Transhuman Read Free

woman.
    â€œWe’ll be inhibiting their telomerase production, too, of course. But the cancer cells will die long before her somatic cells become endangered.”
    â€œHow do you know that?”
    â€œI showed you my experimental evidence—”
    â€œBut that’s with lab mice!” said one of the younger men. “You can’t expect us to approve a human trial with nothing more than mouse experiments to go on. The FDA would shut us down in two seconds flat!”
    Luke stared at him. He wasn’t much more than forty, and he’d made his way through the political jungles of academia by smilingly agreeing with almost everyone but then going ahead ruthlessly with his own ideas. He never stuck his neck out, though. He always had underlings do his dirty work, and he had no compunctions about chopping their heads off when he had to.
    â€œIf you told the FDA that you approved the therapy and wanted to do a clinical test—”
    â€œNo, no, no,” said Wexler, wagging his bearded head back and forth. “Luke, you know as well as I do that it takes years to get FDA approval for any new procedure. Then there’s the state medical board and at least three other federal agencies to get through.”
    â€œThere’s an eight-year-old girl dying!”
    â€œThat’s regrettable, but we can’t put this hospital in jeopardy by going ahead with an unapproved therapy.”
    Luke exploded. “Then you pea-brained idiots might just as well put a gun to my granddaughter’s head and blow her freaking brains out!”
    He strode angrily down the length of the table, past the stunned committee members, and stormed out of the room.

 
    Beacon Hill
    L UKE SAT ALONE in the living room of his darkened top-floor apartment. Through the uncurtained window he could see the gold dome of the state capitol shining in the moonlight. He swished a tumbler of Bushmills whiskey in one hand, wondering what to do now. Maybe I should turn in my resignation after all, he thought. What the hell good am I doing anybody?
    No, he told himself. I won’t give those pinheads the satisfaction. Let them carry me out feet first.
    He realized that the big recliner he was sitting on had become shabby over the years. The sofa, too. All the furniture. The place needed a paint job. It had needed one for years. The only new thing in the apartment was the flat-screen television that Lenore and Del had given him last Christmas, sitting there on the lowboy, dark, dead.
    So many memories. Lenore had been born in the bedroom, down the hall, four weeks premature. His wife had died in the same bed. Luke had closed her eyes. He had wanted to die himself, but then Lenore gave birth to Angie, and the gurgling, giggling little baby had captured Luke’s heart.
    And now she’s dying. And those freaking idiots won’t let me even try to help her.
    Well, screw them! Each and every one of them. I’ll save Angie. I will. I’ll save her or die trying.
    The phone rang.
    He glared at it, a flare of anger at the intrusion. Then he realized he was being stupid and picked up the handpiece before the automatic answering machine kicked in.
    â€œDad?” Lenore’s voice.
    â€œHello, Norrie.”
    â€œAren’t you coming over? It’s almost eight o’clock.”
    Luke remembered he had agreed to have dinner with his daughter and her husband.
    â€œI’m not very hungry, Norrie.”
    â€œYou shouldn’t be sitting all alone. Come on over. I made lasagna.”
    He grinned despite himself. He heard her mother’s tone in his daughter’s voice: part insistent, part enticing.
    â€œDel can drive over and pick you up,” Lenore added.
    He bowed to the inevitable. “No, that’s okay. I’ll come. Give me a few minutes.”
    Del and Lenore lived in Arlington, across the Charles River from Boston, in a big Dutch colonial house on a quiet street that ended at a