Authors: Kyle Kirkland
"
It has its own synthesizer," said Pradeep, head bobbing.
Roderick said,
"In order for an enzyme to catalyze a reaction, it must be able to get a grip on the reactants. One of the components of protobiont grabs hold of any glutamic acid that happens to be floating nearby—and glutamic acid is an extremely common molecule in the cell, since it is one of the amino acids used to make proteins. But in the process, an unusual thing occurs—part of the enzyme comes off."
"
Then it's no longer an enzyme," said Kraig. "Enzymes are unchanged by the reaction they catalyze."
"
By definition, you're quite right. This is one of the unfortunate things for cells infected with protobiont. GABA-synthesis slows down and eventually stops because the enzymes are subsumed in protobiont's replication process. The enzymes become parts of protobiont molecules faster than the cell can replace them."
Kraig still looked puzzled.
"But that doesn't explain the replication. There's another part of the molecule, the dynein component."
"
That we don't understand," said Roderick.
"
Actually, several things remain mysterious," said Pradeep. "A single protobiont molecule catalyzes the combination of two of its components—the neurotransmitter and enzyme—but how the pair then binds to the dynein component, and whether this happens before or after the daughter protobiont molecule detaches from its parent, is unclear. I suspect that there is some sort of synergy between these structures. The sum is greater than its parts, and it performs unexpected functions as well."
Kraig frowned.
"Emergent evolution."
"
And unfortunately," said Pradeep, "evolution is just what this molecule needed—and just what we at Vision Cell provided. Protobiont's birth, you must admit, is unlikely—almost impossible. But even the most remote event can occur given enough opportunity, which is exactly what I, as an organic combinatorial chemist, contributed."
"
There's no need to keep beating yourself up, Pradeep," said Kraig. "Nobody's blaming you. None of this could have been foreseen or predicted."
Pradeep didn
't appear consoled. "Nevertheless, I am this creature's author. I am responsible."
Roderick rested a hand on Pradeep
's back. "You're responsible for helping us fight the disease. That is something you chose to do, by your own will, so that
is
something you can be held responsible for—and for which we duly thank you. The birth of protobiont was an accident, and it was without precedent, so as Kraig said, the event could not have been predicted. There is no negligence here and no intent to harm, therefore no culpability. If a charge of criminal responsibility were to be made, you might as well condemn all of science."
A look passed between Kraig and Pradeep.
"Come now, gentlemen," said Roderick, observing the exchange. "One disaster need not turn us into Luddites."
"
There'll be time for that discussion later," said Kraig. "Do we know how this molecule spreads yet? Are the people surrounding the containment zone in any trouble?"
"
Unlikely," replied Roderick. "As a molecule, protobiont can indeed travel far, but it's a relatively heavy molecule, and its range is somewhat restricted—unless it gets into the upper atmosphere and carried by strong winds. Its release from infected people is fortunately limited. Most of it stays in the brain, although some of the molecules get into the bloodstream and travel widely throughout the body. A small amount escapes into the air from the evaporation of sweat, and an even smaller amount escapes from the lungs and mouth during exhalation, sneezing, and coughing."
"
But even a small amount is dangerous," said Pradeep. "Protobiont is potent."
Roderick gave him a glance.
"Ever the pessimist."
"
We have to check," said Kraig. "I don't want even the slightest possibility that this little bastard breaks out of the zone. What are we talking about here, a quarter-mile? Half?"
"
No more than five hundred meters," said Roderick.
"
Great. I'll make it a thousand." Kraig ignored Roderick's frown. "So how does this thing kill the brain cells in the respiratory center?"
"
It doesn't," answered Pradeep.
"
The neurotransmitter synthesizing enzyme is depleted," said Roderick. "Recall that I mentioned earlier it is destroyed faster than the cell can make it. Eventually all of the infected cells that use GABA as a signaling molecule run out of the neurotransmitter. Some of the most important of these cells are in the brainstem respiratory center. When they stop communicating, the breathing rhythm ceases."
"
And then it's all over," said Kraig, nodding. "That's the best news I've heard so far today."
Pradeep raised his eyebrows.
"I beg your pardon?"
"
He's referring to the fact that it doesn't kill the cells," observed Roderick.
"
No lasting damage occurs," said Kraig. "What you're telling me is that protobiont runs neurons out of neurotransmitter so they stop talking to each other. That means when we find a cure, the patients won't suffer any long-term effects of the disease."
Roderick and Pradeep looked at each other.
"By the way," continued Kraig, "when will that be? A cure."
Roderick said,
"We're of course devoting all our resources at this very moment—"
"
It shouldn't be difficult," said Kraig. "Breaking apart an organic molecule is pretty simple. And I'll bet one of the reasons protobiont doesn't spread far is that bacteria eat it. Right?"
Pradeep nodded. "Probably so."
"
Ridding an infected person of protobiont will not be that simple," said Roderick. "There are issues here: side effects, delivery—the brain isn't an easy target, especially because of the blood-brain barrier—and potency. It's easy to destroy an organic molecule but may I remind you that the rest of the body is composed of similar materials. There could be unacceptable levels of collateral damage."
