basically need for directed artificial evolution.”
Now it was Marissa’s turn to be impressed. They clicked out of the virtuality and exited the CAMD facility for the main lab, busily exchanging insights into each other’s work. They were still thus caught up when they walked into the lab.
“Good morning, Roger. Hello, Marissa.”
They looked up to see Atsuko Cortland standing in the doorway of Roger’s lab office.
“Hello, Mother,” he said with a grimace. “What brings you to my lab?”
“Nothing in particular,” Atsuko said, fingering absently the end of a thin braid that floated amidst the rest of her flowing hair like a rope in a waterfall. “I heard you had returned from Earth. Not that you’d tell me yourself, of course.” She paused as if awaiting some response. Roger only clicked off the terminal he’d just turned on and stared at her. “I also heard your funding hunt didn’t go so well.”
“‘Hearing things’ is a sign of deteriorating mental health,” Roger said, standing abruptly and walking stiffly past his mother. “You should really have that checked into, Mother.”
“Ah, that’s more like the Roger I know!” Atsuko Cortland said, walking out of the office, following Roger into the center of the lab. Her gaze lighted on squirming naked mole rats in their glass-walled colony. “You’re still working with these little grotesques, hm? Whatever do you see in them?”
Roger began to talk about self-regulating populations and feedback loops and the only mammal with insectoid eusocial organization—
“No, no. I’ve heard all that. What is it, really? You’ve been obsessed with them for years. It’s even less healthy than my ‘hearing things’.”
Roger said nothing, merely fiddled with genome map graphics and pretended not to have heard.
“Oh, very well,” Atsuko sighed. “Then at least you can tell me what direction your research is going to take, can’t you? Now that you’ve lost most of your funding?”
“I haven’t lost most of my funding,” Cortland said in exasperation, turning to monitor the output of an automatic nucleic acid synthesizer that hummed and clicked in an alcove of the lab. “I just didn’t get the new funding I wanted. We’re restructuring our researches.”
“How?”
Roger summarized the gene/receptor molecule/pheromone binding scenario he’d just given Marissa.
“Seems like an awful lot of work,” his mother remarked with a shrug when he was done, “just to find out what turns on or turns off some obscure endangered sand rats.”
“It would be—if that were where I intended to stop,” Roger said quickly, pride creeping into his voice once more. “But I don’t. I have a strong suspicion that the pheromone active in mole rats will be a strong structural analog of one active in humans too.”
“Oh, I see what you’re getting at!” his mother said, turning her gaze from the rat burrow. “You’re going into the perfume business, just like your father did before he branched out.”
Roger glanced down at the floor of the lab.
“I hadn’t thought of it in exactly those terms, but yes, I guess you could say that.”
“A word to the wise then, dear. Making sweet smells is a dirty business. Your mole-rat pheromone—where do you think it comes from?”
Marissa sensed that Roger already knew where she was headed but was going to answer anyway.
“Urine, scent secretions on the skin, fecal matter—”
“See?”
Roger shook his head in frustration.
“So? Ambergris is whale puke. Civet is cat stink—”
“My point precisely. A dirty business. Good luck, but try to keep your nose clean. So to speak.” With a burst of her shattering windchime laughter she breezed toward the exit door of the lab. “Good-bye,” she called as she left. “See you later, Marissa.”
Beside her, Roger stood cracking his knuckles nervously, until he realized he was doing so. Then he stopped. Somehow, Marissa felt sorry for both of them,
Now it was Marissa’s turn to be impressed. They clicked out of the virtuality and exited the CAMD facility for the main lab, busily exchanging insights into each other’s work. They were still thus caught up when they walked into the lab.
“Good morning, Roger. Hello, Marissa.”
They looked up to see Atsuko Cortland standing in the doorway of Roger’s lab office.
“Hello, Mother,” he said with a grimace. “What brings you to my lab?”
“Nothing in particular,” Atsuko said, fingering absently the end of a thin braid that floated amidst the rest of her flowing hair like a rope in a waterfall. “I heard you had returned from Earth. Not that you’d tell me yourself, of course.” She paused as if awaiting some response. Roger only clicked off the terminal he’d just turned on and stared at her. “I also heard your funding hunt didn’t go so well.”
“‘Hearing things’ is a sign of deteriorating mental health,” Roger said, standing abruptly and walking stiffly past his mother. “You should really have that checked into, Mother.”
“Ah, that’s more like the Roger I know!” Atsuko Cortland said, walking out of the office, following Roger into the center of the lab. Her gaze lighted on squirming naked mole rats in their glass-walled colony. “You’re still working with these little grotesques, hm? Whatever do you see in them?”
Roger began to talk about self-regulating populations and feedback loops and the only mammal with insectoid eusocial organization—
“No, no. I’ve heard all that. What is it, really? You’ve been obsessed with them for years. It’s even less healthy than my ‘hearing things’.”
Roger said nothing, merely fiddled with genome map graphics and pretended not to have heard.
“Oh, very well,” Atsuko sighed. “Then at least you can tell me what direction your research is going to take, can’t you? Now that you’ve lost most of your funding?”
“I haven’t lost most of my funding,” Cortland said in exasperation, turning to monitor the output of an automatic nucleic acid synthesizer that hummed and clicked in an alcove of the lab. “I just didn’t get the new funding I wanted. We’re restructuring our researches.”
“How?”
Roger summarized the gene/receptor molecule/pheromone binding scenario he’d just given Marissa.
“Seems like an awful lot of work,” his mother remarked with a shrug when he was done, “just to find out what turns on or turns off some obscure endangered sand rats.”
“It would be—if that were where I intended to stop,” Roger said quickly, pride creeping into his voice once more. “But I don’t. I have a strong suspicion that the pheromone active in mole rats will be a strong structural analog of one active in humans too.”
“Oh, I see what you’re getting at!” his mother said, turning her gaze from the rat burrow. “You’re going into the perfume business, just like your father did before he branched out.”
Roger glanced down at the floor of the lab.
“I hadn’t thought of it in exactly those terms, but yes, I guess you could say that.”
“A word to the wise then, dear. Making sweet smells is a dirty business. Your mole-rat pheromone—where do you think it comes from?”
Marissa sensed that Roger already knew where she was headed but was going to answer anyway.
“Urine, scent secretions on the skin, fecal matter—”
“See?”
Roger shook his head in frustration.
“So? Ambergris is whale puke. Civet is cat stink—”
“My point precisely. A dirty business. Good luck, but try to keep your nose clean. So to speak.” With a burst of her shattering windchime laughter she breezed toward the exit door of the lab. “Good-bye,” she called as she left. “See you later, Marissa.”
Beside her, Roger stood cracking his knuckles nervously, until he realized he was doing so. Then he stopped. Somehow, Marissa felt sorry for both of them,
Similar Books
