Genometry

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Genometry Page 12

by Gardner Dozois


  One thing, however, absolutely had not changed: the smell. From earliest childhood, Wang could testify to that. Never the same yet never different, the aroma of a pharmacy was unique.

  And it seemed to make people more than usually discourteous and pushful—or perhaps that stemmed from the anxiety due to being ill, or having someone ill in the family. Under most circumstances the citizens of Guangzhou retained some of their ancient respect for authority, and would move aside at the sight of a police uniform, but in here he could scarcely take two steps together.

  Eventually he worked his way to the nearer of the two cash desks, whose occupant seemed harassed enough to be the manager or even the owner. This was one place where the wind of progress had not yet stirred the dust; his fingers were flickering across an abacus.

  Leaning forward, Wang said sharply, “They told me at the university that I could find Dr. Soo Long here.”

  The manager, if such he were, looked as though he had bitten a sour fruit. He gave an inexact jerk of his head: Over there! Wang glanced around, but saw nothing but customers, staff, and a closed door.

  “Where—?” he began. The other sighed.

  “In the stockroom, being a nuisance as usual.”

  “Through that door?”

  “Yes!” And back to counting, calculating, making change.

  ###

  A senior clerk was supervising a junior one as they unpacked a box containing several jars and packets. They tensed as Wang entered, as though the box might contain something illegal, but if so it was none of his business, today at any rate. He stared around. Obviously this room’s primary use was for checking and dividing up incoming supplies before transfer to the shop. At any rate the only other person visible—visible in the sense of giving a recognizable human shape to clothing, but in fact concealed head to toe by a green coverall and a black hood—was carrying out some kind of test on some kind of sample, using a machine that printed out density graphs on scaled paper.

  “I’m looking for Dr. Soo Long,” Wang announced. The third person turned, removing the black hood.

  “I’m Sue Long. What do you want?”

  The words were in good Cantonese, albeit with a Hong Kong accent. But the face was wrong—thin and pale under near-white hair cut very short—and so of course was the sex. For a long moment, Wang could only stare.

  “Well?” Dr. Long said impatiently. Wang recovered himself and fumbled in a pouch that hung at his belt.

  “Uh . . . Sorry to bother you, Dr. Long, but—uh—your department at the university said I could find you here. It’s about this.”

  He held out one of the partly gnawed fruits they had recovered from the marten’s hamper.

  The machine at Dr. Long’s side uttered a beep and spilled ten extra centimeters of paper tape, unmarked; the end of a run. Excusing herself, she extracted a sample of what looked like tree bark—there was a strong whiff of industrial solvent—sealed it in an envelope and clipped it to the paper tape before accepting the fruit. For a moment she didn’t seem to know what to make of it: then the light dawned.

  “Whose teeth? Some sort of cat—? No, that’s not a feline dentition. What?”

  “A marten.”

  “Really!” She raised the fruit to her nose and gave a cautious sniff. “That’s a peculiar odor for a fruit, isn’t it? But I guess it would have to be, to tempt a carnivore like a marten.”

  Wang felt a stir of relief at not having to explain why she ought to be interested. “You don’t recognize it, then?” he ventured.

  “No, I’ve never run across anything similar. How did you come by it?” She was turning it over in her hands—which, he suddenly noticed, were gloved.

  He recounted the morning’s events. With every moment of the narrative she grew tenser. At the end she burst out, “Where did you say this peasant hails from, this Lin?”

  He repeated the address on the man’s greasy ID papers.

  “Is that so!” She whistled astonishment, by Chinese standards a most unwomanly act. But Wang had already begun to suspect that he was dealing with a person who didn’t fit pigeonholes. “Well!” she added after a moment. “I guess I’d better pay your inspector a visit.”

  “Your work—?”

  “Some of it’s waited thousands of years. Another day or two won’t hurt.”

