“Doctors, I understand rocket science, but I don’t understand how you use genes to do something like this.”
“It came about precisely because of bacteria developing resistance, oh, more than 100 years ago,” Doctor Adams said to the captain. He, Ferris, Mills, Jackson, and Rianya sat around the table in sick bay where the monitors could quickly access images and information, audio visual aids, which Tom was grateful for.
“Do I need to know this much detail?” Tom asked.
“You asked,” Rianya said gently. Only she could get away with a smart-alec comment to the captain.
“I won’t tell you about the past, just what we’re going to do. It’s important that you understand it if you’re going to address any of the medical personnel.”
“Alright, let’s get this show started.”
Dr. Philip Adams had recently celebrated his 80th birthday. He’d been around the block more than a few times and had been practicing medicine longer than Tom had been alive. What seemed simple to him, as with most doctors, was complicated for the average person to comprehend. Being the only non-medical person in the room, the conversation was tailored for the captain.
“In the 21st century, doctors literally ran out of antibiotics to think up to kill some of the simplest bacteria,” he began, and put an image of five different kinds of microbes on the big monitor, each in a different color, a different shape, and in the glorious detail of one million magnification. Tom stifled a yawn.
“So, they came at these killers with a multi-pronged approach. That’s what we can do here, and it will work perfectly. The first step is to use an antibiotic that they haven’t seen here, and the Polymyxin E is our weapon. We have one million freeze dried doses of that on board, which is not nearly enough, so that will have to be synthesized as soon as possible. We need more like five hundred million doses.” The image on the monitor changed to one of a molecular formula.
“How long is it going to take to make that many?”
“It could take months, maybe a year. Depends on how fast we can get a facility set up and its capacity,” Dr. Ferris said. Tom nodded.
“The next step is more complicated,” Adams said. “We have to rip the shields from Yersinia so it can’t mutate and become resistant, and will always suffer when poisoned with Polymyxin E.
“We already know why the bacteria has become resistant over the years here, because of overuse and indiscriminate use of first cillians, then myacins. Dr. Lam informed me that about fifty years ago they put the streptomycin into the drinking water, but those subclinical levels only made everything worse.”
“Humans used antibiotics in livestock feed and it had the same result,” Mills added. “It took a revolution to get the commercial food industry to change its methods so antibiotics wouldn’t be necessary for profitable yields.”
“Ciprofloxacin is the drug of choice now back home.”
Steward Harchett came into the meeting room with a tray of assorted breakfast items from muffins to cheeses, and also a customary carafe of coffee. Jackson was the first to pour.
“Go on, Doctor.” He looked around the table at the participants as they all engaged in the miniature buffet.
“Alright. So, we treat all those hospitalized and those with emerging symptoms with Poly E. I want to use a plasmid, carried by virus, which would insert a gene into the DNA of Yersinia, which would stop the mutation gene from having the ability to mutate. It’s a Trojan horse and we administer it through the bloodstream, similar to any other injectable.”
“That sounds plausible,” Tom said.
“There’s a small problem with that approach,” the doctor continued. He looked at Ferris who set her coffee on the table and picked up where Adams left off.
“We don’t have enough information about the Cinconians’ physiology and beneficial symbiotic bacteria in vivo, the body. We could end up killing all the bacteria because the virus can’t discriminate what cells to infiltrate and which to ignore.”
“That’s not good,” Rianya muttered.
“That was the same problem they had with this approach on Earth when they first started using the viral-plasmid tactic. So, here’s what we’ve come up with.” Doctor Adams took a sip from his water glass before continuing. He also changed the image on the monitor to a fragment of RNA, something that looked like half the ladder of a spiraled DNA gene, and also a bright pink pincer that was aimed at another four-color segment inside a cell membrane.
“What we can do is send a segment of RNA into the bloodstream where it seeks a matching bacterium, then seeks out the MCR-1 gene. The RNA simply looks for the identical sequence to match up with. The MCR-1 gene is responsible for allowing transference of antibiotic resistance.”
“Simply?” Jackson rubbed his forehead and then came up for air. “Wow, um, you think you might explain that in a language I understand? I don’t consider myself an idiot but you just went a kilometer over my head.”
“We go after the bad gene, not the bad bacteria. We don’t wipe out the disease with the genetic splice, but we defunct the genes inside it so it can’t pass on mutations and become resistant.”
“That’s extraordinary,” Jackson said as the implications sank in.
“We could also release this into the environment, rather than the patient, but again, this is unfamiliar territory. With millions of species of bacteria out there I couldn’t be sure that it would only affect Yersinia. If this were restricted to a vineyard or orchard, it would work better applied to the foliage, but in this case, off target effects might be devastating to their ecology.”
