Chapter 7
"Commander Spock, allow me to sum up what we have learned from you so far. 'Biocontrol', as you have termed it, is based upon the fact that certain viruses, so called bacteriopahges, target bacteria and infect one specific, at most a few bacterial strains. This is an advantage due to the very high specificity of this treatment option. On the other hand, it is a time-consuming process to find and amplify the bacteriophage that actually will infect a certain bacterial strain."
"This is correct, Admiral. When identified and amplified, though, that specific bacteriophage will be a very effective agent, probably even with the ability to travel to the infected site within an organism."
"Thank you for pointing that out one more time, commander. At the moment, however, I am more concerned about the probability of detecting the one bacteriophage targeting the recent Yersinia pestis strain."
He had actively participated in establishing the set-up, had spent the better part of the last day with it. Yet, Spock could admit to himself that it still was a fascinating sight. Three large conical flasks, filled with clear, greenish liquid, stood under and before efficient illuminants. Agitators whirled on their bottoms and sent the bubbles of air rolling out of transparent hoses dancing, following the twirl of the vortex. The set-up gave the otherwise completely dark, screened-off section of the lab an almost mystical atmosphere. It reminded Spock of a cave they had found on the third moon of a Class L planet during their deep space mission, which walls had been covered with layers of pulsating, iridescent moss. The raised ambient temperatures added to the impression of entering a different world where one could almost forget about raging pandemics, death tolls, emergency strategies that were (at best) morally questionable, or…
„Phage density is increasing. Apparently, the microcosm set-up has been successful."
…or the fact that one was still closely cooperating with a man whose limits of propensity for violence still had to be fathomed.
Glancing over to the auto-fluorescence visual unit on his right, Spock spotted Khan sitting behind the device, back straight as ever, apparently just having finished analysing the latest samples taken from the three freshwater microcosms. It had been Spock himself who had processed the water, producing several filters that had carried stained algae, bacteria and viral particles, waiting to be analysed and counted. He had finished this assignment yesterday, about seven hours ago, in the very late evening. Right before he had left the lab for a short meeting with Kirk and McCoy and five subsequent hours of restless sleep.
He suspected that Khan hadn't allowed himself even that much.
Watching the other entering numbers into their lab data system, Spock felt a tiny pang of concern. „As it is exactly zero six hundred hours and you are already able to produce prevailing viral particle counts, I dare say it is correct to assume that you worked continuously up until now."
„Feel free to catch up with the latest numbers in the lab log." Rising from his chair, the green light shimmering eerily over his face, Kahn vacated the data unit and headed for the seal in the heavy, perfectly opaque curtains through which Spock had just entered. Avoiding physical contact by maybe only an inch, he left the dark room without another word.
Spock stepped over to the de-activated data screen, re-engaged it. A cursory check of the log told him enough. Kahn had been thorough: data on continuous measurements of temperature, light exposure and optical density along with the according figures. Cell counts of algae, bacteria and viral particles were already translated into graphs as well. The detailed work of several hours, several hours *after* they had finished the fastidious work of establishing the experimental set-up.
With the tiny pang having increased to a considerable premonition, Spock turned on his heel and purposefully followed Khan through the curtain back into the part of the lab that most certainly didn't resemble any extra-terrestrial location in its cold, clean and brightly illuminated efficiency. Stopping after only a few steps into the room, Spock waited for his quarry to face him again.
Khan had just been closing one of the cooling units with the gentle push of one knee and was now turning to the closest clean bench, one bottle of slightly opaque, gel-like mass in each hand. As he did, their eyes met briefly, very briefly. And though Spock could not be sure, and he most certainly would never presume so, it might just have been something in his own facial expression that made Kahn stop in mid-movement.
Spock's hard look found the contours of the other's face possibly a little sharper, the planes slightly more hollowed. And if one looked for them, one could discern the faintest of shadows beneath Khan's eyes. Those eyes themselves, though, were bright and alert as they had ever been, almost settling down Spock's concerns completely.
Almost.
He held that gaze a little longer, let the silence between them hang for another moment. Not wanting, for whatever reason, to put the strangely peaceful calm that rode it at risk any sooner than absolutely necessary. "How long has it been now?"
Kahn answered immediately, apparently in no doubt at all about what Spock had been referring to.
Was he truly so easy to read? It was disconcerting.
"Fifty-one hours. I have another twelve in me before the first symptoms of overfatigue will set in."
Another instance of eye contact and Khan turned to the clean bench for good, putting down the bottles of hardened agar on the pristine surface. Spock watched him preparing equipment with measured, efficient movements, feeling keenly how their dealings with each other had…advanced. A few days ago, Khan most certainly would not have refrained from drawing on some sardonic sideswipe about Spock's misgivings. That he had done so just now had spared Spock from reflexively clarifying that all he was concerned about, of course, was Khan's value for the greater cause.
