Garments of Skin: A Genomic Apocalypse / Book I

By KD McMahon

And the Lord God made Adam and for his wife garments of skin, and clothed them, Then the Lord God said, Behold, the man has become like one of us, knowing good and evil; and now, lest he put forth his hand and take also of the tree of life, and eat, and live for eve? therefore the Lord God sent him forth from the garden of Eden,... he placed afiaming sword which turned every way, to guard the way to the tree of life.

- Genesic 3:21-24
In Book I, Garments of Skin, biotechnology had enabled man to slip past the flaming sword. He has broken through to the Tree of Life and eaten of its fruit. But now the soul in trapped in the garment of skin, and this curse brought about by the hubris of science is poised to spread like a plague throughout all humanity.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Mar 17, 2005
• ISBN: 9781462825523

KD McMahon

Kevin D. McMahon is the husband of Janice and the father of Megan and Breanna. He teaches science and is the varsity tennis coach at Reseda High School in Los Angeles. He is a member of the parish of the Byzantine Catholic Cathedral of Saint Mary.

Book preview

GARMENTS OF

SKIN

A Genomic Apocalypse/

Book I

KD McMahon

Copyright © 2005 by KD McMahon.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

[e-mail]

26790

Contents

Acknowledgements

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Epilogue

Dedication

To Jan, my wife

And Megan and Breanna,

my lovely daughters.

Acknowledgements

First and foremost I want to thank my sister, Alicia Copeland,

for her encouragement and her editorial expertise. If this book has any literary value it is because of her contribution. Thank you, dear sister. Also helping me with editing was Anne Petach. Her editing help was only the beginning. She never ceased to amaze me as to how much she knew about everything. I must also thank my daughter, Megan, who provided invaluable editorial assistance, demonstrated her keen insights by helping me develop truly believable and, I hope, interesting characters. Of course, I must mention my youngest daughter, Breanna, who knows that a novel is not nearly so important as having fun with dad and as such has provided the frequent interruptions necessary to remind me of what is truly important. Finally, I must thank my wife, Jan, who suggested I write the story. Given the hours and money spent in the process—I hope she still thinks it was a good suggestion!

And the Lord God made for Adam and for his wife garments of skins, and clothed them.

—4Genesis 3:2

Prologue

Madison Ryan and Detective Milton Lewis sat in William

Cardinal McIntyre’s former office to which the Cardinal would no longer be returning. He was serving a life sentence for conspiring in the murders of the National Security Advisor, General Walker Pierce and Mr. and Mrs. Hans Obermann. Ryan and Lewis now waited for the return of his replacement as Postulator, Greek Orthodox Bishop, George Kavasilas.

Ryan thought about the fact that Maria O’Conner might have sat in this very chair just a few months ago. She considered how her life had changed since she had written that first scandalous article about Maria. Maria had been right. Although Ryan meant harm, God meant it for good. She glanced over at Detective Lewis. He was retired now. He had served the city of DC well for over twenty years and had been forced into retirement because he had continued to investigate the O’Conner case in spite of warnings to cease and desist. He had been changed by Maria even though he had never actually met her. Yes, the hand of God was on him too. In fact, all who had contact with Maria O’Conner had had their lives deeply changed. More would. She and Detective Lewis would see to that. They were determined to make sure that the Church canonized her.

Good morning everyone, said Bishop Kavasilas as he entered the office. Coffee?

I’ll have a cup, replied Detective Lewis.

I’m fine, said Ryan.

A couple of cups of coffee please, Sister Francis, called out Bishop Kavasilas into the adjoining office.

Who was your slave in your previous life? asked an elderly woman’s voice from the other room.

Bishop Kavasilas sat down in the chair and relaxed.

Thank God, that in the midst of all this chaos there are some things one can still rely on, said Kavasilas.

You mean Sister Francis’ cantankerousness? asked Ryan smiling.

Sister Francis walked in with two cups of coffee.

My ears are burning, said Sister Francis.

We could never tell with that habit. When are you going to get modern? teased the bishop.

The day you cut that ridiculous long beard of yours! fired back Sister Francis who, as she walked out of the room, winked at Ryan. And when you quit eating fried chicken, they could hear her say from the other room.

Kavasilas smiled. Always the last word. Who says a celibate can’t sympathize with those who are married!

Detective Lewis laughed as one who understood.

Now, said Kavasilas, What do you have for me? Did you find the file?

No, not yet, replied Lewis. But Jimmy said he put the file where no one would think of looking, so I’m hoping Hans Obermann and his government puppets haven’t found it; or better yet, don’t even know about it.

Kavasilas turned to Ryan. Have you finished the short biography I asked you to write? I would like to have something when I go to Rome later this week. There are many all over the world, especially among the Russian Orthodox, who are supporting our call for Maria’s beatification; but we’ll need documentation.

Yes, your Excellency, she replied.

He smiled. Please call me George; at least when we’re in my office.

