Terraform (an Ell Donsaii story #15) Page 8

  Ell shrugged, “It’s not really a homework assignment, just his own project.”

  “He’s talking about changing phages so they can attack more bacteria, and… and so they won’t be attacked by our immune system?”

  Ell nodded slowly.

  “Should he be messing with that kind of stuff? It sounds kind of dangerous.”

  Ell just looked at him thoughtfully. For long enough that Steve started to fidget. Am I sticking my nose into stuff I shouldn’t? Or didn’t she know what Zage’s doing and so she’s trying to think what to say?

  Finally, Ell slowly said, “I think as leader of the security team, you have ‘a need to know.’ But I’d really rather it didn’t go any farther than you if it doesn’t have to.”

  Steve blinked, “What’s that?”

  “You remember that package you had Linda deliver to the CDC a couple months ago? Back during the smallpox crisis?”

  Steve grinned, “In a brown paper bag. Yeah, seemed kind of crazy. What was the deal there?”

  “That brown paper bag contained 40 million doses of vaccine for the modified smallpox virus.”

  Startled, Steve said, “40 million? That bag couldn’t have weighed more than a pound or two.”

  “Freeze-dried, a dose of the vaccine weighs micrograms. Because of wastage they almost certainly didn’t get 40 million doses out of that bag of powder, but they should’ve gotten close.”

  “Wait. The news reported that Gordito supplied 40 million doses of vaccine. Is Gordito taking credit for…?” Steve paused as he tried to fit the parts of this puzzle together.

  “Steve, Zage is Gordito.”

  Steve stared at her for a moment, then quietly said, “Holy shit…!”

  “Yeah,” Ell said with a gusting sigh. “I’m still trying to come to grips with it myself. But, you, me, Zage and Shan’re the only four people who know about it. I’d like to keep it that way.”

  “Wow, it’s really sad that the world can’t know…” Steve said slowly. He stopped at the flashing look in Ell’s eyes, “…though of course, they can’t.”

  “That’s right,” Ell said grimly. “Now, I think you came over here about another issue?”

  “Um, yeah. Yesterday the farmhouse had a visit from a journalist, Jillian Pardo. According to her website, she fancies herself an investigative journalist. She’s young and what she’s published hasn’t been all that penetrating. Nonetheless, she came up to the house and talked briefly to the house AI, giving it a false name.” Steve gave Ell a questioning look, “The AI’d already recognized her?”

  “Yeah, the house AI’s linked to Allan. He helped with that.”

  Steve was no longer astonished by what the supercomputer running Ell’s personal AI could do. He said, “I thought that was likely. Do you already know everything you need to know about the incident?”

  She shrugged, “I know she looked in the windows. Then she parked out on the road and watched me drive in. What I don’t know is what she thinks she’s investigating. Any ideas?”

  Steve shook his head. “If you’d been home and she’d actually asked you some questions we might have a better idea.”

  “I thought reporters weren’t supposed to come onto private property like that?”

  “Yeah, paparazzi are supposed to stay out at the road to take their pictures. Reporters can come onto private property to ask questions but must leave if they’re asked to do so. Misrepresenting oneself to gain access leaves you liable for trespass. However, even though she lied about her name, it wasn’t like she was pretending to be a gardener to do some undercover spying. I think she just didn’t want us to know who she was.” He shrugged, “We were prepared to run her off, but she didn’t really break any laws, and you know my philosophy.”

  “Yeah, ‘be so boring they forget about me.’ I suppose trying to arrest her’d be a news story in its own right.”

  Steve nodded.

  “Are you thinking that if she manages to buttonhole me, I should answer some questions?”

  “Yes, but for God’s sake, be boring.”

  ***

  His car having dropped him off, Rick walked up to the Kinrais home with mixed feelings. He worried Zage might’ve invited a bunch of other six-year-olds, a prospect for random rambunctiousness that Rick dreaded. He didn’t like kids, though he hoped his attitude would change if he ever had kids of his own.

  He’d heard men often changed their outlook about children once they’d started interacting with their own.

  Zage was different from the obnoxious children that normally set Rick’s teeth on edge. But if Zage had a bunch of normal six-year-olds at his party, Rick thought they’d probably drive him crazy.

