Adopted Son (8 page)

Anyway, the ball experiment wasn’t a success, but Tom wouldn’t give up so easily. He went and retrieved the ball and tried again. Same result. A third experiment resulted in the ball bouncing off Jim’s shoes. The fourth time was a charm though. As the ball rolled past, Jim reached out for it. He missed and fell flat on his face, but it was a good attempt. He was getting there. Tom was very happy with the effort. “Ho ho Lorraine, would you look at that! A diving catch,” Jim said. “If he keeps that level of effort up he’ll make the majors no problem.” Lorraine glanced up from her puzzle but mostly ignored the comments. Jim was only one year old now, and Tom had been talking about ‘the majors’ for the last four months. Lorraine would be happy if Jim grew up to be a good man who held down a job and could raise a family. She didn’t need glory to feel like a successful parent.

Tom sat Jim back up and got the ball back. He rolled it toward him again. Jim once again grabbed for the ball. He didn’t get it, but at least he didn’t fall over. Progress was being made. As Tom went to get the ball again, there was a distinct giggle from Jim. He was enjoying himself. That made Tom happy. If you’re going to succeed at something you’ve got to enjoy it. Otherwise you’ll never make it. Tom kept at it.

Another twenty minutes of rolling passed by, and there were a few successes. Jim was able to stop the ball a few times, although nothing that could ever be considered a ‘catch.’ It was more like he fell on the ball. “Perhaps he’ll be a goalie. That’d be all right I guess,” said Tom. Lorraine ignored him.

“Why don’t you teach him something useful, like driving a tractor, which is what you should be doing,” she said with mock irritation.

“This is useful,” protested Tom. “You can’t get the girls without being able to play ball. You want him to get the girls don’t you?” He rolled the ball again. Another catch. “Man, this kid’s awesome. Awesome I tell you. If he’s this good now think about how great he’s going to be in a few years. It’s those long fingers, he’s gonna have quite a grip I bet.” He retrieved the ball. “We got to do something about that bald head. Can’t you knit him a cap or something? He’s going to catch cold.” Lorraine just sighed.

He rolled the ball a little faster this time. It went right past little Jim, who fell over trying to make the grab. Then an amazing thing happened. Jim rolled over, stood up, and galloped towards the ball. He didn’t get very far, just a few feet. Then he fell over on his face. “Holy! Lorraine, did you see that! He just took his first steps! And a run too! Holy Gee he’s gonna be fast, fast I tell you.” He went over and picked his kid up. “This calls for a treat. Lorraine, where’s the ice cream?” Tom strutted into the kitchen with Jim on his shoulders. “We are the champions, we are the champions...” he sang as he left the room. Lorraine just shook here head. It was tough having two children to deal with.

Eight months later at the World Health Organization Annual Conference on Birth Defects and Childhood Diseases, Geneva Switzerland

Dr. Mensen sat in the back of the auditorium. He was only half listening to the presentation on HS oncology. The man on stage had been performing research to support the theory that the genetic defects from HS were the result of the mother’s eggs being deformed by uterine tumors. Mensen had counted at least three errors in his presentation so far. That was usually his limit of attention. The Doctor was quick to judge other people, and god forbid that he judged you as an idiot. He turned his attention to flipping through the notes for his presentation. The research contained therein was remarkable. He should have been chosen to chair this session. He was clearly the most qualified person here. If only they hadn’t cut his funding. He had been one of the top researchers in the HS field, but now with his budget slashed by those morons at the NIH, he didn’t have the clout to push through big projects quickly. Not like Foucoult. That French twit had a virtual research paper factory running in Paris. That’s why he was picked to chair the HS session. Dr. Mensen considered his presentation. It was going to really drive the final nail in the coffin for Foucoult’s theories. Mensen was sure that the disease was being caused by some sort of retrovirus. Foucoult stubbornly clung to the mistaken belief that the disease was genetic.

