already knew. We’re cloning something. According to Mr. Stevens, I’ll be getting some samples with blood and hair tomorrow morning. Once I extract the DNA we need, I guess we’ll know a bit more. At least we’ll be able to narrow it down to human or animal. Have you heard anything?”
“Nothing concrete, but with this much expertise floating around, and all the secrecy, I don’t think we’ll be cloning his dog. If I were a gambling man, I would put my money on an extinct species, but probably a human,” he replied while continuing to examine the equipment. He made minor adjustments to the machine and then spun his chair around to look at her. Smoothing his hair back he continued. “It’s the only explanation for why we’re all here under the conditions that have been set.”
She was shocked into silence. Nysa had formulated her own speculations about their work, but to hear it verbalized so bluntly took her off-guard.
“We’ll find out soon enough,” she stammered and walked away.
Nysa spent the rest of the morning visiting the other levels of the building, inspecting the equipment, and introducing herself to the other doctors and assistants on the various floors. Dr. Leyden had been right when he said there was a lot of expertise here. Of the doctors she had met that morning, she had recognized almost all of them as leaders in cloning-related fields. Dr. David Eisenhauer and his wife, Alice, for example, had almost single-handedly perfected the nuclear transfer technique used in the cloning process. When there was a question in the scientific community related to this process, these two were the ones you went to.
Dr. Stephen Phipps, while recognized as very knowledgeable in his field, was avoided by most other doctors. He had developed a reputation for thinking a little too far outside the box. Some of his most recent publications were outlandish at best, in most of the medical community’s opinions, and were published more due to respect for his previous work than for his current contributions. Still, he was one of the best when it came to the identification of, care for, and implantation of viable embryos. He had spent most of his career researching various fertility treatments.
The complex itself was amazing. After a brief tour she’d already discovered the medical facility on level B-4, a fully loaded day spa on B-3, and three restaurants, a cafeteria, and a bar on level 2. She found out upon her arrival on the second floor that the three restaurants were of different ethnic origins. Maybe this place won’t be so bad after all, she thought. Nysa strolled to the cafeteria, grabbed a sandwich, bag of chips, and a Diet Coke and went back downstairs to the lobby. She stepped out of the elevator and walked to the front desk where Bekki stood patiently.
“Is there a place outside where I can sit and eat lunch? A picnic bench or table of some sort? It’s such a beautiful day, and I’d hate to spend all of it inside.”
“Absolutely,” Bekki replied. “As you exit the front doors, walk out about one hundred yards following the driveway. When you get to the dead tree — don’t worry, you’ll know it when you see it — turn about forty-five degrees to your left and there is a nice picnic table under a tree about another one hundred and fifty to two hundred yards down. It’s very relaxing. There is a creek that runs close by so you can hear the water. Just don’t cross the creek. It’s the border of the grounds, and you don’t want to get yelled at by the guards. Have a nice lunch, and I’ll see you when you get back.” Bekki sat down and started working on her computer.
The grounds were amazing. As she made her way down the driveway, Nysa basked in the afternoon sun. She passed the small trees that had started to grow on either side of the road and gradually came to a small path off to her left. Sure enough, there was a distinctly dead tree right where the path and driveway met. She
“Nothing concrete, but with this much expertise floating around, and all the secrecy, I don’t think we’ll be cloning his dog. If I were a gambling man, I would put my money on an extinct species, but probably a human,” he replied while continuing to examine the equipment. He made minor adjustments to the machine and then spun his chair around to look at her. Smoothing his hair back he continued. “It’s the only explanation for why we’re all here under the conditions that have been set.”
She was shocked into silence. Nysa had formulated her own speculations about their work, but to hear it verbalized so bluntly took her off-guard.
“We’ll find out soon enough,” she stammered and walked away.
Nysa spent the rest of the morning visiting the other levels of the building, inspecting the equipment, and introducing herself to the other doctors and assistants on the various floors. Dr. Leyden had been right when he said there was a lot of expertise here. Of the doctors she had met that morning, she had recognized almost all of them as leaders in cloning-related fields. Dr. David Eisenhauer and his wife, Alice, for example, had almost single-handedly perfected the nuclear transfer technique used in the cloning process. When there was a question in the scientific community related to this process, these two were the ones you went to.
Dr. Stephen Phipps, while recognized as very knowledgeable in his field, was avoided by most other doctors. He had developed a reputation for thinking a little too far outside the box. Some of his most recent publications were outlandish at best, in most of the medical community’s opinions, and were published more due to respect for his previous work than for his current contributions. Still, he was one of the best when it came to the identification of, care for, and implantation of viable embryos. He had spent most of his career researching various fertility treatments.
The complex itself was amazing. After a brief tour she’d already discovered the medical facility on level B-4, a fully loaded day spa on B-3, and three restaurants, a cafeteria, and a bar on level 2. She found out upon her arrival on the second floor that the three restaurants were of different ethnic origins. Maybe this place won’t be so bad after all, she thought. Nysa strolled to the cafeteria, grabbed a sandwich, bag of chips, and a Diet Coke and went back downstairs to the lobby. She stepped out of the elevator and walked to the front desk where Bekki stood patiently.
“Is there a place outside where I can sit and eat lunch? A picnic bench or table of some sort? It’s such a beautiful day, and I’d hate to spend all of it inside.”
“Absolutely,” Bekki replied. “As you exit the front doors, walk out about one hundred yards following the driveway. When you get to the dead tree — don’t worry, you’ll know it when you see it — turn about forty-five degrees to your left and there is a nice picnic table under a tree about another one hundred and fifty to two hundred yards down. It’s very relaxing. There is a creek that runs close by so you can hear the water. Just don’t cross the creek. It’s the border of the grounds, and you don’t want to get yelled at by the guards. Have a nice lunch, and I’ll see you when you get back.” Bekki sat down and started working on her computer.
The grounds were amazing. As she made her way down the driveway, Nysa basked in the afternoon sun. She passed the small trees that had started to grow on either side of the road and gradually came to a small path off to her left. Sure enough, there was a distinctly dead tree right where the path and driveway met. She
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