when it saves lives. The timescale crosses generations.’

‘Pity,’ said Jim.

The door opened and Jim recognised Cardini’s assistant. ‘Excuse me, Professor, but you have an urgent call from America.’

‘A bit early even for them,’ barked Cardini, clearly irritated. He turned to Jim. ‘Forgive me, but Bob Renton here will show you around while I’m away. I shall return in a few minutes.’ He looked at Renton. ‘Would you be so kind?’

‘My pleasure,’ said Renton.

‘Please excuse me,’ said Cardini, and left.

Renton smiled at Jim, his beard sticking up on his chin. ‘What do you think so far, Mr Evans?’

‘Call me Jim,’ he said. ‘You’re Bob, right?’

‘Yes,’ he said, rising up on his toes.

‘Well, Bob, this growing kidneys thing is amazing.’

‘Yes. Deliciously Promethean.’

‘Yes,’ said Jim, getting the gist – in as much as ‘Promethean’ sounded positive. ‘And you’re growing livers and hearts too.’

‘Yes – let’s go and see them.’ Renton opened the door. ‘Of course, the real goal is nerve and spine. Once you can build a nervous system, it’s only the brain that’s irreplaceable.’

‘You’re never going to grow a brain in a jar!’

‘No,’ said Renton, ‘but we’re making good progress on nerve and spine.’

‘Really?’ said Jim, as they entered another room where a liver was being bathed in a misty fluid. ‘So you’ll be looking to make people with broken backs walk again?’

‘We’re close, Jim, very close.’

Jim stopped and stared at him. ‘Amazing. I thought that was science fiction.’

‘Would you like to see?’

‘You bet,’ said Jim. ‘One liver looks just like another to me.’

‘Come this way. It’s upstairs.’

Cardini sat stiffly in his desk chair, an old phone pressed to his ear. ‘Howard, you must calm yourself. I’ll attend next week as planned. I know the process is distressing but we’ve been through it before and it’s occurring as expected. No good will come of exciting yourself over it.’

He listened to the reply.

A window popped up on his computer: Renton had entered the myelin lab. He scowled. ‘I must go now, Howard. I have an urgent matter to attend to.’ He hung up, cutting off the agitated reply, then got to his feet and strode towards the door.

Through the window in the security door Jim could see the lab was dark and up-lit, unlike the others. As they went in, a faintly musty odour was partially masked by the smell of disinfectant.

A lab assistant at the far end of the room looked at them for a second, then returned to his work.

Renton led Jim to a case containing what at first glance looked like a small industrial robot. There was a red fluffy thing on its wrist, some kind of joke hand. He logged on to a computer, operated a joystick and the robot moved. The hand opened and closed and the fingers flexed like those of a theme-park automaton. ‘Extraordinary, isn’t it?’ His eyes were lit up with pleasure.

Jim was about to say something else but … ‘Is that a real hand?’

‘Of course.’

‘Like off a monkey?’

‘Macaque.’

Jim watched the hand as it articulated. ‘How does it stay alive?’

‘We feed it like the animal did, with blood and nutrients.’

Jim’s eyes were riveted to the hand in horrified fascination. ‘With monkey blood?’

‘Yes, but that’s nothing,’ said Renton, typing. At the side of the robot a metal curtain pulled back and something stirred. ‘We’ll let the monkey work the robot.’

Jim jumped back, appalled.

The one-armed monkey peered through the window and the arm began to move.

‘The nerves in its shoulder are wired into a tiny receiver-transmitter,’ said Renton, who had fallen apparently into a state of ecstasy.

The hand turned to the monkey and pulled on a cord hanging above the robot. A piece of apple fell into the cage beside the animal, which picked it up and bit into it.

‘Of course, it takes a smart monkey to recognise its own arm and use it.’

Jim gaped. That’s awful, he wanted to say, but the words didn’t come out. He was mesmerised by the one-armed monkey, chewing its apple.

‘You can imagine the applications. Some of these nerves are connected at the spine, and if we can take the feed directly from the spine or brain then it doesn’t matter whose body—’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Cardini’s deep voice behind them. Jim started. ‘I’m afraid I must take you out of here. This project is funded by the military, and Bob shouldn’t have brought you in.’ Cardini was glaring at Renton. ‘As you can imagine, if we succeed in this project then many thousands with damaged spines can be given their lives back. The military, the US military in particular, is investing heavily in research to help their veterans, many of whom have lost limbs.’

‘That poor monkey,’ blurted Jim.

‘Indeed,’ said Cardini. ‘A small sacrifice in the fight against such great misery.’

As he followed Cardini out of the lab, Jim glimpsed at least another dozen such cabinets. He was relieved when the lab door closed behind them. He felt nauseous.

Cardini noted his expression as he closed the door. ‘I hope that didn’t upset you.’

