Imagine they set out to clone The Son of God...
Imagine they succeed...
The Boeing 727 began its slow decent over metropolitan Nashville. Throughout the long flight, Dr. James Donahue had been flooded with warm memories of his days back at old Vanderbilt, back when he and Blaze Jenkins ran the place. Blaze was one of the best Commodore quarterbacks anyone could remember. He was fast as a sprinter, big as a linebacker, and mean as a badger when necessary. Jim was a second-string wide receiver.
The game was Vanderbilt at Tennessee, big, big rivalry, fourth down, last quarter, final play. Blaze threw the pass that counted and, because the starting wide receiver had pulled a groin, Jim was there to catch it. Nothing he’d done before or since could compare. Man, what a night. For Blaze it was just another game, but Jim would’ve been content to live in that moment forever.
Even then, they both had an abiding interest in the science of cellular biology. That’s probably why they became friends to begin with. After graduating, they went on to receive doctorates and Blaze became a professor at their beloved Vanderbilt University in Nashville. He taught for a short time, then out of nowhere, got religion and became a Catholic priest. Go figure. Jim didn’t even know Blaze was Catholic.
Seatbelts began clicking and he realized they were on the tarmac. He waited for the path to clear, and escaped down the jet-way, passed through the open double doors leading into the busy terminal gate, and walked into the crowded Nashville International Airport. He moved with the river of people through the terminal and into the vast, crowded halls filled with shops, restaurants, bars, and vendors, found baggage claim, and picked up the bags he had left home with.
He walked out onto the wide covered walkway. A driver standing on the curb holding a sign that read Vanderbilt Medical School caught his eye.
“You Dr. Donahue?” the driver said as Jim approached. “That’s me—did Bla—Father Jenkins send you?”
“So, I take it you know where I’m going?”
The driver quickly opened the door for Jim and loaded his luggage into the cavernous trunk of the town-car. “Sorry, sir,” he said, “I hope you don’t mind, but I’m supposed to pick up another gentleman. You mind waiting?”
“Really? Anyone I know?”
“I’m not sure. You mind if I sit in there? It’s starting to rain a little.”
“Course not,” Jim said.
The driver leaned the sign against the gleaming white town-car, slipped into the driver seat, and looked down at his note pad.
“You know a … Dr. Victor Perez?”
“Victor—sure, he’s the in vitro guy. That’s interesting. Is he meeting with Father Jenkins, too?”
“I guess. Going to the same place as you, anyway. What’s an in vitro guy?”
“Oh he’s a—probably the biggest head in the field of in vitro fertilization right now. I wonder what—“
“I heard you won the Nobel Prize,” the driver said, interrupting Jim. “I’m guessing that don’t make you no slouch.”