Chapter 9
The Postit™ note attached to the front of Max’s locker read: “See J.J. HeywoodInstead of going out to the field for a regular Tuesday practice session, Max changed from his cleated shoes to sneakers and headed back to Heywood’s stadium office. Heywood was seated at his desk partially obscured by a haze of cigar smoke. On a couch opposite him was a man in a dark blue suit whom Max did not recognize. Heywood pointed to a chair in front of the desk. From the look on his face Max knew that whatever news Heywood had for him, it wasn’t good. When Max was seated, Heywood leaned forward and spoke for the first time.
“When did you start taking drugs?”
Max’s mouth gaped. Drugs? He shook his head in disbelief.
Heywood plucked a sheet of paper from his desk and waved it at Max. “Here’s the report of last week’s steroid urine test. It says your result was off the charts. The commissioner has slapped you with a five-game suspension. That’s all we need in the thick of a race to the play-offs.”
Max was still shaking his head. “Mr. Heywood, I don’t know what they’re talking about. I never, ever took any drugs. Ever. Never.”
Heywood shifted his gaze from Max to the man on the couch. “Could they have gotten the test wrong Scottie?” He turned back to Max. “This is George Scott, our lawyer.”
Scott said, “They claim they repeated the test and got the same result.”
“Could it have been a mix-up? You know, a specimen from another player?”
“That’s possible,” said Scott. “I’m going to ask them to get another sample from Max.”
Max said, “I wish someone would tell me what this is all about.”
Scott said, “I don’t have to tell you what steroids are.” He drew a blank look from Max, then added, “Come on. You know, performance-enhancing drugs. They help the body to ‘build’ muscles, make them bulkier. The guys that use steroids become more aggressive. They seem to be able to practice more and without fatigue for longer periods.”
“I don’t understand,” said Max. “If these steroids make people stronger and play better, why doesn’t everyone use them? Why should someone who tests positive be suspended?” Quickly he added, “Not that I take the stuff. I’m just curious.”
Scott’s brow wrinkled. He turned to Heywood. “Has this guy been living on another planet?” He pointed a finger at Max. “Don’t you read the papers? Look, the reason steroids are banned is that first of all they give a player who uses them an unfair advantage over non-users.”
“But if everyone used them, wouldn’t that put them on an equal—?”
Scott raised a hand, “Wait, let me finish. These drugs are dangerous because they’re addictive, and they’re dangerous. They not only affect the muscles but also sex organs and nervous system including the brain. These guys go into rages that make them dangerous to other people. Some go into mental depression, they become suicidal. But also there are other side effects: acne, baldness, blood-clotting disorders, liver damage, premature heart attacks and strokes.”
Max nodded. “Wow, I see why they’re banned.” He looked up. “I assure you, even though I didn’t know how bad they were, I never took any of these steroids. I sure would know if anyone gave me an injection of the stuff.”
Heywood said, “It isn’t necessary to take them by injection. They can be taken in pills.”
“I don’t take any pills,” said Max.
“Well, we’re going to ask to have you take another test. But meanwhile, we’ll have to abide by the commissioner’s decision. You can’t play or practice with the team until we have the suspension lifted —if it’s lifted.”
Back in his “safe house,” Max sat deep in thought. Could it be that his athletic superiority over the earthlings was in some way related to his having more of these steroids than they do? He picked up the phone that linked him to Commander Loto. The phone was to be used only in case of emergency, but wasn’t this an emergency?
When Loto came on the line, Max explained that he had been suspended from playing football because of a positive steroid test. “I haven’t taken any of the drugs that would cause the test to be positive. I wondered if we differ from earthlings in naturally having these steroids in our systems.”
Loto said, “What is this steroid?”
“They call it testosterone.”
“I don’t know the answer to your question. I’ll check with base and get back to you.”
“Okay. But I hope it doesn’t take too long. I’m scheduled to have a repeat test in two days—Earth time.”
For the next day and a half, Max fidgeted and paced the floor. He kept staring at the phone, willing it to ring and give him the answer to his burning question. Finally, the call came.
“I’m going to patch you through to Dr. Yaar,” said Loto. “He’s back home at the base, and he’s head of the scientific unit.”
Max recalled having seen pictures of the doctor, a short man with a large, bald head and eyes that seemed to bug out of their sockets. He was one of the most respected men on the planet. Max felt honored to have the chance to speak to him personally. After several minutes, a squeaky voice came through. “This is Yaar. I understand you’re having some kind of a problem. I’ll see if I can help you.”
Max said, “Thank you, Doctor. Here’s my problem.” He went on to explain that his urine test had shown the presence of steroids, a substance that was banned among athletes. “I haven’t knowingly taken any steroids, so I wonder how the test could be positive.”