"
It's better than asphyxiation," said Kraig.
"
Certainly," said Roderick sharply. "But you'd prefer the patient to survive the treatment. Correct?"
Kraig said,
"Nobody's going to survive in the zone if we don't find a cure soon."
"
A few days," said Roderick. "And I assure you that—"
"
We don't have a few days." Kraig glared at both scientists. "I want something in a few
hours
."
Washington, D.C. / 12:00 p.m.
The president of the United States stepped into the room and everyone respectfully rose to their feet. The president was a small but determined man, veteran of numerous political battles and the winner of a close election that had, as usual, divided rather than unified the nation.
He stepped up to the microphone. Standing in a carefully allotted row behind him, men and women wore military uniforms or s
uits and ties and—no matter the attire—also wore dignified expressions. One of the most dignified belonged to a prominent white mustache and the face it shielded—Chet Vernolt, director of the Micro-Investigation Unit. His place in the row was near the center, a spot of some importance; the white mustache would be on display as the cameras broadcasted the president's distinguished image to a nervous public.
"
Be seated, please," said the president. "I want to address the American people at this time of anxiety, and assure them that their government is doing everything in its power to alleviate the suffering of the victims and to control this epidemic, which has devastated some neighborhoods of one of our oldest and most cherished cities."
The white mustache twitched. The president probably couldn
't even locate Medburg on a map, even if he were reminded it was in Pennsylvania. The president hailed from the Midwest and didn't care for the East Coast in the slightest.
"
Our fine scientists, working in collaboration with scientists all over the country, and the rest of the world, have identified the, uh, causative agent of this disease and epidemic. It is a novel agent, one that hasn't ever been seen before...."
Chet didn
't allow himself to roll his eyes, knowing that his face was visible from many of the camera angles. The president stumbled through more of protobiont's biology, surprisingly getting at least a portion of it essentially correct. This, after only an hour of repetitious training by a cadre of presidential aides.
"
I want to assure the American people that they are safe from this disease. The quick action taken by our law enforcement agencies, the Pennsylvania National Guard, the United States military, and, particularly, the disease control agencies of the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention and the Micro-Investigation Unit, has guaranteed the safety of our citizens. The microorganism that causes the disease has been contained to a small area and will not be permitted to escape under any circumstances. I want to assure the American people that this microorganism is an accidental development, limited to one small laboratory. There is no need to panic and to...assume that the development of this agent will appear elsewhere. This will not be the case."
The president paused, looked up from his notes and addressed the cameras. Here he was at his most presidential.
"All of us have felt the sheer tragedy of the events of this month, this...horrible month of April. All our sympathies and prayers go out to the victims and their families." The president glanced at his notes once more. "Five thousand Americans have died in this terrible, tragic epidemic. More than fifteen thousand Americans remain in the containment zone, but we have exceptional people at a number of agencies working just as hard as they can to find the antidote. Their task is not an easy one. This novel agent, which has never been seen before in, as far as we can determine, recorded history, is difficult and complex. Whole new sciences and medicines must be generated. This takes time. But ladies and gentlemen, we will find a treatment...."
The president made a few closing remarks and ignored questions cried out from journalists in the audience. Instead the president introduced Chet.
The director of the Micro-Investigation Unit stepped up to the microphone. "Thank you, Mr. President...."
Chet felt confident. He concisely delivered his carefully prepared statement, essentially saying the same thing as the president in slightly different words. Chet did a splendid job, being squarely in his element amidst the cameras and lights and intensely competitive journalists.
He looked confident throughout his speech as well as while he answered rapid-fire questions from the journalists. And Chet was indeed supremely confident; overall, he felt good. It had been a harrowing experience, and for a while there he hadn't been sure he would make it. But now he had smoothed things over with the administration, and they were pleased with the job he had done.
I am a survivor
.
Medburg, Pennsylvania / 12:50 p.m.
Gordon Norschalk took the speaker out of his ear. He went out of the bedroom he'd been searching and stepped into the living room. Cecily was partly submerged in a closet full of boxes, books, and wrapping materials.
"
They've written us off," said Gordon. "Find anything?"
Cecily
's auburn hair and wan face peered out from between two cardboard boxes. "Who's written us off?"
"
The president. And your boss. I heard them talking on WKH."
"
My boss?"
"
Chet Vernolt."
"
Oh. Him." Cecily's head disappeared.
"
They prepared the public for the eventual loss of everybody in the zone. They made sure everyone realized it could have been worse. At least
we
are safe. Meaning
them
, of course. Not us."
Cecily
's voice came from underneath the rubble. "What did you expect? Sackcloth and ashes?"
"
If you listen closely to what they're saying, it seems to me that what they want most of all is for us to hurry up and die off."
"
That would solve the problem, wouldn't it?"
Gordon stared. He couldn
't see Cecily's face and he detected no trace of sarcasm in her tone. "Sure. If it doesn't trouble you that thousands of innocent people die."
"
We have a few people in our corner, fighting for us."
"
A few? Wonderful. I'm sure everyone in the zone will appreciate that."
"
They may be only a few, but they're the most important. They're the ones who can work this thing out. And speaking of work, Gordon, how about looking around some more."