by Mark Kelly
When all of that was done, he placed the glass slide with the sample under the microscope’s lens and lowered his eyes to the eyepiece. Holding his breath, he began to adjust the focus knob, delicately twisting it between his finger and thumb. Ever so slowly, the blurry image cleared.
“How was your dinner date?”
Startled by the interruption, he twisted the knob and the image went out of focus.
“Damn it!”
He looked up to see Beth standing in the lab’s doorway. She smiled meekly at him. Her long dark hair and winter jacket were coated with snowflakes that glistened as they melted.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you. I came back to get my laptop.”
He waved off her apology. “It’s not your fault. I’m just in a lousy mood. It’s been a long night.”
“What are you looking at?” she asked him.
“Nothing yet, but if I prepared the sample properly, I hope to see spores in the specimen.”
“What specimen?”
“My…ah…stool sample.”
“Oh yeah, right.” The corners of her mouth turned up in a smile. He waited for the smart-ass comment he was sure would come next, but she surprised him. “Cool—what do they look like?”
“Like spores, I imagine,” he said, somewhat sarcastically. “But I haven’t had a chance to take a good look yet. Why don’t you come on over and take the first peek?”
She stuffed her winter gloves into her pockets and walked across the room, leaving a trail of muddy footprints on the floor. “You did all the work,” she said. “You should take the first look.”
“No, please go ahead. I’ve seen more than my share of spores through a microscope and they all looked more or less the same. The most important questions are how many, and of what type.”
“If they all look the same, how will I know what type they are?”
“You won’t,” he replied ruefully. “For that we need better tools; software, a thermal cycler for DNA analysis, and other equipment like that.”
“Then what’s the point of all this?”
“For our purposes right now, it’s the quantity of spores that matter. We want to see a lot of them, and if they’re plentiful, the next step is to confirm that some of them, hopefully most of them, are from the so-called immunity bacteria.”
“Why would there be a lot of spores?”
“How much of your first year biology do you remember?”
“Not much. I’m a computer science major, remember?”
He scrunched up his face in an exaggerated grimace. “At Georgetown, I had a few CS majors in my class. The handful of times they bothered to show up, they could barely keep their eyes open.”
“They were probably up all night looking for bugs,” Beth said, grinning. “Just different ones than the kind you’re used to.”
He laughed. “Touché…ready for a quick biology lesson?”
She nodded and he began to explain.
“The first thing to note is that spores are a type of survival mechanism. Any bacteria capable of creating them will produce spores all the time, but the production mechanism goes into overdrive when the bacteria is threatened by a negative change in its environment, or a decrease in the nutrients it needs to survive. The immunity bacteria, if it exists, and the pandemic C. diff strain are battling each other for dominance, and since it’s a battle, both strains will produce spores.”
Beth’s forehead wrinkled with confusion as she spoke. “A minute ago, you said you hoped most of the spores were from the immunity bacteria. Why would it produce more of them?”
“It’s a numbers game,” he said with a vague shrug. “At least, that’s what I hope. My theory is that since I’m immunized and healthy, there should be more immunity bacteria in my intestinal tract than pandemic C. diff bacteria—and thus, the immunity bacteria should produce the most spores. Take a look and tell me what you see.”
Beth lowered herself onto the stool and hunched over the microscope. She reached for the focus knob with her right hand, twisting it back and forth like a safecracker. After a few seconds, she spoke.
“I can’t see anything.”
He moved her fingers to a smaller knob in the center of the larger one she’d been twirling and said, “That’s the fine focus adjustment. Use it to tune the image until it’s clear.”
As she moved the smaller knob, she drew in a breath and let out a giggle. “Cool…I can see something. It’s much more clear now.”
“What do you see?”
“Little black rods with a halo around them. Some of them have white blobs inside.”
“Anything else?”
“Some dark things that look like islands. There’s also a bunch of white blobs scattered around. There are a lot of them. They’re everywhere.”
“That’s good…very good,” Simmons said. “The black rods are bacterial vegetative cells. The white blobs inside them, and the white blobs off by themselves are spores.”
Beth glanced up from the microscope. “What are the things that look like islands?”
“Are they significantly larger than everything else?”
She nodded.
“Then they’re most likely air bubbles or tiny dirt particles…or maybe some other type of artifact. Whatever they are, they don’t matter. It’s the spores that we’re most interested in.”
“How come some spores are inside the cell and others are by themselves?”
“The ones that are by themselves are fully formed,” he replied. “Separation is the final stage of the sporulation process. When the bacteria senses the need to preserve itself, it starts by making a copy of its DNA. That copy is then encapsulated within the mother cell and coated with extremely hardy proteins to protect it. Then, as the mother cell dies, the spore is released.”
Her eyes full of wonder, Beth looked up at him. “That is so cool.”
“It really is,” he agreed. “Bacteria are the foundation of life. They’re incredibly simple, yet astonishingly complex. Did you know scientists have found 250 million-year-old spores and germinated them? There are bacteria able to survive doses of radiation that are three thousand times the amount that would kill a human.
