The Christ Clone Trilogy 01 - In His Imagery
By
James Beau Seigneur
Mother of God
Decker's chest felt heavy and his head light. He struggled to catch his breath.
Silently he watched the nuclei of the cells as they continued to undulate. His
mind seemed to float in the sea of warm cytoplasm before him, void of points of
reference except for the cells. A thousand questions rose and fell, fighting for
his attention, but he was incapable of enough focus on anything outside of what
he saw to even realize his confusion. It was only when he ceased his attempt to
understand the full impact of what he was seeing, that his senses began to
reemerge from the ooze. Decker's ears slowly became aware of Goodman's voice.
"Decker."
"Decker." Goodman touched him on the shoulder and finally he looked up. "Are you
hungry?"
Decker hadn't eaten since breakfast, but right now he thought Goodman's question
was insane. •*
"Believe me," said Goodman, "I know just how you feel. The same thing happened
to me. I went looking for dirt and found live dermal skin cells. I nearly got
religion! That's when I made the connection to Professor Crick's theory."
Goodman took the slide from the microscope and carefully placed it back in the
plastic case.
"What is it?" Decker asked finally.
"I showed you," said Goodman. "They're dermal cells — cells from just below the
skin's surface. Oh, and as you've obviously noticed, they're alive." Goodman hid
the excitement he felt in finally being able to share his discovery, and his
calm, understated response simply served to accentuate Decker's confusion.
"But what? . . . How?" Decker pleaded.
"The cells were picked up on the Mylar tape along with some small flecks of
blood. Apparently when the Shroud was laid over the crucified man, some of the
exposed flesh of the wound was bonded to the cloth by the dried blood. When the
man was regenerated and the Shroud was pulled away from his body, a small amount
of dermal material was pulled away with it. The same thing can happen when
bandages are removed from a large wound. I suspect the weight of the heel
resting on the cloth helped some, too. What you have just seen are cells at
least six hundred years old with absolutely no sign of degeneration. In short:
they're alive."
"Six hundred years?" Decker asked.
"Well, if the carbon 14 dating is correct, yes. On the other hand, I think it is
rather unlikely that anyone would have been crucified in the thirteenth or
fourteenth century. I have no real evidence to dispute the carbon 14 results but
my guess is that, in all likelihood, the Shroud does date to the first century
and was, in fact, the burial cloth of Jesus. The historical evidence is rather
conclusive that Jesus did exist. I've never doubted that any more than I've
doubted the historical evidence of Alexander the Great or Julius Caesar.
Actually, it all fits perfectly into my hypothesis."
"Professor, why weren't the blood cells alive?" Decker asked.
"That's an interesting question. I assume it's because the blood is from the
body that died. The skin cells, on the other hand, are from the body after it
was regenerated."
Goodman put his hand on Decker's shoulder and gently nudged him in the direction
of the door. "I don't know about you, but I'm starved and my housekeeper was
expecting us half an hour ago for lunch. My wife is visiting her mother in
Kansas City."
Goodman's house was an English Tudor with brown trim and stone on a quiet
dead-end street about twenty minutes from the campus. The two men were greeted
at the door by Goodman's housekeeper, a young Hispanic woman. "Maria, this is my
guest, Mr. Hawthorne." Goodman spoke very slowly, enunciating every word. "We'll
have our lunch now."
As Decker looked around the house it seemed that every wall had shelves full of
books. A few shelves had additional books neatly stacked beside them. Decker had
never met Goodman's wife, Martha, but she was obviously very tolerant of her
husband's profession.
"Professor, we need to talk," Decker said as they sat down at the dining room
table.
"Yes, I know," Goodman answered.
Decker's eyes glanced to the housekeeper and then back to Goodman.
"Oh, don't worry about her," Goodman said. "She hardly speaks any English. She's
only been in this country about six months."
"We can't keep this to ourselves," Decker started.
"I have no intention of keeping it secret forever, but if we let the story out
now there will be no end to the reporters. Not to mention the thousands of
mindless religious kooks. You remember the crowds in Turin lined up to see the
Shroud? What do you think would happen if word leaked out that live cells from
the body of Jesus were in a laboratory in Los Angeles? Every sick or dying
person in America would be here overnight hoping to touch the cells and be
healed. I've touched the cells and they haven't done a thing for me. You may
have touched them yourself, when you were handling the Shroud in Turin and I
notice it hasn't stopped your hairline from receding," Goodman added in
characteristic deadpan humor. "All that would result from releasing the story
now is that a lot of people would be hurt. But if we wait until I've finished my
research we may be able to offer some real healing power."
