vitals. When she was done, Li-ling wheeled over a portable ultrasound machine. Gripping the handle of the transducer probe, Dr. Becker rolled the device over the shark’s belly, the internal organs appearing on a twenty-inch monitor.
“What I’m doing, Mr. Wilson, is marking the precise location of the shark’s liver. The liver is our target—we’re going to inject the organ with a drug that, over the next week, will cause Taurus’s liver to increase its white cell production tenfold. At the end of the week, we’ll siphon out these excess white cells, which contain the shark’s stem cells. The stem cells will be injected into our test subjects.”
“Rats,” Joe whispered.
Using a black marker, Dr. Becker circled a small area on the shark’s belly, directing Li-ling to swab the spot with an antibiotic. Dr. Becker nodded to Anya, who handed her a ten-inch-long hypodermic needle connected to an IV syringe. Carefully, she pressed it down into Taurus’s exposed belly, then slowly injected the clear elixir into the sleeping bull shark’s liver.
Her work done, Dr. Becker turned the job over to the shark wranglers, who flipped Taurus right-side up. After they climbed out of the medical pool, Joe switched the hose from sedative to pure seawater. Within minutes Taurus was conscious again, slashing his head back and forth, whipping his tail.
Using a remote control, John opened the hatch separating the paddock from the main tank, releasing the agitated bull shark into its temporary home.
Joe, John, and Li-ling walked down a spiral stairwell to the lower level while Dr. Becker, Anya, and I took the freight elevator.
“Anya, I want you to show Kwan around, then take him to the Alpha lab and ask Dr. Kamrowski to teach him how to catalog the TS subjects.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The elevator doors opened, revealing the lower level.
“Very cool.”
The chamber was dark, save for the turquoise glow coming from the immense aquarium. Within these shimmering crystal clear waters swam Taurus, the cylindrical shape of the tank magnifying the size and majesty of the predator, which glided effortlessly through the water like a gray demon, its head on a swivel, its mouth slack-jawed and open, its beady eyes taking in everything.
If a bull shark was a human athlete, it would be a wrestler—either that or a fullback. The shark was stocky; its body short and thickly muscled from its blunt rounded snout to its bloated midsection which was topped by a triangular dorsal fin. The pectoral fins were big and active along either side of its body and the caudal fin reminded me more of a triangular boomerang than a sickle, with the upper lobe longer than the lower. For the most part the tail remained pretty rigid, but every once in a while it would flick the water with a powerful thrust, accelerating Taurus on its counterclockwise revolutions around the tank.
As I sat in my wheelchair watching the six hundred pound fish circle, I experienced a sense of envy. The shark was epic—a master of its physical domain, the product of millions of years of evolution. It seemed to move through the water at will; a shiver of muscle sent it gliding through liquid crystal, the slightest rotation of its pectoral fins and it turned. It never worried about swag or impressing girls or whether a building or sidewalk was handicap accessible; all it did was eat and impregnate females and it never stuck around to raise the kids.
Sort of like the Admiral.
I could have sat in my wheelchair and stared at that bad boy all day—only Anya had her orders to train me.
“Are you ready, Kwan? The tour starts here in the observation hall. The observation tank is equipped with sensors, so we can monitor the subject’s vitals. The drug we gave Taurus will cause some agitation and cartilage pain, so he’ll receive meds tonight with his dinner. Everything we feed our sharks has been fortified with vitamins, nutrients, and fats that are designed to maintain optimal
“What I’m doing, Mr. Wilson, is marking the precise location of the shark’s liver. The liver is our target—we’re going to inject the organ with a drug that, over the next week, will cause Taurus’s liver to increase its white cell production tenfold. At the end of the week, we’ll siphon out these excess white cells, which contain the shark’s stem cells. The stem cells will be injected into our test subjects.”
“Rats,” Joe whispered.
Using a black marker, Dr. Becker circled a small area on the shark’s belly, directing Li-ling to swab the spot with an antibiotic. Dr. Becker nodded to Anya, who handed her a ten-inch-long hypodermic needle connected to an IV syringe. Carefully, she pressed it down into Taurus’s exposed belly, then slowly injected the clear elixir into the sleeping bull shark’s liver.
Her work done, Dr. Becker turned the job over to the shark wranglers, who flipped Taurus right-side up. After they climbed out of the medical pool, Joe switched the hose from sedative to pure seawater. Within minutes Taurus was conscious again, slashing his head back and forth, whipping his tail.
Using a remote control, John opened the hatch separating the paddock from the main tank, releasing the agitated bull shark into its temporary home.
Joe, John, and Li-ling walked down a spiral stairwell to the lower level while Dr. Becker, Anya, and I took the freight elevator.
“Anya, I want you to show Kwan around, then take him to the Alpha lab and ask Dr. Kamrowski to teach him how to catalog the TS subjects.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The elevator doors opened, revealing the lower level.
“Very cool.”
The chamber was dark, save for the turquoise glow coming from the immense aquarium. Within these shimmering crystal clear waters swam Taurus, the cylindrical shape of the tank magnifying the size and majesty of the predator, which glided effortlessly through the water like a gray demon, its head on a swivel, its mouth slack-jawed and open, its beady eyes taking in everything.
If a bull shark was a human athlete, it would be a wrestler—either that or a fullback. The shark was stocky; its body short and thickly muscled from its blunt rounded snout to its bloated midsection which was topped by a triangular dorsal fin. The pectoral fins were big and active along either side of its body and the caudal fin reminded me more of a triangular boomerang than a sickle, with the upper lobe longer than the lower. For the most part the tail remained pretty rigid, but every once in a while it would flick the water with a powerful thrust, accelerating Taurus on its counterclockwise revolutions around the tank.
As I sat in my wheelchair watching the six hundred pound fish circle, I experienced a sense of envy. The shark was epic—a master of its physical domain, the product of millions of years of evolution. It seemed to move through the water at will; a shiver of muscle sent it gliding through liquid crystal, the slightest rotation of its pectoral fins and it turned. It never worried about swag or impressing girls or whether a building or sidewalk was handicap accessible; all it did was eat and impregnate females and it never stuck around to raise the kids.
Sort of like the Admiral.
I could have sat in my wheelchair and stared at that bad boy all day—only Anya had her orders to train me.
“Are you ready, Kwan? The tour starts here in the observation hall. The observation tank is equipped with sensors, so we can monitor the subject’s vitals. The drug we gave Taurus will cause some agitation and cartilage pain, so he’ll receive meds tonight with his dinner. Everything we feed our sharks has been fortified with vitamins, nutrients, and fats that are designed to maintain optimal
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