Scuzzworms (11 page)

If it were meant for her to have a difficult time getting data, she could accept that philosophically.  She was going to do her job, though.  She closed her station down to head for her office, considering what her first move should be.  She sighed.  There was still plenty of
Caldwell’s work for her to do for now.

#

Imelda sat quietly, staring at the report in front of her.  Something was missing.  She wondered how Caldwell was doing with Jinks.  Jinks was a typical administrative type.  Didn’t want to hear about the research, just wanted to know the bottom line, how much it was going to cost.  When to expect payback.  Caldwell was probably sweating it if the company really was trying to pull out, especially after all the trouble he’d gone to make sure her study would take a long time.    

She sighed, tired, her attention wavering.  What the devil was missing?  Did she care?  Let’s see.  The report was a description of the anatomy of one of the little flying goose
-things.  What did Camille call them?  Euchors?  It looked simple enough. Ventilation via large single lung, appropriate size for the high elevation the creatures lived at.  Alveoli similar to earth types. Skeletal system bony, hollow like most avian species.  Circulatory system somewhat primitive, a three chambered heart, surprising considering the centuries of evolution required for flight.   Integument covered with a heavy fluff down.  Digestive system highly evolved, including a separate liver-like gland, multiple glands secreting enzymatic digestive juices, and differentiated pouches for various digestive functions.  It could even ferment alcohol in one of the lower pouches, its own internal booze factory.  No wonder the things were reckless fliers.  They were half lit all the time.  Kind of reminded her of herself.

Muscles?  Syncytial, mostly.  Resembled human cardiac muscle.  Hadn’t really differentiated any other specialized muscle tissue.

The genetics were pending.  The genetics were always pending.  Infernal slowest genetics department she had ever dealt with.  Kept saying inadequate specimens.  Bozos didn’t know how to plate a Petry dish.

The cellular biology department insisted that
the creatures were DNA based, even had nuclei holding the DNA.  No microsomal DNA, though.  The few inclusion bodies in the cells stained for RNA only.  The genetics department was apparently having trouble getting the chromosomes to align during mitosis so that they could count them.  Didn’t even know if the cells were diploid, with two of each chromosome, or haploid, with one of each.  Just kept saying their results were inconsistent.    How could you follow reproduction and determine if it were sexual without chromosomes?  She rubbed her eyes.  Well, a look at the reproductive system would help. She scrolled through the report again.

God, she was tired.  She was going to tell
Caldwell when he came back that she was quitting.  No more doing his work for him.  Now what was it she was looking for?  She sat staring blankly again.  Then it hit her.

No reproductive system!  Exhaustion slid away like a shower of mercury droplets.  She sat up and scrolled hurriedly through the report again.

Screaming *&%!  Her curiosity did flips in double time.  How did the critter reproduce?  Too flipping big to bifurcate.  Unless... she accessed the videos of the beasts in action.  Nope, no double-headed monsters.  No double-butted monsters.  No baby monsters.  No buds of baby monsters.  No pouches of baby monsters.  No baby monster nests and eggs.  So how?  Was Camille a complete idiot?  How come no mention of this little tidbit? 

Imelda frowned.  Most of the younger researchers were fairly worthless.  They spent hours playing video games and less than ten minutes scanning the output of their workstation.  They relied on the computers for their reports and didn’t expect to need their own intellect.  Most of them were delighted with groundbase primarily because it gave them a chance to chase weird beasties and try to catch them.  She expected better from Camille.  Post would have jumped all over this, but he was probably keeping quiet.  Most invertebrates used primitive means to reproduce.  Camille was probably extremely upset that there were no advanced avian reproductive structures that would allow her to publish a major paper, and she frankly didn’t care how they actually reproduced.  Okay, so forget about Camille.  How did the thing reproduce?

Well, maybe it only grew reproductive organs during breeding season.  Yes, that must be it.  So when was breeding season?  There were no seasons.  The axis of the demented planet wasn’t tilted.  No moon either, so no lunar cycles.

