The Athena Factor (43 page)

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Authors: W. Michael Gear

BOOK: The Athena Factor
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“Epigenetics?”
“The nonprotein coding in DNA. We used to call it ‘junk' DNA. Wait, let's go back. DNA codes for the production of different proteins, right?”
“Right.”
“But if all the genes in your body worked twenty-four/seven making all the proteins coded for in your DNA, there wouldn't be a difference between your liver and your big toe, would there?”
“I guess not.”
“Each cell in your body carries your entire genetic code, be it an epithelial cheek cell, or a liver cell. So, what tells those cells how to be different? What to make? How much to make? And when to stop making it?”
“You wouldn't have brought up junk DNA unless it was there.”
“Right. All those bits of old viral DNA, fossil genes, and apparent coding nonsense interact with signals from the cytoplasm to amplify or mute individual gene expression. This is done by something called methylation, literally tagging sections of DNA with methyl molecules that act as on-off switches. When something tampers with methylation in the noncoding DNA, the system goes haywire. It's the root of most cancers and all developmental and metabolic problems. We had to map and control the epigenetics before we could produce reliable clones.”
“How does making a clone flip the wrong switches?”
“Individual cells react to trauma just like organisms do. In the early days when we removed or inserted nuclear DNA, the cell's cytoplasm and organelles were traumatized. They sent enzyme signals to the nucleus that popped methyl off entire gene sequences as the cell sought to repair itself. Think of thousands of switches being thrown randomly, lights going on and off, systems powering up and shutting down. We had to catalog the methyl tags before we could understand what we were doing to the oocyte.”
“How many of these methyl tags have you found?”
“Over ten million. And with them, we are closing in on the cure for most cancers. That alone will make the Sheik the richest man on earth.”
“So, what's your success rate with clones?”
“Close to one hundred percent.”
“Come on, conception doesn't even come close to that when it's left to nature.”
All traces of humor left his face when he told her, “Nature is random, full of error and chance. With our control of epigenetics we are slowly and surely removing those variables from the system.”
“You're telling me that you can control the human genome?”
“Genesis Athena is about control, Christal. And don't you ever forget it.”
T
he woman had called from the Hilton lobby. She would be knocking on the hotel room door within minutes.
Sheela took a deep breath, nerving herself, falling into her character. She was Jennifer Weaver, thirty-two, daughter of a domineering but mostly absent and very dead father and an overindulgent mother who had overdosed herself with sleeping pills when Jennifer was twelve. She knew this role, had played it so well years before that it had catapulted her into fame and fortune.
She had chosen a suite at the New York Hilton for her visit. The room had a view of the facing buildings on Fifty-fourth Street, and by craning her neck she could just see traffic clogging Avenue of the Americas. She would have preferred the Plaza, or the Four Seasons, but even disguised, she feared that someone would recognize her. No, better to play it safe here, where she'd never stayed before.
The rapping at the door was professionally brief. Sheela stepped across, opened the door, and looked uncertainly at the woman who stood there. She wore a neat gray wool suit with a midlength skirt, white conservative blouse, and coat tailored to her full figure. She might have been forty, with a round face and brown hair tastefully curled. Black pumps shod her feet, and a large leather case hung from her left hand.
“Jennifer?” the woman asked hopefully.
“Yes?” Sheela smiled uneasily, barely meeting the woman's eyes.
“Hello, I'm Mary Abernathy with Genesis Athena. May I come in?” Her smile was warm and reassuring, perfectly matching the friendliness in her eyes. She stepped forward, offering her hand.
Sheela gave it a limp shake before retreating to the small couch. Abernathy took the chair that made up one corner of
the triangle created by the TV, chair, and couch. “Let me begin by telling you a little about myself. I'm a registered nurse working with Genesis Athena. I'm here to do a preinterview to get an idea about your general health, take a few samples for tests, and determine what we need to do to make you happy. I'm also here to answer any questions that you have; so please, don't hesitate, no matter how personal. Everything that happens here today is completely and totally confidential.”
Jennifer Weaver nodded, smiled shyly, and fidgeted with her hands. “Okay.”
“All right, first, let's get some baseline information.” Nurse Abernathy reached into her leather case and withdrew a clipboard. “Most of the information has already been provided by your law firm. You're thirty-two, single, and living alone in Los Angeles, correct?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Are you taking any drugs? Anything? From aspirin to LSD—we have to know.”
