by B. C. CHASE
“Yes, it’s the chief of staff for the President.”
“The president of what?” Wiggins scoffed. “The United States?”
“Yes.”
“How’d you figure that?”
“It’s a long story. But you still haven’t explained how you found us.”
“Well, you know how Jarred gave you a new wedding ring not too long back?”
“Yeah, I told him he had gone crazy. Spent a fortune we didn’t have.”
“It has an FBI proprietary tracking device in it. He didn’t tell you because he didn’t want to scare you. But he gave me the code, so all I had to do was go online to see your coordinates. Just followed with my cell phone and here I am.”
Kelle looked down at her diamond ring with newfound fondness.
Wesley asked, “And how’d you stop the truck?”
“Well, as you see, it has no driver. The automated semi’s all have a remote kill switch. We can turn them off at will, as a safety precaution.” He paused, “You know, you two don’t look so good. When’s the last time you ate?”
Wesley and Kelle exchanged a baffled glance. Kelle said, “It’s been awhile.”
As they began to exit the truck, Reebok tugged at Wesley’s shirt. The orangutans did not want to be left behind.
The drive to Manassas was over two hours long. Wesley was anxious the entire time, and Kelle stared wide-eyed at the road ahead despite her exhaustion. Wesley was worried that they would be stopped at any moment, and he could only guess that Kelle had the same fear. The orangs slept, resting their heads on Kelle’s and Wesley’s laps.
When they finally reached Manassas, the sky was brightening with the imminent appearance of the sun. Without a word, Wiggins pulled off onto a tree-canopied side road.
“Where are you going? This isn’t the way to your house,” Kelle said.
“You’re right,” Wiggins said. “It isn’t.”
“Well where are you taking us?”
“Something I think you’d like to see.”
Wiggins pulled down a dirt road deeper into the woods. The road came to a dead end at a cow gate. Wiggins stopped the car and began loading his pistol. He said, “It’s gotta be here.”
“What?”
“Let’s find out together,” he replied, opening his car door. He went to the back and accessed the trunk. He withdrew a large spade, said, “C’mon guys, time to get out of the car.”
Pacific Ocean
Doctor Ming-Zhen was seated in a luxurious Avic business jet gazing unseeingly out the oval window. Somehow the sound of the jet engines was reassuring. He was lost in deep thought. Yue Zhang suddenly sat down across from him, bringing him back to the present.
Still staring out the window, Doctor Ming-Zhen said, “There were signs, you know, that we should have seen long before we unearthed the deinocheirus or found the DNA in Antarctica. It was right before our noses the whole time. How did we miss it? How did we peddle Charles Darwin’s delusion so long?”
“What delusion is that?”
“Evolutionary speciation.”
Zhang shrugged, “It is the job of science to find answers. It felt like failure to let them go, even if they weren’t on the mark.”
“He came up with his idea long before we had even a basic grasp of what life is. It was like relying on a caveman to inform a twenty-first century understanding of astronomy when the caveman didn’t even have a pair of binoculars, let alone a one-hundred-foot-wide infrared telescope. Had Darwin known then what we knew in the nineties and the twenty-tens, namely that the variance in a warbler’s feather length was attributable to developmental noise[15], a factor with apparently no genotypic basis and no heritability[16], he would likely have made very different conclusions about his finches.”
“But what about all the examples in the fossil record of transitional species?”
