Scuzzworms (13 page)

Calliope waved at her anxiously as she entered the hallway leading to her office.  Trefarbe was standing at her door.  Imelda halted, cautious.   “Looking for me?” she asked innocently.

Trefarbe stared at her coldly.  “Yes.  We need to talk.”  

Imelda nodded agreeably enough.  Trefarbe had no doubt discovered her trip cancellation.    Imelda continued into her office to sit at her desk.  Trefarbe followed grimly. 

Trefarbe looked about the starkly furnished room disdainfully.  There was no chair for her to sit in.  “You realize that what you have done is illegal.”

Imelda raised her eyebrows.  “I beg your pardon?”

“You disobeyed a direct order.  You lied to Kreiss.  You forged a tape and presented it to your de
partment as genuine.  You superseded your authority.  This is gross insubordination.  I will report all of this to Jinks when he returns.  Your days here are numbered, Dr. Imelda.”

Imelda frowned.  If she had truly broken any laws, Trefarbe would have arrived with security in tow, handcuffs ready.  Trefarbe had probably tried to override HR and failed.  This was a bluff in an effort to get her angry enough to make a real mistake.  She looked up at Trefarbe impatiently.  “The tape was genuine, Trefarbe.  You seem to be the only one who...”

“Dr. Caldwell never approved any expedition to the area on the tape. You obtained the tape illegally.”

“I obtained it from Geotechs.  From their geological files.  With the permission of the scientist studying the area.”

“There is no official record of such a tape.  Geotechs never published it and it is non-confirmable.”

“They didn’t publish it because there was little geological information on it.  They were too stupid to recognize the biological import.”

“You invented the tape and you invented this story.  You can’t prove that it is genuine.”

Imelda’s opinion of Trefarbe was undergoing transformation.  From mere nuisance she was growing into a major spite target.  She controlled her voice with difficulty.  “Have you considered the consequences if I DIDN’T invent the tape and you disregard the recommendations of the senior biological staff?  What CHA will do to Biotech and to your career?”

“Is that a threat?”

“It’s a statement of fact.  You are not my boss and I do not answer to you.  Where groundbase clearance is concerned, I answer to CHA.  My actions thus far are well within my authority and are fully consistent with CHA guidelines.  I will be more than happy to discuss this directly with the board or with CHA if necessary.”

Trefarbe’s expression was icy.  “Dr. Kreiss has made a grave mistake.  My objections are all on file.  Kreiss is aware of what you did. He did not wish to change his mind regarding your leave of absence at this time, but he also will report to Jinks.  Dr. Hiebass has carefully studied your case and he will offer corroborating evidence on your psychosis.  I have evidence that you have been improperly accessing files from other studies. Several researchers reported receiving notes recommending additional work for them.  Some of those recommendations were quite expensive.  Kreiss denies writing those notes.”    

Imelda nodded.  “He didn’t. 
Caldwell gave me authority to supervise the research teams before he left.  That too is on file, if you’re interested.  I appreciate your concern, Trefarbe, but the worst thing that I have done is tell Kreiss a little white lie about my so-called ‘vacation’.  Maybe you need to discuss your own paranoid ideation with Fish, since it seems to be getting out of hand.  However, if you don’t mind, I have work to do.”  Imelda pointed at the door.    

Trefarbe glared at her.  “Then
Caldwell is a fool.  He acted inappropriately in allowing you any responsibility. Everyone knows that you are not to be trusted.  Jinks will hear about this, I assure you.  Biotech made a big mistake in hiring you.”

Imelda remained expressionless.  “
Caldwell could not have given me authority without permission from CHA.”   She continued to point at the door.  With a sniff, Trefarbe turned and left.

Imelda watched the door shut contemplatively.  Damn, CHA must have given her really high clearance.  No way would Trefarbe have backed down otherwise.  Trefarbe had been reading her PC out of the corner of her eye during the entire conversation and hadn’t uttered a squeak at her last statement.  Well maybe it was true.  Despite the other oddities with computers, Cencom had a very sophisticated security system linked to CHA personnel files.  Security was kept completely confidential, so neither Trefarbe nor Hiebass had any way of knowing what her level was and could only question what her authority was for a given statement.  When she had left the University her security had been higher than her ol
d boss’s, which was probably why he had never been able to fire her.  She grinned.  She had once threatened to fire him and he’d almost started crying when he read his PC.  CHA security clearance had very little to do with organizational charts. 