  Rick also worried about the gift he’d brought. He’d hated receiving clothes when he was a kid, but bringing Zage a toy had seemed ridiculously inappropriate. He’d decided to get the boy a jacket, but then couldn’t find any in an appropriate size that seemed to be suitably mature. It seemed like every one he’d found was decorated with characters from current children’s movies. When he’d finally found a plain black one he’d felt like it was probably too boring.

  So, Rick felt uncomfortable on three counts; obnoxious children, inadequate gifts, and nerves about meeting Dr. Kinrais.

  ~~~

  Kinrais himself opened the door. His shaggy dark-blonde hair, T-shirt and jeans were seriously at odds with Rick’s picture of a Nobel prize winner. Kinrais shepherded Rick back into a big room deeper in the house. The house didn’t seem to be anything special, but the big room was outfitted with a surprising number of high-quality screens. Alice and Carley were already there, talking enthusiastically with Zage. Zage’s mother came out of the kitchen, shook Rick’s hand and asked him what he’d like to drink.

  Rick glanced over at Carley and Alice, wondering whether it’d be okay to ask for a beer. With some relief, he saw Alice had a wine glass in her hand. From the corner of his eye, Rick saw Kinrais himself swigging a beer. He turned back to Ms. Kinrais and said, “A beer’d be great.”

  The woman headed back into the kitchen, so Rick started toward Kinrais in hopes of striking up a conversation with an actual Nobel Prize winner. He hadn’t quite reached Kinrais when his eyes were drawn to a brilliant blue painting on a white canvas. An elongated vertical rectangle, it looked like someone had spilled blue paint across the canvas.

  Rick loved art. Distractedly, he moved closer to the stunning work.

  It looks like someone’s still pouring paint onto the canvas, he thought, realizing there was what appeared to be a spout of paint flowing down out of the air and onto the canvas. The glossy, vivid-blue paint appeared to be picking up little reflections. Rick leaned closer. The actual reflections were enhanced with tiny dots and lines of brilliant white paint. It seems so simple. Yet it’s so elegantly done, looking effortless despite the fact that close inspection shows a great deal of effort went into it.

  He looked down at the lower corner for a signature and saw “Leoni Mattioli.” My God, this can’t be an original, can it? It’d have to be worth $50-100k! Rick turned and saw Kinrais studying him with an interested expression. He turned back to the painting, thinking it had to be a print. Then his eyes went back to the little spout of paint supposedly pouring onto the canvas. You can’t do that with a print, can you?

  He turned back to Kinrais, “Is this an original Mattioli?!”

  Kinrais grinned, “I wish. Just a good forgery, I’m afraid.”

  Rick turned back to look enviously at the painting. “Whoever forged that has real talent. He or she should start doing their own stuff!”

  Kinrais smiled, “He does.”

  Rick turned back to Kinrais and put his hand out to shake again. “I’m sure you hear it all the time, but I’d like to be able to say I congratulated you on your Nobel Prize wins. When Zage invited me over, the first thing I did was read through those papers. They represent some astonishing insights.”

  Kinrais gave him a curious look, “Those’r
e mostly math and physics with a bit of chemistry thrown in. I wouldn’t expect a geneticist to find them interesting.”

  Rick shrugged, “I try to keep up, at least a little, on all of science. I’m a big believer in the idea that a broad perspective lets you see things other people miss.” He laughed, “But I can’t pretend I really understand the math in either of those papers.”

  Kinrais produced a wry look, “I can’t pretend to understand the gene analysis and modification stuff you guys do either.”

  Rick looked over at Zage, still deep in conversation with Alice and Carley. Still speaking to Kinrais, he said, “Speaking of genes, your son certainly seems to have inherited some of yours. It’s amazing what he can do at his age.”

  His eyes on Zage, Kinrais slowly shook his head, “Yeah, he’s pretty much astonished us at every turn. Doesn’t seem likely he inherited it from me. He’s way ahead of where I was at his age.”

  Rick looked over at Ms. Kinrais. “I understand your wife works out at D5R?”

  “Well, it’d be more accurate to say she works for them. Seems like she’s not actually at the D5R facility very often. She’s always going somewhere different. Up to the space habitats, out to D5R’s island in the Bahamas, over to portal tech, or Allosci, or ETR. She’s kind of Donsaii’s gofer.”

  “Well, she’s got to be pretty sharp to do that kind of stuff,” Rick said, trying to be politic, though it didn’t sound like a job that required all that much intellect. He glanced around again, “Are any kids his age coming to this party?”

  “No…” Kinrais said wistfully, “Zage isn’t attending grade school. That’d seem kind of pointless. So, he doesn’t have any friends his age from school. We tried to talk him into inviting some of the kids from his martial arts class.” Kinrais laughed, “He says the kids in martial arts are too immature. He thought they’d irritate you guys and he says you guys are his real friends. Besides, he said, as host, he’d have to spend time with them, time he’d rather spend with you and the other grad students.” Kinrais got a pensive look, “Sometimes I think he’s missing his childhood.”

  “Yeah,” Rick said gently, “I worry about the same thing. Zage seems so serious.” He shrugged. “But it’s hard to imagine him doing the usual childhood stuff.”