  She was peeling off her gloves as she spoke. Noticing his eyes on them, she explained, “To make sure cells from my skin don’t contaminate the specimens. This too, of course”—meaning the coverall which she now also discarded, revealing an open-necked shirt and denim shorts appropriate for the end-of-summer weather if not for the starchier citizens of Guangzhou. With brisk, practiced motions she disconnected her machine, which folded, gathered up her day’s findings, stowed the lot in a satchel and headed for a rear door.

  “You don’t need to tell the boss—?”

  “He’s not my boss, praise be! This way!”

  In an alley beyond the door, chained to an iron grille, stood a Kawasaki motorcycle. From the satchel she drew a crash helmet made of unilatrium, deformable in two dimensions but rigid in the third. She didn’t have a spare for Wang, but the traffic police were unlikely to challenge a fellow officer. Bestriding the machine, thumb poised over the starter, she interrupted herself.

  “You do have more of those fruits?”

  “Yes, the old man had a few left. He seems to have survived the whole trip on them. Plus rice and tea, of course.”

  He hesitated. Mistaking his reaction, Dr. Long said, “If you don’t fancy riding with me—”

  “No, no! That’s quite all right.” He had to lick dry lips nonetheless; the prospect of being a passenger on any motorbike in Guangzhou traffic would have been daunting. “No, I was just wondering about something.” He settled himself gingerly on the pillion.

  “What?”

  “Why you—uh—whistled when you were told where Lin comes from.”

  They were under way with impressive smoothness. Also quietness; they needed to raise their voices mostly because of the traffic.

  “Where’s the likeliest place in all of China to find an unknown fruit?”

  Light dawned. “Green Phoenix Forest?”

  “Where else?”

  ###

  For a while she concentrated on driving while he pondered the implications. Then, while they were stopped at a red light, he ventured, “If you don’t mind my asking, why did the university send me looking for you when I told them what we’d found?”

  “Didn’t they explain about my work?”

  “No, I was expecting to meet some sort of specialist or consultant acting as an advisor to the pharmacy.”

  “That’s not my line.” The light changed; they hummed on, but only as far as the next. Walking would barely have been slower. “You know we’re wiping out one species after another—plants, animals, insects?”

  “Yes, of course. Aren’t some of them supposed to be a terrible loss because they could have given us new drugs and even new types of food?”

  “They’re a terrible loss in any case, but you’ve got the idea. Well, using a technique I developed jointly with colleagues in America, I’m trying to recover the DNA, the germplasm, of plants so rare they may already be extinct. Obviously, the likeliest place to find them is a pharmacy like the Tower of Strength. They don’t like me delving around in their expensive stock, but if there’s the slightest chance we may catch a vanishing species before it’s gone forever . . . And whenever I get an opportunity—though this is mainly for my own interest—I also look for DNA in dragon bones.”

  Those were an ingredient in many expensive traditional medicines: dinosaur bones occasionally, typically those of more ordinary animals inscribed with questions in ancient times, prior to divination and the casting of lots to foretell the future. Wang assumed she was referring more to the former.

  “Most people say it’s futile,” she added. “But you never know.”

  ###

  Within five min
utes of entering the police station Wang found out why the university had recommended calling in Dr. Long. She raked Lin with questions like a salvo of guided missiles, each striking to the heart of a new subject. She lost a few minutes being sidetracked by what Wang had half-grasped at the station: Lin’s excuse was his wife’s illness. What it might be was unclear—some form of cancer, possibly. However, since the lady wasn’t here it seemed pointless to pursue the matter. Dr. Long was in any case far more interested in this curious fruit that appealed even to martens.

  “And foxes, and cats, and dogs, and stoats and weasels!” Lin insisted, in hopes maybe of mitigating his inevitable punishment. A young man from the city zoo had turned up to claim the marten just before Dr. Long and Wang arrived, and was impatiently waiting for permission to remove it thither and go home.

  “And humans,” Wang said dryly.

