Primal Resurrection Preview

Prologue

(Twenty Years Ago)

The Connecticut snowfall had made the hills near twelve-year-old Francis Kochis' family home look beautiful and peaceful. These Christmas-card-like mini-mountains would be the ideal setting in which to teach his twin brother, Robert, just how to challenge his inner fears. That's what Francis told Robert, anyway. These “hell-hills,” as the snow-boarding neighborhood kids referred to them, would be the proving grounds for Francis to make sure his brother could demonstrate that he was just as daring as himself.

And if Robert didn't meet his challenge, well, all the better to prove that he, Francis. was indeed the better “man” in the family. If Robert failed this test it would, it seemed to Francis, be adequate compensation for the fact that his brother had scored higher on the Mensa tests they had both passed that week. Of course, their parents were delighted with both boy's acceptance, but Robert had gotten the higher score and seemed to be the recipient of most of the family's congratulations. Francis needed revenge.

As the two boys dragged their sleds toward the slope, Robert seemed to lag behind and Francis, having sensed his brother's truculence since he had first agreed to this challenge, would have none of it. He turned, angrily toward his sibling and taunted away, “Come on, chicken shit, you're not gonna punk out on me this time!”

“Ah, screw you, Francie-pantsie. I'm not scared of your bullshit,” Robert lied.

“Yeah,” teased Francis, “You might not be scared of my bullshit, but I know you're scared of that,” as he pointed to those hell hills that they were fast approaching

Robert didn't look at the intimidating sight. He just shook his head and grudgingly trudged on toward those peaks that would soon determine much of their entire future. For two smart kids, their decision would prove to be one of the dumbest, most reckless and consequential mistakes of their lives.

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Chapter 1

(TWENTY YEARS LATER)

The Harvard campus looked especially beautiful to Francis Kochis, PhD as he walked to the office of his twin brother, the eminent psychiatrist, Robert Kochis, MD.

“A beautiful day for an absolutely amazing demonstration,” Francis thought to himself, as he moved toward the door of Robert's building.

Robert's receptionist was surprised to have heard from Francis when he had introduced himself over the phone the previous week. That was especially so since her boss had never even mentioned he had a brother. But now, there he was! This muscular Greek-godlike character stood in front of her and what a sight he was especially compared to her frail and wheelchair-bound boss.

It was hard for her to imagine that they were once identical twins. Even their faces were quite different. The man standing in front of her had a subtly primitive countenance compared to the genteel features of her employer. “Hard to imagine these two are even distant relatives, let alone identical twins” she thought to herself as she reached over and buzzed Robert's intercom. It would have been even harder for her to have imagined what Francis was going to do in her boss's office in the next few minutes.

“I'm sure Robert and I will need a bit of time to re-acquaint ourselves, so kindly don't disturb us if you please. Thank you.” said Francis, and with a slight wink and a modest bow, he entered his brother's office, smiled at Robert and immediately locked the door.

Dr. Robert Kochis was taken aback by Francis' locking of the door but expressed no alarm. Instead, he just grimaced and shook his head and waited for whatever came next from his brilliant, but most unusual brother. It didn't take long for him to find out.

Francis stood in front of Robert's desk and kicked off his shoes before taking off all his clothes. “How ya doing, bro?” he said as he sat down momentarily while removing his socks. Robert silently observed his obviously eccentric brother, but since Robert's specialty was psychiatry, he figured he was well equipped to handle his brother's highly unusual behavior...he hoped.

Robert even tried a bit of humor as his now naked brother stood up and moved around the desk toward him.

“I see you've been hitting the gym pretty hard, Francie. Hope you're not screwing around with steroids.” Francis just smiled and said, “Nope, didn't need any of that crap. I've developed a whole new process. It has to do with what I would call reverse engineering of natural selection that has resulted in what you are about to see demonstrated.”

As his brother neared his chair, Robert tried to keep it light and disguise his growing apprehension, “Well, as they say in psychiatry, when communicating, it's good to have everything sort of hang out there, but I don't think that this is what my profession had in mind when coining that phrase.”

“Very funny, asshole,” came the reply from the still smiling Francis.

Robert tried to keep his composure as his brother grabbed the arms of Robert's very heavy, motorized wheelchair and picked it and him up in a seemingly effortless movement. Robert gasped as he felt his brother carry him around the office and then gently place him and his chair on the top of the conference table at the far end of the office.