I don’t think I can do that, said Ryan.

All right then, go on, Kavasilas said amused at her disobedience.

Ryan pulled out a parcel, placed it on the bishop’s desk and removed two notebooks. One notebook contained the biography of Maria O’Conner that the bishop had asked her to write. The other notebook was Maria’s journal which she had just completed editing.

Excellent, said Bishop Kavasilas. How did you manage to get it done so quickly?

Prison can be a great place to write—very few distractions, she replied.

And how is that going? asked Kavasilas. Is there a chance that you might have to go back?

"We are always at the whim of our government, now more than ever. I was paroled as part of Obermann’s Day of Amnesty and Reconciliation. I was told that I had better behave myself," Ryan said humorously.

Kavasilas nodded. Being involved in the beatification effort of Obermann’s chief nemesis probably doesn’t qualify as behaving, he said with a laugh.

I suspect not, said Ryan. But here’s the big news that we wanted to share with you. Last night, I was contacted by Geraldine Thompson. She is the mother of Lisa Thompson, the girl who was cured of her leukemia. Do you remember her?

Sounds familiar, said Kavasilas. Maybe you could refresh my memory.

Lisa Thompson was eight when she contracted a particularly aggressive form of leukemia. She was only given a few months to live. She was selected by Chimæra for clinical trials of their new stem cell therapy. It worked. Later, little Lisa was paraded before the American people as a Chimæra success story… .

Now I remember, said Kavasilas.

Right. Physically she was healed, but what was never reported, and what her mother revealed to me over the phone last night, was that Lisa began to have terrible nightmares. These nightmares started shortly after her therapy. They grew in frequency and intensity. Then she began to have them even during the day while she was awake… like visions.

What were the dreams and visions like? asked Kavasilas.

They were always the same. Lisa saw herself in a box, which from her description her mother took to be a coffin. She would try to run away but she couldn’t. And each time she had the dream or vision, she would watch her body decaying a little more. She even described the stench of her rotting flesh!

How horrible! said Kavasilas.

Yes, continued Ryan. Needless to say, the stress of this situation was nearly tearing the family apart. They went to psychologists. They didn’t help. They tried drugs and that didn’t help either. Then Mrs. Thompson read the article I wrote on Maria O’Conner, the one for THE AMERICAN WEEKLY. She became convinced that it was the Chimæric therapy that was the cause of Lisa’s nightmares and visions.

"The garments of skin," said Kavasilas.

Exactly. So she contacted the people at Chimæra and asked them if they could reverse the treatment. They insisted that the treatment had nothing to do with Lisa’s mental problems. They refused, and informed her that they couldn’t reverse the treatment even if they wanted to. That’s when Mrs. Thompson decided to pray to Maria O’Conner and ask for her intercession.

And when was that? asked Kavasilas.

The day before yesterday. That night, before Lisa went to bed, they prayed to Maria. Lisa lay in her bed and her mother knelt next to her. They had the picture of Maria that was on the cover of THE WEEKLY. They prayed until Lisa finally fell asleep, too exhausted to stay awake any longer. Mrs. Thompson fell asleep in her daughter’s room. She was surprised to wake up and see the sun shining. Usually, no one in the house slept more than a half-hour at a time; they would be awakened by Lisa’s screaming. But, Lisa had slept through the night, or at least that’s what Mrs. Thompson thought at first. She got up and checked on her daughter. She said that Lisa had the sweetest smile on her face. The smile she used to have before the treatment. She was dead. It took her most of the day to find my phone number. She called to tell me of the miracle and how grateful she was to Maria O’Conner.

So Mrs. Thompson is attributing the miraculous death of her daughter to Maria O’Conner. Right? asked Kavasilas.

Yes, answered Ryan. I believe this is the miracle we need to push Maria’s beatification forward.

And the child? asked Kavasilas turning to Lewis. Has there been any word on the child?

No, nothing, replied Lewis. Nothing on the Russian woman either. It’s as though they both dropped off the face of the earth.

Friday, June 16th—01 before the NewEra

Chapter One

This time! This time it will be different—I will be obedient. Anyone who knows me will tell you that obedience has never been mi fuerta, my strength. And keeping a journal—that’s the last thing I want to do. But for some reason the Cardinal has asked me to do it—probably to test me!

It seems to me that to understand the current crisis we need to examine how it all started. I mean how it all started . . . in Genesis.

—Blessed Maria Theresa O’Conner (Journal)

Maria

Maria peered longingly through the kitchen window. It was

one of those rare, perfect, late spring days in the city. Actually, such perfection never lasted a day; it only occurred during the first hour or two after a rain when the sky was patchy with clouds and the concrete smelled fresh, washed clean of its accumulated pollution. It was a day that demanded of Maria that she put on her jogging shoes and experience it.

As soon as Colin gets home, she thought, I’m out the door.

