Anthem's Fall Read online

  “And if it did? We aren’t recording this conversation for journal publication Ms. Jordan. By all means, I am giving you permission to speculate.”

  “Well then, there is always the possibility, however unlikely, that these new artificial chromosomes and constituent parts could become . . .” Kristen tilted her head and trailed off. “I don’t know.”

  “It sounds like you do know,” Professor Vatruvia said.

  “Speculation has no place in science.”

  “Indulge me. What could the artificial components create?”

  Kristen sighed in resignation. “A functional cell.”

  “A cell?”

  “Well, not in the natural sense. I imagine it would function in a similar fashion as a cell. But it would have to be designed and created in a laboratory using artificial means.” Kristen shifted uncomfortably. “I am getting way ahead of myself here.”

  “Exactly.” A thin smile surfaced on Professor Vatruvia’s face as though he had won some sort of dispute. “You and I are thinking along the same lines. I believe we have both perceived of a similar vision.”

  Kristen maintained a noncommittal expression as she sipped her latte.

  Professor Vatruvia sat back in his chair and folded his legs, regarding Kristen earnestly. “I am about to start a research project that will turn our individual visions into a reality. I’ll cut right to the chase. I would like to formally ask you to come work for me.”

  Kristen choked and picked up a napkin to dab her chin. She shook her head emphatically. “Professor Vatruvia, I haven’t applied to graduate schools yet, let alone to Columbia. In truth, I don’t know if I want to go to graduate school. Thank you. Really, thank you. But I’m not ready to make any kind of commitment.”

  “Look, Kristen. None of that is an issue. I can get you accepted and taken on for the spring semester. Our program would be a good fit for you. You can start research in the lab as soon as possible. I desperately need a talented mind like yours on the research team I’m bringing together. We visionaries can’t work alone, you know.”

  Kristen stared at him in absolute bewilderment. “I don’t understand. What would I be researching?”

  “The creation of your thesis.” Professor Vatruvia smiled with an enthusiasm nearly childish in its exuberance. “We can unravel the mystery of this synthetic system we have envisioned.”

  In the months that followed, the research team Professor Vatruvia assembled was its own private research entity, barely affiliated with Columbia. The various minds Professor Vatruvia had drawn together for his research team were each brilliantly innovative, though from the very first day, the enterprise’s youngest member, Kristen Jordan, always stood out as one of the most gifted.

  As time progressed, it became increasingly clear that their research was going to foster a scientific breakthrough. Supercomputers were put to work and laboratory technicians were hired in droves. Never before seen laboratory techniques were discovered and implemented. Each day Kristen and Professor Vatruvia came closer to conceiving their synthetic cell; each month a new impediment was toppled. Then, in the early spring it finally happened. After a year of labor and toil, Professor Vatruvia along with Kristen Jordan and the research team successfully brought about the genesis of their technology.

  The Vatruvian cell.

  Some experts celebrated their invention as the greatest technological breakthrough not only of the twenty-first century, but of the entire history of science. Technology had given rise to a new and unique form of artificial life. In the process, Professor Vatruvia had earned a Nobel Prize. Kristen Jordan had even appeared in the background of a Time magazine photo of their laboratory. The world had found its modern visionaries to extol, and their creation, the Vatruvian cell, was like nothing even the most decorated academics could have foreseen. Many of Professor Vatruvia’s peers correctly pointed out that his team had not created a form of life at all, because of the Vatruvian cell’s inanimate structure and loneliness of relatives within the tree of life. On the contrary, a complex machine—they said—was a more appropriate classification for the Vatruvian cell. Man had not created life; he had created the most involved and complex machinery in existence.

  Professor Vatruvia had further shocked the scientific community by publicly announcing that his research into their incipient Vatruvian cell technology was still in the blossoming stages. From news headlines, to magazine articles, to television specials across the globe, the mainstream world was waiting for the next breakthrough from Professor Vatruvia and his Columbia research team. To Kristen, the end goal of their research remained at best vague. Despite her close relationship with Professor Vatruvia and her integral hand in the Vatruvian cell’s creation, Kristen was beginning to feel in some ways as uninformed as the general public.

