Pyramid 76 Read online

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  The next day, the old man’s vehicle rumbled up to the doors of Pyramid 76 alone. Brickner’s car was nowhere to be seen. Carangy frowned; it was strange that he’d arrived before the younger researcher. He took his time driving down the long, winding roads of the backwoods, ensuring that Brickner was the first to the facility each morning, even though he often started his trip long after Carangy.

  The older scientist didn’t believe in hurrying; it was what; it was what made him indispensable to the project. He took his time, yes, but he did things right on the first go-round. Making mistakes out of haste was not something he was known for.

  As he stepped out of his ancient roadster, Carangy wondered where his associate might be. Brickner had never been late before, not without phoning his friend about it. Not that it was a problem. Brickner’s skill as a researcher wouldn’t be needed until Carangy had inspected his cultures and logged his morning notes.

  The doors opened without much trouble, but then, the exterior doors usually did. It seemed a good omen, nonetheless, to the small part of Carangy that took stock in such things. Down the long hallway, the lights flicked on one after another as he walked towards the doors at the far end. As he passed the laser-switch for the middle of the hall, he anticipated the faint buzz as the fluorescent bulb powered up. He subconsciously expected it. Regardless of the regularity with which the others failed, or blew out, that one always came on when his leg broke the beam of the switch.

  Today, it stayed dark. Not a single hum or a spark gave any sign that there might be life in the bulb. Carangy nearly missed a step in his slow, measured tread. His anticipation of the flash of added light in the hall had been little more than an odd whim, but the loss of the one reliable piece of equipment made a mark in his mood. The next light came on, but his thoughts had already taken a darker turn.

  By the time he reached the second set of doors, he had started worrying about the freezer in his lab. The way the facility was disintegrating, they would be lucky if the freezers weren’t found completely shut down some morning.

  Disaster wasn’t word enough to describe that eventuality. If the cultures weren’t kept cold, they would be useless within hours. Once that happened, he and Brickner wouldn’t be useful for much longer, either; upper management didn’t like that kind of material waste. One or two scientists had a much lower cash value than one petri dish worth of the baseline culture in the management’s books..

  The fact that the loss would be the management’s fault wouldn’t come into it; making an example of scapegoats would be much cheaper than paying for maintenance. That was just basic red-tape bureaucrat budget principles.

  Fortunately for Carangy’s peace of mind, the freezer was still humming, glowing dimly in the dark as he switched on the ceiling light. He noted with great deal of cynicism that the bulb in the freezer actually worked properly. After glancing at the petri dishes to reassure himself they were okay, he switched on the computer. He never used the machine; that was Brickner’s side of things. Despite this, Carangy had made a habit of switching it on, much like his habit of waiting for the hall light to come on.

  Pausing to watch as the screen powered up, the old man noticed a little red flag on an envelope in the lower corner. He barely registered it before turning back to the freezer, and forgot it almost immediately. The cultures were much more interesting than any digital contraption.

  Carangy removed a culture from the lower rack of the freezer, examining it closely. After a moment, he slid it under a nearby microscope. The tiny creatures wriggled under the lens, enmeshed in a frantic contest for survival. He couldn’t be sure until he ran a few tests, but one particular group seemed to be thriving. The scientist in him was elated; if so, he had a new piece of data to add to those already supporting their theory.

  All of the Pyramid facilities were working toward the same end, but each facility plotted its own course towards that end. Carangy and Brickner’s course had taken longer to reach fruition, but he felt that morning might well be the day that proved their theory worked. Regardless of his optimism, however, they’d need a few more days before he would be sure enough to report it.

  He studied the culture for a few more minutes before taking it to a machine near the wall. The refraction indexer stood on its own special stand, polished aluminum casing gleaming. It was his favorite tool in the lab; it proved or disproved his theories. He liked that part. It did not matter if the machine showed his theories to be groundless or entirely correct; he always learned something new from the streams of data it spat out.

  Shame it produced such catastrophic results, though. He found it sad; the burst of light used to measure the numbers of different microbes killed them in the process. High intensity ultra-violet light did bad things to most bacteria, but particularly the strain he and his colleague were studying. The minuscule creatures had adapted to a near-lightless environment.

  Not that it was really a problem. He always had duplicates of each version of every culture, to prevent important strains from being lost. It wasn’t much use breeding a remarkable strain of bacteria if you killed all the specimens while determining if they were special or not. The fact didn’t stop Carangy from wishing the tiny creatures didn’t have to die just when they might have managed to learn to survive. Still, he reminded himself, they furthered his science and might save lives someday. What more could be asked of a microbe?

