‘Who runs the ethics office? The hospital?’ I ask.
‘Are you kidding? The hospital hates the ethics office, but they’d never admit it. You’ve never heard of the FSEB?’
I try to scan my pathetic excuse of a memory. It seems like I should know it. Like it is almost within my reach.
‘It’s not another bad word, if that’s what you’re thinking,’ Ethan says.
‘It’s the Federal Science Ethics Board,’ Allys says. ‘They run the office. They’re the yea and nay of all research and a lot of medical procedures, too. If you don’t file all the forms and report every procedure, they shut you down. Whole hospitals. They’ve actually done it. Not often, but enough times that it’s put the fear into every medical and research facility in the country.’
‘Why do they do it?’
‘They’re the watchdog. There has to be some central control. Look at human cloning at the turn of the century. Even though it was illegal, some lab facilities were still doing it because the checks and balances were so weak. And then there’s Bio Gel. That alone is probably responsible for Congress even establishing the FSEB.’
Allys is still talking, but it is a garbled echo. Bio Gel. Father’s work. I can hear Lily saying it again, He made a big splash. ‘Bio Gel?’
‘It changed everything. It made almost anything possible.’
‘What do you mean?’ I ask.
Allys raises her eyebrows. ‘You do have big blanks, don’t you? Well, Blue Goo—as the hospital calls it—is, well, blue.’
‘Brilliant,’ Ethan interjects.
‘And,’ Allys says, raising her voice, ‘it’s artificially oxygenated and loaded with neurochips. They’re smaller than the human cell and communicate with each other pretty much the same way neurons do, except faster. And they learn. Once you’ve loaded them with some basic information, they pass on information to other neurochips and begin to specialize. And of course, the truly spectacular thing is they can communicate with human cells in the same way. You pack a human or lab liver in Bio Gel, and the neurochips do the rest—deliver oxygen, nutrients, communicate with the central database, until it can be transplanted into someone who needs it.’
‘Isn’t that a good thing?’
‘Sometimes. But just because we can doesn’t mean we should. That’s what the FSEB considers.’
‘How so?’ I ask, trying to sound only mildly interested.
‘Well, one way is point values,’ she says. ‘Everyone gets a lifetime maximum of one hundred points. My limbs, for instance. The implanted digital technology to work with the prosthetics is very low point value. Sixteen points for all of them. But a heart—that’s worth thirty-five alone. Throw in lungs and kidneys and you’re at ninety-five points.’
‘That sounds simplistic,’ I say.
‘Maybe. But fair, too. It doesn’t matter how rich or important you are. Everyone’s in the same boat. And medical resources and costs are kept under control.’
‘What about brains?’ Ethan asks. ‘What are they worth?’
‘Brains are pretty much illegal. Only biodigital enhancement up to forty-nine percent is allowed to restore some lost function and that’s it.’
‘That’s an odd number,’ I say. ‘Why only forty-nine percent?’
‘You have to draw the line somewhere, don’t you? Medical costs are a terrible economic drain on society, not to mention all the ethics involved. And by restricting how much can be replaced or enhanced, the FSEB knows you are more human than lab creation. We don’t want a lot of half-human lab pets crawling all around the world, do we? I think that’s the main point of it all.’
‘And the FSEB is always right?’ Ethan asks.
Allys sits up straighter, and her words come fast and clipped. ‘They’re trying to preserve our humanity, Ethan. How can anyone argue with that? They’re protecting us, and I for one think that is quite admirable. Plus, I happen to know there are a lot of very intelligent and qualified people in that agency.’
Ethan pulls into the parking lot at the charter. ‘All I know is that a lot of “intelligent and qualified people” screwed up my life two years ago.’ He throws the gear into park. ‘So much for intelligence, huh?’ It seems our conversation has taken a sudden turn that I wasn’t expecting. Ethan’s voice is rigid, like the day I called us all freaks at the market. He leaves to go into the charter, not waiting for us.
Allys lets out a huff of air. ‘He can really go off sometimes.’ She rolls her eyes and reaches for her braces. I watch him walk away, wondering if his life changed just about the same time mine did. And if, like me, he is still getting over it, though I don’t know what the it is, and I’m afraid to ask. But I’m sure it’s why he’s at the charter now.
I wait outside for Ethan to take me home. I have already co
nferenced with Rae, and now Ethan’s conference is going over.
‘Hello.’