Maria got everything ready to expedite her departure. While she diced the leftover chicken, the rice was cooking in the pot. She prided herself on being a meticulous planner. It was a skill that had served her well in college and graduate school. Taking fifteen to twenty units a semester while working twenty hours a week for six years had taught her the fine art of multi-tasking. This was a skill that she now, without conscious effort, transferred to the kitchen. By the time she was finished dicing the chicken the rice was ready. Maria always experienced a sense of satisfaction when tasks could be accomplished without downtime. She added the chicken to the rice and spiced it appropriately—to her sense of taste. She knew Colin would complain, but she was determined to convert him to the lively Mexican flavors that were her heritage.

This time, she thought, while changing into her jogging attire, I’m going to jog five miles.

She had been jogging regularly since Diego’s birth, but she had not gotten quite back into the shape she had been before her pregnancy. She had already lost most of the weight she gained but she was determined to lose another five pounds. She looked at herself in the full-length bedroom mirror clad only in her panties. Her black-brown hair slid across her shoulders as she twisted her athletic body from side to side examining herself for any signs of stretch marks. A slight smile of satisfaction crossed her face. She was nearly back to her original shape. Then as she attempted to slip on her sports bra she groaned. She had been committed to nursing Diego a full twelve months. It was nearly time for him to be weaned. As she examined herself in the mirror, she envisioned a cow with huge udders. She shook her head incredulously as she thought how some women have surgery to achieve this deformity. She couldn’t wait to get back to her normal size, in spite of the fact that Colin seemed fascinated by her new endowment. Men… ! she sneered.

She had just finished tying her shoelaces when Colin drove up the driveway. He emerged from the car loaded down, his trench coat under one arm, and in his other hand his brief case, a water bottle, and a plastic grocery bag with an empty Tupperware container from his lunch. It was a precarious balancing act that he was quite sure he was not going to be able to sustain all the way to the front door. He was relieved to see Maria bolt out of the house to greet him. He raised his right arm to pass off some of his burdens to her as she jogged towards him along the walkway leading from the front door. He was expecting a smooth pass off as if in a relay, but instead she gave him a quick peck on the cheek as she raced past. The unsuccessful pass off was all it took to reduce the compromised balancing act to a juggling act between the water bottle, brief case, and grocery bag. They all landed on the ground in a heap. As he bent over to pick everything up, including papers that had spilled out of his brief case, he heard Maria shouting in the distance. Looking up, he saw her jogging backward facing his direction, seemingly undisturbed by his plight.

The dinner is in the oven, she shouted. The baby has a clean diaper. And with that she jogged around the corner out of view. Although slightly irritated, Colin couldn’t help admiring his wife’s commitment to staying in shape. Besides, he’d get his revenge. Maria tended to be a little absent-minded when she was excited, angry, or deep in thought. He snickered as he remembered her jog off into the distance in only her sports bra. He’d tease her mercilessly about forgetting her T-shirt. Her absent-mindedness was harmless; at times Colin found it endearing. Usually it consisted of her looking for the pencil she misplaced while she was chewing on it. One time she had made Chile Relleno without the chilies because she had been angry about a conversation she had had with a senator earlier in the day. Maria did not like to be teased about this foible that she was not ready to acknowledge. As Colin was gathering his things off the driveway he remembered his first encounter with Maria in Rome.

He had just left the library of the Angelicum and was reading Boethius’ Consolation of Philosophy while walking to his dormitory. He was deep in thought as he approached the intersection of an adjoining walkway. Crash. Both he and Boethius fell sprawling onto the pavement. Colin hadn’t been quite sure what hit him. He quickly assessed that he was all right and straightened his glasses. As he looked up he saw a pair of muscular yet feminine legs.

Oh! I’m so sorry, the young woman in jogging shorts and a T-shirt said while offering her hand to help him up. Colin looked up into the eyes of the rather tall and attractive woman whom he thought at first might be Italian. From her accent, however, he figured that she was American, probably of Latin ancestry. As he held out his hand she gripped his so firmly that it actually hurt and she jerked him up with remarkable power. He was so taken aback by this that he just stared at her. She bent down to pick up his book, and as she stood, she rotated it to examine its spine.

Boethius…, she said as if she were thinking out loud. Wasn’t he the one who suggested that man’s free will is not hindered by God’s omniscience because He sees everything in the eternal present?

Colin stood with his mouth agape saying nothing.

Maria shrugged. Then again perhaps it is all destiny and free will is just an illusion.

And with that she handed him the book and jogged off. He was too stunned—no, smitten—to say anything. Destiny, he wanted to tell her. Some how he knew they had a destiny to fulfill together. But now she was gone having blended into the mass that is Rome. Oddly though, he wasn’t worried. He’d see her again. They would marry. He was sure of it. It was their destiny.