“Jesus Christ all fucking mighty,” yelled Robert, “Just what the hell are you trying to do?”

Francis just laughed and said, “You haven’t seen anything yet!” He then sprang, although it seemed to Robert to be more of a pounce, across the length of the office. Robert watched as his brother leaped vertically, grasping the top of the bookcases and effortlessly hoisted himself up, gripping the top rim of the bookshelf and then hanging there by his rather elongated toes.

Robert was stunned by the demonstration but was still unable to figure out just what in the world was going on. In the meantime, he watched Francis leap to the ground and retreat to his chair where he, thankfully, started putting on his clothes and that is when Robert really noticed his brother's body-hair and then his hands and feet. They were mostly human-like, but his movements and morphology seemed slightly simian as well.

Clearly, this demonstration would require a great deal of explanation and so, still trying to maintain his composure, Robert sighed and pleaded, “After you're finished putting yourself together, Francie, would you mind taking me off this table and allow me to return to my desk?”

“Only if you stop calling me Francie,” came the reply from Francis who had never stopped smiling since the moment he had locked Robert's door.

Once Robert was safely ensconced behind his desk and Francis had finished tying his shoes, the conversation got even more interesting than the previous demonstration.

The first questions out of Robert's mouth were, “Just how in the hell did you get so hairy? And what's the secret behind your strange new physique? If it's not steroids, then just what sort of chemical potion have you concocted?”

Francis finally stopped smiling and got up again and approached his brother once more. Robert flinched a bit as Francis leaned over him and then just kissed him on the top of his head. He then knelt down next to his brother's wheelchair and said, “Chemistry had nothing to do with this. I have invested a whole lot of time and energy on what many of my peers had considered an outlandish theory of microbiology and its potential for alteration of anthropological adaptation.”

Francis paused and looked deeply into his brother's eyes and said, “And I needed to do something, no matter how extraordinary it was, that would help me get you out of this goddamned wheelchair that I helped to put you in.”

Robert just shook his head and patted Francis on the shoulder as he spoke, “Nonsense, brother, I made the stupid choice to go down the hell hills and you can't get me out of this contraption. Nobody can and that's that!”

Francis got up and returned to his side of the desk, sat down and said, “The hell I can't!”

That evening at Robert's home, Francis explained what he'd been up to and Robert, despite the demonstration in his office, still had a hard time believing much of it.

“Some of my peers on campus who heard a little about my experiments thought I must have gotten my inspiration from a jug of wine, some cannabis and a re-run of the Island of Doctor Moreau. But things turned out to be a lot weirder than that silly movie.” Francis seemed to almost giggle as he explained the strange happenstance eight years ago that started him on the quest that had eventually brought him to his brother's office.

“It really all began with my PhD thesis that demanded a certain tweaking in that juxtaposition between anthropology and microbiology which I believed could be beneficial to humanity, if done right. I was fascinated by primate musculature and how it seemed to have diminished in us humans as a direct relationship to the evolution of our brain capacity. All the evidence of this pointed to obvious triggers in natural selection, I was sure that my theory would be able to be proven,” Francis explained.

“You're suggesting that as our earlier ancestors, like homo erectus etc. as they evolved tool making capacities, there was less dependency on muscle power. Therefore, humans lost their need for as much of it as our cousin primates still manifest?” asked Robert. “Including the fact that we became meat eaters and all those proteins gave us bigger brains that figured out stuff like wheels and the iPhone?”

“Bingo!” replied Francis as he continued. “Natural selection relegated some portion of our primordial muscle fibers to something like our appendix in the sense that it's still around but inactive, no longer needed as an existentially dominant requirement. At least not since we left the trees.”

“O.K.” replied Robert, “But what made you experiment on yourself and how the hell did you figure out how to accomplish this muscular metamorphosis? And what else has it done to you?” Robert queried as he pointed to his brother's hands.

Francis looked at his own subtly ape-like hands for a moment before slowly raising his middle digit and giving his brother the “finger” and laughing as he said, “You just asked a lot of questions, so let me try to answer them and those answers will explain the condition of my hands. But it's a long and complicated affair.”

Robert realized that his brother was on to something big or he was absolutely off his scientific rocker. And he needed to find out which one fit the man sitting in front of him. The man with the slightly simian-like grin.

