An elbow grew then, a knot of bone, a hinge, and the forearm sprung from it. Muscle trailed behind it, cartilage knitting in the elbow in front of it. Back near the wound site, skin formed, layer by layer.
Jon’s heart thumped, as hard as it ever had, the same feeling he had when Tommy was being born, of waiting on a result he had no control over, not anymore.
The bone continued to regenerate, the nutrient bath being depleted as fast as ever. Ulna and radius formed, two separate bones in the forearm. Jon watched, waiting, dreading that any moment the bones and muscle and skin would balloon, would distort, would mutate into something else, something unrecognizable as animal or man, as flesh grown unbound.
He waited, and the arm continued to regenerate. Hair grew on the skin on the shoulder, finishing there, spreading slowly behind the growth of the skin. The twin bones of the forearm met at the wrist. Another complicated hinge. A broken wrist and a chimp would die in the wild, unable to survive without a working hand.
But the wrist formed next, bone first, and then cartilage on top, working out toward the palm and fingers.
Almost there, almost there. Jon felt his fingernails cut into his palms. He made himself relent before he bled.
The finger bones stopped forming, done, and they watched, minute by minute, as the muscle filled in behind it. Behind that, the skin, and the hair.
Jon’s breath came a little bit easier, and he smiled behind his surgical mask, unable to stop himself.
And then the chimp’s arm was there, whole again, no different from the one it had replaced. It’s skin, the main worry voiced by Stone, looked fine. It had a little of a sheen on it, like the chimp had just gotten out of the shower, but was otherwise whole.
Someone whooped, and others yelled in celebration.
“Don’t celebrate yet,” said Jon. “Prepare to revive. And get the killshot ready.”
A rat, once revived, can only do so much damage. A chimp, on the other hand, even one that is normally docile, can wreak havoc, especially if it’s in pain, or afraid. The killshot was a syringe with a potent chemical cocktail that would functionally destroy its central nervous system.
The team put aside the nutrient bath and picked the chimp out of its tub, moving it back to the main operating table. They toweled it off as they ceased the sedative. Soon it moved, its breath coming more and more normal. Jon watched it carefully. Would its arm still work? Its vitals were stable, but things could fall apart in a moment. They waited, all watching the animal.
Its eyes blinked open, groggy at first, looking around slowly. They waited, giving it time for the sedative to wear off. Its arm twitched, and it reflexively reached around for purchase. With both its arms.
More time passed, minute by minute, and the chimp recovered fully. It vocalized, and then the zoologist picked it up, and held it, just as he had cradled it as he brought it to the table. The creature wrapped its arm around him.
“Now we can celebrate,” said Jon, smiling. The team yelled and cheered.
“I don’t know how that worked,” said Stone. “It was a one in a million shot.”
“It’s almost like we’re good at this,” said Jon. “Well, we got results. How long until Shaw requests a meeting?”
Stone pulled his phone from his pocket. Sabrina was already calling.
19
Shaw was all smiles now, standing, greeting them not with handshakes, but with hugs, wrapping his arms around them with glee.
“I knew you boys could do it,” he said. “I knew a little fire underneath would get you going, and my god. I watched the whole thing. It’s incredible. Seeing it in a rat is one thing, but in a chimp? Unbelievable.” The fingers of his metal arm moved back and forth, back and forth, and Jon had to force himself not to watch it. “Sit down. Let’s talk about what’s next.”
Jon and Stone sat down, seats now familiar again, welcomed back into Shaw’s good graces, just like that. Jon breathed easier, but even so, it was hard for him to sit comfortably. He remembered Shaw’s screaming at them, spittle flying everywhere. He remembered Armitage. He remembered Tabby’s conjecture. Had Shaw heard that too?
They had all been told that there were no cameras in personal living spaces, but their phones and tablets all had cameras and microphones installed. Jon had initially trusted that they weren’t spying on him, but he wasn’t sure now.
“So, what’s next?” asked Shaw, his hands open.
“Well,” said Jon. “I would suggest we work at optimizing the serum we have on chimps. Getting it to perform better, and making sure it’s safe, long term. And then we can transition to human testing, but carefully. Humans are not rats, or chimps—”
“Yes, yes,” said Shaw. “Human lives are much more precious. But better—what do you mean by better?”
“More efficient,” said Jon. “I’m sure Dr. Stone and I can fine tune the sequencing, and optimize certain processes.”
“Will that make it faster?” asked Shaw.
“It might,” said Jon. “Incrementally, but it wouldn’t be the main goal. We’re already under an hour—”
“It’s a good start,” said Shaw. “But I want more. Faster. More damage.”
“We’ve already got a chimp regenerating a limb in under an hour,” said Jon. “That, in and of itself, is a minor miracle.”
Shaw paused, considering him. He smiled, finally.
“Limb regeneration is just the start, Jon,” said Shaw. “I know, I know. You look at me, and you see this.” He raised his prosthetic. “We talked about it on your first day here. Because what is this?”
“It’s rope,” said Jon.
“I’m glad you remember,” said Shaw, smiling widely. “This is rope. But this isn’t the extent of it. Think about the human body, and all the things we do to it to compensate for its weakness. Prosthetic limbs. Organ transplants. Blood transfusions. All of them, rope. They are humanity doing their best with simple tools. Truly, it is why we were able to climb out of the muck, and dominate the Earth. But I am not satisfied with simply replacing my arm, Jon. Do I want a new arm? Of course. This accursed thing is the most valuable thing in the world, but I would kill to write with my own hand again.” He moved his prosthetic, tapping on the table. Tink tink tink.
“But making this incredible piece of technology obsolete is only the beginning,” said Shaw. “It is a proof of concept. Because I don’t want to just replace my arm, or your son’s legs. I want to eliminate trauma all together. No more bullet wounds. No more damage from shrapnel. No more reconstructed knees or shoulders. Catastrophic car accidents, plane crashes, even things like falling off a ladder. No more lasting effects. No more lingering injuries. Imagine, a world where a father falls off a roof and breaks his back. Normally, the man would be burdened with that damage for the rest of his life. He would carry that trauma until he died. And that is after years of rehabilitation and pain management. No more. We erase it, the broken bones re-stitching themselves back together.”
Shaw stood up now, pacing behind his desk.
“Imagine, a soldier, blown to pieces by an IED. A simple soldier, out on patrol, and his legs are destroyed. He surrenders his mobility for the rest of his life, loses his identity, his sense of self, his agency over his body. The armed forces lose a soldier, wastes a resource. But instead of that damage, he heals. His limbs regrow on the field, a single medic overseeing the procedure.”
Shaw stared at Jon, now.
“Imagine, Jon. A boy, in a car accident. A semi-truck, tears through the car he’s driving in, removing his legs in an instant. Imagine, instead of a lifetime in a wheelchair, he regrows them, in a few minutes. Imagine, trauma. Instead of a lifetime of hardship, it instead, is a momentary struggle, immediately overcome.”