Robbie Dorman - Regrowth

“Two dozen,” said Stone.

“So it’s not that,” said Jon. “It can’t be. Hell, we’re doubling what the scale model says, and it’s still burning through it. We’re only supercharging the anomaly.”

“So, why is the mutation still occurring, even though we’ve exceeded the necessary absorption rate?” asked Stone.

Jon thought back to the rat, of it scurrying on his arm after it had regenerated. That success had felt like the key to everything, but it hadn’t given them enough to go on with the chimps. Shaw had forced them to take a massive leap forward, and they couldn’t cover the gap. Jon absentmindedly scribbled on a notepad.

“Could it be the immune system overreacting?” asked Jon.

“We already suppress it as much as we can,” said Stone. “It’s effectively off while the wound heals, but it shouldn’t be a problem. Nothing we’re giving them should trigger it.”

“Goddamnit,” said Jon. “A chimp is ten times more complicated than a rat. And a human is even worse. Shaw—”

“Don’t,” said Stone, softly. An unspoken threat was there, underneath that word, but not a threat from Stone, but the menace that hung over both of them.

“I don’t know what to do,” said Jon.

“I’m telling you, we have to push it harder,” said Stone. “Push the absorption rate even harder. The mutation happens because there’s not enough fuel and the regenerative cells lose cohesion.”

“It’ll burn itself out,” said Jon. “It’s too much. Even with its skin—wait—I’ve got it. You’re right.”

“What?” asked Stone. “Say it again. It sounds good.”

“I mean, not directly,” said Jon. “But you’re right. We need to push it harder. But not in the same place. What if, instead of increasing the absorption rate, we increased the bandwidth of the consumption?”

“You mean, broadening the skin’s tolerance level?” asked Stone. He pondered it over for a moment. “I’ve never tried that before.”

“It would effectively increase the rate of absorption,” said Jon. “But there’d be less delay. That might be the problem. On a micro level, and on a larger scale, it could be costing us.”

“That actually makes sense,” said Stone. “We’ll have to try it. But it could lead to unpleasant side effects. The skin quality afterward could suffer as well—”

“We’ll have to cross that bridge when we come to it,” said Jon. “Can we code this into a model with enough time?”

“I doubt it,” said Stone. “Even if Mel busted her ass, we wouldn’t get results before the end of the day. Tomorrow, at the earliest.”

“We could always ask Shaw for an extension,” said Jon.

“I don’t think he’s in the mood for that,” said Stone. “Even if it is reasonable.”

“Then we’ll eyeball it,” said Jon. “Using our best guess and the computer to build it.”

“It’s worth a shot,” said Stone. “But my confidence isn’t exactly high. There’s so much that could go wrong.”

“PMA,” said Jon. “PMA.”

“PMA?” asked Stone. “What does that mean?”

“Positive mental attitude,” said Jon. “My ex used to tell me whenever I got gloomy. Be positive, and good things will follow.”

“I’ve always been more of a follower of Murphy’s law,” said Stone.

They worked, and soon the rest of the team arrived, fresher and smarter than the night before. Jon and Stone delegated tasks among the team, but still the brunt of the workload fell on them. They didn’t go it entirely alone. Mel wrangled the computer into giving them an assist, not as good as a full-on model, but better than nothing.

Half-way through the day they had a serum. The CRISPR software gave it a pass with some quick simulations, but results on an actual chimp hadn’t matched the models yet.

“I think this is it,” said Jon. “We’re running out of time.”

“Let’s not stand on ceremony,” said Stone. “Let’s start the show.”

Shaw wanted results. Well, they’d get them today, good or bad. It was in the spirit of the FUTURE lab. Everything riding on an unproven theory and going by gut instinct. Jon and Stone hadn’t told the rest of the team what Shaw had told them, but they still worked on pins and needles. Would Shaw actually follow through if they didn’t make any progress today? Jon didn’t know, but it didn’t stop his heart from threatening to pound its way through his chest.

They prepped the chimp as always, everything falling into their typical rhythm. They all gathered around, ready to step in if needed. Gallon after gallon of the nutrient bath was ready to dump into the container, more than they could ever need.

If we even get there . Jon’s biggest fear was the serum killing the ape outright. Cellular death, its DNA unraveling in front of their very eyes. A few tweaks to the serum is all it would take, and they did more than just tweak it.

The chimp was sedated now, its body limp, its breath shallow, an oxygen mask covering its mouth. The zoologist moved in, ready to take off its arm. Jon hoped this wouldn’t be the last time it would have it.

They worked quickly, expertly, amputating the arm, all the while keeping blood loss to a minimum. They moved in and transported the animal to the nutrient bath. It was time for the moment of truth. Stone moved in with the serum, doing it himself. Jon watched as he injected it into the chimp. Jon’s heart thudded in his chest, a hollow ache in his gut burning hot.

They all watched with bated breath. Several assistants waited with more of the nutrient bath, heavy containers full of the milky white substance. The arm began to regrow. The bone first, forming from the shoulder, a clean cut, something they’d almost never have in real life. It grew, knitting before their eyes. The chimp absorbed the nutrient bath even faster now, its skin a sieve, the liquid pouring through it. They refilled it quickly, keeping the bath full, even as more and more of it went into the animal.

Its arm continued to regrow. As the bone extended out to the elbow, the muscle covered it. Red, viscous tissue grew, thin at first, and then thicker, multiple layers piled together, the incredible strength of the animal lying within.

Minutes had passed, and Jon couldn’t take his eyes off the animal. None of them could. They knew what was riding on it. Time both sped and crawled, Jon anxious for results but also dreading failure.

An elbow grew then, a knot of bone, a hinge, and the forearm sprung from it. Muscle trailed behind it, cartilage knitting in the elbow in front of it. Back near the wound site, skin formed, layer by layer.

Jon’s heart thumped, as hard as it ever had, the same feeling he had when Tommy was being born, of waiting on a result he had no control over, not anymore.

The bone continued to regenerate, the nutrient bath being depleted as fast as ever. Ulna and radius formed, two separate bones in the forearm. Jon watched, waiting, dreading that any moment the bones and muscle and skin would balloon, would distort, would mutate into something else, something unrecognizable as animal or man, as flesh grown unbound.

He waited, and the arm continued to regenerate. Hair grew on the skin on the shoulder, finishing there, spreading slowly behind the growth of the skin. The twin bones of the forearm met at the wrist. Another complicated hinge. A broken wrist and a chimp would die in the wild, unable to survive without a working hand.

But the wrist formed next, bone first, and then cartilage on top, working out toward the palm and fingers.

Almost there, almost there. Jon felt his fingernails cut into his palms. He made himself relent before he bled.

The finger bones stopped forming, done, and they watched, minute by minute, as the muscle filled in behind it. Behind that, the skin, and the hair.