White Death (NUMA Files 4)

"Too bad you haven't been able to catch any."

"Oh, I never said that. Come, I'll show you."

Throckmorton led the way through the "dry lab," where the com- puters and other electrical equipment were kept high and dry, and into the "wet lab," basically a small space with sinks, running water, tanks and table space used for the damp pursuits such as carving up speci- rnens for investigation. He donned a pair of gloves and reached into an oversized cooler. With a hand from the Trouts, he pulled out the frozen carcass of a salmon about four feet long and placed it on a table. "That's similar to the fish we caught," Paul said, bending low to inspect the pale-white scales.

"We would have liked to keep this specimen alive, but it was im- possible. He tore the net apart and would have devoured the rest of the ship if he lived long enough."

"Now that you've seen one of these things up close, what are your conclusions?" Gamay said.

Throckmorton took a deep breath and puffed out his plump cheeks. "It's as I feared. Judging from his unusual physical size, I'd say he's definitely a genetically modified salmon. A lab-produced mutant, in other words. It's the same species as the one I showed you in my lab."

"But your fish was smaller and more normal-looking."

Throckmorton nodded. "They were both programmed with growth genes, I'd venture, but where my experiment was kept under control, there seems to have been no effort to restrain size with this fellow. It's almost as if s

omeone wanted to see what would happen. But size and ferociousness led to its downfall. Once these creatures destroyed and replaced the natural stocks, they turned on each other." "They were too hungry to breed, in other words?"

"That's possible. Or this design may simply have had a problem adapting to the wild, in the same way a big tree would be uprooted in a storm while a straggly little scrub pine survives. Nature tends to cull out mutants that don't fit into the scheme of things."

"There's another possibility," Gamay said. "I think Dr. Barker said something about producing neutered biofish so they couldn't breed."

"Yes, that's entirely possible, but it would involve some sophisti- cated bioengineering."

"What's next for your survey?" Paul said.

"We'll see what we can catch over the next few days, then I'll bring this specimen and anything else I catch back to Montreal, where we can map the genes. I may be able to match it up with some of the stuff

I have in the computers. Maybe we can figure out who designed it." "Is that possible?"

"Oh, sure. A genetic program is almost as good as a signature. I sent Dr. Barker a message telling him what I found. Frederick is a whiz at this sort of thing."

"You speak very highly of him," Paul said.

"He's brilliant, as I said before. I only wish that he weren't affili- ated with a commercial venture."

"Speaking of commercial ventures, we heard there's a fish- processing plant of some sort up the coast. Could they have had any- thing to do with this?"

"In what way?"

"I don't know. Pollution, maybe. Like those two-headed frogs they sometimes find in contaminated waters."

"Interesting premise, but unlikely. You might see some deformed fish or fish kills, but this monster is no accident. And we would have seen deformities in other species, which doesn't seem to have been the case. Tell you what, though. We'll motor out and anchor for the night near the fish plant and make a few sets with the net in the morning. How long can you stay on board?"

"As long as you can stand us," Paul said. "We don't want to im- pose."

"No imposition at all." He put the salmon back into the cooler. "You may decide to cut your stay short after you see your cabin."

The cabin was slightly bigger than the two up-and-down bunks it contained. After Throckmorton left them to get settled, Paul tried to ease his six-foot-eight length into the lower bunk, but his legs hung over the side.

"I've been thinking about what Dr. Throckmorton told us," Gamay said, trying the mattress on top. "Suppose you were Dr. Barker and you were working for Oceanus on this biofish thing. Would you want anyone testing genetic material that could be traced to your doorstep?"

"Nope. Judging from our own experience, Oceanus is ruthless when it comes to snoops."

"Any suggestions?"

"Sure. We could suggest that Throckmorton find another location to anchor for the night. Fake a toothache, or make some other ex- cuse.

"You don't really want to do that, do you?"