Hughes - Petri Parousia

by Matthew Hughes

Around these parts, Matthew Hughes is best known for his tales of penultimate Earth, particularly the stories of Henghis Hapthorn and of Guth Bandar. This month, however, we find Mr. Hughes using a more contemporary setting as the starting point for this particular strand of speculation....

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A research scientist is someone who cannot rest content within the confines of existing knowledge, but always itches to know what is over the horizon.

Or its somebody who doesnt know to leave well enough alone.

Either definition would fit Wally Applethorpe. So it was natural for him to stay on at Yale School of Medicine on a research fellowship, while I couldnt wait to get out and start cutting people open to give them new knees and hips and other useful parts in return for a six-figure income.

In our last year together, Wally had got interested in DNA. Nothing wrong with that, of course. There are plenty of useful things to do with DNA, from catching serial killers to editing congenital diseases out of the gene pool. I suppose you can even make a case for the idea of improving the species by making people stronger or more germ-resistant, or whatever he was getting up to in his lab over behind the red brick Farnham Building.

I admit, I could never totally fit my mind around what he was doing. If I could have, maybe I wouldnt have become a surgeon. To me, the human body was not a quasi-metaphysical mystery to be unraveled. It was a kind of soft machine whose parts could be repaired when they broke down, oreven betterreplaced entirely with materials God would have used if Hed only had access to teflon and stainless steel.

But to Dr. Wally Applethorpe, full-weight genius and Bentham Research Fellow Extraordinaire, the human being was an infinite series of nesting boxes, like those wooden Russian dolls, one inside another. As soon as he got one open, hed discover another, smaller one inside, and hed get busy trying to find his way in, world without end.

I moved up to Boston, joined an existing medical group as their bone man, and got busy in my own way: marriage, mortgage, membership in a decent country club. I received regular emails from WallyKeeping in touch was always the subject headerto which I replied as briefly as I knew how. You may not know many real geniuses, but let me tell you: close up, over the long term, they can truly get on your nerves.

Then late one morning he showed up at my office. Sharon, the receptionist, was still buzzing me to ask if I wanted to receive an unscheduled visitor when he walked right through my door and said, Jimmy-boy, youve got to see this.

By reflex, I said, Dont call me Jimmy-boy. Its Jim, or James, or what the hell, Dr. Feltham.

He gave me that look he always used to give me, the Lets not make a bigdeal out of nothing look (although it seemed to me his whole life was about making big deals out of next to nothing), and said, Ive got to show you this!

Now, someone who didnt know Wally Applethorpe might think that the logical response to his statement would be, What? But Id spent three years in a grungy New Haven apartment with him, so my question was, Why?

He blinked and put on that expression of astounded innocence that went with the clear blue eyes, perpetually pink cheeks, and shock of corn-yellow hair.

Because youre my friend, he said.

Im not your friend, Wally, I said. Im just a guy who wound up rooming with you because I couldnt find anything cheaper. Why dont you try to think of us as strangers who got stuck in an elevator and then happily went their separate ways?

At which he gave me his You old kidder, you look and launched into the matter that had brought him here. Give me some blood, he said, pulling a specimen kit out of his pocket.

This time, my response was the same as anybodys would have been.

Why?

So I can show you what Ive been doing.

Why?

He sighed indulgently. Cause youre going to want to get in on the ground floor of this. Im launching a company, got some backers, going to make some big buckazoids, do a lot more research. Skys the limit. So naturally I thought of my old buddy, Jimmy-boy.

It was on the tip of my tongue to say, Im not your old buddy, but another part of my brain weighed in and said to me, Just cause hes an annoying littletwerp doesnt mean he isnt brilliant. How many people could stand Bill Gatesbefore he was a multi-billionaire?

I rolled up my sleeve and he efficiently took ten ccs out of me. Now what?

I said.

Ill be back tomorrow, he said, to show you.

Thats kind of a long commute from New Haven.

Didnt you get my email? he said. Im just six blocks from here now. Hey, you free for lunch?

I pleaded an urgent, though imaginary, consult with Jag Sharma, our geriatrics specialist. And, thank God, I did genuinely have a couple of hip replacements scheduled for the afternoon, which allowed me to ease him out the door while he was still bubbling about how it was just like the good old days, the two amigos back in the saddle again. But after he had gone, I wondered how I would keep him at a manageable distance.

I went out front to plot strategy with Sharon. What a sweet guy, was her opening comment, which was just what girls always said about Wally. Of course, they hadnt had him at full strength and close quarters for three years. Or maybe it was just me. Either way, and notwithstanding the puzzled look she gave me, I worked out a system with Sharon: she would buzz me the moment she saw Wally out in the elevator lobby and heading for the glass doors. That would give me time to get into somebody elses office and close the door before he could inflict himself on me at will. With Wally, I had found that control was the key to maintaining sanity.

But, of course, he was beyond control; so the system failed on its first test. Impatient with the slowness of our elevators, Wally came up the fire stairs and was past Sharon and halfway to my office before she could buzz me with the code words, Mrs. Arkwright to see you.

So Wally caught me, my desk spread with insurance forms, which meant I couldnt plead any urgencies to justify shortening his visit. He carried a small plastic case, like an insulated lunch box, from which he removed a set of petri dishes with transparent covers. They were marked with numbers and names. The names were familiar.

What is this? I said.

He touched one of the covers. Its label read Stanley Feltham. Thats your granddad, he said.

Next to it was a dish labeled Rose (Maguire) Feltham. And your grandma.

The two other dishes were labeled with the names of my mothers parents.

What is this? I said again.

Ive isolated each of your grandparents DNA, he said, giving me that wide-eyed, farm-boy look that meant he had cracked open another doll.

How?

So now, finally, he explained. He could unravel a subjects DNA to separate what each of that persons parents had contributed to the mix. It involved microlasers and several kinds of enzymescutters, movers, and assemblers, he called themand the whole process was handled by a super-fast computer that could sort through all the possible combinations and find the one that was true.

I patented the process and were going public in a few weeks, he said.

Write me a check for five grand and Ill give you stock warrants that will be worth two percent of the company.

And what will the company be worth? I said.

Why, billions, he said.

Why? I said. What will people do with their grandparents DNA?

He shrugged. I suppose some of them will put it into an egg, insert it into a womb and give birth to grandma or grandpa. Most people have fond memories of their grandparentsfrom childhood, that isbut by the time the kids are old enough to really get to know them, the old folks are getting ready to shuffle off this mortal coil. Or theyre senile.