Star Vigilante (Vigilante Series) (18 page)

Eliana looked nonplussed. Larissa clapped her hands approvingly. “That is a good start for our guest . . . from our younger students. Now, let us assume Mr. Dragoneaux is more interested in gene copying, gene transplants and transgenic biochemistry.” Larissa pointed to an older brown-haired girl who seemed about twelve years old, sat stiffly in her chair, and had been watching his education in molecular genetics with a self-satisfied smile. “Andromeda! Before we began using automated DNA sequencing systems based on laser fluorescing and tracking of marker genes, what did our ancestors back on Earth use to ‘map’ human genes—before the human genome was finally mapped in the early twenty-first century?”

Andromeda looked surprised, as if she expected her teacher to ask her a modern day, cutting science question about how to combine the human and Derindl genomes, instead of one about ancient history. She swallowed nervously. “Teacher, I think they used pulsed field gel electrophoresis to map DNA fragments.”

Larissa nodded approvingly. “Good, Andromeda. But that technique was used to read fragments measuring several thousand to several million base pairs in length. What did they use to visualize shorter ones . . . of a few base-pairs up to a few thousand?”

The older girl looked stumped. At the side of the classroom, Eliana looked down to Calyce. “Niece?”

Calyce spoke, her voice bright and confident. “Aunt Eliana, they used submarine electrophoresis in conjunction with Southern blot hybridization. They used uncloned genomic DNA or fragments that had been cloned into lambda, plasmid or cosmid vectors. The Human Genome Mapping project of old Earth made great strides with the use of the Hood laser sequencer, which generated the vast number of electrophoretic gene templates that allowed us to see gene structure. To double-check, they used twofold oversequencing to unambiguously determine the sequence of each nucleotide strand and of each chromosome so that—”

“Enough!” Larissa called out, hands held up in surrender; she then looked at Suit. Grey eyes dived through his faceplate. “Perhaps Mr. Dragoneaux has questions he would like to ask?”

Matt disliked being on the spot, let alone surrounded by so many super-smart children. But he saw no harm in cooperating with this teacher’s lesson of the day. He focused on overconfident Andromeda.

“Andromeda, in recombinant DNA genetic engineering, such as that used in improving some agricultural crops, what are the two vectors of preference for transplanting genes?”

The girl sat back in her chair, looking relaxed and confident. “Bacterial plasmids of two gene size or larger, and retroviruses.”

“Correct.” Matt refused to give up. “Uh, how was the blood disease sickle-cell anemia first cured through gene transplants?”

Andromeda scowled, thinking hard; off to the side, both Eliana and Larissa seemed pleased with his question. The girl looked up. “That would be the pioneering work of Dr. Richard Mulligan, the first person to make retroviruses serve as ‘trucks’ to transport healthy genes into sick cells. In cooperation with Richard Mann and David Baltimore, he set out to do the first genetic engineering. Dr. Mulligan knew that sickle-cell anemia is caused by a mutant gene that makes the beta-globin protein in hemoglobin take a sickle-like shape, causing a loss of oxygen flow to internal organs.”

The girl paused, caught her breath, and eyed him challengingly. “To reprogram the hemoglobin cells to produce more beta-globin—and not too much alpha-globin—Dr. Mulligan used cutter enzymes to isolate an unmutated beta-globin gene. After splicing the gene into a harmless retrovirus, he spliced the virus ‘carrier’ into a bacterial plasmid ring able to infiltrate mouse cells.” She paused, looking to Larissa; the teacher nodded for her to continue. “The mouse cells became biogenetic factories that produced copies of the implanted beta-globin gene surrounded by ‘acceptable’ retroviral shells. The gene-carrying retroviruses left the mouse factory cell, entered a mouse stem cell, and inserted the beta-globin gene among the stem cell’s genes. Then the genetically altered stem cell began producing both red and white blood cells, both carrying the beta-globin gene. In humans, this lab protocol was used to implant genetically altered human hemoglobin cells into fibroblasts that were injected into the bone marrow of persons with sickle-cell anemia. Normal hemoglobin was produced and maintained. The person was cured. Permanently.”