Somewhere along the way they seemed to have developed a certain aptitude and willingness to manoeuver the traps and snares of their enforced collaboration.
When had that happened?
"The petry dishes should be sterilized by now." Khan had not turned, obviously (and correctly) certain of Spock's attention. "Let's share preparing the blood agar plates between us."
There was no grunt work in this fight. Filtering water, the enumeration of cells, re-heating agar and pouring the according plates – Yersinia's lethal efficiency turned each of those routine steps into milestones on their stony path to defeating it.
Single-mindedly, Spock sealed up for the next round in their desperate battle.
"Admiral, bacteriophages occur in aquatic systems, where they infect the present bacterial community in order to multiply. The virus we are looking for will therefore be found by screening the water bodies of this planet."
"Understood, Commander Spock. I still have doubts concerning the considerable number of said water bodies as well as the method of isolating the bacteriophage in question – which seems to be extremely complex and of which we are not entirely sure whether it will be feasible at all."
"Sir, bacteriophages thrive in systems rich with bacterial communities. Due to the most effective and comprehensive defecation concepts of sewage that have been put into action all over the planet with the beginning of the second half of the 21st century, the sources we can draw on today are decidedly more limited than they were during the time phage therapy was introduced. To optimize our prospects, we consequently need to sample only the most polluted water bodies. Therefore, the sheer number of options is actually fairly low."
With a scarcely audible hum, the security barrier closed behind him. Acutely feeling the eyes of his guards on his back, Khan simply remained standing where he was, facing the back wall of his cell. Struggling, and not for the first time, to ignore that inner clock that was constantly reminding him that time was running. Running, running out.
He was very aware that he had pushed himself hard. He knew his mental capacities were only a few shaky steps away from taking a plunge into disintegration. Yet, the ressources for maybe two more hours of efficient work were still there, so the simple truth that there actually was nothing left for them to do at this particular stage of their work seemed like an unbearable waste of resilience and time. Still the fact remained: From now on, they were reduced to wait. No other option but allowing at least one reproductive cycle of the bacterial community in their microcosms to be completed. Depending on age-old genetic programs being in progress right now, doing the work for them.
And do their work they would.
The question was whether the ambient conditions had been set correctly for them to arrive at the necessary outcome.
Khan refocused on the present with a deliberate effort. His gaze settled on the contents of the small table almost right in front of him (maybe a square metre of grey surface, with a single cubic bench in the same colour, neither back- nor arm-rest). The fact that a light, insulated meal was sitting there (white fish, undressed salads, plain drinking yogurt, nuts, water) registered, was immediately dismissed. A fresh set of clothes (loose pants, loose shirt, briefs, socks, all a nondescript greenish grey) was piled on the cot, complete with a tube of liquid soap and a fresh towel (and solely out of self-respect, he would make use of all of it later). The scene was saturated with indifference, with calm, listless daily routine. And for a second, the stark contrast to the crystalline, spinous fear he felt growing with each hour ticking away from his man's life, was choking him.
Still, they were definitely making progress, as well as good time. Not quite meeting the necessary schedule he had calculated, but during the past thirty-six hours, they had caught up considerably. And he could freely acknowledge that the Vulcan's efficient and knowledgable work, a factor he might actually have underestimated, had greatly contributed to that fact.
Since the concentration of viral particles in the microcosms had reached optimum levels this very morning, they had decided to already set up the variations in ambient conditions they had agreed upon. Instead of three large flasks, there now were twelve smaller ones sitting behind the curtains that separated the dark room from their actual lab area, exposed to different temperature, light and nutrition regimens. With this decisive step finished and all further required preparations completed as well, all they now could do was wait and trust the laws of microbial biology.
After one very deliberate exhalation, Khan grabbed the soap, the towel as well as the clothes and moved over to the small bathroom unit.
"Correct me if I am wrong, Commander: If we agree to the course of action you have just outlined, we depend on finding a body of water as contaminated as possible because this ist where the bacteria and therefore the phages are. The water in question will be incubated in some kind of aquarium, exposed to a certain amount of light, a certain temperature and so on. Those parameters will be adjusted, depending on what we think will be most suitable for the yet unknown bacteriophage we are looking for. Is that true so far?"
"Admiral, that is accurate. Regarding the appropriate ambient parameters, we will be following the optimum conditions for Yersinia pestis, assuming that the current mutant does not diverge too far from them."
"Thank you, Mr. Spock. So, we go on from there, allowing the phages to infect a highly enriched bacterial community in the aquarium which will lead to a very concentrated viral community as well. Those diverse phages will subsequently be mixed with Yersinia-cells – and we hope that eventually, with the right ambient conditions set, we will identify that one phage that will infect the current Yersinia strain. Remind us again on how exactly we will know that we actually found the right phage for that particular host."