Mercifully, the man on stage finished his presentation and moved away from the podium quickly. He was replaced by Foucoult, who began his next introduction in an annoying French accent. “Our next speaker is Dr. Heinrich Mensen from the United States.” Foucoult said the words ‘United States’ as if they tasted bad. There was a lot of rivalry in the scientific community. Dr. Mensen knew that Foucoult would have preferred if he hadn’t been invited at all. He couldn’t get away with that though. Even with his reduced funding level, Mensen was considered a pioneer in the field. There was no way that Foucoult could shut him out of a meeting of this caliber, even if he didn’t like what Mensen was going to say.

Dr. Mensen took his time getting up to the stage. He was in no hurry, and the longer he walked, the longer the applause lasted. Not that Mensen was a vain man. He didn’t need the applause. He just knew that it grated on Foucoult’s nerves, and that was reward enough. He walked up to the fake wood podium and began to give his speech. He had brought notecards with him, but he didn’t really use them very much. He didn’t see that well up close. He knew what he was talking about, and the slides being projected were enough to keep him on-track.

The first slide came up. “This presentation is entitled, Handel’s Syndrome as a Consequence of Chromosomal Damage by Retrovirus.” He cleared his throat, and took a sip from the glass of ice water that had been provided for him. The next slide came up. He adjusted the silver microphone a little, resulting in some static and the annoying whine of feedback being projected through the speaker system.

“Ladies and Gentlemen of the scientific community. It is my firm belief that HS is a genetic dysfunction that is caused by prenatal exposure to an as-of-yet undiscovered retrovirus. After my presentation you will also hold this belief.” He looked over the podium at the audience. Foucoult and a few of his boys sat on the side, affecting disinterest. They remained sure that it was some sort of genetic abnormality. “Next slide please.”

The next slide appeared, showing some of the contrasting ‘DNA Lines’ that are made by Southern blotting. “Here are three DNA samples. The first shows a child afflicted with HS.” He used his pointer to show where the lines were on the slide. The second set of lines are the DNA samples taken directly from the mother’s uterus. As you can see, they line up completely, as would be expected. The match proves that this child is the progeny of this mother.” He waved the pointer around again, emphasizing the fact that the lines from the first sample matched the lines from the second sample. “Now, here is the kicker. The third DNA sample is also from the mother, but taken from her blood serum. As you can see clearly, the DNA does not match up to either that of the child, nor her own uterus!”

Mensen waited a few seconds for the murmuring to die down. “Next slide please.” More data appeared. “As you can see, there is some genetic defect in the mother that has changed her reproductive system on a fundamental level. In most cases, all of the RFLP markers have changed. Portions of her reproductive system have been completely warped by some agent. This is also true for the father. Next slide please.” More data appeared.

“This slide shows, some DNA sampling that we took from the HS child’s father. As you can see, the DNA sample from the father’s reproductive system matches the child’s. This boy is clearly the child of the man. However, again, we see that the father’s blood serum genetics do not match that of his own reproductive system!” Again, there was murmuring in the audience. Foucoult and his group looked unconvinced. They whispered amongst themselves. Mensen knew what they were saying. They were accusing him of cross contaminating the samples. They were assuming that a mistake had been made.

“Of course,” continued Mensen, “One case is not enough to make a diagnoses, so I did some further testing. Next slide please.” More data appeared. “I had labs at Hopkins and UC Berkeley run split samples on almost a hundred HS children and their parents. I received a one hundred percent correlation rate. Every HS case that I tested for showed a significant abnormality between the parents dominant genetic code, and that of their reproductive system.” He pointed to the data on the slide.

“Now, it is possible that the parents are suffering from some rare genetic mutation. It is not entirely unknown to have some cells mutated from the normal. After all, a cancer tumor has a different genetic sequence than the rest of the patient’s cells. This could be a natural mutation, albeit more severe that previously known.”

“I did some more research on the subject. I attempted to pollinate an HS-positive egg with normal human sperm. This was unsuccessful. It was only possible to unite the HS-positive egg with HS-positive sperm. Now, if this HS genetic mutation was as rare as we would think, it would be almost statistically impossible for two HS carriers to meet and conceive, and that fact bothered me.” He waved to the technician to switch slides.

“I’ve been conducting some studies on patients at fertility clinics. I’ll be publishing on that topic soon. But the bottom line is that we found that in approximately six percent of the cases, one partner was HS-positive. The genetic differences were preventing conception.” Dr. Mensen moved to his conclusion slide.

