Randy White - Dead of Night

The flask also contained guinea larvae. Which was why I was wearing surgical gloves and a face shield.

Clark said, “I have a list of pesticides. Can I read it off first?”

I was still looking at the flask. “Sure. I’ll work while we talk.”

I’d used a pipette to fill twin concave chambers in a glass microscope slide. One chamber contained a dozen swimming, darting copepods. The second indentation, only water.

The slide was mounted on the microscope’s illuminated stage. I rotated the trinocular to medium power as Clark began to read from his list of pesticides:

“We’re considering Abate, active ingredient temephos. It’s an organophosphate, the same chemical group as nerve gas. Abate inhibits neural function. Even in small amounts, it’s deadly to mosquito larvae and copepods-only an ounce or so per acre of water. But it also impacts aquatic invertebrates, and fish. It’s currently in use in many regions of the south…”

“Impact.” Add yet another euphemism for “kill.”

As he continued reading, my attention began to blur as the magnified image of a copepod came into focus.

Hello, Macro Cyclops. The copepod is named for its bright and solitary red eye. Cyclops: A micromonster that feeds on other monsters.

Its body was rocket-shaped with an elegant V-tail, and a nose tipped with oversized antenna that drooped like a handlebar mustache. Its shell, or carapace, was segmented like a lobster, but translucent so that it emitted prismatic bands of color when transected by light.

This one was female. Symmetrical egg panels were attached like fins. It added to the illusion that this was a space vehicle, not one of the earth’s most abundant life-forms.

Many people say they perceive the magnitude of the cosmos when they look at the stars. I see the same infinite complexities through a microscope’s tube, and usually in better detail.

The Leica had superb resolution, and a rheostat-controlled halogen illumination system that transformed this tiny organism into a three-dimensional animal that moved… paused… shifted directions. It appeared no less complex, nor vital, than the largest animal that has ever walked the planet.

I rotated the trinocular to its highest power, touching the fine-focus coaxial as I listened to Dr. Clark say, “… the third chemical we’re considering is Dylox, active ingredient trichlorfon, which is used to control insect pests on fruit trees and ornamentals

…”

I looked up briefly, adjusting the phone between shoulder and ear. Had I missed the second pesticide on the list? Apparently.

I leaned over the microscope once again.

The copepod’s translucent abdominal cavity now filled the lens, and I toyed with the focus as I listened to Clark. I was far more interested in this tiny crustacean, now magnified five hundred times. Because the animal’s carapace was translucent, I could look into its stomach and see that it did not contain a Dracunculiasis nymph. There was no mistaking the nymph’s bristling, dragon-toothed head.

There were bits of phytoplankton. There were fecal pellets in its lower gut. But, after spending an hour in water that contained guinea larvae, and, over a three-day period, this copepod had not fed on what should have been a preferred food source.

Amazing. Yes. I’d stumbled onto something important. Maybe. Predators that did not attack easy prey.

I no longer considered the behavior anomalous.

That’s what I’d been doing for the last few days. Selecting copepods that refused to feed on the parasites. Each time I repeated the procedure, the percentage of nonfeeders increased.

Seeing this crustacean’s empty belly pleased me. I’d seen many similar empty bellies during the course of the morning.

I shifted to low power, then used a curved probe to herd the copepod into its own personal chamber. Treated it as a hero, as I did the other nonfeeders.

After hearing Clark say, “The eighth chemical we’re considering is Dimilin, a new generation of pesticides that was developed to mimic natural-” I interrupted.

“Dr. Clark? There may be a better way to deal with this. To disrupt the parasite’s life cycle without using pesticides.”

Still sounding fatigued, Clark said, “Dr. Ford, if you have a method that doesn’t include poisoning every living creature in the Everglades, I will personally see that you get some type of medal. Even if I have to make it myself.”

The man’s field wasn’t aquaculture, but he was quick and perceptive.

I told him that the life cycle of a copepod is so brief (only a week or two) that it might be possible, through selective breeding, to quickly reshape the crustacean’s genetically coded behaviors.

“I think we can culture a hybrid copepod that doesn’t recognize guinea worm larvae as food. If the larvae’s not eaten, the parasite never matures, so it can’t reproduce. From the results I’ve been getting, I don’t think it would take us that long.”

Copepods do nothing but eat and reproduce, I explained. In a week, using only a five-gallon bucket, millions of hybrids could be raised. Make it the primary function of an aquaculture facility and billons could be hatched in a month, trillions in a year. Get the Water Management people to re-create drought conditions to reduce the number of water spaces. Hybrids would soon dominate the state’s native copepod population, passing their selected genetic traits into the future.

It wasn’t a perfect solution. The results wouldn’t be immediate. But it might reduce the parasite’s numbers steadily, maybe dramatically.

“I haven’t figured a quick way to disperse them through the water system,” I said. “That could be a problem. Massive distribution. But this could work…”

I stopped. Felt a chill because something had just popped into my mind. I did know how to find the fast way to spread parasites through the state’s water system. I’d known for days.

“Dr. Ford…? Ford? Are you there?”

I said, “Yep, I’m here-although I wonder sometimes. Dr. Clark, you’ve been talking to an imbecile. I have information you need to write down.”

I told Clark to contact the FBI immediately. Have agents check out Jobe Applebee’s elaborate diorama. Get the pumps going, then use different colored dyes to trace which miniature lakes are attached to what underground conduits, and which currents are swiftest.

I added, “Tell them to start with the two lakes where you found the guinea larvae. A drop of dye in each. I hope I’m wrong. But I don’t think I am. Track where that water goes. That’s where you’re going to find more guinea worms.”

LOG

17 Dec. Friday, Sunset 17:39

Planets nearing conjunction

Mercury sets: 18:41 EST

Venus: 18:52

Mars: 18:53

Jupiter: 20:32

Saturn: 21:03

Uranus: (?)

Neptune: transits 00:32

Phone interviews w/ FBI, then EPA amp; Dept. of Agri. biologists. E-mailed notes on copepod procedure to Tallahassee.

Marina Xmas party tonight.

– MDF

Friday afternoon, only two days before I was scheduled to fly to Iowa for the holidays, I went clattering down the wooden, water-slick steps of my house, rushing to get aboard the nineteen-foot Aquasport that one of the guides had loaned me.

I’d towed my Maverick into Fort Myers Marine to have the hull inspected. A strange feeling, being boatless.

Because I was in a hurry, I was tempted to pretend I didn’t hear when a woman’s voice called, “Hey there, Ford! Doc? I was just coming to knock on your door.”

I recognized the voice but couldn’t place it immediately. It didn’t belong to the short list of females who visit regularly. I grabbed an overhead beam to slow my momentum, turned to look, and there stood the investigator from the Bartram County Medical Examiner’s Office. Despite an intense evening together, her last name returned to memory slightly in advance of her first name.