Read Online The Andromeda Strain by Michael Crichton - Free Book Online
Authors: Michael Crichton
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untouched when Burton came to it. Though men had known germs caused disease since Henle’s hypothesis of 1840, by the middle of the twentieth century there was still nothing known about why or how bacteria did their damage. The specific mechanisms were unknown.
Burton began, like so many others in his day, with Diplococcus pneumoniae , the agent causing pneumonia. There was great interest in pneumococcus before the advent of penicillin in the forties; after that, both interest and research money evaporated. Burton shifted to Staphylococcus aureus , a common skin pathogen responsible for “pimples” and “boils.” At the time he began his work, his fellow researchers laughed at him; staphylococcus, like pneumococcus, was highly sensitive to penicillin. They doubted Burton would ever get enough money to carry on his work.
For five years, they were right. The money was scarce, and Burton often had to go begging to foundations and philanthropists. Yet he persisted, patiently elucidating the coats of the cell wall that caused a reaction in host tissue and helping to discover the half-dozen toxins secreted by the bacteria to break down tissue, spread infection, and destroy red cells.
Suddenly, in the 1950’s, the first penicillin-resistant strains of staph appeared. The new strains were virulent, and produced bizarre deaths, often by brain abscess. Almost overnight Burton found his work had assumed major importance; dozens of labs around the country were changing over to study staph; it was a “hot field.” In a single year, Burton watched his grant appropriations jump from $6,000 a year to $300,000. Soon afterward, he was made a professor of pathology.
Looking back, Burton felt no great pride in his accomplishment; it was, he knew, a matter of luck, of being in the right place and doing the right work when the time came.
He wondered what would come of being here, in this helicopter, now.
Sitting across from him, Jeremy Stone tried to conceal his distaste for Burton’s appearance. Beneath the plastic suit Burton wore a dirty plaid sport shirt with a stain on the left breast pocket; his trousers were creased and frayed and even his hair, Stone felt, was unruly and untidy.
He stared out the window, forcing himself to think of other matters. “Fifty people,” he said, shaking his head. “Dead within eight hours of the landing of Scoop VII. The question is one of spread.”
“Presumably airborne,” Burton said.
“Yes. Presumably.”
“Everyone seems to have died in the immediate vicinity of the town,” Burton said. “Are there reports of deaths farther out?”
Stone shook his head. “I’m having the Army people look into it. They’re working with the highway patrol. So far, no deaths have turned up outside.”
“Wind?”
“A stroke of luck,” Stone said. “Last night the wind was fairly brisk, nine miles an hour to the south and steady. But around midnight, it died. Pretty unusual for this time of year, they tell me.”
“But fortunate for us.”
“Yes.” Stone nodded. “We’re fortunate in another way as well. There is no important area of habitation for a radius of nearly one hundred and twelve miles. Outside that, of course, there is Las Vegas to the north, San Bernardino to the west, and Phoenix to the east. Not nice, if the bug gets to any of them.”
“But as long as the wind stays down, we have time.”
“Presumably,” Stone said.
For the next half hour, the two men discussed the vector problem with frequent reference to a sheaf of output maps drawn up during the night by Vandenberg’s computer division. The output maps were highly complex analyses of geographic problems; in this case, the maps were visualizations of the southwestern United States, weighted for wind direction and population.
A NOTE ON THE OUTPUT MAPS: these three maps are intended as examples of the staging of computerbase output mapping. The first map is relatively standard, with the addition of computer
Burton began, like so many others in his day, with Diplococcus pneumoniae , the agent causing pneumonia. There was great interest in pneumococcus before the advent of penicillin in the forties; after that, both interest and research money evaporated. Burton shifted to Staphylococcus aureus , a common skin pathogen responsible for “pimples” and “boils.” At the time he began his work, his fellow researchers laughed at him; staphylococcus, like pneumococcus, was highly sensitive to penicillin. They doubted Burton would ever get enough money to carry on his work.
For five years, they were right. The money was scarce, and Burton often had to go begging to foundations and philanthropists. Yet he persisted, patiently elucidating the coats of the cell wall that caused a reaction in host tissue and helping to discover the half-dozen toxins secreted by the bacteria to break down tissue, spread infection, and destroy red cells.
Suddenly, in the 1950’s, the first penicillin-resistant strains of staph appeared. The new strains were virulent, and produced bizarre deaths, often by brain abscess. Almost overnight Burton found his work had assumed major importance; dozens of labs around the country were changing over to study staph; it was a “hot field.” In a single year, Burton watched his grant appropriations jump from $6,000 a year to $300,000. Soon afterward, he was made a professor of pathology.
Looking back, Burton felt no great pride in his accomplishment; it was, he knew, a matter of luck, of being in the right place and doing the right work when the time came.
He wondered what would come of being here, in this helicopter, now.
Sitting across from him, Jeremy Stone tried to conceal his distaste for Burton’s appearance. Beneath the plastic suit Burton wore a dirty plaid sport shirt with a stain on the left breast pocket; his trousers were creased and frayed and even his hair, Stone felt, was unruly and untidy.
He stared out the window, forcing himself to think of other matters. “Fifty people,” he said, shaking his head. “Dead within eight hours of the landing of Scoop VII. The question is one of spread.”
“Presumably airborne,” Burton said.
“Yes. Presumably.”
“Everyone seems to have died in the immediate vicinity of the town,” Burton said. “Are there reports of deaths farther out?”
Stone shook his head. “I’m having the Army people look into it. They’re working with the highway patrol. So far, no deaths have turned up outside.”
“Wind?”
“A stroke of luck,” Stone said. “Last night the wind was fairly brisk, nine miles an hour to the south and steady. But around midnight, it died. Pretty unusual for this time of year, they tell me.”
“But fortunate for us.”
“Yes.” Stone nodded. “We’re fortunate in another way as well. There is no important area of habitation for a radius of nearly one hundred and twelve miles. Outside that, of course, there is Las Vegas to the north, San Bernardino to the west, and Phoenix to the east. Not nice, if the bug gets to any of them.”
“But as long as the wind stays down, we have time.”
“Presumably,” Stone said.
For the next half hour, the two men discussed the vector problem with frequent reference to a sheaf of output maps drawn up during the night by Vandenberg’s computer division. The output maps were highly complex analyses of geographic problems; in this case, the maps were visualizations of the southwestern United States, weighted for wind direction and population.
A NOTE ON THE OUTPUT MAPS: these three maps are intended as examples of the staging of computerbase output mapping. The first map is relatively standard, with the addition of computer
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