He wrote down a formula. Behind him, James Marcus was typing on a typewriter. They hadn't moved from their respective seats since five in the morning. Elizabeth accused him of overworking, to which he defended himself by claiming that Marcus was responsible for the more burdensome part and he for the more intellectual part, which was putting together the theoretical framework of the Clay virus.
From the first samples, he and Alexander uncovered the chink of an unknown potential retrovirus. Alexander realised that there was an anomalous element embedded in the genetic make-up of the flowers. A highly mutated RNA strand that they successfully isolated and reconstructed. Alexander proposed naming the retrovirus Clay for this quality.
He began collaborating with Marcus to develop a complete and functional version of the Clay virus in his private laboratory in Newcastle-upon-Tyne. With Marcus' arrival, Alexander retired. He advised his son to focus on his PhD so that, once qualified, he could come back to lend a hand. Alexander hesitated, but finally relented and flew to the United States to complete his education. With Alexander's departure, he asked Elizabeth to lend her expertise in molecular biology and botany to figure out how to slow down the degradation of flowers. After several failures, they came up with a viable method of preservation by relatively reproducing the Stairway of the Sun's home ecosystem in a greenhouse. Together with Spencer, he increased the funding for the project.
Passion, fun, ambition, sleepless nights. He went back to his early years at university as a junior researcher. Nostalgia allowed him to forget his exponential risk of cancer like his father and the probable signs of incipient arthritis.
He envied Marcus and Spencer's youth.
From time to time, he entertained himself by anticipating what would happen when he died. If all went well, who would take over whatever it was they were discovering. Alexander was good, but he lacked emotional maturity and initiative. It was he, his father, who suggested that he pursue a doctorate abroad to broaden his life experience, soften his surly character and focus. If for some reason his current company expanded, Alexander would be forced to go far beyond his solitary, isolationist tendencies. At times he could be incredibly disciplined and determined, as in boxing; but most of the time he would simply settle. A cousin of his said that Alexander was like an office worker, who would sit down to do what he had to do and then just walk away at the end of the day; and that worried him. It worried him because he was an only child, and it worried him because he realised that he had spoiled him too much. Arthur was very good to him, a genuine father, but he never helped him fight his own battles. Instead, Elizabeth forced him to acknowledge that he interceded for Alexander when there was no need. The new magazines they were bringing out about modern concepts he didn't understand talked about waves of disrespectful youngsters who fornicated and drank alcohol shamelessly, or youngsters who rebelled against their parents and dressed strangely. He didn't place Alexander in either block; he was more of a nerd[1]. An obedient, individualistic, quiet son who loved his parents above all else. Intellectually sophisticated as was proper for the Ashfords, and peculiar in his outlook and lifestyle like all the Stuarts[2].
What would become of him when he was gone.
"Edward?" Marcus caught his eye.
"Yes?" he answered softly.
"I've got something. Look." Marcus stood up and walked towards him holding a freshly typed sheet of paper.
He showed him a numerical sequence.
"We've almost got it" Marcus celebrated. "Just a little more time." He handed him the sheet.
Edward sighed.
Chapter End Notes
[1] In its 1950s and 1960s sense: a dull, conventional person.
[2] Shortened style of Campbell-Douglas-Stuart, the noble house of which the lineage Ashford-Campbell-Douglas-Stuart or simply Ashford is a part.