Robert Sawyer - Frameshift

And yet, during simple PCR amplification of Molly’s DNA, the frameshift had been corrected , so—

So was this a case of Amanda actually, by the luck of the draw, receiving the non-frameshifted chromosome thirteen from her mother, or—

Or did none of Molly’s eggs contain the frameshifted DNA?

Had it been somehow corrected there, too, just as it had in PCR replication?

Obviously, the frameshift couldn’t be corrected every time it appeared, or it would have been fixed when Molly herself was developing as an embryo thirty-odd years ago. But still, somehow, it was being corrected now. Pierre had to know whether the correction was present in Molly’s unfertilized eggs, or whether the correction was only made after the egg was fertilized and had started dividing.

Thanks to the pre-IVF hormone treatments, Molly had brought a large number of eggs to maturity in a single cycle. Gwendolyn Bacon had extracted fifteen from her for the IVF attempt, but she had told Klimus to only attempt to fertilize half of them, meaning seven or eight of Molly’s unfertilized eggs were presumably still here in building 74.

After phoning Molly to get her permission, Pierre left his own lab and walked down to the same small surgical theater in which Molly’s eggs had been extracted over a year ago. Pierre knew one of the techs there: the guy was a San Jose Sharks fan, and the two of them often argued hockey.

Pierre had no trouble getting him to find and hand over Molly’s eggs, seven of which were indeed still in cold storage.

Of course, it was possible that a random selection of seven eggs might all have the same maternal chromosome thirteen, but the odds were against it. The chances were as slim as a family having seven children and all of them being boys: 50% x 50% x 50% x 50% x 50% x 50% x 50%, which was 0.078% — a minuscule likelihood.

And yet that apparently had happened. Not one of the eggs had the frameshift.

Unless—

Molly’s two chromosome thirteens differed from each other in other ways, of course. Pierre started testing other points on the chromosomes extracted from the eggs, and—

No. The eggs had not all gotten the same chromosome thirteen.

Four of them had received one of Molly’s chromosome thirteens — the one that, in Molly’s body, didn’t have the frameshift.

And three had received the other one of Molly’s thirteens — the one that, in Molly’s body, did have the frameshift.

And yet, incredibly, the frameshift had been corrected out of every one of the eggs…

A month later, Pierre and Molly drove to San Francisco International Airport. Pierre was about to meet his mother-in-law and sister-in-law for the first time. Amanda was going to be baptized the next day; although the Bonds weren’t Catholic, Molly’s mother had insisted on being on hand for this, at least.

“There they are!” said Molly, pointing through a sea of people, all struggling with their bags and luggage carts.

Pierre scanned the crowd. He’d seen pictures of Barbara and Jessica Bond before, but none of the faces leaped out at him. But now two women were waving at them from the back of the group, wide grins across their faces. They jostled their way through the little exit gate the crowd was funneling out of. Molly rushed over and hugged her mother and then, after a moment of sibling awkwardness, hugged her sister, too.

“Mom, Jess,” Molly said, “this is Pierre.”

There was another awkward moment; then Mrs. Bond moved in and hugged him. “It’s wonderful to meet you at long last,” she said, just the barest hint of a dig in her voice. She’d not been pleased when Molly had gotten married without even inviting her.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, too,” said Pierre.

“Hey,” said Jessica, a note of light teasing in her voice, perhaps trying to defuse the tension her mother’s remark had engendered. “You told us he was French-Canadian, but you didn’t say he had such a sexy accent.”

Molly giggled, something Pierre had never before heard her do. She and Jessica were suddenly teenagers again. “Go find your own immigrant,” she said, then turned to Pierre. “Honey, this is Jessica.”

Jessica held out her hand, the back of it facing up. “ Enchantee ,” she said.

Pierre adopted the role being requested of him. He bent low and kissed the back of her hand. “ C’est moi, qui est enchante, mademoiselle .” She giggled. Jessica was a real knockout. Molly had mentioned that Jess had done modeling and he could see why. She was a taller, tartier version of her sister. Her makeup was expertly applied: black eyeliner, a dusting of blush, and pink lipstick. Molly was standing right beside him; Pierre felt momentarily anxious, but relaxed when he realized he was indeed musing about all this in French.

“I’m afraid our car is parked a fair distance away,” he said. The women’s bags weren’t very big. Even a few months ago, Pierre would have picked one up with each hand and simply carried them. But his condition was getting worse in small but noticeable daily increments, and he was now just as likely to drop them. Although his foot had been shaking somewhat, he’d hoped he’d been doing a credible job of making it look like toe tapping, as if he were some jittery type-A personality.

A few feet away, a big man was making a macho show of discarding the baggage cart his female companion had found and carrying a bulging Samsonite case himself. Pierre moved as fast as he could, seizing the cart and placing Jessica’s and Barbara’s bags on it. At the least, he could certainly push the cart for them. Indeed, it was probably better having it as a sort of discreet walker as they embarked on the long hike to the garage.

“How was the flight?” asked Pierre.

“It was a flight,” said Jessica. Pierre smiled, sensing a kindred spirit.

What more could one say about spending hours in a tin can?

“Where’s Amanda?” asked Barbara, her tone making clear that she was very much the new grandmother, eager to see her first grandchild.

“A neighbor is looking after her,” said Molly. “We thought all this” — she rolled her eyes, indicating the hubbub around them — “would be too much for her.”

“I would have loved to have been there for you,” said Barbara. Pierre allowed himself a slight sigh, lost on the background noise of the cavernous terminal. His mother-in-law wasn’t going to easily forgive Molly for cutting her out of so much of Molly’s life. Barbara and Jessica were only going to be here for four days, but it was clearly going to seem longer.

They passed through a pair of sliding glass doors into the late-afternoon sunshine. As soon as she was out of the terminal, Jessica fished a pack of Virginia Slims from her purse and lit one. Pierre jockeyed slightly so as not to be downwind from her. Suddenly she looked far less attractive.

Molly opened her mouth as if to reproach her sister, but in the end said nothing. Her mother clearly recognized the expression, though, and shrugged. “It’s no use,” she said. “I’ve told her a thousand times to quit.”

Jessica took a deep, defiant drag. They continued on toward the parking lot.

“Have either of you been to California before?” asked Pierre, the role of defuser now falling to him.

“Disney World when I was a kid,” said Jessica.

“Disneyland,” corrected Molly, sounding every bit the big sister. “Disney World is in Florida.”

“Well, whichever it was, I’m sure they still remember you throwing up all over the teacup ride,” snapped Jessica. She looked to Pierre with wide eyes, as if still stunned by it all. “How anyone could get motion sickness on the teacups is beyond me.”