Available:*
Item Barcode | Collection | Call Number | Status | Item Holds |
---|---|---|---|---|
33607002865536 | Adult Fiction | BOVA | Searching... Unknown | Searching... Unavailable |
Bound With These Titles
On Order
Summary
Summary
Six-time Hugo Award-winner Ben Bova presents Transhuman.
Luke Abramson, a brilliant cellular biologist has one joy in life, his ten-year-old granddaughter, Angela. When he learns that Angela has an inoperable brain tumor and is given less than six months to live, Abramson wants to try an experimental new therapy that he believes will kill Angela's tumor.
Her parents object and the hospital bureaucracy blocks the experimental procedure because it has not been approved by the FDA. Knowing that Angela will die before he can get approval, Abramson abducts Angela from the hospital. He plans to take her to a private research laboratory in Oregon.
Luke has turned his old SUV into a makeshift medical facility, treating Angela as best he can while they are on the road, desperately trying to keep his granddaughter alive long enough to give her the treatment he believes will save her life.
Abramson realizes that he's too old and decrepit to flee across the country with his sick granddaughter, so he injects himself with a genetic factor that has successfully reversed aging in animal tests.
As the chase weaves across the country from one research facility to another, Luke begins to grow physically younger, stronger. He looks and feels the way he did thirty or forty years ago.
But will he be able to save Angela?
Author Notes
Ben Bova, Ben Bova was born in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. He began writing fiction in the late 1940's and continued to pursue his careers in journalism, aerospace, education and publishing. Bova received a bachelor's degree in journalism from Temple University, 1954, a master of arts degree in communications from the State University of New York, 1987, and a doctorate in education from California Coast University, 1996.
Dr. Bova worked as a newspaper reporter for several years and then joined Project Vanguard, the first American satellite program, as a technical editor. He was manager of marketing for Avco Everett Research Laboratory and worked with scientists in the fields of high-power lasers, artificial hearts and advanced electrical power generators. Dr. Bova has taught science fiction at Harvard University and at the Hayden Planetarium in New York City, where he also directed film courses. He has written scripts for teaching films with the Physical Sciences Study Committee in association with Nobel Laureates from many universities.
Dr. Bova has served on the advisory board of Post College and the Editorial Boards of the World Future Society. He is President Emeritus of the National Space Society and a Fellow of the British Interplanetary Society. He is also a charter member of the Planetary Society and a member of the American Association for the Advancement of Science, the Nature Conservancy, the New York Academy of Sciences and the National Space Club. He is a former President and a charter member of Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America. He was honored by Temple University as a Distinguished Alumnus in 1981 and in 1982 was made an Alumni Fellow.
In 1994, his short story "Inspiration" was nominated for the Nebula Award. "The Beauty of Light" was voted one of the best science books of the year in 1988 by the American Librarians' Association and they hailed "Moonrise" as best science fiction novel in 1996. Other titles include "Moonwar," "Mars," and "Brothers," which all combine romance and adventure with the scientific aspect of exploring the future of technology and its effect on individuals and society. "Immortality" and "Assured Survival" deal with technology being used to solve economic, social and political problems. "Immortality" goes further in examining biomedical breakthroughs that could extend a person's life by hundreds of years while being able to always remain physically young.
His works include The Aftermath, Mars Life, and Leviathans of Jupiter.
Ben Bova was a prolific science fiction author. He wrote over a hundred books and short stories. He also was an editor who worked on some of science fiction's best-known publications. He died on November 29, 2020 at the age of 88.
(Bowker Author Biography)
Reviews (2)
Publisher's Weekly Review
Iconoclastic cellular biologist Luke Abramson is determined to save his dying eight-year-old granddaughter, Angela, with his cutting-edge treatment for cancer. Inconveniently, his process is not yet approved for use on humans, and he's stymied by the objections of Angela's parents. When Luke and Angela vanish, FBI special agent Jerry Hightower is assigned to recover them. While Luke's allies are manipulating him to gain control of his revolutionary treatments and the profit they promise, his enemies will go to great lengths to keep the life-extension genie in its bottle. Luke has more immediate concerns: the side effects of the treatments that he has inflicted on himself and his helpless granddaughter are progressive and potentially lethal. Characters struggle to escape cliche (Angela's mother "screeched" and "bleated" upon discovering the kidnapping, and Native American Hightower is "unsmiling" and taciturn), and the Fugitive-style plot is all too familiar. This oddly archaic novel never manages to engage. (Apr.) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved.