As Colin reached the door to the house his mind returned to the present. Nevertheless, the recollection of that chance encounter with his wife brought a smile to his face. After hanging his sweater on the coat rack in the foyer, he went to the kitchen and placed his water bottle and empty Tupperware on the counter. He opened the oven to peek at the evening’s supper. He frowned and then poured himself a glass of water with the intent of taking an antacid—a preemptive strike against the inevitable gastric upset that would follow dinner. Then he heard the baby crying. Colin set down the glass forgetting to take the medication.

When Colin reached Diego’s room the baby was bellowing and clearly agitated. He had been cranky lately and no one in the O’Conner household was getting much sleep. Colin reached down, picked up Diego under his arms, and hoisted him up to his chest. As he gently patted the baby’s back his head jostled slightly on Colin’s shoulder as if he were trying to position himself to release the cause of his distress. Success came at both ends.

Little Diego, Colin crooned, you may have your mother’s features, but you have your father’s sensitive constitution. Maybe you need some of daddy’s medicine too before mommy feeds you.

Colin gently swayed Diego back and forth hoping that he would fall back to sleep. Just as his little eyes began to close, the phone rang. Damn! grumbled Colin as the baby began to cry again. Colin figured he’d just let the phone ring; the answering machine would eventually take a message. But the answering machine did not pick it up so the phone kept ringing and ringing. Now Diego was wide-awake and screaming mad. Colin went to answer the nearest phone in their office, the spare bedroom. However the ringing stopped, just as he was about to pick it up.

Maria occasionally thought about what it would be like to live in the country, but as she jogged through the rain-cleansed middle-class suburb of Washington, DC, she thought that it really couldn’t be better than this. The sky was a vast turquoise blue punctuated with white cumulus clouds from the earlier rain. The clean air filled her lungs. She felt strong; she was going to make five miles today and then some. She spied a rain-swollen gutter about fifteen yards ahead of her. It was sizable, a challenge to clear in a single jump, but she was confident that she could do it. She began to adjust her pace and stride so that when she reached it her right foot would plant at the beginning of the puddle. Pushing off with her right foot her left leg would extend over the puddle and land on the other side just as she used to do running the hurdles in high school. Her pace and stride were perfect, but as soon as she was about to plant her right foot… .

Beep Beep Beep Beep Beep

. . . her cell phone went off.

Splash!

Damn it, Maria exclaimed. Her shoe and sock were soaked. So much for the perfect five mile run! She reached into her pocket while stepping out of the puddle. As she began to remove her cell phone it got caught on a loose thread in her pocket, slipped out of her hand, and fell into the puddle.

Splash!

She grabbed the phone out of the puddle and popped open the lid. The caller id was flashing on the LCD screen—it was the Cardinal’s office. She stepped out of the puddle, pushed the button to receive the call, and raised the phone to her ear. Nothing. She looked at her phone. The screen flickered once and then went out.

Mierda! she exclaimed, hitting the cell phone against her palm. No use—this would be the third cell phone she had managed to lose or destroy in as many months.

Well, there’s no point in going on any further, she mumbled to herself. She turned around, disappointed, and started to jog back home. Her mind drifted to how she had become involved with the Bishops as a bioethicist and her interest in the field in general. She could trace it back to her vivid memory of the day her sister had been born. As a seven-year old she was just able to peer through the nursery window. She saw perhaps five or six little babies in little clear plastic cribs. She spotted her sister, so cute with a swirl of brownish-black hair. She looked like pictures Maria had seen of herself as a baby. Besides, Maria recognized their family name on the crib, Garcia. A nurse came and pushed the little bed with her sister to a far corner of the room. Then another nurse came over and she seemed mad and hurriedly walked away. The nurse who had pushed her sister away taped a sign on her crib, Do Not Feed. Maria didn’t understand, but she knew something was wrong.

By the time Maria got home from her run the water that had been in the bottom of her shoe had worked its way to the top of her sock. She took off her shoes and socks and left them on the porch to dry. Colin tiptoed into the foyer with his finger raised to his lips.

I just got him down again, he whispered. Gas! He waved an accusing finger at Maria continuing, Your cooking is going to do us both in.

Maria heard her husband’s accusation, but chose to ignore it. The Cardinal’s office called me. Did I get a call while I was out?

Colin recited to her how he was unable to get to the phone in time. So what did he want? Colin asked.

I don’t know, I wasn’t able to speak to him, replied Maria pulling out her cell phone and holding it in front of him. Water dripped from the phone.

Not again! Colin exclaimed taking the cell phone from her hand.

Sorry, said Maria as she went over to the kitchen phone and started dialing.

Colin shook the phone, pushed a couple of buttons and muttered something under his breath.

Ola, Sister Francis! Maria exclaimed, cheerfully. Were you trying to reach me?

Yes, the Cardinal wanted to speak with you. Can you hold on a minute?

Sure.

After a moment the Cardinal picked up the phone. Hey Maria, how are you doing?

Fine, Your Eminence, she replied.

The Cardinal had on several occasions asked her to call him Bill. Maria would not have it. So William Cardinal McIntyre had decided it was better not to make her uncomfortable by insisting. Besides, apart from the promulgation of an Apostolic Bull, he wasn’t sure that Maria would comply anyway.

