SENIOR AUTHOR’S NOTE: The following narrative is the result of several years of painstaking analysis of documents and witness statements from a variety of sources by a team of researchers. It is believed that this is the most comprehensive and accurate narration of the facts surrounding the discovery and initial dissemination of the pharmaceutical currently called “Q.” Some materials not directly related to this study are included as the team felt the material shed light on the thoughts and intentions of the various protagonists. As with any historical event, there has been some speculation required in order to complete the full story. Although, every effort is made to minimize speculation, this material has been presented in a narrative, or story, format to make it easier to read and appreciate the emotional as well as factual aspects of the events herein.

FROM THE UNPUBLISHED MANUSCRIPT “THE USE OF GENE SPLICING TO PRODUCE A MEDIUM FOR DNA REALIGNMENT OF DONOR ORGANS FOR TRANSPLANT” BY MAXIMILIAN STERNLICHT, MD, PH.D.

...injection of the modified viral medium with the genetically neutral valent-charged filler strands into the organ results in rapid replacement of the existing genetic material with that of the medium while retaining those portions of the organ’s genetic structure needed to maintain its function. The filler strands suffuse the entire organ; rejecting those components of the existing DNA structure that control rejection in favor of any externally supplied genetic structure. Thus, through genetic manipulation we have created a medium for assuring that any donor organ will be universally accepted.

FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 1, 9:00 A.M., BIOMEDICAL SCIENCES BUILDING, NEW YORK UNIVERSITY

“Herbert, the research is progressing apace as you are well aware. The funding plan is quite beneficial to the university. All work is being done under the strictest biohazard safety conditions. I’m even employing your wayward daughter. What possible concern might you have?”

Dr. Maximilian Sternlicht, impeccably dressed, each shining black hair standing rigidly in line like a soldier at attention, paced back and forth behind the softly padded arm chair normally used by visitors, eyes deliberately avoiding the pleasantly smiling face of his supervisor, Dr. Herbert Harriman. Dr. Harriman, the Chairman of the University’s Department of Biomedical Research, was gently rocking in a thickly padded, high backed, black leather chair behind his uncluttered desk. Behind him were bookcases, haphazardly filled to overflowing with books, while the required wall of diplomas and awards adorned the opposite wall.

“Now Max, you know my concern. It is the source of your funding, not your skill as a researcher that I question.”

“Come, come Herbert. Are you telling me the University is no longer willing to accept money from the federal government? We both know better.” Dr. Sternlicht stopped pacing long enough to sweep his right hand through his hair. Amazingly, it didn’t cause the slightest bit of disarray to his impeccable grooming. He stopped to glare briefly down at the plump department chairman before resuming his pacing.

“True, the federal government is, of course, a major source of grant money, but I continue to be bemused by the idea of the Department of Defense funding an apparently humanitarian study. Max, I cannot help but contemplate the possibility of ulterior motives and we both know that your research, even more than most, could easily be misused.”

“Herbert, you waste my time, and yours. All you have are vague concerns, the same concerns we have discussed repeatedly in the past. Do you have something more to discuss? No? Then you will excuse me.” With that, Dr. Sternlicht strode haughtily out of the office, closing the door behind himself with a firm, but not hurried, movement. Passing Mrs. MacInerney, the department secretary, he nodded curtly and continued on to his office, ignoring the occasional groups of students milling about the hallways of the Harriman BioSciences Building.

FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 1, 9:15 A.M., BIOMEDICAL SCIENCES BUILDING, NEW YORK UNIVERSITY

Dr. Sternlicht was comfortably ensconced in the plush leather executive chair of his own, austere looking office, with its neatly filled wall-to-wall bookcases and single framed painting. Leaning back with his eyes closed, telephone to his ear, he spoke with markedly little warmth in his voice.

“The small amount of gratitude I have earned us by employing his giddy, party girl daughter will not blind him much longer. No, neither she nor Abbot will be a problem. She is barely around and I have him so overworked he could not determine what is happening if it were explained to him. They are not at issue.”