“I can hardly wait to hear the story from this big ape,” Robert thought to himself and smiled at his very appropriate metaphor.

Chapter 2

(SIX YEARS AGO)

The proctors and the regents at the University of Chicago listened to Francis Kochis respond to some of the critiques directed at his PhD thesis. He had spent the last two years and the last of his initial grant-money on his project and now it and Francis' dreams were on the line. He forced a nervous smile at the panel of inquisitors and prayed for the best.

By the looks of some of them, Francis knew they were not really qualified to be his judge and jury, but here they sat, pretending to understand how his theory could hold up to peer review. This powerful collective would decide whether his past two years were worth all that Francis had poured into them.

As he explained the necessity to integrate transcription through the epigenetic symbiosis of DNA and microbial mutation, he knew he'd lost them for sure. What troubled Kochis was that Wilber Branthoover, the head of the College of Microbiology, hadn't ever embraced his past twenty-four months of research since its very beginning. It was now more painfully apparent than ever before, that Wilber was doing his best to drop a bomb on his whole dissertation.

“So, Mr. Kochis,” Branthoover queried, “you really believe that this university should gamble away a sizable portion of its funding on your concept which includes not just unproven genetic reversal, but some sort of cellular reincarnation?”

“Not reincarnation, just reactivation from dormant stasis! But yes, I believe our progress to date promises to do just that,” came Francis' emphatic reply. “And if we can regenerate muscular atrophy it may well be worth the effort; although no one can say just how much longer it may take to achieve this objective.”

Branthoover gave Kochis a lupine smile and replied caustically, “So, you're saying, you don't know if it can be done next year or the next decade or the next century or if it can ever be done, but this institution should get out its checkbook and keep spending on a hunch?”

Kochis didn't respond for a moment. His heart was pounding as he envisioned his whole thesis being rejected and tried to compose himself, when his personal “Moses” walked into the room. Dean Harvey Hamilton was retiring from the institution in two months, but he had championed Kochis' work since he'd first seen some of his early papers and examined the results of the in vitro work to date. The old man sat silently.

Branthoover railed on, “Mutational alteration of gene-encoding proteins involved in cellular processes could contribute to genomic instability. Alteration of any of these homeostatic processes could devolve into phenotypic evolution!” Branthoover paused for effect and moved closer to the panel of regents and said with a foreboding tone, “That would be typical to and characteristic of the threat of carcinogenesis! Cancer!”

Branthoover turned and walked over to Kochis and said with an expression that suggested that if a snake could smile it would look just like Branthoover and exclaimed sarcastically, “So, you expect us to award funds that may never result in the rejuvenation of primate musculature but even if it could, might give us cancer, oh how wonderful indeed.”

Kochis just slumped in his seat. Dean Hamilton continued to remain mute. Branthoover wasn't done. He turned his back disdainfully on Kochis and walked over to the window for dramatic effect as he slowly turned around to address the panel. 

“Alright then, ladies and gentlemen, there we have it,” exclaimed Branthoover, as he continued with a deliberately dramatic sigh. “To sum up the reasons why a new grant should not be awarded to this fellow, let me remind you that men like him, though highly intelligent, can be downright dangerous. It is not the task of this university to promote every promising hypothesis or theory that comes along, especially the sort that could have disastrous reverberations.”

Branthoover moved closer to the Regents' table and slowly made eye contact with each member as he spoke somberly, “I need not remind you that one of your greatest responsibilities is to defend both this university and science itself from well-intended, but cockeyed notions, ill-thought-out blunders, wild suppositions and the cornucopian cascade of many brilliant ideas that, in this case, happen to be absolutely wrong.

Francis just slumped a little more in his seat.

Finally, “Moses” arose painfully from his seat. Dean Hamilton walked slowly over to Branthoover and said loudly enough for all to hear, “Wilber, what you have just said, as it pertains to Mr. Kochis here, would make perfect sense to me if, like you, I didn't actually understand what he was talking about. And just what he intends to do, and I am convinced, he will eventually accomplish.”

Branthoover's expression was livid as a result of Hamilton's insulting assessment of his capacity to grasp the importance of Francis' work. Adding to Wilber Branthoover's anger was the clearly audible tittering that could be heard from a few of the assembled panel.

Hamilton smiled as he walked over to them and spoke gently but firmly, “Much of what you just heard from Dean Branthoover is absolutely true and his caveats and his principles should have their place in your decision today. But that is not all that must be considered.”

