“You must be kidding – there’s more?”
“Yeah. The company pumped fresh air into the mineshaft to help the air quality but they vented the shaft to the surface near the office building. They didn’t treat the exhaust air, so make-up air for the building was contaminated and everyone in there was exposed to the same pollutants that were in the mine,” finished Guzzle.
“That borders on being criminal. Tell me they are going to take some kind of action,” said Joe almost pleading.
“They’re in talks with the company and in separate talks with a team of attorneys that are chopping at the bit to take a class action lawsuit or individual lawsuits to court. Both of my parents were poisoned, Joe. Them, and all the overseers and all the office staff. That includes twelve married couples like my parents who started working at the mine before they started their families.”
Guzzle hesitated for a moment. “It’s possible that skinny man is the result of those chemicals, because of their effects on Mum and Pops before I was born. I found a copy of the laboratory reports in their file cabinet. The list of chemicals in those samples included a number of known teratogens and mutagens.”
“You think that’s what caused it?” asked Joe.
“I’ll know more once I run some tests up at the school.”
“How’s that going?”
“Slow. I have to wait until the labs are empty and the cleaning crews are finished.”
“Aren’t those labs locked at night?” asked Joe.
“Duh,” replied Guzzle.
“Oh yeah, that doesn’t really matter does it?”
“Not in the least. I just have to remember to go by the lab during the day and leave my backpack out of sight before I leave the building.”
“What about cameras?” asked Joe. “You really don’t want campus police having a video of you squeezing through a sixteenth-inch wide gap in a door frame.”
“I know where the cameras are located and I know where the gaps are,” said Guzzle. The worst I’ve had to do is slip into a heater duct and follow it to the lab where I left my backpack; piece of cake really.”
“So, what’s on the agenda this week?” asked Joe.
“I’m going to analyze my DNA. I’ve already run blood and tissue samples for chemicals, metals, pesticides. You name it, I ran tests for it, and everything was within normal ranges. I did find out I’m vitamin D deficient though.”
“We both need some beach time,” replied Joe, “if I get any paler, I’ll be translucent.”
“That’s a great idea.”
“Am I meeting you and Sally for dinner tonight?” asked Joe.
“Yes, it’s tonight and bring Linda.”
“Of course,” replied Joe, “who else would I bring?”
After dinner they dropped the girls off at home and headed back to campus. For a while they drove without saying a word. Guys can do that. Finally, Joe broke the meditative silence.
“Have you given any thought to what you’re going to do after graduation?”
“I’m staying right here at the university to study integrated ceramics,” replied Guzzle, “I’ve already talked to Professor Quid about it. They’ve got a great program and while I’m here I can use their equipment. I won’t even have to sneak in anymore; doctoral students get to use everything.”
“Everything? Why is that?”
“Professor Quid says it’s because half the time the staff doesn’t know what their students are up to anyway so what’s the point?”
“I guess he’s a good guy to study under then?” asked Joe.
“They don’t call him Doctor Ceramic for nothing. What about you, what are you going to do?” asked Guzzle.
“I’m off to Morian University. I snagged a defense department sponsorship – it’s my best chance of doing the doctoral thing without paying for it,” he said. “We’ve gone to school together for sixteen years Guzzle, the only thing weirder than having you around will be not having you around.”
“I’m flattered.”
Five years went by quickly. Guzzle used every device in the science and engineering department to try and pinpoint what made him unique; what made him skinny man. He finally resolved that if he really wanted to know he would have to enlist the help of other professionals. He also decided he didn’t want to know that badly and he would dodge the guaranteed notoriety – such things are never kept secret for long.
Although he didn’t resolve his personal issue, he did do two fairly incredible things during his time at the university. First, and the one that was made public, he invented a new type of ceramic. Without delving into details considered to be secret, Guzzle would simply say it was better, and programmable – that last bit being the clincher. Programmable ceramics meant they could be tailored to meet a wide variety of specific applications.
Need a material to help absorb radioactive emissions from waste products in storage? Done. Need to produce plates that expand and won’t break no matter how long you forget them on the stove burner? Done. Need refrigerator magnets that are programmed to display a slide show of pictures or cartoons or whatever else you want to see? Done. The list is bloody endless.
The second incredible thing was buried beneath a mountain of government bureaucracy. During his wanderings through the science and engineering equipment, Guzzle began to understand with the right tools everything about a physical being could be measured and mapped. It only required the right sensors, scanners and detectors with sufficient sensitivities to precisely locate everything – everything meaning EVERYTHING – proteins and their locations, fat, bone, metal content, enzymes and all the rest.
Everything and its precise makeup and its morphology to boot could be mapped. The data drive needed to store that information would be astronomically huge – bigger than anything at the university. Guzzle had remarked that was and IT department problem.
But if that data could be filed in a three-dimensional modeling program, all that was needed to produce an exact copy of a living physical specimen was a multi-port/multi-head three-dimensional printer, software to stipulate where biologically active liquids would be deposited to form layers of cells, tissue, and organs, and a biosphere to house the equipment and nourish the layers during deposition.
