institute.
Ralph didn’t look too happy about it, either. He nodded at Ron when he saw him, but he didn’t say a word, and the look on his face was so sour that Ron thought it best to just nod to the man and leave it at that. He headed back inside without either one of them saying a word.
Luke Munsen’s laboratory was next, and when Ron got there it almost looked as though Luke was waiting for him. Luke was sitting at his desk with his briefcase open, fussing over paperwork. There was a bulging suitcase beside his desk. When he heard Ron he got up and met him at the door.
“Ron — I was hoping I’d see you before I got out of here. I owe you an apology. For last night, that is.”
Ron blinked. So much had happened since he’d last seen Luke that for a moment he didn’t have any idea what the man was talking about. He remembered harshness, a little anger, but he couldn’t remember the conversation they’d had well enough to be sure who’d been angry at who, or what about.
“Sure, I guess. I mean, don’t worry — it’s all right.”
Luke shook his head. “No, it’s not all right. I had no business talking to you that way. You asked a legitimate and intelligent question. Not only that, but you were a lot more right to ask it than I could have imagined.”
Ron still wasn’t quite sure what they were talking about, but that last bit was too provocative for him not to follow up on. “How’s that?”
“The damned thing is alive.”
And suddenly the air around them was thick as steam.
“How’s that? What’s alive, Luke?” Ron could guess the answer.
“This damned strain I’ve got — I’d thought I had the whole problem licked. And, well, I guess I did, too. But this is too much. The damned thing is — well, damn it, the thing is alive. So goddamned alive that I can’t kill it.”
Ron nodded. “I thought you said that wasn’t supposed to happen.”
Luke bit his lip. “I know I did.” He sighed. “Look,” Luke said, “here, look at this.” He reached across his desk and took a thumb-thick stoppered test tube off a shelf. Inside was a trilobite fossil, strange and grey and shiny. Ron had seen pictures of trilobites before; he knew what they looked like. That’s what Ron thought it was, anyway.
Until he saw the thing move.
“My God.” For a long moment — the time it took to gasp — he was transfixed by the miraculousness of it: a trilobite, an ancient goddamned fossil . . . and it was alive. Then in the time it took to reel in the breath he’d gasped out the consequence of the thing sunk through to him. It was dangerous, as dangerous as the dinosaurs he’d dragged out of his imagination the night before.
Especially if the germs that somehow made it alive were catching.
“Exactly,” Luke said. “We’re trying to build a strain that’ll give us good, inanimate models. Dead trilobites, not live ones. I’ve been trying to kill this damn thing all afternoon. Alcohol, formaldehyde, freezing it in liquid nitrogen. And it dies, too — for a good five minutes. That’s about how long it takes the damned bacteria to turn the poisons inert. And twenty minutes after I froze it the trilobite got up and tried to crawl off my work table.”
Ron could hear Luke running out of steam as he spoke. When he was done they just stood there for a moment, watching the trilobite try to crawl up out of the test tube. It never got very far; there was no way for its legs to find purchase on the smooth glass.
“It doesn’t work on everything,” Luke said. He reached across his desk again, took a cardboard box of fossils off the same box where he’d got the test tube. “Insects, plants, fish, no effect. You’ve seen what it does to the trilobite, but it doesn’t have much effect on other arthropods.” He shook the box. “No way of knowing yet what else it might work on, though. I sure didn’t design it for trilobites.”
Thick air — much thicker than steam, now. Thick like warm, sour
Ralph didn’t look too happy about it, either. He nodded at Ron when he saw him, but he didn’t say a word, and the look on his face was so sour that Ron thought it best to just nod to the man and leave it at that. He headed back inside without either one of them saying a word.
Luke Munsen’s laboratory was next, and when Ron got there it almost looked as though Luke was waiting for him. Luke was sitting at his desk with his briefcase open, fussing over paperwork. There was a bulging suitcase beside his desk. When he heard Ron he got up and met him at the door.
“Ron — I was hoping I’d see you before I got out of here. I owe you an apology. For last night, that is.”
Ron blinked. So much had happened since he’d last seen Luke that for a moment he didn’t have any idea what the man was talking about. He remembered harshness, a little anger, but he couldn’t remember the conversation they’d had well enough to be sure who’d been angry at who, or what about.
“Sure, I guess. I mean, don’t worry — it’s all right.”
Luke shook his head. “No, it’s not all right. I had no business talking to you that way. You asked a legitimate and intelligent question. Not only that, but you were a lot more right to ask it than I could have imagined.”
Ron still wasn’t quite sure what they were talking about, but that last bit was too provocative for him not to follow up on. “How’s that?”
“The damned thing is alive.”
And suddenly the air around them was thick as steam.
“How’s that? What’s alive, Luke?” Ron could guess the answer.
“This damned strain I’ve got — I’d thought I had the whole problem licked. And, well, I guess I did, too. But this is too much. The damned thing is — well, damn it, the thing is alive. So goddamned alive that I can’t kill it.”
Ron nodded. “I thought you said that wasn’t supposed to happen.”
Luke bit his lip. “I know I did.” He sighed. “Look,” Luke said, “here, look at this.” He reached across his desk and took a thumb-thick stoppered test tube off a shelf. Inside was a trilobite fossil, strange and grey and shiny. Ron had seen pictures of trilobites before; he knew what they looked like. That’s what Ron thought it was, anyway.
Until he saw the thing move.
“My God.” For a long moment — the time it took to gasp — he was transfixed by the miraculousness of it: a trilobite, an ancient goddamned fossil . . . and it was alive. Then in the time it took to reel in the breath he’d gasped out the consequence of the thing sunk through to him. It was dangerous, as dangerous as the dinosaurs he’d dragged out of his imagination the night before.
Especially if the germs that somehow made it alive were catching.
“Exactly,” Luke said. “We’re trying to build a strain that’ll give us good, inanimate models. Dead trilobites, not live ones. I’ve been trying to kill this damn thing all afternoon. Alcohol, formaldehyde, freezing it in liquid nitrogen. And it dies, too — for a good five minutes. That’s about how long it takes the damned bacteria to turn the poisons inert. And twenty minutes after I froze it the trilobite got up and tried to crawl off my work table.”
Ron could hear Luke running out of steam as he spoke. When he was done they just stood there for a moment, watching the trilobite try to crawl up out of the test tube. It never got very far; there was no way for its legs to find purchase on the smooth glass.
“It doesn’t work on everything,” Luke said. He reached across his desk again, took a cardboard box of fossils off the same box where he’d got the test tube. “Insects, plants, fish, no effect. You’ve seen what it does to the trilobite, but it doesn’t have much effect on other arthropods.” He shook the box. “No way of knowing yet what else it might work on, though. I sure didn’t design it for trilobites.”
Thick air — much thicker than steam, now. Thick like warm, sour
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