  Carangy slid the culture into the indexer, watching the light pulse. After a moment, numbers began scrolling across the screen. The scientist studied them, then grunted happily. All data seemed to confirm his original observation. The microbe colony had increased in total mass, which meant there were either more bacteria, or the existing ones had grown. Unfortunately, there was no way to determine which was the case.

  Regardless, increased mass meant his bacteria had not only survived their competition, they had actually done so exceptionally well. The other microbes in the dish were a particularly hardy species which Brickner specially selected as strong competition for any possible strain of Carangy’s bacteria.

  Technically, they were not his, but he always thought of them as such. They had been found in a block of ice in Pakistan. Carangy didn’t know who had discovered them, or how such a phenomenon had even been possible, but he didn’t much care. All the scientist was interested in was the challenge the little creatures presented. According to the evidence, the microbes had been completely frozen for several millennia, yet showed no signs of damage when thawed out.

  Under preliminary testing, they managed to survive everything they had been subjected to, excepting extreme heat and certain acids. They also managed to eat or eliminate every other microbe exposed to them. It was not an inherent ability that allowed the bacteria to do this, however; they developed it. If their numbers were great enough, or given enough time, the colony would eventually produce members perfectly adapted to their competition.

  Carangy hadn’t seen anything that his little microbes couldn’t learn to survive, if given a chance. Of course, that just made life more interesting, since it was his and Brickner’s job to push the microbe to its limits.

  He was deep in his notes when the younger scientist arrived, barely noticing when the wheelchair rolled by. Brickner headed for his PC, skipping his usual cheery greeting. On most days, Carangy would have commented on that, but the new results were gripping his attention far too tightly.

  Several hours went by, the older man examining the results from the refraction indexer and comparing them to his previous notes, while Brickner absorbed himself in scrolling pages of data on his screen. At last, Carangy pushed himself away from the desk, taking his notebook with him.

  “Look at these results, James! Our microbe in culture 7673 has managed to survive alongside sample 167 for over twenty-four hours.”

  Brickner’s head came up. His reply was sharper than his usual tone.

&
nbsp; “Are you sure? There’s no possibility of a mistake?”

  Carangy frowned, but he was too excited to take offense at the idea that he would leap to any conclusions without concrete proof.

  “I’m quite certain. After five weeks, we’ve actually bred a strain that can survive sample 167!”

  Brickner took the proffered notebook and examined the information.

  “You know I’m happy we managed it, Phillip. But I’m afraid we’ve gone wrong.”

  The older man snorted in derision.

  “Wrong? Nonsense! We’ve observed scientific protocol perfectly, I’m sure of it. If you mean in our conclusions or theorizing, the evidence seems to validate us.”

  Brickner spun his wheelchair slowly, shaking his head.

  “No, not wrong like that, Phillip, not a mistake. Morally wrong.”

  That got Carangy’s attention. “How on earth could that be possible? Microbes can barely feel, let alone think. We’ve not done any experiments with human subjects, either, so I can’t imagine what you could possibly mean.”

  “Not intentionally, Carangy, but look at this.”

  Brickner gestured to his computer screen. A news video was running, just above an article filled with quotes and photographs of lab-coated researchers.

  “What am I supposed to be seeing, James? It’s just a news announcement about a breakthrough in some medical research.”

  “Yes, anti-biotic research. Look at their data.”

  The scientist studied the foot-notes carefully, sorting through biology terminology and Latin names. Then, his eyes narrowed and he grabbed up his notebook from where Brickner had laid it on the desk.

  “Is that... it can’t be... by Heavens, it is. They’re using 167 as an antibiotic!”

  He stared at his colleague in amazement.

  “Didn’t management recommend Sample 167 to us specifically?”

  “ Six weeks ago.”

  Carangy considered that.

  “How very strange. Do you suppose it was a co-incidence?”

  With a grimace, the younger man pointed to a quote in the news-text on the computer. A brief line, just enough to get the point across. According to one of the researchers working on the antibiotic, the properties of the bacteria Carangy and Brickner knew as “Sample 167” had been known long before the news release. However, it had to be proven before it was officially announced.

  “Seven weeks ago...”

  “Right before the upper management sent us the suggestion, Phillip. And we just spent five weeks breeding our organism into a form that likes to eat this new antibiotic.”

