"And an atomic detonation."
"Incredible," Stone said. "Just incredible."
The screen came to life; they saw Robertson, looking tired, smoking a cigarette.
"Jeremy, you've got to give me time. I haven't been able to get through to--"
Listen," Stone said, "I want you to make sure Directive 7-12 is not carried out. It is imperative: no atomic device must be detonated around the organisms. That's the last thing in the world, literally, that we want to do."
He explained. briefly what he had found.
Robertson whistled. "We'd just provide a fantastically rich growth medium.
"That's right," Stone said.
The problem of a rich growth medium was a peculiarly distressing one to the Wildfire team. It was known, for example, that checks and balances exist in the normal environment. These manage to dampen the exuberant growth of bacteria.
The mathematics of uncontrolled growth are frightening. A single cell of the bacterium E. coli would, under ideal circumstances, divide every twenty minutes. That is not particularly disturbing until you think about it, but the fact is that bacteria multiply geometrically: one becomes two, two become four, four become eight, and so on. In this way, it can be shown that in a single day, one cell of E. coli could
produce a super-colony equal in size and weight to the entire planet earth.
This never happens, for a perfectly simple reason: growth cannot continue indefinitely under "ideal circumstances." Food runs out. Oxygen runs out. Local conditions within the colony change, and check the growth of organisms.
On the other hand, if you had an organism that was capable of directly converting energy to matter, and if you provided it with a huge rich source of energy, like an atomic blast...
"I'll pass along your recommendation to the President," Robertson said. "He'll be pleased to know he made the right decision on the 7-12."
"You can congratulate him on his scientific insight, " Stone said, "for me."
Robertson was scratching his head. "I've got some more data on the Phantom crash. It was over the area west of Piedmont at twenty-three thousand feet. The post team has found evidence of the disintegration the pilot spoke of, but the material that was destroyed was a plastic of some kind. It was depolymerized."
"What does the post team make of that?"
"They don't know what the hell to make of it," Robertson admitted. "And there's something else. They found a few pieces of bone that have been identified as human. A bit of humerus and tibia. Notable because they are clean-- almost polished."
"Flesh burned away?"
"Doesn't look that way, " Robertson said.
Stone frowned at Leavitt.
"What does it look like?"
"It looks like clean, polished bone," Robertson said. "They say it's weird as hell. And there's something else. We checked into the National Guard around Piedmont. The 112th is stationed in a hundred-mile radius, and it turns out they've been running patrols into the area for a distance of fifty miles. They've had as many as one hundred men west of Piedmont. No deaths."
"None? You're quite sure?"
"Absolutely."
"Were there men on the ground in the area the Phantom flew over?"
"Yes. Twelve men. They reported the plane to the base, in fact."
Leavitt said, "Sounds like the plane crash is a fluke."
Stone nodded. To Robertson: "I'm inclined to agree with Peter. In the absence of fatalities on the ground..."
"Maybe it's only in the upper air."
"Maybe. But we know at least this much: we know how Andromeda kills. It does so by coagulation. Not disintegration, or bone-cleaning, or any other damned thing. By coagulation."
"All right," Robertson said, "let's forget the plane for the time being."
It was on that note that the meeting ended.
***
Stone said, "I think we'd better check our cultured organisms for biologic potency."
"Run some of them against a rat?"
Stone nodded. "Make sure it's still virulent. Still the same."
Leavitt agreed. They had to be careful the organism didn't mutate, didn't change to something radically different in its effects.
As they were about to start, the Level V monitor clicked on and said, "Dr. Leavitt. Dr. Leavitt."
Leavitt answered. On the computer screen was a pleasant young man in a white lab coat.
"Yes?"
"Dr. Leavitt, we have gotten our electroencephalograms back from the computer center. I'm sure it's all a mistake, but..."
His voice trailed off.
"Yes?" Leavitt said. "Is something wrong?"
"Well, sir, yours were read as grade four, atypical, probably benign. But we would like to run another set."
Stone said, "It must be a mistake."
"Yes," Leavitt said. "It must be."
"Undoubtedly, Sir," the man said. "But we would like another set of waves to be certain."
"I'm rather busy now," Leavitt said.
Stone broke in, talking directly to the technician. "Dr. Leavitt will get a repeat EEG when he has the chance."
"Very good, Sir," the technician said.
When the screen was blank, Stone said, "There are times when this damned routine gets on anybody's nerves."
Leavitt said, "Yes."
They were about to begin biologic testing of the various culture media when the computer flashed that preliminary reports from X-ray crystallography were prepared. Stone and Leavitt left the room to check the results, delaying the biologic tests of media. This was a most unfortunate decision, for had they examined the media, they would have seen that their thinking had already gone astray, and that they were on the wrong track.
25. Willis
X-RAY CRYSTALLOGRAPHY ANALYSIS SHOWED THAT the Andromeda organism was not composed of component parts, as a normal cell was composed of nucleus, mitochondria, and ribosomes. Andromeda had no subunits, no smaller particules. Instead, a single substance seemed to form the walls and interior. This substance produced a characteristic precession photograph, or scatter pattern of X rays.
