Clashing Obsessions

Chapter 8 - Dr. Blayne

"Dr. Blayne, the test results are ready." My postdoc associate, Dr. Reta Lockhart, stands by my desk, d-chip in hand.

"Thank you," I say, barely looking up as I take the chip and plug it into my holo-projector. Oh, plug-in holos. How old fashioned. Mostly to myself, I mutter, "you'd think a government-funded lab like this one would have a greater budget for up-to-date technology." Furrowing my brow, I allow myself to continue the train of thought. "It would seem people have lost their appreciation for science. What was once a respected field of study is now just a source of dinner-table anecdotes, all fun-facts and did-you-knows. But, I digress. Any updates on the trial application?"

"Still no approval," Dr. Lockhart informs me.

"Not even rat trials?" Almost automatically, I start to tidy my desk, a habit I tend to fall into when I'm disappointed.

Lockhart shakes her head. "It's still pending. Every time I applied for a rush decision, it's been denied. Honestly, we should be grateful Animal Welfare hasn't managed to block the proposition completely." She starts to leave, taking a few steps across the lab, before turning back to face me, a look of curiosity on her face. "Your grandfather was a scientist in the 2040s, right? Is it true that this used to be easy? Getting approval, I mean."

"Much looser regulations on animal trials, yes. Of course human trials were heavily restricted, but rodent experiments were easy enough to get approval for."

Dr. Lockhart nods briefly before crossing the lab to her desk and returning to her work. She's never liked to talk much about the politics of these things, preferring to stick to the science. It's one of the many traits I respect about her.

Turning back to my desk, I stop my hands from their tidying and shift my focus back to the monitor in front of me. I've been working since 5:00 this morning, and the loud whirring of the computer's fan seems almost symbolic, as if the machine is as tired as I am. There are 12 windows open, each for a separate purpose. One holds my plan for my next experiment — after I get approval, that is. Another, my research-dedicated window, has 14 tabs, each with a different article, case study or lab report. Another displays the International News Feed website, where the reporter I met earlier works.

I must admit, I was a little surprised to discover that was her feed. She seemed so, what's the word... young? More like new. The INF is the most well-known newsfeed in the world, and Ms. Nelson, with her overexcitement and fluttery demeanour, just didn't seem like the type. INF reporters don't sneak into lecture halls to get quotes without a press pass, and they don't take notes with a pencil and paper. No, the INF has a ridiculously high budget — she'd be provided with, and encouraged to use, the latest technology.

Still, the website very clearly lists her as an INF reporter. She's still a junior, and has been working for less than a year, so maybe that explains her... eccentricities.

Closing the INF window, I turn my attention back to my work.

The main objective of my experiments, my plans, everything, is to advance the human race with genetic engineering. Over the past 5 years, I've spent day after long day in my lab, researching, studying, and experimenting, all with the goal of creating the next evolutionary leap. Humanity's next step, and my legacy.

The Evo-12 serum.

The fruits of my labour after years of work. A serum that could alter the human genome, increasing a subject's strength, speed, agility, intelligence, ability to heal... Everything humans strive for, in one compound. This serum is not only the next step for the human race, but my lifelong dream. Natural evolution can only take us so far — the future is in our own hands. If — no, when — I can finally prove my theory is a real possibility, it'll all be worth it. Every biochemistry degree, every hour in my lab, every carefully written speech and press conference and interview and lab report and published paper, every equation and every calculation — after all my work, I will finally accomplish what I've always dreamed of. I'll change the world. One might even say save the world.

It's still a long way away, of course. The story about cybernetics and Azria Quarta's broken wrist, for instance? That's little more than an introduction. That reporter, Nelson — she's right about my work being controversial, but really, she doesn't know the half of it. Plenty of scientists push the idea of humans merging with machines, it's been a trend since Elon Musk, as I mentioned in my last speech. But, that's all it is. A trend, a fad. A talking point for washed-up so-called scientists trying to get noticed. If that's controversial, Ms Nelson would have a field day with the truth. In reality, the only reason I'm arguing the machine-human angle is that if all those various boards of directors and approval committees knew the real reason I'm interested in cybernetics, all this bureaucracy and the unending quest for trial approval would only get more convoluted, time consuming, and yes, controversial in the public eye.

The truth is, the future of humanity doesn't lie in metal implants. The reason I need cyborg test subjects is that they're the only humans who could survive the serum initialization process. Individuals who are over 25% cybernetic have what are called system control centers, a computerized panel that regulates the function of their internal organs and body functions. The higher the cybernetic percentage, the more advanced the control center is, because it has to regulate more processes. Anyway, no human could survive the Evo-12 serum without it — the natural human body would shut down when exposed, but the control center can regulate the reaction, and, if I'm correct, make the serum survivable. I've run every chemical test in the book on my serum, all I need now are subjects. Of course, I'd be ecstatic if I could get permission for human trials, but rats are the only realistic possibility in the near future.

Unfortunately, I don't see even that happening any time soon. Until I can get approval for experimentation, there's next to nothing I can do. My progress is halted.

Unless, of course, I take the other option: corporate sponsorship. Recently, I was contacted by a corporation interested in my research, asking for a partnership. If I accept, nearly all my problems would be taken care of. I'd get an increase in funding, for one thing, and I'd be able to skip some of the government red tape. I'd still have to get approved by the ethics committee, but honestly, when corporations get involved that's never hard. The government and International Ethics Board may technically have the authority, but corporations have the real power.

Of course, accepting a corporate sponsor has its drawbacks, as I am reminded of as I open the pros-and-cons-list window on my computer for what must be the fifth time this week, at least. This is my project, and sponsorship would mean I'm no longer in charge. I've worked for so long on Evo-12, I don't know if I'm ready to let some corporate capitalists try to tell me what to do.

"Dr. Blayne?" I look up and meet Dr. Lockhart's glance. She's sitting behind her monitor, reading something with a look of disappointment.

"What is it?" I ask.

"Last request just got delayed again. I'm reading the report, and it seems the I.E.B. were close to denying it, but an external source offered some reason to keep it on the table... it's still pending approval until... 'new information' is received? I'm not sure what that means, or who this source is, though."

External source. It would seem that the corporation that contacted me is getting a bit more forward about things. This "new information" is no doubt my agreement to working with them. And now that I know the proposal would be denied without them...

"I'm going to step out for a minute." I let Dr. Lockhart know, then collect my jacket on my way out. I need a walk to clear my head.

No sponsor means no approval, no trials, no progress... It's just so frustrating, when I have everything worked out, every experiment, every last detail, and all I need is some stickler to sign a form.