Good, and thank you for returning my call so quickly, replied the Cardinal. Something pretty important may be happening, and I need your help to find out what’s going on. The President has just called an impromptu meeting of the National Bioethics Advisory Council as well as some of his chief advisors… .

How did you find out about this? Maria interrupted.

An old school buddy of mine works in the administration. He told me that the CEO of a biotech firm called Chimæra was going to be at the meeting. Presumably his corporation has something to do with some sort of breakthrough. So there you are. Not much to go on, but I didn’t feel right about asking him to tell me more. See what you can find out about all this and report to me as soon as you can.

I’ll get right to work on it.

Great, replied the Cardinal. Now, how’s little Diego?

Well, he’s a bit cranky. Colin blames it on my Mexican cooking. Maria said.

And Colin? How does he like teaching at the University?

He seems to like it okay, replied Maria, but I think he’d rather be in the courthouse than the schoolhouse.

Colin entered the kitchen and started rummaging through the cabinets looking for something to snack on.

I’m sorry, Maria explained, but I have a hungry husband who needs a healthy dose of indigestion.

Hearing this, Colin turned and sneered at his wife. Maria gave him a wink as she bid good-bye to the Cardinal and hung up.

So, what’s up with the Cardinal? Colin asked.

Let me take a shower first. Then I’ll explain it while we’re having dinner. Oh, and can you set the table and pour us both a glass of wine? Maria asked as she headed towards the bathroom.

Sure, said Colin. And I think I’ll pour you twice as much. Maybe then Diego will sleep through the night!

The O’Conners rarely ate dinner in the dining room preferring the kitchen table. They considered themselves fortunate to already own a home. Colin’s parents had helped them with the down payment and interest rates were reasonable enough so that they could make it on Colin’s salary alone. However, Maria’s salary from the Cardinal’s office made it possible for them to save a little and to buy a few things for the house. Even so, they had only one desk and Colin had pretty much commandeered it. Consequently, the dining room table served as Maria’s workstation except when company came over.

As Colin poked suspiciously at the chicken, rice, and tortilla thing in front of him, Maria described her conversation with the Cardinal.

What is Chimæra? Colin asked.

Probably a biotech company, replied Maria. These companies come and go. It’s very hard to keep up with them.

Chimæra. Isn’t that some kind of mythical creature? he asked.

Sounds familiar, she answered. Well, why don’t I look it up?

I think I’ll check it out, said Colin getting up from the table and going into the spare bedroom to get a dictionary. Anyway, thought Colin, it’s a good excuse to get away from that tortilla thing. He’d make himself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich later. Colin returned with the dictionary.

Here it is, he said. One: a monster of classical myth, commonly represented with a lion’s head, a goat’s body, and a serpent’s tail,

Lovely, interrupted Maria.

Two, continued Colin, any horrible or grotesque imaginary creature, and three, an organism composed of two or more genetically distinct tissues… .

That’s it! exclaimed Maria. I bet they’re involved in transgenics!

Trans what? asked Colin, perplexed.

Maria began to explain in some detail the technology by which the host genome could be coaxed into receiving DNA from another organism. It didn’t take long for Colin’s mind to wander. It wasn’t that he wasn’t interested. It was just that he didn’t understand the fine points of science. He was genuinely impressed, though, with Maria’s command of the subject matter. But that was her field. She had graduated from UCLA summa cum laude with a bachelor’s degree in molecular biology. It hadn’t been until she had attended the Athenæum Pontificium Regina Apostolorum in Rome that she had discovered her passion—bioethics. She had consumed every class they offered on the subject, earning her Masters in Bioethics in a year and a half. It was her intelligence and her ability to articulate complex issues simply that had caught Cardinal McIntyre’s attention when he had been attending a conference in Rome. Colin knew, however, that it was her passion that had finally secured her position with the Cardinal in the Office of Life and Justice at the U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops in Washington, DC. The Cardinal had told Colin he enjoyed watching Maria debate, but he was also aware that he would have to help her bridle her tongue. Speak the truth in love, the Cardinal would often remind her. Maria was always quick to repent and readily conceded that her temper was her thorn in the flesh.

Even though they had not been married long, Colin had had ample opportunity to witness Maria’s now legendary temper. While Maria continued to explain transgenic technology, Colin remembered the time they had all attended a bioethics conference together in Bethesda. About a year ago, the Cardinal and Maria had been participating in a workshop entitled, The Biological Basis of Morality. The presenter, the well-known evolutionary biologist, Stephen Dawkins, had just described the natural law as  . . . the theory that holds that every person possesses a basic knowledge of right and wrong which was written on the heart of man by the finger of God.

We now know, Professor Dawkins continued,  . . . by the work of biologists, that this naive notion is simply not so.

Although I am certainly no expert…, Maria interrupted feigning modest confusion,  . . . I thought that biology was a science.

