Scuzzworms (16 page)

“Smaller bodies, faster metabolisms, hatch sooner.  Get my drift?”

“Check.  I’ll turn on the wheels.”  Post was now actually happy.  Of course, he’d remember to be mad at her anytime now.   

Progress was exceedingly slow this close to the bog. The worms would raise their heads at the slightest vibration.  Several of the animals stared at the rock-like machine suspiciously as it inched its way around the bog.   

At last, the eggs swung into view.  The rain made visibility poor, but these eggs looked to be miniature versions of the ones they had been watching.  

“Oh look, what luck, one of them is cracked!”  Post blurted excitedly.

“And a baby feather duster is coming out!  What incredible timing!  Now we get visual proof!”  The excitement was contagious.

They stared at the crack as though they had discovered the Holy Grail.  The crack would widen a little, then fall closed as the creature struggled against the shell.  If their mechanical arm could have reached far enough, they would have ripped the shell off themselves.  It was several excruciating hours later before the creature finally punctured through the wall, allowing clear fluid to flow out. 

As soon as the viscid drops struck the mud, the worms reacted vigorously.

“What the devil are they doing?  Are they going to eat it?”

“Where’s the little guy’s mom, can’t she protect it?” 

“Damn it, now we won’t get to see what was inside!  Man, talk about wasted time!”  Post was thoroughly revolted.

They both silenced unhappily, alertly watching the mound of squirming worms that now covered the egg.  Every nuance of each quivering proboscis engraved itself on their obedient retinas as they waited in profound dread.

The mass of worms parted after a few minutes.  To their shock, they were not looking at an empty shell.  A wriggling form emerged from the center while the worms, as one, slid back into the mud.  The creature lunged towards the shore, aided by the semisolid surface formed by the worms that crowded around it.  

“They ate the shell!  They helped it hatch!”  Imelda crowed in triumph.  

Post, relieved, spun the magnification.  “That’s not a feather duster!”

Imelda peered at it closely.

“It’s one of the miniature deer grazers!  Adult size! Look at it; it’s completely disoriented!  It’s calling!”

Several nearby deer grazers stopped chasing the grass to stare at the newly hatched animal.  They called to it in return.

“Look at the little bastard run!  Straight to join its buddies!  Look, the herd is leaving!  It’s as though they were just waiting for it to hatch!”

Imelda flipped a switch in order to get a visual of Post.  He blinked back at her.

“So mamma deer grazer lays her eggs here too, just as we suspected,” Post said.

Imelda nodded.  “Looks like.  We have another report to file, Post.  This little puddle of mud looks like pay dirt to me!”

He agreed, seeming to have completely forgotten their feud.  “Now all we have to do is find mom.”

#

Post stood calmly at the podium as the video ended. “As you can see, these cells differ markedly in their metabolism from those of any other tissue in this specimen. They are inactive in standard media, producing only the byproducts of energy consumption.  They do not appear glandular, in that there is no golgi apparatus to produce secretions.

“It is only when you place them in highly enriched media that they begin to divide at a rate roughly proportionate to the amount of excess substrate available.”

A low rumbling accompanied his words.  Steinson stood up.  “So these are the only cells in an adult animal that can divide?  You say the cells aren’t glandular.  So what is their function?”

Post faced him.  “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?  Surely you have some ideas?”

“I have lots of ideas, but I can’t prove any of them. The tissue is located superficially in the dermis, roughly analogous in location to fatty tissue in earth species.”

“So these could function primarily as energy storage cells?”

Post hesitated.  “Possibly, but it doesn’t make a lot of sense if they do.  Most energy storage cells store energy in an easily accessible form, such as in fat or starch vacuoles.  There are small amounts of fat stored in these cells, but the organism lacks the enzymes to break it down.  They can store energy as starches, but without the ability to metabolize fat, these organisms will die quickly if stressed.”

Imelda scowled.  Iago IV appeared to be covered with some of the most maladapted species that she had ever come across.  Inefficient energy stores?  Evolution had indeed been kind to Iagans.  Still, thinking about it, hibernation was unnecessary, migration unheard of.  Life clustered around the bogs, species eating species, rarely wandering. So why worry if your fat only weighed you down? 

“Another alternative is that perhaps these cells are some form of parasite, utilizing the animal as a food source, reproducing at the expense of the animal’s own food stores.”

“You mean like the Scinhodse species on Drondos?”

“Yes, similar to that.  I am waiting on Genetics to see if this genetic makeup is in fact different from that of the rest of the animal. From the preliminaries, the nuclear DNA content does appear similar to that of some cells in other tissues.”

“Can cells from any of the other tissues reproduce?”

“No.  But remember, these cells reproduce only in the presence of two other cell types from the animal, and with extremely high levels of nutrient.  The circulatory system to the skin has unusual features, with loops resembling the loop of Henle in terrestrial kidneys.  It is very possible that local conditions can exist in the dermis that promote cell division”

Long discussion followed.  The air was rife with the words ‘synergistic,’ parasitic,’ ‘carrier state,’ and so forth.  Imelda, however, left for her workstation long before it was over.

Imelda looked down the list of requests.  It seemed that everyone who was studying anything now wanted a chance to use her observation post.

“What do you want me to do?” she asked
Caldwell.

He rubbed his head.  “Grady says that the study of Borg can wait.  He wants to incorporate your observation post into his study of Materland and use it to delineate the complete lifecycle there.  He says that it is vital to his work.  He assures me that he will feed you any data he gets on Borg, but claims priority.”

She nodded, tired, disheartened.  “May I make a suggestion?”

He smiled.  “Right now
I’m open to any.  You wouldn’t believe how many people have been banging on my door.”