  Dr. Long glanced at him.

  “Yes,” she said in an indecipherable tone. “And humans . . . Tell me please”—to the young man from the zoo—“is this animal healthy?”

  A shrug. “So far as I can tell without a full examination. It seems a bit lethargic, but that may just be because its belly is full.”

  “Yes.” Dr. Long pondered, tapping one of her large white front teeth with a fingernail. “Keep it under observation for the time being,” she continued at last. “Collect its urine, collect its droppings, above all preserve any vomitus. I want to hear of any unusual behavior the moment it happens. I’ll give you my card.”

  Taking umbrage at being ordered about by a woman, and in particular a round-eye, the man from the zoo bridled and would have spoken but for intercepting a glare from Inspector Chen. Dr. Long either did not notice or successfully affected so.

  “As to the fruit,” she went on, glancing at the window (why, it was growing dark—where had the day gone?), “I need it at my lab. I want to run a sample through an analyzer, then beam the results to the States and have them checked against a database. If it’s something already known, only I never heard of it, that’ll be great. Otherwise . . .”

  Inspector Chen cleared his throat. “Otherwise?” he repeated.

  “Otherwise, Inspector, we may have an international lawsuit on our hands. It wouldn’t be the first time this country has released to the environment a genetically modified organism without proper safeguards, let alone FAO approval.”

  Wang reacted to her choice of words before he could stop himself.

  “We may?”

  Dr. Long glanced coolly at him. “I’m Chinese, Mr. Wang. For all that I was born in the States. I married a Chinese, moved here, took his nationality . . . And stayed on when he ran away. I trust that answers all your obvious questions?”

  Wang wished very much he could vanish on a trapeze of clouds, like Monkey.

  “Right! Now if you’ll kindly let me have the fruit, I’ll sign a pro-tem receipt. I’ll fax you an official one when I get to the lab, on behalf of the university. Don’t let the old man go, will you?”

  “Of course not”—stoutly from Chen. “He’ll be hauled up in court and duly sentenced for—”

  “Oh, forget that! He’s far too important to be sent to jail!”

  Lin brightened visibly, like the sun emerging from a cloud.

  “He’s going to help us find the source of the fruit—first!”

  The sun went in again.

  Swinging her satchel with the remaining fruit in it, Dr. Long nodded to the company and headed for the door. Wang spoke up.

  “Just a moment! I think I ought to come with you!”

  Startled, Chen glanced at his watch. “You should have gone off shift half an hour ago,” he objected. “Though you’re quite right, of course. If this fruit is unique, at least around here—”

  “Then if someone were to snatch Dr. Long’s bag,” Wang broke in, “it would be a disaster. I don’t mind escorting her.” (No mention of the real reason he would rather not go home). “To be honest, what she has told me about her work has sparked my interest. I’d like to find out more if she can spare the time.”

  Chen hesitated, but saw no way to object. He often commended his subordinates for displaying interest in unusual subjects that might one day prove relevant to policework, and who could say that this would not turn out useful in connection with protected animals and illegal plants? In any case, he was forestalled.

  “That’s very kind of you, Mr. Wang. I carry a teargas pistol, of course, but it’s not a practical weapon on a motorbike. And you’re absolutely right; it would be a disaster if we lost this fruit.”

  “You sound as though . . .” Chen began.

  “As though I’m worried? Yes, Inspector, I am. I’ve lived in this country more than ten years. I’ve specialized in protected species of all kinds, animal and vegetable, terrestrial and aquatic. If there were anything in the literature about a fruit that not only humans but martens can thrive on, I’d know. I think. But I don’t.”

  Handing Wang her satchel, retrieving from it her gauntlets and helmet before letting him sling it over his shoulder, she followed him back to the police-station parking lot.

