Scuzzworms (14 page)

The two technicians sat nervously on the edges of their seats. They were standard tech issue, painfully shy, addicted to detail, pale from too much time spent in a lab, and nauseated by meetings.  Nettles, Chief of biochemistry, was smiling and calm.  Caldwell sat with Kreiss and Imelda facing them across the conference table.  A lunch had been served but lay ignored on the table.

“No, Dr. Caldwell, there hasn’t been any problem with the sequencer.  At least not that has been reported to me. Right, Dr. Scrill?”

The taller of the two cleared his throat nervously. “Oh, no, we ran multiple controls.  All were correct.  The machine is fine.”

“See.  There’s nothing wrong with the machine.”

Caldwell nodded.  “Then the reports are ready?”

“Oh, I’m sure that they are being prepared now, “ Nettles purred.  “You see, sequencing genes is difficult, very difficult indeed. First of all you must prepare a large enough batch of the same chromosomal segment to feed the sequencer. Unfortunately, when we biopsy specimens, we are limited to extremely small pieces of tissue by CHA, just barely adequate.  If we could use enzymatic systems to replicate the DNA, it would be much faster.  But CHA won’t allow us to.  They feel this skews our results and may allow for the wrong DNA to be analyzed.  It also renders our information on the number of chromosomes per cell worthless.  If we can freeze enough cells in mitosis, we can accurately isolate and count the chromosomes, but that isn’t something you can count on with alien cells. 

“If the specimen isn’t large enough, we depend on Cellular to culture enough cells to run our analysis on, and it sometimes takes time for them to discover an adequate media to allow alien cells to grow.”

Caldwell
interrupted impatiently.  “We are perfectly aware of the difficulty, but most of the captured specimens were large enough to be biopsied from numerous sites.  I hired only experienced exobiologists, and they do not wish to suffer further delays waiting for cells to grow.  I checked.  You were given more than adequate tissue amounts.”

Nettles was unperturbed.  “Even so, for even one complex organism, there can be several hundred extremely long gene segments with hundreds of thousands of base pairs each to sequence, which can tie up the machine for incredible amounts of time.  Biotech could not afford to give us more than one sequencer, and we can only do one segment at a time.  We are trying to analyze an entire planet, you know. It can’t be done in a day.”  She was grinning broadly, chuckling at the ridiculous thought.    
Caldwell did not smile.  His face had turned an odd purplish hue.  “When do you think we might receive the first report, then?”

Nettles looked at
Caldwell in surprise.  “The first report?  We’ve filed lots of reports!  Don’t be ridiculous!  Right, Scrill?”

Scrill hadn’t touched his food.  “Uh, no, I mean....” he trailed off.

Nettles turned to stare at Scrill.  “No?  What do you mean, no?  The sequencer has been running overtime!  You’ve logged preliminary reports for at least 250 specimens!”

Scrill had turned a sort of ghastly color.  “Well, yes, we have.  But they haven’t been confirmed or analyzed.  We can’t release them.”

“You can’t release them?  Don’t be ridiculous!  Of course you can release them!  I apologize Dr. Caldwell.  You will have the reports immediately.  Right, Scrill?”

“Um, uh, no, chief.  That is, I don’t know which reports to give them.  I mean.”  His voice dwindled off.  Scrill wilted.  Slumping there, sweating, he was the epitome of the larval brain form that made the very best tech.  Human resource psychiatrists carefully avoid giving such stalwarts of research any sort of personal confidence and never encourage them to develop hobbies.  If they ever ‘get a life’, they quickly become bored with technical stuff and imagine themselves world conquerors.  A real loss if you have spent a lot of money training them.

Nettles stared at the man as though her look could melt him.  “Perhaps you can explain to me what Scrill is trying to say, Caphorn.”

A diminutive woman sat next to Scrill.  In a not very diminutive voice, she said, “The DNA of the cells here is quite unstable.  None of the sequences match.”

“Come again?  What’s that you say?”

Caphorn glanced at Scrill angrily.  “None of the sequences match.  We always run our tests in triplicate. Using the same specimens, run the same way, we never get consistent results.”