#

It was many weeks later.  Imelda yawned, watching the video of the mud bog.  Borg.  The pilot had named the beast Borg. Borg must have had gas the day the aircraft flew over.  He certainly hadn’t shown himself since.     She did a quick reverse on the tape and watched it play back at high speed. The observation post was still fairly distant from the bog, but on a clear day she could get good close-ups.  She had been spending most of her time in her office lately, reviewing the reports that were now flooding in.  This planet was bizarre.  In contradiction to every other planet studied to date, there were no microorganisms.  No bacteria, no viruses, no sub viruses, no one-celled organisms and only a few tiny colonials.

Jamison, with her specialty in microbiology, was extremely upset.  She worried about losing her job and being forced to leave
Caldwell behind.  On earth, much of the theory regarding evolution had been derived from work done on microorganisms.  Viruses and subviruses represented very basic life forms, if they were alive at all.  They amounted to little more than extremely long molecules capable of reproducing themselves, but only in the very special environments found inside living organisms.     Bacteria were more obviously alive, with a more organized structure.  They were able to survive and reproduce free in the environment, unlike the parasitic viruses.

Cells were intricate things, with delicate internal structures that were amazing in both their simplicity and complexity.  It was easier to see how life had evolved when you could examine all three levels of functioning.  

Geology had thus far found no fossil record.   Given their observations about the worms and the lack of geological activity, this was not entirely unbelievable.  Iago IV was confoundingly uncooperative in giving them the ‘big picture.’  Imelda smiled ironically to herself.  An intelligence that evolved here would be much more likely to believe in miraculous creation, having little evidence available otherwise.

A huge flock of feathery flying creatures swooped down and landed on the bog, nearly covering it up.  She could see variations in body types and appendages among the members of the flock, but the shape of their wings and featherlike skin covering made them resemble nothing more than a group of flying feather dusters. 

This group was one of the more numerous forms around this bog. She scanned the data file on them.  Strange, the feather dusters usually flew in tiny flocks. It looked like an avian carnival down there.  Mating season? Her pulse quickened.  How did they know it was time?  Some sort of signal?

After a quick flurry of action, they all flew away, with one large central group fighting over something.  Aha! Maybe only one supreme mother per flock! 

Wait a minute, though.  If the feather dusters were like the other beasts she had looked at, why should they care if it was mating season?  No testicles.  Nothing here had testicles. Eunuchs, every one.  All of their earth-based classifications were useless on Iago IV.  “Mammaloid” here just meant that the beasts had hair.  Camille had not hid her disappointment at that discovery.  Post’s specimens had no egg laying apparatus.  Kellogg’s plants just grew. No seeds.

Nothing here had an ovary.  Nothing made spores.  Nothing had juvenile forms.  Nothing did anything except eat.  Animals ate plants; plants used chemosynthesis and photosynthesis.  The main difference between plants and animals here was that the plants were green and didn’t usually move quite as fast. 

On earth, food and sex comprised the major instinctive drives for most organisms.  Here, the major drive seemed to be food.  The feather dusters were probably just hungry. Iago was a place where her celibate psychology was in vogue.  

Hmm.  The feather dusters ate plants, just like everything else around here.  Was she sure that they hadn’t been fighting over some sort of plant leaf or something?  She reversed the tape again.  No, it looked gelatinous, whatever it was that they were carrying. Round, like an egg.  A gelatinous egg? Could be!  Her lips pursed. It was a long shot, but no one else had seen anything that looked even vaguely juvenile.

She played the recording again.  Whatever the thing was, it was about the same size as the feather dusters.  It took a concerted effort by several members of the flock to struggle it away.  She cursed at being limited to a distant stationary observation post.  She would have given her eyeteeth to be able to follow that flock.

She again reviewed the scanty information available on the feather dusters.  There wasn’t much.  They were strong flyers and had not been trapped for analysis yet.

Maybe the feather dusters were THE reproductive form! But of which species?  Why were so many body forms represented?  How did they know to meet?  She reviewed the biochemical and auditory data from the time just before the flock landed.  A little beep, beep noise in the distance, probably more like a roar down at the bog. Unusual pattern. Who emitted it?