  “What is your field of study again, Cara?” Steve asked over the rising noise in the bar.

  “Molecular pathology. I started my lab work on the Vatruvian cell a few weeks ago.” Cara said. “What about you?”

  “Computer Science. Don’t have much in common with you biology nerds.”

  Kristen looked at him doubtfully as she nibbled a chip with little interest. “Get real, Steve. You and I both know you’re the biggest nerd at this table. Are you going to bring up artificial intelligence again? Or maybe discuss which dumbass superhero is strongest?”

  “Yeah okay,” Steve said. “How about we bring up the ethics of the Vatruvian cell again?”

  “Are you serious?” Kristen said and turned to Cara, her voice abruptly turning humorless and stern. Steve struck a chord he knew would resonate. “Unlike our shortsighted computer scientist here, I raised a perfectly valid question at the last research meeting.”

  “More like you called out Professor Vatruvia in front of the entire research team.” Steve said.

  “What do you mean?” Cara asked. “Called Professor Vatruvia out for what?”

  “It was nothing,” Kristen said.

  “I wouldn’t have called it nothing. Cara, you know the research meeting that’s scheduled for tomorrow afternoon?”

  Cara Williams nodded.

  Kristen sighed with aggravation as Steve took a sip of his fresh beer, a layer of the thick head lingering on his upper lip. “At the last one, Kristen here asked—no demanded—Professor Vatruvia to tell the team the direction our research is heading.”

  This seemed to evoke some interest out of Cara, and she leaned forward. “What did he say? I’ve been wondering that myself since I started working with the Vatruvian cell.”

  “Absolutely nothing,” Kristen said with a severe shake of her head. “Professor Vatruvia hasn’t told us a damn thing. Evidently we’re his mindless drones; we are to complete our work and not question a single aspect of what we’re doing. It’s shameful I didn’t get more support from the rest of the team—a team of allegedly talented thinkers. When it comes down to it, everyone is a pawn who will do whatever he orders simply to be a part of the research.”

  “Don’t look at me,” Steve said with a ring of genuine defensiveness. “I just keep the computer programs running. I don’t know the first thing about the Vatruvian cell. That’s your department. The Vatruvian cell work is still way over my head.”

  “A little support couldn’t have hurt,” Kristen said.

  “You know . . .” Cara began but fell silent, her brow creased. “I . . . I’ve been wondering the same thing, Kristen. I’m glad we’re on the same page. In a weird way the Vatruvian cell kind of . . . freaks me out.”

  Kristen shot Steve a piercing look to prove to him she was not alone in her concerns, and took the last sip of melted ice from her glass. “Yeah well, too bad no one else feels the same way we do, Cara.”

  “It’s been a few months now since the last meeting. Professor Vatruvia is probably going to make a big announcement,” Steve said in an obvious attempt to subdue the rising tension between them.

  Cara nodded. “I hope so.”

  Kristen turned and
looked to the growing number of people gathering by the bar. It was primarily an undergraduate crowd—she could tell from the overly eager aura radiating from their slightly inebriated faces. As she watched their lighthearted exchanges, Kristen could not help but feel a sense of disconnection. There was a group of frat types waiting for pints of beer. The bartenders and servers were attractive girls with low-cut shirts and snug jeans. A line stemming from the bathrooms grew longer by the minute with buzzed students. Looming above them all, big screen televisions blared out the week’s football highlights. Kristen’s attention was drawn to two girls, giggling and leaning against a couple of guys. They were telling some mundane story about an off-campus party the other night. Kristen could only catch bits of the idiotic drunken narrative. But as she gazed at them, she could not help but feel somewhat envious of the carefree look of it all.