Nettles stared at her open-mouthed.  Caldwell glanced at Imelda, then asked, “Couldn’t you just report the best two out of three?”

“No.  We can’t do an analysis on flawed data.”

“Can’t you base your final report on your predominant findings?”  Caldwell was indignant.

“You don’t understand.  There is no predominant finding.”

They stared at her as though she had lost her mind.

Caphorn snorted belligerently.  “It’s the damn machines. We have to process a lot of tissue to get enough DNA for triplicate analysis.  Usually, this is not a big deal, but there’s something wrong with the machines.  In some of our samples, they find plenty of a certain segment to process, and in the next they don’t find any.  The machine quits, says we goofed and chose contaminant genomes, you know, viruses or something, and we have to start all over.  If we can’t duplicate even single segments consistently, how can we possibly analyze the entire genome?  So we put out a preliminary report, pend the analysis, and go on to the next specimen.”

Nettles was irate.  “Why haven’t you brought this to my attention?”

Scrill swallowed hard.  “We did.  It’s in the quarterly report.  We concluded there’s nothing we can do about it.”

Nettles underwent some sort of mysterious transformation.  She clearly had not read the report. “Well, um, I’ve been extremely busy with training exercises,” she choked out, mentally reviewing her employment options.  “Please refresh my memory.”

“It’s Cellular’s fault.  The machine confirms the sequencing by looking at the chromosomes macroscopically, that is, by looking at them in situ in the cell to see where the sequence is most likely located on the chromosome.  If we could do this, we could see where the segment most likely came from and calibrate the sequencer.  Cellular won’t supply us with any cells in metaphase.”

“And why not?  All they have to do is look at a tissue specimen for cells that are dividing!”

“They say that they can’t find cells that are dividing in the living tissues that they have examined, and their cell cultures won’t grow at all.”

“What about electron microscopy?”

“The chromosomes are all tangled up until a cell divides.  It’s only at metaphase that they organize themselves well enough that you can count them.”

Kreiss couldn’t control himself any longer. “What about the smaller species?  The tiny colonials?  The plants?  They are actively growing.  What about their genetics?”

Scrill glanced at Kreiss nervously.  “We haven’t looked at any of those specimens.  We usually put top priority on the larger species since those are more likely to give us unique biochemical systems.”

Caldwell threw an apologetic look at Kreiss.  “Most of the smaller species are fairly predictable in their makeup. It’s the more highly evolved species that make money for Biotech.”

Imelda had remained silent until now.  “Why don’t you just analyze the results that you are getting?”

Scrill’s look was belittling.  “I told you, the results are worthless.  An analysis is a waste of time.”

“What if they are good results?”  She glanced a
Caldwell pointedly.  “This place doesn’t have any viruses or bacteria that I’m aware of.  Those sequences had to come from somewhere.”

The others in the room turned to stare at Imelda.

“The biological systems here already appear quite unusual.  I say just run the analysis and let us decide whether or not to believe it.”

Nettles shook her head adamantly.  “My department has a good reputation.  We do careful work.  There is obviously a problem with the sequencer.  I will get engineering to go over it with me.  I’m sure that we can identify the problem.”

Scrill interrupted.  “But chief, we’ve already done that. They say that there is no problem.  I told them what was happening.”

Caldwell
interrupted, clearing his throat.  “Engineering here is not noted for creative thought, I’m afraid.  I agree with Imelda.  Give us your reports, warts and all. And, since you aren’t having too much luck with the complex species, have a go at Kreiss’s sessiles next.  A little progress is better than none at all.”

As
Caldwell led Kreiss and Imelda away a short while later, he was grimacing.  “Idiots,” he muttered.

Imelda shrugged.  “They are technicians.  They don’t care why they run the tests. They just want to see pretty numbers.  It upsets them when they can’t get their numbers.”

#

Imelda sat with
Caldwell in his office.  The computer analysis of the gene sequences was displayed on the monitor.     “This is the blueprint for an extremely important intracellular enzyme for this species, so why is it missing from some of the tissue specimens and present in the others?”