The directional mike gave her a location. The scuzzhog? It beeped?  She grinned broadly.  This was almost deserving of a celebration.  The cretin scuzzhog beeped! She looked around to find Kellogg yawning in front of his workstation.     “Kellogg!  He beeped!  The benighted scuzzhog beeped!  Borg does something besides eat worms!  He can beep!”

Kellogg shot a look at her.  “What?”

“Listen!  A noise!  All the feather dusters got excited and flew down to listen too!”

Kellogg listened to the playback and shook his head. “It doesn’t take much to get you excited, does it?” he asked sardonically.

Imelda paused.  Although Post had volunteered his team to help, Kellogg and Camille had cooperated unwillingly.  Kellogg rarely spoke to her at all, and Camille was given to stony silences.  Post, on the other hand, at least communicated, but he made it obvious that he did not approve of her.  All in all, it was a reasonably acceptable working arrangement. 

She decided not to mention the ‘egg’.  Camille deserved first look at the tape.  “If you had been condemned to watching infrared videos of a blob of protoplasm munching worms for a month, you’d get excited too,” she answered, biting her tongue.

“When are you going to try to get a piece of one of them, for cell culture?” Kellogg interjected.

“I’m a behaviorist.  I’m trying to find out if they have any behavior.  Maybe never.  Anyway, I’d have to figure out how to fit a dissection kit into a rock with digging gear in order to get close enough to get some tissue.  They hide in mud and half the inhabitants of this planet seem to want to keep me from exposing them to air.”

“Gas them.”

Imelda turned to him with eyebrows raised.  “With what? Do you know their metabolism that well?”

“No,” he answered curtly.  “But you’ve got to do something.”

Imelda regarded him curiously.  “Why do I have to do something?”

“You’ll never meet your production quota.  All you do is sit and watch the videos once a week.”

“I have just now produced a finding. Scuzzhogs beep.”  Imelda smiled triumphantly.

Kellogg continued to frown.  “So what.  Big deal.  Why do they beep?  You haven’t found out anything.”

Imelda’s smile faded.  Jeez, she must have done a little overkill in making Kellogg dislike her.  This sounded like hate.   Oh, wait, the rumors!  Her affair with Caldwell was anything but a secret now.  She turned back to her workstation impassively. Kellogg glowered at her back a moment longer, then stood up and left.  He tried to slam the door behind him, but the hydraulics wouldn’t allow him to.  A few curse words slid out just before the door shut completely.

Imelda smiled.  Kellogg utterly hated her guts.  Couldn’t blame him, really.  Only a real lowlife would play snuggles with the boss and then make it obvious that she didn’t have to work for a living.

She rubbed her eyes again.  She had slept for a scant four hours and her body craved more.  She went through the tape one more time before heading back to her office to call Camille.

Camille stared at the video, lost in thought.  “I, um, haven’t looked at one of those specimens yet,” she said slowly. “I don’t know what this means.”   

Imelda nodded.  “Neither do I.  Tell me, have you identified any nesting behavior in any of the species you have looked at?”    

She shook her head in disgust.  “No.  The avians are no different from anything else around here.  They just eat and fly.  No ovaries, no nothing. This could be our first big break.  If only a few scattered individuals or morphologic forms have reproductive capacity, we’ve got to capture the right individual at the right time in their development in order to see how they reproduce.”    

Imelda sighed.  “Which means that random specimen collection is going to depend a lot on luck to solve this puzzle, at least until we find a better identifier.  What percentage of species that you have looked at are solitary individuals?  Only one member to the tribe?”    

Camille grunted. “Over half.  The ones that look like they are the same species from a distance can have significant variations in their anatomy, to a degree that makes many of them solitary individuals too.  It makes you doubt sexual reproduction.  It takes two to tango on earth.”    

“And of the solitary individuals, have any of them had reproductive organs?”    

“None.  Not one blasted one of them is able to reproduce.  How can that be?  Did some alien civilization just drop off a few genetically engineered pets here?  Maybe there’s a giant genetic laboratory hidden under the surface that produces Iagans.”    

