Phytosphere

by Scott Mackay

  “ Could be,” said Ira, now sounding tougher. “That’s all I hear from you, Gerry. I’ve been an executive for thirty-one years, and I’ve worked with all kinds of people. I’ve hired people, and I’ve fired people.

  And the people I fire most are the ones who always say could be, might be, or maybe. Gerry, you don’t know how to get things done. Not like your brother does.”

  “As far as I can see, my brother hasn’t accomplished a thing except spend a lot of money. All I’m asking for is one more Smallmouth. Let’s go into the phytosphere and follow the stress band. Let’s find out what it is. It might reveal the exact piece of information we need. We could have the answer in as little as seventy-two hours.”

  “I’m sorry, Gerry, but I have to put what resources I have into retooling these old Earth-Lunar shuttles.”

  “But the virus isn’t going to work. You don’t think the Tarsalans haven’t engineered an immune system into the phytosphere?”

  “Gerry,” said Luke. “That’s the beauty of this virus your brother’s designed. It attacks the immune system. The Tarsalan genetic component. And it’s going to cripple that component first and then spread out using the omniphage I’ve created. This omniphage of mine is quickly turning into the workhorse of the whole project. The only way the Tarsalans can respond is to preemptively vaccinate the entire shroud, and hope that the necessary antibodies develop in time. And they can’t. It’s impossible. I’ve tested your brother’s virus. It’s a hundred percent effective.”

  “You’ve tested it on our samples?”

  Luke shrugged. “Where else would I get samples?”

  “Yes, but you didn’t kill them all, did you?”

  “I wouldn’t do that. In fact, I’m culturing a new supply.”

  The rawhide hat moved ominously into view. “Don’t you realize what you’re doing?” said Ian. “You’re undercutting the only man who’s going to save the situation.”

  “Give me another Smallmouth,” pleaded Gerry. “Let’s take an in-depth look at the stress band.”

  The mayor interjected. “Ger, we’ve sent your research to… you know… to your brother’s team… just so that they can take a look at it. I think that’s all we really have to do. There’s your in-depth look, so you have nothing to worry about.”

  Now he felt doubly betrayed. “Without my authorization?”

  “We just want them to double-check its validity.”

  His face settled. “It’s valid, Malcolm. It’s predicated on strict observation, not on wishful thinking.”

  “We’re wasting a lot of time here,” said Ira. “We should be focusing on refurbishing our launch vehicles

  and developing a stockpile of virus.” Ira squared his shoulders and turned to Gerry. “Gerry, you’re off the project. That’s what we’re really here to talk about. That’s why I’m here. Thanks for all your help, but it hasn’t worked out. We’ll let you know if we need you on a consulting basis.”

  Gerry’s eyes widened. Yes, an intervention. Or a repeat of NCSU. “So I’m fired?”

  The mayor jumped in. “No, no, you’re not fired, Gerry. Go back to Alleyne-Parma and work your butt off. Keep making those observations. Write it all down. Give us another damn bargaining chip we can use with Earth. It’s just that… as for the overall direction… I think we better go with your brother’s plan.”

  “So, in other words, Neil’s in charge now?”

  “We’re going to help Earth give it this one last shot,” said Ira.

  “Mitch…I thought you were with me.”

  Mitch looked up. “Gerry, you haven’t even reached the drawing-board stage of a solution. What do you want me to say?”

  “I want you to say you’ll give me another Smallmouth. If you give me a chance to get inside the phytosphere one more time, I’m sure I’ll figure out what’s causing the stress band. And once I do that—”

  “Once you do that, Gerry, then what?” said Ira. “Don’t you see that we’re running out of time? The situation is critical on Earth. The average human takes anywhere from thirty to seventy-five days to starve to death, and we’re well over the seventy-five-day threshold now. The number of survivors is going to be considerably beyond the right side of the decimal point in terms of percentages. And another Smallmouth isn’t going to help any of that. So do what Malcolm says. Go play at Alleyne-Parma, but leave the real work to us.”

