by Ron S. Nolan
“What do they do?”
“They’re supposed to locate areas rich titanium, scoop up a load and then bring it back to the station to be refined. After initial processing, the ore is shipped back to Earth in containers hooked to the shuttles. I think that Torch designed the robots to look like cows as a prank. Right now they don't do much but make sand patties until Torch gets back to work on their nano matrix system–whatever that is."
Diane was captivated as she watched the line of cows meandering up the ramp. "Torch? That's a weird name."
"Just a nickname. He got it because he loves to weld things together–like robot cows and moon motorcycles. He has free run of the base since he is the boss's son."
Diane giggled, "I'd love to meet him sometime."
"Maybe you will if you stick around. He's definitely been downside way too long. I can't wait for him to come back home."
As the last cow passed by, the worker held up his index finger to the camera. "We're one short, only nineteen showed up. Torch will be steamed."
Auggie pointed to the sunset clock while the bar patrons began the ritual countdown chant. At the count of 'one' all of the vidscreens suddenly went black.
Genie punched keys on the remote shifting the ceiling vidscreen to a view of Earth. The bar ambiance suddenly went silent for a moment than the patrons began pointing out the lights of the cities. One of the regulars with a beautiful baritone voice began the tune, "May old acquaintances be forgot..." and everyone joined in.
After a moment of silence in which the only sound was the hiss of the air circulation system, Genie chimed in. "Everybody, listen up. Drinks are now on the house."
As the crowd cheered, Auggie took hold of Diane's hand and softly said, "You know, I have a super view in my quarters. Like to join me?"
Diane waved goodbye to Genie and wobbled off with Auggie while sipping another lunatic and giving a final trumpet burp blast on the way out of the lounge.
Genie smiled and blew them a farewell kiss.
-- CHAPTER 3 --
Astra stood before the old-fashioned paper chart that spanned the back wall of her lab space. In fine print, each of the genes of the flatworm was listed and its function specified. She had identified over five thousand genes in only three years thanks to her automatic DNA sequencing machine–now endowed with an Artificial Intelligence Management System.
It's just a matter of time. I know that one of the genes that I have isolated must control the internal time clock. Ten sets of experiments to check...maybe, just maybe today's my lucky day. My dad keeps telling me to come back to his company and get to work on a real project that makes money. Horowitz keeps telling me to produce results. My time is running out
The research procedure was fairly straightforward. Adult Planaria were pureed to a mush in a Waring blender and then their DNA was extracted using gel electrophoresis. Using the wall chart as a guide, the next gene to be identified was removed using a standard technique called Southern Blotting. In the next step, the gene was introduced into a bacterial chromosome where it was quickly incorporated into the bacteria’s genetic code. Since Aster's strain of bacteria divided every two hours, the gene was duplicated thousands of times within a twenty-four hour period. Each bacterium would then possess an exact copy, a clone, of that particular flatworm gene. And once the gene was available in sufficient amounts, the auto analyzer would sequentially determine the base code. In the next step, the microdisc containing the code program was inserted into an auto synthesizer that artificially manufactured millions of copies of gene.
But before the synthesis was complete, Astra would make a slight change in the gene formula–enough to cause it to malfunction slightly–a sort of death sentence for the flatworm. Then the altered gene was introduced into the genetic code of a retrovirus, which would serve as the gene carrier. Retroviruses were the workhorses of biotechnology. Their claim to fame was that once they penetrated a cell, the retrovirus enzymes inserted their viral code into the host cell's genetic code. In essence, the retroviruses were simply gene transporters. So when fertilized flatworm eggs were infected with the retrovirus, they received a copy of the newly modified gene.
The whole process: isolation, cloning, manufacturing altered genes and then reintroducing them into the flatworms’ egg took most of a day and the eggs would hatch into baby flatworms overnight. Normally this modified species of Planarian would have a much-reduced lifespan. It would grow, reproduce and die within fourteen days–twenty days at the most, therefore Astra set a four week time interval as a maximum target cushion for her experiment. None of the modified flatworms would live nearly that long– unless Astra's new gene turned off their aging clocks.
Today marked the end of the fourth week of her current experimental regime. Astra was desperately looking for any flatworms that were still alive. She opened her lab notepad and flipped past hundreds of pages of text and data tables. She entered,
DATA ENTRY
01 SEPTEMBER 2029
FLATWORM EXPERIMENT NO. 27
Four-Week Interval
Planaria gene elg5.
150 zygotes infected on 01 August 2029.
One at a time, she raised each vial that originally had contained ten retrovirus-infected Planaria eggs up to the window. The diffuse light from the fog bank made a perfect backlight to see the tiny flatworms. Flatworms that had wound themselves into a ball that rolled when the vial was tipped were dead. A worm that was elongate and that adhered tightly to the glass was alive. She was looking for worms that were alive–survivors whose modified aging clock had been switched off.
Astra wiped the perspiration from her forehead with a paper towel. The heat on the third floor was always oppressive because the windows were permanently sealed tight to prevent any kind of bug from escaping the lab. As she picked up the next vial she wondered if maybe she was missing something.
