Anthem's Fall Read online

  The Vatruvian cell balanced just on the imprecise threshold of what biology defined as a living organism. Most scientists equated the Vatruvian cell to a cancer cell or a virus: neither living nor dead, and containing attributes of each distinction. Having been one of the essential minds behind its conception, Kristen was familiar with how the Vatruvian cell had been constructed. She knew the mechanics and the novel proteins of the Vatruvian cell front to back, as well as even Professor Vatruvia.

  Yet despite her familiarity, Kristen Jordan could not truthfully say with any sense of conviction what the Vatruvian cell really was.

  Could the Vatruvian cell merely be the most recent instrument to be created by man in an ever-evolving progression that dated back to the first brandished stick? Or perhaps the lifelike invention would prove only to be a microscopic trophy for the contemporary intellect, serving little more purpose than for scientists to pat themselves on the back and applaud their own marvelous ingenuity and craftsmanship. But what if the Vatruvian cell was something far more than either? What if it was a scientific revolution so pioneering and radical that it was difficult to even grasp the full gravity of its future influence? It was this last notion that caused Kristen Jordan’s constant disquiet, this thought that kept her up in the still of the night, images of cancer cells, viruses, and the Vatruvian cell dancing in the darkness of her cramped studio apartment.

  Meanwhile Professor Vatruvia was pushing full steam ahead, scheduling a meeting that very day where he no doubt was planning to announce advancement in their research. Despite the sun rising above the graffiti-covered brick rooftops to the east, Kristen felt herself shudder, gooseflesh rising on her arms in the morning air.

  The featureless glass building containing the Columbia Vatruvian Cell Research and Development laboratory looked more like an office building than an ivy-adorned historic structure one might normally associate with prestigious collegiate tradition. But their research was far from traditional, and although the exterior of the austere midrise left something to be desired among its more affluent-looking neighboring buildings, the interior contained some of the most exclusive and costly research equipment in the nation.

  Kristen passed by the security checkpoint and smiled a terse hello to the guards. Earlier in the year, several religious extremist groups had openly criticized the Vatruvian cell research as working against the will of religion. “Man was not meant to play god” had been the consistent mantra of the shouts and strongly worded letters Professor Vatruvia received. He tacked up the more amusing of the letters on a hallway bulletin board for the team to see. Though after the threats began to amass, a sizable security team had been acquisitioned with the considerable funding Professor Vatruvia had been able to garner.

  Kristen walked past several laboratories to her workspace and slumped into her chair, turned on the computer, and typed her login information. In her inbox was an email, the subject reading, RESPOND ASAP, from Professor Vatruvia. There was only one line in the body of the message: See me before the meeting today.

  With a drained sigh, Kristen decided to get it out of the way before it disrupted her morning concentration. She swung around in her chair and headed upstairs to Professor Vatruvia’s floor, exchanging words with several coworkers as she passed the open doors to the other well-accommodated labs. Sunlight beamed through the wide windows of the lobby as Kristen circled the stately main staircase. Professor Vatruvia’s office and his private labs were on the third floor. Most of the research team members saw little of his floor, but Professor Vatruvia often called up Kristen to weigh in on various topics. As she passed the cold polished tiles and locked doors of the third floor hallway, she sensed undertones of secrecy.

  Kristen slowed her pace alongside several heavy doors, and looked about as if searching for something hidden. The heavy steel doors had key-code entry pads and thick dead bolts securing them shut. Laboratories on the lower floors were at most secured with a simple padlock to prevent the theft of expensive instruments or compounds. Kristen paused in front of the doors and regarded an industrial lock that would have been more appropriate securing a bank vault. She reached out, touched the cold metal of the lock, and took a step closer, placing an ear against the solid door. Nothing could be heard beyond the door’s thickness.

  Professor Vatruvia was hiding a secret, a vault-sized secret. Kristen was sure of it. She gave the door a last suspicious glance before brushing her thoughts aside and continuing to Professor Vatruvia’s office.

  Three polite knocks.