  Kristen returned her attention to the late twenty-somethings sitting with her in the booth. They had an old, tired, and professional look to them. Steve had a receding hairline and a gut from spending too much time sitting at a computer and retaining a stellar attendance at weekly bar trivia nights. Cara was sporting a subtle diamond engagement ring. Certainly neither of these older colleagues would consider staying out late and enjoying a casual night of raging and forgetting about reality—and ultimately neither would Kristen. There was a full day of work in the morning, and that was all there was to it. The ever-present weight of work to be done was a force that had long since claimed authority of Kristen’s life. Tomorrow, while all of these silly and simple peers would be sleeping off a long night, Kristen would be acting vanguard to a modern marvel of discovery.

  An unsettling sensation of disquiet surfaced in the back of her mind as Kristen stared across the prosaic happenings of the bar and considered what had been nagging her for the past few months. What Steve had quipped about was partly true. She had made somewhat of a spectacle at the last research meeting with Professor Vatruvia. More and more as the weeks progressed Kristen was beginning to grow anxious about the Vatruvian cell, though she could not rationalize her concerns with any tangible justification. For the time being Kristen decided to keep her thoughts to herself.

  “I’m going to head back to my place,” Cara said at last, breaking the silence of their table and jarring Kristen from her thoughts. “It’s getting late and way too loud in here for me.”

  “Okay. See you at the meeting tomorrow.” Kristen smiled and rose from the table, allowing Cara to pass.

  “Have a good night,” Steve said to Cara, and after she left turned to Kristen. “Another drink?”

  “Eh, I don’t think so. I have to be up early tomorrow.” Kristen said, not wanting to send even the slightest false impression of interest to the rotund computer scientist. She looked back to the undergraduates by the bar and noticed several of the more confident, or perhaps more intoxicated, guys attempting to catch her eye. Kristen took care not to meet their stares and grabbed her purse. She put a twenty-dollar bill down on the table. “I’ll see you at the meeting tomorrow.”

  “Okay,” Steve said. “See you tomorrow.”

  Kristen made her way through the increasingly rowdy crowd and out into the cool nighttime of New York. If Professor Vatruvia was preparing to announce what she was expecting, there was going to be a lot of media attention focused on their lab in the forthcoming weeks and months. Kristen cursed to herself as she walked under the humming streetlamps, passing dingy alleys and a few bustling restaurants and dives on the way to her apartment building. How could her research partners—and seemingly everyone in the world—be so obtuse to the inherent danger of the Vatruvian cell?

  Chapter Two

  Kristen

  Kristen walked down the crowded Amsterdam Avenue sidewalk, immersed in the sounds and smells of Manhattan’s morning rush hour. She tried to think of anything but the congestion of pedestrians, car horns, and yelling taxi drivers engulfing her. There was a cool touch to the morning air, and Kristen took some comfort in the knowledge that autumn was claiming the city. She could not abide one more day of the sticky claustrophobic swelter of summer in New York.

  Her thoughts turned to the research meeting scheduled that day.

  In the past when Professor Vatruvia had brought the whole research team together, it had always been to make a big announcement, either a new source of funding or a breakthrough in their work. But ever since the global media’s fascination with the iconic Vatruvian cell, funding had become a dead issue; the research team’s coffers were brimming. The meeting had to be a breakthrough in their work. This prospect filled Kristen with mounting angst she fought to conceal. Head down, she focused on the dirty sidewalk with an expressionless gaze. What was the breakthrough?

  Professor Vatruvia’s team had recently branched out to other fields, and it made Kristen uneasy. How could seemingly every subspecialty of academia be working on the same research project? Biologists, engineers, computer scientists, medical doctors, and zoologists: all working separately in the same venture. It was remarkable how carefully—and Kristen thought, subtly—their leader was keeping the individual members of his team in the dark. Professor Vatruvia seemed to be gradually cloaking his long-term goals for the Vatruvian cell, concealing his intentions without anyone noticing the furtive transformation. But Kristen had noticed. She also knew the goal of the research had to be lofty, whatever it was. Kristen resented that he was hiding the truth from her of all people, considering she was one of the founders of the technology. Yet she could not help but wonder if her feelings were just misconstrued resentment at being sidelined from her vital involvement during the early Vatruvian cell developments the previous winter.

