Sagittarius Whorl

by Julian May

  "To what end?" He asked the question, but an intelligent man like Charlie White had to know the answer already. I spelled it out anyhow.

  "Maybe the Haluk aren't willing to wait patiently while the Commonwealth Assembly doles out small numbers of new Milky Way worlds for them to colonize. I have this theory that population pressure back in the Haluk Cluster is dire—otherwise, why would they have made the desperate and difficult step of jumping to our galaxy in the first place? The only Spur colony of theirs I ever visited seemed conspicuously lacking in elbow room. The school I toured was jam-packed with youngsters. Now that allomorphy can be eradicated in the germ line, parents no longer pass on the allomorph trait to their offspring. Pretty soon everybody'll be wide awake back there in the Haluk Cluster, as well as in their Spur colonies. If they already have an overpopulation problem, doing away with allomorphy will make that problem worse."

  "You believe the Haluk intend to seize planets in our galaxy by force?" Charlie said.

  "I think it's a strong possibility. So do Karl and Bea and a few other voices crying in the wilderness."

  "The difficulty," Karl interposed, "has been proving Haluk hostile intent beyond a shadow of a doubt. Placing concrete evidence before the Commonwealth Assembly so the matter must be openly debated—not swept under the rug, the way the Hundred Concerns and corrupt elements in SXA and ICS would prefer. Up until now, we've never even been able to prove conclusively that demiclones exist."

  Charlie said, "The body in my morgue—"

  "Is a corpus delicti," I said. "The legal meaning of that term has nothing to do with a cadaver. It means 'the body of the crime'—the substantial proof that an illegal act has been committed."

  Charlie nodded slowly. His lucent green eyes had a detached thousand-meter stare, looking into a future almost too alarming to contemplate. "If only the Haluk weren't so intelligent! It's said that they haven't simply purchased our high technology—they've improved on it."

  "That's a fact." Karl looked bleak as he cut himself another hunk of cake. It was almost gone. "Some of their star-ships are equal to the best we have. Most are inferior. But the technology gap will close as they obtain advanced production machinery from us. There's still an embargo against selling weapons to the Haluk, but you know how effective that will be. Gunnmning to the Insaps is a fine old human institution, tremendously profitable."

  "They'll wage war on us," I said, "unless we expose their hostile intent. Force them to allow human inspection of their worlds on pain of full trade interdiction."

  "Force them?" Charlie White exclaimed. "In heaven's name, how?"

  "I'm working on it," I said.

  "Do the Haluk know that?"

  "Probably," I admitted.

  "Maybe that's why they tried to kidnap you," Charlie said.

  I'd pretty much come to the same conclusion. "Yeah. But I'm damned if I can figure why they didn't just kill me outright. Why take me alive? I don't have possession of the crucial evidence against them. Efrem Sontag does, and he'll back up the data and secure it so immaculately that not even I can touch it. It's still too early in the game for us to have finalized our anti-Haluk strategy, so I can't spill any great secrets under psychotronic interrogation. And why would they need to snatch my brother Dan and sister Beth along with me?"

  Charlie just shook his head.

  Outside, the shades of night had fallen. Patio lights gleamed in the rain and reflected on the smooth sides of Karl's big hoppercraft. I ate the last piece of chocolate cake.

  Charlie made fresh coffee and we sat around drinking it and waiting, not saying much.

  Finally, about 2100 hours, Bea Mangan's hopper wafted down and parked beside Karl's. She came in through the back door, looking tired but pleased with herself, and dropped a magslate on the table in front of me. "Here's the report, Helly. I've already sent a copy of it to Delegate Son-tag."

  Charlie helped his wife off with her coat, heated water, and put a couple of peppermint teabags into a big china cup labeled C10H19OH. I pulled out a chair for Bea and apologized for the fact that we'd scoffed up all the cake. She said she'd eaten supper at the cafeteria in Commerce Tower. After she had relaxed for a few minutes and sipped some of the calming brew, I asked the pertinent question.

  "What did your genetic assay show? Speak freely. Charlie knows the score now."

  Bea gave me a reproachful look. "Helly, I thought we—"

  I said, "Your husband is in this thing up to his neck, just like the rest of us. He deserves to know what's really going on."

