Dark Blood

It was well past midnight when Albert Nachtman switched off the DNA sequencer in his home lab. He’d inserted samples of his own blood into the machine and had been using it to try and determine the DNA code of the plasmids infecting his bloodstream that caused his Vampyre symptoms. After many tries and hundreds of hours of work, the machine had finally succeeded in the identification.

I have finally made a significant breakthrough in my research into the causes of Vampyrism. The DNA sequencer has identified the plasmids coursing through my blood as belonging to the so-called F-like plasmids, which are relatives of the prototypic fertility factor, F. Plasmids replicate by conjugation, or splitting apart. The good news is that in their wild form, the F-type plasmids’ ability to conjugate is repressed; that is, only about one out of a thousand of the F-type plasmids are able to conjugate and reproduce. In theory, this should make them easier to control once I’ve been able to synthesize some sort of repressor for conjugative DNA transfer.

Researching the Internet, especially the work of Dr. Bartholomew Wingate at McGill University, I found that in the F-type plasmids, gene 19 is the one that regulates fertility and conjugation. His papers speak of work on an antisense RNA, called FinP (fin: fertility inhibition), which, in conjunction with the protein FinO, might constitute a repressor for conjugative DNA transfer and thus stop the propagation of plasmids in my bloodstream.

Whether or not Bartholomew has achieved this synthesis of FinP and FinO yet is not indicated in his published work, nor is the question of whether it will work on F-type plasmids addressed.

I have been debating whether to call him directly for the answers, but that would pose problems of how to explain my situation without exposing myself to detection by the authorities.

He checked his watch. It was too late to go hunting for the Ripper. If he was on the prowl tonight, he’d probably already chosen his victim and was somewhere he couldn’t be found. Albert knew full well the Ripper’s need for privacy when he fed, for he’d faced the same situations many times himself.

“Dumdums are soft-nosed bullets with hollow points that expand when they hit. They’ll leave a hole in flesh and blood you can put your fist through. Glasers are like little shotgun shells. The slugs are hollow and contain dozens of small pellets floating in liquid Teflon. They’re not very good against bulletproof vests, but they’re hell on flesh and blood. When they hit, the nose opens up and sends all the little lead shot spreading out in a cone-shaped path of destruction. Afterward, it looks like the target was put through a meat grinder.”

Shooter’s face became sober. “You didn’t see what that son of a bitch did to my friend Sherry or those SWAT team men who got in his way,” he said grimly. “And, Sam, I need to remind you we’re not exactly hunting a man here. From all accounts, Niemann is more like a wild animal than a human—”

Sam glanced at TJ, but didn’t say anything about her going off on her own. “Not too well. With Tulane School of Medicine here and the large number of private clinics, there have been over two hundred doctors in and out of town in the past three months, and that’s not counting the ones who didn’t join the medical society.”