Looking at the results, Stone said, "A series of six-sided rings."
"And nothing else," Leavitt said. "How the hell does it operate? "
The two men were at a loss to explain how so simple an organism could utilize energy for growth.
"A rather common ring structure," Leavitt said. "A phenolic group, nothing more. It should be reasonably inert."
"Yet it can convert energy to matter."
Leavitt scratched his head. He thought back to the city analogy, and the brain-cell analogy. The molecule was simple in its building blocks. It possessed no remarkable powers, taken as single units. Yet collectively, it had great powers.
"Perhaps there is a critical level," he suggested. "A structural complexity that makes possible what is not possible in a similar but simple structure."
"The old chimp-brain argument," Stone said.
[GRAPHIC] (Caption: Electron-density mapping of Andromeda structure as derived from micrographic studies. It was this mapping which disclosed activity variations within an otherwise uniform structure. Photo courtesy Project Wildfire)
Leavitt nodded. As nearly as anyone could determine, the chimp brain was as complex as the human brain. There were minor differences in structure, but the major difference was size-- the human brain was larger, with more cells, more interconnections.
And that, in some subtle way, made the human brain different. (Thomas Waldren, the neurophysiologist, once jokingly noted that the major difference between the chimp and human brain was that "we can use the chimp as an experimental animal, and not the reverse.")
Stone and Leavitt puzzled over the problem for several minutes until they came to the Fourier electron-density scans. Here, the probability of finding electrons was mapped for the structure on a chart that resembled a topological map.
They noticed something odd. The structure was present but the Fourier mapping was inconstant.
"It almost looks," Stone said, "as if part of the structure is switched off in some way."
"It's not uniform after all," Leavitt said.
Stone sighed, looking at the map. "I wish to hell," he said, "that we'd brought a physical chemist along on the team."
Unspoken was the added comment, "instead of Hall."
***
Tired, Hall rubbed his eyes and sipped the coffee, wishing he could have sugar. He was alone in the cafeteria, which was silent except for the muted ticking of the teleprinter in the corner.
After a time he got up and went over to the teleprinter, examining the rolls of paper that had come from it. Most of the information was meaningless to him.
But then he saw one item which had come from the DEATHMATCH Program. DEATHMATCH was a news-scanning computer program that recorded all significant deaths according to whatever criterion the computer was fed. In this case, the computer was alerted to pick up all deaths in the Arizona-Nevada-California area, and to print them back.
The item he read might have gone unnoticed, were it not for Hall's conversation with Jackson. At the time, it had seemed like a pointless conversation to Hall, productive of little and consuming a great deal of time.
But now, he wondered.
PRINT PROGRAM
DEATHWATCH DEATHMATCH/998
SCALE 7,Y,O. X,4,0 PRINT AS
ITEM FROM ASSOCIATED PRESS VERBATIM 778778
BRUSH RIDGE, ARIZ.-- An Arizona highway patrol officer was allegedly involved in the death today of five persons in a highway diner. Miss Sally Conover, waitress at the Dine-eze diner on Route 15, ten miles south of Flagstaff, was the sole survivor of the incident.
Miss Conover told investigators that at 2:40 a.m., Officer Martin Willis entered the diner and ordered coffee and donut. Officer Willis had frequently visited the diner in the past. After eating, he stated that he had a severe headache and that "his ulcer was acting up." Miss Conover gave him two aspirin and a tablespoon of bicarbonate of soda. According to her statement, Officer Willis then looked suspiciously at the other people in the diner and whispered, "They're after me."
Before the waitress could reply, Willis took out his revolver and shot the other customers in the diner, moving methodically from one to the next, shooting each in the forehead. Then, he allegedly turned to Miss Conover and, smiling, said "I love you, Shirley Temple," placed the barrel in his mouth, and fired the last bullet.
Miss Conover was released by police after questioning. The names of the deceased customers are not known at this time.
END ITEM VERBATIM END PRINT END PROGRAM
TERMINATE
Hall remembered that Officer Willis had gone through Piedmont earlier in the evening-- just a few minutes before the disease broke out. He had gone through without stopping.
And had gone mad later on.
Connection?
He wondered. There might be. Certainly, he could see many similarities: Willis had an ulcer, had taken aspirin, and had, eventually, committed suicide.
That didn't prove anything, of course. It might be a wholly unrelated series of events. But it was certainly worth checking.
He punched a button on the computer console. The TV screen lighted and a girl at a switchboard, with a headset pressing down her hair, smiled at him.
"I want the chief medical officer for the Arizona highway patrol. The western sector, if there is one."
"Yes, sir," she said briskly.
A few moments later, the screen came back on. It was the operator. "We have a Dr. Smithson who is the medical officer for the Arizona highway patrol west of Flagstaff. He has no television monitor but you can speak to him on audio."
