takes me.)
“It’s odd,” confessed Angelina.
“It’s not possible, I suppose,” ventured Zeno, “that they died as a result of equipment failure of some kind. Asphyxiation, perhaps. A purely physical cause seems more likely to me than a biological agent which struck so suddenly and so swiftly.”
I would have liked to believe that too, but the last messages transmitted made it absolutely plain that the victims themselves thought that they were under biological attack from within. They spoke of symptoms and signs, and though it was not possible for them to testify as to their actual cause of death—for obvious reasons—the brief commentaries which they gave on the manner of their dying seemed to rule out asphyxiation or conventional poisoning caused by a malfunction in their life-support systems (which, in any case, offered no such testimony of their own).
“Allergy,” said Vesenkov, who had not actually been included in the discussion, but who had been listening in. He was a solidly built man, about my height, with steel-rimmed spectacles. His English wasn’t as good as it might have been—nowhere near as good as Zeno’s—but he exaggerated his lack of capability by choosing to speak mostly in clipped phrases and one-word sentences.
“Could be,” conceded Angelina. “But it’s not easy to account for the fact that they all developed extreme reactions to the same allergen, let alone the sudden presence of that allergen in their environment. Obviously someone inadvertently carried something from the lab area into the sleeping quarters, but given the sterilization procedures, it’s more likely they carried it inside than out. Looks to me like a virus.”
“Do you know how difficult it is to get a hookup between an alien virus and human DNA?” I countered. “It’s been done, but Scarlatti had to work damned hard to produce the evidence he has, and in no case has the alien virus, even where it’s managed to reproduce virions, actually done substantial damage to a host. Viruses don’t have much built-in adaptability, and they’re just not geared to operating in cells from another life-system.”
“The biochemical environment of a human cell isn’t too alien from the viewpoint of a virus—even a virus taken out of the ooze of some world where life never got beyond the primeval soup stage,” she pointed out.
“Sure,” I said. “Biochemical destiny ensures that the replicator molecules which arise in so-called Earthlike environments are always very similar, and the metabolic pathways that build up around them are similar too. Maybe it’s wrong to talk of alien environments...but for a Naxos-built virus to make itself at home in human cells is like a Chinese peasant trying to make himself at home on Sule.”
“A virus doesn’t have to be ‘at home’ to kill,” she argued. “Quite the reverse, in fact. Most viruses treat their hosts fairly gently. Good tactics. Instant death for hosts is easy extinction for viruses that need to commute endlessly from one host to another. Obviously, what happened to the groundcrew is aberrant, whether you compare it with Earthly viruses infecting Earthly hosts, or Naxos viruses attacking Naxos hosts.”
“No virus,” put in Vesenkov laconically. “Frog don’t catch cold.”
What he meant was that viruses tend to be species-specific, or at least limited to a range of similar species. We don’t catch diseases from frogs, even within our own life-system.
“I said it was aberrant,” answered Angelina.
“Aberrant is just a fudge-word,” I pointed out. “You’re just using it to protect the hypothesis against criticism.”
“Food poisoning,” said Zeno suddenly. “That would make sense. Not if they were eating out of tubes, the way we do—but they were on the surface, maybe eating from a common pot. Sterile, for sure—but there might have been toxins left over from some previous infection, as in botulism.”
“That’s easy enough to
“It’s odd,” confessed Angelina.
“It’s not possible, I suppose,” ventured Zeno, “that they died as a result of equipment failure of some kind. Asphyxiation, perhaps. A purely physical cause seems more likely to me than a biological agent which struck so suddenly and so swiftly.”
I would have liked to believe that too, but the last messages transmitted made it absolutely plain that the victims themselves thought that they were under biological attack from within. They spoke of symptoms and signs, and though it was not possible for them to testify as to their actual cause of death—for obvious reasons—the brief commentaries which they gave on the manner of their dying seemed to rule out asphyxiation or conventional poisoning caused by a malfunction in their life-support systems (which, in any case, offered no such testimony of their own).
“Allergy,” said Vesenkov, who had not actually been included in the discussion, but who had been listening in. He was a solidly built man, about my height, with steel-rimmed spectacles. His English wasn’t as good as it might have been—nowhere near as good as Zeno’s—but he exaggerated his lack of capability by choosing to speak mostly in clipped phrases and one-word sentences.
“Could be,” conceded Angelina. “But it’s not easy to account for the fact that they all developed extreme reactions to the same allergen, let alone the sudden presence of that allergen in their environment. Obviously someone inadvertently carried something from the lab area into the sleeping quarters, but given the sterilization procedures, it’s more likely they carried it inside than out. Looks to me like a virus.”
“Do you know how difficult it is to get a hookup between an alien virus and human DNA?” I countered. “It’s been done, but Scarlatti had to work damned hard to produce the evidence he has, and in no case has the alien virus, even where it’s managed to reproduce virions, actually done substantial damage to a host. Viruses don’t have much built-in adaptability, and they’re just not geared to operating in cells from another life-system.”
“The biochemical environment of a human cell isn’t too alien from the viewpoint of a virus—even a virus taken out of the ooze of some world where life never got beyond the primeval soup stage,” she pointed out.
“Sure,” I said. “Biochemical destiny ensures that the replicator molecules which arise in so-called Earthlike environments are always very similar, and the metabolic pathways that build up around them are similar too. Maybe it’s wrong to talk of alien environments...but for a Naxos-built virus to make itself at home in human cells is like a Chinese peasant trying to make himself at home on Sule.”
“A virus doesn’t have to be ‘at home’ to kill,” she argued. “Quite the reverse, in fact. Most viruses treat their hosts fairly gently. Good tactics. Instant death for hosts is easy extinction for viruses that need to commute endlessly from one host to another. Obviously, what happened to the groundcrew is aberrant, whether you compare it with Earthly viruses infecting Earthly hosts, or Naxos viruses attacking Naxos hosts.”
“No virus,” put in Vesenkov laconically. “Frog don’t catch cold.”
What he meant was that viruses tend to be species-specific, or at least limited to a range of similar species. We don’t catch diseases from frogs, even within our own life-system.
“I said it was aberrant,” answered Angelina.
“Aberrant is just a fudge-word,” I pointed out. “You’re just using it to protect the hypothesis against criticism.”
“Food poisoning,” said Zeno suddenly. “That would make sense. Not if they were eating out of tubes, the way we do—but they were on the surface, maybe eating from a common pot. Sterile, for sure—but there might have been toxins left over from some previous infection, as in botulism.”
“That’s easy enough to
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