13 Degrees of Separation (15 page)

“Excellent.”

Doctor
Thornby smiled. “It's actually the reverse of a procedure created to turn
chickens into dinosaurs. I read about it recently while exploring the history
of genetic engineering. Fascinating really, to attempt to bring back an extinct
species, which is what we are trying to do. That was how I found out about the
video really, doctor Martel recommended it.” She indicated the geneticist with
a hand. Doctor Martel nodded, blushing ever so slightly.

“I'm
certain it is fascinating doctor,” Trenton murmured diplomatically.

“It's a
classic. The outcome wasn't very positive, no happily ever after,” she shook
her head and tisked tisked. “When will people realize it's not wise to tinker
with predators?” she asked and then sighed. “But anyway, about your project.”

“I'd
like to see if we can make the first changes now,” Trenton said.

Doctor
Martel looked at Thornby in uncertainty. She wasn't happy about delving into
such a project so soon. One lesson the Ynari geneticists had stressed was to
look carefully and run multiple simulations before you dived right in and
started snipping gene sequences.

The
doctor frowned. Slowly she set her tablet down. “Yes, but that opens up other
problems doctor, you can't gene sequence this into an adult easily. A Ynari
might, but...” she shook her head. “What I'm offering is to change your
progeny. Your sperm and ovum will be changed. Unfortunately changing well, you,
is out of the question.”

The
Chimerian nodded. “We understand doctor.” Doctor Martel looked relieved.

“We
need to test each change before we make it. Test, simulate, retest. We don't
want anything coming back to bite you three generations down the road. And I'd
like to phase the changes, checking each phase to make sure it takes before
moving on. But that will take time. Each has to be adjusted to the recipient
you see.”

“We
understand doctor.”

...*...*...*...*...

 “People
are always trying to remake themselves. I get that. But this is extreme, I'm
sure the Ynari wouldn't mind it, just for the challenge alone. And besides,
they had very... limited ethical issues anyway. But the rest of civilization,”
she shook her head. She was with her staff, those she'd briefed on the project.
Since it was such a Major project, with a hundred patients they'd brought in
most of the resurrection staff to handle the gene sequencing, and half the
surgical staff to handle the plastic surgery. Keeping a lid on so many people
was getting hard. She'd handed off the genetics to Doctor Martel, but she still
took final responsibility, which required her oversight and occasional input.

“What
about all the gene sculpts before the war doc?” The Veraxin nurse asked.

“That's
just it, they did it, and when the war hit, they died. Well, most of them. But
this is a sack cloth and ashes thing, a scarlet letter they didn't earn and
don't deserve. I don't understand the psychology behind it. And for it to go on
for so long! Centuries!”

“Boggles
the mind doctor?” the Veraxin nurse asked.

“In a
word, yes.”

“I
see.”

“People
have been modifying themselves before gene sculpting came along. Even before
cloning they were using implants and such. Terrans used to tan themselves if
you can believe it!”

“Tan?”

“Expose
themselves to harmful doses of ultraviolet light. Sometimes it was accidental
of course, but others sought such things out and even created contests. Some
took it to extreme too.”

“Okay,”
the nurse replied, wiggling her antenna in puzzlement.

Doctor
Thornby wrinkled her nose. “It's not just the gold skin. Some humans took that
as an indication of good health and mating potential. Think about it this way,
ultraviolet radiation. From the sun.”

“Wait,
radiation? Are you serious?” the nurse paused and turned to her boss. A spacer
knew the danger of radiation exposure. They were highly aware of the danger one
could say.

The
doctor nodded, cold sober. “Exactly. They exposed their epidermis to light
radiation. Excessive light radiation. They paid for it later, as the exposure
built up some developed tumors and skin maladays. Skin cancers.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah
and of course by the time they realized the UV radiation had broken some of
their DNA down to form cancers, it was too late to stop it. The damage had been
done.”

“But
they did other things too. And you can cut a skin tumor out right?”

“It
grows back. We can treat it now. Then, the only way to treat it was to cut it
off. Then you have a massive scar. The body needs the skin to produce vitamin
D. Too many cancer cells will cause them to migrate to the interior of the
body, infecting the organs. The human can die.”

“Oh.”

“Right
around the time the public realized that, they also found out all their
stupidity with pollution had damaged the ozone of the home world, letting in
ultraviolet light in great quantities.”

“That
is troubling.”

“We
humans are like that, always learning the hard way,” Thornby sighed, working
through the notes.

“Glad
I'm a Veraxin,” the nurse chittered in amusement.

Thornby
looked up and shook her hair out, snorting. “Don't get all high and mighty, you
people had your own peccadillo’s and still do. Remember that idiot who used a
die grinder to mark his shell up?”

The
nurse chattered in annoyance. Thornby grinned. “Right. Use a die grinder to
etch into the shells. Tattoos are the human equivalent. Don't get me started on
them.”

“Yes
doctor.”

“We've
wandered a bit off subject,” Thornby replied wryly. “Let's see what else we can
do here...”

...*...*...*...*...

Thornby
frowned as her second shift assistant came into her office. Miss Ralk was good,
she'd been on the administration staff for over a decade so she knew when to
barge into her boss's office, and when to back off. Since Thornby wasn't
getting far in her research she needed the break, and perhaps someone's head to
chew off to relieve some of her tension. “What? Can't you see I'm busy here?”
she demanded, not looking up from her tablet.

“Sorry
ma'am, but we've got a paperwork snafu,” Miss Ralk said, sounding contrite.

“A
what?” the doctor demanded, looking up.