  ~~~

  After a while, Zage opened his gifts. Rick thought he was pretending when he said he was thrilled with the black jacket Rick brought. Alice brought him chocolate. Rick thought that was an inappropriate gift for a kid who’d just done some serious dieting and lost a bunch of weight. However, from appearances, Zage liked the chocolates a lot better than the jacket. Carley gave the kid what looked like an oddly shaped piece of plastic. When Zage unwrapped it, his eyes widened and he looked up excitedly, “Is this for me to throw with Tanner?”

  Carley nodded, “It bounces funny. Dogs’re supposed to love chasing them.”

  I’m pretty sure I spent at least twice as much as either Alice or Carley, Rick thought in amused frustration, but I think I’m getting half the credit.

  ~~~

  Eventually they had cake and ice cream. The cake was surprisingly good, much better than the typical grocery-store sheet cake Rick was used to eating at birthdays. Finding himself next to Ms. Kinrais, Rick took the cake as an opportunity to initiate a conversation. “This cake’s awesome. Did you bake it yourself?”

  “No, sorry,” she said, looking discomfited. She wiped at a crumb in the corner of her mouth, “I’m afraid I’m a terrible cook. We had to splurge at Raffstetters.”

  Raffstetters was a high-end restaurant famous for its baked goods, and for how expensive they were. Rick said, “I didn’t know they baked custom cakes.”

  Now she looked really embarrassed. “They don’t. I had to really wheedle and beg. I promised them a huge tip to get it to happen.” She leaned closer, “Don’t tell Zage or Shan, they’ll think I went way overboard.”

  ~~~

  In the car on his way home, Rick had his AI bring up a catalog of Mattioli’s works. It didn’t take him long to find the blue painting, though the images didn’t do its simple beauty justice. Hard to imagine that the original could be any better than that forgery, he thought. In fact, I wonder if it’s even as good?

  ***

  Carley looked up as Zage entered the lab. “You were right,” she said.

  Zage stopped and blinked at her, “About what?”

  “My brother. He’s got a β-Klotho gene anomaly.”

  There was a pause, then Zage appeared to decide she was waiting for him to say something. He said, “β-Klotho’s a co-receptor for FGF-21.” He waited a beat, then, when she didn’t say anything, apparently decided she expected him to continue. “FGF-21 inhibits both alcohol and sweets consumption in animals. A deficiency in its receptor could be why he’s overweight as well as alcoholic. Which β-Klotho anomaly does he have?”

  “β-Klotho-c.” Exasperatedly, she asked, “How do you even know about β-Klotho?”

  Zage tilted his head curiously at her, “Remember? I looked up the genetics of alcohol dependence back when I first heard you talking about Eli’s problem?”

  Carley snorted, “Oh, I do remember. But if I’d looked up alcohol genetics way back then I would’ve forgotten most of it by now.”

  Ignoring her protestation, Zage said, “β-Klotho-c isn’t such a bad deficiency to have. It makes him less sensitive to FGF-21, but he should still respond to higher levels.” Again, he waited a beat. When she didn’t say anything, he asked, “Do you have the anomaly too?