“Hell, they can even communicate with each other through something call quorum sensing. It’s not talking, like you and I are doing right now, but it allows them to coordinate behaviour in a way that is most beneficial to them as a species. Makes you want to believe there’s a god, or a master engineer.”
“Do you?”
He hesitated. “Honestly, I don’t know. But I believe in luck and the power of time. Bacteria reproduce very quickly. For some species, a new generation forms every five minutes. Over the billions of years they’ve been on this planet, that’s a lot of mutations; a lot of trying new things and either succeeding or failing. Whether there is some mysterious force behind it all, I don’t know.”
She nodded solemnly and pushed back the stool to stand up. “Do you want to take a look?”
“Sure.”
She stepped aside, making room for him and said, “By the way, you never answered my earlier question.”
“What question was that?”
“I asked you how your dinner date was?”
Simmons bolted upright. “Damn it…what time is it?
“A little after eight-thirty. What time was your date?”
“Seven.”
“You’re late.”
He spun around and ran for the door like someone who knew they had missed their bus but still held out faint hope it might be running behind schedule.
“It’s snowing like crazy,” Beth shouted. You should put on a coat. Oh, and take off your gloves.”
Simmons skidded to a stop and glanced at his hands. He’d completely forgotten about the blue nitrile surgical gloves he was wearing. Being late was one thing, but showing up looking like a nerdy doofus brought it to a whole different level.
“Here, toss them to me,” Beth said.
He peeled off the gloves, crumpled them up, and threw the loose ball at her. The gloves fell to the ground five feet from her and she laughed. “Good thing you aren’t a pitcher. What about your coat?”
“It’s just snow and the cafeteria isn’t very far.” He turned and ran for the door.
23
You’re Late
The dense blanket of snow falling from the sky was so thick, Simmons couldn’t see two feet in front of his face. In a matter of minutes, he was coated with wet, sticky snow that clung to his clothing and hair, and clumped on his shoes. He hunched into the wind, squinting through snow-encrusted eyelashes as he trudged along what he hoped was the path leading from the administration building to the cafeteria.
In his head, he practiced what he would say to Mei, assuming she hadn’t already left, which was entirely possible since this wasn’t the first time he’d stood her up.
He’d start by groveling and offering her a heartfelt apology, then he would tell her about the exciting discovery he had made. No, he couldn’t do that; he hadn’t discovered anything, not yet. It was still a theory; an unsubstantiated theory, and he was supposed to be working on the bioreactor, not some pie-in-the-sky idea.
The realization he had nothing exciting to share, no excuse for missing yet another date, soured his mood. This was why they had separated so many years ago. Once again, his work had gotten in the way of their relationship. Or in this case, its renewal.
The faint glow of a yellowish-white door light flickered on and off through the falling snow, signalling he had arrived. He yanked open the heavy metal door and stomped his feet on the entrance’s rubber mat, shaking off the snow that coated his shoes and pant-legs.
A couple of Langdon’s people—late eaters or shift-workers—looked up at the unexpected noise and nodded a quick hello.
“It’s snowing,” Simmons said, wiping away the water that dripped down his face.
“Never would have guessed,” one of the men replied in a deadpan voice. He raised an eyebrow. “Now that winter has come, you might want to think about wearing a coat. Do you have a coat, Professor?”
“I do. Just didn’t have time to put it on.”
Both men stared at him like that was the most idiotic thing they’d ever heard. Rather than explain, he walked away, scanning the cafeteria and looking for Mei. He spotted her at the very back of the large mostly empty room, sitting alone with her nose buried in a book. He headed in her direction. She didn’t look up until he reached the table.
“You’re late,” she said, her face an impenetrable shield.
For a fraction of a second, he was relieved that was all she said. Then she snapped the book shut.
“Like always.”
The apology he had so carefully planned evaporated into thin air. He began to blather like an idiot. “I’m sorry, time got away from me, and then Beth showed up—”
“Don’t blame Beth,” Mei said, her eyes burning with anger.
“No…no, I’m not blaming her. We were just—”
“Are you hungry? When was the last time you ate?”
“Lunch,” he said, “No wait, not lunch. I gave my lunch to Bennett.”
“Have you eaten anything today, Tony? Anything at all?” She stared at him, her brow furrowed with angry concern.
Feeling like a chastised child being scolded by his mother, he shook his head. “No, nothing today, but I had dinner last night.”
“Well, you’re too late to get anything from the kitchen. It closed half an hour ago.”
“That’s okay. I can wait until morning.”
“Don’t be silly,” she said, reaching beneath her chair and opening her doctor’s bag, a worn leather satchel she carried everywhere. She pulled out a paper lunch bag and slid it across the table towards him.
“When you didn’t show up. I went into the kitchen to get you a snack and the cooks gave me this. Sit down and eat.”
“Thank you. You didn’t have to do that. What about you? Have you eaten?”
“Of course,” she snapped. “That’s why I came here. To eat dinner with you. It was a date, remember?”