Library Journal Review
Cellular biologist Luke Abramson has been making important strides toward extending life spans and eradicating disease. The work is still in the early animal-testing phases. But when his beloved granddaughter, Angela, is diagnosed with terminal brain cancer, Luke begs for a chance to try to cure her. Refused on every front, he kidnaps Angela and convinces her doctor to help him get the girl to a private clinic where he can initiate the treatment. VERDICT Having the six-time Hugo Award-winning Bova's name on the cover ensures attention from sf fans for this biothriller. Most of the plot is the fast-paced action of Luke on the run, and while it does boil over into conspiracy-theory territory at times, Bova (Titan; New Earth) can be counted on to get the science right. The wish-fulfillment aspect for the octogenarian author seems a trifle obvious as the -78-year-old Luke is a babe magnet both before and after he uses his own -antiaging cure.-- (c) Copyright 2014. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Excerpts
Excerpts
University Hospital, Boston IT OUGHT TO be raining, thought Luke Abramson. It ought to be gray and miserable, with a lousy cold rain pelting down. Instead, the hospital room was bright, with mid-December sunshine slanting through the windows. In the bed lay eight-year-old Angela, Luke's granddaughter, frail and wasting, her eyes closed, her thinned blond hair spread across the pillow. Angela's parents, Luke's only daughter and his son-in-law, stood on the other side of the bed, together with Angela's attending physician. Luke stood alone. He'd been playing tennis in the university's indoor court when the phone call from the hospital came. Or, rather, doggedly going through the motions of playing tennis. Nearly seventy-five, even doubles was getting beyond him. Although the younger men tried to take it easy on him, more than once Luke had gloomily suggested they start playing triples. And then came the phone call. Angie was terminal. He had rushed to the hospital, bundling his bulky parka over his tennis shorts and T-shirt. "Then there's nothing...?" Luke's daughter, Lenore, couldn't finish the sentence. Her voice choked in sobs. Norrie, Luke called to her silently, don't cry. I'll help you. I can cure Angie, I know I can. But he couldn't speak the words aloud. He watched Lenore sobbing quietly, her heart breaking. And Luke remembered all the other times when his daughter had come to him in tears, her deep brown eyes brimming, her dear little form racked with sobs. I'll fix it, Norrie, he had always told her. I'll make it all better for you. Even when his wife died after all those painful years of battling cancer, Lenore came to her father for comfort, for protection against the terrible wrongs that life had thrown at them. Now Lenore stood with her husband, who wrapped an arm protectively around her slim, trembling shoulders. Del towered over little Lenore, a tall, athletic figure standing firmly beside his diminutive, grief-stricken wife. He's being strong for her, Luke knew. But he could see the agony, the bitterness in his clenched jaw and bleak eyes. The physician, Dr. Tamara Minteer, replied in a barely audible whisper, "We can make her as comfortable as possible. I'll contact Hospice and--" "It's all right." Angela's tiny voice cut the doctor short. She had opened her eyes and was trying to smile. "It doesn't hurt. Not at all." Lenore and Del leaned down over their daughter's prostrate body, both of them in tears. Dr. Minteer looked as if she wanted to cry, too, but she held herself stiffly erect and looked straight at Luke, standing on the other side of the bed. I can cure her, Luke told her. He didn't have to say it aloud. He knew Minteer understood what was in his mind. She knew it. And she rejected the idea. * * * GLIOBLASTOMA MULTIFORME IS a particularly pernicious form of brain cancer. Stubbornly resistant to radiation and chemotherapy, it usually kills its victims in a matter of months. It rarely strikes children, but eight-year-old Angela Villanueva was one of those rare cases. Luke Abramson was a cellular biologist at the end of his career. Approaching seventy-five, he had been under pressure for some years from the university's management to accept retirement gracefully and go away. Professor Abramson was well liked by his students and practically adored by his small laboratory staff, but his associates on the university's faculty found him cantankerous, stubborn, frequently scornful of his colleagues, and totally unwilling to go in any direction but his own. His retirement would be a blessing, they thought. Cancer had been the curse of Luke's family. Both his parents had been cut down by cancers, his father's of the lungs and his mother's of the ovaries. His wife, good-natured and health conscious, had succumbed to bladder cancer despite a lifetime of carefully watching her diet and faithfully exercising to keep her weight down. It was if some invisible supernatural monster haunted his family, Luke thought. An implacable enemy that took his loved