The Man Who Sold His Son (Lanarkshire Strays) (10 page)

Half an hour later Sarah arrived at the family’s apartment in Saint Germain. Tom, sitting at the dining room table, lifted his head from the book he was reading.

“Hiya, love. Good day?”

“Not really,” Sarah said. “We have a problem.”

Interlude

“
Another one, Jim?” The bartender tapped at his customer’s glass.

The old man nodded, a single curt nod. Normally he’d have cut off a customer who’d had quite so much to drink as Jim had, but the old man had been a regular for around twenty years and was a committed alcoholic. As such, he could function on volumes of alcohol others would find intolerable. Besides, Jim bought the most expensive whiskey, and he bought a lot of it.

The bartender filled his short glass, eliciting a grunt of thanks, and turned his attention to the Holo-screen behind the bar. There’d been a lot of discussion on the news that day about re-homing
Randoms
. Some journalist was interviewing that billionaire guy, Ennis, about the project.

The bartender smiled in admiration of Ennis as he spoke passionately about the
Random
relocation project. Ennis was an easy man to admire. Self-made, reputedly a fantastically generous employer, champion of human rights
–
the guy had a lot of respect; respect he’d earned not inherited. That went a long way with folks.

“Good guy, that Ennis,” he said to no one in particular.

Turning to see Jim’s reaction, he noticed that the old man had risen from his stool and was glaring at the Holo-image. His drink was untouched. Ennis was explaining the virtues of the project to the presenter in the background.

“You all right, Jim?” he asked. The old man was rigid with fury and he’d never seen him this way. Old Jim was the same every time he came to the bar, which was a lot: calm, respectful, courteous.

The bartender shook his head dismissively.
Probably fuckin’ constipated.

“Sit down and have yer drink, Jim.”

The old man shoved the glass across the width of the bar, back to the bartender.

“Stick yer whiskey up yer arse,” he slurred. With a straight back and purposeful stride, he left the bar.

16

“Fuck!”

Alex suppressed a smile. Gayle so rarely swore, but when she did, in her posh accent, it made him grin. Turning to lift a questioning eyebrow, he already knew the reason for the uncharacteristic outburst.

“Same result again... Fuck it,” Gayle offered.

Alex did smile this time, letting her see it.

“I don’t know what you’re so pleased about,” she said. “It’s your fault.”

“How’s that?”

Gayle shrugged and jabbed a finger at her Holo-screen. “It’s your bloody uncooperative DNA.”

She was only partly joking.

Gayle sighed. “Okay, let’s try protocol number three-two-four-four-seven.” Peering into an incubator, she added, “We’ll need some samples, Alex.”

Retrieving an IV and an array of differently coloured culture tubes, Gayle placed the tubes beside her on her workstation and waited whilst Alex took a seat opposite her, rolling up his shirt sleeve. Exposing a bruised and track-marked forearm, he wound a tourniquet around his elbow and bent his arm a few times.

Gayle slapped at the skin and paused as she pressed the needle to the surface. “Try not to pass out this time,” she said.

“Once that happened. Once in five yea… Ouch!”

“Sorry,” Gayle said quietly.

As much as they’d joke about the process of extracting Alex’s blood and his DNA from the white cells, neither of them had lost the sense of discomfort they felt at Alex’s tissue being harvested for their work.

“S’okay. I’ll survive.” Alex glanced over at a Holo-image of Tommy and Sarah on his workstation opposite where he sat and scanned their faces as Gayle busied herself with filling her various tubes.

He was glad that he’d had time to shove a few personal items in his bag before leaving his Bellshill apartment. Often the moving, smiling holographic images were all that kept him focused when dark days came upon him. Most of the time he and Gayle were too busy to mope.

Alex had made a habit of working day and night for months, burn out, sleep for a few days and then repeat the process. In a way, he supposed that he was punishing himself. No matter how many late-night conversations he and Gayle had, no matter the number of reassurances or how real her conviction was that he had done the only thing he could have in the situation, Alex couldn’t shake the deep hurt and the certainty that, when all was said and done, he’d abandoned his family. He couldn’t escape the voice that told him in his quietest moments that he should have found a way.

When he listened to that voice, Alex would sink into a deep depression, a seemingly bottomless well of despair, regret and self-loathing. When the clouds came, life was without purpose.
They’re probably dead, or in a special centre,
his brain whispered to him. His imagination tortured him at times with images of them, begging for his return, or, worse still, forgetting him entirely.

