Star Wars_ The Black Fleet Crisis 03_ Tyrant's Test - Michael P. Kube-McDowell [77]
“That’s on the high side, isn’t it?” asked Drayson, settling on a small padded bench nearby. “Go on.”
“Yes, it is. But that’s the smaller part of the whole,” she said. “This species has two other kinds of genetic material as well, in two different structures located in two different parts of their bodies.
“I call them code capsules, because they’re encapsulated in a solid protein coat. There are billions of these capsules in that carcass. I almost mistook them for a massive parasitic infection—that’s why I started looking at them in the first place.”
“How big are the capsules?”
“Big. About the size of the biggest crystals of silicon dioxide out on your beach,” she said. “But the same oval shape as the creature’s torso. It took me five hours just to figure out how to extract them from their tubules and break through the protein coat without destroying the contents. The contents turned out to be nearly solid genetic material.” She gestured at the datacards. “Your DNA and mine together wouldn’t fill one of those. I barely got the creature’s genome to fit on three of them.”
Drayson stared down at the objects in his hand. “This is one copy? I thought you were doing the triplicate thing.”
“One copy. As near as I could tell, almost five percent of the creature’s body weight is genetic material. That’s unprecedented.”
“What does it need with all that?”
“That’s a good question,” she said. “I don’t know. I do know that it’s far more than information theory says would be necessary to specify and construct a organism of the size and complexity of the one you brought me.”
“How much more?”
She squinted as she thought. “Maybe two hundred times too much.”
“Which means what?”
“I don’t know,” she said with a shrug. “The context is missing. Maybe when your team reports—”
“Speculate, please.”
Eicroth frowned. “Well, there’s a lot of old biological history in our chromosomes, in the form of inactive genes. Maybe this is something similar, but covering a much longer history or a more convoluted evolutionary path.”
“Any other ideas?”
“One kind of weird one,” she said, showing a self-effacing smile. “Maybe it’s because I started off with the idea that these code capsules were parasites, but I keep wondering what good they are to the organism itself. The protein coat just about ensures that they’re inert. I also wonder how they’re passed on to offspring. The virus analogy is tempting—likewise for mitochondria.”
“If you had to guess—”
“If I had to guess, I’d say it almost looks like this species carries a giant catalog of spare genetic blueprints around inside itself.”
“Blueprints for what?”
“I don’t know. There’s a kinship in the genetic sequences—something recognizable as kin, anyway. Biochemically, there’d be a family resemblance.”
“What about the analogy to the Fw’Sen?” Drayson asked. “Don’t they mate only once, before they’re sexually mature?”
“You mean, could these be retained fertilized eggs? I don’t think so. The capsule tubules are completely separate from the somatic-cell reproductive anatomy.” She shook her head. “It’s very odd, and I don’t pretend to understand it.”
Nodding, Drayson stood. “I have to go do something with this,” he said, holding up the datacards. “Will you stay?”
Her smile brightened. “If my boss is willing to wait a little longer for the results of the dissection.”
“I’ll have a word with him,” Drayson said. “Look, I’ll be downstairs for a little while with this—get yourself something to eat if you haven’t had a chance.”
“When’s the last time you ate?”
He shook his head. “I’ve had no appetite.”
Eicroth knew better than to ask the reason. “I’ll see if I can find something for two,” she said, reaching for his hand and giving it a squeeze. “Come on back up when you can.”
The instant that Lady Luck left hyperspace, its slave circuits relinquished control.
“That isn’t supposed to happen,” Pakkpekatt said, showing teeth and hissing.
His companion on the yacht’s flight deck was Bijo Hammax. “What’s supposed to happen?”
Agent Pleck appeared at the hatchway. “The usual