Guzzle didn’t get very far with his idea. He gave a brief presentation of it at the university’s “Things to Consider” seminar after which the white paper describing this idea was considered classified due to national security interests and Guzzle was prevented from giving any more presentations or even circulating the paper for peer review. How they came to know about it is still hotly debated; some say the NSD has agents in every university in the system whose sole job is to listen in on the conversations of students and professors.
Professor Quid was furious. He called them goose-stepping, jackbooted authoritarians. No one ever explained why or what national security issues the white paper impinged.
Guzzle told one of his friends,” They are not the kind of people you press for an answer, unless you want to wake up one day with the head of a nugleshot in your bed. But, you don’t want that, they’re revolting. I could go into the details, but I can’t stand the thought of it and you wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight.”
Joe finished his doctorate the semester before Guzzle and accepted an entry level biochemical engineering position at Ghehron Corporation. His doctoral research quickly led to a significant scientific breakthrough – his discovery of a new biologically active fluid, for which he received several patents followed by numerous job offers.
Slightly over two years later, Joe accepted a new position at a company in his hometown. Once he was back and settled, he seized the first opportunity to meet with Guzzle, who was employed at a research facility in town and taught part time at the university. They had lunch at an outdoor restaurant in midtown that served the best empanadas anywhere outside the Argentina Café.
Of course they didn’t know that, because they had never been to Terra Bulga, let alone Houston
, Texas, owing to the restriction against interplanetary travel. And honestly, they had never had an empanada before, and didn’t have any idea what they were before they ordered. Rumor has it they liked them.
While they were savoring their lunch and catching up, a man wearing a long overcoat approached where they were sitting. “Can I have a word with you?” he asked.
“Which one of us?” replied Joe.
“Not one, both,” replied the man, “and maybe someplace more private.”
“What’s this about; who are you?” asked Guzzle.
“It’s about your research and how you might be able to help some innocent people.”
Guzzle stared at the man, “if you’re with the military…”
“I’m not,” replied the man quickly.
“Good, because I’ve had enough of them to last me a while. So, who are you and what do you want?” asked Guzzle roughly.
“My name is Arton, I’m here from Centoria.”
Joe bolted to his feet and stepped sideways away from his chair, focusing his attention on the bottom edge of the stranger’s overcoat. He knew all about Centorians and if this guy was what he claimed he was, a sword was hidden somewhere under that coat.
“I’m not here to hurt you, I’m here to ask for your help,” said Arton.
“Then why are you hiding a sword under your overcoat?” asked Joe.
Guzzle shot to his feet quickly. “Is that right, you have a sword under there?” he said as he stepped away from his chair.
“Look, I think we got off on the wrong foot,” said Arton.
“Yeah, we did when you brought a Centorian Kitan to a meeting with two strangers and pretended to need their help,” replied Joe.
Arton looked at Joe wondering how much he knew. “If you know anything about Centorians, you know that if I came here to hurt you there is virtually nothing you could have done to prevent it, and you would already be dead. I came here to ask for your help.” Before either Joe or Guzzle could respond Arton unfastened his coat in one smooth motion, detached his scabbard and tossed it to Joe who caught it in his left hand. “Now, you have the sword.”
There was a long moment when Joe and Guzzle both tried to make sense of what just happened. Joe pulled on the hilt and drew the sword partially from its leather. The blade glimmered brightly in the sunlight and Joe was briefly lost in thought. Then he yanked the sword out completely, whirled it in the air and brought it to an abrupt stop slightly over his head.”
“That is very, very sharp,” warned Arton.
Joe slid the sword back in its scabbard and tossed it back. “You said you needed our help. We’re listening.”
“Your research has been hijacked,” said Arton and it’s being used in a way you might not approve. The Zin Charr, beings from the planet Implacto, have been using a process called disambiguation on prisoners and not a few innocent victims for a long, long time. The Interplanetary Commission on the Rights of all Species is getting heavy pressure to intervene because of leaked information suggesting the Zin Charr’s prints from early disambiguations are beginning to fail.”
“They didn’t stabilize their fluid properly,” replied Joe, “it was only a matter of time before they started to degrade.”
“You know about this?” asked Arton sounding shocked.
“A few research papers were smuggled off of Implacto by dissenters before the process was first used. The university obtained them from an artifacts collector and stored them in the restricted section – the papers are ancient; around two hundred years old. Zin Charr scientists were top notch; their work was amazing and I studied it while I conducted my own research and experiments.”
“The stabilized bioactive fluid I developed is due in large part to the Zin Charr work that preceded me. There is quite a bit of debate about whether their failure to stabilize the fluid was an oversight or a purposeful flaw. By not stabilizing their fluid they prescribed its inevitable failure.”
“Why would they purposely design it to fail?” asked Arton.
