I again held out the vials, and this time Seth took them. "Suppose I'd been a woman?"
"Then I would have needed an ovum. Think yourself lucky."
He retreated upstairs, and returned within a few minutes. "Here. Scientists, they take the fun out of everythin'."
Without molecular-level manipulators—another casualty of the supernova—it took a while to separate and display a single cell of each kind. While I worked, I marveled at the prodigality of Nature. The skin cell looming large on the projection screen contained the complete genetic code for Seth Parsigian. His body held a hundred trillion such cells. From any one, a copy of Seth's body could be grown. Here was lavish redundancy, on a scale incomprehensible to humans.
The skin cell on the screen was suspended in a dichroic solution. That allowed me to color-code and zoom in on the chromosomes, and then amplify further the end section of one. I froze the display at a level of magnification where the individual molecules of the nucleotide bases could be seen.
"Look at that," I said. "There you have a telomere. One of yours, but of course any vertebrate animal's telomere would look the same."
It helps when you have seen something a thousand times before. Seth was staring at a display of the end units of a DNA molecule's curved double helix, but I could see from the expression on his face that to him it was a meaningless jumble of blurry dots. In fact, adenine, guanine, thymine, and cytosine molecules have quite different structures, and their electron density distributions as seen by a scanning probe microscope are readily distinguished by an experienced eye.
"See," I said. "We start from the end there. The same sequence repeats, over and over. T-T-A-G-G-G. And again. T-T-A-G-G-G. When you were born, that would repeat about eight hundred times. The number of repeating sequences gets less all your life. Now let's count." Under my control, the scanning probe traveled steadily along the molecular chain. I was counting out loud, for Seth's benefit rather than my own. I already saw the general picture.
"I hope you're not expectin' me to learn to do that," Seth said. "All those gizmos look the same to me."
We were moving along the chromosome into the subtelomeric region. The regular repeating pattern T-T-A-G-G-G was breaking down.
I froze the display again. "Let me make a guess," I said. "You were due to be given a shot of telomerase stimulator in less than two months."
"How'd you know that?"
"The telomere is quite a bit shorter than it should be. Not dangerously so, but it needs rebuilding. Now let's check the sperm cell."
It was of course haploid, containing only one half of his genetic code. The other half required for a complete diploid individual came from the mother. However, each chromosome of the sperm was intact. Its telomere should have been completely rebuilt, which meant that the nucleotide sequence ought to repeat about fifteen hundred times.
This time I did not bother to count for Seth's benefit. I could see where random elements began to enter the sequence. The telomere was far too short, no more than a few hundred repetitions of the same pattern of the six nucleotide bases.
"So I'm in trouble," Seth said when I explained to him what we were looking at.
"Not at all. You just need to monitor this for yourself and learn when you need a telomerase inhibitor or stimulator."
"I already told you, everythin' looks the same to me. It's one big garbage can. I'd never learn to read it, and there's no way I could carry all this display stuff around with me."
"You won't have to do either of those things." I had made my point that he was dependent on me—more than ever, because he was close to needing treatment. "I'm going to package a set of wet chemistry tests for you. Then all you'll need to do is run through them with a skin sample and a semen or menstrual blood sample, and from the output you'll know what treatment you need. Making telomerase inhibitor and telomerase stimulator isn't hard for any biochemical supply house. I'll write that out for you."
"Great."
I went across to where he was sitting. "But before I start," I said, "I think we need to talk."
He didn't gape or frown or offer some other bogus pretense of lack of understanding. As I say, in his own disgusting way Seth Parsigian deserved lots of respect.
"I've been thinkin' that, too," he said. "Of course, before it was worth talkin' I needed to see evidence that you could do something for me. Now you've just given me that."
"Should I summarize how things stand, or will you?"
"Let me take a stab at my side, then you have a go at yours. Why don't you sit down—over there. I'd hate to have to shoot you."
From where I stood in front of him, I could, just conceivably, have made a dive for the gun. He was not to know that such a move on my part was most unlikely. My skin already contains a satisfactory number of apertures.
I went to sit down on a stool by the bench, and he continued, "Let's talk about what I want. I think that one's easy. I want the package you say you know how to make, something enough to last me a couple of years 'til things start gettin' back to normal, an' somethin' like the Institute's back in business. Actually, I want at least three of them packages. And I want you to explain exactly how to work 'em, so I can tell the other two."
"Really?"
"Yeah. You surprised? You shouldn't be. I could never have got to the Q-5 facility and yanked you out of there without help. We got common interests, me and the other Lazarus Club members. We're all different, an' I got my own life to live, but chances are good that I'll need their help again. I scratch their backs, they scratch mine. You have a problem with that?"
"Not in the slightest. The real tragedy of the commons is that it need never have happened. A logical basis for group-level altruism in terms of individual genetic advantage was provided more than forty years ago."
"That right? I guess it didn't make it yet to West Virginia, 'cause I've no idea what you're talkin' about. Anyway, now you know what I want. What do you want?"
I had to be careful. Some of what I wanted was absolutely none of his business. It was also more than he could possibly offer.
