Robin Cook - Chromosome 6

Kevin smiled. He liked this woman. He was even starting to relax.

Descending the hospital stairs, Kevin felt a little giddy while listening and responding to Candace’s entertaining, nonstop questions and chatter. He couldn’t believe he was going to lunch with such an attractive, engaging female. It seemed to him that more things had happened in the last couple of days than during the previous five years he’d been in Cogo. He was so preoccupied, he didn’t give a thought to the Equatoguinean soldiers as he and Candace crossed the square.

Kevin had not been in the rec center since his initial orientation tour. He’d forgotten its quaintness. He’d also forgotten how blasphemous it was that the church had been recycled to provide worldly diversion. The altar was gone, but the pulpit was still in place off to the left. It was used for lectures and for calling out the numbers on bingo night. In place of the altar was the movie screen: an unintended sign of the times.

The commissary was in the basement and was reached by a stairway in the narthex. Kevin was surprised at how busy it was. A babble of voices echoed off the harsh, concrete ceiling. He and Candace had to stand in a long line before ordering. Then after they’d gotten their food, they had to search in the confusion for a place to sit. The tables were all long and had to be shared. The seats were benches attached like picnic tables.

“There are some seats,” Candace called out over the chatter. She pointed toward the rear of the room with her tray. Kevin nodded.

Kevin glanced furtively at the faces in the crowd as he weaved his way after Candace. He felt self-conscious, given Bertram’s insight into popular opinion, yet no one paid him the slightest attention.

Kevin followed Candace as she squeezed between two tables. He held his tray high to avoid hitting anyone, then put it down at an empty spot. He had to struggle to get his legs over the seat and under the table. By the time he was situated, Candace had already introduced herself to the two people sitting on the aisle. Kevin nodded to them. He didn’t recognize either one.

“Lively place,” Candace said. She reached for catsup. “Do you come here often?”

Before Kevin could respond, someone called out his name. He turned and recognized the lone familiar face. It was Melanie Becket, the reproductive technologist.

“Kevin Marshall!” Melanie exclaimed again. “I’m shocked. What are you doing here?”

Melanie was about the same age as Candace; she’d celebrated her thirtieth birthday the previous month. Where Candace was light, she was dark, with medium-brown hair and coloration that seemed Mediterranean. Her dark brown eyes were nearly black.

Kevin struggled to introduce his lunchmate, and was horrified to realize that for the moment he couldn’t remember her name.

“I’m Candace Brickmann,” Candace said without missing a beat. She reached out a hand. Melanie introduced herself and asked if she could join them.

“By all means,” Candace said.

Candace and Kevin were sitting side by side. Melanie sat opposite.

“Are you responsible for our local genius’s presence at the ptomaine palace?” Melanie asked Candace. Melanie was a sharp-witted, playfully irreverent woman who’d grown up in Manhattan.

“I guess,” Candace said. “Is this unusual for him?”

“That’s the understatement of the year,” Melanie said. “What’s your secret? I’ve asked him to come over here so many times to no avail that I finally gave up, and that was several years ago.”

“You never asked me specifically,” Kevin said in his own defense.

“Oh, really?” Melanie questioned. “What did I have to do-draw you a map? I used to ask if you wanted to grab a burger. Wasn’t that specific enough?”

“Well,” Candace said, straightening up in her seat. “This must be my lucky day.”

Melanie and Candace fell into easy conversation, exchanging job descriptions. Kevin listened but concentrated on his hamburger.

“So we’re all three part of the same project,” Melanie commented when she heard that Candace was the intensive-care nurse of the surgical team from Pittsburgh. “Three peas in a pod.”

“You’re being generous,” Candace said. “I’m just one of the low men on the therapeutic totem pole. I wouldn’t put myself on the same level with you guys. You’re the ones that make it all possible. If you don’t mind my asking, how on earth do you do it?”

“She’s the hero,” Kevin said, speaking up for the first time and nodding toward Melanie.

“Come on, Kevin!” Melanie complained. “I didn’t develop the techniques I use the way you did. There are lots of people who could have done my job, but only you could have done yours. It was your breakthrough that was key.”

“No arguing you two,” Candace said. “Just tell me how it’s done. I’ve been curious from day one, but everything has been so hush-hush. Kevin’s explained the science to me, but I still don’t understand the logistics.”

“Kevin gets a bone-marrow sample from a client,” Melanie said. “From that, he isolates a cell preparing to divide so that the chromosomes are condensed, preferably a stem cell if I’m correct.”

“It’s pretty rare to find a stem cell,” Kevin said.

“Well, then you tell her what you do,” Melanie said to Kevin, with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I’ll get it all balled up.”

“I work with a transponase that I discovered almost seven years ago,” Kevin said. “It catalyzes the homologous transposition or crossing over of the short arms of chromosome six.”

“What’s the short arm of chromosome six?” Candace asked.

“Chromosomes have what’s called a centromere that divides them into two segments,” Melanie explained. “Chromosome six has particularly unequal segments. The little ones are called the short arms.”

“Thank you,” Candace said.

“So…” Kevin said, trying to organize his thoughts. “What I do is add my secret transponase to a client’s cell that is preparing to divide. But I don’t let the crossing-over go to completion. I halt it with the two short arms detached from their respective chromosomes. Then I extract them.”

“Wow!” Candace remarked. “You actually take these tiny, tiny strands out of the nucleus. How on earth can you do that!”

“That’s another story,” Kevin said. “Actually I use a monoclonal antibody system that recognizes the backside of the transponase.”

“This is getting over my head,” Candace said.

“Well, forget how he gets the short arms out,” Melanie said. “Just accept it.”

“Okay,” Candace said. “What do you do with these detached short arms?”

Kevin pointed toward Melanie. “I wait for her to work her magic.”

“It’s not magic,” Melanie said. “I’m just a technician. I apply in vitro fertilization techniques to the bonobos, the same techniques that were developed to increase the fertility of captive mountain gorillas. Actually, Kevin and I have to coordinate our efforts because what he wants is a fertilized egg that has yet to divide. Timing is important.”

“I want it just ready to divide,” Kevin said. “So it’s Melanie’s schedule that determines mine. I don’t start my part until she gives me the green light. When she delivers the zygote, I repeat exactly the same procedure that I’d just done with the client’s cell. After removing the bonobo short arms, I inject the client’s short arms into the zygote. Thanks to the transponase they hook right up exactly where they are supposed to be.”

“And that’s it?” Candace said.

“Well, no,” Kevin admitted. “Actually I introduce four transponases, not one. The short arm of chromosome six is the major segment that we’re transferring, but we also transfer a relatively small part of chromosomes nine, twelve, and fourteen. These carry the genes for the ABO blood groups and a few other minor histocompatibility antigens like CD-31 adhesion molecules. But that gets too complicated. Just think about chromosome six. It’s the most important part.”