Free Mount Dragon by Douglas Preston

with strings of letters in complex ladder-like arrangements.
    â€œThe bonobo has a gene that makes it immune to influenza. Not just one or two strains, but all sixty known varieties. We’ve named it the X-FLU gene.”
    Carson examined the printout. It was a short gene, going only to several hundred base pairs.
    â€œHow does the gene work?” Carson asked.
    Singer smiled. “We don’t really know. It would take years to figure it out. But Brent hypothesized that if we could insert this gene into human DNA, it would render humans immune to flu, as well. The initial in vitro tests we performed bore this out.”
    â€œInteresting,” Carson replied.
    â€œI’ll say. Take the gene out of the bonobo, and insert it into yourself. Presto, you never get the flu again.” Singer leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Guy, how much do you know about the flu?”
    Carson hesitated. He actually knew quite a bit. But Singer didn’t seem the type who’d appreciate a braggart. “Not as much as I should. People are too complacent about it, for one thing.”
    Singer nodded. “That’s right. People tend to think of it as a nuisance. But it’s not a nuisance. It’s one of the worst viral diseases in the world. Even today, a million people die annually from the flu. It remains one of the top ten causes of death in the United States. During flu season, one quarter of the population falls ill. And that’s in a good year. People forget that the swine flu epidemic of 1918 killed one person out of fifty worldwide. That was the worst pandemic in recorded history, worse than the Black Death. And it happened in this century . If it happened again today, we’d be almost as helpless now as we were then.”
    â€œTruly virulent flu mutations can kill in hours,” Carson said. “But—”
    â€œJust one moment, Guy. That word, mutation , is key. The serious pandemics occur when the flu virus undergoes significant mutation. It’s already happened three times this century, most recently with the Hong Kong flu in 1968. We’re overdue—we’re ripe —for another pandemic right now.”
    â€œAnd because the coating of the viral particle keeps mutating,” Carson said, “there’s no permanent vaccine. A flu shot is just a cocktail of three or four strains, a guess on the part of epidemiologists as to what strain might be coming along in the next six months. Correct? They could guess wrong and you’d be just as sick.”
    Singer smiled. “Very good, Guy. We’re well aware of the work you did with flu viruses at MIT. That’s part of the reason we chose you.”
    He finished his drink with a short hard gulp. “One thing you may not have been aware of was that the world economy loses almost one trillion dollars a year in unrealized productivity to the flu.”
    â€œI didn’t know that.”
    â€œHere’s something else you may not know: the flu causes an estimated two hundred thousand birth defects annually. When a pregnant woman gets a fever above a hundred and four degrees, all kinds of developmental hell can break loose in the womb.”
    He inhaled slowly. “Guy, we’re working on the last great medical advancement of the twentieth century. And now you’re a part of it. You see, with the X-FLU gene inserted into his body, a human being will be immune to all strains of the flu. Forever. What’s more, his children will inherit the immunity.”
    Carson slowly put down his drink and looked at Singer.
    â€œJesus,” he said. “You mean, a gene therapy aimed at reproductive cells?”
    â€œThat’s right. We’re going to alter the germ cell line of the human race permanently. And you, Guy, are central to this effort.”
    â€œBut my work with influenza was just preliminary,” Carson said. “My main focus was elsewhere.”
    â€œI know,”