Well, of course it is! the presenter said with more than a hint of irritation at what seemed to him to be a ridiculous comment.

Then, the way we learn in biology is by observing… . ? Maria continued.

"Rrrrright… .,’ the presenter said with a condescending tone.

This was the attitude Maria was waiting for. She might have shown mercy if he had been modest in his ignorance. However, he presented himself in the presumptuous and pompous attire of scientific materialism, and now she was committed to showing him up as intellectually naked.

The scientist acquires his data from observation which he then uses to induce his hypotheses, Maria continued in a serious and deliberate manner. Professor Dawkins’ eyes narrowed; he had misjudged his young opponent. Maria found this frequently to be the case. Perhaps these men misjudged her because she was a woman, maybe even because she was an attractive woman. She suspected it was both and the fact that she was a Latina might also have something to do with it. However, she used their biases to her advantage. When they lowered their guard with their patronizing attitude she would launch her first salvo. They frequently never recovered.

Observations, either directly or indirectly through instrumentation, are limited to the sensible or physical realm, Maria continued. Hypotheses consistent within the epistemological framework of empiricism can only address this realm. Speculation regarding metaphysics is outside of the empirical framework of science. Materialism, which is a rejection of any metaphysical reality, is therefore, not ‘scientific.’ Scientific materialism is by definition a self-contradiction. Therefore your comment that the work of biologists has shown that there is no ‘natural law’ or ‘finger of God’ is contradictory and meaningless.

Professors Dawkins was clearly angered and taken aback by this attack. He made an ad hominem quip about not wanting to return to the Middle Ages that made several of his colleagues chuckle. Colin overheard Maria mutter under her breath something about Dawkins’ being a pendejo insolente. He wasn’t sure what it meant but apparently the Cardinal did. She jumped up out of her seat, fire in her eyes. She was just about to say something when the Cardinal grabbed her by the arm and pulled her back down into the chair. Colin didn’t hear what the Cardinal had said to her but he saw his wife bite her lip. She then apologized to the Cardinal for her behavior.

Vaguely, Colin realized he had a tendency to be jealous of Maria. He recognized in her a brilliance that he lacked. It wasn’t that he wasn’t brilliant in his own right. But his was a more refined, academic brilliance. Maria was more street smart and quick on the draw. Sure, it got her in trouble at times, particularly with the Cardinal, but she was something to see in action especially when she was angry! Perhaps, he mused, if he had been more like her—a little more intuitive and a little less plodding and methodical—he would have gotten that position at Miers and Stevens instead of that boring job at the University.

Are you listening? Maria asked seeing her husband was distracted.

Yes, of course, Colin said. Transgenes, genomes and virus stuff.

Maria frowned, but was not really angry. I really wish you’d pay attention better, she scolded.

Pay attention! Colin retorted. That reminds me. Talk about paying attention. Who went for a jog this afternoon only wearing her bra?!

I did?! thought Maria. She wasn’t going to give Colin the satisfaction of teasing her again about being absent-minded. Standing next to him she fired back with a quick and unexpected riposte.

How do you know I forgot, she said, unbuttoning her blouse.

Then shaking her breasts she added, Maybe I was showing off!

Colin’s jaw dropped. She then grabbed him by the shirt collar and pulled him up with enough force so that the next thing he knew they were face to face. For the second time that day, his mind flashed back to the first day they met.

"How would you like to practice a little old-fashioned biotechnology, Papi Chulo," she said, and then gently bit his bottom lip.

Saturday, June 17th—01 before the NewEra

Chapter Two

To participate in the Divine nature is to be transfigured from His image to His likeness. What an incomprehensible gift of Self, of divine personhood, the Creator bestows upon creation! Such was the destiny of man from the beginning. Even the angels are not called to so great a destiny for does not the Scripture say that the angels longed to look upon the good news announced to man and that we shall judge angels (1Pet. 1:12/ 1Cor. 6:3)? Satan, the most glorious of angels, must have perceived his Master’s plan for humanity. But he did not delight in it; instead envy, arose in his heart and with it hatred, betrayal and violence. One has to wonder if it is not envy that is at the root of all evil, for it says in the Wisdom of Solomon, for God created man for incorruption, and made him in the image of his own eternity, but through the devil’s envy death entered the world, and those who belong to his party experience it. (Wisdom 2: 23, 24)

—Blessed Maria Theresa O’Conner (Journal)

Chimæra

Maria woke up and looked at the clock. It was about 10:30.

It had been several hours since the baby had nursed. Maria felt her swollen breasts.

"Orale, mijo, ready or not—it’s time to nurse."

She got up out of bed quietly so as not to disturb her husband who was sound asleep, went into the baby’s bedroom, and picked up little Diego. He cooed softly. She sat down with him in the cushioned rocker; opening her nightgown she pressed the baby’s mouth to her breast. He instinctively found her nipple and began suckling. She leaned her head back against the chair, closed her eyes and began to rock. As she nursed the baby, her mind began to focus on the project the Cardinal had given her. It was Maria’s job to keep the Cardinal apprised of what was happening in biotechnology—not an easy task.