The old man paused and then walked over to Kochis and gave him a wink as he patted his shoulder and turned to address the jury. “Most scientific researchers use well established norms and principals to handle the great bulk of obvious problems or applications. All that is as it should be.”

Dean Hamilton paused again and turned around, putting his hand on Francis Kochis' shoulder once more and said, “Let’s face it ladies and gentlemen. Science has now made the words the Great Pooh-Bah in Gilbert and Sullivan's operetta ring true. Pooh-Bah proclaimed that we could all trace our ancestry back to proto-plasmal primordial atomic globule. Poetic and amusing but not very far from the biological mark. Organic chemists and molecular biologists have traced these genetic mutations.” Harvey Hamilton now, deliberately, made brief eye contact with each member of the panel before going on.

“There are some daring souls, in every generation, going back to Jenner and Curie among many others, that have displayed a passion for knowledge which literally compels them to not be handicapped by such stupefying discipline. Instead, they chose to be as disarmingly contrary as the circumstances demanded, thus opening the vistas of our knowledge to a significant degree. My words echo the assessment of great minds who have written and underscored what you have just heard me restate.”

Dean Hamilton had been holding a book in his hand and he tossed it on the table where the regents were gathered. It was not Darwin's Origin of the Species, although Branthoover assumed it to be based on what Hamilton said next.

“I believe Francis Kochis is much like Darwin in two respects. The theories of both men make sense and like Darwin, Kochis regards science not as simply an amalgamation of knowledge enshrined in textbooks, but rather as a fundamental dynamic of discovery that can, in some cases, make our present knowledge no longer relevant.”

It was now Hamilton's turn to pause for effect before continuing his defense of Francis' work to the panel. He removed his glasses, massaged his nose, took a deep breath and then took apart Wilber Branthoover's polemics.

“That is what any good scientist does if he or she is worth their salt! All they need is some time to prove it.” He paused for a moment and then said, “Kochis represents the best of science. Branthoover represents the worst of bureaucracy.”

Harvey Hamilton picked up the book and tossed it to Branthoover. The book was titled Dinosaur in a Haystack by Stephen J. Gould. Hamilton smirked at Branthoover and said, “I think that title should be on your tombstone. Although Gould's theory of Punctuated Evolution may, ironically, be the mirror concept of Mr. Kochis' reactivation process.”

An enraged and embarrassed Branthoover sprang from his chair and shouted, “But how can you dismiss the possibility of cancer?”

“I don't dismiss anything. But the attempt at biological reverse-engineering or reactivating natural selection of one particular genetically dormant amino acid chain is no more dangerous than a liver-transplant.”

Several members of the panel shifted their postures obviously somewhat uncomfortable as they watched the contest between the two belligerent deans.

“As we all know” Harvey continued, “liver, kidney, and heart transplants met enormous challenges and still do, mostly post-surgically. Reducing the patient's immune system to counteract the body's natural rejection response opens a plethora of problems. But the reward of survival itself usually turns out to be well worth those risks. Dozens of them are done every day. Just ask Dick Cheney what he thinks about the whole damn thing!”

Branthoover was apoplectic at this point as he practically shouted at Hamilton. “What does that have to do with his theory of regeneration of common primate genes? Even if he could reactivate those genes, what else might be resurrected? What in the primordial Pandora's Box might be let free? Are there two maniacs in this room instead of just one? Should not what you have just been carrying on about also be part of my caveats concerning Kochis' theory?”

“Of course, it should be considered. But after weighing all the possibilities both pro and con, one is left with the moral questions of how much good can be had if the results are successful. And how much suffering and debilities will continue if he is not allowed to proceed?” argued Dean Hamilton.

Branthoover wasn't giving in and pulled what he thought would be his trump card. He held up a copy of Francis' dissertation and addressed the summation.

“Mr. Kochis intimates that if his theory can be proven, he also suggests that science should be able to then go even further back to much more of our ancient ancestors and somehow, and some day, restore the regenerative capacities of our amphibious relatives. What arrogance!”

“Not arrogance at all,” replied Hamilton. “If Kochis can identify the seven-million-year-old dormant primate genes, he, or others who will follow his quest, may very well be able to one day traverse that branch of the primal tree of life and reactivate muscle fibers our first cousins still possess.”