“No. I've got aspirin and antihistamines in my purse. But I'm not on any prescription.”
“No marijuana, cocaine, ecstasy, anything like that?”
“No.” She shrugged. “Not recently. I mean in the last year or so. I'm clean. You'd find it in the blood test if I lied.”
“Have you ever been pregnant before?”
Jennifer Weaver hesitated.
“It's all right,” Abernathy confided, leaning forward over her clipboard, knowing eyes on Jennifer's. “By the time I was your age, I'd had a ‘situation' myself.”
“Yeah,” Jennifer admitted, eyes downcast. “Once when I was fifteen, and again when I was nineteen.”
“Did you abort or carry to term?”
“Abortion.”
“At a regular clinic?”
“Yes. I had help. Daddy never knew.” She sniffed angrily. “As if he'd given a damn.”
Abernathy smiled sympathetically as she jotted something on her form. “What do fathers know, huh?” She looked up. “Tell me about your periods. Bad cramps?”
“No, well, sometimes.”
“How would you describe your flow? Heavy, medium, light?”
She shrugged. “Uh, medium, I guess.”
“Any tenderness associated with either menses or ovulation?”
“A little, maybe. I don't know. I mean, I never take pills, or anything.”
“Ever had STDs?”
“Yeah.”
“When?”
“When I was younger. You know. I was a kid then. I didn't give a damn.”
“What kind?”
“I had the clap when I was sixteen. Then a doctor told me I'd had chlamydia. He put me on pills for a couple of weeks.”
“Did you take them all, or save some for later?”
“I took them all.” She shook her head. “I didn't want the disease, you know? It's like being a whore or something when you've got disease.”
“Well, before we do the procedure we'll double-check and make sure everything's okay. Jennifer, have you had a pelvic exam recently?”
“Last November. Everything came back normal.”
“Those times you were pregnant, how long did you wait before the abortion?”
She made a wincing face. “Four months with the first one. I was like really young, you know? I didn't know what to do. I was scared. The second time, I knew—I mean, I'd been through it before, so I only had that one for a little over a month. You know, just long enough that I knew I'd skipped. Then I got the test.”
“No problems or complications?”
“No.” She shrugged. “I didn't even bleed much afterwards. I thought, you know, that I'd be laid up for days or something.”
Abernathy smiled. “You look like a very fit young woman. How long since your last period? Can you give me a date?”
“Almost two weeks.” She bit back any reaction as she thought of her stolen tampon.
Mary made the notation on her form. “So you're almost ready to ovulate. Have you noticed any indication that you're close? Tenderness in the ovaries, vaginal discharge?”
“Not yet.” She appeared to think. “But it should be soon.”
“We might want to hurry you forward.” Mary Abernathy looked up. “Outside of pregnancy, have you ever skipped periods?”
“Yeah, back when …” She looked away. “It was before Dad died. Before the trust was set up. He wanted to have me locked away. Sent off. Anywhere but where he was. You know. It wasn't a happy time in my life.”
“So it was stress related you think?”
“Yes.”
Abernathy didn't look up as she made notes on her form. “But nothing since?”
“No.”
“I'm going to read off a list of diseases and health conditions. I need to know if you or anyone in your family has ever had any of these.”
Through the long list that followed, Jennifer Weaver answered no to some, and yes to others, building the profile of her rich but unhappy life. Mary Abernathy dutifully noted each on her form.
Finally she looked up. “Okay, Jennifer, that's it for the paperwork. Next I need to do a quick physical. It's nothing to worry about.” A smile. “I'll warm the stethoscope. The worst part is taking a routine blood sample for the lab. That will provide us with a baseline blood chemistry board, ensure that you're not having some problem, and confirm that your baby's immune system will be compatible with yours.”
Jennifer swallowed. “Okay.” She tried to look listless as Mary took her blood pressure, listened to her heart and lungs, but flinched when the blood sample was taken.
As Abernathy finished sealing and labeling her samples she looked up. “Now, that wasn't so bad, was it?”
“No.” Jennifer actually managed a weak smile.
“One last thing to do.” Mary removed a plastic cup from her case, along with a plastic bag. Jennifer could see a Q-Tip inside. “I need you to walk back to the bathroom and give me a urine sample. Seal the cup when you're done. Finally, I want you to put your foot up on the toilet, just like inserting a tampon, and very carefully insert the Q-Tip and swab the inside of your vagina.”