  “They must have known about the antibiotic properties and wanted to know if 167 could compete against our organism. If it could, it would be the first medically viable substance to do so.”

  Brickner stared at his friend.

  “Phillip, you are the cliché everyone thinks of when they visualize a scientist.”

  Carangy blinked for a moment, then returned to his examination of the refraction indexer report. The accusation seemed to have bounced right off his lab-coated demeanor.

  “Come, now, James! I can’t understand what you are so concerned about. If we have a nearly indestructible micro-organism and someone develops a new antibiotic, it’s perfectly logical to test them. For instance, it might prove that the antibiotic is exceptionally effective, or susceptible to a particular form of resistance. Any scientist would see that immediately.”

  James Brickner threw up his hands in exasperation, then shifted his wheel-chair into Carangy’s line of sight again.

  “Any scientist, yes. We’re curious, too curious. We want to observe everything, each and every possibility of the world around us. Sometimes, we get so caught up in what there is to see, we miss what there is to do.”

  “You’re not going to let this go until you make your point, are you? Very well, I’m listening.”

  “My point is this; we might be motivated by honest curiosity, but the people paying for this facility aren’t.”

  The old scientist’s eyes narrowed and he set down his notebook, turning his full attention to Brickner.

  “What... exactly... are you saying?”

  “The government never funds anything without a very good reason. Throwing millions of dollars at research for one single microbe? Nobody would do that without hoping to get something out of it. Using it as a test for antibiotics? Not worth the effort and you know it. Other tests would be more useful and informative.”

  Carangy sighed and looked up at the ceiling for a moment before returning his attention to Brickner.

  “You aren’t making things any clearer. The government rarely makes sense; we just use the money they throw our way and do research that couldn’t be done without it.”

  “Have you talked to Louis today?”

  “My friend from Pyramid 46? No, I tried to get him this morning, but he wasn’t at home or his office. I suppose he’s too busy, with his facility decommissioning. Why do you ask?”

  The wheel-chair slid back and forth as its occupant played absently with the wheels.

  “Don’t you wonder what strain they were working on? He said he was ‘close.’ And they didn’t even get merged, just shut down. Massive waste of money, wouldn’t you say?”

  A frown creased the wrinkled face.

  “I suppose so, yes. All that work and time and expense, just to be closed up.”

  “I’d say our own little project could be called “close,” wouldn’t you, Phillip? We’re almost ready to send in our success report on the microbe surviving Sample 167, right?”

  “You do keep changing subjects, James! Would you please stop?”

  “One last question. You have secondary cultures in the freezer, yes? Backups of an organism we were specifically asked to breed, one capable of effectively competing with and counteracting a new medical innovation. All ready for second tests. Or shipping, if the management wanted.”

  Carangy studied him quietly.

  “That’s...”

  He never finished his sentence. Two dampened cracks sounded from the corridor, briefly popping in the otherwise silent facility. Carangy frowned, knees buckling. Brickner was already dead, his wheelchair rolling back a few feet as it lost its controller. Before his eyes closed, the old man saw two sets of black boots move past him. But he was tired and his head hurt where it had bounced off the tiled floor. His eyes drifted shut.

  “Get the cultures and the old guy’s notes. I’ll copy Brickner’s hard drive.”

  “Done.”

  From the computer, one of the men snorted.

  “This guy was a bit of a conspiracy nut.”

  “Guess he was working in the right place, huh?”

  The man chuckled.

  “Yeah.”

  The computer uploaded the files and the two soldiers left the office. One of them checked his pistol before putting in back in his leg holster.

  “They got close.”

  “You aren’t kidding. Brickner knew already. He was no dummy. Might have even convinced Carangy. Good thing the guys up top had those button cams put in. If those two had done a runner, this could have turned into a real ugly mess, real fast. Nothing worse than a scientist with a moral compass.”

  “That’s why the brass gets paid the big bucks. Foresight.”

  “Yep.”

  The number pad on the entrance blinked red as the lock closed behind them. At the end of the corridor, the exterior door swung wide, slamming as the men headed for their vehicle. Within the facility, something jolted the faulty bulb at the center of the corridor and the light finally flickered on.

  ###

 

  About the Author

  Michael Gunter has been writing since he was old enough to hold a pencil. His work ranges from epic fantasy to science-fiction and back again. If you enjoyed “Pyramid 76”, please check out his other works at his website - https://michaelgunterta
les.wordpress.com.

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