“Captain, it is time you met the stipulations of our employment agreement. Herbert is uncomfortably close and continues to probe. If he is not distracted immediately, he will discover our little pretense and then there will be nothing that can be produced but those humanitarian motives he questions.” Dr. Sternlicht listened briefly.

“Stop! Do not bother me with the specifics of your scheming. I have no interest. Succeed! That is all that matters.” Dr. Sternlicht cut off additional discussion as he carefully replaced the phone in its cradle, punched the intercom button and spoke to his secretary.

“Ms. Branca, please have Mr. Abbot come here immediately. Also, please prepare the standard letter of recommendation for these three individuals: George Paulson, Yu Kim Lee and Jackson R. Brown. You may imprint them with my signature stamp but do not give them out until they have submitted my usual ten dollar cash fee.” As he finished speaking Lyle Abbot entered the office and stood uncomfortably facing Dr. Sternlicht, slowly shuffling his weight from one foot to the other. He clicked off before she could pop her gum again or respond with “Kay,” her usual, aberrant bastardization of the English language.

“Good morning Mr. Abbot. Enlighten me regarding your progress with respect to series BC-1109.” Dr. Sternlicht released the intercom control and glared at Lyle.

“G...good morning Dr. Sternlicht. How are you today?” Lyle began to sit down in the single, stiff backed, armless wood chair opposite Dr. Sternlicht’s desk.

“No, don’t bother to sit. I asked you to enlighten me regarding your progress with respect to series BC-1109.”

“Well, I have the data here. It shows no tissue rejection in any of the test cases.”

“Don’t waste my time Mr. Abbot. Are the test tissue grafts maintaining their original genetic structure or not?” Lyle’s shuffling increased in speed.

“W...Well, there doesn’t seem to be a problem with the nucleonic acid, but something does seem to be happening to the rats in the experimental group. They seem to be changing somehow.”

“Specificity, please Mr. Abbot. Changing how? ...And stop shuffling about.”

Lyle grabbed the back of the chair in an effort to remain still. “I’m not sure, sir. They just look different somehow. Several seem to act a bit differently...and number fifteen seems to have changed the coloration pattern on her feet.”

“Mr. Abbot, you know better than to come to me without clear information. Can you explain yourself objectively? No? Then it is obvious that you need to redo the tests on this series.”

“But Dr. Sternlicht, we were supposed to finalize the first three chapters of my dissertation today. I’ve only got two more weeks to submit before I have to wait another semester.”

“Mr. Abbot,” Sternlicht almost glared, “You have done sloppy work or else you would have presented me with clean results. Redo the tests. Now! You know I have no tolerance for such incompetence. I decline to discuss issues of secondary importance until you have properly completed your primary tasks. Now go.”

Lyle left, head hanging. As he closed the door to Dr. Sternlicht’s office, Eunice Branca, Dr. Sternlicht’s secretary, briefly interrupted him. “You didn’t really mess up did you?”

She was looking directly at him. “Ulpp!”

“I’m talking to you. Kay? I said, ‘You didn’t really mess up did you?’”

“N...no. I...I did it right, but there is something wrong with the results.” Lyle mumbled head averted as he scuttled out of the office. “Hey, how did you know about that?” He turned back and, forgetting himself, he looked her in the face before quickly casting his eyes downward again.

Eunice popped her gum, smiled and pointed at the intercom. “It works both ways, and the ‘IN USE’ light on his intercom doesn’t work. I turn it on whenever I think something interesting might be about to happen.”

SATURDAY SEPTEMBER 2, 11:05 P.M., FROM THE DIARY OF LYLE T. ABBOT, 1212 WEST 155TH STREET, APARTMENT 6E, NEW YORK CITY, NEW YORK

It all started with an “Oops!” Well...actually an “Oops!” and two “Ouches!” But this is clear as mud. Let me start at the beginning of the day.

I woke up late, bleary-eyed, headachy, with a tongue the size of an elephant and feeling at least as heavy. Yes, I was hung over...and it was all the fault of that pathetic excuse for a human being that I lovingly call Dr. Sternlicht. Damn, am I tired of listening to him belittle people–and am I ever tired of his impossible demands. Yesterday was a classic. The first day off from working on his beloved research that I’ve taken in months and what does he do, but drag me back to redo the tests for series BC-1109?