"I want to vanish. I want to disappear from the face of the Earth, as completely as if I had never existed. As a matter of fact, that was my plan had I not been caught and sentenced. Some distant isle, some quiet beach."
"That right?" His tone implied not skepticism, but indifference. That I was speaking the exact truth was not relevant.
"Now, of course, the matter is much more difficult. I know that I will be hunted. It may not happen at once, but it will surely happen. When the time comes, I cannot afford to have left a trail. After you and I separate, I don't want you to know where I'm going. I don't want anyone to know where I'm going."
"That's fine with me. I don't work for judicial control, it's not my job to do theirs for 'em. But we hafta work out the mechanics. Once you make me the telomod kits, you're a free man. But if you don't want me to know where you are, I can't just leave you here."
"Of course not."
"So what do we do?"
"The place that you're going to meet your two friends. Where is it?"
My fishing was no more successful than it had been a few days earlier. Seth smiled and said, "I don't recognize a need to know there, as my old spook buddies tend to say. Why are you askin'?"
"Is it in a city, or somewhere off in the country? That's all I want to know. If it's in the city, I don't want to go there. If it's out in the wilderness, that would be fine with me. I'd give you your telomod kits and take off from there."
"Could be. Let me think about that."
"I assume that we would require ground transportation. "
It was more fishing on my part, but Seth's casual, "Don't worry your head none about that. I'll find whatever we need," told me that the information was not particularly useful.
"Let me think about it," he said. "It might work, you goin' with me. I'll be back at dinnertime, and we can talk things over some more."
How much mutual trust
did we have? Let me put it this way: he backed up the stairs.
He had, quite reasonably, gone away to consider the dangers and advantages of my proposal. One danger, of course, was that I might cheat him by providing a telomod therapy kit that either did nothing or led to positive damage. Another possibility was death. I might find a way to kill him and his two fellow patients, thereby eliminating any chance that they would assist the judicial authorities in pursuing me.
The advantage, from his point of view, was that his two friends—I use the term loosely—would have an opportunity to explore the telomod therapy kits, and to ask me questions about its use. He would have two more people to help watch me. Finally, he would be on the territory of his choice, whereas my knowledge of this house presently offered me tactical superiority. If deadly violence were to be committed, he was like me. He would think it better to give than to receive.
I sat down to do my own serious pondering. In the language of chess, we were well into the middle game, and now we were defining our positions as we approached the endgame.
Did I understand Seth well enough to know how many moves ahead he thought, and what kind of traps he was apt to set?
How far inside me did he see?. I have always felt myself to be rather inscrutable, but it is just the kind of self-confidence which can so easily prove fatal.
According to Lord Macaulay, Man is so inconsistent a creature that it is impossible to reason from his beliefs to his conduct. I have never been persuaded of that. I certainly do not think that it applies either to me or to Seth Parsigian.
41
The President of the United States was not as Celine had imagined him. Saul Steinmetz was smaller, older, and too pale. He seemed almost unbelievably weary as they came into his office. But his eyes were warm and understanding, and when he smiled at you it lit up his face.
"Not quite the return that you deserved, or that I'd hoped you'd have," he said. "No big parade down the Mall, no bands and medals and dinners and speeches. Well, we'll get to that eventually. Welcome home."
He waved to the sideboard by the wall of his office. "Something to drink?"
The next half minute of conversation left Celine confused. It was all small talk, about things like weather and Washington. The President made no mention of the worldwide devastation caused by the supernova, and he showed little interest in the Mars expedition itself. So why were they here?
Saul Steinmetz made it clear at last, with a quiet, "Now, tell me about your return to Earth. Tell me in particular what you know about Pearl Lazenby and the Legion of Argos."
In spite of his easy manner, he didn't waste much time. Three people had been ushered out of his office as Celine and Wilmer came in. Half a dozen more waited stoically in the antechamber.
The woman general and the beautiful young aide who had brought them to the White House stayed. Celine knew that General Grace Mackay was the Secretary of Defense, but the aide's name rang no bells. However, she sat down with the others without being invited. Yasmin Silvers was obviously an insider.
Celine gave her description of the failed reentry that had killed Zoe Nash, Ludwig Holter, and Alta McIntosh-Mohammad. She emphasized that the data from the first orbiter had been key to the second orbiter's survival. She caught the wag of the finger that Steinmetz gave to Yasmin Silvers, and realized that the aide was taking notes. Something would be done to memorialize the three dead crew members.
The President showed less interest in the story of the Clark's successful reentry, until the orbiter made its emergency landing and the surviving crew members were met by followers of the Legion of Argos. Then he leaned forward and asked, "The head of the Legion—Pearl Lazenby. Did you meet her?"
"Several times."
"I don't know if you realize this, but she was sentenced to many centuries of judicial sleep for multiple terrorist actions. Her followers removed her from the syncope facility less than two weeks ago. What are your impressions of her?"