The
other woman squirmed a bit, clutching her tablet to her chest before holding it
out for her boss to see. “Accounting is balking at allowing the surgeries for
your current project.”

Thornby's
frown deepened. “Oh they are? Get them on the phone,” she snarled, drumming her
fingers on her seat arm rest as she sat back.

The
assistant hastily tapped at her tablet and then opened a line. “Mister Corona?
This is assistant Ralk with medical director Thornby. Please explain to her
what you said to me.”

A voice
cleared and then a high pitched nasal voice started in. “Well, you see, it's
like this. These people have no insurance and the surgeries you have booked are
elective not required to sustain their health. Therefore we cannot in good
consciousness permit it.”

“They've
paid for it already. I don't understand the problem.”

“They
have, you have it here as a barter trade. We will need to assess the equipment
for resale value and set up a fund from that.”

“The
equipment is not for resale. It is going to us. It is medical equipment,
incredibly rare medical equipment I
need
. We need,” the doctor
emphasized.

“I...
see.”

“Bill
me, no, bill the Navy then.”

“Ma'am,
that's not the only issue involved here, the station attorney threw a flag
because of the liability issue. The elective nature makes it an issue in case
of a lawsuit for malpractice.”

“We'll
have them sign waivers.”

“They
already did ma'am,” Miss Ralk interjected.

“There!
See? So what's the hold up?”

“I'll
need the codes to authorize the exchange,” the accountant said huffily.

“I have
them on file. Send me the paperwork and I'll apply them.”

“Ma'am,
you need Navy authorization for that,” Mister Corona said. “That could take
several days or weeks to get.”

“No, I
happen to be a Navy Lieutenant Commander. I happen to be chief medical officer,
not just of this station, but also of the Navy. It'll take thirty seconds once
you get off your ass and send me the papers so we can move forward with this,”
Thornby said in exasperation.

“Oh,
um, sorry. I'll get on that. Corona out.” The line was cut.

Thornby
sat back with a heavy sigh. “Damn bean counters,” she sighed, shaking her head.
She realized he probably threw up the wall to inflate his own sense of self
importance. Using his right to say no and to drag it out in order to make
himself feel good. “Obnoxious twit.”

“Everyone
has to have a purpose ma'am. He's just doing his job.”

“I
know. I just wish he'd bother someone else with crap like that. Why throw up a
road block for elective surgery? We've been doing elective surgeries on the fat
rich people on this station for seven centuries now! Nose jobs, boob jobs, fat,
you name it!” she said, opening her eyes.

Miss
Ralk shrugged. “I don't know ma'am, I just work here. It might have something
to do with the station attorney. I don't know. Perhaps you should ask him.”

“Yeah
right. Roland? Are you kidding me?    The married letch can't keep his eyes and
his hands to himself. He thinks he's god's gift to women. Pass. Besides, the
guy has bad breath,” Thornby said shaking her head.

Miss
Ralk blinked at her boss. Most women swooned at the handsome and suave
attorney. He was rich, smart, and had a hot body. He had enough salt in his
hair to look distinguished, but from what she'd heard he was a real tiger in
bed. “Yes ma'am, will there be anything else?” she asked, clutching her tablet
to her chest.

Thornby
waved her out with a hand. She sat back and rubbed her temples. “What next?”
she murmured as her door shut.

...*...*...*...*...

The
problem wasn't quite over as far as the bureaucrats were concerned, much to
Thornby's dismay and ire. The station attorney insisted on an inventory and
assessment of the equipment in case of theft or damage. In exasperation Thornby
allowed him to maneuver her into showing him the equipment with his assistant,
and then going out to lunch.

The
attorney, mister Roland was his usually charming self. Thornby knew better, he
was a snake in a suit. They'd tangled a few times before, she knew what lurked
behind that suave smile. She also knew some of the dark sex practices he tended
to occasionally play at, having to patch up his all too willing victims
afterward.

All had
signed a non disclosure agreement before hand, and had been paid a great deal
of credits. She couldn't understand why people would go through that in order
to make a credit. How desperate you had to be to do it, or to go back and do it
again
. She shook her head as he watched his assistant make notes on his
tablet.

“Security
is provided by AI Smithy as well as the Marines since the Navy is involved,”
the doctor said, smiling.

“I
see,” Roland replied, nodding. For some reason his eyes narrowed when he saw
the Marines on station on either side of the hatch door.

She
could see some of his smirk congeal at that news. So much for him noticing the
Marine posted at the warehouse door. She made a note to have the equipment
transferred to the Navy annex as soon as she could do so. The adjuster tried to
pick her brain on what the equipment was and its' value. He was obviously a
shill, in over his head. He tapped out some meaningless notes on his tablet and
took measurements. She wasn't sure what he was getting at, she just wished he'd
hurry up and finish.

She
didn't like how he went around the room checking it and making notes of the
cameras and other things. Of course he didn't know there was a tracking device
in the equipment and nano cameras all over the room.

“The
uterine replicators are the big thing. We have a few on the station, but they
are all geared for Terran humans, not other species. These are vital for future
alien species survival.”

“I
see.”

“We're
hoping to get a lot from the data as well. Centurian Veber is going over that
now in his spare time.”

“I
see.”

“So,
you have to secure a loan for the value of these items and then charge the
clients against that account? I can of course help with funding and the
necessary paperwork involved...” Roland said smoothly.

Thornby
smiled and spread her hands apart. “How do you put a price on priceless? To our
knowledge, no one has this equipment. No one left. The only person who can make
it is the admiral, and he's not around, so again, priceless.”

“I
see.”