  His feelings were hurt, his ego bruised, and he felt like he needed a drink badly. But as Gerry took the train to the observatory an hour later, he still held a solid belief in himself flickering deep within his soul, and he knew that his brand of question-driven science, so completely devoid of ambition and conceit, would at last solve the puzzle of the phytosphere.

  He got off the train and took the moving sidewalk through a pressurized polycarbonate surface corridor.

  The observatory loomed before him, a bubble, catching the sun’s light and reflecting it with diamond-bright intensity. He glanced at the black sky. Somewhere up there, AviOrbit technicians took the old Earth-Moon shuttles out of storage and turned them into missiles. What would the Tarsalans do to the Commonwealth of Lunar Colonies when they learned the Moon had participated in the launch? He tried not to think about it.

  He used his special pass to gain access to the closed-down tourist attraction, and shuffled along the polished floor of the big circular corridor until he came to the entrance to the viewing area.

  As much as he tried not to think about it, he couldn’t get it out of his mind. Somewhere back in Nectaris, lab workers cultured samples of the virus and piggybacked them onto Luke Langstrom’s omniphages.

  He stopped. The omniphages. If it was a eureka moment, it was an unenjoyable one. Because didn’t the Tarsalans already have experience with Luke Langstrom’s omniphage? They now probably understood

  the omniphage better than Luke did. He sure hoped his brother had considered that strategic stumbling point.

  He settled himself by Heaven’s Eye and took fifteen minutes to get the apparatus up and running.

  He was just sitting down to observe when he heard a distant rapping from out in the corridor. He thought it might be Ian at the observatory door, strange new Ian, the sober Ian who wanted to walk the straight and narrow. He bounce-shuffled out into the corridor, followed its curve around to the public doors, and saw that it wasn’t Ian, but Stephanie, standing at the top of the stairs wearing her silver, orange, and magenta jumpsuit. She reminded him of a Day-Glo kitten who had followed him home. He swiped his access pass on the inside scanners and the doors opened.

  He presented himself with his palms upward. “Behold, poor Caesar.”

  “What? Oh. Right. Cute. A little weird, but…”

  And then she just stood there looking at him as if he were the biggest nerd in the world.

  He moved awkwardly aside. “Come in… come in.” And he swept his hand toward the interior of the observatory like a ringmaster presenting the next circus act. “I talk like that sometimes.”

  “I noticed.” She arched a brow. “But then I notice a lot of things about you. For one thing, I notice that you let people push you around.”

  The accusation struck him as uncharacteristically harsh of Stephanie. Yet it seemed pointless to defend himself, so he just tried to elaborate on the circumstances. “Ira was their point man. And he holds the purse strings.”

  “So?”

  “He and I come from two different mind-sets.”

  “So?”

  “So he’s not going to listen to me when he can listen to my brother.”

  “I used to let people push me around all the time, but not anymore.”

  “I haven’t given up, Stephanie.”

  “I know you haven’t. I just wanted to come here to make sure of that.”

  “I can’t give up.”

  “I know.”

  “And in a day or two, I’m going to bug them again about a second Smallmouth.”

  “Let’s go look at Earth.
”

  “Yes, the many-storied globe.”

  “Uh… right.”

  They walked down the corridor toward the observatory, past the ticket booth, the concession stand, and the public washrooms. She slipped her hand through his arm, and it felt good, reminded him of his wife, and he took support from it, even though she was young enough to be his daughter.

  “I haven’t seen Gwen around,” he said. “What happened to her?”

  “She’s gone back home to Copernicus, now that all the shows have closed.”

  “Oh. She’s from Copernicus. And what about you? What about your mother and father?”

  “I never met my father, and I don’t get along with my mother. I’m making it on my own.”

  “You don’t have a boyfriend?”

  “I do.”

  “You do? Who?”

  “You.”