Imelda shrugged.  “Which tissues is it absent from?”

He glanced at her.  His mouth opened and then shut.  He sat back and slapped the arm of his chair.  “Damn.”

“What?”

“You ask the simplest and most obvious questions.  The right questions.”

“I do?”

He peered at her.  “What are you thinking Imelda?  Some sort of interactive biochemical system?”

She turned back to the monitor.  “That much we already know.”

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he nodded agreement.   “So what would cause DNA strands to be located only in the tissues where they are required?”

She sat back, covering her eyes.  “This is Cellular’s ball game, not mine.  I suppose it could be that mature cells degrade inactive DNA, which could contribute to the reasons why the cells don’t divide.  However they manage it, it’s a very efficient way to do business.  No unnecessary material cluttering up a cell, no useless enzymes to be inactivated.  Superior, in fact, to the way our cells work.”

Caldwell’s eyebrows rose.  “Come now, Imelda.  Superior?”

“Why not?  This is an efficient biochemical system that has eliminated viruses and bacteria by the looks of things. I would hazard to say that this planet is more evolved than our own.  Vastly superior.”

Caldwell frowned disapprovingly.  “Don’t let CHA hear you say that.  Or for that matter, don’t let anyone hear you say that.  We have enough problems.”  He sat back, thinking. “I agree that the bogs may hold the key to all of this.  How quickly do you think that you can get a unit in close to one?”

She looked at him in amazement.  “How close?  They’re off limits, remember?”

He shrugged.  “Close enough for answers.  You’re the one to tell me how close that is.  How soon?”

She grinned.  “Just say the word.  I need a mobile unit, though.”

He nodded.  “Post.  He’s on the same wing with you, isn’t he?”

Post?  She took a deep breath.  “Why him?  He hates me.”

“He’s a friend of Jamison’s.  He’s a solid researcher, the best one I have after you, to be honest.  You can’t have a better partner.  As I understand it, his unit is close to Borg’s location.  Can you get started immediately?”

Imelda frowned.  “Sure.  Immediately.”  She stood to go, annoyed that her pulse had reacted at the mention of Post.  Damn his brown eyes.

“Good hunting,” Caldwell called after her.

#

Camille was furious.  “Kellogg, you are an idiot!  Why didn’t you tell me you were seeing her?  I am an open-minded person.  You don’t have to sneak around behind my back!”

“I didn’t think you would understand.  She just seemed lonely.  It didn’t mean anything to me.”

“How many others?  How many others are you seeing?”

Kellogg paused.  “Well, nobody right now.  That is, not anyone who means anything.”

“TELL me when you go out with someone else!  I acted like a complete idiot in front of her!  I told her you....”

Imelda slammed the privacy sphere shut.  She didn’t care to hear about their personal crisis.  She was having a crisis of her own.

“No, no, not so fast, Post.  You can’t roll it in that fast.  Two miles per hour, tops.   See, the blue one over there is alerting.  Yes, that blue one.  Just pull to a stop. Damn, how can you stand this transmission delay?  If we can’t control the unit well enough from up here, we’ll have to fly down closer. Okay, that’s better.

Post wasn’t speaking to her.  He had taken his directive from
Caldwell in silence, and now obeyed her commands without a word.  His expression on the monitor was stone-like.  Imelda would normally have been pleased with such cooperation, but for some reason this was hurting.

“Now, let me extend a leg over that gully.  Okay, now shift the weight slowly, in increments.  I’m not sure how firm...Hold it. Yes, that’s right; brace it there.  Okay, slowly...stop again, there’s a worm across my lens.”  Imelda sighed, her unhappiness reinforced.  The worms were incredible nuisances.  She waited until the offending one slid out of the way. “Ready. Yes, we’re over it.  Now down the ledge slowly, don’t let us start sliding.  Whoa!  Grab that trunk.  Is that a tree?  I can’t believe it snapped off like that. Anyway, at least we reached bottom in one piece.  Let’s wait a few minutes until they start eating again.”