On days like this, suicide began to become a more and more attractive escape. The infinitesimally small hope that he might see his family again dragged him back from the precipice each time – that and his work with Gayle. It… she, was all he had now. Professor Gayle Robertson and the work they did had become his whole world; the entire reason for him to rise each new day and work. Work kept him sane; Gayle kept him sane.

Unflappable, mostly, and quite brilliant, Gayle had taught him much during their time together. She was consistently kind and calm. She was an amazingly gifted and adaptable scientist and one who questioned everything until the data was indisputable. They’d run complex experiments using insanely advanced techniques, and sometimes he’d take the lead, but mostly she did. In another life, Alex would have felt privileged to be engaging in this type of research and development with Gayle.

On his black days, she gave him room, space to go through the emotions and the processes he needed to, so that he could continue to move forward. Other times, she’d listen to him for hours. In the isolation of their work, they’d each found a like-minded friend and had shared all of their hopes and fears and stories of their respective lives, even the most painful. Sarah’s vaping. The loss of Gayle’s infant son.
 
Alex’s father’s death, his worries for Tommy. Waiting for data to generate and results to appear, they had thousands of hours to kill and only each other to turn to.

Gayle lived on the compound and hadn’t left the island once in Alex’s time there. She was married to her research it seemed. Selfishly, Alex was glad of it. He couldn’t imagine what he’d do if… when Gayle left. What would become of him once the job was complete?

Having solved the initial problem of apathy in the children conceived with Synthi-sperm fairly quickly, during the process they’d encountered several unexpected new problems. As well as several other characteristic personality defects, including arrogance and narcissism, Alex had also noticed six months ago that in the vast majority of children affected by apathy, the rate at which their cells respired had been subtly affected.

When compared to previous generations conceived pre-Synthi-sperm, the Synthi-kids’ cells showed an increase of 0.3 percent efficiency in producing ATP, the cell’s energy currency. It didn’t make sense, not with the apathy being observed. A reduced metabolic rate would seem more believable, but in ninety-eight percent of the samples Alex had collated, the increase in metabolic rate was evident. Something they didn’t understand was clearly happening.

Gayle and he had been instructed to make other changes to the basic genome of the standard Synthi-sperm. The changes they implemented were applied only to those genes that were common to all Synthi-sperm and intended to improve the
product
. Despite these changes, the increased metabolic rate persisted. Neither had reported the finding to Ennis yet. They wanted a credible hypothesis for the cause of the increase before making Ennis aware of it. For the last month, they’d continued to work on their official project whilst investigating the cause and any consequences of the seemingly minute increase in metabolic rate.

Alex watched as Gayle loaded some of his blood samples into the lab’s centrifuge and whilst she packaged up the samples that would be sent to Ennis’s private lab. Loading up the portable incubator, Gayle made a gesture near her Holo-Comm and waited for an image of Richard to pop up.

“How can I help you, Professor?” his image asked, smiling from his reception desk.

“I have a priority package for Mr Ennis,” Gayle said.

Richard nodded politely. “I’ll send a technician right over, ma’am.”

“Thank you, Richard,” Gayle said, swiping the Holo off.

Turning to Alex she placed the portable incubator on the desk beside her.

“How about dinner at mine after we’re done here?” she asked.

Alex kept his eyes on the blood sample in the incubator and nodded. “Steaks and beer?”

“Of course,” Gayle replied. “What else?”

Noticing that Alex’s eyes were glued to the portable incubator, she asked him, “Does it still bother you?”

Alex nodded. “Yeah. I don’t see why he needs a sample sent every single time that we take one.”

“He just wants to confirm our findings I suppose,” Gayle shrugged.

Alex shook his head.

“We’re pretty much left to it for the most part. He doesn’t check any of our data on a regular basis, just accepts whatever you report to him each week.”

Gayle’s eyes darted up to one of the lab’s security cameras, then back to Alex. She threw him a look saying,
Let’s talk about this later, at my place.

Alex ignored her, continuing, “I think Mr Ennis is doing some research of his own,” he said, looking straight into the nearest camera.

Gayle sighed. “I’m sure. Does it really matter?” She lifted her eyebrows in a gesture meant to convey,
Drop it, Alex.

Still looking directly into the camera, Alex said slowly. “No, I don’t suppose it matters at all. When all’s said and done, my blood’s his property. He can do what he wants with it.”