  “Come in,” Professor Vatruvia called, his tone eager. He was sitting comfortably behind multiple computer monitors and a sea of papers. Sunlight streamed across his spacious office through south-facing windows, a striking view of Midtown visible between the tall buildings across the street.

  “Morning,” Kristen said, taking a seat in a chair across from him.

  “I wanted to give you a brief heads-up before we start the meeting today. I’ve—well, we’ve—made another big step forward.”

  “Really? How so?” Kristen feigned surprise, her expression utterly placid.

  Professor Vatruvia’s face broke into a sly, triumphant smile, and he turned one of the high definition monitors to face her. Kristen was suddenly taken aback as though someone had leapt out from a hiding place.

  “Oh . . . my . . . god.” She heard herself stammer.

  On the monitor were a series of images taken by a microscopic camera. Depicted were the several stages of an animal cell replicating. Yet after a moment’s examination it was clear the combining cells were not animal cells at all. Kristen could tell by the slightly unusual arrangement of the cell structures.

  It was a Vatruvian cell.

  “The Vatruvian cell can replicate.” Kristen spoke the words slowly, her voice almost a groan.

  “It can.”

  Kristen could feel her insides sink like a heavy stone. This was exactly what she had feared. Unable to hide her emotions, she buried her face in her palms. Already, drastic possibilities were starting to form in her mind’s eye. If the Vatruvian cell could replicate, it could possess the capability to form a complex structure. Tissues, organs, full organ systems.

  “What do you think?” Professor Vatruvia asked.

  “I think there’s a lot you haven’t been telling me.” Kristen ventured. “And I don’t want to get ahead of myself here, but anyone who has even a layman’s understanding of biological systems will realize the implications of this. If the Vatruvian cell can replicate, it’s possible it can give rise to structures of substantially higher complexity.”

  Professor Vatruvia regarded her thoughtfully. “I agree.”

  “Professor,” Kristen tried to keep her mind from jumping to conclusions, to focus on what was at hand.

  “Yes?”

  “I thought we were only modeling the Vatruvian cells after unicellular microorganisms. Individual cells. Prokaryotes like bacteria, and so on.”

  “We were.”

  “Not only am I looking at a nucleus, I’m looking at an animal Vatruvian cell on that monitor. I wouldn’t call animals single-celled organisms.”

  “Well, we were only working with simple microorganisms. I had to expand the research beyond those crude single cells at some point. We didn’t create this technology to have some functionless synthetic bacteria sitting on a test slide.”

  “But we didn’t create the Vatruvian cell to be a type of mirrored cloning either. We, or I, had hoped to increase the efficiency of preexisting cells so they might benefit people. Our goal was to bestow efficiency, to improve efficacy, not to create. An animal Vatruvian cell means a biological animal cell must have been used as a template.”

  Professor Vatruvia said nothing. He stared at the computer screen in silent wonder.

  “What animal was used? What type of cell was copied?” Kristen found herself angry as she was forced to jar him from his thoughts.

  “A mouse,” he said.

  Kristen dragged her cha
ir closer to the desk. She scrutinized the microscopic images for a long moment. The Vatruvian cells on the monitor were not entirely unlike the slides shown in any given high school biology class. Yet at the same time they were so very different, so crucially different.

  “Professor.”

  “Yes?”

  “You honestly don’t see a distinction between using our technology to replicate unicellular organisms, and using it to replicate mammalian cells?”

  He looked at her disapprovingly. “Not in the slightest. Kristen, you and I both know you saw this coming. Please don’t pretend you’re surprised. It was your work on the genetic structuring that acted as the foundation for this progress.”

  Professor Vatruvia was right. They both knew it.

  “Of course I thought this was a possibility, maybe even an inevitability. But I’m still not entirely sure how I feel about it.” Kristen looked down at his desk in thought. She had to choose her words delicately. “It’s just that, well, doesn’t the Vatruvian cell seem like an inherently dangerous technology?”

