Darwin's Children d-2 Page 23

  “Yesterday evening, a meeting was held in Baltimore to discuss the results of a proprietary Americol health survey. You were present,” Gianelli said. “Tell us what’s happening, Kaye.”

  Browning’s look was a warning.

  Kaye ignored her. “We have conclusive evidence there have been new first-stage SHEVA deliveries, Senator,” she said. “Expulsion or abortion of interim daughters.”

  A hush fell over the chamber. All the senators looked up and around, as if a strange bird had flown into the room.

  “I beg your pardon?” Chase said.

  “There will be new SHEVA births. We are now in our third wave.”

  “Is there not a security protocol?” Percy asked, regarding his fellow senators on the committee with a look of astonishment. “This committee is not known for its discretion. I ask you to consider the political and social fallout—”

  “Madam Chair,” the senator from Arizona demanded, exasperated.

  “Dr. Rafelson, please explain,” Gianelli said, ignoring the ruckus.

  “Blood samples from more than fifty thousand males in committed relationships are again producing SHEVA retroviruses. Current CDC estimates are that more than twenty thousand women will give birth to second-stage SHEVA infants over the next eight to twelve months in the United States. In the next three years, we may have as many as a hundred thousand SHEVA births.”

  “My God,” Percy called out, “Will it never end?” His voice made the sound system ring.

  “The big ball rolls again,” Gianelli said.

  “Is this true, Ms. Browning?” Senator Percy demanded.

  Browning drew herself up. “Thank you, Senator. Emergency Action is well aware of these cases, and we have prepared a special plan to counteract their effect. True, there have been miscarriages. Subsequent pregnancies have been reported. There is no proof that these children will have the same kind of virally induced mutations. In fact, the retrovirus being shed by males is not homologous to the SHEVA viruses we are familiar with. We may be witnessing a novel resurgence of the disease, with new complications.”

  Senator Percy moved in. “This is awesome and awful news. Ms. Browning, don’t you think it is high time that we free ourselves of these invaders?”

  Browning arranged her papers. “I do, Senator Percy. A vaccine has been developed that confers substantial resistance to transmission of SHEVA and many other retroviruses.”

  Kaye held onto the edge of the table to keep her hands from shaking. There was no new vaccine; she knew that for a fact. This was the purest scientific bullshit. But now was certainly not the time to call Browning to account. Let her spin her web.

  “We expect to be able to stop this new viral phase in its tracks,” Browning continued. She slipped on granny reading glasses and read from notes on her data phone. “We are also recommending quarantine and GPS-chipping and tracking of all infected mothers, to prevent further outbreaks of Shiver. We hope to eventually get court permission to chip all SHEVA children.”

  Kaye looked along the row of faces behind the dais, seeing only fear, and then turned to Browning again.

  Browning held Kaye’s gaze for a long moment, eyes square and forthright over the granny glasses. “Emergency Action has the authority, under Presidential Decision Directives 298 and 341, and the authority conferred by Congress in our original charter, to announce a full quarantine of all affected mothers. We are ordering separate house arrest for males shedding the new retrovirus, removing them from households where they may infect their partners. The bottom line is we do not want any more SHEVA-affected children to be born.”

  Chase had gone pale. “How do we prevent that, Ms. Browning?” he asked.

  “If chipping cannot be implemented immediately, we’ll resort to older methods. Ankle bracelets will be attached to monitor the activities of affected males. Other plans are being drawn up even now. We will prevent this new surge of disease, Senator.”

  “How long until we can cleanse our bodies of these viruses completely?” Senator Percy asked.

  “That’s Ms. Lang’s area of expertise,” Browning said, and turned to her with an ingenuous expression, one professional to another. “Kaye? Any progress?”

  “Our division is trying new procedures,” Kaye said. “So far, we have been unable to remove legacy retroviruses—ERVs—from mouse or chimpanzee embryos and proceed to live birth. Removing most or all of the ancient viral genes, including SHEVA genes, produces gross chromosomal abnormalities following mitosis, failure of fertilized eggs to implant, early absorptions, and miscarriages. As well, we have not made progress at Americol with any effective vaccine. There’s a lot to be learned. Viruses—”

  “There it is,” Browning interrupted, turning back to the senators. “Utter failure. We have to move now with practical remedies.”