  "It's for the best," Charlie said to her. "At least now I know the importance of that bod stashed in my morgue under false pretenses."

  "So—is he a demiclone?" I asked Bea.

  "He is," she said, "provided the data Lorne Buchanan sent to Sontag are correct. The so-called marker incorporated by Emily Konigsberg is actually a unique suite of introns— multiple noncoding sequences of DNA—occurring on four different chromosomes, plus a single mutant exon from the complex controlling telomeric proteins. The genetic profile of the individual you nicknamed Brown Fleece contains both the intron suite and the mutant exon typical of demiclones."

  "What are telomeric proteins?" I asked.

  Dr. Charlie said, "Telomeres are ribbonlike appendages on the ends of chromosomes. Each time a cell divides—and those in the normal human body split about seventy times before kicking the bucket—the telomeres diminish a little. Youthful cells have long telos. Old worn-out cells have shorter ones. Tinkering with the genes that influence telo proteins is one of the important ways that dystasis therapy brings about cell rejuvenation and healing. There's an enormous scientific literature on the subject."

  Bea said, "Brown Fleece's telomeres seem to be of an appropriate length for a human male of his apparent age. It's quite possible that the exon mutation's effect is negligible."

  I frowned. "Then why would Konigsberg bother to include it in the demiclone marker group at all? Wouldn't the intron suite adequately label fake humans?"

  "It would," she said. "Emily was forced to include the exon—for a very odd reason that I'm going to tell you about."

  "What does this mutant thing do?" Karl asked.

  "Apparently nothing," Bea said, "if we're to judge by Brown Fleece. In the biosample I briefly studied, the telomeric proteins seem completely normal."

  "Isn't there any way to check it out more intensively?" I asked.

  "One would have to do some rather time-consuming research," she said, "in vitro tissue culture of cells from different parts of the demiclone body—artificial acceleration of cell division to determine whether the overall aging process or specific bodily functions were being significantly affected. Perhaps the exon is a protogene—one that's effectively dormant until it's switched on by some external factor. In that case, a researcher might not uncover the mutation's effect unless she found the relevant trigger. Perhaps Haluk scientists have already noticed this rogue exon and researched it. However, given their relative backwardness in molecular biology, I'd be inclined to doubt it."

  "Me, too," I said. All this was more genetics than I really wanted to hear about right now, even though I suspected it might be important.

  Bea took a long drink of the mint tea and sighed. "Let's move on to the other interesting—and very puzzling—thing I discovered. Do you remember the Haluk cadaver that was sent to Tokyo University by Rampart? This happened several years ago, just before Eve was abducted."

  Karl and I nodded. I explained to Charlie: "The body was a gracile. It looked like a normal allomorph, but it wasn't. It had human DNA mixed with the Haluk. During the long period of hostility, human researchers had very little opportunity to study the Haluk genome. So when Rampart captured a Qastt pirate vessel that had a Haluk suicide aboard, it sold the body to Tokyo University for a nice price. That particular corpse unexpectedly provided the first proof that Haluk allomorphism was being erased by unauthorized genen therapy. Bea had it briefly but was unable to do much research
."

  "That's right," she said. "The body was returned to the Haluk as a provision of the new trade treaty, supposedly for religious interment. The Secretariat for Xenoaffairs confiscated and sealed the Japanese researchers' data and mine for policy reasons that weren't made clear to the scientific community ... Perhaps you don't know that officially the Haluk genome remains pegged at its pre-allomorph-trait eradication status. Fresh research by human scientists into Haluk biology is now allowed only with SXA permission. And no permits have been issued."

  I gave a cynical smile. "Right. The Haluk—and our goddamn government—don't want to publicize the fact that human genes were used illegally to wipe out allomorphism. That's why the Tokyo study was never published. My father obtained a precis of it by twisting academic arms, but the full report was quashed."

