Scuzzworms (12 page)

“I quit the bogs.  I told my division chief that I’d be
looking at river deltas instead and get just as much information.  The bogs aren’t worth the trouble.  Where did you say you worked?”

The close-up of his face showed pores on his nose that made the scuzzhog seem less ghastly.

“Biology,” she answered.  He could damn well look up which section.

“Sure, honey, you can see my visuals, any of my visuals you like.  Log access 3737 B.  Permission granted, and I’d be happy to discuss your biology with you anytime you like, too.  Over dinner, perhaps?”

Over my dead body, she thought.  “Um, no, thank you.  I wouldn’t want to trouble you.  Thank you for the access permit.  I’ll call you if I need any more help.”

“Sure, sure, any time, honey.  Always happy to help.  You know where to call.”  He seemed to be picking up her unfriendly air, she noted with relief.  She cut the connection hurriedly and input the access number, feeding the visuals into her own workstation’s memory banks.  She wanted to coup the data before he changed his mind.  Weren’t worth the trouble, huh?  Eagerly she played the tape.

The geological station was slowly rolling, half burrowing its way down a small slope.  Below, a mud bog could be seen, nestled under the wall of a cliff.  The station made smooth progress until it reached a thick stand of tall fern-like trees.  The bog was hidden from view just on the other side of the vegetation, and the station laboriously circled around on its way to the bog.   All was quiet until the bog finally swung into view.  A few seconds revealed a pastoral scene of grazing, multiply shaped and appendaged beasts, almost bewildering in their array.  A loud screech shattered the calm, and hundreds, maybe thousands of variegated faces turned to stare at the station.

The screens whited out.  All of the screens. Multiple sensors revealed a massive attack on the station.  The human operators must have been stunned, because for long seconds the station continued its roll towards the bog.  Finally, the station stopped in its tracks, and then, after more long seconds, began its backwards roll away from the bog.

The attack continued despite the retreat.  Beaks, teeth, paws, and hoofs along with in-between things flailed against the vidcams, the panels of the station.  Blood could be seen spurting from the hurtling bodies, and huge invading worms crawled up and around, clogging the machinery, sliming the lens of the vidcams.

Imelda sat stunned.  What in
Hollywood heaven was this?  Geology had kept this to themselves?  Her anger matched her horror as the scene continued to unfold.  Apparently she had expressed herself out loud as well, because Camille came to stand behind her, although not for long.  With a gagging noise she dashed out, presumably to an area with a basin.

Post and Kellogg looked at each other, and also came to watch. Their reactions were no less intense than Camille’s, although they didn’t gallop away.

“Where did you get that?” Post managed to choke out.

“Geology.  On file,” she blurted.

They looked at her uncertainly, watching the carnage on the screen only out of the corners of their eyes.  Imelda sat transfixed as the assault waned with the continued retreat of the station.  The vidcams cleaned their lenses to reveal broken bodies scattered about behind the station, now roiling as writhing worms consumed the carcasses.

“On file?” Post gasped.  “Since when?”

Imelda glanced at the date on the screen.  “Two weeks, by the looks of it.  I guess Straiss didn’t figure it important enough to tell us about.”

“Straiss?  Who’s Straiss?” asked Post.

“A man who will shortly be in need of a new job,” she growled.  So this was the real reason that Geology had abandoned their investigation of the bogs.  

Kellogg returned his station.  His complexion was decidedly green.

“Oh smog, go throw up, Kellogg.  You’ll feel better,” said Imelda.

Apparently a little encouragement was all he needed, for he dashed out the door, presumably to join Camille.

“The idiots!  Why the devil didn’t they warn us! What did they do to get attacked like that?”

“Nothing, from what I can tell.  Look at that!  The worms are cleaning things up like nothing ever happened.  Even the station!  Look at it!”

Post wasn’t too eager to be impressed.  He turned his eyes back to the scene warily.  “Solomon’s...  The worms are scavengers, then.  Efficient ones, at that.  They don’t leave a scrap, do they, not even one drop of blood.”  The ground was seething as worm probosci writhed and probed, eagerly consuming even the bones of the fallen animals.

Post was now intrigued by the view, although somewhat reluctantly, suspecting that he would be revisiting the scene in his nightmares for some time to come.  Camille and Kellogg reappeared sheepishly, somewhat embarrassed by their stomach’s rebellion against their scientific curiosity.   

“No fossil records, then,” said Imelda.  “Not if the little slimers eat the bones.”

Post continued to stare mutely for a while.  “That depends,” he said, “on when the worms evolved.  Volcanic records would still be preserved, since the worms would have been singed too.  But you’re right.  If this planet has not suffered too many geologic upheavals, we’re not going to be able to study its past very easily.”

Imelda frowned.  “The geology is stable.  If you read my report, you would know that is the reason I proposed for why the ecology hadn’t evolved intelligent life, since there has been no need for a diversified form.”