  “One wonders, Dr. Rafelson, whether or not you are to be trusted with this work, given your sympathies?” Senator Percy said, and mopped his forehead.

  “That’s uncalled for, Senator Percy,” Gianelli said sharply.

  Browning swept on. “We hope to share all scientific data with Americol and with this committee,” she said. “We sincerely believe that Ms. Lang and her fellow scientists should be as forthcoming with us, and perhaps a tad more diligent.”

  Kaye folded her hands on top of the table.

  After the session was gaveled to a close, Augustine sipped a glass of water in the waiting room. Browning walked briskly by.

  “Did you have anything to do with this, Mark?” she asked in an undertone, pouring herself a glass from the frosted pitcher. Three years ago, he had underestimated the fear and hatred of which Americans were capable. Rachel Browning had not. If the new director of Emergency Action trailed any rope, Augustine could not see it.

  Many more years might pass before she hanged herself.

  “No,” Augustine said. “Why would I?”

  “Well, the news will get out soon enough.”

  Browning turned away from the door to the waiting room as Kaye was ushered in by Laura Bloch, and slipped away with her counsel. Bloch quickly secured Kaye a cup of coffee. Augustine and Kaye stood less than a pace apart. Kaye lifted her cup. “Hello, Mark.”

  “Good evening, Kaye. You did well.”

  “I doubt that, but thank you,” Kaye said.

  “I wanted to tell you I’m sorry,” Augustine said.

  “For what?” Kaye asked. She did not know, of course, all that had happened on that day when Browning had called and told him about the possible acquisition of her family.

  “Sorry you had to be their decoy,” he said.

  “I’m used to it,” Kaye said. “It’s the price I’m paying for being out of the loop for so long.”

  Augustine tried for a sympathetic grin, but his stiff face produced only a mild grimace. “I hear you,” he said.

  “Finally,” Kaye said primly, and turned to join Laura Bloch.

  Augustine felt the rebuff, but he knew how to be patient. He knew how to work in the background, silently and with little credit.

  He had long since learned how to emulate the lowly viruses.

  9

  NEW MEXICO

  To enter the Pathogenics zoo, they had to pass through a room with bare concrete walls painted black and dip their shoes in shallow trays of sweet, cloying yellow fluid—a variation on Lysol, Turner explained.

  Dicken awkwardly swirled his shoes in the fluid.

  “We do it on the way out, too,” Presky said. “Rubber soles last longer.”

  They scraped and dried their shoes on black nylon mats and slipped on combination cotton booties and leggings, cinched around the calf. Presky gave each a snood and fine mesh filter masks to cover their mouths, and instructed them to touch as little as possible.

  The zoo would have made a small town proud. It filled four warehouses covering several acres, steel and concrete walls lined with enclosures containing loose facsimiles of natural environments. “Comfortable, low stress,” Tur
ner pointed out. “We want all our ancient viruses calm and collected.”

  “Dr. Blakemore is working with vervets and howler monkeys,” Jurie said. “Old World and New World. Their ERV profiles are vastly different, as I’m sure you know. We hope soon to have chimps, but perhaps we can just piggyback on Americol’s chimp project.” He glanced at Dicken with speculative brown eyes. “Kaye Lang’s work, no?”

  Dicken nodded absently.

  The five large primate cages had most of the amenities: tree limbs, swings and rings, floors covered with rubber matting, multiple levels for pacing and climbing, a wide selection of plastic toys. Dicken counted six howler monkeys segregated male and female in two cages, with perforated plastic sheeting between: They could see and smell each other, but not touch.

  They walked on and paused before a long, narrow aquarium containing a happily swimming platypus and several small fish. Dicken loved platypuses. He smiled like a little boy at the foot-long juvenile as it breached and dove several times through the clear green water, silvery lines of bubbles streaming from its slick fur.

  “Her name is Torrie,” Presky said. “She’s pretty, no?”

  “She’s wonderful,” Dicken said.

  “Anything with fur, scales, or feathers, has viral genes of interest,” Jurie said. “Torrie’s rather a dud, at the moment, but we like her anyway. We’ve just finished sequencing and comparing the allogenomes of echidnas and, of course, platypuses.”

