Sample Sunday: TRANSFECTION – Old-school sci-fi by David Gaughran

This week’s Sample Sunday offering is from my latest e-book – Transfection – an old school sci-fi technothriller about a molecular biologist who makes a startling discovery which threatens his life.

I have printed the first section of the story below. If you like this sample and want to buy the rest, it’s available from AmazonAmazon UK, and Smashwords for $0.99/69p.

It was only released yesterday, but it want straight into the Science Fiction Short Story Charts at #14. (The post announcing the release is here.)

I hope you enjoy it.



Dr. Carl Peters prided himself on being unconventional. He stood out among the eccentric, doddering, forgetful professors of his faculty, who grimaced at the prints of Dalí, Tesla, and George Best that decorated his office, and was happy to. He knew he could not count any of them as friends. Dr. Peters didn’t mind. He knew most of the truly great scientific discoveries were made by outsiders; the only way to shift the paradigm was to reject it in the first place.

His only real friend on the staff was his assistant, Jim Glover, a PhD candidate helping him with his research. His wife regularly joked she was jealous of Jim, who spent more time with her husband than she did, but beneath the teasing Dr. Peters suspected she harbored real resentment.

“Why don’t you move into the private sector?” his wife asked, when he came home from work on time for once and complained that his grants were being cut again. They’d had this conversation, in one form or another, frequently–ever since she had spotted her dream summerhouse on a realtor’s webpage.

“It’s always the same bullshit choice,” he said. “Fire Jim and scale back my work, or take the hit in my own salary. I’m sick of it.”

She barely looked at him. “I hear there’s lots of money in the private sector.”

They had stopped talking with each other years ago. Now they just talked at each other.

Dr. Peters turned up the volume on the TV. A special report showed an interview with a team of medical researchers, who were announcing that animals fed exclusively on genetically modified foods were six times more likely to develop cancers than those given organic feed. Dr. Peters shook his head, absorbed. He didn’t even notice his wife leave the room.

His phone rang; it was Jim. “Are you watching this?”

“I just switched it on. I can’t believe it.”

“They’ll be throwing money at us now to fix it. Anyway, I’ll let you get back to it. I just wanted to check.”

Dr. Peters put down the phone and switched over to the business channel. It predicted plummeting shares in big GM producers, coupled with surging food prices. He switched the TV off and went into his study to think.

Dr. Peters had jumped at the chance to work at the university–not because they paid the most or had the best facilities (they didn’t), but rather to live in a city with a grid-system, allowing endless ways to walk from one point to another without getting bored. Novelty was important to him–new things, new ideas, new ways of looking at old, intractable problems.

He first became interested in genetic modification because it was a radical way of solving an age-old problem: the price and availability of food. Since the Great Economic Collapse a few years back, commodity prices had been rising, helped in part by extreme weather conditions. GM food finally took off. People still had concerns, but when GM food became considerably cheaper their concerns seemed to matter less. This news, however, changed everything. Lost in thought, Dr. Peters did not even hear his wife’s car reverse out of the driveway.

Dr. Peters got more money to solve the GM food problem, as expected, but the following year was still a frustrating one. He had been an advocate for GM food, and still saw an important future for it if these problems could be resolved, but he didn’t have the medical background to build on the cancer research, although he understood enough to guess that tampering with cell structures was having unintended consequences.

Genetic modification was a complex process, but Dr. Peters knew that the root cause of the problem would likely be the foreign DNA that was being inserted into the host. He suspected the answer lay in the transfection process.

While walking to and from the university, always by a different route, he struggled with the problem again and again. As he did so, he noticed the city changing around him. Vegan cafés and bakeries were opening on every corner. The meat trade had been hit hard–steakhouses and burger joints were closing down. More and more people became vegetarian. Each week another company was forced to admit their products were not–as advertised–GM-free. Farmers’ markets were springing up in every park and square across the country. Around the nation, people were fastidiously checking the organic claims of every product. Even so, Dr. Peters didn’t find any of these developments threatening. Change was good, he thought; it created opportunities.

His wife saw things differently, and their marriage suffered. He knew it was his fault. The fanaticism he applied to his work left little room for anything else. He was aware of that, but did nothing about it, so he figured he deserved whatever came his way.

The day after his wife left him, Dr. Peters was in the lab as usual. He was relieved, in a way. He had disappointed his wife for the last time. Although sad, on some level, that it had come to this, his obsession with his research allowed him to ignore his emotions.

“My wife left me. Now I’ll be able to spend more time here,” he told Jim, just like that, as soon as he came to work. Cold. Matter-of-fact.

Jim did not seem surprised. After an awkward silence, Jim attempted to change the subject by showing Dr. Peters a small handheld Geiger counter he bought off the internet.

“Really,” said Dr. Peters, “I’m fine, don’t worry about me. See if you can pull up the chart from yesterday, I’m going to begin the transfection this morning.”

