“Very funny,” said Jon. “What were we doing?”
“I think we were crying into our hands, lamenting our existence,” said Mel.
“No—” but then Jon’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out to see Sabrina’s name on the screen. He answered.
“Hello, Jon Matthews,” he said.
“Hello, Doctor,” said Sabrina, her voice clear. “Mr. Shaw requests your presence.”
“When?” asked Jon.
“As soon as possible,” said Sabrina.
“I’ll be right there,” said Jon, and the call ended.
“Who was that?” asked Mel.
“Shaw wants to see me,” said Jon. Jon’s mind went to Dr. Armitage, exiled on the surface. Of Stone’s recent words. But more than that, his thoughts went to the failures of his research in the lab.
Mel tried to force a smile, but largely failed. “Good luck.”
Shaw stood as Jon entered, extending his metallic hand, just like the first time. Jon shook it, shockingly cold to the touch.
“Thanks for coming on such short notice, Jon,” said Shaw. He smiled and sat back down behind his desk. He gestured to a chair in front of it, and Jon sat.
“No problem,” said Jon. “It is your show.” Jon sat there, trying to dispel the well of anxiety that had opened in his stomach.
“I hear you’ve been having some trouble,” said Shaw.
“Yes,” said Jon. “You could say that.”
“Tell me about it,” said Shaw. “What’s the problem?”
“I don’t really know,” said Jon. “The problem is I can’t identify the problem. We have the computer modeling thousands of different serums, and we experiment with the ones with the highest probability of success. We dissect our failures, use it to change the models, and move on. And that should, given enough time, gear the models toward progress. Or at least some measure of it. It should get us closer to success, at least. But nothing. We’ve only had failure. The rats haven’t gotten any closer to regeneration. They’ve regrown the limb, certainly, but nothing approximating the original limb, and it takes hours.”
“So they are regenerating?” asked Shaw.
“Of a sort,” said Jon. “They’re regrowing tissue, but it’s nothing like their original limbs. It’s muscle and bone with no rhyme or reason. The rats would be crippled for life. Worse than with no limb at all. It doesn’t make sense. The rat’s DNA is programmed with the original schematic for its arm. It’s how it was formed in the womb in the first place. I’ve tried tinkering with CRISPR, but I honestly don’t think it’s that at all. The science is sound.”
“Then where does the problem lie?” asked Shaw.
“I—I don’t know,” said Jon.
Shaw waved him off. “Don’t give me that,” said Shaw. “You suspect something, I know you do. You’re a smart man, Jon. Your results are all inconclusive, so ignore them. What does your gut say is the problem?”
Jon looked at Shaw.
“My gut says we’re overloading the body of the rat,” said Jon. “Because it can’t heal at the rate we are telling it to. That no matter how many calories we pump into it, it simply can’t absorb them as fast as we need, and can’t deliver them to the wound site as quickly as we need. The wound is healing yes, but because it’s healing too slowly, the regenerated limb is abnormal and deformed. I should probably slow it down. Go back and start—”
“No,” said Shaw. “Slowing down is the opposite of what we want. Is there any way you can speed up the metabolism of the animal? So that it can absorb the nutrients faster?”
“Once you fiddle with the metabolic systems, you are creating new problems, ones you don’t want to have to solve, things worse than losing a limb. Because you’re going back, and re-writing genetic code after you’ve done your initial work, and god knows what will be un-done successfully.”
“So, you need the rat to absorb nutrients faster, to facilitate the regeneration process? Do you think that if you could deliver those extra nutrients to the wound site, the reconstruction process would work?”
“Yes,” said Jon. “That’s what my gut says.”
“Hmm,” said Shaw. “Give me a moment.” Shaw hit a control and a thin screen slid up from somewhere in his desk. He slid his hands across it a few times, studying something.
“Have you considered asking some of your colleagues for help?”
“No,” said Jon. “I’ve thought about it, but I’ve never been good at asking for assistance. And we’re all so busy. I don’t want to take someone’s time away from their own research.”
“Well, then I insist,” said Shaw. “I think that in this case, it will be beneficial, to both of you. You know how much I want your research to bear fruit, Jon, and you need to take that next step before I can push you up into the special projects lab. But with help, I think you can get there, and move your experiments to the next level.”
“If you think it’s best,” said Jon. “Who do you suggest I work with?”
“Dr. Stone,” said Shaw. “His research seems catered to work with yours. I see you as two puzzle pieces, that when locked together, will create a larger picture.”
“Dr. Stone?” asked Jon. Jon remembered Stone’s dead stare at him earlier. The insults. “I—”
“Is there a problem, Jon?” asked Shaw, his eyes fixed on Jon’s. The jovial and conversational tone that Shaw had until this moment seemed to die on the vine, the room suddenly feeling cold and alien. Jon thought to his failures.
“No, of course not,” said Jon. “I’ll speak to Dr. Stone about his work, and see how he can help me.”
“It’s a two-way street,” said Shaw. “I think you can help him as well. You’ll make an impressive pair. The two of you together will be dynamite.”
11
Shaw was right about Stone. Jon hadn’t looked at his research, had avoided it altogether, because he didn’t want to be like Stone. He preferred not to obsess over someone else’s results, good or bad. He didn’t want to be that person.
But if he had looked at Stone’s research earlier, he might have swallowed his pride and asked for his help before Shaw intervened, because Shaw was right. They were like puzzle pieces.
Stone was researching advanced healing processes as well, which made sense. They were both in the Medical pillar and accelerated healing was a utilitarian approach that would help people. Maybe that was why Stone disliked him so much. Because he thought Jon was trying to steal his thunder.
Stone’s research, at a glance, was seeking to utilize the hagfish’s ability to absorb nutrients through its skin. He would find out what made it tick, how it made that ability work, and then port it over to humans, so they could absorb nutrients faster, by being put in a nutrient bath or something similar. But it also didn’t broach how to speed up the healing like Jon had tackled. And it was on a smaller scale, only attempting to heal normal wounds quickly. It made sense for them to combine their effort.
That fact didn’t make Jon feel any better. He went back to the lab after talking to Shaw with anxiety in his gut. He had never enjoyed the social aspects of his work, like applying for grants and social networking, necessary things for any occupation, but nothing he liked. And it had cost him, frankly. No matter how hard he tried, his heart wasn’t in it, and people could tell. They wanted a smiling face to give their money to, not some awkward conversation about amputated limbs.
Still, Jon thought to Shaw’s eyes when Jon showed reticence, and they reminded him of the same look he had when he announced Armitage had been exiled. Stone had been exaggerating when he spoke of being thrown out for not getting results, but the idea still worried Jon.
And so he went to Stone’s lab, taking deep breaths as he approached, keeping himself calm, preparing himself to ask Stone for help. The doors were closed. Jon pushed the doorbell, so to speak, waiting for a response.