“The fossil record is actually glaringly vacant of transitional species. First off, fossils are hardly detailed enough to scrutinize the minute details of change that would necessarily be seen between different groups. But aside from that, when they first began digging up dinosaurs in the 1800’s, everyone who dug anything up was eager to have discovered his very own species. So myriad species were named, and everyone assumed that minor differences between similar specimens told the tale of graduated evolution with one species showing differing characteristics from the next. But then Doctor Jack Horner dropped a bombshell on all of us. He asserted that, even though scientists loved to name new species, virtually all of the known species of dinosaurs were in fact only samples representing the same several species but at specific stages of life. For example, many purportedly different species that were supposedly related to triceratops were all, in fact, triceratops: triceratops as an infant, triceratops as a juvenile, triceratops as a youth, and triceratops mature. The variations in the horns as well as the differences in the shape of the fan on the heads of these samples did not represent differences between species, but rather represented different stages in the triceratops's growth. He proved this by dissecting the dinosaurs' bones. Since bones are known to display different consistencies at varying stages of development, he showed that, as expected, the little skeletons were young and the bigger ones were old[17]. The same turned out to be true of Tyrannosaurus rex. Tyrannosaurs apparently had fewer teeth, smoother snouts, and less pronounced protuberances above their eyes when they were younger. Pachycephelocaurus also fell victim to this analysis, with its two related genera Dracorex and Stygimoloch turning out to be Pachy’s different life stages.”
“I don’t see how that would have been a blow to Darwinian evolution,” Zhang said.
“Well, it had major implications had we not been too blind to see them. Firstly, many paleontologists who had experienced the thrill of naming a species were now dismayed to know that their ‘species’ did not actually exist. It was a serious hit to the hubris of the field. Secondly, all these supposed species had been assumed to be vivid examples of evolutionary speciation in action. Now that a third of the previously named species had been eliminated[18], the idea that the remaining samples represented millions of years of speciation was somewhat less credible. We had much, much more digging to do. And, of course, this is nothing compared to the problem of complexity.”
“Complexity?” Zhang asked.
“Yes. There is the inherent complexity of life at every level. From the prokaryotes or the viroids to the human being, life is mind boggling in its intricacy. Granted, a mammal is vastly more complicated than a single-celled organism, but that single-celled organism is complex, nonetheless.”
“At the vertebrate level, complexity is incredibly, if not miraculously abundant, and certainly does not display any kind of progression from one type of animal to the next. For this reason, by the time all the genetic and morphologic traits are taken into account, the tree of life is typically drawn as branching out all at once near the bottom.”
Zhang interrupted, “Wait. What are morphologic traits?”
“Structural features. I remember a professor in one of my early classes presenting a skull with the question, ‘What species is it?’ and then saying ‘no’ to every single student as each examined it and said it was a fox or wolf. The truth is, it was not even related to a fox or a wolf. It was a thylacine, an extinct marsupial from Australia. Even an experienced biologist cannot tell thylacine skulls apart from their canine counterparts when they are presented without labels. Why the exact same skull in two species that supposedly diverged on the evolutionary tree of life right after the early synapsids[1] separated from the reptiles? Not only did thylacines look like dogs, but they acted like dogs. Convergent adaptation? Preposterous.”
“What is convergent adaptation?”
“Usually they called it convergent evolution. It’s the idea that the same feature could evolve out of necessity along two disparate branches of the evolutionary tree of life. For example, flying foxes are a species of megabat. They have eyes connected to
the brain in exactly the same way as primates (and uniquely to primates—except for these problematic foxes). Some scientists had the theory that megabats were flying primates because of this! If the flying foxes, the megabats, were actually not bats at all but primates, flight would have had to evolve in mammals twice (once for the microbats, which were insect eaters, and once for the megabat primates, which were fruit eaters). Since it already boggled the collective mind of science that flight had evolved once in mammals, the idea that it had independently evolved twice seemed to border on insanity to some.”
“Of course, the question of how many times mammals had evolved flight is nothing to the question of how many times they have taken to the sea. Back when we believed the Darwin delusion, it was said that mammals had evolved a marine existence on seven different occasions along seven different lines. This would be an extraordinary feat considering the specificity required for life under water and the explicit suitability of mammalian biology for a terrestrial existence. It is tough to live in the water when one breathes air. And yet, mammals of all shapes and sizes live a very happy and indeed prominent existence amongst their fish cohabitants under the waves.”