“But going back seven million years will be daunting enough! However, in the case of amphibian sourcing, we are talking about seventy-million years or more!” argued Branthoover.

Harvey smiled and replied, “Once those primate levels are attained, the next great leap would be to reveal secrets perhaps hundreds of millions of years old! In the case of amphibian regeneration phenomenon, if future research could identify those and if our own DNA still holds those dormant elements, now, but having the potential of reconstitution, then maybe we will finally overcome one of mankind's most difficult challenges.”

“And that would be?” replied Branthoover disdainfully.

Dean Hamilton sighed and returned his own dismissive rejoinder toward Branthoover as he responded, “Francis Kochis is one of those scientists able to peek through the keyhole of the door to discovery. Do not slam that door shut and plug up the peep hole before he can take a good, long, hard look. Because, if his research eventually leads to the regeneration of damaged neural systems which some amphibian relatives of ours seem to be able to do. Well that's still a long way off, but the work of Francis Kochis may be the very important first steps in those long-term, but very noble goals.”

Dean Hamilton fished around in the breast-pocket of his somewhat rumpled suit coat and produced a paper with the images of an amphibian. It was two views of the same creature. One with its tail missing and obvious damage to its spinal cord. The second image showed the same specimen fully restored. Harvey gave the pictures to the panel who passed it among themselves as he went on.

“So, let us salute the lowly salamander who has been shown to be able to regenerate its own spinal cord. Which proves that Mother Nature is still smarter than everybody in this room.” Several members of the panel chuckled in subdued humility.

Hamilton again walked over to the Regent's table and addressed some of Branthoover's most troublesome comments. “I suggest that you refer to the work being done at the University of Glasgow. Their work has proven that the use of inexpensive DNA synthesis, freely accessible data bases and our ever-expanding knowledge of proteins is conspiring to permit a revolution in creating powerful molecular tools.”

It was now obvious, by Branthoover's body language that he was preparing to lose this contest as Harvey continued his point.  “We can already trace the evolutionary descent of these protein domains by examining the sequences and grouping them into family trees. Of course, the power of fusing domains is almost limitless. Many of the most recent anti-cancer drugs are the result of fusing mouse and human antibodies that block aberrant pathways to the cancers in question. Kochis isn't even bothering with the risks of fusion between two species, he is simply attempting to resuscitate our own dormant primate musculature.”

Hamilton stopped to let some of the technical and scientific facts he'd just presented sink in with the panel and directed his next statement to a more understandable subject as he skillfully reminded the group as to just why they were all sitting there.

“Although a dissertation is part of the requirements for a PhD and its research, theory and experimentation all contribute, it usually does not include absolutely everything. The dissertation must be complete regarding these elements of research and experimentation but not necessarily be all encompassing. These words are not just mine but have been enshrined in many scientific texts by a plethora of serious science writers!”

Hamilton then walked over to Branthoover and sort of hovered over his opponent as he said, “As to professor Branthoover's caveat that experimental data is not proof of safety-- he may well be correct. But that never stopped Edward Jenner from risking the life of an eight-year old boy when he inoculated him with cow-pox before injecting him with small pox to see what would happen! That risk put science on the road to saving hundreds of millions of people since. And Francis Kochis in my estimation is not risking anyone with his approach.”

The old man then pointed at Francis and said, “To challenge professor Branthoover's orthodox positions on scientific protocols is not heresy. Science often discovers newer scientific truths to replace the orthodoxy of previous times. Remember that wise observation of Bennett Cerf, when he wrote that there is no ox so dumb as an orthod-ox!”

Branthoover stormed out of the room.

Dean Hamilton then sealed the deal by reminding the panel that the notoriety of these potential discoveries and their eventual revenues paid in royalties to the university could be enormous. The panel, not quite sure of everything they had just heard, nonetheless applauded. Francis got his funds and his PhD. And things looked great…for a while.

Chapter 3

(FOUR YEARS AGO)

“Three billion plus hay stacks of amino acid links! This is going to take forever to find that one needle that represents the human match to ape muscle fiber. I should never have taken on such a Herculean task. I'm a big schmuck!” Francis complained to Mary Ann Hermann, his chief lab assistant and par amour. “We've tested nearly 600,000 markers and it's taken us two damn years with no results!”

Mary Ann just laughed and said, “Well, 600,000 in two years is pretty good. Let's see, that's 300,000 per year divided into three billion plus parts of the double helix! At that rate we'll complete the project in just a little over many thousands of years, Dr. Don Quixote!”

