Free Immortality by Kevin Bohacz Page B

samples of bodily fluids and tissues. While the database was growing, the knowledgebase had increased by exactly zero.
    Kathy walked into her boss’s office. Carl Green was usually an easy-going man, but in the center of this epidemic he was out of his element. He was a deputy director, not a military commander. At ten in the morning, his tie was already hanging loose around his neck. He looked haggard. His dark forehead was creased with worry lines. He was on the phone and waved Kathy to a vacant chair. She smelled tobacco on his clothes. A pack of Camels was on his desk. She knew he hadn’t smoked in years.
    “Senator, please, I promised you a full report by the end of this week. Right now we have nothing to add. Yes, Sir, I will. Have you considered Dr. Morrison’s request to quarantine all goods and travel from South America? Yes, okay, I understand. No one wants the public scared with terrorist theories. Uhuh… The press blackout does make it difficult. Yes... yes... Good day, Sir.”
    Kathy knew there was no political will to quarantine South America because of the questions such an action would raise. Maybe the bureaucrats were right; maybe a quarantine was an overreaction, but it was the safe thing to do. If this was a chemical agent being used, then a quarantine would make it harder to smuggle the agent into the country; and if this was a biological, then a quarantine would help to block its spread. Either way, humanity didn’t need another global scourge. We were doing quite well with AIDS and drug resistant TB and global warming and terrorism, thank you very much.
    “So what have you got for me?” asked Green.
    “I’ve registered a name for this set of symptoms, SAAC for South American Asphyxial Complex, and got it quietly listed in the CDC public records as a reportable disease.”
    “Well that was important,” said Green. “Glad it’s been settled. Now can we get to a few minor details like what the hell is it and how do we stop it!”
    Kathy’s fingers involuntarily tightened around the status report she’d brought. Carl was under pressure. It would only make things worse if she let this degrade into a shouting match. She wanted to tell him what he could do with this report. She stood up ready to leave. Carl’s eyes locked on hers. The tension in his face held then began to fade.
    “Sit down,” he said. “Please go on with your report.”
    Kathy hesitated. Carl picked up a pencil and began to fidget. The strain abated. She sat down, glanced at the summary page of her report and then began.
    “There’s no disagreement from the entire research team on these three facts. One: all the deaths are caused by internal nerve fiber damage. Two: we haven’t found a single instance of trauma or cuts to the nerve bundles’ protective outer sheaths. Three: we’ve gotten no positive hits from all tests for toxins and pathogens.
    “I’ve got part of the team trying an unconventional tactic to identify the cause by working forward instead of backward. They’re trying to reverse-engineer it by going through all the possible way to replicate this kind of damage. We’ve identified enzymes that can break down nerve tissue and leave chemical micro-cuts behind, but there’s no way an enzyme could have reached the nerve fibers without also damaging the surrounding protective sheaths. There’s also no way these cuts could have been done mechanically or by radiation.
    “I have someone working on what we’re calling Jeffrey’s bite theory. His idea is that bacteria are nibbling away at the nerve fibers, using enzymes. There are bacteria that eat steel, so a little nerve tissue is nothing. The only problem is the clean, straight cuts. If bacteria were responsible, we would see molecular enzyme cuts everywhere, almost like snail-trails weaving around and between the nerve fibers.
    “I’ve got the lab processing every bit of tissue and cellular material from two of the bodies. It’s a huge job. We’re