Goldengirl

‘When you saw the child you realised that here was a possibility of extending your Vienna research,’ Dryden went on. ‘If you were right, Goldine was destined to be taller than her mother and her grandmother. What an opportunity for you! There she was, an orphaned child. You could adopt her, take her into your home and monitor her growth, measuring her week by week, recording everything until she reached maturity. You would have a unique record of her development from the age of three. You would publish the results as a case history supporting your Vienna thesis. Correct?’

‘Completely,’ said Goldine without turning to look at Dryden. ‘I was a guinea pig.’

‘That’s untrue!’ Serafin angrily protested. ‘After the adoption we genuinely tried to make your life as normal as any child’s.’

‘Then, why didn’t you send me to school like other kids?’ Goldine simply asked.

The question hung in the air unanswered.

Dryden pressed on. ‘The tests you gave Goldine increasingly revealed that she was unusually strong for her age — “physically precocious,” I think you said yourself. And that was how the Olympic idea took root. What a boost it would give your research paper if Goldine won a gold medal! It wouldn’t be the proof of your theories, because you don’t convince scientists with isolated cases, but it would bring much-needed publicity to your ideas. By this time, editors were rejecting the papers you wrote. You had nothing new to say, so they weren’t interested. I can see it must have depressed you profoundly.’

‘Who told you these things?’ demanded Serafin.

‘Does it matter?’ said Dryden. ‘What obsessed you wasn’t whether you were right: you were convinced you were. You had a compulsion to prove you were right, put the theory beyond dispute. But how? You had gone as far as you could in your thesis, and that was gathering dust. To answer your critics required something out of science fiction: a subject of average stature from the twenty-first century.’

Goldine swung around to face Dryden. There was surprise in her expression. And fear. She was afraid of what he would say next. She looked pathetically vulnerable in the white bathrobe, fingering her neck, eyes opened very wide, brow fretted with anxiety.

He was moved.

He would have liked to take her aside, tell her gently, but she wouldn’t have believed him. This had to be said in Serafin’s presence.

He glanced briefly back, trying to give her courage. Then he returned to Serafin. ‘In the early sixties, there was an important development. You heard about HGH and the experiments to promote human growth. Using hormones extracted in autopsies, doctors treated children suffering from pituitary deficiencies, with spectacular results. The treatment was taken up at a number of centers. A unit was opened at your own Institute in Bakersfield. You suddenly saw that this could have an application to your research. With HGH, you could create what you had thought was a science-fiction fantasy. You were measuring Goldine’s growth from week to week. You knew how tall she was likely to be as an adult. But with HGH it was possible to augment that. You could increase her height to the level you believed it would take three generations of evolution to attain. And you could prove beyond dispute that her frame could adjust to that level of increase.’

Goldine stared white-faced at Serafin. ‘Those were the injections you gave me? All those were hormone injections?’

Melody said in a low voice, ‘Christ, I don’t believe this!’

Serafin pushed aside the chair and went toward Goldine, putting out a hand to touch her shoulder. ‘My dear, put this way it sounds indefensible, but, believe me, I didn’t go into this lightly. I learned everything I could about the treatment in the growth unit. I made the most intensive study of HGH and its effects.’

‘That’s how I got to be as tall as I am?’ said Goldine, horror written on her features. ‘You planned for me to be six foot two?’

Serafin nodded. ‘I planned for you to be tall, yes, as tall as women will be a century from now.’

A phrase came back to Dryden. Something Goldine had said on La Jolla Beach when she had told him about the cosmetic surgery she had undergone. All I had was my six foot two. Even that was denied her now.

‘To prove your theory, huh? Like someone had to have the first smallpox vaccination, the first heart transplant? What do I get — a one-line credit in a medical encyclopedia?’ Goldine continued speaking in a rush, coming to terms with what she had learned. ‘So you made me exercise, gave me physiotherapy as a kid to make me a perfect physical specimen — some kind of superwoman?’

‘But you are!’ said Serafin passionately. ‘You are Goldengirl. I’ll tell you what you get. Glory, fame, more money than you can spend!’

‘Who gets all that?’ she demanded. ‘The kid you took out of Tamarisk Lodge? Is that who I am? Docs the glory go to Dean Hofmann, or a bunch of hormones taken from corpses?’