Chapter Seventeen

Kristen

The side of her face resting against a bunched up pillow, Kristen watched the bedside clock approach eight o'clock. She reached out and turned off the alarm just before the apartment filled with its noise. Kristen rolled onto her back and stared quietly at the ceiling. Ryan was snoring faintly beside her, and cool morning light peered through the window. Whether it had been trepidation about what lay ahead for her that day or the sharing of her bed with another, Kristen had tossed and turned all night.

Yet it was amid the throes of her restlessness that she came to her decision, and now in the pale light of morning she was all the more certain of her choice. The Vatruvian mice could not be kept a secret among a few people. She would tell the convention of the breakthrough, and willfully accept the fallout of her treason.

For a few minutes Kristen lay quietly and listened to Ryan's rhythmic breath. She decided to let him sleep. With a protracted sigh she rolled out of bed and walked over to the window, the old hardwood floor cold underfoot. She placed her palm against the chilly window, and the glass around her fingers fogged from the touch. The street below was busy with people scrambling to the nearby subway station. Something about the morning rush comforted her as she watched. She walked to the bathroom and twisted the knob to the shower. The reflection that looked back at her was tired and overworked, her hair disheveled. It was not the face of someone prepared to present a lecture to a crowded convention. She allowed herself an extra long and relaxing shower, took her time running a brush through her hair, and pulled on some clothes from her dresser.

Hair still damp, Kristen sat down next to Ryan on the bed and placed a hand lightly on his chest. He placidly stirred awake. "Hey." His voice was raspy with sleep. "What time is it?"

"Early. Before nine." Kristen smiled down at him.

"Oh." Ryan groggily rose to his elbows, the sheet pulling across his chest. "I guess I should probably get going."
"No rush. I don't have to be in Midtown for a couple hours. I was thinking about getting some breakfast if you wanted to join me."

"Sure," Ryan said. Kristen held his gaze for a time, and he inclined his head. "What is it?"

"I decided that I'm going to breach the nondisclosure contract," Kristen said with a composed defiance. "I don't want to be an accomplice to something I don't agree with."

"Good. I think it's the right thing to do."

"Mice."

Ryan sat up and stared at her in bewilderment. "What?"

Kristen nodded grimly.

"I don't understand, what does that mean?"

"Professor Vatruvia has created mice using the Vatruvian cell." Kristen almost brought herself to laugh at the hopelessness of her circumstances. "He made artificial mammals using the technology I helped create."

Ryan stared at her, unable to speak. Kristen ran her fingers through her hair and nodded significantly.

"Mice?"

"Yep. Little mottled mice that are currently scurrying around in cages at the labs," Kristen said. "Each one of them one hundred percent synthetic. And if I were willing to place a bet on the idiocy of people, I would gamble that an equal percentage of the public will applaud it as amazing—as opposed to thinking it's potentially the most dangerous thing ever created."

Ryan reached to the floor and picked up his tee shirt. He pulled it over his head, his expression adrift. "Mice . . . how is that possible?"

"It was easy, in a way," Kristen said regretfully. "Once the first Vatruvian cell functioned, I knew it was a possibility. Professor Vatruvia compounded the same replication techniques to a larger scale. So yes, I knew it was feasible. But I never thought anyone would do it so soon. And there's more . . ."

"By all means," Ryan said, beginning to look nervous himself. "I almost don't want to believe it."

"Believe it. But beyond the mice, one of my coworkers found a disturbing trait of Vatruvian cells. It's a trait that I'm beginning to think Professor Vatruvia knew about since the beginning of our research. Evidently Vatruvian cells are stronger than the original cells they replicate."

"So these mice we're talking about," Ryan said. "These mice are . . . stronger . . . than normal mice?"

Kristen shrugged her shoulders and lay beside him. "I don't know. Professor Vatruvia got really guarded about the whole thing when he saw my reaction to the mice. I can't imagine he'll tell me anything more about them now that he's seen my reservations. But there it is, I guess. I've officially broken my nondisclosure agreement, starting with you."

