Adopted Son Read online

  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 h
ere.” 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.

  “Time is running out for an epidemic the likes of which have never been seen on this planet. I have information crucial to stemming the tide, but I’ve been blocked by my own government. They have been trying to stop me because they don’t want to panic their citizens. Well I say that it is time to panic. Panic is the only way that this issue will get resolved. We must panic and panic effectively. I have been working behind the scenes, doing what I could, passing information to some of you clandestinely. Many of the people in this room have already spoken with me, but they haven’t known who they were talking to. Hopefully the fact that the information that I gave you turned out to be true and very helpful will give credence to what I am about to say. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do today, if I was going to stay quiet and allow the scientific process to function on it’s own time scale or if I was going to break every oath I’ve ever taken and reveal myself in order to speed things up. But I can’t wait a year or more while you people dither around, we don’t have the time. I have prepared packets for each of you.” Some of the men in dark suits began distributing large manila envelopes to the crowd.

  “Hopefully the scientific community has reached a point where they are willing to listen to what I have to say. I couldn’t talk openly before without seeming to be a crackpot. I am not a crackpot. I am very serious about what I do. My information comes from the very best sources. In the packet you will find information about the organization that I work for. This organization is highly classified, and their existence is denied by the U.S. government. By revealing the nature of this organization, I am effectively committing treason. But I feel that I must speak and I must speak now.”

  “Also in the packet you will find several detailed papers relating to the subject that Dr. Mensen has been talking about, namely a virus that is causing the HS mutation. This information comes directly from the U.S. Army Medical Research Institute of Infectious Diseases. You may remember these guys as the ones responsible for the our nation’s biological weapons program. They are world-class scientists. I believe that you will find their procedures and scientific processes to be impeccable and their conclusions irrefutable.”

  “In addition, you will find several small vials of material. Do not open these outside of a BL-4 facility. They contain live samples of the virus that causes HS. This virus is highly contagious. I’ve provided samples because I want you to perform your own tests. I want you to confirm the results of the USAMRIID study I’ve given you.”

  The scientists were beginning to open their packets. Some had pulled out the USAMRIID study, others were examining the vials. Some were looking at small bits of metal that were also included. Ray took the opportunity to sip some of the same water that Dr. Mensen had been drinking.

  “Now, you may ask why this information has been withheld from the scientific community. The answer to that question is contained in the small metal bits that I have included, as well as the final report. What I am about to say is going to be hard to believe. I know that you will all immediately attempt to dismiss me. However, I know that you are all highly respected scientists, and that you are all familiar with the basics of scientific procedure. I’m sure that you will take my studies, and the material that I have given you, and go back to your respective labs and do the tests yourselves. Once that happens, you will be led to the same irrefutable conclusions that I have been led to.”

  “As hard as it may be to believe, you will begin to understand that the virus in the vials is not a naturally occurring viral species. It has been bioengineered. You will also come to the conclusion that this material is indeed a biological weapon... and that we are under attack.” Hushed whispers began to come up from the crowd. They didn’t know how to react to this. The entire scene was very unusual. Scientists aren’t the sort of people equipped to deal with events like this. Ray was used to talking to military men, who were trained to process information rapidly and change their entire viewpoint on an issue in a few seconds. Scientists take a slower, more methodical approach.

  “The final conclusion that you will make, as I have done, is that this virus is not terrestrial in origin. It has come to the planet from outer space. The metal included in your packets is a small sample from one of the casings that my organization has been digging up all over the planet. The classified report on unknown objects falling from the sky should back up my claim that these bombs have been dropping all over the world for several years now, and that they continue to drop to this day. The material of the bombs is an alloy that is not common on earth, and the isotopic distribution of the elements are unlike any terrestrial ore. The only conclusion that one can make is that some extraterrestrial intelligence is engaged in a deliberate, systemic act against the people of Earth, and that the consequence of their actions is Handel’s Syndrome.”