Judging from her tone, he should have left well enough alone and kept his mouth shut. She scowled and ran her eyes over him. “You look like a mangy dog that’s just come in from the rain. Where’s your coat?”
“In the lab. I didn’t think it was snowing this hard.”
“Tony, it’s been snowing like this since the middle of the afternoon. What were you working on that had you so distracted—the bioreactor?”
Not wanting to disappoint her further, he nodded. With all the stress she was under, she didn’t need one more thing on her plate.
Her expression softened as she leaned forward and asked, “Have you found a way to increase production?”
“We’ve been working on a couple of ideas and one of them has potential,” he said. It wasn’t a lie, just a little fib; an overstatement of the facts.
“That’s wonderful. I hope you can pull it off. If anyone can do it, it’s you.”
Ashamed by her confidence in him, and his white lie, he looked down and opened the crumpled lunch bag.
“Eat…and eat it all. You need to take better care of yourself,” she said, admonishing him.
He glanced inside the bag. A blemished wild apple and a potato-bread sandwich wrapped in wax paper stared back at him—the same meal he had refused to eat at lunch. That would teach him for being late.
He took a bite, grinding the tough potato-bread between his teeth. He thought he probably looked like a cow chewing its cud. “Are you still going to the clinic tomorrow?” he asked after swallowing a lump of dough. “The snow is getting pretty bad out there.”
“I don’t know,” Mei replied, a worried look on her face. “I hope so. Jasmine says they’ll keep taking me until the roads are impassable.”
“Jasmine?”
“Jasmine Dines—Sergeant Dines.”
Simmons nearly spit his food onto the table. “Dines’s first name is Jasmine?”
“What’s so funny about that?”
“It’s just not the type of name I’d expect her to have.”
Mei gave him an odd look. “Why? It’s a pretty name. Are you saying she isn’t pretty?”
Sensing danger, he hedged. “No, I’m not saying that. She’s pretty—I guess. Actually, I don’t really know if she is or isn’t pretty. That’s not for me to judge.” He continued to stammer, trying to escape the hole he had dug for himself. “I suppose she’s charming in her own way,” he said neutrally.
“And exactly what way is that?”
He couldn’t win, not tonight. He held up his hands in surrender. “All I meant is Jasmine isn’t exactly the type of name I’d associate with an army sergeant; especially one with Dines’s personality. You have to admit, she is a little rough around the edges.”
“When they named her as a baby, I don’t imagine her parents knew what occupation she’d end up choosing,” Mei said tersely. “Or for that matter, what her personality would be like. Does it really matter?”
“No, it doesn’t matter,” he agreed, wanting desperately for the conversation to be over. “What time is she taking you to the clinic tomorrow?”
“Jasmine usually picks me up a little after 8:00 a.m.”
He ran through the bioreactor’s production numbers in his head. Tomorrow was too soon for a trial. He wouldn’t be ready. “When is your next trip after that?” he asked her.
“Thursday. Why?”
If he and the team worked day and night, they might have enough biotherapeutic by then—and with a little luck, the spore pills would be ready too.
“Do you have room for a passenger?”
She gave him a skeptical look. “I might—for one who bothers to show up on time.”
“I promise not to be late again. Cross my heart and hope to die, stick a needle in my eye.”
She rolled her eyes at his lame attempt at a joke and said, “You can come.” Then with
a resigned sigh, she added, “But I swear, Tony, if you’re late, we’re leaving without you, and when we get back, I’m going to go and look for that needle—and then I’m going to use it.”
“Ouch.”
They both laughed. Then they sat in silence, smiling stupidly at each other until the sound of footsteps on the laminated floor disturbed the moment. One of the cooks approached their table and said, “Sorry to send you outside, but we’re closing up for the night.”
It was too soon.
Wishing he could have more time alone with her, he plucked the apple from the paper lunch bag, procrastinating as he pretended to study it. He turned it over in his hand and said, “I think I’ll save this beauty for later.”
Mei smiled. “They’re full of vitamins, you know, but I know you’re not going to eat it, are you?”
He gave her a look of mock horror. “Good God, no. Have you actually tried one? It’s like eating a lemon. I’ll give it to Bennett in the morning. I think that kid has a tapeworm.”
“We should get going before he turns the light out on us,” Mei said, glancing at the door where the cook stood, impatiently tapping his foot on the floor while he waited for them to leave.
“I told Emma I’d be back at around nine and I’m ten minutes late. I’m amazed she hasn’t shown up here looking for me.”
Simmons jumped to his feet. The last person he wanted to have show up right now was Emma.
“I’ll walk you back to the dorms.”
No, you won’t,” Mei said, shaking her head. “The dorms are on the other side of the campus and you don’t have a coat. You’ll end up with pneumonia. Go back to the lab and get your coat—better yet, go get your coat and go to bed.”
He knew not to argue. He’d go back to the lab, but he wasn’t going to bed. There was too much work to do. He walked around to Mei’s side of the table and held out his arm.
“Would milady allow me the privilege of walking her to the door?”
Mei took his arm and curtsied. “It would be milady’s pleasure.”