What was published in Journals was often only the work being done at Universities or government sponsored laboratories. Much of the cutting-edge work was being done in the private sector. These biotech players kept their cards close to the chest for fear of corporate espionage. They only released the details of their research when it profited them. Consequently, much of the research being done only became available when they applied for Phase I Clinical Trials, or when they went public with an IPO or with a secondary stock offering. Maria had learned that if you wanted to know what was happening in biotechnology in the private sector you had to follow the money; not just any money, but the smart money—the inside money.

After the baby had finished nursing and she had laid him in his crib she went back to her bedroom. Instead of going back to bed she grabbed a small leather briefcase, went into the kitchen, removed her laptop from the briefcase, and placed the computer on the kitchen table. Disconnecting the phone she attached the phone line to the laptop and turned the computer on. While the computer was booting up, she heated some water on the stove for tea. When the water was boiling she dropped a couple of Earl Grey tea bags into the teapot and poured the water over them. She knew that the key to finding out what was going on would be learning as much as she could about Chimæra.

The National Bioethics Advisory Counsel, the National Institutes of Health, and the President’s staff were completely predictable. They were, for the most part, utilitarian scientific materialists. This position the President had made clear through his nominations of those who would preside over the NBAC. The Council was stacked with scientists, physicians, and various members of the biotechnology industry. On the advice of the President, the NABC had incorporated into its logo, Our Ethics as Good as Our Science. Maria had scoffed at this during a Senate hearing on cloning. She reminded the senators that it was the self-same science that had given the world Zyklon-B, nuclear and biological weapons, and RU 486, and as such it did not possess the moral authority to offer advice on ethics.

Maria had a vague recollection of Chimæra. She couldn’t remember if someone had spoken to her about it, or if she had read about the company, or if perhaps someone from the company had spoken at one of the many colloquia she had attended. She thought she’d try the obvious first. She typed in www.Chimærabiotech.com and hit the return key.

Bingo! she said, as the company’s web page appeared on her computer screen. Well, this is a start, she thought. I doubt, however, if I will find too much here that’s useful.

She was well aware that nearly every biotech company maintained a web page, primarily for public relations and directed at investors. Nevertheless, she could perhaps get a sense of what area of research they were focused on.

She first went to the link About The Company. Here she found out that the facility which now housed Chimæra had originally been established by another biotech firm called Biocen. Maria remembered this company. Its failure had sent shock waves through the industry. The company had had a promising new antibiotic that had appeared to be effective against most forms of resistant streptococcus.

After Phase I Clinical Trials had appeared to demonstrate effectiveness in a few patients the company had offered an initial public offering or IPO. The stock had been offered at $14 per share and by the end of the first day of trading was selling on the secondary market for $32.00 per share. With the proceeds of the IPO and a secondary offering of stock, the company had built a new state-of-the-art facility. But the company had made two fatal mistakes: (1) it had interpreted the results of the Phase II Clinical Trials too optimistically, and (2) this was the only drug of significance in their pipeline. When Phase Three Clinical trials had demonstrated that this product showed negligible efficacy, the company stock had gone from around $60 to $4 per share. Of particular interest was the amount of insider selling of Biocen stock that had occurred between the Phase II and the reporting of the Phase III Clinical Trial results.

The Security and Exchange Commission had never been able to prove insider information in court, but everyone in the industry had suspected it. After this incident, smart analysts would make damn sure they examined insider trading transactions that had occurred in the months before and after clinical trial results were published.

Maria had forgotten about Biocen until she read about it again on Chimæra’s website. What was new was that the international investment banker, Hans Obermann, and a small cadre of investors had stepped in and covered all of Biocen’s debt and accumulated all of its assets, which consisted primarily of its facility, equipment and research. The web page continued by discussing Obermann’s vision for the new company, which he called Chimæra. The page concluded with Utilizing the latest in transgenic and stem cell technologies the company is leveraging its cutting-edge expertise in the development of new therapies for the treatment of a wide-range of chronic and debilitating diseases. Jargon, she thought. Most of these companies promised more than they could deliver.

Maria returned to the Chimæra home page, clicked on the link for Research and Publications.

That’s odd, she thought, when an error message appeared indicating that the page was no longer available. She went back to the home page, selected Investor Relations and received the same error message. She tried several more links on the home page, but none of them seemed to be working. Even more surprising, the Contact Us which allowed individuals to e-mail the company wasn’t functioning.

Her first thought was that Chimæra had gone the way of Biocen, but why would Hans Obermann be meeting with the President and his advisors if he were just another CEO of a bankrupt company with a failed therapy?

Maria decided to investigate the company’s stock price history.