“What is the chemical name of the steroid?”
“Here it’s called testosterone, a male hormone.”
“Do you know its chemical structure?”
Max had previously gathered all the material he could find on the internet that related to testosterone, so he was prepared for the question. “Yes, I have a picture of its molecular structure.” He held up in front of the video screen. A picture of two pairs of linked polygons with letters, “H,” “O,” and “OH” attached to several points.
After a few moments, he heard a cackling laugh and Dr. Yaar said, “That’s what they call testosterone?”
Max wondered what was so funny. “Yes sir.”
“You know what that is? It’s our Jumpolite. Of course they found it in you. All our males have it.”
Of course! Max had learned about Jumpolite in his hygiene classes in school. “You mean the Anti-Gravity Factor? The reason we can jump so much higher than they can?”
“Sure. The chemical structure of Jumpolite is slightly different, but it would show up in a test as their testosterone. Not only that, but the reason they found so much in your urine is that they probably couldn’t distinguish it from another chemical that occurs in all of us. Can you guess what that is?”
Max thought for a moment. “You mean Powerol, the Strength Factor?
“Right! The chemical structure of Powerol is very much like that of Jumpolite. All of us have that in our bodies as well.”
“And Earthlings don’t have either?”
Dr. Yaar said, “Well, from what I’ve learned, males do have the steroid, testosterone, in their sex glands, but in moderate amounts. When they take drugs containing large amounts of synthetic steroids in order to bulk up their muscles, it would spill over in their urine and show up in tests.”
“But,” said Max, “we don’t suffer from the toxic effects that they seem to experience from taking the steroids.”
“No, our bodies are adapted to them. We actually benefit from these chemicals. They allow us to perform athletic feats such as jumping and activities that call for great strength, such as bending steel bars.”
The explanation satisfied Max. He now knew why he’d flunked the steroid test. “That still doesn’t resolve my problem. I’d like to continue to play football, but I can’t pass the steroid test and I can’t explain to them why my test is positive without revealing that I’m not, you know, one of them.”
“I think we
can take care of that. All we need to do is tweak the structure of Jumpolite and Powerol in your body.”
“You can do that?”
“No. you can do it. All you have to do is eat a food that will slightly alter the structure of your naturally occurring Jumpolite and Powerol.”
“Is there a food I can get here that will do it?”
He heard Dr. Yaar chuckle. “Yes. It’s something that grows abundantly on Earth.”
“But if it changes the structure of Jumpolite and Powerol will it impair my ability to jump or lower my strength?”
“No, all it does is mask the chemicals so they don’t show up on tests, but doesn’t alter their effects.”
Max thought for a few moments. “Um, if this food masks the presence of steroids, why doesn’t everyone who takes them eat it so the steroids won’t be detected.”
“Ah! Good question. You’re concerned that by taking the food you’re cheating. Well, you’re not. Your steroids are naturally occurring. Those are masked. The food doesn’t mask excessive synthetic steroids which are what the others take.
“What’s this magic food called?”
“Spinach.”
For the next two days, Max ate spinach for breakfast, lunch and dinner. He was so full of it he felt he was turning green, the color of the vegetable. At the appointed time, he walked into the laboratory where his test was to be conducted, and accompanied by a male technician, was taken to a small lavatory.
The lab technician said, “I hope you’re not embarrassed by my being here, but we have to make sure you’re not substituting someone else’s urine specimen for your own.”
Max was surprised. “You mean that’s been done?”
The technician nodded. “You’d be amazed at what some of these guys will do to try to cheat and pass the test.”
Max filled the tube he was given and passed it to the technician.
He couldn’t sleep that night worrying whether he’d passed the test. Next morning, he phoned J.J. Heywood’s, office to find out if he’d heard the result.
“I won’t know until sometime this afternoon,” said Heywood.
At two o’clock in the afternoon, he could wait no longer. The team secretary transferred his call to Heywood’s office and the general manager greeted him. “Hi Max. I’ve got good news and bad news.”
Max said nothing, waiting.
“The good news,” Heywood said, “is that you’ve passed the urine test.”
A grin broke out on Max’s face. “I knew you’d find I was not taking steroids. Then I’m back on the team, right?”
Heywood held up a hand. “Not so fast. You’ve passed the urine test, but before the commission give you the okay they want you to submit to a blood test. Make sure there’s nothing abnormal in your blood.”
Max shrugged. “Okay, what do I do?”
“Go back to the lab where they’ll draw some blood.”
