Walt and Leigh Richmond

by The Lost Millennium (html)

  "Where do you keep the makings? I'll fix it." Zad walked down the aisles between the laboratory benches to the corner towards which he had nodded. "I couldn't sleep, either; but I waited until now thinking you wouldn't be here."

  David came over to where she was heating the pot.

  "What worries me mostly," he said, leaning against a table nearby, "is that since you caught on so quickly to what I'm doing, others may catch on too. When I show you my early results, you'll recognize the need for its not being known until I've gotten it under far better control."

  Zad kept her eyes on measuring out the coffee. "I don't think that need worry you, really. We've been doing work in much the same direction with the memory tap, so it was a natural conclusion for me to reach. Too bad we haven't gotten together before this. It could be our work is supplementary to yours, or vice versa. You are going to tell me how you're going about the work, now that I've guessed the direction your results are taking you, aren't you?"

  "Oh, yes," he said casually. "Of course. Anyhow, you're a scientist and will recognize experimental beginnings and differentiate them from actual, usable, releaseable results. Of course I'm going to tell you—and leave it to your own common sense to keep your mouth shut. Anyhow, you'll be leaving the planet in—how long is it?"

  "Three weeks till our scheduled take-off for retrograde orbit. Barring holds, of course. We'll be two weeks in the trojan position, unfurling our sails, but nearly out of communication. So effectively, it's three weeks."

  The coffee was ready, and the two made their way to an uncluttered area of a bench, pulling up bench stools.

  "Suppose," said the biologist, "that I start at the beginning and outline how the work is done. Then I'll show you some of our results. You know the work we did in isolating DNA as the pattern-carrying part of the cell? We were able to show without question that the DNA in any single cell of the body carries the pattern for the entire body. It was widely publicized and popularized. Fairly accurately, too."

  Zad nodded. She'd read of the work. A popular magazine had even given over nearly an entire issue, including its cover, to the story.

  "Of course, once we had the pattern-carrying function isolated, we knew it would be possible to grow a man from any single cell. We also knew, and this wasn't publicized, how to go about recovering the regenerative process that the body contains—the process that's shown partially when the body heals its wounds; the process that is seen in the ability of, for instance, the starfish or the planarian worm, to regrow its full body from any part of that body.

  "You see, the DNA which is in the nucleus of the cells in man and animal and on down to plant life carries the entire pattern for the body in which it is contained. But those parts of the pattern that will not be used by the unit cell are covered up so that the cell won't reproduce the entire body. Also, the DNA has a system by which it determines when to stop reproducing cells for its own particular part, once the person is grown to full size. This signal lies in the autonomic nervous system in the human, and is closely connected with the development of the glands at puberty.

  "However, even after it receives the signal—for instance, when the liver has reached full size, and receives the signal that its cells need not keep on producing liver cells any more—the repair system still functions to give the signal for reproduction of cells back to the DNA specifically affected when the body is injured, or even just as the cells wear out and need replacement.

  "Now at a point in the development of the human, the cells and body parts quit reproducing themselves as they wear out, or produce less efficiently and that's when ageing begins.

  "Of course that's the point we've been working on hardest—the loss by the body of the ability to maintain itself in youthful condition. It's an ability we all have during early maturity, but that we lose later. The loss of that continuous regenerative ability is the ageing factor. And that is the area in which I'm getting answers.

  "But the answers are too good. The methods we've tried so far that return to the body its regenerative ability go all the way back to the beginning and start the cells to reproducing whole extra arms, or livers, or heads. We haven't got it under control yet. And you can see the kind of problems that gives us, if somebody should make a complaint.

  "And—well, the animals we've treated aren't killable, by any normal method. Injure them, and they re-grow the part, surprisingly rapidly. But they're just as apt to go ahead and grow another head, for instance, at the same time."

  "And they're really not killable?"