Francis was not amused as he railed on, “And even if it is there, lurking around in suspended animation somewhere in all the Junk DNA, we may not be able to activate it; or worse, activate other primordial forces we wouldn't want to resurrect! Branthoover wasn't completely wrong, you know! Woe is me! I have become a man of constant sorrow!”

Mary Ann laughed and said, “Do I hear the faint wailings of Bob Dylan in the background of your lamentations, poor baby?” and she gave him a kiss and reminded him to call her geeky friend Archie Gannon who specialized in advanced algorithmic matrix analysis.

“Stop feeling sorry for yourself and explain to Archie what you're trying to do. Archie worked on the genome project with Francis Collins. This situation here might need somebody with a computer programmer’s mind instead of a mad scientist.” She giggled, then kissed him again, dialed Archie's number and insisted on Francis taking the phone.

Archie Gannon was the smartest person Mary Ann Hermann had ever met or even heard about. But he was so eccentric and obnoxious that most people, even her darling Francis, could tolerate no more than a few minutes with him at a time. But, now, here they were in Archie's loft-laboratory-rat hole.

“Well,” said Archie, attempting a humorless barb, “based on what you've explained, I think the first thing you should do is change your name from Francis Kochis to Francisysiphus, because a lot of shit is going to be rolling down hill and wash right over you just like Sisyphus if I can't save your sorry ass before you run out of all the money you have still not yet squandered in your very fucked up research budget.”

Francis started to jump up and leave, but Mary Ann grabbed him and said, “Remember honey, I told you he's brilliant, but I never said he was politically correct. Hear him out first, then we can always leave.” Dr. Kochis was glad he stuck around.

“First things first,” admonished Archie, “We both know that chimpanzees and humans align in nearly 99% of their respective genetic profiles…so, it seems to me that instead of fucking around with everything that's already matched, the likelihood is that your missing link or whatever you want to call it is in the stuff that doesn't match up. So that changes the targets to around thirty-two million not three point two billion. We should start there, first, and if that fails, which I'm pretty sure it won't, well then you can go back to the stupid-assed way on which your staff have been wasting their time.”

Francis flinched at that barb but chose to remain silent as Archie carried on.

“Second, you're using mitochondrial segments of bacteria to see if any of those actions synthesizes a match when you should probably be using archaea to speed up the mix and match, musical chairs bullshit merry-go-round you been on for the last two circle jerking years!”         

Mary Ann was sure Francis would now, for sure, be charging out of the loft, but instead he just smiled at Gannon and nodded as he said with an almost benighted expression. “Archaea of course! Eureka! I thought you were just a numbers guy. But here you are talking like a biology guru!”

“Not any guru, me! exclaimed Archie, “I just paid attention in class and read a lot of shit. Like Lynn Margolis, remember her? She was Carl Sagan's wife. But to hell with that. What's important is that she wrote a book way back in 1981 which contained her theory of symbiosis of cell evolution. According to her, genes can pass from one bacterium to another – but so can archaea and even certain viruses. These things can do the translating of the proteins by using RNA and they do it faster.”

Francis was mesmerized by this Gannon character as he went on.

“Look! We all know that ribosomes are the machines used to manufacture proteins and they incorporate RNA. So, that should be the material of choice to trigger your big dreams of molecular and cellular reactivation. And these general-purpose ribosomes are more like those of archaea than the bacteria you've been farting around with!”

Francis jumped up from excitement, not anger, and asked, “So you're saying that this is the best bet for getting the mitochondrial mode of evolution to wake up these proteins and get back in the game?”

Archie hunched his shoulders, as if he wasn't completely sure of what he was about to say next, but it didn't stop him, “If the RNA catalytic function works, then you should be able to integrate it into the double helix at that exact amino acid marker if you can identify the little bastard.”

“Yeah,” said Francis, somewhat dejectedly, “it’s taking so much time to find it, let alone reanimate the gene.”

Archie just shook his head and sighed before letting loose. “You seem to not know the right people, but I do.”

“What the hell are you talking about?' asked the now, once again, very irritated Francis.