"Enormously dangerous." Celine repeated Jenny Kopal's estimate that the Legion of Argos had more than a hundred thousand followers armed and ready to act. "They're her absolute slaves. Anything she tells them to do, they do. As soon as she gives the word, they'll start a 'holy cleansing.' If you're not white, then you'll be doomed."
"Jews, too, for a bet. We're on everybody's hit list. When is this supposed to happen?"
"Any moment. That's why we felt we had to escape and give a warning."
"Do you think she believes what she tells her followers?"
"Absolutely. She sees visions. When that happens, she becomes the Eye of God and therefore infallible. When she's not the Eye of God, you think you're talking to a nice and persuasive lady. That's one reason she's so scary."
"Anyone can say they see visions. Did you hear any of her prophecies?"
"That's the other disturbing thing. She prophesied her own 'resurrection'—her escape from the syncope facility."
"Wishful thinking."
"But it happened. And she predicted Supernova Alpha, or at least something you could easily interpret as that. Floods and fires and dust storms, freak weather and the collapse of technology."
"Typical apocalyptic prophecies. Anything specific?"
"Yes. She claims to have predicted the date when it would happen."
"Which puts her streets ahead of any of my advisers." Saul Steinmetz turned to Wilmer, who was sitting eyeing the weather satellite displays on the wall opposite. "Did you meet her, too?"
"Yes."
When that seemed to be the full extent of his answer, Celine added, "Dr. Oldfield spent much more time with Pearl Lazenby than I did."
"Oh?" Saul turned his full attention to Wilmer. "Why was that?"
Wilmer frowned and rubbed the bald spot on the top of his head. "I dunno. I guess I got fed up with her prophecies, because it seemed like what she was telling us was a load of old cobblers. So I gave her a few prophecies of my own to chew on. She seemed to like 'em. She kept asking me back for more."
"You do prophecies, too?" Saul spoke to Wilmer, but his eyes were on Grace Mackay and Yasmin Silvers. What sort of nut have you brought in here with you?
Wilmer grinned. "Nah. What I gave her was science. Pearl Lazenby doesn't know the difference. I told her about global disasters that are going to happen half a century from now. They aren't predictions, they are guaranteed effects of Supernova Alpha. But she believes they are prophecies."
"The supernova is going to have an effect on Earth, fifty years in the future?"
"Fifty years, give or take ten years. Depends on particle speeds. A huge effect. I told her that, too."
"Why don't you tell me—the whole thing."
"You mean nobody's briefed you on it before?"
Saul looked at General Mackay. She nodded. "Yes, sir, they have. Weeks ago, just after the gamma pulse. Dr. Vronsky. He did it twice."
"And I suspect I didn't understand a word he said."
"It didn't matter at the time, sir. You had more urgent priorities."
"I'm not sure that's true." Saul turned again to Wilmer. "Go ahead. Keep it simple."
"It is simple," Wilmer said. Celine jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow. "All right. Simple. Alpha Centauri goes supernova. It shoots out a lot of stuff, visible radiation and gamma rays and particles. And I mean a lot of stuff. Enough to fry any planets it might have. We're lucky enough to be far away, we survive. We get the visible light, then a few weeks later the gas shell around the star ruptures and we get the gamma pulse. If Earth had been lucky the gammas would have squirted out in some other direction and missed us. But they didn't. They zapped Earth and the EMP wiped out most of the electronics."
"Fifty years," Saul prompted.
"I'm getting there. Everything that hit us so far was traveling at the speed of light. Gamma rays, visible light, neutrinos. But that's only a small fraction of the energy that a supernova releases. A lot more energy comes out as high-energy particles. And a particle can't travel as fast as lig
ht."
"Why not?"
"Well, I'm talking about a particle with mass. A zero mass particle, like a neutrino, travels at the same speed as light. In fact, it has to. But when an ordinary particle is accelerated to a high velocity, up close to light speed, relativity takes over. The amount of energy that you need to accelerate a particle relativistically becomes—"
"Dr. Oldfield, I hate to interrupt. Blame it on a defective education, but when two particular words appear in a briefing, I know that from that point on I'm not going to understand a thing. One of them is relativity. The other is entropy. I concede it, a particle can't travel as fast as light. What then?"
"Well, it travels slower than light. In the case of particles blown out of a supernova, the actual speed falls into a range. The peak of the velocity distribution, as I calculate it, falls right about eight and a half percent of light speed. Which gives the result that I mentioned."
He paused, gave the top of his head a last rub, and sat back.
"Finish it, Wilmer," Celine said grimly. "I've told you a hundred times. Dot the i's and cross the t's."
"What? Oh." Wilmer turned back to Saul. "The Alpha Centauri system is one and a third parsecs away from Earth. That's four point thirty-four light-years. So a particle that travels at eight and a half percent of light speed will take a little more than fifty-one years to get here. There's slop in the calculation, so half a century is about as good an estimate as you can get."
"Do you know what the effects will be, when the particles hit us?"
"No. I don't think anybody does. But I'll put it in energy terms. Earth—and the whole solar system—will be hit with at least ten times as much energy as we received from the visible and gamma radiation."
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