“Cheetos,” Dr. Chen said, turning the bag over in his hands like a rare artifact. “Never thought I could be so grateful for junk food.”
Jeff Trinley of Bactofuels then passed a bag of Doritos to Christina.
“It’s the best I can do at the moment,” Trinley said as he stepped out of the golf cart he drove to UCLA. “Goodies from my private hoard at the office. I’m almost out, though. Pretty soon I’ll have to figure out how to get some of that government slop they’re dropping from the skies.”
To Christina’s amazement, Trinley actually smiled at her. Her demonstrated success with his pet project must have won him over.
“You can’t leave the cart out here,” she said. “Someone will steal it.”
Trinley tapped the roof of the car. “Solar panel,” he said. “Without a recharge I might not make it back.”
“Without a car you’ll have an even harder time getting back,” Dr. Chen said. “We’ll prop the double doors open for you; looks like this thing will fit in the lobby.”
“As you wish, Robert. This is your turf.”
Trinley rolled the quiet electric vehicle into the research building and tucked it off to one side as best he could. Dr. Chen locked the doors behind them.
“On a sunny day like this—“
The professor’s sentence was cut off, and Christina reached out to the wall for support. A tremor wobbled the floor beneath their feet in an uneasy rhythm. The degree of movement seemed about the same as with the earlier quake, but this quake lasted a little longer. No one spoke until it subsided.
“Did you feel the one yesterday?” Trinley asked.
“We did,” Dr. Chen replied. “Must be an earthquake swarm.”
“I hope it isn’t a portent of things to come. We’ve got enough problems,” Trinley said. “I’m taking the stairs, just in case.”
They all agreed on this precaution and traipsed up to the Bioenergy Institute floor together. Christina’s heart fluttered with excitement. Two earthquakes! She couldn’t believe Trinley and Dr. Chen were so calm. In the Midwest where she grew up, earthquakes were thought to be terrifying events of mythic proportions.
Not always, I guess.
Still, she’d lived in L.A. for two years and never felt the ground shake. Why was it happening now, of all times?
“Where’d you get the golf cart, Jeff?” Dr. Chen asked as they entered the lab. “It’s worth its weight in gold just now.”
“From the Rancho Park municipal course, courtesy of the mayor’s office,” Trinley replied. “Bactofuels alerted the mayor that we may soon be in a position to offer him a solution to the fuel crisis, and he offered us his unconditional support.”
“Excuse me?” Christina said. Her chips and lab keys clattered as she tossed them on her desk in amazement. “You told him what?”
Trinley fixed his eyes on her. “I told him, my dear, the same thing you told your boss.”
“All I reported was encouraging findings with the isobutanol production. We’re far from a ‘solution,’ as you put it. Even if we could do large-scale production of the fuel—which we can’t—most ordinary cars can’t use it without modifying their engines.”
Trinley waved his hand. “So we dressed the news up a bit. The point is, Bactofuels is closer to a solution than anybody else, and any help we get brings us closer still. Hence the use of an electric vehicle to advance our cause.”
Christina rolled her eyes, and Dr. Chen joined in her criticism.
“More than a little premature, Jeff,” he said, “and you’re wrong about being closer to an answer than anyone else. I have an extract of a chemical that kills the petroplague.”
“You’re still working on that?” Trinley asked in an accusing tone. “I thought we agreed—“
“I agreed to pursue the photosynthetic E. coli project to the best of my ability,” Dr. Chen said, “and I have, with the able assistance of my graduate student. But one can’t work on a single project twenty-four hours a day. There’s down time, incubations and such. I was still able to search for an antibiotic against Syntrophus.”
“And you found one?”
“I did.”
Trinley’s expression darkened. “Bactofuels is not happy about this, Robert. Remember, we’re funding you for one hundred percent effort on our project, not on some pet idea of yours.”
“I would hardly call a cure for this petroplague a ‘pet idea,’” Christina said, incensed by Trinley’s comment. “How can you possibly argue that Dr. Chen’s time wasn’t well-spent?”
“Because I’m paying the bills, and I didn’t hire a student,” Trinley said, lacing his last word with disgust.
Christina felt her face flush. Trinley turned to Dr. Chen and continued. “Besides, Robert, there’s another issue here. The petroplague is a tragedy, yes, but it’s also an opportunity. An opportunity to wean ourselves from oil once and for all. As long as oil is cheap, environmentally friendly alternatives can’t compete in the marketplace. But if the price of oil goes up—which it has, of course, in the last few days—biofuels, and solar, and wind, and all the other renewable energy technologies out there will finally be adopted on a large scale. Think of the environmental benefits.”
“And the financial benefits for you and your company,” Dr. Chen said, his eyes hard. “I’d like to see carbon-neutral energy production as much as you, but I don’t believe catastrophic destruction of the petroleum supply is a good way to reach that goal.”
The two men glared at each other for a moment while Christina held her breath. Trinley backed off.
“Fine,” he snapped. “When I make my next report to the mayor, I’ll tell him about your antibiotic.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Dr. Chen said. “When I have enough data, I’ll contact the authorities myself.”
Trinley nodded. “Is my sample of isobutanol ready to take for analysis?”
“I have it,” Christina said.
“While you’re at it, give me a sample of your new antibiotic producer. Bactofuels may be able to help you with the research, as a charitable contribution to the common welfare,” Trinley said.
Chen ignored Trinley’s sarcastic tone and took him at his word. “I’d appreciate that. Chrissy, would you mind preparing some vials for Mr. Trinley?”
“Sure, Dr. Chen.”
Chen departed for his office, and Christina headed for a distant corner of the lab where the liquid nitrogen storage tanks were kept. To her irritation, Trinley followed her.
“You keep your stocks back here?” he said as they approached the tanks, which looked like squared-off beer kegs on wheels.
“The ones in active use are in the incubator over there,” she gestured, “but you’ll need a frozen stock for transport.”
She donned a pair of oversized thermal gloves and unscrewed the top of one of the two tanks. Odorless white smoke spilled from the opening and drifted to the floor.
“What is that?” Trinley said.
“Nitrogen gas,” she replied. “The specimens in the tanks are frozen in liquid nitrogen, at more than three hundred degrees below zero. When I open the lid, the nitrogen immediately starts to boil.”
With her hands protected from the extreme cold, Christina lifted out a slender metal sleeve with eight small plastic tubes snapped to it. She popped two of them free and dropped them in a Styrofoam container of dry ice, then returned the sleeve to the subfreezing liquid and sealed the tank.
“You have any others stored around the lab?” Trinley asked.
“No, everything is in these tanks. But your isobutanol sample is in another room. I’ll go get it.”
“I’ll wait.”
Christina left the room, eager to get away from him. After he heard about the antibiotic research, his frosty, condescending attitude came back. Considering the progress she’d made on his photosynthetic E. coli project, she expected better. But at least he hadn’t blatantly insulted her again.
She found the samples for Bactofuels and packaged them for the trip to the company lab. Then she returned to her desk.
Trinley wasn’t there. Just as she started to get annoyed, he appeared.
He snatched the container from Christina’s hand. “Tell Chen I’ll be in touch.”
“You’re welcome,” she said as Trinley turned his back to her and walked away. If he heard, he didn’t react.
Prick, she thought, opening the bag of Doritos he’d brought. She’d had little to eat for days. The salty, crunchy snack was so satisfying that she temporarily forgave the Bactofuels rep his discourtesy.