I don’t think one thing went right yesterday. The coffee was burnt. The subway was late–I know what else is new in a city like New York. I didn’t even get the new cultures done. Eunice, his secretary, was running to get something. I don’t even think she knew what Sternlicht had her searching for. Oops, bad grammar. We bumped into each other as I was transferring one of the cultures, number seventeen–not that it matters. Eunice dropped her papers. I dropped the culture, it broke and we both cut ourselves as we rushed to clean up the mess before HE found out about it.

I know it was foolish, especially in this day of HIV and other blood born pathogen horrors, but it was fun, almost like we were boyfriend and girlfriend, when Eunice got that whimsical look in her eyes and rubbed our cuts together like we were taking a blood brother oath. I guess we both just needed to do something stupid to break the tension. I wonder what Sternlicht’s hold on Eunice can be. She’s pretty–maybe even beautiful–with blonde hair, blue eyes, about five foot seven, and VERY well proportioned as they once called it. She’s young, a whole two years younger than me. Oh, god, I dread thinking about what type of bizarre gift I’m going to get from my mother next week for my twenty-third birthday.

But back to Eunice...she’s smart; after all, she’s not a graduate student–read serf with less control of my life than the lab rats on which I experiment–like me. Come to think of it, I sometimes wonder why I don’t have a hunched back and a name like Igor. Unlike me, she doesn’t need someone like Sternlicht to approve a dissertation topic or wrangle a Dissertation Committee to finally get a degree. She’s popular, she’s vivacious and she can talk to people. I often think it’s amazing that she even talks to me, “Mister Average,” with my brown eyes and already receding brown hair. At least I don’t have a pot-belly–yet.

Anyway, trying to redo the cultures made me even later getting home. I finally gave up and called it a night around 8 P.M. Unfortunately, living next to Omega Pi Omicron’s frat house on a Friday evening has a few drawbacks. No lunch, some snack foods from the vending machines for dinner and then I had too many drinks to drown out the sounds of partying next door. At all costs, I must remember to avoid “boilermakers” in the future; the hangover is absolutely horrible.

Let Sternlicht growl. I’m going back to bed and staying there today–if he’ll let me. At least Sunday should be sacrosanct.

SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 3, 3:00 A.M., FROM THE DIARY OF EUNICE HARRISON, EAST 55TH STREET, APARTMENT 1617, NEW YORK CITY, NEW YORK

Damn, I love New York City.

Where else could I get paid to meet bright, interesting, fun loving, sexy looking, young men? And Dr. Sternlicht is a pussycat as long as I let him yell once in a while; then I just pout a bit, like I’m going to cry. Of course, it helps that Daddy is Chairman of the Department. I still wonder what Sternlicht thinks he gains over Daddy by hiring me? It’s not like I am the kind of secretary he is used to having.

It was a close thing yesterday. About six, I stopped by the lab to get my black strap-back heels from my locker for the frat party later that evening when I saw the lights were still on in the lab. The party was “outta sight,” but I’m getting ahead of myself.

I was rushing, and Sternlicht’s poor lab assistant and “all-around-slave,” Abbot, was there. When I bumped into him, my purse dropped to the floor and my wallet flopped open to my ID card right in front of him. I did my best to keep his attention on me rather than the ID short of grabbing his head and shoving it into my breasts, which I was NOT going to do. The blood brother thing when we cut our hands trying to clean up whatever he dropped was brilliant, although I’m really going to be upset if I find out I got AIDS or one of those other diseases from something so mundane and not sensual. Anyway, I think it worked.

You should have seen Abbot’s face light up, and it was nice to discover that he actually has a sense of humor. He looks kind of cute when he’s not letting Sternlicht browbeat him and he’s not so shy that he’s mumbling. I almost reconsidered the idea of his head and my breasts.

One of these days, someone’s going to check my ID and I’m going to get caught using Aunt Staci’s last name instead of my own. Branca is rather more plebeian than Harriman, but college boys get so unbearably formal and boring when they think Daddy might wreck their entire future if they get even a little bit fresh. As if, Daddy, that paragon of virtue, would even dream of such a thing.

