“And frustrating as well,” he said.
“In what way, Dr. Mayhew?”
“Scientists searched for another twenty years for a whole sponge without success. Then someone had a brainstorm: why not dive deeper and find the sponge’s true habitat? On the first dive, they found enough sponges to support years of research. The scientists had been looking for the sponge in places where other stuff was growing. Their sponge grew at a depth of a thousand feet, where the bottom was practically bare.”
“Did you use the same search procedure for the sea star?” Gamay asked.
“Essentially. We found fragments of an unknown specimen not far from the Harbor Branch dives, did a habitat profile, and, as that TV chef says, Bam! We found whole sponges that also contained the cancer-killing chemical.”
“Does the star’s potential live up to its beauty?” she asked.
“The Harbor Branch specimen produced a chemical dozens of times more potent than the most powerful drug. The star is almost twice that strong.”
“Do I detect a note of smugness in your voice, Dr. Mayhew?”
The scientist widened his mouth in a smile that for once did not look pasted on his face.
“We’ve got a long slog ahead of us before we can license the chemical to a pharmaceutical company, which would take the compound through clinical tests. We have to find a way to produce the chemical in quantity. Harvesting sponges in the wild isn’t feasible economically or ecologically.”
“I’m sure you’ve looked into raising sponges through aquaculture,” Gamay said.
“We’re researching that possibility. Better still would be culturing the microorganisms that produce the chemical. That would support our ultimate goal of synthesizing the chemical for wider distribution.” He shrugged. “First, we have to figure out how it works.”
“You have your job cut out for you, Dr. Mayhew.”
“True, but the potential rewards are mind-boggling. Ocean biomedicine is expected to be the greatest source of pharmaceuticals in the future.”
Gamay cast her eyes around the lab.
“What’s in the other tanks?” she asked.
“More sponges, different varieties. Each specimen has its own chemical characteristics. We’re looking at cures for a host of human ailments. For instance, we’ve got corals that produce potential antibacterial and antiviral agents, and painkillers many times more powerful than morphine but without addictive qualities. The possibilities are endless.”
Mayhew attempted to move the tour along.
“I’m a bit puzzled,” Gamay said, subtly resisting the push of his guiding hand. “I’m sure I read on your website that you were doing research on other invertebrates. I haven’t seen any species of Cnidaria.”
The question seemed to catch Mayhew by surprise. He dropped his hand from her elbow and glanced reflexively at the door to a walled-off section of the lab.
“Jellyfish? Well . . .”
Mayhew may have been an accomplished scientist, but he was an amateur at cloak-and-dagger. Gamay’s eyes followed the direction of his revealing glance, and she gave him her most charming smile. Taking him by the arm, she urged him toward the door.
“I’ll bet you forgot,” she said.
“It’s not that,” he said. “It’s . . . We don’t like to disturb them.” He was folding under her unrelenting gaze. “Well, I suppose it won’t do any harm.”
He opened the door and ushered Gamay into a room that was dark except for the light emanating from a tall, cylindrical transparent plastic tank four feet across and eight feet high.
The light came from a dozen or so jellyfish, each about the size of a cabbage, that glowed with pulsating blue lights. They were in constant motion, moving from the bottom to the top of the tank in a graceful, hypnotic underwater dance.
A figure on a ladder, bending over the top of the tank, turned toward their interruption. The unearthly light revealed the face of Dr. Bennett, the toxicologist. She opened her mouth in surprise.
“Dr. Mayhew, I didn’t expect-”
“I leaned on Dr. Mayhew to show me this part of the lab,” Gamay explained. “I hope I’m not disturbing you.”
Bennett glanced at Mayhew, who gave her a nod.