“I wondered that myself. As with everything involving the Zin Charr there are quite a few theories, but ask yourself this, how long would their politicians would be willing to fund storage of the governments disambiguation victims? Some have estimated there are thousands upon thousands of criminals, and as you indicated not a few innocent beings, that have been disambiguized – can you imagine the cost of running a cryogenic unit for two hundred years to keep the bodies frozen?”
“The budget allocation must be staggering and it continues to grow,” answered Joe, “and add to that the additional cost of storing all the printed images in an environmentally-controlled warehouse. In the end, it’s a budget decision isn’t it? It’s all about money,” explained Joe.
“You haven’t indicated how this concerns us,” remarked Guzzle.
“A host of interested parties believe the Zin Charr are going to reanimate criminals whose prints are failing, then put them through the process a second time using the stabilized fluid.”
“Good luck with that,” replied Joe, “that was developed under a defense department program and it’s not going public any time soon.”
“They already have it,” said Arton matter-of-factly.
“They can’t have,” said Joe “it hasn’t been declassified.”
“Be that as it may, they have it.”
Joe’s displeasure at hearing that was evident in the 'colorful' words he used to respond to Arton’s statement. Guzzle was fairly surprised. He had never seen his friend get so angry, or use such language. Joe immediately apologized for spouting off the way he did.
“I see how this might concern Joe, but I don’t see how it concerns me,” said Guzzle.
“They intend to use your ceramics for the new process chamber equipment.”
“Its patent protected,” said Guzzle, “they can’t without my permission.”
“Someone who is willing to bribe a defense department employee to get their hands on the recipe for stabilized biologically active fluid isn’t going to flinch at using your ceramics – what’s a patent to them?”
“That’s not going to happen,” replied Guzzle.
“It already has. What are you willing to do to stop it?” asked Arton. “That question is the reason I’m here, and no one is as qualified as the two of you to help us stop it. I’m not here to ask you to question the appropriateness of disambiguation used on criminals sentenced by the Zin Charr. I’m here to ask you to help intervene on behalf of Centorians who were captured while they were trying to protect innocent people and were disambiguized by rogues.”
“We fear the Centorians won’t receive the same accommodation as the government’s criminals. If those who hold the Centorians decide the Interplanetary Commission on the Rights of all Species is going to intervene, they will purge any evidence that they used the process on someone who wasn’t a convicted criminal. That means the Centorians and the innocent people they were trying to protect will die. Your unique gift could be instrumental in preventing that from happening,” finished Arton, looking at Guzzle.
“Don’t ask, Guzzle,” remarked Joe before Guzzle could ask how they knew about him. “Centorians make it their business to know what’s going on and not much escapes their attention.”
“So, what’s your plan?” asked Guzzle.
“We’re going to assail one facility, a combined cryo unit and print storage facility. With your help, we’ll locate and reanimate every innocent Centorian there and the people they were protecting.”
“What about the others?” asked Guzzle.
“Once we enter the facilities there will be limited time before the intrusion is detected and reported. Our first priority is our own people and those taken with them. If there is time we will help others if we are certain they are innocent victims.”
“What do you want from us?” asked Guzzle.
“We want you to get us in the facility.”
“How am I supposed to do that?”
“The same way you got in the university’s research labs after hours,” replied Arton smiling. “Once you are inside you let us in. We don’t have the alarm codes yet, but we’ll have them by the time we mobilize.”
“Joe, what do you think?” asked Guzzle.
“I think he is right; they’re going to need our help with reanimation. Once you get us inside I’ll need your help. I’ve read the procedure and I know about the fluids, and I’m somewhat familiar with the equipment, but I’ll need help bringing everything online.”
“If you are willing then we leave the second day next week,” said Arton. “We need one day for travel and staging, one day inside and one day to return.
“Who is we?” asked Guzzle.
“My team consists of ten volunteers from Centoria; seasoned men who know how to move like ghosts and can handle themselves in a scuffle. We will accompany you, and provide protection and technical assistance if needed.”
“I’m in,” said Guzzle.
“Me too, I’m in,” added Joe.
The second day of the following week Guzzle and Joe met Arton at a remote location outside town and boarded a medium range stealth fighter. Joe remarked that it didn’t look much different than the stellar cruiser they played with as kids except there were no cannons. One of the crew members named Dex told him Centorian designers thought it best not to advertise their capabilities and that exterior cannons only gave hostiles something easy to target.
Sensing Joe had an interest in military craft, he gave them a tour of the fighter including the cockpit and an explanation of its capabilities. The fighter was designed to make mid-range space jumps while transporting two hundred personnel and support equipment. The interior mounted cannons were shielded against targeting scanners. If they were hit it was by complete accident.
Dex described each of the gun’s immense firepower. He said when the cannons were at maximum output it was like watching the Leonids of November in 1833 on Terra Bulga. “These spit out 30 rounds per second of Class A, inflight programmable, target-seeking shells and they don’t miss. The shells are pre-programmed to strike propulsion systems and gun assemblies, but if necessary they can be reprogrammed almost instantaneously to hit other areas.”
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