InfluX

This was it. Derren had found the perfect remedy. Infusion Vector 341.

No, he thought, this isn't attempt 341, this is success number 1. It needs its own name, like Booster or Velocity or InfluX. Yes, InfluX, that sounds right. It felt modern. He could see influencers holding the bright green packaging to their filtered face at the start of one of those absurd unpacking videos. Get the right donor and, with InfluX, you won't need a filter.

You see, InfluX on its own did absolutely nothing. Maybe you could use it as an expensive saline solution. With advances in DNA analysis, however, it now took just a few human cells to isolate the DNA responsible for virtually any trait – from male pattern baldness, to skin tone, to immunity to genetic disorders. You could then infuse InfluX with the DNA, inject it directly into a vein and, by the next morning, every cell in your body should have the new DNA.

Derren held one of the syringes, filled with green liquid. He admired it. He enjoyed seeing his white lab turn emerald through its lens. Then he spotted his wife. "I've done it," he said. "I always said I would."

Aisling's red hair looked black through the InfluX, her green eyes like jade stones.

"I only wish I'd been faster.” He placed the needle beside her on the desk. Held the small chrome photo frame and drew her closer. "I won't let anyone suffer like you again."

---

The next year was a slide show of elevator pitches, board rooms, conferences, presentations and consistent, short, kind but patronising rejections. Those imaginative enough to see the value in InfluX liked to imagine how many ways they could be litigated for it going wrong. It always seemed odd to Derren that people scared of progress became scientists. They all want to build the spaceship but are too scared to be on the first flight. Derren decided he had to be the captain.

The International Genetics Conference 2040 was going to be his last chance. His growing reputation prevented InfluX from being taken as serious research, but the interest in its implications earned him a spot in the Ethical Genetics session. Derren was glad to see the session would be hosted by an old colleague, Dr Kerry Walsh. She'd always been kind to him, especially after Aisling.

The conference was running late and it was day four of five. The audience broadcasted lethargy.

"Many of you have heard about InfluX. It exploits recent advances in DNA analysis and biochemical quantum state stabilisation to..." A man two rows from the back was woken by the sound of his own pen hitting the floor. "OK, no one wants to know how it works." A woman on the front row tilted her head and smiled like she was watching a child in a school play.

"We don't know it does work!" yelled a young, Derren guessed student. Normally Dr Walsh would step in here, but the ethics session has slightly different rules, and Derren thought she might agree with the student.

"Very well," said Derren, placing his hand on his chest, feeling the syringe through the fabric, "I'll show you.”

He pulled his sleeve up to reveal a cannula. Waves of disapproving muttering – the kind only seen in academic circles - flowed from various corners of the room.

"Dr Shore,” said Dr Walsh with the tone of a deputy head teacher, "this is not the kind of-"

Derren pulled out the syringe.

"-Derren!" Now Derren could hear his old colleague.

The muttering evolved sporadically into gasps around the room as Derren injected the green fluid.

"This dose of InfluX," he called out over the rising storm, "is simply infused with the gene for red hair, so-”

"You're mad!" came a cry from the back.

"You can't play with genetics like this!" came another near the front.

“So tomorrow- " Dennen continued until a pressure on his arm interrupted him. It was Dr Walsh.

“Off the stage." she said, "Now."

"The greatest scientists in history-" Derren tried.

"Experimented on themselves and died young.” interrupted Dr Walsh, with a note of sympathy. “Remember Marie Curie? She didn't understand radiation and now her grave has to be lined with lead."

"She also won two Nobel prizes."

---

Derren woke at 4am. He rushed into the hotel bathroom, flicked on the shaving light and stared at his thick, scruffy, red hair. "I said it would work," he told the new man in the mirror. The man grinned back.

He arrived for the last day of the International Genetics Conference before anyone else. Admiring the new hue of his hair in the window, he saw Professor Strate appear behind him.

“I said it, sir." Derren turned to greet the man. "I said it was safe."

"I'm sorry, Dr Shore." Derren would have seen that he looked genuinely sorry, if not for the curtain of red descending on him. "I've been talking to the other committee members. You can't attend today.”

"But-"

"Derren. It was a unanimous decision.”

Years of work flashed in front of Derren's eyes. Months of trying to sell InfluX to someone - anyone! Years of making it work. 340 failed attempts and then... Aisling. He remembered her in the Oncology wing. He'd missed her beautiful, flowing, red hair. She died while he was testing Infusion Vector 72. Breast cancer. Hereditary.

"You're killing her," said Derren to the floor.

"Excuse me?" Asked Professor Strate, unlocking the venue.

"You're killing her." This time resolutely and definitely to the professor.

"Who are you-” Derren grabbed his jacket. Rain began to mark the professor's lapel.

"Every time someone dies from a genetic disease," Derren was yelling now, “you're killing her! This could prevent cancer, bloodborne disease, autoimmune diseases- this could save lives!”

Derren let go with a scream. The professor stumbled and fell. His head met a bollard with a light crack. Derren was on his knees, sobbing, when he noticed the gutter water beginning to flow red.

"Professor?” he looked up, stepping over the professor's legs.

“Professor Strate?" He shook the man's shoulder.

I killed him, he thought. He laughed - he didn't know why. Panicking, he looked up and down the street. "It's early,” a voice said, "and raining." He looked left and right, but couldn't attach the voice to anyone. "The street is empty. No one saw. But... Look at all that blood being washed away. All that... DNA. Perhaps you didn't kill the old man."

Dennen dragged the body around the building and left it behind a large bin. "Use bin bags to hide him," the voice commanded.

This won't work, he thought.

"The river's not far. You can take him there tonight. By tomorrow, he'll be alive again anyway."

Derren smashed the used InfluX syringe, filled it with blood, took the professor's phone and left. By the time he was home, the professor had messaged the other committee members to say he had a migraine and had gone home – there is a little truth in any good lie. By lunchtime, Derren was using InfluX for a second time. After sunset, he found the professor, right where he'd left him. By midnight, he'd found his way, slowly and carefully, to the river. The rain gave him good cover.

He could already feel his skin crawling, his bones creaking. Looking around he saw an old brewery being renovated. He took an empty barrel from beside the building and half-filled it with sand and bricks from the renovation. He rolled it over to the bank. Having to make space for the professor, cram him in and refill the barrel with sand took him to the small hours of the morning.

After replacing the lid, he collapsed onto the barrel. His insides were shifting and his clothes felt tight. The professor was slightly larger than Derren. He ran his hand through his hair, pulling out a clump of thin grey hair. He rolled the barrel into the river, watched it sink and passed out on the bank.

A man woke, wet and shivering, on the bank at sunrise. His muddy clothes straining at the seams, he struggled to pull off his undersized suede shoes. He stumbled to his feet, groaning as burning needles replaced the numbness in his feet. Making his way to a nearby window, he swayed and wobbled like a baby who hadn't before used their legs.

Expecting to see a younger, thinner man, with red hair, he looked in the window. Professor Strate looked back.