ones from him, year after year. Luke had anxiously watched over his only daughter, and was thankful to a deity he really didn't believe in when Lenore grew up cancer-free. But deep in his consciousness he knew that this was no victory. Cancer was out there, waiting to strike. It devastated him when it struck, not his daughter, but her child, Angela. Glioblastoma multiforme. Inoperable brain cancer. Little Angie would be dead in six months or less. Unless Luke could prevent it. * * * LEAVING ANGELA WITH her grieving parents, Luke followed Dr. Minteer as she strode determinedly down the busy hospital corridor. The hallway bustled with people hurrying to and fro; it seemed to Luke more crowded than Grand Central Station. He was puffing. First tennis and now a freaking foot race, he thought. We must look comical: a lean, bent old man with bad knees and what was left of his hair shaved down to a whitish fuzz, chasing after a slim, dark-haired oncologist. God, look at her go. Sleek and lithe as a prowling cheetah. "Hey, Doc, slow up," he gasped. Tamara Minteer stopped altogether and turned to face him. Slightly taller than Luke, she wasn't exactly beautiful, he thought: Her nose was a trifle too sharp, her lips on the thin side. But she was elegant. That was the word for her: elegant. She moved like a cat, supple and graceful. Almond-shaped green eyes set above high cheekbones. Glossy raven-black shoulder-length hair. At the moment, though, her lean, taut face was set grimly, her brilliant emerald eyes snapping. "I know what you're going to say, Professor, and--" "Luke," he wheezed. "My name is Luke." "It's no good, Professor," Minteer continued, her voice low, throaty. "You can't wave a magic wand and cure your granddaughter." Don't lose your freaking temper, Luke commanded himself. You need her. Don't turn her off. He sucked in a breath. "It's not a magic wand and you know it. It's manipulating the telomeres, and I've got solid experimental evidence for its efficacy." "In lab mice." Minteer resumed walking along the corridor, but at a slower pace. "And chimps," Luke said, hurrying to keep up with her. That stopped her. Minteer looked surprised. "I hadn't heard about chimpanzee experiments." "One chimp. NIH won't let us have any more, something about the mother-loving animal rights activists. As if we were hurting them." "You got positive results in a chimpanzee?" Luke waggled a hand. "Sort of. We haven't published yet." Minteer shook her head and started along the corridor once again. "I can't let you use your granddaughter as a guinea pig." "She's going to die, for God's sake!" Luke barked. Several people in the corridor turned to stare at him. Minteer kept walking, her soft-soled shoes squeaking on the tiled floor. She reached her office door and yanked it open, Luke two steps behind her. He followed her into the office and closed the door tightly, then leaned against it, puffing. "You ought to be in the Olympics, Doc," he said, breathless. "And you should be retired," Minteer snapped as she headed for her desk, her body as rigid as a steel bar. It was a small office, windowless, efficiently lit by glareless light panels in the ceiling. Everything in its place, except for a bilious green spider plant that had overflowed its pot and spread halfway across the bookcase in one corner of the room. "Let me try to save her," Luke pleaded. "She's my only grandchild, for God's sake." "It's a totally unproven therapy. How can I let you experiment on an eight-year-old child?" "So you're going to let her die? Is that what you call practicing medicine?" "Don't tell me what I should be doing," Minteer snapped. "Somebody's got to!" Glaring at him, she said, "You know I can't approve it." "Yes you could." "I don't have the authority." "But you could recommend it." "How can I recommend a therapy I don't believe in?" "What freaking difference does it make? Angie's going to die unless you let me help her!" "You can't help her. We've tried targeted bacterial vectors and immunotherapy. Nothing's worked. She's going to die, whatever you do." "And you'll be killing her mother, too. This'll kill Lenore." That hit home. He could see it in her face. "I'm no good at begging," Luke said, hating the whine in his voice. "But please. For God's sake, please!" Her rigid stance softened a little. She looked away from him, then slowly sank into her swivel chair. Luke remained standing in front of the desk. "Recommend it to the executive committee," he urged again. "Please. It's Angie's only chance." Minteer locked her eyes on Luke's. For an eternally long moment she said nothing, just stared at him. At last she nodded slowly and said, "I can't recommend your therapy, Professor. It's just a lab experiment." Before he could protest, she added, "But I can ask the committee to hear you out." "Thanks! Thanks a lot," said Luke. Then he abruptly turned and left Dr. Minteer's office. He desperately needed to find the nearest men's room. Copyright © 2014 by Ben Bova Excerpted from Transhuman by Ben Bova All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.