"Fine," Hall said.
There was a crackling, and a mechanical hum. Hall watched the screen, but the girl had shut down her own audio and was busy answering another call from elsewhere in the Wildfire station. While he watched her, he heard a deep, drawling voice ask tentatively, "Anyone there?"
"Hello, Doctor," Hall said. "This is Dr. Mark Hall, in...Phoenix. I'm calling for some information about one of your patrolmen, Officer Willis."
"The girl said it was some government thing," Smithson drawled. "That right?"
"That is correct. We require--"
"Dr. Hall," Smithson said, still drawling, "perhaps you'd identify yourself and your agency."
It occurred to Hall that there was probably a legal problem involved in Officer Willis' death. Smithson might be worried about that.
Hall said, "I am not at liberty to tell you exactly what it is--"
"Well, look here, Doctor. I don't give out information over the phone, and especially I don't when the feller at the other end won't tell me what it's all about."
Hall took a deep breath. "Dr. Smithson, I must ask you--"
"Ask all you want. I'm sorry, I simply won't--"
At that moment, a bell sounded on the line, and a flat mechanical voice said:
"Attention please. This is a recording. Computer monitors have analyzed cable properties of this communication and have determined that the communication is being recorded by the outside party. All parties should be informed that the penalty for outside recording of a classified government communication is a minimum of five years' prison sentence. If the recording is continued this connection will automatically be broken. This is a recording. Thank you."
There was a long silence. Hall could imagine the surprise Smithson was feeling; he felt it himself.
"What the hell kind of a place are you calling from, anyhow?" Smithson said finally.
"Turn it off," Hall said.
There was a pause, a click, then: "All right. It's off."
"I am calling from a classified government installation," Hall said.
"Well, look here, mister--"
"Let me be perfectly plain," Hall said. "This is a matter of considerable importance and it concerns Officer Willis. No doubt there's a court inquiry pending on him, and no doubt You'll be involved. We may be able to demonstrate that Officer Willis was not responsible for his actions, that he was suffering from a purely medical problem. But we can't do that unless you tell us what you know about his medical status. And if you don't tell us, Dr. Smithson, and tell us damned fast, we can have you locked away for twelve years for obstructing an official, government inquiry. I don't care whether you believe that or not. I'm telling you, and you'd better believe it."
There was a very long pause, and finally the drawl: "No need to get excited, Doctor. Naturally, now that I understand the situation."
"Did Willis have an ulcer?"
"Ulcer? No. That was just what he said, or was reported to have said. He never had an ulcer that I know of."
"Did he have any medical problem?"
"Diabetes," Smithson said.
"Diabetes? "
"Yeah. And he was pretty casual about it. We diagnosed him five, six years ago, at the age of thirty. Had a pretty severe case. We put him on insulin, fifty units a day, but he was casual, like I said. Showed up in the hospital once or twice in coma, because he wouldn't take his insulin. Said he hated the needles. We almost put him off the force, because we were afraid to let him drive a car-- thought he'd go into acidosis at the wheel and conk out. We scared him plenty and he promised to go straight. That was three years ago, and as far as I know, he took his insulin regularly from then on."
"You're sure of that?"
"Well, I think so. But the waitress at that restaurant, Sally Conover, told one of our investigators that she figured Willis had been drinking, because she could smell liquor on his breath. And I know for a fact that Willis never touched a drop in his life. He was one of these real religious fellows. Never smoked and never drank. Always led a clean life. That was why his diabetes bothered him so: he felt he didn't deserve it."
Hall relaxed in his chair. He was getting near now, coming closer. The answer was within reach; the final answer, the key to it all.
"One last question," Hall said. "Did Willis go through Piedmont on the night of his death?"
"Yes. He radioed in. He was a little behind schedule, but he passed through. Why? Is it something about the government tests being held there?"
"No," Hall said, but he was sure Smithson didn't believe him.
"Well, listen, we're stuck here with a bad case, and if you have any information which would--"
"We will be in touch," Hall promised him, and clicked off.
The girl at the switchboard came back on.
"Is your call completed, Dr. Hall?"
"Yes. But I need information."
"What kind of information?"
"I want to know if I have the authority to arrest someone."
"I will check, Sir. What is the charge?"
"No charge. Just to hold someone."
There was a moment while she looked over at her computer console.
"Dr. Hall, you may authorize an official Army interview with anyone involved in project business. This interview may last up to forty-eight hours."
"All right, " Hall said. "Arrange it."
"Yes sir. Who is the person?"
"Dr. Smithson," Hall said.
The girl nodded and the screen went blank. Hall felt sorry for Smithson, but not very sorry; the man would have a few hours of sweating, but nothing more serious than that. And it was essential to halt rumors about Piedmont.
He sat back in his chair and thought about what he had learned. He was excited, and felt on the verge of an important discovery.
Three people:
A diabetic in acidosis, from failure to take insulin.
An old man who drank Sterno and took aspirin, also in acidosis.