  "No. That's the part that's astounded me most. Injure them in a vital organ—the heart, for example—they go into a cataleptic condition and appear to be completely dead; but thirty-six hours later they're right back in business, just as though nothing had happened. During the regenerative cataleptic condition they become anaerobic as well. They can't be smothered or gassed."

  Zad stared in awe. Then, "Population explosion, here we come when you get this under control!" she said.

  "Not necessarily. There seems to be some interference with the reproductive capacity. It's not definite yet. Perhaps they will both work together, or perhaps they won't. So far, we've noticed there is interference. The one seems to be exclusive of the other.

  "But—well, when you release the regenerative faculty, there's no way of disposing of the mistakes. The bodies won't die—that is, short of burning the entire body to a cinder. The regenerative faculty works—too well, in this case. You can see my problem.

  "Of course, the major problem is that the methods we've developed for releasing the regenerative faculty leave it unselective. There doesn't seem to be any natural handle in the chemistry we've developed so far. You know that the foetus goes through an entire evolutionary process in reproduction? Well, the regenerative factor is just as apt to pick out an early evolutionary characteristic to regenerate as a recent one. For instance, one mammal developed fins. Sometimes there's an increase in the animal's mental capacity; but just as often it's apt to re-develop a type of mental process suitable to survival in one of the earlier evolutionary periods …"

  Zad looked up, startled. "Hey!" she said. "That's one of the major problems we've found in using the memory tap! Quite a number—a small minority, but a respectable minority—change physical characteristics towards an earlier evolutionary period through the use of the tap. Nothing as dramatic as you've outlined, but very definite. The mental characteristics are apt to change violently as well, mostly for the better, but in a statistically respectable number of cases for the worse."

  Lyon stood up in a quick motion. "You mean something like that has been going on right under my nose, and I didn't know of it? What is this memory tap, and in which building are you working?"

  "Oh, no—not here at the University. The work is in very great academic disfavor. But I consider it of even more far-reaching importance than the solar tap."

  Lyon sat down again, slowly. "All right," he said. "What is this memory tap?"

  "Oh, you know that the electronic brain is the input area for information in the biochemical-electronic configuration that is man. And that the electronic-input information is evaluated by the intelligence and then filed biochemically in the cells of the body. The electronic input and analysis system is far faster than the biochemical data storage system, so that the body has to sleep while the data filing system catches up with the input and analysis.

  "Once filed, the information is utilized without further review. Now, under certain conditions—notably during periods of great pain, or unconsciousness, or hypnosis—the incoming data is filed without analysis, and its content is apt to ba rather badly misfiled on an 'T' equals 'eye'" sort of basis. Misfiled information can become a glut of stimulus-response command-data within the body and can be quite detrimental.

  "The memory tap is simply a method for recalling misfiled information for review and analysis, and then for refiling correctly."

  Lyon drew a deep breath. "Very well," he said slow
ly. "I am academically shocked when you speak of electronic-input and a biochemical filing system for information. I had assumed that the brain had the information-carrying function."

  Zad laughed. "The brain is on an electronic data-bit-per-cell basis. Not enough capacity for one week's information input. Biochemical data storage is another matter. Your DNA can carry the entire evolutionary pattern of man in one part of just the nucleus of the cell."

  Lord Lyon went on as though he hadn't heard her. "I also find it quite different to believe that any work which is academically refuted can carry any basic importance. And I find it quite difficult to associate 'mis-filed information' with stimulus-response reactions. However, I respect both your ability and your scientific integrity. And therefore I demand a complete briefing on this subject."

  Zad looked at him curiously, and restrained the laugh that bubbled to her lips. How typical of the man! He would fight to the last ditch to refute any evidence that she produced; but he was of such a basic honesty that he was one of the few in the physical sciences she was sure would not simply throw out the evidence when he found he could not refute it.