Jackson sat back and tapped the side of his coffee cup with two fingers while he simmered on the information. Mills played with a data reader, Ferris and Adams were silent. Tom looked to Rianya for a hint.
“I’m with Adams on this,” she told him. “So, we treat three hundred million Cinconians with the antibiotic, then give them all this segment with a gene killer on it?”
“Essentially. We can release the segment environmentally in locations where Yersinia is rampant and can’t be sterilized, such as gathering places where the bacteria could be lurking, but not the food or water supply.”
Jackson rubbed at his temples with one hand to remove the tension but it only worked for a brief moment. The enormity of the task at hand was as large as anything he’d ever had to deal with before.
“These Yersinia are microscopic titans, invisible killers of an entire population,” the captain said quietly, and refilled his cup with fresh coffee, and more sugar.
“And I have microscopic weapon,” Adams added, looking around the table with a slight smile on his face.
“How long will this take?” Jackson asked.
“First, we need to get the Polymyxin out and down to the planet, start reproducing it, and then start administering it. I will have to spend some time on the gene editing, a week, two, three maybe, and then we have to test it.”
“Sounds like we should have started yesterday, so whatever you need, let me know. I’ll get it for you.”
“See if the Cinconians can take factories they have and convert them to making doses of Poly E. We’ll work on other things from our end.” The doctor handed Jackson a document reader with a recipe for the antibiotic. “At least 300 million doses.”
“This will take a thousand factories,” Tom said.
“And a lot of machinists, physicians, and money,” Adams added. Captain Jackson took the pad and rapped it on the table before taking his coffee and leaving the medical personnel to their jobs.
~~~
“Papa?” came a small voice from behind the door to the doyen’s office where Tom had been hashing out a step by step plan for the pandemic operation. He stood up and took three stiff strides to open the door to Zalara and her allegiant companion, Honey.
“Come in, girls.” His brain was ready for a break anyway. “What do you need?”
“We have a question. Mama said I should ask you.”
“Sounds important; better sit down,” he told them and indicated the softer chairs against the wall instead of the austere chairs around the conference table. Honey danced to the farthest chair and Zalara followed half a step behind. Tom poured some fresh coffee in his cup and dumped a tablespoon of sugar in it. “Do you girls want any coffee?” he asked in mock seriousness. Both shook their heads melodramatically. “Okay, then, what’s on your mind?”
“We want to go see the planet.”
“You do?” The bright faces nodded this time. Tom would of course have to say no for several reasons that instantly came to mind. The plague, the official mission, their age, and their mothers all fought for the first-place reason.
“Did she say it was okay?” Zalara sedately shook her head. “How about your mother?” he asked Honey.
“She said whatever you said was okay with her,” the older girl admitted.
“Hmm. Well, I don’t think I can say yes to that request,” he said gently, taking a test sip of his coffee. The bright faces dulled.
“Why?” Zalara probed.
“Well, number one, they have a pretty bad germ down there and I don’t want you two exposed to it. That’s why we’re here, to help them get rid of the germ.”
“That’s all?”
“That’s enough.”
“The germ that makes them sick can make us sick too?”
“Yes, it can. It’s actually an Earth germ that no one has even seen on Earth for a long, long time.”
“How did an Earth germ get here?” Honey asked. Her light brows knitted together and she tilted her head off to one side.
“We’re not sure yet,” Tom said. “Some of the officers are trying to figure that out.” The girls didn’t have any more to say, but didn’t get up to leave, either. “I have to get back to my work here. Do you need anything else?”
“Can I fix the people so they aren’t sick and then we can go down?” Zalara asked. Tom almost jumped out of his chair.
“No! You can’t go fix them,” he declared. He sounded like Rianya. “Isn’t it time for school to start soon?”
“School is over for today, sir,” Honey said. Tom glanced at the timepiece on the wall: 14:22.
“Well, go find your mothers and something to do. I have to put this information together today,” Tom said and got up to open the door for them. Honey walked out, Zalara followed. Tom stroked her head as she passed by, her hair as silky as her mother’s. He hated to say no but it was easy to do.
Jackson returned to his ever-growing plan to present to Yee Akadar for people, facilities, raw materials, and money. He thought about Zalara and her need to help people who were sick. At first, he thought it was a learned behavior from Rianya, being she also seemed to want to help the sick and injured. Could her empathic ability have a mental component, something that urged her to heal? A genetic component from Rianya? The words on the screen in front of his eyes blurred and he stared through the monitor as if it weren’t there. He reached across his desk and tapped the intercom for sick bay.
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