  “What do you possibly mean?” Professor Vatruvia looked suddenly startled.

  “Maybe not dangerous per se, but . . .” Kristen took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes with the knuckles of her fingers. She could not tell if he was dissembling ignorance or genuinely naive to her fears. “Look. It’s just you and me in here. I’m going to speak freely, okay?”

  “By all means.”

  “We are creating something we really know nothing about.”

  “Know nothing about? We know everything about Vatruvian cell technology, you and I, and what we haven’t already figured out, we will soon learn. Look at the screen. Progress!” He paused, taking effort to compose himself. “Let’s move one step at a time here, Kristen. I think you are getting much too far ahead of yourself, ahead of our research.”

  Kristen cast him a severe look. “Am I?”

  “Yes. You are.” Professor Vatruvia said. Kristen thought he was attempting to perceive her thoughts. After a protracted silence he reached out and turned his monitor back to face him. “How do you think the other members of the team will react?”

  “I can’t say for certain. I would hope they feel like they’ve been left out of the loop, which is pretty much how I’m feeling at the moment.”

  Professor Vatruvia nodded. Kristen could see he was disappointed by her reaction to the cellular replication, perhaps even unnerved by her objections. He leaned back in his chair and looked at the monitor in contemplative thought.

  “You’re right, I suppose . . . one step at a time,” Kristen said in an attempt to soothe his alarm, though she felt the complete opposite. “I have to get back to my transcribing. I’ll see you at the meeting.”

  Kristen stood and walked to the doorway. At the threshold she paused but could not think of anything to say. There were far too many questions to ask just one.

  “You’re a very clever young woman, Kristen.” Professor Vatruvia rotated his chair away from her and looked out of the window at the passing cars and people on the street below. “I’ll give you that. Don’t think I’m not aware of what you’re thinking.”

  Kristen held her ground. “If you know what I’m thinking, then I’ll ask it. Can the Vatruvian cell differentiate? Can it create complex systems?”

  A wave of exasperation passed across his expression, as though he was beginning to see her as a nuisance. “Now you are getting ahead of yourself, Kristen. I think you better get back to your transcribing and rethink this knee-jerk reaction to our breakthrough.”

  Kristen was shocked with the brusqueness of his tone. With one last uncertain look in his direction, she stepped out of his office and shut the door firmly behind her. She walked through the hallway and down the stairwell toward her workspace, her mind reeling from the images of an animal Vatruvian cell replicating.

  If the Vatruvian cell could replicate once, it could replicate a hundred times, a million times. Could it replicate itself enough to form tissues? If it could, then it was possible the Vatruvian cell could transform into a complex organism. One functionless cell incapable of division and floating in a Petri dish was one thing. A microscopic artificial life form with the ability to reproduce was completely different.

  A chill ran through Kristen.

  If the Vatruvian cell had the capability to diversify, it could transform into any cell type of a system—skin, bone, liver, or even a brain cell. If their microscopic wonder could harbor the genetics of template cells—and act as reproductive cells—the possibilities were monumental, and very corporeal. But that was only the very precipice of the rabbit hole, and Kristen felt certain the hole ran deep.

  At noon, the research members departed from the monotony of their daily agendas and filed into the conference room on the second floor. The overhead lights were turned off, the blinds closed, allowing only a sliver of natural light to fill the large space. Twenty-odd chairs encircled a wide table in the center. Professor Vatruvia was preparing a slideshow on his laptop to be projected on the large screen hanging front and center.

  Kristen wordlessly entered the room and sat a few chairs from the nearest person. She had no desire for small talk. Steve Armstrong was sitting opposite her, engrossed in a conversation with another computer scientist. Kristen distractedly returned his wave as she surveyed the other attendees. As she glanced around the table, her gaze narrowed with incredulity. There were many faces she did not recognize. Outsiders had never been allowed to sit in on their private research meetings, though certainly not from lack of trying. Private corporations relentlessly jockeyed for an illuminating glimpse at the inner workings of Vatruvian cell research. Professor Vatruvia had always been disinterested in them, which Kristen had respected.