  "Nevertheless," Bea said demurely, "I managed to obtain a copy of it two years ago, as did a number of other people in my line of work. Today, when I finished assaying Brown Fleece, I compared his genetic profile to that of the Tokyo Haluk. I did this for technical reasons, to see how much of the redundant human DNA in the Tokyo body might have survived in a demiclone. Of course, the Toyko Haluk didn't contain the intron marker suite typical of demiclones ... but the body did have the mutant telomere exon."

  "What the hell does that mean?" I demanded. I was beginning to feel very confused. All this science was giving me a headache—or perhaps it was too much German chocolate cake.

  Bea said, "I think we can presume that every nonallomorphic Haluk possesses this small exon mutation. Older studies of Haluk genetics confirm that the altered gene is not present in Haluk possessing the allomorph trait. Nor has the mutation ever been noted in human beings. I have to conclude that the exon is an artifact. Emily Konigsberg created it."

  Karl's bushy brows rose quizzically. "She added a little something extra to both the trait eradication and the demiclone genen procedures?"

  "Apparently so," Bea said, "but there's no documentation for it in her research materials. I haven't been able to read everything in the secret Galapharma files yet, of course. But there was an extensive section dealing with allotrait eradication that I did study carefully. I found no reference to insertion of the mutant exon. Konigsberg must have concealed it within another gene-resequencing procedure, keeping it secret from both Haluk authorities and the Galapharma technicians. Later, when the demiclone project was established, she was forced to describe the mutant exon in the marker group. It would be detectable, you see, when Gala checked its employees' DNA to be sure they weren't Haluk spies."

  And a mighty sloppy job they did of that, too ...

  "So Emily's magic exon occurs in nonallos and demiclones both," I said, "and we have no notion why. Aren't most mutations harmful?"

  "Not necessarily," Bea said. "Given the highly idealistic temperament of Konigsberg, it doesn't seem likely that the exon would be deleterious. She wouldn't want to harm her Haluk friends. The mutation is probably neutral—or even beneficial."

  "For who?" I murmured. "Humans or Haluk?"

  A silence.

  Finally, I said, "This new information bugs the hell out of me. What if that damned woman figured out a way to increase the Haluk lifespan, or make them super-healing, or something?"

  "That's extremely unlikely," Bea said mildly. "But I could discreetly consult my forensic colleagues. Perhaps some of them would agree to quietly undertake some tissue-culture experiments, using biosamples from Brown Fleece. They wouldn't have to know the subject was a Haluk demiclone in order to investigate the effects of the mutation."

  "Go ahead," I said. "But for God's sake stress the need for secrecy."

  "I don't think we have to worry about their discretion." She paused. "However, there's another kind of secrecy we should be very concerned about. Have you considered that there might be demiclone spies in Efrem Sontag's office? His association with you and his skeptical attitude toward the Haluk Consortium are well-known."

  "Sontag and his staff and even his family will have to be vetted," I said. "He's already agreed to it. We'll obtain DNA samples without the other subjects' knowledge and you can do the assays." I glanced apologetically at Karl and Charlie. "You'll have to test us, too, Bea."

  "Oh, I've already done that, Helly." She smiled into her cup of peppermint tea. "I took biosamples from you to the lab and compared them with the Vital Stat database. You three are absolutely authentic. But I'm afraid you'll have to take me on faith—at least for the time being." "We'll risk it," I said.

  Not long afterward, Karl and I boarded his hopper and took off into the rainy night sky. For no reason other than an old security chief's love of arcane gadgetry, he had installed a sophisticated intruder-defense system in his small home in Port Perry, south of Fenelon Falls. It was the kind of setup that would hold off even the most determined Haluk kidnappers, far superior to that in my Rampart Tower apartment. I asked Karl if I could stay with him, and he readily agreed. He was a widower and lived alone except for a ten-kilo purebred, bluepoint Ragdoll cat named Max. The cat even liked me.

  "It'll just be for three days," I said, "while we work out a long-range game plan with Sontag based on all this new evidence. After that, I'm off to a Sagittarian asteroid named Phlegethon. Barky Tregarth is supposed to be holed up there—literally. The friggin' place is an orbiting rabbit warren. Hollow."

  Karl turned in the pilot's seat and regarded me with amazement. "But you can't go now—not after what's happened!"

