Each cell type had to be isolated, as far as possible, while they were still alive. Living cells tell you more about their function – or their malfunction – than dead ones. Then proteins would be separated and studied, DNA and RNA collected and mapped, and they would set to work trying to build a coherent picture of what was different now compared to what was successful in the past. They were still trying to isolate the cause, still at the stage of having to run every possible test, search every element of the pouch’s synthetic biology. They needed to find the common factor. Without that, they were lost in the dark.

But he had his suspicions. He didn’t want to speak them out loud, but he thought about them, when he stopped working long enough to think, when he lay awake at night. Julianne would stroke the back of his head, to soothe him. It used to help him switch off, that gentle affection from someone he loved – like a lullaby. But it didn’t work any more. His thoughts would not be soothed. They were too frightening for that. The problem had to be genetic.

These fatalities must have been caused by something that had been inherited. Not a physical malfunction within the pouch, but a change in human biology, in DNA, brought on by gestation in the pouch, then passed down to the children of parents who had been pouch-born. Nothing else could account for the third generation being suddenly affected. And it was only the third generation; it was only now that this was happening, even though the technology hadn’t changed. That meant they weren’t going to find the answer by looking in the pouches alone, however much they wanted to. If it was genetic, the problem was in the parents, too. All of them.

He didn’t notice how late it was getting, even though he hadn’t eaten all day. He didn’t even stop for a glass of water. But after hours of work, he realised he’d forgotten something. Walking over to the far end of the lab, he touched Bethan on the shoulder.

‘Your baby,’ he said. ‘I never … I should’ve asked. Your baby’s OK, right? Healthy?’

‘Wonderful so,’ she said.

‘I’m glad.’ James nodded. ‘And, I should have said before, you know … Congratulations.’

‘Thank you, James.’

‘You’re welcome,’ he said, but his words didn’t really come out right; his voice didn’t seem to be working the way it should. He wanted to lie down, or beg for help, or find the answer before any more babies died. He wanted to talk to Avigail. But he couldn’t help noticing that Bethan’s smile when she thought about her child made her look young and wise at the same time, and quite strikingly happy.

Audio log

25 Dec 2015 03:49