  “We’re taking a census of monotreme ERVs,” Turner explained. “ERVs are useful during viviparous development. They help us subdue our mothers’ immune systems. Otherwise, her lymphocytes would kill the embryos, because in part they type for the father’s tissue. However, like birds, monotremes lay eggs. They should not use ERVs so extensively during early development.”

  “The Temin-Larsson-Villarreal hypothesis,” Dicken said.

  “You’re familiar with TLV?” Turner asked, pleased. TLV stood for a theory of virus-host interactions concocted from work done over decades, at different institutions, by Howard R. Temin, Eric Larsson, and Luis P. Villarreal. TLV had gained a lot of favor since SHEVA.

  Dicken nodded. “So, do they?”

  “Do who, what?” Presky asked.

  “Do echidnas and birds express ERV particles to protect their embryos?”

  “Ah,” Presky said, and smiled mysteriously, then wagged his finger. “Job security.” He faced Turner. Wherever his head moved, his body moved as well, like a clocktower figure. “Torrie will have a mate soon. That effects many changes intriguing to us.”

  “Intriguing to Torrie, as well, presumably,” Jurie added, deadpan.

  They moved on to a concrete enclosure with a convincing, though small grove of conifers. “No lions or tigers, but we have bears,” Presky said. “Two young males. Sometimes they’re out sparring with each other. They are brothers, they like to play fight.”

  “Bears, raccoons, badgers,” Turner added. “Peaceful enough critters, virally, at least. Apes, including us, seem to have the most active and numerous ERV.”

  “Most plants and animals have their own capabilities in biological propaganda and warfare. War happens only if the populations are pressed hard,” Jurie said. “Shall we hear Dr. Turner’s favorite example?”

  Turner took them across to a large enclosure containing three rather mangy-looking European bison. Four large, shaggy animals, fur hanging in patches, regarded the human onlookers with ageless placidity. One shook its head, sending dust and straw flying. “Fresh in modern memory, for hamburger eaters anyway: Toxin gene transfer to E. coli bacteria in cattle,” Turner began. “Modern factory farming and slaughterhouse technique puts severe stress on the cattle, who send hormonal signals to their multiple tummies, their rumen. E. coli react to these signals by taking up phages—viruses for bacteria—that carry genes from another common gut bacteria, Shigella. Those genes just happen to code for Shiga toxin. The exchange does not hurt the cow, fascinating, no? But when a predator kills a cow-like critter in nature, and bites into the gut—which most do, eating half-digested grass and such, wild salad it’s called—it swallows a load of E. coli packed with Shiga toxin. That can make the predators—and us—very sick. Sick or dead predators reduce the stress on cows. It’s a clever relief valve. Now we sterilize our beef with radiation. All the beef.”

  “Personally, I never eat rare meat,” Jurie said with a contemplative arch of his brows. “Too many loose genes floating around. Dr. Miller, our chief botanist, tells me I should be concerned about my greens, as well.”

  Orlin Miller raised his hands in collegial defense. “Equal time for veggies.”

  They entered Building Two, the combination aviary and herpetarium. Mounted on benches beside the large sliding warehouse door, glass boxes housed king snakes coiled beneath red heat lamps.

  “We have evidence of a slow but constant lateral flow of genes between species,” Jurie said. “Dr. Foresmith is studying transfer of genes between exogenous and endogenous viruses in chickens and ducks, as well as in the Psittaciformes, parrots.”

  Foresmith, an imposing, gray-haired fellow in his early fifties, formerly of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology—Dicken knew him for his work on minimum genome bacteria—took up the topic. “Flu and other exogenous viruses can exchange genes and recombine within host or reservoir populations,” he said, his voice a bass rumble. “New strains of flu used to come rumbling out of Asia every year. Now, we know that exogenous and endogenous viruses—herpes, poxviruses, HIV, SHEVA—can recombine in us. What if these viruses make a mistake? Slip a gene into the wrong location in a cell’s DNA… A cell starts to ignore its duties and grows out of control. Voilà, a malignant tumor. Or, a relatively mild virus acquires one crucial gene and flips from a persistent to an acute infection. One really big mistake, and pow,” he slapped his fist into his palm, “we suffer one hundred percent mortality.” His smile was at once admiring and nervous. “One of our paleo guys figures we can explain a lot of mass extinctions that way, in theory. If we could resurrect and reassemble the older, extremely degraded ERVs, maybe we would learn what actually happened to the dinosaurs.”