“But what was I talking about before this tangent? Oh yes, complexity. It is foolish to say that a human is more complicated than an ape: in fact humans are the only primates with fewer than twenty-four pairs of chromosomes. The human genome has about 23,000 protein-coding genes compared to the water flea’s 31,000. Amoebas have some of the largest genomes on earth, up to one hundred times larger than human genomes. Every form of life that existed or ever has existed, according to the fossil record, is an infinitely complicated machine.”
“Of course, there was the greatest pillar of evolution's support to explain this, namely that no one knew for certain what had existed in the past and it was conceivable that one simple thing led to another which led to another resulting in the current state of complexity. But the idea that ‘just because you don't see it doesn't mean it isn't there’ smacked of intelligent design folly, and that is not science. That is blind faith. If all we scientists did was strut around saying ‘it could have been this or that,’ then what use were we? You know, it was only after I became a paleontologist that I heard one of the most famous paleontologists, Saul Sereno proudly declare that ‘paleontology is an art.’ He actually said you had to have a terrific imagination to be a paleontologist!” He shrugged, “I guess it isn’t surprising that he had begun his working life as an aspiring artist.”
“We should have been looking for facts, not making creative drawings and 3D renderings that looked like they stomped straight out of Jurassic Park.
“But back to the problem of complexity. Sorry, I am incoherent.”
“Scattered, yes,” Zhang encouraged.
“Increasing complexity equates to increasing vulnerability. Complex systems are inherently vulnerable, as any engineer will tell you. In a biological science, the effect is that the more complex the creature's biology or behavior, the greater likelihood there is something that can go wrong. Every additional step, every additional piece to a puzzle is only one more point of failure. The more organs a creature requires, the more likely it is that one of them could fail. The more steps to a breeding ritual, the greater likelihood that a step could go wrong or a necessary environmental variable be out of place. The farther a migratory path, the greater the chance a species can’t complete the journey. The more specialized a creature's diet and physiology, the greater the risk. I call it the complexity paradox. Have you ever heard of the gelada baboon?”
Zhang shook his head, “I don’t think that I have.”
“It is the only living primate to eat a primary diet of grass, and that spends virtually all of its time on the ground. Grass is incredibly difficult to digest: that's why ruminants such as cows ‘chew the cud’ and many have a four-chambered stomach in order to thoroughly process it. Oddly enough, the gelada is perfectly suited to eating grass in many ways. First, its teeth are suited to the task of chewing it. Its saliva is similar to other grass-grazing animals rather than other baboons. It has small, stout fingers designed to pluck the grass. The gelada's stomach contains bacteria that breaks down the grass. Some of these bacteria are unique to the gelada, but many are common to ruminants. This monkey’s specialization to grass eating is so specific, in fact, that biologists who studied it noted that it was extremely vulnerable to changes in its environment. They live only in the high meadows of Ethiopia and are considered extremely threatened. Only a handful are left. A side note, explain to me how this species of primate developed the abilities of ruminants so specifically. Did they evolve from the other ruminants such as cows, or did they develop the ability to eat grass convergently? But the point is that the gelada is extremely vulnerable because of its complexity and specialization.”
“So creatures with both extreme physical and behavioral complexity are perilously vulnerable not only to their environments, but also to less complicated creatures. Bacteria plague their hosts with diseases of all kinds and have wiped out countless species. Viruses have perhaps been even more destructive. Though the fossil evidence to back this up is strikingly absent, scientists estimate that there have been between one and four billion species in the earth's biological history. Only 8.7 million are estimated to still be alive, a loss of 99.13 percent, at the very least. Of the 5,000 known mammalian species, eighty-nine have gone extinct in the previous 400 years and another 200 are listed as critically endangered. At this rate of extinction, it will take fewer than 8,000 years for all mammals on earth to disappear.”