Imelda rubbed her eyes.  “Hardly.  We would have picked it up on the scanner.  No, I have a feeling that reproduction is tied to the bogs somehow.  As is the trouble we have had separating out species.  Simpson, even separating out phyla!  The protoplasm here is just plain confused.  I’m confused.  Tell you what, why don’t you bring this up at our meeting tomorrow. Present my tape and use it as a springboard to bring up the reproductive issue. It should be interesting.”

Camille looked at her suspiciously.  “Why don’t you present it?”   

Imelda hesitated.  “Um, I’m supervising some of the research, at least until Caldwell gets back.  For now, when I get an idea, I’m just a kindly helpful sage.  I’ll say that Borg has an expressive vocabulary. You do the rest.  The feather dusters belong to you.”    

Camille stared at her, obviously thinking her demented. “You are nuts!  You must be insane about
Caldwell to baby-sit his project without major public announcements and a complementary lead-lined vest!  What the devil is Kreiss doing if you’re doing this?”                  

She shrugged.  “Kreiss signs requisitions.  I monitor reports. 
Caldwell knows my work.  I don’t need the credit; my reputation is secure.”   

“I’ll say,” Camille muttered, rolling her eyes.   Louder, “He’s scheduled to come back tomorrow, isn’t he?”    

“Yes,” she answered.  “Then I can climb back into my closet with the spiders.  A title change would have been a nuisance to retract, if you think about it.  This is cleaner.”  Camille’s look at her was not really hateful, more regretful, probably thinking what a waste.  Why be a doormat girlfriend to get approval when your work could stand on its own merit?

While Camille watched, Imelda logged the tape officially and added a few comments.     Camille shook her head.  “So you are the one who has been making all the suggestions.”   

Imelda shrugged.  “Caldwell told me to.”     

A grin tugged at the corner of Camille’s mouth.  “Actually, it is a relief to know it’s you.  Some of us were beginning to wonder if
Caldwell were teleporting himself back and forth from Syned.  It was too much to believe that Kreiss had suddenly transformed himself into a genius.”

“Kreiss IS a genius.”    

“A sessile genius.  He hasn’t the slightest idea of how mobile species work.  No mobile thought patterns at all.”   

Imelda grinned.  “Well, keep your mouth shut about this, okay?  I have enough enemies.  Everyone will go ballistic if they find out I’ve been doing this.”

Camille wavered.  “I don’t know.  I hate Kreiss.  He tried to force us to vote to give the first groundbase unit to him for his project on sludge dwellers!  Why the heck do you need a mobile unit to track down sludge dwellers?  He’s an idiotic, brain-damaged creep!  People may hate you but they hate Kreiss even more!  I don’t want him to get any credit for what you’ve been doing!”

Imelda glanced at her in surprise.  “Oh?  I didn’t know anyone disliked Kreiss.”

“Of course!  Where have you been?  Don’t tell me you’re his friend!”

“Of course not.  But I don’t dislike him.  He’s just too focused on his own work to notice anything else, including the fact that people are ready to kill him.  Look, swear to me you’ll not say one word.  No one knows but you and me.  Not even Post or Kellogg.”

Camille agreed over protest.

#

Caldwell kept shaking his head.  Calliope sat in the corner of the office, silent and stern.  Imelda paced restlessly in the narrow space in front of the desk.    

“Imelda, why didn’t you tell Kreiss to check your CHA authorization?  It’s on file, for Pete’s sake.  Why the closed mouth?”

“I wouldn’t want to spoil Trefarbe’s fun.  Kreiss is too wimpy to stand up to her anyway.  I didn’t want him to think that he had to.”

Calliope interjected, “Kreiss is also too afraid to question you, Dr. Imelda.  He refused to make you go on leave.  He was in a state of panic.”   

“Imelda, Kriess was relieved when I told him what was going on.  He believed everything that Trefarbe told him, that I had no authority to allow you to see the files, that he was responsible for every single note you wrote.  He was convinced that he was going to lose his job even though he knew he needed your help in the crisis.  He’s being treated for an ulcer because of this.  From now on, Calliope will have my authority to intervene should one of my staff get caught in a similar situation.  They have the right to know their legal risks.”

She shrugged.  “How was I supposed to know that I had higher security than Kreiss?  Look, it’s over.  You’re back now.  Did you get a chance to look at my summary?”    

“I skimmed it.  You really feel that strongly about the bogs?”