“Huh?” the request caught Sheela by surprise. She blinked the confusion away, pulled Jennifer's character back into place, and nodded reluctantly.
Mary Abernathy's expression turned serious. “If you'd like, I could help you.”
“No.” Jennifer stood, reaching for the cup and baggie. “That's all right. I think I've got the idea.”
“Just be very careful not to contaminate either of them, okay? Don't lay the Q-Tip on the sink or toilet. Just drop it straight into the baggie when you're done and seal it.”
As she went through the process, Sheela had to wonder. Urine samples, well, sure. But the other? She made a face as she swabbed herself then dropped the Q-Tip into the baggie and sealed it.
Stepping out, she gave the samples to Abernathy and watched the woman write on them before she placed them in her case.
“Any questions?” Abernathy asked.
“Will it hurt?”
“The procedure? No.” The nurse smiled. “You won't even know it happened.”
“When will we do it?”
Abernathy shuffled through her papers. “If you're as close to ovulation as we think—and we'll know from hormone levels in the blood and urine samples—the sooner the better. Our lab ship, the
ZoeGen,
has just arrived off Long Island. I'm going to recommend that you leave as soon as possible. Can you do that? Go at a moment's notice?”
Jennifer nodded. “I'll be right here. Waiting, you know? I don't have any friends in New York.”
At her expression, the nurse's professional demeanor
seemed to crack the slightest bit, only to be replaced by the personable smile. “We'll be in touch, then.”
“And the billing?” Jennifer asked. “That will all be handled through my attorney?”
“That's what I was told. Your deposit has been received, and your credit is approved. Provided that the tests don't indicate any problem, you'll be home in a week and pregnant with your new baby.”
“It's that easy?”
The woman nodded. “It's that easy. We guarantee that your baby will be free of any genetic defects. But you are going to be warned so many times, you'll have it memorized, so I'll start now: Jennifer, you must understand. We can't be responsible for what you do to yourself and your baby once you leave our facilities. Alcohol, tobacco, drugs, stimulants, certain foods, chemicals, poisons, and things like mercury that you introduce into your system can cause irreparable harm and are beyond our control.”
“I know.”
“Good. Be sure that you do,” Mary Abernathy told her firmly. “Jennifer, I'll be honest. We guarantee our work and the health of the fetus. We know our business well enough that we'll know if you cheat, understand? Our doctors will be giving you periodic checkups throughout your pregnancy. We are going to monitor both you and the baby very carefully. If you work with us and follow the rules, everything will end in a perfect delivery and a remarkable child.”
“Will you be there?” Jennifer glanced away. “At the procedure, I mean?”
She nodded. “If you'd like. We're here for you, Jennifer. You're paying for the finest care and service on earth.”
Jennifer looked uncertainly at Mary. “If … I mean …”
“Yes?”
In a small voice, she asked, “What if … if at the last minute, I change my mind?”
“It will be all right,” Abernathy replied gently. “We'll deal with it when the time comes. This is a big decision. If you decide, for whatever reason, that you're uncomfortable, we'll call it off. No one will say anything. It's happened before.
We want you happy so that when the time is right, you'll come back to us.”
Sheela clenched her fist. “They said it would be a Sheela Marks baby. That's what they promised. That's who my little girl will be, right?”
“Oh, yes,” Nurse Abernathy answered. “We took her DNA right off of her tampon. Remember when that happened?”
“How could I forget?” she said too coldly.
 
 
Rex sat fuming in Tony's plush reception area. ZTA, Zell Talent Agency, had its offices on the eighth and ninth floor of a high-rise off Melrose. A polished white marble floor gleamed under the lights, and the furniture was designer stuff Tony had picked up in London. A balcony hung over the waiting room where Rex fidgeted on one of the couches. Access to the sacred upper spaces where Tony hovered like God was gained by way of a sculpted staircase behind the reception desk.
Across from him a woman in her forties, dressed in a brown Gucci concoction, held a huge brown leather purse in her lap while she consoled a pouting teenage boy dressed in baggy gray canvas. The kid had chunks of metal sticking out of his lips, nose, cheeks, and brows, as well as spiky black hair that stood out in all directions.

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