  A growl in her stomach reminded Kristen that she had forgone breakfast, and she turned into a corner café. The door of the shop opened with the tinkling of a bell, and Kristen stepped in line behind half a dozen people. A television mounted on the wall drew her attention from the pastries. A CNN reporter was talking about an international flight over Canada. A commercial jetliner had undergone engine failure at thirty thousand feet. The anchors were stressing the bravery and quick actions of the pilots, who masterfully righted the plane and avoided certain catastrophe.

  A passenger was talking into a microphone held by a reporter. “You aren’t listening to me!” The man was exasperated, his face flushed. “The engines didn’t start back up! I was sitting right behind the wing. I would have felt o-o-or heard them reengage. You know the roar of engines when you’re behind the wing? Well there was no roar! They were puttering! Look . . . all I know is we fell like a rock for a whole minute. God, it was a nightmare. Oxygen masks dangling, luggage crashing out of overhead compartments. People were screaming. I remember my seatbelt digging into my stomach as it held me to my goddamn seat! And the passengers who weren’t wearing seatbelts . . .” The man trailed off. “I thought we were goners.”

  “Well, we are all thankful the pilots were able to reengage the turbines and take control of the plane before any serious injuries occurred.” The reporter chirped.

  “No!” the passenger yanked back the microphone. “That’s not what happened! The plane slowed to a stop in midair. It didn’t right itself, and the engines didn’t reengage. The plane stopped! I’m telling you, we were floating in the air all the way down to the ground. Look at the field where the plane landed, for god’s sake! Do you see any landing tracks?”

  A replay of a helicopter bird’s-eye view depicted an enormous blue-and-silver jetliner parked like a beached whale in a cornfield. There was no indication of any landing. Surrounding the huge steel girth, tall corn stalks stood intact, the organized rows unmarked.

  The broadcast returned to the colorfully decorated studio.

  “Well, as you can see, the passengers are still in shock from the incident—no doubt shaken from the traumatic experience. Fortunately, the near disaster was safely avoided. Although crewmembers have declined comment, spokesmen for the airline have issued a statement that the engines ree
ngaged at approximately fifteen thousa—”

  “What can I get for you, sweetheart?” asked a café worker with a Brooklyn accent and cigarette smoker’s growl.

  Kristen shook her head and brought her attention back to the breakfast options.

  “One of the blueberry muffins and a coffee. To go, thanks.” Kristen said. She looked back to the television to see that the topic had moved on to a decline in European financial markets.

  On the street, Kristen sipped her coffee and ruminated over a thick spiral notebook of her research observations she had pulled out from her backpack.

  The Vatruvian cell. The artificial cell.

  The possibilities of their new technology were nearly infinite, the potential uses and applications limitless. Far more limitless than the casual readers of various magazine and news articles, or the people who watched the 60 Minutes special, or even most accomplished PhDs could grasp. Over the past few months Kristen had begun to realize her team had willfully entered a technological realm of unbounded promise. Sure the Vatruvian cell was microscopic in size and seemingly insignificant against the grand scale of most tangible technologies. Many authorities were even beginning to voice skepticism and proclaim that its initial significance had been greatly overvalued. But Kristen thought of a singular gamete—a sperm or egg cell—compared to the entirety of human existence. Those singular minuscule cells blossom into the full spectrum of what it means to be man: from skin and bone to intellect and creativity. Those individual cells, microscopic and unadorned as they are, give rise to ideas. Power of that magnitude was impossible to quantify. And now the incomprehensible capabilities of genetics had been harnessed by modern science. Harnessed, stripped bare, and reassembled by the whim of man. They had manipulated the altered blueprints of biological genetics to generate a distinctive wonder of their own: an artificial cell crafted by the human hand. Life, though on a microscopic level, had been twisted from the inanimate.