Can’t forget the party. The frat house was packed and the guys were in togas which certainly helped show off their “bods.” The requirement for no underwear also made things interesting. It was kind of cute to be able to see the reactions from their lower brains so clearly and quickly although I must have gotten some bad clams or something at the party. I’ve been feeling really terrible all day today.

It’s 3 A.M., Sunday morning, and time to get back into bed after a real pig-out snack. Friday evening, before the party, I had already called in sick for Monday, so there’s nothing to do but stretch out and snooze.

MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 4, 3:15 P.M., FROM THE DIARY OF LYLE T. ABBOT, 1212 WEST 155TH STREET, APARTMENT 6E, NEW YORK CITY, NEW YORK

I feel even worse today. I must have a fever because I seem to be sweating from every pore of my body. On top of that, I ache all over, except my crotch and chest which are itching unbearably. I seem to wake up only long enough to eat a horse or two, and then it’s back to bed. I’ve eaten most of a week’s worth of groceries in the last two days. Almost sixteen hours of sleep today should have helped, especially after also sleeping most of yesterday. Of course it would have been even more sleep if Sternlicht had not called about 9:30 this morning, polite and cheerful as usual. I crawled out of bed and began searching through the piles of dirty laundry, trying unsuccessfully to find the telephone, just in time to hear him yelling from my answering machine.

“Abbot, you cretinous incompetent! Why are you at home when you know duty requires your presence at the laboratory? You have assignments uncompleted. Get over here and complete your duties before I terminate your assistantship.”

He does have a way with words; notice how they bring cheer into everyone’s life. I hope he wasn’t as harsh with Eunice. On Saturday, she said she was planning to call in Monday after the frat party. I also hope she’s feeling better than me. If I don’t feel any better tomorrow, I guess I should drag myself over to the university’s Student Health Clinic. I look forward to that almost as much as listening to Sternlicht when I finally get back to work.

TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 5, 9:10 A.M., FROM THE DIARY OF EUNICE HARRISON, EAST 55TH STREET, APARTMENT 1617, NEW YORK CITY, NEW YORK

Whoa! What a hangover. Never have I had one last three full days before. I hurt in places I didn’t know I had places as the old joke goes–and I can’t stop eating. If this keeps up, I’m going to have to put myself on a permanent diet. Ugh! But the up side is another day without going to work and my secret identity is still safe. When I spoke to Lyle today, it was clear that the only thing he cared about was getting better. I guess Eunice Branca lives to party another day–if she lives that long. This flu is a killer. It’s time to sleep again.

TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 5, 8:20 P.M., FROM THE DIARY OF LYLE T. ABBOT, 1212 WEST 155TH STREET, APARTMENT 6E, NEW YORK CITY, NEW YORK

It’s strange. I’m eating like a pig and sleeping most of the day, but I seem to be losing weight. Even my voice sounds different, but my ears don’t feel plugged up or anything. Every part of my body aches and when I’m awake, I keep vacillating between feeling like everything is great and bursting into tears. Until these last few days, I thought I was the proverbial stoic Englishman, assuming Mom’s discussions about our lineage were correct–but, all of a sudden, this afternoon I was crying tears–real tears! And for no reason at all.

This is one strange flu virus.

I’d go to the Clinic, but then I’d have to risk having Sternlicht finding out that I was still alive. Given today’s telephone call–yesterday’s wasn’t enough–I better bring in my obituary to prove I was sick.

Eunice is still sick too. I amazed myself and called her after Sternlicht called me today. He was complaining that we had both deserted him. The interesting thing is that when we compare symptoms, Eunice seems to have the same virus as me, except that she’s gaining weight. And she’s been sick since Sunday like me.

Apparently, Sternlicht has been threatening her too. I wonder if she would ever consider going out on a date with me. Assuming, I could stop mumbling long enough to ask. Better yet, I wonder if I’ll ever have the courage to ask her. I can almost imagine the whole thing: walking together, witty conversation over dinner, dancing with her at some nice nightspot.

Damn! It’s hard to stay awake. I must be spiking a fever. My whole body feels like Jell-O. I guess...