  Carley shook her head.

  “So, then you’re not likely to become addicted to alcohol. It should be safe for you to try a few drinks if you want.”

  Slowly, Carley said, “I think I’d rather not. What if…”

  “What if… what?” Zage prompted.

  “What if I’ve got some other predisposition? A gene no one’s found yet?”

  “Seems unlikely,” Zage said with a shrug. “But then, I’ve never understood why anyone’d want to consume something that impairs their mental faculties. From what I understand, the alcohol itself doesn’t taste good. That’s why most people mix it with other things—to cloak its flavor.”

  Carley couldn’t keep herself from laughing at this hyper-rational assessment of people’s motivations for drinking. She shook her head, “Unfortunately, there’s no way for me to modify Eli’s β-Klotho gene.”

  Zage didn’t say anything for a moment. Then he shrugged, “That would be a pretty large undertaking. At present we don’t have very good methodology for inserting the corrected gene into most or all of his cells. It’s especially problematic in that you’d need to insert the gene across the blood-brain barrier into his CNS where it’s assumed that β-Klotho and FGF-21 have their effects on the desire for alcohol. And, if something went wrong, it’d be really hard to undo.”

  “Yeah,” Carley sighed. “When I ran his genome, I was hoping to find something simple to fix.” She shrugged, “Which was a real pie-in-the-sky hope, since most things aren’t easy to correct. But, thanks for the suggestion anyway. If I had found something easy to treat, I’d have been eternally grateful.” She started to turn away, thinking Zage’d be wanting to get on to his own project.

  She paused when she realized Zage hadn’t moved. He said, “Why not just give him FGF-21?”

  Carley thought for a moment, then shook her head, “It’s a protein, so it’d have to be given by injection. Even if he was willing to inject himself regularly, chronic elevation of FGF-21 can cause problems with the liver.”

  “Essentially, his levels act like they’re chronically low because he doesn’t have a good receptor. Also, it’s normally induced by drinking and those elevated levels suppress further drinking. What you’d like to do is give him a little bit of FGF-21 all the time and increase the level if he drinks.”

  Carley drew back hesitantly, “It’d be hard enough to get him to give himself a daily injection. There’s no way I’d be able to get him to inject
himself multiple times a day and then a bigger dose if he drank something.”

  “Ah,” Zage said as if he’d just grasped her objection. “But he could use one of those new injection ports diabetics are using. They give insulin on a steady basis and increase it when they detect elevated levels of blood glucose.”

  “How would I get one of those?” Carley said doubtfully. “It’s not like I can just write a prescription for an insulin port, you know?”

  Zage shrugged, “D5R makes them for animal studies. I might be able to get you one.”

  Carley mumbled to her AI. Looking up at her HUD, her eyes widened, “And, FGF-21’s expensive! I guess I don’t know how much I’d actually need, but I doubt I’d be able to afford it.”

  “It wouldn’t take much,” Zage said, then shrugged again and jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the lab’s equipment. “And we’ve got a cell-free peptide synthesis setup here in the lab…”

  Carley drew back, shaking her head in dismay, “You’re essentially talking about doing an experiment… an unauthorized experiment on my brother.”

  Zage gave a tiny nod, “Or… you could just let him keep drinking. Whichever’s worse.” He sighed, “I wouldn’t want to actually urge you to do it; I’m just mentioning the possibility. Personally, I think Eli’s the one who should decide.” Turning toward his desk in the lab, he said, “I’ve got to check my results.”

  Carley sat, looking after the boy as he walked away. Talking to Zage, it feels like he’s the adult and I’m the kid! He’d looked unhappy and she felt bad she’d sounded critical of his suggestions. Also, he’s been a little standoffish lately. She liked him a lot and didn’t want to lose his friendship. After a while she got up and walked around the end of the lab bench. Zage was examining multi-well plates, “Whatcha doin’?”

  He looked up warily, “Dr. Barnes had me synthesize some of the Alzheimer associated proteins Gordito predicted might misfold. I’m checking to see if any of them have clumped.”

  “Oh, you mean… that if one of the proteins misfolded, the others might crystallize around it, misfolding to match?”