She looked at him cautiously.  “The bogs are crucial to the lifecycles here, on every continent.  Even though there is enormous variety, Bogs are the one constant.  One observation post is not going to give us the big picture. I would think that we could afford to add a few more, scattered on the various continents and islands.  I doubt that we will be able to satisfy anyone unless we do so.”

Caldwell frowned.  “I don’t know if I can get approval for that.  Jinks is on the warpath.  He would rather put half of our hardware in dry storage than see it cost Biotech one red cent.  His last message was that he would be coming for a visit on the next supply ship.  He will be here for just a few days, until the ship refuels for the slide back.  I can bring it up with him, but I don’t know how far I’ll get.”  He stood up and stretched, pacing restlessly.

“He’s supposed to let us know if the project has been approved for another six months.  The fact that he is coming in person is a very bad sign.  If the answer is no, we can pack it all in.”  He looked at her. “The most likely answer we will get is ‘maybe.’  It is very possible that I will have to go back with Jinks to restate our case.”

She frowned.  “What did they hire you for?  To supervise the project or to argue with them?”

He chuckled.  “To be responsible, of course.”  He sat back down.  “I will leave you in charge again.”

“No.”

“Yes.  You have no choice.  I spoke with Kreiss and he agrees.  This time it is an official order.”

“Fish will have kittens.”

“Fish?”

“Hiebass.  My psychiatrist.  He thinks I’m crazy.”

“Oh.  Hmmm.  You really shouldn’t keep him in the dark about yourself, you know.  It would be much better if he understood you.”

She shrugged.  “But less fun.  What’s he going to do for me anyway?  Jinks isn’t going to like this either.”

“Jinks has his own problems.  He will be glad to leave me to mine.”

“Take my advice.  Push for more stationary units.  They use less fuel than the mobile units and will give us a lot of good information.  We could trade one mobile unit for six stationaries.”

He paused, thinking.  “I don’t know about that.  The stationaries only give us visuals.  We need the mobiles to capture specimens and do chemical studies.”  He sighed.  “I’ll look into it.  I won’t suggest dropping any mobile units, though, unless Jinks absolutely refuses to allow any additional stationaries.”

“Suit yourself.  By the way, how’s Trefarbe?  I haven’t seen much of her since she tried to send me to a rest home.”

His brow knotted further.  “She has been exceptionally quiet since my return.  No simmering smiles, no huddling close to me at my desk to talk over a problem, no excessive compliments on my supposed brilliance.”

Imelda frowned.  “Uh oh, she’s up to something.  You’d better be careful around her.  How’s your job insurance?”

He smiled.  “Actually, it has been rather pleasant to be left alone.  I hope she continues to plot in this way.  I’ll tell Kreiss that you accepted.”

“No.  Tell him that I acceded.”

#

Jinks huffed importantly.  “Now Doctor Imelda, I know that you have been busy ‘helping’ Doctor Caldwell, but I am afraid that I can’t ignore the complaints that I have been receiving.  Biotech has certain rules and regulations to be followed, and no one is immune to them.”

Imelda nodded.  Trefarbe sat next to Doctor Jinks with obvious satisfaction.  She seemed to take an inordinate amount of pleasure in watching her squirm.  “What are the complaints?”

“The same complaints I have received since you joined the project.  To begin with, you haven’t been spending enough time at your workstation.”

She met his gaze earnestly.  “Excuse me, but exactly how much is ‘enough’?  Is there a quota I have to meet?”

He harrumphed and shifted uncomfortably.  “No, no, of course not.  Biotech doesn’t quibble over an hour here or there.  But we must have some assurance that you are doing the work that we hired you to do.  You are responsible for completing your assigned studies to the fullest.  You were provided a workstation to assist you in your research, at great expense.  We expect you to use it as you need in order to complete your research.  That is what we mean by enough.”

“In that case, I am spending enough time.”

Trefarbe interrupted vigorously.  “No you do not! You’ve spent an average of only twenty hours a week there since you arrived!  Twenty!  I can’t approve full pay based on that amount of output!”

Imelda faced her calmly.  “So dock my pay.”

Trefarbe paused with her mouth open.  “Dock your pay?  We can’t do that.  You’re on contract.”

“So fire me.”

Trefarbe glared at her.  Jinks interrupted.

“Please, Dr. Imelda.  Let’s not lose control.  Director Trefarbe is paid to supervise the use of resources in her division in order to promote efficiency.  We do not wish to fire you, not at all.  But we are giving you fair warning.  We will be keeping an eye on you.  If we continue to document a poor attitude and lackluster work habits, we will be forced to give you demerits.  Those will go on your permanent record and will affect any future promotions you might otherwise be eligible for.”

“Yes sir.”  Big deal.  She didn’t want any more promotions.

Jinks paused, clearing his throat uncomfortably.  Imelda watched him cautiously.  She had never had a chance to look at him closely before.  He was a large man, very confident, dark brown hair speckled with gray carefully groomed and slicked down.  His suit was obviously expensive, with genuine plastic buttons and polyester trim.  His complexion was tanned, in stark contrast to the usual pallor of researchers who had been confined to a research station. The chair squeaked faintly as he turned away from her.

“Director Trefarbe, if you don’t mind, I need to discuss the next matter in confidence.”

Trefarbe smiled at Jinks in a matter suggesting intimate co
-conspiracy and departed.

Jinks frowned at Imelda, clearing his throat again.

Imelda stiffened guardedly.

“Dr. Imelda, I have been informed of a little matter that, I must say, has given me cause for concern.”

Imelda nodded, suspicious.  Trefarbe had apparently been busy on her behalf.

He cleared his throat again.  Three throat clearings was an extremely ominous sign with administrative types.  “I am concerned for you and Dr. Caldwell.  Dr. Caldwell has had a sterling record in the past, and is highly respected.”