"Of course, Admiral. As you have outlined, water samples from the microcosms including a quantity of bacteriophages a large as possible will be applied to a dense bacterial lawn of Yersinia pestis on blood agar plates. In the case of the occurrence of a phage-host interaction, infected cells will eventually burst and release more phages. We can identify the spreading infection on the plate by the forming of so-called plaques, circular regions of destruction in the lawn of Yersinia cells."
Spock pushed his lab chair away from the clean bench and carefully leaned against the backrest.
His latest and very diligent screening of twelve blood agar plates for plaques was finished, and not with positive results. Aware of Khan's eyes on the back of his head, he swiveled the chair around with a light push from his foot until they were facing each other through the transparent wall, and gave a slight shake of his head.
There was no need for explanations.
He rose from his seat, carefully gathering the agar plates as he did. Spock covered the distance to the combined autoclave and recycle unit with a few economic steps, neatly bagged the plates and dumped his load into the slot. After carefully closing the opening, he set the unit for several cycles and engaged it.
Partly to rein in his own…disappointment, partly to give Kahn a few moments to do so as well (certainly not scientific procedure, most certainly not logical), he stood in silence as the latest batch of Yersinia-colonies, completely unaffected by the bacteriophages applied to them, was submitted to destruction by heat and pressure. Spock's anticipation had been high for that particular attempt. They had refined the ambient conditions of the microcosms in the dark room to perfection, the subsequent bacterial reproduction had been textbook and viral particles had been on impressive maximum levels when they had sampled the water to inocculate the Yersinia-plates with.
And yet.
Turning from the ARU, Spock moved on to exit the biosafety section, taking off his protective gear and engaging the sanitizing process within the newly installed sluice.
It was not the only addition to their working place that had been implemented during the past two weeks. What once had been a simple lab with a separated service area at the beginning of their collaboration had morphed into a multifaceted scientific unit. Aside from the small room where they were able to pick up and consume a limited selection of simple food and drinks, there was a section for the basic microbiological tasks that did not require higher security levels, like preparing solutions or pouring blood agar plates. For the sake of pragmatics, they were also keeping their data units in there – not strictly according to procedure, but improving effectiveness. Two of their clean benches were now part of the biosafety section of the highest level, completely isolated and solely designated for any work involving Yersinia-cells. The maze of transparent walls that now crossed through their lab had initially been demanding to maneouvre. Yet, for safety reasons that had nothing to do with Yersinia, visibility had been highest priority for the reconstruction. The only section impenetrable for the eyes of Khan's guards was the dark room, currently still set with the latest ambient conditions that had not brought any positive results.
With only one more sanitizing cycle to be executed, Spock finally turned his attention back to the regular section of their lab. Khan was busy at the single clean bench there, preparing fresh solutions for pouring more blood agar plates. Back straight. Eyes forward. Completely focussed.
It had been three weeks now since the deliberate infection of his crewmate. Exactly 16 days since the first symptoms had been detected. The semi-cryo sleep Dr. McCoy had applied as a way of buying the man some time as well as his artificially refined genetics had kept him alive so far, but this was a status that could change any hour now. A fact that Spock was very aware of. And he had not the slightest doubt that Kahn was, too.
And with every failed attempt, with every intact Yersinia-lawn, that imminent death became more tangible. With every hour passing without a positive result, they were rapidly approaching the point when the true and full consequences of having involved Khan would finally become clear.
But not yet. Not now. Now, Spock would settle on what he knew had built and until now carried the strange link that had developed between them.
Professionality. Something he could most definitely handle.
So, when Spock finally stepped out of the sluice, he addressed Kahn immediately. Determined to connect while, at the same time, avoiding the pitfalls that lay beyond the mere scientific problem.
"We have exhausted the potential of adjusting the ambient conditions in its entirety. There are no more options open in that particular field."
"Agreed." Khan closed the last of the flasks now filled with opaque liquid and put them on magnet disks, turning on the agitators in each of them. Rising to put ingredients back on shelves, into cupboards and cooling units, he gave Spock a short nod. "Our equation here consists of a few terms only. If optimizing the conditions will not do it, there's only one parameter left for adaptation."
"Yet it will prove difficult to find a more extensively polluted waterbody", Spock moved over to the cleanbench, picked up the remaining two bottles of sterilized water and joined Khan at the cooling unit. For a few moments, they shelved glassware in complete silence, side by side. Had it not been for the severe disappointment that was riding these moments after another failure, he would have found the situation almost…peaceful.
"It is not necessarily a higher pollution in general we are looking for", Khan was the first to pick up their discussion, "but a more specific source."
