Page 40 of Unnatural (Men and Monsters #2)

Mark opened a search engine, typing Dr. Heathrow’s name in the browser window.

A list of hits came up, and Mark scrolled, reading one title after the next, opening one article, quickly reading the copy, and then opening another.

It only took him about twenty minutes to get a more complete picture of the man who, as Salma had already told him, had worked as the head scientist and lead physician of the ADHM treatment protocol that had started twenty-five years before when the first ADHM babies were born.

In article after article, the doctor was lauded for his research on pioneering drug protocols and surgical innovations that had helped ADHM kids live longer lives.

Mark tapped his fingers very lightly on the keyboard as he considered what he’d just read.

So the doctor was a scientist and a surgeon.

He heard Salma Ibrahim’s voice in his head: He helped manufacture the drug cocktail all ADHM babies were put on at birth.

Nasty stuff. Caused awful, debilitating side effects.

Okay, so it seemed Dr. Heathrow had been in charge of all facets of ADHM care.

He’d carried out the actual work at Mercy Hospital in New York, but he’d come up with the protocol used at all care facilities nationwide.

Dr. Heathrow had invented the drugs used to treat all ADHM kids, and he also outlined and performed the surgical procedures they’d undergone.

That was a lot of responsibility given to one man.

Power. Mark felt a buzz of unease, the old quote from Lord Acton running through his mind: Absolute power corrupts absolutely.

How many examples of that had he seen in his lifetime, not only in his work but elsewhere?

He tapped on the keyboard lightly again.

The doctor couldn’t have done it completely alone.

If he’d helped manufacture the drug cocktail, he’d done it in conjunction with a pharmaceutical company.

Mark opened a second browser page and did some more digging.

The information wasn’t difficult to find.

“Tycor Labs,” he muttered, typing in the company name and reading through the available data.

He’d heard of the company, of course, as they were a manufacturing giant.

He scrolled through the list of their pharmaceutical products, noting the majority of them were cancer treatments.

So it made sense, he thought, that they would have manufactured and sold the experimental drug that treated ADHM babies and children riddled with cancerous tumors.

The medication had been subsequently taken off the market after it failed to pass long-term safety protocols, but it was still praised for its use with ADHM kids.

Why though? Mark wondered. If it couldn’t pass safety testing, how did they know it’d helped ADHM kids at all?

Perhaps a better question was how would they ever prove whether it did or did not? Most of the ADHM kids were already dead.

To put it bluntly, the ADHM kids had been guinea pigs for the drug that, in the end, had never gone to market because of its adverse side effects.

Of course, its experimental use had been justified by the fact that they were dying anyway.

The risk-reward ratio was one that favored trying anything .

Risking anything. Giving them any possible chance.

But what if it hadn’t really helped them at all? What if it had only made things worse?

What if there were some who knew in fact that it did but considered those children of such little value that they continued to give it to them in the name of their experiment anyway?

I’m a nurse. Or…I was. But I’m also a mother. And a mother knows when her children are naturally sick…and when they’re being poisoned.

Salma’s words again. And a reminder that it was possible not only were sick children being made sicker, but healthy children were being made ill as well.

Mark sat back, rubbing his temples, suddenly feeling ill himself, as though thinking too hard about those phantom children who may have been put in more pain than they already suffered was bringing on a sympathy headache.

He stretched his neck from side to side, intent on getting as full a picture as possible before postulating any further.

Mark went back to the page of articles featuring Dr. Heathrow’s work with ADHM kids, scrolling down the page and then clicking on to the second.

More articles about ADHM…interviews…a dinner where Dr. Heathrow had been the guest of honor and recipient of a humanitarian award.

Mark paused in his scrolling, something of interest catching his eye.

He clicked on it and read the first couple of paragraphs.

His stomach dipped, that feeling of disquiet he’d had moments before ratcheting up.

It seemed in his early career, before ADHM or drug protocols, or Tycor Lab, Dr. Heathrow had authored several studies on human augmentation.

Mark performed another search, clicking until he came to a PDF file. “Bingo,” he said, opening the document authored by the doctor himself.

He leaned toward the screen, reading through it quickly, just enough to digest the gist. He’d print it out and read through it more closely later.

The paper went into proposed methods of adapting technology and materials only previously used in bone fusion and limb amputation to revolutionize and drastically enhance human performance.

Why did Mark have the feeling many of these buzz phrases that read like scientific marvels stood for ideas that were decidedly much darker?

There were diagrams of limbs, torsos, and other body parts that Mark only briefly examined. It was all out of his area of expertise, but he got the idea. In essence, the doctor had proposed ways to make super soldiers.

“Jesus,” Mark breathed. This was not a coincidence. Mark could feel it.

He scrolled to the end of the paper and then went back through it, looking for the part that discussed ethical concerns with such technology, but no discussion existed. Sadly, he wasn’t surprised. Angry, yes. Surprised, no.

Mark spent another twenty minutes looking for more information on Dr. Heathrow’s continuation of research into enhanced human performance, otherwise known as genetic engineering.

The man had attempted to obtain grants but was unsuccessful.

After that, Mark could find no further proof that he’d pursued the field.

Evidently his interest in that area of study had diminished and he’d turned to other endeavors.

Or had he?

Had he given up on engineering humans because of a lack of financial backers? Or had he figured out another way? Or perhaps been approached by others who’d expanded his funding options? And more chilling, expanded his potential client base: sick children with no parental oversight.

The deep chill that snaked down Mark’s back had nothing to do with the wind that suddenly gusted in the window, lifting the curtain next to his chair and then dropping it back into place.