“Put the data together yourself.  Better yet, come to conference.  Listen to the diatribe.  Remember, you don’t have to think.  Let your hired guns do your thinking for you.”   

Caldwell regarded her coolly.  “I am not your former boss, Imelda.  I could be hibernating back at Vendost if I liked.  I prefer to do my own thinking.”    

“Sure you do.  So come to the conference.”

He nodded thoughtfully, watching her.  “And just how many of my hired guns’ thinking started out as your thoughts, Imelda?”

She shrugged.  “What’s the difference?  They’re thinking now.”

#

“You idiot!  There is no way that those creatures could have laid an egg that big!  Look at it!  Read the mass estimates!  It weighs as much as they do!”    

Imelda had expected this reaction.  Camille was gray.     “Do you have a better idea of what is going on, then?” Camille knew that the egg was too big, but even bad ideas deserved their day in the sun.

“Well, they are not laying an egg.”

Imelda pressed her com button.  “Do you deny that the object could be an egg?”  It was hard to hear her above the rumble of the audience.

“It looks like a turd to me.”  Kellogg was obviously pleased with his observation.

“The feather-dusters are warm-blooded.  The object is warm-blooded.  They didn’t kill it; they carried it off.  I know that it is too big, but we don’t know what is hidden inside the bog.  There could be a large feather duster gestating the eggs in there.”

“If that egg represented a baby feather
-duster, then the things must hatch full grown.  No creature in its right mind would hatch full-grown.  It’s too energy expensive for the gestating form.  The whole idea is ridiculous!”

A dozen voices spoke at once.  Caldwell, who had thus far remained silent, stood up.  It was some time before the group quieted enough for him to speak.    

“Before we completely discount the idea, try to remember one thing.  Around every bog, nearly all members of the same species are similar in size.  Different bogs have different size species, and each bog has a different series of sizes. There can be groups of two cm specimens, thirty cm specimens, or five-meter specimens inhabiting the same area.  If there is a common gestating form, then the size similarity makes sense.  If none of the species grow in stature after hatching, only in weight, then the theory makes even more sense.”

Caldwell
glanced towards Imelda’s empty seat.  He wished she would come in person.  Her intercom personae served to reinforce the general impression of her as cold and distant.

He was quoting what Imelda had written in her notes and was frustrated that she had refused to make this presentation.  She had not voiced any of her observations to the group and was not likely to.

Caldwell could see the look Camille was giving him. Camille had read the same remarks and appeared irate that Imelda was not given due credit.  The noise volume rose once again.

Post’s voice rose above the hubbub.  “What about the genetics?  If each herd around a bog arises from a common maternal form, then shouldn’t it have common genetics?”

Caldwell frowned.  Camille frowned.  Grady frowned.  The noise quieted.  Imelda looked at the silent group on her monitor and nearly choked with hysterical laughter.

Punching the com button, she managed to gasp out, “The genetics are pending.”

Caldwell, suddenly realizing that he had seen no genetic reports, stared at Imelda’s image on one of the monitors that lined the room.  “What do you mean?” he asked.

“The genetics are pending.  For everybody.”

“Everybody?”

“Everybody.  Has anyone received a genetics report?”  Imelda knew that they had not.  Of course, each scientist had assumed that he or she was the only one waiting for a genetics report.  The looks on their faces revealed their outrage.

It took Caldwell a bit of time to convince the group not to storm the genetics department and execute the techs.  His face flushed and sweaty, he confronted Imelda at her desk afterwards.

“What is the problem?  Did the machine break?  Have they all gone demented?”    

“I don’t know.  The last few times I asked them they threatened to report me for harassment.  They said they were busy with training exercises.  I don’t have any specimens there, you know.  They won’t even speak to me.”

Kreiss was standing with them, looking ill.

“Director Trefarbe told me not to worry about it.  She said that the reports were being prepared and would be out in a day or two.”

“When did she say that?”

“Oh, about a month ago.”

Imelda stared down at her toes, trying not to laugh. 
Caldwell muttered something indistinct under his breath. “Training exercises my eye.  They’re just playing games and not paying a bit of attention to the output of their analyzers.  Damn them.  They’re not part of my department, but under Biochemistry.  I’ll speak to Nettles about it.  She should have at least some idea of what the problem is.”