  "David," she said, "I'd be delighted to brief you myself. But it will take time, and we're leaving in three weeks. But I shall send you my best man, Bon Hindra. And if you do not take him with you on your … what is it, a ship or a boat? Your submersible; I shall admit that I've misjudged you. For the sake of both sciences, we'd better get together. Now about your work?"

  "Oh, there's not much more that I can tell you until we get a bit further. Except to ask that you protect me by silence until I'm gone. I'll show you my mistakes if you like."

  "Never mind," she said, recognizing the deep pain in his voice. "You know I won't talk. Well let the rest go until your research is complete. But I'll send my man Bon, and hope you'll listen to him. I rather think that if you do, you'll take him with you."

  "What makes you think he'd go?" Lyon's voice showed the relief he felt.

  "We're working towards the same thing you are, from a different direction. Bon and I have been working together, and when I leave he'll have to start a new project, though hell stay in the same field, of course. Your Juheda sounds like the spot for him."

  "Well, I'd rather have you brief me, selfishly, and I wish I thought I could tempt you to stay planet-bound and come along on the Juheda. But I shall appreciate his briefing and listen carefully. Now, since I'm not going to show you my failures, would you care to see the ship?"

  "I'd love it." She stood up. "Where do you keep it?"

  "In the Bay of Carria. But that's only an hour from here, and we can lunch aboard. I've a crew in residence, and we're completely stocked, ready to leave as soon as I've completed my work with the animals for the Vahs."

  It was not long after noon when Lord Lyon and Zad left the lab, and the campus, though still quiet, now had a few figures under its giant trees, strolling between its buildings.

  As they entered the parking lot and made their way towards David's carapet, Zad heard a halloo, and the two turned to see Rahn Minos just parking in the next row.

  "Where are you two going so bright and early?" he asked as he strode over to them. "I thought we kept you up late enough last night to make you both skip work entirely today."

  Zad smiled delightedly up at Rahn, one of her favorites of the expeditions. "We are skipping work," she said. "We just decided to play hooky for the afternoon."

  "We're going out to see my new ship. It's finished and stocked, you know, and I expect to be taking off before you do." David was almost gay in the bright Heladay atmosphere.

  "Hey," said Rahn. "I've heard of the Juheda and I'd like much to see it. Will you take me out there some day?"

  "Why don't you join us now?" Zad felt a quick surprise at the obvious pleasure with which David offered the invitation, for an invitation to view the Juheda was known to be hard come by; then she realized that David had as much respect and affection for the big man who captained the Vasaba as she had.

  "Let me take you in my carajet." Rahn was obviously pleased. "I'd be delighted. I feel like hooky too, after last night. I'm not really expected here today anyhow. Just came down to get rid of the taste from last night."

  The carajet was a fairly large one, and they raised ground as a GEM for only a few minutes' travel before taking to the airways and heading south.

  From above, the mighty Ura River by which the University at Crêta nestled seemed to meander across the verdant plain as casually as a tossed lariat. In the distance they could make out Siva Five and the scorched land around the great pyramid where yesterday's avalanche had churned the landscape for nearly a kilocubit. No major damage had been reported from the malfunction. All personnel had been inside, and as far as anyone knew, the wrecking of what the newscasters termed minor electronic equipment—how that phrase must have rankled in Dade's ears—had been the worst result. Even the shock wave had done only minor damage.

  As they drew near the bay, the long finger of dock where the Juheda was tethered came into view, and the ship herself, a floating bubble of plastic, glinting in the sunshine; two-fifths of her width in height.

  "But won't you be at the mercy of the winds with a bubble that large?" Rahn asked speculatively. "I don't think I'd want to take to the open sea in anything as exposed to the wind and wave action as your ship appears to be. In space, of course, it's different," he added, remembering the spherical and much larger shape of his own ship.

  David laughed. "No," he said. "Neither would I trust myself to a surface craft with quite so much exposed surface. But she's submersible, and we shall ride out any storms at thirty cubits."