  “Epidemiological research performed at USAMRIID has shown that almost 3% of the population is already infected with the virus, and that number is growing everyday. I take this action against the wishes of my government because I believe that we must face this threat and face it quickly, otherwise it will be too late for any of us. I urge you to take this information back to your laboratories, verify the results I have presented, and immediately begin work on ending this threat now, before it is too late. I’m having copies of these packets sent to many major news agencies as well as to premier biological research facilities all over the world in an attempt to ensure that my message will be received, understood, and acted on. I’m going to get into a lot of trouble with my government for providing this information to you. Please do not let my sacrifice be in vain. Thank you.”

  With that, Ray walked off the stage and out of the auditorium, followed by his goons. No one said anything for several seconds. Then the whispering began. The volume increased to chattering, and then to arguing. As the scientists read more and more of the information presented to them, they began to realize that this strange man was not a kook. Many rushed out of the conference in order to catch the next flight home. Everyone wanted to be the first to confirm the results. To prove to the world that this was some form of extraterrestrial life, and to begin to counter the most serious threat that the human race had ever known.

  Book 2: Revelation

  The Oval Office of the White House, Washington DC

  “30 seconds Mr. President,” someone off to the side says.

  Hank Dillon was feeling nervous. More nervous than he usually felt when talking to the American people. The stylist finished brushing his shocking white hair and pulled back out of the shot. His tie felt a little tighter than it usually did. The makeup artist finished removing the shine from his forehead and stepped back out of the shot. She returned momentarily to retrieve the makeup bib she had inadvertently left around the President’s neck. Hank collated some of the papers on his desk. They didn’t have anything written on them. They were mostly just a prop, something to play with as he spoke. He looked up at the cameras. The wardr
obe person finished brushing the lint off his shoulders and moved out of the shot. “15 seconds,” says someone. Hank can’t really see, the lights are pretty bright in his eyes. The producer steps forwards and does one last spot check to measure the light level. Then he steps out of the shot. Hank didn’t want to give this speech. He didn’t want to have to admit the things that he was going to have to admit. The people of this country elected him to lead, to protect them. Now all he could do was sit on TV like some fat, stupid, cow and tell the people who voted for him that once again the government was caught covering up the facts. Fact about a disease that could affect every American home, and that he, the President of the United States, had no answers. The spin doctors would try to show the plus side in this, but the public always saw through the spin when the situation was really awful. His approval rating was going to take a tumble after this for sure. It was a good thing for him that the election wasn’t for several years.

  He glanced over to his Chief of Staff who stood off to the side. She was far enough from the lights that he could make out her face. She was moving her fingers in an upside down arch across her face. Smile. The President perked up. He was going to have to be strong. Any weakness during this speech would really reduce the people’s trust in his government’s ability to protect them. “It’s going to be ok, it’s going to be ok,” he repeated to himself.

  Everything began to go silent. A lone voice from behind the lights cries, “We’re live in 5...4...3...2...__...”

  “Good evening fellow Americans.” Smile.

  “Over the last few days, there have been many rumors going about concerning the disorder called Handel’s Syndrome. Some of what has been said is true. A lot of what has been said is untrue. I am speaking to you tonight in an attempt to clear the air about this disorder, what it means to your family, and what it means to the American people in general. Some of you won’t believe what I have to say. Others won’t want to listen. You might become angry, might feel frustrated. You might wonder why more hasn’t been done. But I hope that you’ll hear me out. Listen calmly, and then act calmly and rationally. The situation is not as grave as some unscrupulous elements in the media have led you to believe. There is no imminent danger. There is no reason to panic. Yes, there is a hardship that we are all facing. It is an unexpected hardship, an uncertain hardship, and yes, perhaps, a challenging hardship. But I believe that the people of the United States of America are the best people that ever lived. And I promise you that we will defeat any threat to our health and our freedoms. I am going to be quite frank with you about the current situation. You deserve that much. And then I am going to call on you, the American People, to stand united with me and help to meet this threat head-on.” Pause.