Mission to Minerva

CHAPTER THREE

Professor Christian Danchekker was perplexed. One of the cornerstones of what had been regarded as an unquestionable and universal tenet of biological theory looked as if it might be resting on shaky ground. Accepted scientific beliefs had not been arrived at lightly, and he was not of a nature to change them lightly.

He sat hunched in his office in the Biosciences building at Goddard, his lean, balding frame and gangling limbs splayed at an odd composition of angles in one of those chairs that never seemed to be the right size or shape no matter how many models he tried, and frowned at the offending papers strewn around the desk, while he polished the lenses of his anachronistic gold-rimmed spectacles. Then he perched them back on the bridge of his nose and returned his attention to the references that he had listed on one of the displays on the side panel. The reports were on work done in various places around the world to duplicate and extend some experiments performed by a research group in Australia on nutrient-metabolizing pathways in certain strains of bacteria. In general, each type of bacterium depended on a primary food that it possessed the genes to break down and utilize. Probably the most familiar example was the common E. coli, found in humans, which required the sugar lactose. It sometimes happened that if the mechanism to digest the primary food was disabled, mutations were possible that could create an alternative metabolic pathway to exploit a different food instead. In the case of E.coli, two particular point mutations occurring simultaneously enabled it to feed on a different sugar. The mutation rates were known, and under the conditions of a typical laboratory experiment would be expected to occur together about once in a hundred thousand years. In practice, scores of examples were observed within a few days. But it happened only when the alternative target sugar was present in the nutrient solution used for the culture.

What this meant was that the mutations were not random, as biological doctrine had steadfastly maintained for over a century, but triggered by cues in the environment. And that in turn meant that the genetic "programs" for responding to those cues must already have been there, in the bacterial genome to begin with. They hadn't arisen over millions of years of trial-and-error selection from random mutations. The process by which it was achieved had been uncovered in the form of messenger proteins encoding externally acquired information that was written into the genome by special-purpose enzymes-misinterpreted as components of antibodies to viruses that turned out never to have existed, and a cause of a huge medical scandal and a spate of class-action suits in years gone by. One of the central dogmas of evolutionary theory was thus shown to be violated. That the whole business was a far more complex affair than had been confidently supposed was, to put it mildly, the least troubling interpretation that could be put on it.

Danchekker still wasn't sure if a senior directorship in the UNSA hierarchy, with all the attendant bureaucratic chores and deference to academic convention, really suited him. In his quieter moments, when he relaxed in his apartment to the music of Mahler or Berlioz, or sat contemplating the trees by some secluded tributary of the Potomac, his mind still soared with the Jupiter mission ships to the icy wastes of Ganymede and saw again the pale green, orange-streaked skies of Jevlen above the towering alien cityscapes. Across the vast tract of worlds that the Thuriens had spread to, there dwelt more strange and wondrous forms of life than could be so much as glimpsed in the remainder of a lifetime. On Crayses there was a creature that was both animal and plant, rooting itself in the ground when conditions were agreeable, moving on when they changed. Yaborian Two had somehow produced a reversed planetwide chemistry in which oxy-carbon based life flourished in a reducing atmosphere of methane.

He realized that he had drifted away into musings again when Sandy Holmes, his technical assistant, stuck her head in from the lab area outside the office. Divisional director or not, Danchekker wouldn't let administrative matters prevent him from keeping his practical hand in. Taking care of them was what staff were for. He refused to accept calls while he was working.

"Excuse me, Professor?"

"Hm? What?… Oh." Danchekker returned reluctantly to planet Earth. He sighed and gestured at the papers lying in front of him. "It appears that much of what we considered to be unquestionable may have to be rethought from basics, Sandy. The development of organisms is much more closely coupled with the environment than existing theory can account for. You need to read this… Anyway, what is it?"

"Mildred is downstairs in reception. You're due to have lunch with her, remember?"

"Ah, yes." Normally, Danchekker blanched at the mention of the name. His cousin from Austria had been camped in the Washington, DC, area for a couple of months while researching her latest book, which was on Thurien culture and sociology. She had latched onto Danchekker as her prime reference and research source. But today he was actually looking forward to seeing her. "Can you organize an aircab to the front door for us, Sandy?"

"It's on its way. I told them, the Olive Tree. Is that okay?"

"That will do splendidly."