  “Steph… I wouldn’t think of me as your—”

  “A boyfriend can be many things. One of the things he can be is married. Another thing he can be is alone. And you’re really alone, Gerry. You need me. You might not know it, but you do. And that doesn’t necessarily mean there has to be anything physical.”

  He nodded. She was young, a trifle overdone in her expressions, but he appreciated her sentiment anyway.

  “You’re a sweet man,” she said.

  “Thanks.”

  “No, I really mean it. And you’re awfully smart.”

  “Thanks. You’re full of compliments tonight.”

  “I’m just trying to soften the blow.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Soften what blow?”

  “The blow you’re going to feel when I point out the obvious to you. I was hoping you were going to get it by yourself, and I wasn’t going to have to say anything because I didn’t want to bruise your ego, considering how bruised it’s been already, but now I realize that we can’t wait any longer.”

  He stopped. “Can’t wait any longer for what?”

  He was starting to feel more like an idiot every second.

  “Let’s just get to the observatory, and I’ll show you.”

  “Something about the phytosphere?”

  “Like I say, you’re awfully smart.”

  His face warmed. Had he really missed something? What could he have missed?

  In the observatory she presented the monitors like a showgirl, with a jutting of her hip and a c’est voile

  ` posturing of her hands, as if the monitors were the prize behind Door Number 3.

  He didn’t get it. “I’m sorry?”

  “Turn on the accelerated infrared footage.”

  He did as she said. “It’s on.”

  “Take a close look and tell me what you see.”

  He saw the same thing he always saw, the stress band from north to south. “Okay…Okay, what am I missing?”

  He was afraid she was going to disappoint him with something that had absolutely no relevance.

  “You’re sure you won’t be upset? I know the male ego is…”

  He looked more closely at the screens. “Steph, if you can offer some fresh perspective…something I’ve been missing….”

  “Look closely at the archival screen, Gerry. Tell me what you see. You won’t get mad because a showgirl figured this out, will you?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Just take a look and see if you can puzzle it out.”

  “What am I supposed to see?” he said.

  “Isn’t it obvious?”

  “On the archival screen?”

  “Yes, that screen.”

  “I see the same thing I always see. The stress band.”

  “Speed it up some more,” she said.

  He sped the whole thing up, splicing three weeks into a four-minute segment.

  “So?” said Stephanie.

  He bowed. “Master, I admit my profound ignorance.”

  “Gerry, you’re a goddamned ocean scientist.”

  It was one of those sublime moments of humiliation, when a girl of twenty-two who had no scientific background and just went around feeling her way through life, not analyzing it, could outguess him in the overall pattern of a natural phenomenon. Despite the humiliation, he could have kissed her.

  “I see tides.”

  “Exactly.”

  “It’s gravity.”

  “Yes!”

  The more he looked at the patterns, the more it became clear to him—he was seeing tides. Tides in the actual phytosphere itself, with the tidal pattern affected by the underlying weather systems, so that the stress band wasn’t a precise thing, but more a ragged line stretching from north to south poles. No wonder he had been confused. Moon tides. And with this realization, the dominoes fell into place—why the flagella behaved one way when they were in orbit around the Earth, and why, when in the lab, with no cohesive center of gravity, they fell apart. Gravity, acting as an anchor, triggered the flagella to cling. Take that gravity away, and the trigger was gone.

  “Do you want to have sex now?” said Stephanie. “You’ve kind of got this glow about you. I’m sure your wife would understand.”

  “Stephanie, we just had something better than sex. We had a meeting of the minds.”

  She looked doubtful. “If you say so.”

  “And you might have saved Earth.”

  Her voice became giddy. “Really?”

  “Yes.”

  He had a sudden vision of a solution so vast, so unexpected, yet so simple, so predicated on the basic laws of physics, that he wondered if Kafis, in the twin-brained complexity of his mind, would suspect such a blunt and obvious attempt.

  But first he had to prove his theory.

  And for that, he had to get Ira back on board.

  Not for a second Smallmouth.

  No, he had much bigger plans now.