  "You're pressure-locked then?"

  "Oh, yes. Sealed and pressure-locked with a self-sustaining ecology like your own. And with a pumping system that puts sand into her tanks to take her down. She doesn't need to be an iron monster like her earlier prototype, the Juhada, at nearly sea-weight in construction materials. She can weigh herself down to the finest balance with sand, then pump in water to take herself down as need be, discarding weight to rise. Rather like a queen rising out of the deep. I've test-dived her," he said almost shyly. "She handles like a goddess."

  "She looks like the kind of fairy bubbles that I used to blow with soap," Zad said almost reverently. "Fragile. As though she'd fly off at a breath of air. She's truly beautiful."

  On the dock as they approached her, the Juheda was still beautiful, still light, still awesome. Her hull was clear, and though there was some distortion, the inside could be seen as a shadowy honeycomb of walls.

  They entered through a huge freight tube-lock at her top, that extended down through the four cubits of double hull. A hallway led through corridors, lined with hydroponic gardens on the far side of again-clear plastic walls. Beneath the clear plastic at their feet was sand, as though they walked on a plastic-covered beach. A roaring sound, nearly inaudible, could be felt almost as much as heard.

  "The sand is being pumped into the space of her double hull," David explained. "We pumped her clear after the test dive for final inspection. Now she's being filled to a specific gravity just under one. It leaves her barely awash. So if you seem to feel her sinking, don't worry. Now, let's have lunch, and then I'll tour you from stem to stern."

  He led them into a spacious cafeteria room, lined with hydroponic plants and set about with small tables. The far wall of the room was covered with a large screen. Leaving them at a table near the center of the room, David poked his head into what was apparently the kitchen area, ordered lunch, and then turned back.

  "While we're waiting, let me show you some of the finest teaching equipment you can imagine," he called, and going to a door at the opposite end of the dining room from the screen, he opened it and rolled out a movie projector of the caliber that would be used in a theater, its seven lenses in a half-circle at its front proclaiming it a color projector of the most elaborate type. It rolled on a frame on which it stood on four legs, a rather oblong, rounded
body, with the projector forming a head.

  "Did you ever read the Book of Revelations in the Bible?" the archaeologist broke off to ask.

  The engineer was caught in one thought sequence, and he took a full minute to switch to the new one. "I've skimmed through it. It seemed so much nonsense to me; couldn't make any sense out of it. It sounds—well, like a man on hashish. For instance, it's talking along about the guy on the horse that has the power to bring peace, and suddenly it says, 'A measure of wheat for a penny, and three measures of barley for a penny, and see thou hurt not the oil and the wine."

  The archaeologist laughed. "I think that bit was illustrating the advent of the traders in the sequence showing those who came to try to make this planet a colonial outpost of empire." At the engineer's questioning look, he continued, "Suppose you showed an aboriginal tribesman a cartoon training film on how to handle epidemics? Or an educational TV film on history? You've seen the type of training film they use in the armed services? And the kind of background-taken-for-granted visual education films they use for students? Try showing them to a complete primitive, one who doesn't even know that such a thing as civilization exists and who thinks you came down from heaven on a magic carpet. And then you ask him to record exactly what he's seen in those movies in his own words, and to preserve the record and not let anybody change a word of it. Try re-reading the Book of Revelations as a series of such movie scripts. I'm ahead of my story, but suppose somebody very loyal to the Lord wanted to carry out the promises he'd made, and did the best he could to carry them out. Then, when he had to leave, about 60 A.D., tried to leave the best record possible in the hope it would last through to the time when people could understand the message? So suppose he took his brightest primitive—John, the Apostle—and showed him a batch of training films illustrating all that had happened in 6700 years, and illustrating also how to handle things like epidemics and radiation? Remember, this is a primitive. And the primitive followed his instructions and wrote down exactly what he saw, and ending with the strong admonition that no word of what he wrote was to be changed.