"And Ms. Mulling asked me to remind you that you're meeting Vic Hunt and Gregg Caldwell at the Carnarvon at six-thirty tonight." Ms. Mulling was Danchekker's personal secretary, whom he thankfully left to take command of administrative and fiscal matters from her domain on the far side of the top floor, from whence she ruled the building. She had come with his appointment as director in the UNSA reorganizational shuffle and was the main reason for his refusing to take calls when immersed in the things that interested him. Her name was usually sufficient to evoke a reflex grimace too, but on this occasion Danchekker merely nodded matter-of-factly as he slipped off his lab coat and draped it on the stand inside the door. "You seem in great spirits today, Professor," Sandy remarked as she walked with him back across the lab area to where she had been working with a technician preparing microscope slides.

"It looks as if our devious scheme is about to pay off," Danchekker replied breezily. "A week from now, our persistent and pestering authoress will be on her way to distant reaches of the Galaxy, and peace will return to the realm."

"You've heard back from Frenua?"

"Earlier this morning. It's as good as arranged. You know how informal the Thuriens are. I shall convey the joyous tidings forthwith, over lunch, and I have no doubt that cousin Mildred will be suitably thrilled."

"I'm glad it worked out. Enjoy your lunch."

"Oh, indubitably."

Danchekker hummed to himself in the elevator all the way down, oblivious of the clerk carrying a sheaf of papers who got in at the eighth floor and left at the fifth. When the doors opened on the ground level, he sailed out with a broad, toothy smile to greet his cousin, waiting in the lobby area beyond. Mildred was momentarily taken aback but recovered quickly.

"Christian, you're exactly on time! You look quite on top of the world today."

"And why not? I might ask. We should not let the chores of our humdrum lives mar the splendor of such a heaven-sent day. I can see more shades of green from my window on the top floor than would grace a legion of leprechauns." Danchekker held the main door aside graciously to usher Mildred through. She looked at him uncertainly.

"Are you all right?"

"Never better. And you look radiant too-a fitting tribute to spring."

In fact, Danchekker thought she looked mildly ridiculous in one of those floppy, wide-brimmed hats with flowers that even he knew had been out of style for years, a floral dress that was doubtless practical but seemed grannyish, and a pair of equally practical lightweight boots that might have done service on the Appalachian Trail. But beyond that, she talked.

The cab was waiting in the forecourt of the building when they emerged. As soon as it lifted off, Mildred was back to the subject of Thurien political society. "I know they don't bother very much about labels and formal organizations and that kind of thing, but when you get down to analyzing the way their system works, it really is a model of the socialist ideal, Christian. And you could hardly ask for better vindication than a culture that travels between stars as a matter of routine and didn't have a word for 'war' until they met us, could you? I know we've made a lot of progress since all the mess at the end of the last century, but you have to agree that too much of the world's thinking is still shaped by insecurity and the compulsion to pointless antagonism. I mean, it's all such an adolescently arrested mind-set: the striving for wealth and power-which is just another way of saying fixation on possessions and getting one's own way regardless of the consequences to others. That's hardly what we'd normally perceive as the sign of individual maturity, is it? All this emphasis on competition. We're far more cooperative by nature as a species. It makes the Thuriens seems so adult by contrast; more… more spiritual. You know what I mean? They're so far past the stage where material gratification means anything. They can think of the longer term. What collapsed in Russia back at the end of the eighties wasn't socialism. What Lenin and Stalin created had about as much to do with socialism as the Inquisition and the witch burnings had to do with Christianity. What collapsed was coercion and the attempt to impose a system by force. But then it always will in the end. People don't like seeing being afraid to express an opinion and seeing their neighbors dragged away to prison camps. You'd think that would be obvious enough, wouldn't you? But governments-here, anyway-have always seemed unable grasp it. That's what happens when you can't see further than short-term expediency. Don't you think so?"

"You could be right," Danchekker agreed.

By the time she was squinting at the menu, after rummaging in her purse for a pair of oval spectacles with purple butterfly frames, she had switched to news of the European branch of the family. "Emma-you remember her? You wouldn't recognize her if you saw her today-tall and raven haired like her grandmother was. She took up with a Ukrainian artist of some kind, and they're living like Bohemians in a converted barn in Croatia. Martha-that's her mother-is so put out about it. Stefan says he's going to disinherit her if she doesn't come to her senses. He's doing well, by the way. You really could try and stay in touch a bit more, you know, Christian. His firm has just opened a new office in Vienna. They've got a new line on some kind of self-repairing material for spacecraft and things that there was a lot of interest in. But he's worried now that the Thuriens might start importing something superior that would upset everything. I don't think they would, though, do you? I know they don't have an economic system as we know it, or very much in the way of restrictions. But they're just not the kind who would go barging in thoughtlessly and destabilize another culture like that… Seafood Alfredo sounds good. What are you having?"