"I'm glad you did," Ryan said in disbelief. "You need to pass this on. The knowledge of something like this is way too big for one person. If I were you I'd tell every media outlet and regulatory agency that's willing to listen. Professor Vatruvia has clearly lost touch."

"That's the plan. Will you come to the convention today?" Kristen asked. "I'm going to need support when this whole goddamn thing comes crashing down around me."

"Of course," Ryan said.

Kristen smiled with reassurance despite the weariness behind her eyes. He was the only ally she needed. "Come on. I'll buy you breakfast."

A stunning fall day greeted them as they stepped out of her apartment building. The air was crisp, with a hint of breeze, and only a few wandering clouds scattered the brilliant blue sky. Deciding against one of the campus cafeterias, they walked at a gentle pace up the avenue toward a bagel shop. Her spirits lifted by the finality of her decision, Kristen told him every last detail she could recall. She described the mice and their bluish eyes. She told him of Cara Williams and her stress tests of the cells—the Vatruvian cells surviving in temperatures that killed their biological counterparts.

The morning rush appeared to have already petered out as they walked into the bagel shop. There were only a spattering of customers in the booths and a small line at the register. Kristen bought coffee and bagels, and they took a seat at an empty table in the back.

"It's strange," Ryan said as he sat down and stirred milk into his coffee. "I've never heard of a technology like this Vatruvian cell. Synthetic cells and so on."

Kristen stared at him with a penetrating dubiousness. "No kidding, we're just past the cusp of creating it."

"Yeah, true. It's scaring the hell out of me. I really think you're doing the right thing. How do you plan on getting the word out at the convention?"

"I suppose at the end of my presentation I'll include an announcement that we've surpassed single-celled organisms and launched into creating mammals in one single year of research."

Ryan smirked. "I can't wait to see how that goes over."

"It won't be pretty," Kristen said. She was midway through a gulp of coffee when she saw one of the workers behind the register waving for her attention.

"Would you mind turning up the volume on that TV beside you?" the worker called over to them.

There was an old chunky television mounted on the wall above their booth. Looking up at the screen, she at once understood his request. Kristen stood and turned the volume all the way up. The headline on the local tri-state news broadcast read: JETLINER CRASHES IN ALBANY MINUTES AGO.

An anchorwoman in a purple blouse was talking frantically from a street corner as indistinguishable charred wreckage smoked and burned several hundred yards behind her. Emergency crews and first responders were running around by the dozens in the background.

"We are just getting word that the plane came down in three parts," the anchorwoman said. "Three separate sections. The fuselage appears to have crashed in one piece here in this neighborhood in Albany. There are reports that the turbines landed in surrounding towns. I am being told the jetliner caught fire during its descent. A number of buildings behind me were crushed by the impact. We have yet to receive any information on whether people were inside the destroyed houses. We can only hope they were empty. An onlooker here in Albany managed to capture the crash on video."

As she spoke, the video feed of the news broadcast cut to a low pixel recording someone captured on a camera phone. Against the clear sky, a burning mass plummeted through the open air. Three of four people in the video were screaming in dismay as they watched it unfold before their eyes. The falling jetliner in the grainy image looked more like a fuming and blazing meteor than a passenger plane. As it fell against the clear blue backdrop, it belched a trail of black smoke that billowed wide in its wake. Just before it hit the ground, the falling inferno vanished behind the shingled rooftop of a house. The camera shook as a feint boom could be heard from the plane meeting with the ground somewhere out of the recorder's vantage point.

The newswoman continued, "We have reports that one of the turbines crashed down in the town of Latham and the other turbine landed in Menands. Both towns are north of Albany. The US Air flight eight-thirty-two had taken off without incident from Montreal. It was bound for New York City."

"Cindy, has any information yet surfaced on what could have caused this accident?" a man with a Windsor-knotted tie asked from the studio desk.