“Do you want the biolistic gun?” asked Jim. “I don’t think we have any cartridges prepared.”

“No. I’m going to do this one manually.” Dr. Peters pulled the Eppendorf tube and the tissue culture flask from the incubator. The first contained the host cell, the second, the desired gene. Under his specialized optical microscope, Dr. Peters injected the gene into the host cell membrane with a glass micropipette.

A squawk surprised him from behind. He dropped the pipette, the glass shattering into tiny fragments on the polished concrete floor.

“What the hell was that?” Jim rushed out of the office, which was separated from the lab by a glass door.

“I don’t know, but it came from behind me somewhere.”

They both peered along the workbench. “The Geiger counter!”

“No way,” said Jim, “I mean–”

“–don’t say anything. Let’s do another. This time I want you right beside me, holding that thing.”

It was confirmed: a short burst of radiation occurred at the moment the transfection process began. It didn’t make any sense. Radiation came from radioactive isotopes and while all living things had trace amounts, the numbers the Geiger counter produced were way off.

“I don’t know.” Jim frowned. “There’s something not right about this. Maybe it’s coming from the lab downstairs. Perhaps some of their machines are leaking radiation.”

“Impossible! They have all sorts of monitoring systems down there. Besides, the Geiger counter only picked it up when we began the transfection.”

Jim shook his head. There was no plausible scientific explanation for what they had witnessed. A burst of radiation could trigger mutations, which could be the cause of increased cancer rates. But what was causing the radiation bursts? Dr. Peters made Jim swear to keep this quiet, then went for a short walk to clear his head, murmuring the same thing over and over: “This is huge.”


Over the next few weeks, as Dr. Peters conducted his secret experiments, three things became clear. First, while all plant cells emitted a short burst of radiation at the moment of genetic modification, he could not replicate this process in animal cells. Second, the pattern of radiation varied from species to species but also altered with each iteration. Third, once the cell had been genetically altered, further DNA injections failed to produce the same reaction.

Dr. Peters began recording radiation bursts and feeding them into computers, then combed the printouts for commonalities. There didn’t seem to be any. The same sample with the same stimuli could produce different levels of radiation on different occasions. There was no logic to it.

When his research grant came up for review, Dr. Peters was forced to share his findings with the faculty. Naturally, there was skepticism, but after Dr. Peters replicated the results his team was expanded to include radiation specialists, nutrition experts, oncologists, and three prestigious molecular biologists. Dr. Peters began to feel marginalized. He lacked the expertise to follow the direction the project was taking. He was relegated to trying to discern patterns in the radiation bursts. He recorded them, spliced them, and looped them. He translated them into pictograms, sound files, and binary code–anything to make sense of what everyone else had already written off as unintelligible nonsense.


One morning, Jim Glover arrived at work to find his boss stone-cold drunk. He must have been there all night. Jim could smell him from the other side of the table, on which pizza crusts were scattered beside an empty quart of scotch. The otherworldly cackling of a Geiger counter filled the room. Even stranger, Dr. Peters was tapping the desk in time with the beat.


He didn’t answer, just stared straight ahead.

Jim went over to the computer and stopped the sound file. When he came back, Dr. Peters was smiling.

“It’s a code.”


“It’s a code. Don’t you see?” Dr. Peters made a series of taps on the desk.

Jim didn’t get it. “Like Morse code?”

“Not quite. I haven’t figured it all out yet, but it’s definitely a code.”

“But what you’re saying is…” Jim paused, trying to understand.

“…crazy, I know, but it’s the only answer. It has to be.”

“I don’t think it’s the only answer.” Jim chose his words carefully. “It could be nothing. It could be random. Could be gibberish.”

Dr. Peters started tapping the desk again. “Don’t you see? They’re trying to communicate with us.”


If you enjoyed reading this sample, you can purchase the rest at from AmazonAmazon UK, and Smashwords for $0.99/69p.

You can also help spread news of this sample with this tweet:

#SampleSunday from @DavidGaughran is an old-school #SciFi #Technothriller called #TRANSFECTION pls RT

If you want to read more of my stuff for free, there is a sample of one of my other stories here.

David Gaughran

Born in Ireland, he now lives in a little fishing village in Portugal, although this hasn’t increased the time he spends outside. He writes fiction under another name, has helped thousands of authors build a readership, and has created marketing campaigns for some of the biggest self-publishers on the planet. Friend to all dogs.

0 Replies to “Sample Sunday: TRANSFECTION – Old-school sci-fi by David Gaughran”

  1. Right, link shared. Sample Sunday is a great idea! I’ve even gone and done one myself – I hope you don’t mind me putting the link in here (well, if you do mind, you can easily delete it and no hard feelings!)
    “That Bear Ate My Pants!” by Tony James Slater: #SampleSunday #ss – RT please!


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