Wu. How many different species have you made so far?” “I’m not exactly sure,” Wu said. “I believe the number at the moment is fifteen. Fifteen species. Do you know, Ed?” “Yes, it’s fifteen,” Ed Regis said, nodding. “You don’t know for sure?” Malcolm said, affecting astonishment. Wu smiled. “I stopped counting,” he said, “after the first dozen. And you have to realize that sometimes we think we have an animal correctly made—from the standpoint of the DNA, which is our basic work—and the animal grows for six months and then something untoward happens. And we realize there is some error. A releaser gene isn’t operating. A hormone not being released. Or some other problem in the developmental sequence. So we have to go back to the drawing board with that animal, so to speak.” He smiled. “At one time, I thought I had more than twenty species. But now, only fifteen.” “And is one of the fifteen species a—” Malcolm turned to Grant. “What was the name?”