Eliana winked at Matt, then returned to Andromeda. “Good so far as it goes, Andromeda. But what made Mulligan’s retroviral gene transplant work
properly
?”

Andromeda’s face showed strain. “I believe it was his discovery of DNA control sequences that we call promoters?”

“Only partly right,” Eliana said, her face alight with enthusiasm as she turned to the full class and explained her field. “Mulligan lacked knowledge of the control sequences that tell genes to turn on and off—to express properly. The work of Frank Grosveld in England was the first to document ‘enhancers’, which make sure the gene makes the right amount of protein. As Teacher Larissa taught me long ago, the ‘enhancers’ make sure the transplanted beta-globin gene activates only in red blood cells and in the proper amounts. Used together, the promoter, the enhancer and the copied beta-globin gene allowed early genetic disease researchers to cure sickle-cell anemia. And later, scores of other genetic diseases like ADA deficiency were also cured by gene transplants.”

Enough ancient history
. Matt wanted his question answered. He pointed at young Miltiades. “Miltiades, what is it
like
to live among the Derindl, to live in symbiosis with the Mother Trees?”

Miltiades shrugged, his puzzlement plain. “Mr. Dragoneaux, I’ve never lived any other way. What’s it like to . . . wake up in the morning, get your breakfast from a Tree pod, have your blood searched for parasites and diseases, get a sap injection and then go out and play on the Trunks?” He smiled lopsidedly. “It’s how I live every day. Is it very different for you?”

Matt liked that answer. “Yes, it’s quite different for me. What you have with the Trees, I have with my AI computer aboard my starship. I am never alone, just as you always have the company of the Trees.”

Miltiades nodded happily. Eliana looked sharply at Matt, as if she had just figured out something. Old Larissa watched them both, but regret filled her elderly face. “Mr. Dragoneaux, Eliana, it’s time for our music study, in a different part of the school. Calyce has her studies there, too. Thank you for coming and visiting with us.”

Larissa’s windup was polite, but clear. Time for them to leave. Matt reached out to his Patron. “Coming, Mistress Themistocles?”

Eliana held tight to Calyce, then reached up and brushed back raven dark locks from the girl’s forehead. Her niece hugged her back, tears filling her too serious eyes. Eliana stood up and bowed shakily to Larissa. “Teacher, may I take Calyce with me into the atrium? Just for twenty minutes? I promise you she’ll make up any lessons.”

Larissa shrugged. “Go. Take her. But send her back soon.”

An overjoyed Calyce took Eliana’s hand and followed them out into the column-lined hallway. Matt avoided the young girl’s grab for his gauntlet, walking ahead swiftly, beyond her reach. As they stepped out into the atrium garden, Eliana called to him.

“Matt, would you mind waiting over there by the pond while Calyce and I talk? I promise not to be too long.”

“One moment.” Faceplate showed him the time for the rescheduled meeting with Despot Karamanlis—they had thirty minutes to spare. “If you wish. I’m sure the fish will talk to me.” Turning, Matt went over to the pond, stood and looked down, focusing on the carp. He ignored the whispers, giggles and loving voices of Eliana and Calyce. Twenty minutes soon passed, far too quickly for him to finish a PET relayed game of
Go
with Mata Hari
,
who hovered on Nullgrav high overhead. At least his AI partner didn’t remind him of his lost sisters . . . .

Eliana touched Suit, surprising him. “Matt, why did it bother you—being among the children?”

Damn
. Closing his eyes, he thought-imaged for transport. Then Matt turned and held out his hand. “Hold on.”

She did and the tractor beam took soft hold of them. “Matt?”

“Patron, did it ever occur to you that I have been many years away from human society? Or that the sight of those children would remind me of my own dead sisters?” Sadness beat at his heart, but he refused the weakness. “Do you care what a cyborg feels?”

“Of course I do. Especially if it’s you. I . . . .” Eliana looked guilty as they rose above the plowed fields and orderly strangeness of Olympus colony. She sighed as the beam shifted angle, aiming them at the Meeting Hall of Clan Karamanlis. “Matt, I’m sorry. Really I am. I was so focused on my own needs I hadn’t considered how this visit might disturb you.”