She learned that Obermann and a group of investors had privately held the company. In July of the previous year they had an IPO and the stock had done modestly well. Biocen and other small-cap biotech failures had made investors wary, but they were still on the lookout for promising new technologies. A graph of the stock’s price history over the year-and-a-half since it had originally been offered to the public showed that its price had steadily increased, with minor fluctuations typical of profit taking. Then approximately four months ago, the stock had taken a nosedive. This seemed to confirm her original suspicions that Chimæra was following the Biocen pattern.

Maria then clicked on the Company News link to view any press releases by the company or any articles written about the company over the past couple of years. The most recent press releases and articles would appear first. The following articles were listed:

Dec. 3: SEC says "No evidence of wrong-doing in Chimæra trades.

Sept. 10: SEC to investigate Chimæra stock trading since dramatic fall.

Aug. 18: Chimæra’s CEO purchases stock to bolster investor confidence.

Aug. 12: Chimæra’s stock down 76% off its 52 week high.

Aug. 11: Trading is suspended on Chimæra after release of Clinical Trial results.

Aug. 10: Chimæra to release results of Phase I Clinical Trial of experimental therapy.

Aug. 9: Trading heavy on Chimæra in anticipation of clinical trial results.

May 19: Chimæra stock rises as rumors abound of a breakthrough.

May 8: Significant insider buying of Chimæra stock fuels speculation of positive results in Chimæric therapy.

March 27: Five terminally ill cancer patients selected for experimental therapy.

Feb. 12: FDA fast tracks Chimæra’s application to begin Phase I Clinical Trials of experimental transgenic/stem cell therapy.

Nov. 19: Chimæra ready to begin testing new therapy for cancer.

July 12: Chimæra proves there’s still a market for biotech IPO’s.

July 9: Small Investor: You can forget about getting in on the Chimæra action!

May 14: Chimæra: Hybrid Cells Hold Promise For Cure.

Sept. 15: Biocen’s new CEO spells out new mission:

C-h-i-m-a-e-r-a.

Maria carefully read over each of the news summaries. One of them, Chimæra: Hybrid Cells Hold Promise For Cure, briefly discussed the type of therapy the company was trying to develop. This apparently had been written during a time when the company had found it in its best interest to be less secretive. The release of the articles just a few months prior to their IPO suggested that they were then trying to boost interest in the company in the hope of securing a successful stock offering. The article had been published in THE AMERICAN WEEKLY magazine. There’s no way, Maria thought, that Chimæra would be able to deny access to this information. She was right. She logged onto the WEEKLY’s web site and within a few minutes the complete article including graphics was on her screen.

The author of the article had interviewed Obermann and two of Chimæra’s main scientists: Charla Richardson and Raymond Kwan.

The therapeutic regimen that Chimæra was in the process of developing was a synthesis of the techniques developed by the two professors. The article also discussed the fateful meeting of the triumvirate at a biotechnology conference.

Obermann recounted in the article how he had been at the conference looking for promising technologies to invest in. He conceded that he possessed an uncanny instinct for recognizing potential. He had already demonstrated this on several occasions, having funded neophyte companies, which then rapidly matured and yielded handsome profits much to his benefit. By the time he had met Richardson and Kwan, he had nearly a billion dollars burning a hole in his pocket and he was eager to invest. He intuitively recognized the potential in Richardson and Kwan’s research. Obermann had perceived a complementarity between the two seemingly disparate lines they were taking. This is when he had first conceived of Chimæra. He introduced himself to the two young assistant professors. They were employed by different universities, and both struggling to obtain tenure in a highly competitive field. Their research was, as they perceived, under-appreciated and under-funded. Obermann had promised to change all that.

Richardson and Kwan had admitted to the author of the article that they had been hesitant about Obermann’s vision of a synthesis of their research. But the promises of a  . . . significant raise, a piece of the action, that is, stock options when the company went public, cutting-edge equipment, and staffs to assist us were very persuasive. Furthermore, Obermann was quoted, I reminded them that by working in the private sector they’d no longer have the Republican Congress limiting their research on transgenic embryos and clones."

Richardson and Kwan admitted that this was the clincher. In order for their research to proceed, they desperately needed human zygotes and embryos, clones, and stem cells. They, like many of their colleagues, were doing this work surreptitiously and at high risk to their careers. The private sector could provide them with an almost limitless supply of these cells for research.

The article went on to describe the research that Richardson and Kwan were now working on at Chimæra. Cancer cells, Richardson explained,  . . . are aberrant not because mutation produces new and deadly abilities. Rather, these changes switch on latent abilities that have been turned off in the normal development of the embryo. However, in cancer cells these latent abilities are no longer welcome. The main problem with cancer cells, Kwan continued, " . . . is that cancer cells become autonomous; they are not team players. Cancer cells do their own thing. And what makes matters worse they do it better than the surrounding tissues. They secure nutrients better, they reproduce with unlimited ferocity, and they can hide from the body’s immune system and even seduce normal cells to passively coexist with them. In some instances