Camille, still pale, cursed softly.  “Blast it.  We can’t separate anything here into definite species as it is.  If we can’t find a fossil record to help, we may as well forget it.  All we will ever have is a list of whatsits.”

Later, after an irate call to Geology, Imelda composed a memorandum for general circulation.  No more unrestricted mobile ground units.  The bogs were not to be disturbed in any fashion.  They were off limits now, until means were devised to approach them without upsetting the inhabitants.

“Doctor Imelda!  It is impossible to understand you!  First of all you neglect your work, lying to your psychiatrist, and now you declare your own study subject off limits!  If you were anyone else, I would fire you outright!”

Imelda frowned.  Trefarbe couldn’t fire her.  Jinks or Caldwell could.  Even if all of the remaining department chiefs met in Caldwell’s absence they could only suspend her.  Until Jinks or Caldwell came back, her job was safe.

Fish broke in.  “Doctor Imelda, this is the sort of erratic behavior that has gotten you into trouble in the past.  If you would like time off, all you have to do is ask.  But to resort to a memorandum of this nature, it’s ludicrous.  If your motive is to keep other researchers away from your subject, then you are being very selfish.  Biotech is interested only in proper documentation of existing species here.  If you fear your own inadequacies in completing the study, then come to me.  But, don’t resort to shenanigans such as this.”

Imelda stared at Fish uncomprehendingly.  What had Trefarbe told him?  The man had a screw loose, obviously.   

“Doctor Hiebass and I had a long discussion.  We are going to grant you a leave of absence to the CHA outpost until you straighten yourself out.  The flight is two days each way, and you can stay there as long as you need.  I will assign someone else your project in your absence.  I told the department to proceed with groundbase as planned and ignore your memo.”

Imelda controlled her rage only barely.  “I do not need a leave of absence, you... “  She swallowed hard.  “I went back and examined every video made of a bog area in detail. Thus far, no one in biology has attempted to approach one closely, because they were considered my special property.  Even the marine videos have all been of free-swimming specimens.  The sand pits on ocean floors were considered analogous to bogs and assigned to me, so the marine biologists have steered clear of them.

“I was forced to turn to Geology for assistance, and they turned me down flat without telling me why!  Getting these videos was like pulling a lion’s teeth!  If we proceed with groundbase as planned, knowing the information Straiss gave us, CHA will put us in jail!  I did NOT declare the bogs off limits lightly!” Imelda drew in a deep breath, trying to calm herself.

“Dr. Imelda, you are not listening.  Your own therapist says that you need some time off.  I am liable for any irresponsible actions on your part if I ignore his recommendation.”

Imelda exploded.  “He’s not a biologist, he’s just a shrink!   He doesn’t have the slightest idea of what we’re talking about!”

Fish’s eyes bulged and his face flushed beet red.  He gasped and spluttered,  “Dr. Imelda, you must learn to control yourself...”

In a less difficult situation, Imelda would have felt rewarded.  “Stuff it, Fish.  Trefarbe’s the one who needs counseling.  Did either one of you happen to review the tape that precipitated my memo?”

Trefarbe was triumphant.  “Of course not.  Everyone knows how manipulative you are.  I have no doubt that the entire tape is a complete fabrication.”

Imelda spun around and pounced on the keyboard on Trefarbe’s desk.  With a clatter of fingers she input the video to Trefarbe’s monitor.  The rather grisly scene of Iagans self
-destructing flashed into view.    Trefarbe glanced at it unruffled.  Fish grabbed his mouth and dashed out.

Trefarbe’s eyes narrowed.  “Dr. Imelda, you can forget it.  You are going on leave tomorrow.  That’s final.”

Imelda stared at her, unbelieving.  She could think of a lot of things to say but none of them were likely to work as well as a good punch to the mouth.  She clenched her fists and turned around and walked out.  A visit to detention wouldn’t solve her problem.

Upon reaching her workstation, she grabbed the com and got busy.  “Jamison?  We’ve got problems.  Yes, Trefarbe’s at it.  Look, we need a department meeting, stat.  Get Kreiss to call it, and call me to speak.  Make it look like it was his idea.  I know, he doesn’t respond to hints.  Just tell him.  Make it your idea, or Grady’s.  Okay then, Grady’s.  Now. Yes, right now.  Trefarbe’s trying to ship me to deep freeze.  Sure, I’ll get the auditorium ready.”

Post, listening, looked up.  “What’s going on?” he asked.

“Trefarbe wants to cancel my memo.  Where are Camille and Kellogg?”

“Cancel your memo?  Is she crazy?  They’re on sleep shift.  Want me to get them?  I stayed to watch my cell cultures a little longer.  They grow funny.”

Imelda paused, despite her rush.  “Grow funny?  How?”