  27

  She drove through the night, and what a night— the night, the one that would never end. The rain came down hard, blurring the windshield. She hunched over the steering wheel so strenuously that her shoulders ached. Hers was the only car on Route 64, and Georgia was still hundreds of miles away. She knew the mountains were coming soon, and was afraid to go into them because, what with all this rain and no grass or other plants holding anything in place, she was worried about washouts.

  The emptiness of the highway frightened her. She and her children were targets because they had food in the car. She didn’t want to stop, was afraid to stop, but sensed Jake growing antsy in the back.

  She looked ahead and saw a town. “What’d you say this town was?” she asked Hanna.

  Hanna turned on the flashlight and looked at the map again. “Dunstan.”

  “Jake, do you have to go for a pee?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay, we’ll stop here.”

  She eased her foot on the brake and pulled over to the shoulder. Jake got out, walked to the ditch, and peed. The air coming through the open door was damp, and it made her skin sticky.

  Lightning flashed and she saw the outlines of the town, its downtown section like an overgrown prop for a train set, none of its lights burning, the buildings looking carved out of cardboard, lifeless, without any soul.

  She glanced in her rearview mirror and saw headlights, and knew it was probably nothing, just another hapless traveler driving from nowhere to nowhere, but couldn’t help feeling paranoid, especially when they had food in the car and everybody was fighting for what little remained.

  She leaned over the backseat. “Jake, honey, are you nearly done? There’s a car coming.”

  Jake zipped up and got back in the vehicle. She put it in gear, hoping that the person behind wouldn’t see her parking lights. She wished there was some way to turn them off, but they stayed on all the time.

  She ventured into town. The lone traffic light, as dead as everything else, was dark like the dark windows around her, and swayed in the wind. Lightning flashed again. Her plan was to keep going, travel west along 64, but at the last second she swung le
ft onto the town’s secondary road, Vine Street. She wanted to hide from whoever was behind them. Her blood drummed past her ears. She looked around for someplace to hide, and in the next lightning flash saw a church; and, no, she wasn’t religious, but the church seemed like a beacon, and all the knee–jerk responses she’d been taught in Sunday school came back: how a church, any church, was a sanctuary, and how the good Lord would protect. She swerved into the small lot in front.

  Only thing was, the church was still fairly close to Main Street, and she didn’t feel safe sitting in the car like this. It might be better if she and the kids…

  “Kids, get out. We’ll go up to the church porch until this guy passes.”

  “Mom, why are you so worried?” asked Hanna.

  “Because we’ve got food. Do you want a repeat of Cedarvale?”

  They all got out of the car, climbed the broken concrete steps to the church lawn, hurried up the walk to the church porch, and huddled under its roof. Glenda got on her knees behind the railing. She wondered how her world could have changed so much, so that she would feel the need to hide from anybody who happened along the highway. She felt vulnerable, and miserable, and as if she still had far to go before she reached Marblehill.

  She listened for the car and thought she heard it coming through the rain, the tires ripping against the wet pavement, but it was just the sound of the rain itself, a steady hiss, fluctuating in pitch. For the longest time the car didn’t come, and she thought it might have turned onto a side road, that perhaps it was a local farmer going back to his farmhouse; but then she heard the vehicle, and over this uneven section of 64 it made a bump and rattle she recognized only too well. She felt both hot and cold, and her body automatically tried to adjust with a sharp intake of air; but once the air was inside, she couldn’t let it go, as if, with this new emergency, this terrible threat, her lungs had suddenly seized up.

  Her mind froze as well, and it wasn’t until a few seconds later that she began to put it all together: why Buzz was here, how he was here, the reason behind this I-shot-the-sheriff-but-did-not-shoot-the-deputy scenario. The truck passed the intersection at Main, not more than a quarter block away. There could be no mistaking the geriatric jalopy. She was sure the truck might turn onto Vine, but it kept going. Her shoulders remained tight, and she gripped the edge of the porch railing as if she never wanted to let it go.