As soon as he hung up the phone, Max went back to the lab. He rolled up a sleeve and watched as the technician applied a tourniquet to Max’s arm, and deftly threaded a needle into a vein. A rubber tube attached to the needle connected it to a glass vial that rapidly filled with Max’s blood. The tech withdrew the needle, pressed a cotton ball over the site of needle entry and wrapped a pressure bandage around Max’s arm to prevent any bleeding.
“That’s it?” said Max.
The technician nodded, then held the blood-filled vial up to eye level. “Uh—yeah.” He murmured something Max didn’t understand.
Max said, “Something wrong?”
“No, no. It’s just that…” His voice trailed off.
The way the technician examined the vial of blood gave Max the impression that all was not right. “What is it?”
“Well, to be honest I’ve never seen blood this red before.”
“Isn’t blood supposed to be red?”
“Sure, but—.” He smiled. “Nothing wrong. You’re a real red-blooded man.”
Max left the lab but couldn’t help wondering if the technician was being honest in assuring him that everything was okay.
Later that day, Max called Heywood’s office to find out if he could rejoin the team at least for practice. Here it was Wednesday, and with a game against the second-place Broncos coming up Sunday, he felt that he’d better stay in shape.
“Mr. Heywood isn’t available right now, “the secretary said. “But he left word that he’s still waiting for the test results. Meanwhile you’ll have to remain in suspension.”
For the next two days, Max waited for word that he was reinstated. Each time he phoned the office, he was told that Heywood was busy, or on another phone line or at a meeting. Max was sure Heywood was stalling, but why? He spent his days running around the local high school track, or playing catch with the high school quarterback. The kid was good, but there was a world of difference between catching his passes and catching those of Todd Albright. Max had phoned Albright to find out if he had heard anything about his suspension.
“I have no idea what’s going on, Max, “ Albright said. “None of the other guys on the team have heard anything either. We’re all getting itchy. We need you, man.”
No more than Max needed the team. He tossed in bed all Friday night, unable to sleep, wondering what was causing the delay in getting the test results. Saturday morning his phone rang. It was Heywood telling Max to get down to his office.
“Am I cleared?” Max asked.
He listened, but the only response was a dial tone. Heywood had hung up without answering.
Max hurried down to the stadium and dashed to Heywood’s office. He heard voices behind the frosted glass door; obviously, Heywood was not alone. Max timidly knocked and was told to come in.
Heywood was at his desk and seated in front of him were two men and a woman. One of the men looked to be around thirty-years-old, the other, a white haired man, was probably in his sixties. The woman was slim, had short-cropped brown hair and wore no make-up. Heywood waved Max to an empty chair and pointed to the other people. “Max, I’d like you to meet Drs. Ward, Halpern and Dexter.”
Three doctors? Max felt his knees wobble. Although he didn’t feel sick, something was terribly wrong
“Before you wonder what’s wrong with your health,” said Heywood, “These people are not medical doctors. They’re biologists. Actually, Dr. Dexter is a geneticist.”
The woman, apparently Dr. Dexter, nodded.
Heywood went on. “I know you want to know about your blood test.” He turned to the older man. “Dr. Ward, why don’t you explain.”
Dr. Ward cleared his throat. “Max—is it all right to call you Max?”
Max nodded. The man could call him anything. He just wanted to know was what was going on.
Ward continued. “Your blood has two qualities that are unusual. Not necessarily bad, you understand, but unusual.”
Max didn’t understand. He shook his head.
“First,” said Ward, “is your hemoglobin. Do you know what that is?”
Max recalled what he’d learned in his hygiene class. “Isn’t that the stuff that colors red blood cells?”
“Right. And more importantly, it carries oxygen from the lungs to the rest of the body.”
“And the more oxygen your blood can carry, the more stamina you have, right?”
Ward smiled and glanced at Heywood. “This is one smart lad.”
Max felt a blush rise to his cheeks. “ So is my hemoglobin okay?”
“Not only is it okay,” said Ward. “But it’s about twice the amount we see in a normal adult.”
Max was beginning to see where this conversation was going. He now understood why he seemed to have more stamina than any of his teammates. “So what’s wrong with my having so much hemoglobin?”
The younger man, Dr. Halpern, had been quiet, but now he spoke for the first time. “Nothing wrong with having a lot of hemoglobin. The question is why. We’ve boiled it down to two possibilities: one is that
you’re taking erythropoietin, know what that is?”
Max’s eyebrows drew together. “Is that the stuff cyclist take to increase their red blood cells to help them cycle up hills?”
Dr. Halpern nodded. “Yeah. It’s a no-no for athletes. Are you taking it?”
Max shook his head vigorously. First they accused him of taking steroids, now this other stuff. “Absolutely not! If you want me to, I’ll take any kind of test, including a lie detector.