‘I didn’t like it,’ said Jim. ‘I didn’t mind watching you grow a mixed grill downstairs, but I’m gutted for the monkey. I can’t help thinking of me like that, in a cage, in his position.’

‘The monkey would live a shorter more brutal life in the wild,’ said Cardini.

‘But it would be a lot happier.’

‘Hm,’ grunted Cardini. ‘I don’t believe a monkey experiences happiness or unhappiness, Jim … Unlike the people we are trying to help,’ he added gravely.

‘Well, I hope you find the answer quickly, for everyone’s sake.’

‘So do I,’ said Cardini.

Jim’s eye was itching again, as if little needles were working under his skin. He put his fingers to the bruise and touched it gently. The skin was soft and smooth. He rubbed it carefully – surely ten minutes had passed.

‘I think,’ said Cardini, as they walked down the stairs, ‘you should consider our mosquito project. Here, at least, we kill only vermin for the sake of human life.’

When Cardini looked at him, a flicker of what Jim interpreted as contempt showed in his eyes. ‘Are you having a pop at me?’ he wondered.

‘Yes,’ said Cardini. ‘I probably am.’

‘What’s probability got to do with it?’

‘Very little,’ he said, sighing.

‘I know you mean well,’ said Jim, following him down the bare concrete stairs, ‘but I’ve got to be honest. Chopping a poor monkey’s arm off so you can get him to move it by Wi-Fi makes me feel kind of sick.’

‘I know,’ said Cardini. ‘But you have a purity that only youth can afford. If you were lying paralysed in bed covered with bedsores, how many monkeys would you want to die for you?’

Jim stopped. ‘Loads,’ he said, ‘but that wouldn’t make it right.’

Cardini continued on his way down the stairs. At the bottom, he said, ‘Well, Jim, it’s been a pleasure to meet you. It’s not often I meet someone so young and full of life and righteousness. My normal donor shakes in his boots at the thought of his moment of judgement or his approaching oblivion.’

Jim had no idea what he meant. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘Well, thanks for having me.’

‘I hope you’ll consider what we’re doing here in a broad context and forgive some of the harshness you’ve seen.’

‘I understand what you’re trying to do, Professor, but I still feel sorry for the rats and that monkey.’ He grimaced. ‘And for all the other poor bloody monkeys I didn’t see.’

Cardini didn’t respond but Jim felt his disdain.

‘Well,’ said Cardini, eventually, ‘I wish you good day, and if you should want to help us, I’m sure history will be very grateful.’ He held out his hand, took Jim’s, dwarfing it, and shook.

There was movement high above and Jim glanced up to see Renton looking down from the landing. Jim’s eyes narrowed. Cardini and Renton were a creepy pair.

He went out into the daylight, got into the Veyron, opened his iPad and logged on to the markets. He felt like a retired sportsman checking on the next generation of players battling away in a never-ending round of tournaments. He couldn’t let the markets go: he was a junkie for the game he’d been forced to give up.

When he looked up, Kate was walking towards the car and the lab beyond. He lowered the window and stuck his head out. ‘Hi,’ he called.

She veered towards him. ‘Hello,’ she said.

‘I’d offer to take you to lunch but you just ate.’

‘I didn’t actually,’ she said, resignedly. ‘I was just making excuses.’

‘Do you fancy lunch, then?’

She hesitated.

‘OK, I can hang about waiting for you now as a punishment.’ He grinned.

She tossed her head. ‘OK, then, but if you get fed up, just go.’

‘Deal.’

Jim was flipping through the financial charts on his iPhone. The Dow was going to open up and stay strong all day. The dollar would keep slipping, and by the end of the week it would be down about two per cent against most of the major currencies.

To him financial charts told a story not just of the past but of the future. It was a skill that legions of traders tried to develop. The successful analysis of financial charts was meant to be the key to untold wealth, but it seemed that only Jim had mastered the art. While other traders pored over their charts hoping for a hint of what was to come, Jim could read the outcome as if it was printed in bold. His clairvoyance had made him his fortune, a sum so great that he didn’t even know exactly how much he was worth. He was so rich that the interest, even at the current derisory rate, piled up faster than he could sensibly give it away. There was no end to the prosperous middle-class people who begged him to donate to their slick and shiny causes, but aid at one level was too often a curse at another. How could he help without worsening the situation he was trying to relieve? You could send clothes to Africa, like the Americans, and end up destroying a country’s industry so that in the end it couldn’t even make its own. You could send shiploads of food and by accident bankrupt a nation’s farmers. Giving money away was like putting fertiliser on land: it so easily became poison in the rivers.

Trading was much easier than philanthropy. The market was either going up or down. You made that call and you were either right or wrong. You made money or lost it. There was no one to tell you that you had lost when you had won, or that you had bought when you had sold. You took your positions and you came off richer or poorer. It was a black or white world where the rules of engagement were simple. If you were right enough, you made a fortune; if you were wrong you went broke. Unlike the real world, the markets were simple and fair.