  THE UGLY TURTLE

  . . . was the citywide nickname for the floating extension to Guangzhou University, whose curving roofplates bordered with guttering to catch precious rain did somewhat resemble a turtle’s carapace. Pressure on living space was not yet as intense as in Hong Kong or many cities in Japan, but rather than sacrifice more precious agricultural land for a new and badly needed biology laboratory it had been decided to moor it, along with a student dormitory and extra staff accommodation, to the bank of the Zhujiang, there being far less river traffic than formerly. Access to the area was restricted, at least in theory, but in practice there were so many people with a valid excuse to come and go that security was a joke. There wasn’t even a guard on duty at the end of the gangway where they dismounted. Wang pushed the Kawasaki to the alcove where it was kept, frowning at such laxness.

  At least the laboratory Dr. Long then led him to was properly protected. In a large room smelling faintly of ozone computer screens glowed and automatic machinery, somewhat like the device she had been using at the Tower of Strength, purred unattended. She began by transferring her day’s findings to a university in America, via satellite, a process that took only moments. Then she chose from her satchel one of Lin’s unbitten fruit and fed it to a machine that automatically cut sections off it, examined their macrostructure, triturated them, fractionated the pulp and peel separately using eight different solvents each at four temperatures, recording everything at every stage . . . Used as he was to analyzers in policework, for DNA comparison and the like, Wang could not help being impressed by the speed and compactness of Dr. Long’s equipment.

  “There,” she said at length. “Now I could do with some tea. Do you have time for a cup before you leave?”

  Suddenly Wang realized he was hungry, thirsty, and tired. He accepted gratefully, and she led him to her room, off a corridor beyond the lab. It was as spartan as the police barracks he had lived in before his marriage. Waving him to a chair, she filled a kettle, made tea, opened a box of crackers, and sat down with a barely suppressed yawn.

  He did honestly want to learn more about her work, but now that he had the chance he felt too nervous. This self-assured young woman—she couldn’t be more than five years older than his own count of thirty—was utterly different from anyone he had met before. He did at least manage to ask how long it would take to identify the fruit.

  “Don’t expect miracles,” was the wry answer. “Amazing changes can be brought about by altering even a tiny sequence of DNA. You know we’re more than 99 percent identical with chimpanzees? But there’s quite a difference, isn’t there?”

  “Do you think it’s a—a natural mutation?”

  “How natural is natural? If it does come from Green Phoenix—well, admittedly they were desperate when they launched the project, but no one had the faintest idea how genes like those would react in the wild
, especially the ones for accelerated growth. There are some which, if they got into bacteria . . . Still, it hasn’t happened yet. Maybe we’ll be lucky. Maybe Gaea is on our side again. More tea?”

  “No, I must be going. Thank you very much.” He rose, resigned to home, to the cramped flat always full of his wife’s complaints.

  “Did you take the key out of my bike?”

  “I’m sorry—I thought you had.”

  “No, I had to leave it in or the front wheel would have locked and you couldn’t have pushed it. I’ll collect it now.”

  And at the point where he turned for shore and she toward where the bike was kept, they wished each other good night.

  Halfway down the gangway he heard her exclaim, and glanced back. Barely visible in shadow, a man was bending over her machine. Startled by her approach, he jerked upright. Light flashed: a long-bladed knife.

  Wang clawed for a grip on his baton, wishing he were allowed a gun, but before he had taken his first step in Dr. Long’s direction he was rushed by two other men from the shore end of the gangway. Swinging wildly, he clouted the first on the head hard enough to make him curse and sway, but the second kicked his legs from under him and then kicked him again in the belly, driving the wind out of him.

  For a long moment all he could think of was that now he would never know the truth about the marten and the Green Phoenix fruit.

  Then there was a scream, a shout, the noise of feet on the steel floor. He felt something warmly wet splatter his bare arms as a man stumbled past him, ordering the other two to follow. But he had no chance to see what any of them looked like.

  He shut his eyes and spent a long and welcome moment working his belly muscles free of agony.

 

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