If there are two or more sets genes that control the aging clock independently, I'm out of luck. I'm testing one gene at a time. Picking the right combination out of thousands would be nearly impossible.
Her heart raced when she saw that several of the flatworms in sample #9 were clinging tightly to the side of the glass as she carefully swayed the vial back and forth. She hurriedly checked all of the samples that had received that particular altered sequence of code. Most all of them were still alive and healthy. Astra held the last vial to her heart and let out a whoop, "Finally, I can’t believe it!" She had found the switch that controlled the clock!
But like any professional researcher, she needed to repeat the experiment to confirm that the results could be replicated. She had done the procedures so many times that the whole process only took a little less than two hours. She set her calendar on her notepad screen for the usual protocol of four weeks and headed home to relax and celebrate. She had a lot of friends and relatives to call with the news. And of course, she would have to inform Director Horowitz at some stage, but not tonight she decided.
******
On the following day, Astra arrived at her lab early in the morning full of joy and enthusiasm, ready to start her standard routine. But something was seriously wrong. The test vials that contained the eggs that she fertilized the night before now contained fully-grown, healthy flatworms! This shouldn't be. They normally needed at least two weeks to reach maturity.
She rechecked the ID code on the vials against her data entry log and they matched perfectly. But the how or why of this extraordinarily fast growth completely eluded and amazed her. What in the world is happening here? This should not be! She had no recourse but to perform another series of tests, so she started the experiment again. This time she positioned a tripod supporting a vidcam to periodically record a close-up image of one of the vials containing fertilized eggs at five-minute intervals.
As she cleaned up, she discovered a tiny pile of virgin eggs on the lab table that she had spilled earlier when transferring them from the stock bin. She hated to do it, but since they might have become contaminate
d, she decided to dispose of them according to the standard procedure dictated by the lab protocol. She went to the equipment closet and grimaced; she had used the last of her sterile growth vials and would have to requisition more from the supply clerk who would likely bitch at her for using so many. Then it would take several hours for the tubes to be allocated to her project and delivered to her lab. Putting all that unpleasantness off for now, she dumped the contents of two of the vials that contained the recent fully grown worms together into one vial–thus freeing the remaining vial to receive the spilled eggs. She wrote ‘trash’ with a red marker on the vial’s side and laid it on her desk as a reminder to drop it into the hazardous substances bin on the way out–but she was late for a lecture and forgot about it.
She arrived at the auditorium just as the speaker; a tall, blond young man wearing a blue blazer began his presentation about the circadian rhythm in Greenland sharks. For the last decade, marine biologists had been intrigued by the discovery that the species is very long-lived. Carbon-14 dating of the shark’s eye lenses had identified specimens that had lived for nearly four hundred years. The speaker briefly described past studies and concluded that so far the genetic framework that controlled the aging clock was still an enigma, but his research in the day/night circadian rhythm looked promising.
Many members of the audience whispered amongst themselves, then got up and left the auditorium obviously not impressed with his field of study,
After the presentation, Astra introduced herself to the marine scientist and apologized for the audience’s somewhat rude reception.
He replied, "Frankly it's what I sort of expected. I really don't know why my major professor insisted that I come to BioGenetics to do this in the first place."
Astra held up her hands and shrugged. "I work with flatworms. As you might expect, I don't get much in the way of respect either."
"Ouch, that must be a challenge in a high profile place like BGI.”
Astra nodded in agreement then checked the time. "I've got worms to check on. Good luck with the sharks." She turned and hurried back to her lab. The visitor admired her modelesque figure as she walked away and said hopefully, "Nice to meet you. Let's keep in touch."
Astra smiled and kept walking. She unlocked her lab door and checked on the new experiment. Amazingly after a mere two hours, the treated flatworm eggs had hatched and many of them were already at the adult stage! She reviewed the video footage and was astonished to see the whole process unfold in time lapse. She sat at her desk and buried her head in her hands. I just don't understand how this can be happening!
As she looked at her notes, she noticed the old vial on her desk that she had forgotten to discard. Something seemed different, so she held it up to the desk lamp. The tube was completely packed with hundreds of baby flatworms!
She wrote on her notepad:
No 1–How did these eggs begin growth without exposure to the retrovirus?
No 2–How could they develop just as fast as those whose aging clocks had been shut down?
Astra paced back and forth. Either my entire experimental design was flawed or whatever fluid that reminded in the tube she had re-used must have contained some factor that was transmitted virus-free to the eggs resulting in the same phenomenally rapid growth...some sort of clock ‘speeder upper’ that pushed the worms to a fast maturity. That means that the chemical residue left from the prior experiments must have turned off the clock-aging gene. I will still have to wait four more weeks to be sure, but somehow I am nearly certain that it will. I need to find out what was in that residue ASAP.
She put up a ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on her door and quickly ran an analysis. Like a lot of scientific discoveries, the answer seemed obvious in retrospect. The enzyme that she had discovered was the counterpart of the protein that activated SIRT1–the gene that suppressed longevity in mice. Her yet to be named enzyme did the opposite and markedly increased lifespan...at least in her flatworms.