  “Not so fast,” Dicken said, raising his hands in surrender. “I don’t know anything about dinosaurs or stressed cows.”

  “Let’s hold off on the wilder theories for now,” Jurie admonished Foresmith, but his eyes gleamed. “Tom, you’re next.”

  Tom Wrigley was the youngest in the group, in his mid-twenties, tall, dark-haired, and homely, with a red nose and a perpetually pleasant expression. He smiled shyly and handed Dicken a coin, a quarter. “That’s roughly what a birth control pill costs. My group is studying the effect of birth control on endogenous retrovirus expression in women between the ages of twenty and fifty.”

  Dicken rolled the quarter in his hand. Tom held out his palm, lifting his eyebrows, and Dicken returned the coin.

  “Tell them why, Tom,” Jurie prodded.

  “Twenty years ago, some researchers found that HIV infected pregnant women at a higher rate. Some human endogenous retroviruses are closely related to HIV, which goes after our immune systems with a vengeance. The fetus within the mother expresses lots of HERV from its placenta, which some think helps subdue the mom’s immune system in a beneficial way—just enough so that it won’t attack the developing fetus. TLV, as you know, Dr. Dicken.”

  “Howard Temin is a god in this place,” Dee Dee Blakemore said. “We’ve set up a little shrine in C wing. Prayers every Wednesday.”

  “Birth control pills produce conditions in women similar to pregnancy,” Wrigley said. “We decided that women on birth control would make an excellent study group. We have twenty volunteers, five of them our own researchers.”

  Blakemore raised her hand. “I’m one,” she said. “I’m feeling testy already.” She growled at Wrigley and bared her canines. Wrigley held up his hands in mock fright.

  “Eventually, SHEVA females will be getting pregnant,” Wrigley said, “and some
may even use birth control pills. We want to know how that will effect production of potential pathogens.”

  “Sexual maturity and pregnancy in the new children is likely to be a time of great danger,” Jurie said. “Retroviruses released in the natural course of a second generation SHEVA pregnancy could transfer to humans. The result could be another HIV-like disease. In fact, Dr. Presky here, among others, believes something similar explains how HIV got into the human population.”

  Presky weighed in. “A hunter in search of bush meat could have slaughtered a pregnant chimp.” He shrugged; the hypothesis was still speculation, as Dicken knew well. As a postdoc in the late 1980s, Dicken had spent two years in the Congo and Zaire tracking possible sources for HIV.

  “And last but not least, our gardens. Dr. Miller?”

  Orlin Miller pointed to flats of greenery and flower gardens spread out under skylights and artificial sun bulbs hanging in imposing phalanxes, like great glassy fruit, on the north side of the warehouse. “My group studies transfer of viral genes between plants and insects, funguses and bacteria. As Dr. Jurie hinted earlier, we’re also studying human genes that may have originated in plants,” Miller added. “I can just see the Nobel hanging from that one.”

  “Not that you’ll ever go up on stage to collect,” Jurie warned.

  “No, of course not,” Miller said, somewhat deflated.

  “Enough. Just a taste,” Jurie said, stopping in front of a basin containing a thick growth of young corn. “Seven other division heads who could not be here tonight extend their congratulations—to me, for landing Dr. Dicken. Not necessarily do they congratulate Dr. Dicken.”

  The others smiled.

  “Thanks, gentlemen,” Jurie said, and waved bye-bye, as if to a group of school children. The directors said their farewells and filed out of the warehouse. Only Turner remained.

  Jurie fixed Dicken with a gaze. “NIH tells me I can find a use for you at Pathogenics,” Jurie said. “NIH funds a substantial portion of my work here, through Emergency Action. Still, I’m curious. Why did you accept this appointment? Not because you love and respect me, Dr. Dicken.” Jurie loosely crossed his arms and his bony fingers engaged in a fit of searching, marching along toward the elbows, drawing the arms into a tighter hug.