"I was under the impression that only the highest bacterial diversity possible would result in the highest probabilty to identify and isolate a matching bacteriophage." Knowing that the short moment of calm was over, Spock closed the cooling unit's door. He reached for a container of sanitizer, walked back to the clean bench and liberally sprayed the surface Khan had used for preparing the blood agar solutions. "So, could you clarify the meaning of 'more specific' in this particular case?"
Khan, who had squatted down to retrieve a package of fresh petri dishes from a low closet, was just rising again. "I mean it quite literally, Mr. Spock." Watching him moving over to the autoclave and subjecting the dishes to several sterilizing cycles, Spock philosophically prepared to wait for further elaboration. During the past weeks, he had accustomed himself to the suggestions and half-explanations Khan floated more often than not. He had also learned that generally, not reacting at all was an effective way of conveying that he did not at all intend to engage in question-answer-games. It was a tacit agreement of communication that worked for both of them. In the majority of cases, more detailed information was delivered eventually. For quite some time now even without caustic undercurrents.
Khan turned back from the machine to face him. "We have not been able to find a phage with Yersinia as a matching host in the water we have so far used as a source. All of our carefully refinements of ambient conditions notwithstanding. There is a reason for that."
Ready to resume the conversation now that Khan obvisouly had condescended to continue the discussion on equal terms, Spock willingly contributed his own thoughts on that particular problem. "The phages in the water samples are perfectly adapted to the respective bacterial community. The fact that it is not possible to identify a matching phage could therefore be due to Yersinia's absence from said bacterial community."
Slightly inclining his head, Khan settled back against the autoclave. "Again, agreed. No phage community will adapt to a bacterial host that ist not there. So, in order to find one including a virus able to infect Yersinia, we need to look somewhere more specific."
"We need to go where Yersinia already is."
"We do indeed, Mr. Spock."
Watching Dr. McCoy removing his protective suit, Spock blocked out any thought about the numberless people that were struggling for their lives behind the one solid wall that held the decontamination sluice the doctor occupied right now. Spock knew that the remaining area of what had once been a production hall for ship components (sea, not space) was devided by canvasses into countless small compartmens that each contained two makeshift hospital beds. Medical equipment was limited to what was strictly necessary, personell was understaffed and overworked, the air was thick and sticky. It was where patients with no chance for recuperation were transferred to from the entirely overwhelmed hospitals, to make room for those whose medical status was not quite as disastrous. Yet.
It was one of the emergency infrastructures, basically conjured up out of nothing because of sheer necessity, that physicians like McCoy were regularly frequenting for a few hours per day. To somehow ensure that even those who would not be saved from dying received at least a certain level of medical service. To tip the scales of the cruelty of triage, however remotely, in favor of morality.
With a distinct hiss, the sluice opened.
"Spock." The surprise riding McCoy's tired voice was clearly audible. "Shouldn't you still be busy terrorist-sitting?"
He couldn't detect real venom behind those words, so Spock didn't even deign a rised eyebrow at them. "I would not have interrupted your work had it not been for a matter of utmost urgency, Doctor. It is absolutely imperative that I am granted immediate access to the disposal system of feaces of this facility."
"No shit?" This time, the short question was dripping sarcasm. "Why don't I get you a pair of good old chest waders to go with the peg for your nose while I show you the way?"
Spock did not raise to the bait. "I do not intend to actually get in contact with the contents, Doctor. I do, however, require help sampling the fluids as well as transporting them back to our lab. And since time is of the essence, I would very much appreciate your undelayed support."
"Good God. You really mean it." It was not hard to identify the look on McCoy's face as mere incredulity. For a few seconds, Spock watched him simply stare. "All right. Before I take part in anything only remotely involving sticking things in piss and excrements, I want to know why."
"The sanitizing treatment of sewage in regular hospitals is highly effective and it takes place immediately." Spock caught himself more or less repeating Khan's reasoning from only an hour ago, and found that he didn't care. "Emergency establishments, on the other hand, were implemented only with very basic disposal systems due to very plausible reasons. Untreated sewage is collected in large storage tanks which are eventually transported to a wastewater treatment plant. We…"
"I understand that the higher the bacterial load of your water samples, the better the chances for finding a suitable phage." Interrupted by the Doctor's comment, Spock paused. Watching him intently, Doctor McCoy went on. "You are aware of the risk here? Yes, the sewage in those tanks might be the most polluted water body on the entire planet. But it must also be ripe with a thriving Yersinia pestis community…"
McCoy's voice trailed of.
Not saying anything, Spock allowed him to arrive at the necessary conclusions on his own. Only when he saw the final understanding in McCoy's eyes did he go on.
"The water from those tanks will be a very valuable source for our current work. I have several sterilized flasks with me and it should be absolutely sufficient to fill three of them. It is also not expected that you assist personally, Doctor. But I would very much appreciate your general support and maybe the help of one of your nurses for not more than twenty minutes."
Doctor McCoy already reached for his communicator. "You got it."