She frowned.  Okay, so there was one big planet cycling way the blazes away out in a solar orbit.  It came close to Iago IV once every ten years.  That would be one heck of a long reproductive cycle.   

All right, it must be an age- related thing.  Maybe the things metamorphosed into a reproductive form after they reached a certain size.  She sighed.  This was not her study. She wasn’t even supposed to be looking at the data, officially.  Just doing Caldwell a favor, that was all.  Keeping the research program in line while he was busy.

She made a note to Camille to look into the reproductive cycle a little more and went on to the next report, from Everglade.  Another weird beastie.  Lovely grazing animal, four main legs with extra pincers.  Trapped the roving grass with the pincers, holding the stuff still while it ate.  A pretty coral color with hints of blue bands down the sides. Very nice.

She ran down the file and paused.  Chitinous exoskeleton with bony underpinnings to add support, chitin lining the mouthparts and on the pincers, fur in non-chitinous areas, and no reproductive system.  Had two ventilatory sources, lungs plus air sacs on the lower abdomen.  But no reproductive system.  Okay.  More mind-killed geekoid button-punchers who pretended to be scientists.  Hellloooo.

“Not my study,” she muttered to herself, and left a note to the research group whose study it was.

She stood up, worried.  She had been working too long. She needed a drink and some sleep.  If she got one, maybe she could get some of the other.  She walked back to her apartment, troubled.  No reproductive system?  Big animals didn’t usually metamorphose to any great extent.  Too energy consuming.   She needed to run biochemical parameters on the beasties, to see if they could store enough energy to do any major rearrangement of their anatomy.  Doubtful, considering their size and their source of energy.  Anyway, it wasn’t her study.

She had a nightmare that sleepshift about elephants that reproduced via sporulation, and how the research station became contaminated with the spores, which quickly exploded into a herd of elephants stampeding through the biochemical labs.

When she woke up, she realized how stupid the idea was.  Elephant spores would need a lot better energy source than subdued lighting and twenty percent oxygen to erupt into elephants.  Anyway, it wasn’t her study.

#

“No!  You biologists have plenty of your own groundbase units!  None of our geologists are working on the bogs!  They refuse to deal with any hideous Iagans or their worms! Approaching the bogs is your problem, not ours!  Absolutely not!”

Imelda wondered who had told the chief of Geology about the scuzzhogs.  She walked back to her office slowly, thinking.  Who over there would have known, anyway? 

Wait a minute; didn’t Post have a girlfriend in Geology?  What was her name, Zelda?  Zelda, that was it!  She must have warned them off!  Post was in on it!  She headed towards her workstation and Post.

Post had just managed to snare a small mammaloid in the specimen bin of the groundbase unit. Imelda stood watching as he scanned its internal structure and took a few tissue biopsies before releasing it.

He sighed.  “No mammals here,” he muttered.  “No mammary glands, no uterus.”

“No kidding,” she thought to herself.

“In fact, no nothing,” he growled irritably.  “They must be drone forms.”  He glanced up.

“Want something?” he asked guardedly.

“Yes.  Did you tell Zelda that I wanted to piggyback with Geology?”

He frowned.  “I might have mentioned it.  Why?”

“I’m blackballed out.  What did you tell her?”

“Nothing.  What could she have to do with...?”

“They won’t look at the bogs.  All they are doing now is core samples, mainly marine and ice.  I received a flat ‘no’ from their Division Chief when I asked to piggyback.”

“Zelda only does spectrometry work.  She has nothing to do with the actual explorations.”

“Then why would they refuse to look at the bogs unless someone told them not to?  I know of no reason for...”

Post was getting angry.  “I don’t know why either, but I know for sure that Zelda had nothing to do with it.  She has no reason to care about what you are doing.”

“But, why would they have...?”

“Look, I doubt if Zelda knows either.  She certainly hasn’t said anything about it to me.  But she does know most of the field geologists.  Some of those guys would slip her platinum nuggets if they thought it would get their samples done first.  Why don’t you just ask her?”