This means that my new compound might also work on humans! But in this case it would first accelerate infant growth to a mature state, and then once that was reached, it would slow down or completely stop the aging clock.
So…let me think…if it was directly administered to an adult, it could conceivably result in vastly increased lifespan. Hah! A fountain of youth in a test tube. I can see the pharmaceutical commercials and media blitz already. A new way to cheat death...for those who can afford it. I can’t put this off any longer; I must talk to Director Horowitz and get his reaction.
-- CHAPTER 4 --
BioGenetics Director, Gerald Horowitz, leaned back in his leather chair and swung his feet up on to his desk. He pulled the last Synthboro from the pack and tossed the empty box into the trash. After lighting the supposed 'health cigarette' and inhaling deeply, his gaze turned back to Astra who was squirming uncomfortably in a chair drawn up close to the front of his desk. Astra waved her hand in front of her face as a pulsing cloud of red, white and blue smoke drifted her way. She hated these review sessions with the Lab Director and had a strong premonition that this would be one of the last–either she would be terminated or they would rip-off her research findings–or both.
Horowitz sneered, "You still working on worms...any progress?"
Astra fidgeted with her notepad. I have to play it cool.’ Use diplomacy to your advantage’, my father always said. But why do I detest this man so much? He's a jerk, that's why! I just need to buy some time...nothing more.
“Yes...Director. I have made some headway that I thought we should discuss. May I use your holo projector?” She plugged in her notepad and continued, “As you recall, I have been searching for the code that regulates the lifespan of a specific type of Planarian flatworm. It has been well documented that alternately starved and fed flatworms live significantly longer than normal worms–so we know that the worms, under certain circumstances at least, can have prolonged lifespans. Just as other scientists at BGI have found in mouse cell lines, Planaria seem to have a built-in clock."
She flipped through holo pages filled with data and charts and explained. "Once the cutoff time is reached, the clock tells the cells to stop reproducing. Since we know that flatworms can live much longer under certain circumstances, there must be a trigger mechanism that turns the clock on and off and I have been removing, cloning and then altering flatworm genes in hopes that I might find the switch. So far I have had limited success. But I think I may be getting closer.”
She pointed at the data on the screen, but the Director seemed to be fascinated with his high-tech cigarette and lost in thought. Finally, he took a deep drag and exhaled. "So let me get this straight. Let’s say that eventually you are able to identify a gene, which under the very irregular circumstances that you have describe, seems to turn off the aging clock in an obscure species of invertebrate. So what? I am worried that you may be dealing with such an aberrant situation that it would not have any relevance to gerontology research. And what does the starving and feeding part have to do with it? Sounds weak and somewhat suspicious to me.”
Astra expected this. “Of course I recognize that dealing with what may seem to you to be a very unique circumstance might be interpreted as a flaw in my research design, but I think that for the moment I would like to disregard that issue and concentrate on the fact that that my work may have direct implications for tissue regeneration models, specifically neoblast stem cell functions and….”
The Director held up his hand and interrupted Astra. "But Dr. Sturtevant. If I were reviewing your report at this stage, I would reject it. We can’t risk the lab’s reputation on marginal research. My advice is to shift to standard subjects–mice, chimps or some sort of mammalian genome that has long-term commercial potential. Then your approach might be something of interest.... maybe.”
Horowitz dropped his feet to the floor and stood up signaling that the meeting was over. He walked around the desk to Astra and confided, "Look Astra we have to get real here. If you were
working on a higher-level genome–say a hamster or a pig...any kind of mammal–that might lead to something bigger. However, I'm afraid that flatworms don't make it now that the search for expanded longevity is becoming big business.”
He continued, “I think you have a good mind but I urge you to switch over to another line of research. I can't justify this flatworm stuff any longer. If you want to submit a new proposal, I'll try to take a look at it. Otherwise I think you might want to consider another line of work. You know how it is, I have a dozen or more applicants for your space...all looking to make a major contribution to gerontology...and that my friend is currently the name of the game in today’s high-tech molecular biology."
Astra stood and moved in close, face-to-face. She really felt like decking the creep. "I take it that this is your final word. Dump the worm project and get with the program...or else?"
Horowitz took a step back, "I am only suggesting that you come up with a new research plan by the end of the quarter–or yes...start looking for work elsewhere. But I warn you, nobody is going to want to hire a worm bioengineer in today's market. I don't think worms are ever going to carry much weight. I understand that you probably see it differently. Good luck to you Dr. Sturtevant. I'll walk out with you”
At the door he paused. “By the way, we have a new faculty member joining us named Dr. Pamela Davis. She just finished up her grad work at UCLA. She thinks that aging is partly caused by the accumulation of free oxygen radicals in brain cells. I have her scheduled to give a seminar next week about her work. You should come–maybe learn something. It's really where the action is. We'll be watching you...sorry I meant watching for you Astra, but keep in mind that BGI is very security conscious when it comes to the commercial potential of work performed here.”
He held out his hand. "Oh, I almost forgot, please give me your write up–just in case I am missing something."