“Given the geological evidence of meteor impacts and severe environmental change such as temperature variations, sea level fluctuations and natural disasters; combined with the challenges of disease, predation, and threats from invasive species, the idea that complex life can survive the millions and millions of years required to substantively evolve is, simply put, hopelessly impossible. Speciation through evolution couldn’t keep up with this rate of catastrophe. Life is weak. Anyone who has watched a David Attenborough nature special can see that. The message in such programs is consistently loud and clear: these animals are vulnerable, they are fragile. We are their caretakers but we are killing them—and not just us.”
“The fact that life is inherently complex also happens to be a gross violation of the second law of thermodynamics, otherwise known as entropy. And, this complexity is not limited to actual organisms. The foundation of life on earth, I mean DNA, is an arrangement of chemicals so complicated that the slightest misalignment can spell disaster. A demonstrable example of this is found in the earlier attempts to clone animals that resulted in thousands upon thousands of failures. Dolly the sheep would be a case in point. Even if an embryo miraculously survived, miscarriage was often the ultimate result from the womb. Things have to be virtually perfect. People do not realize that Dolly was born out of a galaxy of failed attempts. Of course, science has since progressed to the point that perfection is much more frequently achieved, but failed attempts are still a part of any type of any artificial genetic recombination.”
“And that brings to mind the fact that genetic recombination had at one time been a foundation of the supposed basis for evolutionary speciation. It had been thought that the genetic recombination that took place in the reproductive process (the joining of the parents' DNA to form the offspring) was an important driver in producing new species. However, I had realized long ago that the recombination process was very limited: while a few parts of the genome opened the door to options in traits, the door was never opened to new or otherwise extraordinary traits.”
“Here we’re getting into the problem of de novo gene origination. That is, the generation of entirely new genes out of nothing. This is something that must have taken place in order to give rise to the mind-boggling variety of features found within all life. New genes must be added to the genome, somehow. The problem with this is that a mutation in a gene—for example the addition, substit
ution, or subtraction of base pairs, the rearrangement of frames, or the duplication of chromosomes—is not the creation of a new gene at all: it is simply a change to an existing gene which is still recognizable as that gene and frequently results in dysfunctional proteins, the functional building blocks of life.”
“Protein synthesis, the process by which DNA is made into proteins, works like this: DNA is converted into messenger RNA through a process called transcription. Then the mRNAs are translated into the functional proteins. These proteins are complicated, comprised of hundreds of thousands of subunits and taking on various shapes. And it isn’t as if a mutation during protein synthesis could change a single-boned reptilian middle ear into a tri-boned mammalian ear, or change a gill into a lung. This, from what we understand about protein synthesis, would be impossible. A single protein is very specific to one small piece of a gigantic organic puzzle. Take for example a single connector attached to a wire that is secured by a screw to an electrical component on a gigantic cruise ship. Imagine that a mutation caused the structure of one tiny piece of a protein to change. In the example of the connector on the wire, the alteration, though slight, changed the shape of the connector so that it no longer fits around the screw that keeps it secured to the electrical component. Now we have a problem. The electrical component was the bridge’s communications device. The captain can no longer talk to his engineers. The ship cannot leave port without this functionality. Now imagine that this ship is a living organism. Imagine that this wire connector is GHR, the growth hormone receptor protein. This protein must receive the growth hormone, somatotropin, that is secreted by cells in the pituitary gland. If a mutation occurs, GHR becomes dysfunctional. The growth hormone cannot adhere to the receptor. The organism fails to grow and its lifespan will be severely truncated. This is actually a disease, called Laron syndrome. Because proteins are only pieces of a gigantic puzzle, in such cases as this, the proteins that make up each of the system’s components must also be changed in order for anything other than a neutral outcome or failure to result. Codependency. But the chance that two different mutations would occur concurrently in a way that could possibly produce a system with more than one functional component is, quite simply, not within the realm of possibility given the fact that there are around 23,000 protein-coding genes in the human genome and the rate of mutations that are not repaired is somewhere around .003 mutations per cell generation.”