  Evidently his sentiments had changed.

  The half dozen tailored suits stood out among the unkempt dress of the overworked graduate students. Kristen’s attention lingered on a man in a military uniform at the end of the table. He was wearing a light gray khaki shirt with an insignia on the left chest pocket Kristen did not recognize. His hair looked as though it had been buzzed that morning. The military man noticed Kristen’s stare and nodded politely. Kristen did not return the nod. Instead she walked around the table and stood over him. He pulled out the empty chair beside him, offering her the seat. Kristen remained standing.

  “Good afternoon, ma’am, this seat is not taken as far as I know,” the man said, his voice kind enough.

  “May I ask who you are?” Kristen tried to keep her manner as unassuming as possible.

  “Certainly. Lieutenant Commander Carl Worthen. Are you a colleague of Dr. Vatruvia’s?” He raised his palm to shake her hand.

  “Yes. I’m Kristen Jordan, a geneticist,” Kristen said, meeting his calloused palm with an aloof skepticism. “May I ask if Professor Vatruvia invited you here?”

  “He did indeed. I just got in from Washington. It’s a great privilege to be among such a talented group. Very refreshing to see how young some of the minds are behind this amazing undertaking.”

  Kristen noticed Professor Vatruvia look at them from the front of the room as he prepared his presentation. Kristen eyed the rows and rows of multicolored decorations and medals on Carl Worthen’s chest. “I take it you’re in the Army?”

  “The armed forces. Yes, ma’am. I’m here as a rep for the DOD”

  “Department of Defense?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “What does the Department of Defense have to do with the Vatruvian cell?”

  Carl Worthen tilted his head in misunderstanding. “The DOD doesn’t have anything to do with the Vatruvian cell, as far as I’m aware. Dr. Vatruvia simply invited us here to sit in on a meeting. It would be improper to turn down a chance to see firsthand the people behind the most remarkable technology of our time.”

  Kristen sat in the chair Carl Worthen had offered. “Why would the Department of Defense even have interest in the Vatruvian cell?”

  “Scien
tific intrigue, more or less. We like to stay up to date on burgeoning innovations.”

  Kristen was about to ask why a representative from the Department of Defense and not the Office of Science was in attendance when Professor Vatruvia’s voice carried across the voices of the conference room. Carl Worthen raised his eyebrows in polite eagerness and shifted his attention to the projection screen. Kristen regarded the outline of his stern jaw for a moment. She held him in her gaze, disconcerted about the presence of the Department of Defense, before turning to face the screen.

  The research presentation went exactly as Kristen had predicted. After a few minutes of logistical announcements and scheduling reminders, Professor Vatruvia clicked forward to the breadwinning slide. It was the microscopic images Kristen had seen earlier that morning, now blown-up on the projector. A singular Vatruvian cell was replicating, the stages of cellular division looking all the more disturbing to Kristen now that they took up the entirety of the projection screen. Those who were not biologists did not immediately recognize what the images depicted, and Professor Vatruvia provided a brief explanation of cellular division. Soon after, they too joined in the enthusiastic sentiment.

  As Kristen had expected, the images were received with thrilled applause and even whistles of excitement by the rest of the research team. The whole conference room joined in celebration of Professor Vatruvia’s advancement. Steve was one of the loudest clappers, despite being one who had required an explanation of the slides. Kristen surveyed the rising passion of the room and glimpsed the scientific zealotry smoldering beneath the communal fervor. Her coworkers were already considering how each of their own resumes would be regarded, having ridden the coat tails of the great Vatruvian cell. Ambition was blinding all of her otherwise brilliant colleagues, each of them only seeking to advance their future pay grades and academic prestige. For a brief moment she considered standing and drawing all of their attention to their obvious ignorance—or perhaps worse, indifference—to the dangerous ground on which they were treading. But Kristen knew she would be outspoken and made to look like a Luddite fool, just as she had been in the previous meeting for expressing a call for prudence.