Chapter 13: Jonathon

After lunch with Casey, Jonathon returned to the lab, his steps measured but weighed down by tension. He had been trying to keep his emotions in check, but the reality of the situation was settling in. Introducing Casey to the lab had been a mistake—far more dangerous than she could comprehend. Her questions had only heightened his unease. For years, he had shielded her from this world, but now, despite his best efforts, he feared it was slipping beyond his control. He didn’t care about his own safety, but her involvement was a different matter entirely. She was putting herself at risk, and he felt powerless to stop it.

When Jonathon had first joined Moira and Percy in the lab, he had idolised Percy—admired him, even. In hindsight, he saw how his ambition to work for the Calaberras had clouded his judgment, and his desire to be near Moira had stifled any questions he might have had about the ethics of their work in Martha’s Lab.

Now, Jonathon realised too late how naive and foolish he had been. He and Moira had always focused on the research—on the science—while Percy had handled everything else: politics, distribution, and ethical decisions. They had trusted him completely. They didn’t know who used Gnia-itra, or how it was being used. It sounded foolish now how they had worked for so long in that lab, blindly trusting Percy without ever questioning his motives. But they had been too immersed in the research, and Percy had managed everything else.

After Percy’s death, it had taken Jonathon and Moira over two years to recover from the shock. But that didn’t stop the orders from coming down—from Harold, from the President: Never allow the integrity of the Gnia-itra formula or its production to be compromised. So, Jonathon had stepped into Percy’s role, with Harold overseeing him, while Moira continued the research on her own. The lab’s ethos, however, remained unchanged: constant improvement, always seeking new technologies and methodologies to push the boundaries of aging and anti-aging therapies.

Normally, a lab of this nature would require a diverse team—organic chemists, pharmacologists, biologists, formulators. However, because of the high security surrounding their work, the lab had only three active members, with Harold occasionally stepping in.

Barron and Chloe's deaths had been devastating, both personally and professionally. Jonathon had spent years mentoring them, building their knowledge and skills to ensure the lab’s success. Only recently had he begun to trust them enough to raise concerns about the ethical ramifications of their work.

The guilt was starting to gnaw at him. Had the dangers of raising concerns been the cause of their deaths? He tried to rationalise it: They were family members of the Trumps and Murdochs, surely they wouldn't kill their own. But it didn’t help. It didn’t make him feel any better. All he could focus on now was Casey—and how to protect her.

Reversing aging had always seemed like an impossible goal. While Gnia-itra had successfully slowed the aging process, true reversal remained elusive. Percy had made some early breakthroughs with Vietnam veterans, halting the damage caused by chemical exposure, but it had been inconsistent. Reversing aging itself seemed a distant, incomplete ambition.

Then Chloe had discovered something extraordinary: a compound that, when combined with higher levels of lysoid, had the potential to reverse aging. Gnia-itra had been a staple in the Calaberras' lives for over a century, effectively preventing aging, but no one had ever truly reversed it—until now. Chloe’s discovery, which involved boosting lysoid levels and adding a compound called Tripnet, had shown remarkable results in the lab’s test subjects—bodies on life support, carefully allocated to their research.

But there was a catch. The lysoid needed for the new drug, Gnia-itra Spectra, would have to be diverted from the chemical pouches used to filter the seawater membranes. The implications of this decision tightened in Jonathon’s chest as he considered the fallout—diverting resources that were essential to the community’s freshwater supply.

If only Harold hadn’t been in the lab when Chloe first presented her findings. Jonathon could have kept it quiet and preserved the integrity of the water supply. But Harold insisted on moving forward immediately, pushing for the new drug’s development without regard for the potential consequences.

Harold had been relentless. “You’re going to create the new drug,” he had ordered. “Gnia-itra Spectra, based on Chloe’s research. We need it, and we need it now.”

Jonathon had hesitated, the weight of the decision sinking in. “Harold, I’m monitoring how much lysoid can be produced. We can’t produce enough for both the chemical pouches and the new drug.”

“That’s not your concern,” Harold had dismissed him with a wave. “I’ll deal with it.”

Once Chloe’s research gained traction, the pressure to put it into production became overwhelming. By the time Barron and Chloe had passed away, Gnia-itra Spectra was already in production—being dispensed to those nominated by the President.

Jonathon had tried to block out the growing sense of inevitability that had descended over the lab in the months after their deaths. But now, with Casey asking questions, that same sense of helplessness returned. The line between scientific progress and ethical responsibility was becoming dangerously blurred, and Jonathon wasn’t sure where it would lead.

Not long after returning from lunch with Casey, Jonathon was startled when the President walked through the lab door. Percy had always had a long-standing relationship with the Presidents, but Jonathon didn’t. He hadn’t expected this.

“Jonathon,” the President said, nodding in his direction.

Jonathon responded with the first thing that came to his mind. “I’m very sorry about Barron.”

The President had been surveying the room, but at the mention of Barron’s name, he turned and looked directly at Jonathon. “Thank you. It’s a great loss. A great loss to you as well, I’m sure.”

“Yes, a devastating loss,” Jonathon replied, his voice heavy with sadness.

“That’s what I’m here to discuss,” the President said. “I know you need resources. I have a few ideas. My Taskforce is already researching alternatives to lysoid, and I’m aware that Casey is also looking into this.”

The mention of Casey immediately set Jonathon on edge. He quickly interjected, “Oh, you don’t need to worry about Casey. She’s already working on an alternative, so there is no need to involve her in this.”

The President didn’t seem to hear him. “Oh, I want Casey involved. I want her to work with my team. So, what I’m going to do is allocate two people from my Taskforce to your lab, and another to work with Casey. That way, she can have time to consult with the Taskforce.”

Jonathon felt his pulse quicken. “I really don’t think she needs to join the Taskforce. I would leave her where she is, just leave her out of this.”

The President’s expression hardened. “This is how it will be. I don’t want to discuss it further.” And without giving Jonathon a chance to respond, he turned and left the room.