“I worked as an algorithmic adviser to both Craig Venter and Francis Collins when they were involved in sequencing the human genome and you know how they did it?” Archie asked as he answered his own question. “They took the DNA double helix, all three billion plus of those strings of amino acids and using enzyme scissors, chopped the entire sequence into twenty million unit-fragments that overlapped certain sequences These chromosome fragments were inserted by genetically engineering them into bacteria to produce millions of copies of each. Then by using a shitload of super-computers, over eight hundred of them, was where my algorithms came in, we found the overlaps and stitched the genetic codes back together.”

“And? Asked Francis, “Then what?”

Archie just shook his head, surprised that Francis didn't know the answer himself as he responded disdainfully, “Before Venter, or anybody else were able to do this, it took science ten years to find a single gene. It now takes them fifteen seconds!”

“Yah, good for you guys, but you had, as you so eloquently described them. a shitload of computational equipment to do that. Where am I going to get a budget for eight-hundred super computers? Even one super computer,” sighed Francis.

“Hell, man!” yelled Archie as he laughed. “I think I can get us into their computer systems. I still know a lot of guys over there.”

Both Francis and Mary Ann were excited over what they were hearing, but there was much to think about, including what Francis said next.

“But even if you're right and you could do this for us, how would you approach activating the reanimation process?” asked Francis. Although he already had some ideas of his own, he wanted to see just how Archie's mind worked when it came to biology and not computer processes.

“The way I figure it,” smiled Archie, “it's going to take what I call BAB. It stands for Blood, Archaea and Bots. But that's for another discussion. It's useless to talk about activating something that you haven't been able to find yet.”

“Blood, Archaea and Bots, did you say? Humor me a bit. I can't wait another second to hear your opinion,” Francis demanded.

Annoyed by Francis' insistence, Archie gave him a thumbnail synopsis of the theory that got him fired at Venter's lab.

“As for archaea, remember what I said. Venter used bacteria, but I suggested archaea to you. They are more responsive and multiply reproductively much faster. Second, blood has electrical properties. I think I can produce enough electricity to jumpstart the gene. And Bots is just slang for nano-robotics which can assist the blood-electricity symbiosis to dynamically intensify what you need. Enough of that for now. Let's find the needle in that genetic haystack first.”

Francis joked as he said, “Mary Ann, give Archie, the polymath, a big kiss for me!”

Gannon scoffed as he said, “Oh, I don't need any congratulatory smooch. I took a double major, in both math and one in biology too, but I remembered everything I studied that Harvey Hamilton was trying to teach your sorry ass. Apparently, it appears, you didn't.”

Francis, swallowing his pride, got up to leave, but with a promise to call Archie back if he needed any more of his acerbic advice. He sure as heck knew he would.

Later, when they got back to their lab, Francis asked the billion-dollar question. “How do we get that insufferable prick to come to work with us?” he lamented.  “Archie likes working for himself, but I have my ways, baby,” smiled Mary Ann as she gave him her best impression of a wonton woman's wicked wink.

Francis laughed again and then asked, “Where did you find this character anyway?”

“He had apparently been a former student of Harvey Hamilton's when I first heard about him. Recently, Dean Hamilton called me and thought he might be of use to you. I didn't know much about him and when I met him, I thought he was a homeless person by the looks of him. But when he started to talk, minus all the foul language, I knew I had met someone very special, indeed.”

“Wow, that Harvey. My Moses!” exclaimed Francis. “Always coming through for me when I really need it. I should call him and thank him. That is if you can get Gannon to come to work with us and, more importantly, teach him to talk in such a manner that won't make the rest of us want to kick his ass out the window.”

“I'll try my wily best,” she promised with a laugh.

“And even if you can't convince him to join us, he's already helped a lot. I should have thought of archaea myself. It makes perfect sense! Archaea have no cell nucleus or any other membrane-bound organelles in their cells. But archaea possess genes and several metabolic pathways that are more closely related to us than bacteria. That's especially true about the enzymes involved in transcription and translation. Hallelujah!” he shouted.

Later, Mary Ann succeeded partially in her promise to Francis. Archie Gannon wouldn't join their staff formally but agreed to act as both an algorithmic detective of sorts in their attempts to identify the elusive markers and as an advisor on anything else biologically relevant.

“In other words,” Archie closed with one of his typical rejoinders, “to remind your boyfriend about all the biology crap he seemed to have forgotten since he attended Harvey Hamilton's classes!”

Things progressed dramatically after that, but Archie's unusual style of communicating with others left much to be desired.  

…