Alex turned away from the camera and returned to what he’d been doing before Gayle had asked for the sample. He didn’t like making her uncomfortable, but he’d never seen the point of hiding his feelings from whoever was watching them. He was on the island under duress and he damn sure wasn’t going to let anyone forget it.

17

“Those were your best yet, Gayle.” Alex leaned back into his chair and sighed.

Gayle glanced at his plate, empty for a change aside from the T-bone, which he’d spent a few minutes gnawing at.

It was good to see him eating again. He’d been looking so thin recently, almost frail, and his energy levels had bottomed out, along with his mood. Since joining her on the island, Alex had gone through regular bouts of avoiding food, or simply forgetting to eat. These episodes almost always coincided with bouts of depression and an anniversary or birthday of some kind.

Alex would regain his balance and be fine for weeks then suddenly he’d dive-bomb into the blackest of states. Normally a few days would pass and he’d confide in her that a special day he’d missed had triggered the episode. Occasionally he’d sink into the same state for no apparent reason, or for a reason he was unaware of or couldn’t identify.

Gayle had learned when to give him space to let the clouds clear, when to press him or be hard on him, and when to just listen. She never judged him for his mental state. He had more reason than most for his mental health to have declined. All she could do was be there when he needed her and be gone when he needed isolation.

It was painful to watch this vital young man waste away a little in front of her as each day passed. Gayle had developed an overwhelming sense of responsibility towards the young doctor that had only increased with their time together and magnified as each bout of despair passed over him.

As he grew thinner and more fragile, he looked younger, more vulnerable… more like how she imagined her long-buried infant son might have looked had he reached adulthood. In a sense, Alex had become the embodiment of her dead child and a chance to heal some old wounds.

As he found a handhold to cling onto, a reason to move forward each and every time, her soul swelled with pride, in awe at his strength, his resilience. Eventually he’d have to break, though: a person could only pick themselves up so many times, especially when hope was so scarce in that person’s world.

Watching Alex suffer for such a prolonged period of time, her heart breaking for him, Gayle suffered alongside him in her need to alleviate some of his torture. Something deep inside Gayle had shifted, subtly but significantly in recent weeks, and she’d made a decision to help Alex get his life back, to leave this island at the very least. How that could be accomplished, she had no idea, but this young man’s welfare had replaced her research as her primary focus. Alex’s freedom had usurped all of the ambitions she’d held so dear and trampled them underfoot. He’d become more important to her than anything else.

Gayle looked at Alex’s face, noting that his cheeks had filled out a little, once again taking the edge off the gauntness to his cheekbones. It was a good sign.
 
Between his having resumed eating recently and his returned defiance in the lab, it appeared that Alex was on the up again.
 
She relaxed a little for the first time in a month or so.

Alex caught her assessing him. “I’m feeling good, Gayle.”

She gave him a gentle nod. “Good.” Taking a sip from the bottle, Gayle enjoyed the coldness of her beer for a second before asking, “Did you notice the preliminary results from procedure GA?”

Procedure GA was their investigation into the cause of the increased respiratory rate in the Synthi-kids. Despite the research taking place in full view of the lab’s cameras, they didn’t like to discuss the project in
public
.

“I did. Looks like you were right, Professor.”

Gayle let a lop-sided smile form. Alex only called her
Professor
when she’d proved him wrong on a theory. “Of course,” Gayle laughed. “I quite often am, you know.”

Alex smiled and took a sip of his beer.

“Sort of takes us off into a new direction, doesn’t it?”

Gayle gave a curt nod, all business once again.

“We need to run several million more samples to be sure,” Gayle said.

Alex nodded.

“It looks pretty convincing at the moment, Gayle. One hundred percent of the samples showed increased white blood cell count. One hundred percent showed the presence of identical antibodies; antibodies to a pathogen we’ve never seen before and can’t detect in the samples. That’s got to be viral.”

“It seems that way, but let’s make sure before we tell Ennis that every child ever conceived with his product is fighting the same disease. One that we’ve never seen before, don’t know the effects of and don’t have a hope of vaccinating against any time soon.”

“Yeah,” Alex said. “Good thing that I initiated a full database cross-reference for the presence of increased white blood cell count and our mystery antibody before I left the lab tonight then, isn’t it?”

“How many of our samples have you programmed it to check?” Gayle asked.