“There is only one conclusion that can be drawn from this information. Some sort of retrovirus is targeting the reproductive systems of individuals. This virus is resulting in significant genetic damage that is asymptotic and goes unnoticed in the patient. This disease renders the patient incapable of conceiving a normal child. However, the disease does appear to be contagious. Those people in close proximity to each other, such as spouses, can pass the virus on. This results in two damaged reproductive systems that are mutually compatible, resulting in a child exhibiting the symptoms of HS.”

Dr. Mensen stepped back from the podium for a moment and took another sip of water. The question period was already commencing, and Dr. Foucoult was right at the head of the line. Dr. Mensen looked around for a few seconds, pretending that he didn’t see him, but he eventually recognized Foucoult.

“Dr. Mensen,” began Foucoult, “How do you know that this genetic drift you speak of comes from a viral vector? It could be any one of a number of mutagens, or it could be some sort of hereditary defect.”

Dr. Mensen had of course anticipated that question. He responded, “I wondered that as well, Doctor. I came to the conclusion that it is not a hereditary defect because every case we’ve seen so far of a parent with an HS reproductive system has birthed an HS-positive child. If this was a hereditary defect, it would have shown up in the literature a long time ago. There is no precedent for this sort of thing. If all of the genetic ancestors of an individual have HS tendencies, why have they all given birth to normal children up until now? No, this must be a new event.” He took another sip of water. “As for another mutagenic agent such as radioactivity or chemical contaminant, I can’t rule those out. I do believe that they are unlikely for several reasons. First, the parents were screened for toxins and came up negative. Second, they are from very different economic and geographical regions, so there is little chance that they would all come into contact with the same toxins. Unless that toxin is almost universal.”

“If the genetics have changed so significantly, why doesn’t the body reject this alien tissue?”

“I can’t explain that. Perhaps the genetic differences don’t result in changed surface receptors.”

One of Dr. Foucoult’s grad students raised his hand. The impudent man didn’t even wait to be called on before speaking. “Dr. Mensen, this theory you have is interesting to be sure, but without any hard data it remains quite fanciful. Have you isolated any potential viruses?”

Mensen had little choice but to answer. “No. As of yet I have not isolated any viruses in the patients that could account for this genetic damage. I’m basing my viral theory solely on the epidemiology and the fact that it’s the simplest explanation.” The reason Dr. Mensen hadn’t isolated a virus yet was that his funding had been cut. He didn’t have the resources for a good virologist post-doc. He wasn’t going to admit that in front of Foucoult though.

Foucoult took up the questioning. His team operated like a pack of wolves. “Well, Dr. Mensen, then you’ve got your work cut out for you. Why don’t you go back the America and start looking for this virus of yours?” Foucoult made a gesture implying that the ‘virus’ wasn’t a real thing. “Maybe you can come back next year and present your findings. We all anxiously await your results of course, but until we have a good candidate, I’m afraid that your theory must remain just that; a theory.”

A man seated in far the back of the audience stood up and began moving forward. “I believe, Dr. Foucoult, that I can be of assistance here.” He walked to the front to the podium and hopped up on stage. He was followed by several large men in dark suits. “My name is Ray Johnston.”

Dr. Foucoult stood up defiantly. This was his session, he was the chair, he would decide who would speak and who wouldn’t. “Sir, you have not been called. Please return to your seat.” He said, trying to sound as outraged as possible at this breach of protocol.

“I don’t think so Frenchie,” replied Ray. Dr. Mensen instinctively stepped away, allowing Ray room to take the microphone. Dr. Foucoult took a step forward, determined to have this man removed, but he was blocked by two of the men in black suits. No one but Foucoult could see, but the men each had handguns under their coats. Foucoult was arrogant and outraged, but he wasn’t stupid. He sat back down defiantly.

“Ladies and Gentlemen. My name is Ray Johnston. I work for the U.S. government. I am sure that you have never heard of me, but I have spent the last year of my life delving into the mysteries of this disease that you call HS. I have a lot of information that you need to have.