Heywood held up a hand. “Take it easy kid. I believe you.” He turned to Dr. Halpern. “You said there were two possibilities to explain why Max has so much hemoglobin. What’s the other?”
Halpern said. “There’s a population who have abnormally high hemoglobins, although none as high as Max’s.”
“What population?”
“Sherpas.”
“Who?”
“Sherpas. They live in the Himalaya Mountains where the air is thin in the high altitude, and they need the additional red blood cells to carry the oxygen they need to survive.”
Max said, “Like Mt. Everest?”
“Right. You’re not a Sherpa, are you? You haven’t lived at a high altitude, have you?”
High altitude! Max fought to keep from laughing at the guy. Would he consider 2 million light- years above the earth high altitude? He didn’t think that’s what the guy meant, nor could Max divulge that he was from a distant planet without jeopardizing the entire mission. He simply said, “No.”
Heywood said, “Isn’t there some cure, some medicine he could take? Max is a valuable commodity for our team. We’re in a tight race for the Super Bowl and he’s one of the reasons we’re as high in the standings as we are.”
Halpern shrugged. “Well, we could siphon off some of his blood from time to time. Bring it down to where the rest of us are.”
Max flicked a glance from Halpern to Heywood. “Is he talking about bleeding me?”
Halpern said, “That’s exactly what I said. If it means bringing your red blood count down so that you meet the requirement for playing football would you be willing?”
Max gulped. He could picture himself on a table with a tube leading from his arm to a bottle, blood pouring out of him. “I could donate it to a blood bank, couldn’t I?”
“Sure. Think of the good you could do for someone who needs blood.”
That made sense. “Yeah. Okay, I’ll do it.”
Max started to get up, then remembered that Dr. Ward had said there were two unusual qualities to his blood.
Dr. Ward said, “I’m going to let Dr. Dexter tell you about the second thing that has us puzzled.”
Dr. Dexter adjusted her eyeglasses. “Max, I’m a geneticist. I examine people’s chromosomes and the genes that each chromosome contains. As you probably have read, we’ve come a long way in the past few years. We have identified the genes that cause some diseases, and we’ve even engineered the defective genes to correct them.”
Max was wondering what that had to do with him, and Dexter apparently had anticipated his question. She said, “I’m sure you have heard about DNA.”
“Isn’t that the stuff that’s in the nuclei of all the cells in everyone’s body?”
“Right. Except for red blood cells which have no nuclei. But, yes, the DNA is the molecule that’s responsible for all the characteristics that go to make up an individual, or any living thing for that matter.”
Max grinned. He just learned he had too much hemoglobin. “Don’t tell me I have too much DNA also.”
Dr. Dexter wasn’t amused. She nodded. “That seems to be the problem.”
Max’s jaw fell open.
Dexter went on. “Each DNA molecule is made up of two strands. They’re like ropes twisted around each other. I won’t go into any more detail such as their chemical composition because it’s not germane here. What is interesting is that each of your DNA molecules consist of four strands. In other words, double the amount everyone else has.”
Max shook his head to clear it. “Is that bad? I mean what’s the harm in my having so much DNA?”
Dr. Dexter shrugged. “To tell you the truth, I don’t know.”
Heywood chimed in. “Why should the fact that Max has more than the usual amount of DNA in his cells keep him from playing football?”
Dr. Halpern said, “We’ve discussed this among ourselves, and even asked a number of other experts in the cell biology field. Several of these experts felt that the additional DNA gives him skills that the rest of us don’t have. It could make him run faster, jump higher, make him stronger than anyone else. It gives him an unfair advantage.”
Max listened attentively. It was true he was able to run faster, jump higher, bend steel bars that others couldn’t do. He recalled that Dr. Yaar on the home planet, had attributed his prowess to the anti-gravity factor, Jumpolite and Powerol, the strength factor. Maybe they were formed from his additional DNA. He’d have to get back to Dr. Yaar for the answers.
Dr. Dexter was saying, “Before we turn you loose, Max, we’d like check the blood of your parents and see if it’s an inherited factor. Could you have your Mom and Dad come to our lab so we can draw their bloods?”
His Mom and Dad? How could he tell these people that he came from a planet where Moms and Dads didn’t exist? People were formed in test tubes and grew on culture plates and incubators until they were large enough to survive on their own. Only the hardiest ones were kept. By selective breeding it was possible to develop a race of individuals like Max who had no defects.
Dr. Dexter repeated, “Could you ask your Mom and Dad to come to our lab?”
Max gazed up at the ceiling shaking his head. He could feel tears come to his eyes.
Dexter put her hand on his shoulder. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize...It must be too painful to talk about how you lost them.
Max lowered his head. He kept quiet. Let them think what they wanted.