  "Sure I can." I was scrolling through the hopper's music library. Mostly classical, dammit, and heavy on Khachaturian. Finally, I found a Cal Tjader collection and called up "Running Out." Apropos, no?

  "You're needed here!" Karl protested.

  "No, I'm not. You need Cassius Potter, Hector Motlaletsie, and Lotte Dietrich." They were the retired Rampart security agents who had worked closely with us in the Perseus Spur during the Galapharma takeover attempt. The three were among the few people fully cognizant of the Haluk demiclone threat.

  "My Over-the-Hill Gang?"

  "Sign 'em on again," I told him. "They'll come running if you explain the situation. We're going to need Lotte's computer expertise to analyze the archival material we got from Lorne Buchanan. She'll know how to validate its authenticity for Sontag, in case SXA tries to discredit the chain of evidence later. Cassius and Hector will have an even more sensitive mission: collecting biosamples from every Delegate in the Commonwealth Assembly. They should all be tested. So should as many of the Delegates' aides as we can grab DNA from. If any demiclones are found, we leave them in place—then let Sontag blow 'em sky-high when he starts his committee hearings."

  "You should be here for those. You've got to be here! You're a principal witness."

  "My Barky Hunt won't take long. Maybe not even two weeks. Five days to reach Phlegethon, maybe a few more to track the old gunrunner down and hook him up to the truth machines I'm packing on Makebate. If he comes up aces, I'll transmit the results of his interrogation to you immediately via encrypted subspace com, then hightail it back to Earth with Barky lashed to the copilot's chair."

  "And what if something goes wrong? Nothing that superannuated crook is likely to tell you is worth risking your life for."

  "That's not true." I told him about the upcoming Assembly vote that would permit the sale of fifty T-2 Rampart Mandate planets to the Haluk, as well as the bill that would be introduced in the next session opening an additional three hundred worlds to the aliens. "Sontag thinks it would be bad strategy to attack the fifty-planet bill by introducing the demiclone evidence during the final eight weeks of this Assembly session. I don't agree. Maybe Barky Tregarth can help me change Ef's mind."

  Karl was quietly appalled at the political news. "I never dreamed that the pro-Haluk faction was pushing ahead so fast! T-2 worlds ... not as desirable as T-l 's, but bad enough. Isn't there anything you could do as a Rampart director to stall the sale?"

  "Me?" I let loose a cynical cackle. "Not a praye
r. The Rampart board would vote me down in a landslide if I tried to block either deal. A huge credit infusion right now is just what the doctor ordered to grease the wheels of the Galapharma consolidation. The only way to force an open-door treaty on the Haluk and slow their influx is by discrediting them in the Assembly."

  "We already have the evidence to do that, using Brown Fleece and the new Galapharma material. Dammit, Helly! Galloping off after a long shot like Barky Tregarth is reckless and irresponsible. To say nothing of bloody dangerous!"

  "My life's in danger if I stay on Earth," I pointed out. "So I might as well go. At least there won't be any Haluk demiclones gunning for my butt around Sagittarius."

  "Jesus Christ," he muttered darkly. "Why not just admit you're hot to trot on a new offworld adventure after two years of boring legal shit?"

  "There's that," I admitted, grinning.

  He turned away and stared out the side window of the hopper. Cal Tjader was playing his great Latin take on "'Round Midnight."

  "So follow your damned cowboy instincts," Karl said softly. "If you end up dead, the rest of us will carry on the crusade somehow."

  "I know," I said quietly. "I'm counting on it."

  "The bad hats will be expecting you at Phlegethon, you know."

  "That's why I'm going there in fancy dress. I'll disguise myself as a Joru trader. A very short Joru trader. And I'll have trade goods that no Haluk-oriented smuggler can resist. I twisted Tony Becker's arm and he's putting the stuff together for me." I told Karl what merchandise I planned to offer and he laughed. "If I give a decent performance, none of the local wiseguys will connect my Joru persona with the guy in Toronto who paid big money to learn the whereabouts of one Hamilcar Barca Tregarth."

  Karl thought about it. "Hmm. This goofy idea could actually work."

  I flashed a confident grin. "Of course it will. And you know what? Masquerading as an alien might even be fun!"