He shrugged.  “Probably means nothing, but single cell inoculums don’t reproduce. It takes a multicell inoculum under special conditions to get any growth.  I have some theories, but it’s too early for them to be much more than guesses as to why.”

Imelda’s mind spun out as she phoned Camille’s and Kellogg’s apartments.  Multicell inoculums?  Earth cells usually exhibited contact inhibition, that is, suppression of division when two cells touched each other.  Maybe Iagan cells had contact stimulation?

Kellogg’s apartment didn’t answer.  Camille was slow to answer her phone, and Imelda could swear she could hear Kellogg’s voice in the background when Camille answered.

“Camille, wake up.  Department meeting, stat.  Kreiss is going to call it; he doesn’t know it yet. Could you tell Kellogg for me?”

“Yeah, sure.  He’s right here.”

So Camille and Kellogg... well, that was their business.  Wait a minute; contact stimulation was a stupid idea.  How would cells know when to stop reproducing?  Maybe that was why there was so much species diversity here. The cells were stupid.

#

Kreiss looked completely lost.  He turned the meeting over to Imelda hastily.  Safely ensconced in her office, watching the group on her monitor, Imelda ran the tape. She lost only a few members of the audience.  Most of them already knew better than to watch.

“I felt that all of you needed to be aware of this tape. Operations, as most of you know, doesn’t feel that my suggested precautions are warranted.  I am open to new suggestions.”

A loud rumble greeted her words.  “We’re not going near any damn bogs, don’t worry,” one said loudly.  It was Grady, head of the Materland group, Imelda noted with satisfaction.  His was support that she needed.  “Operations is crazy. I can think of better ways to collect specimens than having them smash themselves against a machine.  But how are you going to study your scuzzhogs, Dr. Imelda?”

“A small stationary unit, brought in gradually.  Maybe disguised as a rock.  I am struck by the fact that a large number of different species seem to congregate around these bogs. I think it would help all of us if we could find out what this relationship is, that makes these species want to protect the bogs.”

Camille interrupted her.  “Maybe it’s their water source.  Most species will protect their access to vital resources.”

“You may be right, but there are plenty of streams and lakes on Iago that they do not appear protective of.  Whatever the relationship, I am willing to cooperate with the entire department, in that you may all have free access to my files prior to publication.  I suspect that the data I obtain will have impact on numerous other studies.”

“Is that reciprocal?  Are you going to demand access to all of our files as well?”

Imelda paused.  She already had access to all of their files.  “Um, no more than I have at present,” she answered.

More argument followed.  No one was willing to trust her.

“Look, I didn’t ask for this.  If anyone else here would like to take over, please be my guest.  If you disagree with my request, then tell me now.  Forget that it’s me up here.  Remember that CHA will review your decision later.  Just tell me what you recommend.”  Imelda’s patience was at an end.  No one disagreed with her request, apparently.  They just disagreed with her requesting it.

Post stood up.  “As far as I’m concerned, a stationary unit makes sense.  I’ll volunteer to help get it there, if no one else will.  I need the data too.”

Imelda stared at his image hesitantly.   Piggyback with Post?  Could she handle it?  Did she have another choice?  He appeared very unhappy to be volunteering.  He was not exactly her most avid supporter.  Maybe he figured that he could spy better for Fish if he did this.  Come to think of it, that was a motive she could deal with.  “Thanks.  Since your group is studying the region where the original scuzzhog was sighted, the idea makes sense.  Most of the other scuzzhogs have appeared extremely shy.  I’d like to be close to one that does stick its head up once in a while.”

“If that was its head and not its butt,” someone muttered loudly.

With that, the conference was over.  Imelda rang Kreiss as soon as he reached his workstation.  “Dr. Kreiss, I am scheduled for a vacation starting tomorrow,” she said hesitantly.  “Would you mind very much canceling it for me?”  Imelda knew that she was lying through her teeth.  But if she told Kreiss that Trefarbe had ordered the ‘vacation’, then he would never cancel it.

“Uh, oh, sure.  You have too much work to do to leave now.  What do I need to do?”

“Just input an order canceling it on the HR spreadsheet.  That will do nicely.”

“Fine, fine.  Good work, er, Dr. Imelda.  Thank you for bringing this problem to our attention.  CHA would have fined us who knows how much if we had instigated another attack at one of those bogs of yours, especially with this tape on file.”

“Sure, no problem,” Imelda answered lightly.  No problem in another universe, maybe.  Killing the connection, she closed her eyes.  Maybe life at the University hadn’t been so bad after all.  What did she have here?  A project at major risk of CHA violations with Trefarbe, Kreiss, and Fish ever ready to help her in whatever way they could find that was most unhelpful.  Then there was Post, the completely unbalancing factor.  Where was Caldwell?  This was HIS job.  Maybe she should let herself attack somebody so that the computer would throw her into protective isolation.  Too bad she actually cared about the project.