Imelda frowned.  Ask Post’s girlfriend a favor?  She could do worse, she supposed.  She could have to ask Straiss...

#

Zelda was a total crab.  The lines of her face were set into a permanent scowl.  Imelda quickly abandoned any thoughts of light, cheery conversation.  Bluntness looked like the best bet.

She walked over to the one spare chair in Zelda’s lab and sat down.  What in blazes did Post see in her, anyway?  Her hair was shiny black and her features not too unattractive, if plain.   Her expression was the complete opposite of Post’s open friendliness.  The man must be a masochist.

Zelda glanced at her with marginal curiosity and continued to feed samples into her machine. The machine hummed quietly, glowing numbers changing inscrutably on its front.  Zelda finally leaned back.    

“Well, that’s the last of that batch.  I’m done for a while.  What do you want?” she growled.

Imelda began cautiously.  “I need a favor.  I came by to see if you need any.”

Zelda smiled sarcastically.  “You get right to the point, don’t you?”  She stretched, her arms, reaching widely.  “I can get any favor I want already, so just tell me what you need.”

“I need visuals of the mud bogs and none of the other biologists are working in sufficient proximity.  My understanding is that the geologists aren’t looking at the bogs either.  You haven’t heard anyone say anything about them, have you?”

Zelda shrugged.  “Nope, sorry.”  She turned back to her machine.

“Do you know of any of geologist who might be willing to help me, who isn’t a total imperf?”

Zelda laughed scratchily.  “Sorry, but they’re all imperfs. The whole department.  But, now that you mention it, I do know one who was going to do the mud bogs.  He changed his mind, for some reason.  Let me see, his name was...”  She consulted a logbook.  “Straiss.  Yes, that was it.  He did some visuals, I heard.  You might ask him.”

Imelda sat up abruptly.  “You’re sure?  Straiss?”

“Yes.  You know him?”

Imelda slumped back, her heart down in her shoes.  “He’s an idiot.  He has all the social adaptations of a primordial polyp.  His hands uncontrollably grope.”

“Yep, you know him.  A regular imperf.  But as long as you stay close to a door and keep him at greater than arm’s length, you’re safe.”

Imelda groaned.  “You know, I read his paper from Krengeng out of curiosity, to see if he actually did have a brain.  It was a list of minerals and nothing else!  That planet is one of the most vibrantly alive and changing in the universe.  He’s a lump of adipose, a total slug!  He completely missed the point!  I don’t know about this, Zelda.  I don’t think I can be polite long enough to get anything out of him.”

“You wanted my help, and that’s my help.”  Zelda grinned wickedly.

Imelda winced.  Was her research worth this indignity?  She doubted it.  Maybe she could just talk to him over the intercom.  She would have to.  She refused to be in the same room with him.

#

Imelda steeled herself.  The screen in front of her remained blank for luxurious moments, then annoyingly alit with an image of the back of Straiss’s head.

“Yeah.  What is it?” a hoarse, somewhat nasal voice said.

“Dr. Straiss?”

The head turned.  “Yeah?”

He looked at her blankly for a moment before his face acquired a faint leer.  Imelda squelched a strong desire to click off the receiver.  What obscene little personality quirk had ever made him consider himself a lady killer?   Actually, if nausea were a factor, he was.

“Hello, Dr. Straiss.  I heard a rumor that you were interested in the geology of the mud bogs.  I am interested in their biology.  I was wondering if you had any visuals that I could access.”

Straight to the point, she reminded herself.  Then cut off fast.  His face was definitely getting feral, she noted with disgust.

The pose he struck for the vidcam could be construed as either macho or hemorrhoidal, depending on one’s point of view.  An approximate rendition of manly laughter ensued from the speaker.  “The bogs?  You’re studying the bogs?  Sure, I’ve got visuals of them!”  His face turned red as he convulsed in good humor.

Imelda did not interrupt his apparent insanity with words.  She assumed that he would eventually get to the point.  She waited unamused.  He leaned forward.