“All of them,” Alex replied. “Better get up early tomorrow, Professor. We’ve a lot of work to do.”

Gayle looked at his face over the top of her glasses, noting that a fraction of his old sparkle had reappeared. As unfortunate as their discovery was, at least it gave Alex a new focus. Thanks to Alex, the massively powerful processor in their lab was currently ploughing through all data collected from every Synthi-kid on the planet. Nearly three billion samples. They’d have a lot of data to analyse in the morning, but they’d also have their answer.

“We sure do,” she smiled.

Strolling through the perfectly-kept gardens of the compound, Gayle decided to sit for a while and enjoy the view of the East China Sea whilst she consumed her second coffee of the morning.
 
It was an exceptionally clear morning and, as a result, she could see much farther out than had been the case recently. From her vantage point, she could see several local fishermen busying themselves, tossing nets from their little boats. Unusually, she could also see one of the other
Diaoyu Islands, uninhabited so far as she knew.

The Diaoyu Islands, as the Chinese knew them, were also known as the Senkaku Islands in Japan and the
Tiaoyutai Islands in Thailand and had been the subject of an ownership dispute for decades. That Ennis had managed to procure a whole island for his compound spoke volumes of his wealth and his connections.

Gayle sipped at her coffee and racked her brain. After Alex had left the previous night, she’d received a call from Ennis’s assistant. She’d been requested to attend a meeting with Ennis in Bangkok and relay her recent research findings to a small committee of key players in the reproductive genetics field, most of whom were employed by Synthi-Co. Natalie also asked that Gayle attend a private meeting with Mr Ennis afterwards. Gayle had, of course, agreed and was looking forward to getting back to the UK for a few days.

Until now, Gayle had deliberately avoided leaving the island for more than a day since Alex’s arrival. It felt a betrayal, somehow, to flaunt her freedom to come and go. How would Alex manage if he had a dip in mood whilst she was gone? Gayle drained her coffee mug and sighed loudly, partly in appreciation of the caffeine, partly in exasperation.

Making her way to their lab, Gayle found Alex already busily collating data and reporting back the results. He’d clearly been there for hours. Had he come straight here after leaving her last night?

“Morning, Professor,” Alex called cheerfully, without looking up from his work. “I’ve left a report for you over on your desk.”

Gayle narrowed her eyes. He’d already finished collating and analyzing the data? “What’s that you’re working on, then, Alex?” she asked.

Alex waved a hand up, dismissively, his focus entirely on whatever he was working at. Gayle left him to it and lifted the report he’d left on her desk and scanned through the data before going straight to the conclusion. Just as they’d both suspected, every single Synthi-kid, without exception, showed the increased white blood cell count and the presence of the unusual antibodies. Also consistent was the level of concentration of the antibody
–
Alex was calling it
Antibody K-A
–
suggesting that it wasn’t particularly effective in combatting whatever pathogen it was being made by the children’s immune systems to fight. Either that or the pathogen held no real danger for the kids and the immune system was simply keeping it in check, like it might with a parasite like toxoplasmosis.

In any event, the increased action of the immune system in producing the antibodies explained the raised respiratory rate Alex had discovered. Both the data and Alex’s conclusions seemed to reduce concern that this new pathogen, probably a virus, was anything they needed to worry about, despite its ubiquitous presence in the Synthi-kids. It appeared that their immune systems were dealing with it quite well. What the virus was, or why only the Synthi-kids had it
–
they’d selected random samples from the non-Synthi population for comparison
–
they couldn’t know. Yet.

Crossing over to where Alex was still engrossed in his current task, Gayle noted several tubes of Alex’s blood neatly racked, and labeled on his desk. They’d argued in the past over him self-sampling. Aside from it being bad practice and making a mess of his arms, he never bothered to send the required sample to Ennis’s private lab.

As she opened her mouth to admonish him, Gayle noticed that he’d concealed the samples from the lab’s cameras by placing them behind some equipment. She approached him and gave his shoulder a squeeze. Alex didn’t look up, but reached out to his desk, beside the Holo-Screen and slid a scrap of paper towards her.

Gayle retrieved it and braced herself on the desk after reading the simple sentence written there in Alex’s caffeine-shaky handwriting.

My blood contains a different form of the antibody from all the other samples.

Gayle slipped the piece of paper into the shredder and turned back to find Alex grinning up at her from his seat. They looked at each other for a moment.

“Let’s get to work,” Gayle said.