"What do you mean, 'real healing power'?" *
"Decker, are you blind? You saw those cells. What do you think we've been
talking about?"
"I'm not sure I know anymore."
"Those cells are hundreds or even thousands of years old. They have survived
through intense heat and freezing cold. As far as we can tell, they're immortal.
Yet, in most respects they're human. With time we may be able to discover what
makes them immortal. We may discover things that can lead to new vaccines,
create powerful new life-saving drugs, extend life, perhaps even bring about our
own immortality!"
Decker raised his eyebrows in surprise. "I hadn't even considered anything like
that," he said.
"Actually, I'm already deeply involved in research on the cells. I began by
inducing cell mitosis in the laboratory. The cells are extremely resilient and
multiply rapidly. I've been able to grow a substantial culture. However, there
is another area of research worthy of pursuit as well." Goodman paused to
consider his words. "Decker, what do you know about cloning?"
It took Decker only an instant to guess what Goodman was getting at. Decker was
not a religious person but this idea rubbed him entirely the wrong way. "Hold
it! You don't mean . . . You're talking about cloning Jesus?!" Decker's response
was quite loud and the outburst startled Maria, who dropped a plate in the
kitchen.
Goodman had not anticipated Decker's opposition. "Just wait a minute!" he
replied at a slightly lower and more controlled decibel. "To begin with, we
can't be certain that these are the cells of Jesus . . ."
'Well, it sure as hell is a pretty good guess!" Decker shot back.
"But even if they are," Goodman continued, "I still find my hypothesis about his
origin more reasonable than any silly religious notions you may have."
Then Decker put it all together. "That's what you were talking about before!
That's how you plan to test your hypothesis,that Jesus was from an advanced
alien race! You're going to try to clone him!"
"Look, Decker, there's no need for a shouting match. And anyway," Goodman
continued, "you're jumping to ridiculous conclusions based on insufficient data.
All I meant was that you might, someday be able to test my hypothesis of the
man's origin in that manner." Goodman's clarification wasn't very convincing.
"Look, Professor," Decker said, "it's one thing to do lab research or grow cells
in a petri dish, but you just can't go around cloning people, especially if the
guy you want to clone might just be the son of God!"
"Decker, use your brain. If the image on the Shroud was from the son of God,
then tell me this: Why would an all-knowing, all-wise, all-powerful creator
allow the cells to get stuck to the Shroud in the first place?"
"Who knows? Maybe as a sign or something."
"And why would he allow me, a man who doesn't even believe in him, to find the
cells? If it was some kind of sign, wouldn't God at least have chosen someone
who believed in him?"
Decker didn't have an answer.
"But more importantly," continued Goodman, "even if you examine it from a
religious point of view, you must ask how could a mere mortal manage to clone
the son of God? Would the 'soul' of Jesus be in the clone?" Goodman struggled to
hide the sarcasm in his voice. "Would God really allow himself to be so easily
manipulated by men?"
Decker listened. As uncomfortable as it made him feel, what Goodman was saying
made sense.
"Decker, I really expected you to be more open-minded about this. Where's your
scientific curiosity? Surely you can see that if I did manage to clone the man
on the Shroud it would be proof positive that he was not the son of God. If, I
repeat, if it was possible to clone the man, we still might never know his
origin because he would not have the memory of the original. But we'd know one
thing without a doubt, and it's that he was not the son of God, because if he
was, I think you'll agree, it's a pretty safe assumption that 'God' wouldn't
allow us to clone his son."
Decker couldn't argue with Goodman's logic. An all-knowing, all-powerful God was
not likely to just leave a bunch of his son's cells lying around. Although
Decker didn't argue, it was obvious that as far as Goodman was concerned, the
discussion was over.
During their conversation the two men had taken only a few bites of their
dinners. Goodman now focused his attention on the plate before him. Decker felt
it wise to do the same. After the meal the conversation grew a little more
amiable but Goodman was clearly angered and avoided the subject of the Shroud
entirely, except to say that he would call Decker when the next step in his
research on the cells was under way.
When they left for the airport, Maria cleared the dishes and silver, stretching
across the large table to reach Professor Goodman's saucer and cup. As she
carried them back to the kitchen she tugged lightly at her apron and adjusted
her maternity dress.