"Oh, just something light today. I have to attend one of those wretched black tie dinners tonight. In honor of someone who's retiring. Some UNSA people are over from Geneva for it."

"Poor Christian. You never were one for that kind of thing, were you?"

"The primary object appears to be getting seats at the right tables and to be seen, rather than appreciating a good meal. Quite frankly, I'd rather they brought him here."

"The Thuriens would never go for that kind of nonsense, would they?" Mildred said, resurrecting that topic through to the end of the salad course. "From all the things I've read, they just don't have any concept of rivalry or putting the other person down. If you persuade them they're wrong about something, they just admit it. Why can't we be more like that? And it's so idiotic! I mean, how often have you watched someone at a cocktail party who won't back down?… because he's afraid of losing face! But he couldn't lose more face than by doing what he's doing, could he?… when everyone in the room thinks he's being a dolt. But just once in a while you see one who can stop, and look at you, and say, 'You may have a point. I never thought about it that way.' In my eyes, someone like that is suddenly ten feet tall. You think, my God, how wonderful! So why is it so difficult? But all the Thuriens are like that, aren't they? Does it really go back to their ancient ancestors on Minerva, where there were no land carnivores and predators? I've read the things you've written about all that. It explains so much of their social structure today. I really need to learn more."

Danchekker decided that his moment had come. Mildred must have seen him swell in anticipation or caught a glint in his eye through his spectacles, for she paused just as she was about to resume, and looked at him curiously.

"How would you like to learn everything you want to know, firsthand, from the best source you could possibly wish for?" he asked her. Mildred frowned, not knowing what to make of this. Danchekker dabbed at his mouth with his napkin and tossed out his other hand expansively. "From the Thurien psychologists, biologists, and social visionaries themselves! All of them-anyone you care to approach, with all their records and theories, plans and history available and accessible. You said yourself how informal they are."

Mildred shook her head, thrown off track and flummoxed. "Christian, I don't think I quite follow… What, exactly, are you talking about?"

Danchekker beamed in the way of someone finally divulging a secret he could contain no longer. "I have managed to arrange precisely such an opportunity for you: to go there personally, to Thurien, and meet some of their most prominent scientific figures and social leaders. They will be more than happy to help with everything you need to know. A writer's chance of a lifetime!"

Mildred stared at him incredulously. "Me? Go to Thurien?… Are you serious? I… I don't think I quite know what to say."

Danchekker brushed an imaginary crumb from his lapel with a thumb. "The least I could do as a modest contribution, considering the acquaintances I have been fortunate enough to make there," he told her. "Frenua Showm, an inner member of their highest policy-making organization, will take care of you personally and arrange the right introductions."

"My God, this is…" Mildred put a hand up to her mouth and shook her head again. "Quite a shock, you understand."

"I am sure you will rise to it admirably."

Mildred emitted a long, shaky breath and gulped from her water glass. "When is this supposed to happen?"

"A Thurien vessel called the Ishtar is in orbit above Earth currently, in connection with a technical and cultural exchange mission visiting eastern Asia. It will be returning seven days from now. I took the liberty of reserving you a place on it."

"Seven days! My word…" Mildred put a hand to her chest weakly.

Danchekker waved a hand carelessly. "I know the Thuriens are obliging, and one only has to ask. But it means that places on their ships tend to be filled quickly. And the Ishtar is only a small craft, apparently. I didn't want to risk your being disappointed."

"Christian, was this your idea?" A suspicious note had crept into Mildred's voice.

Danchekker spread his palms with the expression of bewildered innocence of a boy insisting he had no idea how the frog had gotten into his sister's bed. "I talk to Frenua all the time, and happened to mention your project and its research needs. The offer was entirely theirs." A mild feeling of discomfort flickered for a moment as he said this, but lightning didn't strike.

Finally, Mildred absorbed what he was saying. She sat back in her chair and looked at him disbelievingly. "Well… what do I say? I knew I'd come to the right person."

"Does that mean you're agreeable?"

"It'll be a bit of a rush getting organized at this kind of notice… But of course. As you said, a writer's chance of a lifetime."

"Splendid. It calls for a bottle of wine, don't you think?" Danchekker turned his head from side to side, searching for a waiter.

"I thought you didn't drink," Mildred said.

Danchekker pursed his lips for a moment, then shrugged. "There are moments in life when a rare exception might be permitted," he replied.

He was still cackling to himself an hour later, when he paid the cabbie off at Goddard, having dropped Mildred at her hotel on the way back to begin making her arrangements.