‘He’s a bullshitter.’
‘You have to get along with bullshitters.’
‘Why?’
‘You just do!’
‘You know,’ said Tom thoughtfully, ‘there’s only one thing worse than a bullshitter...’
‘What’s that?’
‘A bullshitter with a journal club to promote.’
All three of them burst out laughing. It was a good moment, a bonding moment that none of them had seen coming.
Over the next few days, Gavin came in early each morning to check on his cultures before going off to the library to read up on everything surrounding his project. On Monday morning his customary response to Mary’s enquiry changed from ‘Nothing yet’ to ‘Wowee! Now we’re cooking.’
Mary came over to take a look at the cells. ‘Not much doubt about that,’ she said. ‘Quite a dramatic effect. What concentration is this?’
‘Manufacturer’s recommended.’
‘Gosh, it’s hard to see how a drug that can attack tumour cells like this in the lab had absolutely no effect at all in patients.’
‘Just what I was thinking,’ said Gavin. ‘I thought when I first read up on Valdevan that the company might be exaggerating the facts in order to make their drug seem better than it actually was, and that they had selected exceptional cells to photograph and make their point, but I was wrong. All the cells in the monolayer are behaving the same way. This drug is absolutely wonderful.’
‘Except that it doesn’t work in people,’ said Tom.
‘Maybe something inactivates it in the body?’ suggested Mary.
‘I guess.’
‘Stomach acid maybe,’ said Tom.
‘I think Grumman Schalk would have checked that out,’ said Gavin. ‘You don’t spend multi-million dollars developing a drug and then throw it away because you can’t take it by mouth. You inject it.’
‘I suppose.’
‘Gavin’s right: they must have checked every possibility under the sun before giving up on it,’ said Mary. ‘Why not ask them... or ask Frank to find out just what they did?’
‘Ask Frank to do what?’ said Frank Simmons, coming out of his office and hearing his name mentioned.
‘I’ve reproduced the Valdevan effect on tumour cells,’ said Gavin. ‘It’s much more dramatic than I expected. I can see why the company must have been excited by it at the time. We were just wondering how it could possibly have had no effect in vivo. Mary was saying that the company must have investigated this fully and we were wondering if you think it might be worthwhile asking them what they came up with?’
Mary positively beamed at Gavin’s diplomacy. Tom looked as if he were witnessing an unnatural act.
‘Worth a try,’ agreed Simmons. ‘But you mustn’t get bogged down in investigating why an old drug didn’t work. Keep sight of the original aim of the project, which is to investigate the action of the S16 gene. There’s a danger of going up a blind alley here and ending up repeating everything the people at Grumman Schalk did years ago, with exactly the same result.’
‘Okay, boss,’ said Gavin.
‘How are the cell membranes looking?’
‘There are big changes,’ replied Gavin. ‘Definite pinching of the lipid bilayer at intervals.’
‘At the lower concentration too?’
‘I haven’t looked yet.’
‘Let’s take a peek now, shall we?’
Mary and Tom returned to what they had been doing while Simmons sat down at the inverted microscope and Gavin brought out the low drug concentration culture from the incubator.
‘They look quite normal,’ murmured Simmons. ‘Take a look.’ He got up from the chair to let Gavin take his place.
‘You’re right — I can’t see any pinching of the membrane.’
‘And no cell death at that concentration?’
‘Agreed,’ said Gavin.
Simmons looked thoughtful. ‘I think you should set up another series of cell cultures — maybe ten different concentrations of Valdevan this time. See if you can find a level that gives us membrane change but no killing. If not, we’ll have to conclude that knocking out the S16 gene is a lethal event. But if you can, we’re in business, and we can create stable cell populations with an altered membrane structure.’
‘Okay, will do.’
‘And congratulations. You’ve done very well. Things are really beginning to happen.’
‘Thanks. You won’t forget to contact the drug company?’
‘I’ll give them a ring now.’
Simmons returned to his office and looked out the covering letter that Grumman Schalk had sent with the drug. He saw from the letterhead that the head of development was one Professor Max Ehrman. He asked the switchboard to make the call to Denmark and waited while he was transferred three times within the company.
‘Ehrman,’ said a younger voice than Simmons had expected.
‘Hello, Professor, this is Dr Frank Simmons at the University of Edinburgh. Your people kindly sent some Valdevan for one of my postgraduate students to use in his research.’
‘It’s company policy to help where we can, Doctor. Do you need more?’
‘No, well, not yet anyway. I wanted to ask you something about the history of the drug.’
‘The sad history of the drug,’ said Ehrman ruefully. ‘It’s a bit of a taboo subject. We lost millions on it.’
‘So I understand. We were just wondering in the lab if you ever found out what the problem was, and why it didn’t work in patients?’
‘We spent almost as much again trying to find that out,’ said Ehrman. ‘We had a whole research section — ten PhDs with full technical support — assigned to the problem, but in the end we drew a blank. We simply don’t know.’
‘And that’s the way it was left?’
‘We had to move on, turn our attention to new drugs, make up for lost time and money. Valdevan was consigned to the dustbin of history, as you people say.’
‘But you survived,’ said Simmons.
‘We survived,’ agreed Ehrman. ‘I’ll look out the final report on the drug and send you a copy if you like. Can I ask what your student is using it for?’
Simmons told him.
‘Ah,’ said Ehrman. ‘I noticed some people suggesting recently that Valdevan probably affected the S16 gene. It’s a clever approach. I’d be interested to hear how it works out.’
‘I’ll keep you posted — and yes, it would be interesting to see that final report you mentioned.’
‘On its way. And if there’s anything else we can help you with, just let us know.’
Seven
Gavin spent most of the afternoon two floors below in the cell culture suite where Trish Jamieson, the senior technician, had agreed to show him how to set up cell cultures from scratch. ‘We are quite happy to set them up for you,’ she had maintained, but Gavin insisted that his project would call for a great many over the course of the next few months and it would be as well for him to know how to do it, so that he wouldn’t have to impose too much on Trish and her staff. This was, in fact, the diplomatic line that Mary had advised him to take, and he had to admit that it had gone down rather well. The initial restrained animosity — so obvious when he’d first entered the room — had since disappeared and the ambience had become much more relaxed. ‘Going home for Christmas?’ asked Trish as she put the cap on the final culture of the twelve she had set up, with Gavin having done the penultimate four under her supervision.
‘Still not decided,’ confessed Gavin. ‘You?’
‘You bet. Two weeks of my mum’s cooking and seeing all my old mates. Hold me back!’
‘Sounds okay,’ agreed Gavin. ‘Where do you come from?’
‘Inverness. You?’
‘Liverpool.’