Coming of Age by Timothy Zahn Page B

patiently as possible into the radiophone. “I’m supposed to be on vacation out here, remember? Or is one week your idea of a long time away from the lab? I don’t want to hear about your troubles.”
    â€œNow, now, Matt; let’s not overdo the hyperbole, eh?” Even Jarvis’s less-than-magnificent equipment couldn’t filter out the bluff good humor that was a permanent feature of Kelby Somerset’s voice. “In the first place, this is not going to become a regular event; and in the second place I doubt very much you’re really forgetting about work out there. I’ll lay you very heavy odds you’ve got yourself a cozy little lab in this allegedly rustic cabin of yours. You’re probably working your tail off, making twice your usual progress now that you don’t have to worry about trivia like staff meetings and faculty lunches—not to mention simple food and sleep—”
    â€œAll right, all right,” Jarvis interrupted with a sigh. “I give up. Ask your question and let me get back to my book, okay.”
    â€œRight. It’s about the results of that test you and Cam ran last month—the induced-hibernation one. We’ve been running through the data and are getting a strange sort of anomaly between the eight-and ten-milligram dosages. The rate of decrease of heartbeat, respiration, and brain electrical activity goes way down all of a sudden. As you increase the dosage the decreases plot out smoothly, but that discontinuity’s driving everybody crazy. We’ve looked at the obvious possibilities and they all washed out. I thought you might have a brilliant suggestion or two on something new to try.”
    Jarvis sighed. “Disturbing my privacy isn’t enough—now you want long-distance prophesy, too?”
    â€œNot necessarily. If you want to sneak back to the lab for a day, I promise I won’t tell anyone.”
    â€œThanks a lot,” Jarvis growled. “All right; read me some relevant numbers, will you?”
    â€œSure. Here are the blood insulin levels for the eight-milligram subjects …”
    Listening with half his attention, Jarvis stretched his neck to peer out the window. Colin was still in sight, playing at the foot of the big conetree next to the grassy path that served as driveway. As he watched, two large seed pods shot past the boy’s head; Colin was apparently still playing dogfight. He was good at it, too, for someone his age. Jarvis made a mental note to take a dexterity/control measurement soon.
    Somerset finished his recitation, and an expectant silence took its place. With some effort, Jarvis forced his mind back to the topic at hand. “Okay. First off, check to make sure the thyroid isn’t suddenly boosting thyroxin production to compensate.”
    â€œWe’ve already looked for that—”
    â€œAnd check carefully, because what the extra thyroxin may be doing is chemically linking to our gamma component, which would not only take both molecules out of play but also keep you from detecting the hormone increase.”
    There was a brief silence. “I didn’t know the two hormones could react together.”
    â€œThey haven’t in lab tests, but if you look closely at the gamma molecule’s sulfhydryl end, you’ll see there’s no particular reason why the reaction can’t go. Check for likely-looking enzymes in the neighborhood of the thyroid, and while you’re at it check back a step and see if the pituitary increased its own thyrotropin output.”
    â€œAlready tried that,” Somerset said with the distracted air of someone trying to talk while scribbling notes. “Negative result.”
    â€œOkay, concentrate on the thyroid region, then.” Jarvis considered. “One other thing: try doing a careful study of prostaglandin levels. Our alpha molecule’s largely a prostaglandin analogue, and the body mechanisms that