task at hand. She turned to the rest of the vast room. In the center was a long stainless-steel examination table like that used by veterinarians. Medical instruments were everywhere. On a stand at the end of the table rested an ultrasound machine.
Along one wall was another long counter; above that, metal cupboards with makeshift labels, crude penmanship scrawled on masking tape, denoting their contents.
She opened one marked histological samples. Inside, one shelf was labeled--again crudely on masking tape-- brain; another, spinal chord. Ellen knew the samples must have been from the fetal Thylacine pups.
As she turned back to the cupboards, a large barrel in the corner of the room caught her eye. It was stamped "LAB WASTE". She went to the barrel and struggled with the lid for a few minutes trying to figure out how to remove it. There was a clasp attached to a metal strip that circled the top of the barrel, fixing the lid in place. It required considerable strength to disengage and, as Ellen strained to force it open, she inadvertently leaned into the barrel. Suddenly, the catch gave way and the lid, now free, clamored to the ground. As she shifted her weight away, a liquid sloshed out of the wobbling barrel, splashing her hands and face.
Horrified that it might be some kind of acid, Ellen wiped frantically with the sleeves of her lab coat. She pulled them long to cover her hands, and was wiping her face with them when something on the barrel's surface drew her attention.
She stopped, sleeve-covered hands still pressed to either side of her face, and leaned closer.
"Oh my God," she cried out.
Twenty-Four
----
F RANK T IBEK WAS A BUNDLE of nervous energy. He did not like meetings. Especially this early in the morning. His long fingers tapped incessantly on a lab stool as he fielded their questions. His other hand fumbled idly with a pen in the pocket of his lab coat as Jimi reviewed the file that lay open on his table.
"It seems Dr. Carlson has made a big difference."
There it was again. Doctor Carlson, what a difference! All the work that had gone into this project for the last five years, his work, was being overshadowed by the prodigal child's arrival. Or should that be the prodigal grandchild?
"I believe the difference is the change in the way the cells were derived this time. Clearly the response of the host to this embryo is dramatically different than any previous attempts,"
Tibek responded.
Jimi stood transfixed, clearly in over his head.
The scientist continued, "While the embryo twinning looked good in culture--I achieved an eighty percent success rate--once implanted, hyper-acute rejection has been the rule rather than the exception. I was unable to achieve proper synchronization of the adult nucleus donor and egg cell until obtaining the exact formula."
"I take it Dr. Carlson provided that formula?"
"Yes," Tibek answered reluctantly. "In that respect, Dr. Carlson's help has, um, expedited matters somewhat. However, in two months--three month tops, we would have had it anyway."
"You're the expert, not me. I'm just here to gather information for the Prince. I must tell you, though; he is growing increasingly anxious. The boy has taken a turn for the worst."
Tibek stood. "I'm sorry to hear that. We are proceeding as fast as humanly possible. Everything we can do is being done. You need to convey that to him. We are in day fifty of the seventy-day gestation period. It won't be long, three weeks at most."
Tibek strained his long gooseneck to read along as Jimi flipped through the pages of several charts.
"All but three have aborted?" he asked Tibek after studying the charts for several minutes.
Tibek nodded. "What about those three?" Tibek removed his glasses and pierced his eyes on Jimi. "Well, that's a good question."
Twenty-Five
----
P ETER C ARLSON FELT THE WEIGHT of the night pressing down on him. He placed the tissue culture flasks back into the incubator and closed the door. He'd been
Along one wall was another long counter; above that, metal cupboards with makeshift labels, crude penmanship scrawled on masking tape, denoting their contents.
She opened one marked histological samples. Inside, one shelf was labeled--again crudely on masking tape-- brain; another, spinal chord. Ellen knew the samples must have been from the fetal Thylacine pups.
As she turned back to the cupboards, a large barrel in the corner of the room caught her eye. It was stamped "LAB WASTE". She went to the barrel and struggled with the lid for a few minutes trying to figure out how to remove it. There was a clasp attached to a metal strip that circled the top of the barrel, fixing the lid in place. It required considerable strength to disengage and, as Ellen strained to force it open, she inadvertently leaned into the barrel. Suddenly, the catch gave way and the lid, now free, clamored to the ground. As she shifted her weight away, a liquid sloshed out of the wobbling barrel, splashing her hands and face.
Horrified that it might be some kind of acid, Ellen wiped frantically with the sleeves of her lab coat. She pulled them long to cover her hands, and was wiping her face with them when something on the barrel's surface drew her attention.
She stopped, sleeve-covered hands still pressed to either side of her face, and leaned closer.
"Oh my God," she cried out.
Twenty-Four
----
F RANK T IBEK WAS A BUNDLE of nervous energy. He did not like meetings. Especially this early in the morning. His long fingers tapped incessantly on a lab stool as he fielded their questions. His other hand fumbled idly with a pen in the pocket of his lab coat as Jimi reviewed the file that lay open on his table.
"It seems Dr. Carlson has made a big difference."
There it was again. Doctor Carlson, what a difference! All the work that had gone into this project for the last five years, his work, was being overshadowed by the prodigal child's arrival. Or should that be the prodigal grandchild?
"I believe the difference is the change in the way the cells were derived this time. Clearly the response of the host to this embryo is dramatically different than any previous attempts,"
Tibek responded.
Jimi stood transfixed, clearly in over his head.
The scientist continued, "While the embryo twinning looked good in culture--I achieved an eighty percent success rate--once implanted, hyper-acute rejection has been the rule rather than the exception. I was unable to achieve proper synchronization of the adult nucleus donor and egg cell until obtaining the exact formula."
"I take it Dr. Carlson provided that formula?"
"Yes," Tibek answered reluctantly. "In that respect, Dr. Carlson's help has, um, expedited matters somewhat. However, in two months--three month tops, we would have had it anyway."
"You're the expert, not me. I'm just here to gather information for the Prince. I must tell you, though; he is growing increasingly anxious. The boy has taken a turn for the worst."
Tibek stood. "I'm sorry to hear that. We are proceeding as fast as humanly possible. Everything we can do is being done. You need to convey that to him. We are in day fifty of the seventy-day gestation period. It won't be long, three weeks at most."
Tibek strained his long gooseneck to read along as Jimi flipped through the pages of several charts.
"All but three have aborted?" he asked Tibek after studying the charts for several minutes.
Tibek nodded. "What about those three?" Tibek removed his glasses and pierced his eyes on Jimi. "Well, that's a good question."
Twenty-Five
----
P ETER C ARLSON FELT THE WEIGHT of the night pressing down on him. He placed the tissue culture flasks back into the incubator and closed the door. He'd been
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