Eye

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EYE
Mike Knowles When I arrived at the laboratory, Professor Hung Lo was waiting to greet me. I’d met him once a few years ago when I attended one of his lectures shortly after he’d won the Nobel Prize in Genetics. But he’d aged since then and his hair was now white. But he was still an imposing and charismatic figure. To make matters worse, my visit required both tact and firmness and I just hoped my nerves weren’t showing. ‘Doctor Proctor,’ I said, holding out my hand. ‘From Ethics.’ He shook it briefly. ‘Ah, yes. I have friends there. A nice place.’ ‘Ethics,’ I said. ‘Not Essex. I’m from the General Medical Council Ethical Committee.’ I explained that the GMC had picked me because I knew a little about genetic engineering. In fact, I’d written a series of articles about the subject one of the Sunday supplements. Professor Lo was unimpressed. ‘I never read the Sunday supplements. Only the Lancet, the New Scientist…scientific and professional periodicals of that nature.’ ‘All work and no play,’ I quipped. ‘Shall we get this over with?’ Lo snapped. I followed him to his office which was cluttered with papers and the remnants of a canteen lunch. “So, who was it?” he asked, settling down in his chair and fixing me with a frosty stare. ‘Who was what?’ ‘Don’t be obtuse, woman. The whistleblower.’ ‘Please address me as Doctor Baker. And you know as well as I do, that we’re not at liberty to divulge that information. I’m here to establish whether or not the allegations are true.’ ‘Allegations?’ ‘That your work here contravenes the guidelines on medical research as laid down by the GMC Ethical Standards Committee. That you have cloned a human being. And that, by doing so, you have caused unnecessary suffering.’ The Professor laughed. Which made me angry. ‘I see nothing funny about it!’

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‘Political correctness!’ Lo retorted. ‘Everyone knows that the General Medical Council is pandering to politically correct Guardian readers and hysterical New Age Activists…the sort of people who protest about GM crops and every other branch of scientific research.’ The Professor had momentarily dropped the detached and analytic mantle of a scientist. It was clear he wanted to show me that genetic engineering was more than just a job. It was his underlying passion. I recalled what one of his contemporaries had told me: “Strip away the professional mask and you’ll find a man with a mission.” Others were less charitable. “Lo’s applying for a job in heaven. He wants to be God.” This discussion was getting us nowhere, so I decided to go for the jugular. ‘Professor Lo,’ I said. ‘Is there any truth in these allegations?’ For a split second Lo looked away. Was it guilt? Then he sighed. ‘Yes, we have cloned a human being.’ ‘By cloned, you mean in the same way Doris the Sheep was cloned?’ ‘Yes. Its name is Cyclops and its six months old.’ ‘It?’ ‘We…’ Lo looked mildly embarrassed. ‘Haven’t been able to determine its sex.’ There was a pause as I tried to take this information in. ‘I see. Is it alive?’ ‘As far as we can determine, yes.’ I frowned. His answer didn’t make any sense. Either the thing was alive or it wasn’t. I decided to leave that for the moment. ‘This name you’ve given it…Cyclops. Isn’t that rather unusual?’ Lo stood up. ‘You’d better see for yourself.’ With some trepidation I followed him down the corridor to a small room. The door was marked in big red letters: OUT OF BOUNDS! AUTHORISED STAFF ONLY. BY ORDER OF PROFESSOR LO. As we entered I almost expected to see bubbling liquids in test tubes and massive coils giving off electrical currents. Like Frankenstein’s laboratory. Instead, I was confronted by one of those incubators that keep premature babies alive. It stood in the middle of the room, hooked up to various tubes and monitoring equipment. I

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turned to look at Lo who nodded at me. I realised that I was on the verge of one of those momentous occasions that shape society. Of course, the ethical problems were well known to me. But there was a more fundamental question. If it became commonplace to clone perfect babies in the laboratory, it might also be possible to produce the female eggs synthetically. And then what use would men have for us women? Taking a deep breath, I walked towards the incubator and looked in. For a moment I thought I was going to pass out. As a doctor I had witnessed many horrible sights. But nothing had ever prepared me for this. There, on a large gauze pad, was an eye. Just an eye…nothing more. A big blue one. I turned to Lo. ‘Is this some kind of sick joke?’ Lo shook his head. Struggling to maintain my composure, I took out my notebook and pen. All right,’ I said. ‘We appear to have a living organism in the shape of a human eye. It has no limbs, no trunk, no head, ears nose or mouth.’ I paused, glancing at Lo. He looked bored. Which made me angry again. ‘Is there anything else you need? Lo asked. ‘If so I’m sure my assistant can help you. I’m a very busy man.’ I controlled myself. ‘Yes, there is, Professor. I’ll obviously have to make a full report about this to the Committee. Perhaps you can supply me with a photograph of…of…Cyclops. Without a photograph, it may be difficult convincing my colleagues that I wasn’t hallucinating.’ ‘You will have my full cooperation.’ Lo escorted me to the main entrance. As he held the door open I stopped and turned to him. It was a rhetorical question, but procedure demanded I ask it. By the way. Just for the record, Professor Lo. Is there anything else wrong with it?’ ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It’s blind.’

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