Matt shut off old memories and focused on the job ahead. “It doesn’t matter. A normal family life is not something a Vigilante expects.”

“I’m sorry, Matt. I never imagined—damn!” Eliana squeezed his gauntlet hard. “I’m very confused by what you are, and aren’t. But I have never doubted your humanness or your caring.”

Her confusion told him he had hit home. But did he really want her to care about him? Did he really desire closeness, caring . . . and love? Things might get very difficult if she came to care deeply for him, and he for her. Could he adjust to her dislike of computers, her hatred of AIs? Matt could no more give up who he was, and his nature, than she could turn black-skinned overnight, or abandon her tail.

All he knew was that his heart ached every time he looked at her.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Mata Hari’s
tractor beam plunked them down on a crushed gravel street. It ran in front of the Clan Karamanlis Meeting Hall and a nearby group of dingy, two-story warehouses. Once again, solid earth supported them. Matt sent an image-thought up to
Mata Hari,
ordering a continuous Tactical Monitoring of the entire city. In Suit, he left off going to
ocean-time
, but did bring on-line Suit’s autonomous Defense algorithms as part of a Full Alert. Clearing his faceplate, he focused on the local neighborhood. About him, wood buildings creaked in the cold wind, decay smells oozed up from an open drainage ditch, and down by a bustube stop, people dressed in drab cloaks moved about listlessly, as if very tired. It seemed the Pure Breed Greeks and their crossbreed offspring were hard put to maintain their urbus. Or had the presence of the Stripper drained away some of their pioneer spirit? In front of them, the Meeting Hall’s thick oak door opened slowly. A white-haired head poked out.

“Are you the guests seeking an audience with the Despot?” asked a middle-aged man who resembled an escapee from a software assembly line.

“We are,” Matt said through Suit’s speaker. Eliana waited beside him, patient and absorbed with her own thoughts.

The door-greeter nodded. “Enter and follow me, please.”

Matt and Eliana entered, but halted in the entryway. Suit scanned the building’s two floors, fed him a Tactical readout, and then left behind nanoware calling cards as they followed the impatient door-greeter. They walked down a long hallway, turned left, went up wooden stairs to the second floor, and entered a large room with a skylight. Their entry had been preceded by several Probeshells and ornithopters from his chest Utility pack, much to the irritation of the greeter. On his faceplate’s Eyes-Up display, Despot Nikolaos Telemachus Karamanlis sat behind a standard Executive’s workdesk filled with computer terminals, display screens, comsat downlink feeds, and a red-blinking Security panel. At present, every alarm on it flashed blood red as they entered the room.

The Despot looked up, smiling ruefully. “Damned desk won’t accept an order to shut down its Security alerts. I hope you don’t mind the visual pyrotechnics?” he said, waving Eliana to a wooden chair opposite his desk.

“Not at all.” Matt let go of Eliana’s hand. She sat in the chair indicated, but looked venomously at the Despot. In Suit, Matt stood to one side, beyond the focus range of the gas laser hidden in the middle of the desk’s front panel.

Nikolaos grimaced. “Please excuse my workdesk—it has the usual Defense modules but they don’t realize they’re outclassed by a Vigilante’s Cyborg suit.”

Matt inclined his helmet slightly. “No problem. Just so long as the pyrotechnics stay innocuous . . . and your neurolink attachments to the desk laser and that autocannon hiding up in the ceiling remain inactive.”

Nikolaos’ expression turned neutral. “You have some purpose in your visit?”

Eliana flushed. “Damned right he does! You bastard! It’s because of your idiocy that I had to hire—”

“Shut up,” Matt told Eliana. She shut up, reining in her temper with difficulty. He watched Nikolaos’ squinty, rat-like eyes. “The Despot does not cry over spilt nutrient fluid, Patron. The past is the past. He cares only for the present and a possible profit in the future. Correct, Despot?”

Nikolaos grinned easily as he sat back in his padded chair. “Correct. Executive misjudgments happen to the best of administrators—even those with genetic modifications like myself.”

“Quite.” Matt considered the revelations of Spyridon and his own hunches. “Despot, what is the colony’s ratio of Pure Breed Human births to crossbreed births . . . using the neonatal placental units?”