Professor Jeff Wilson, head of the archeological department,
burst into the room, startling Professor Johnson. Johnson, head of the biology
department, looked up from his computer screen into the wild eyes of his associate.
The man with whom he had been working with for so long was scarcely
recognizable.
“Oh God,” Wilson exclaimed. “It’s too much!” For lack of
words or comprehension, Johnson could only stare at the maniacally excited man
who strode about his office and rambled on without uttering a coherent thought.
“It’s all so clear now! It all ties together! Sunshine and
pizza and dogs barking at the moon. It all makes sense! Every shred of it all
pieces together.”
Johnson stood aghast as Professor Wilson prattled on
hysterically about baby rattles and daggers, a movie he had seen in his youth
about a giant gorilla and the interrelatedness of time and space. He spoke of
inanities, yet Wilson could not help but see a certain light in the other’s
eyes. He spoke madness, but he radiated vision. It was a disturbing
incongriguity.
Wilson’s excitedness was such that Johnson was tempted to
try to make sense of what he said. “Calm down,” Johnson said, “and try to tell
me what you’re talking about.”
Forcing himself towards some sort of calmness, Wilson sat in
the chair next to Johnson’s desk. He paused in his ramblings, and with a
noticeable effort, tried to convey the revelations dancing in his head.
“There are no words,” he said at last. “It’s too big. Too
grand. It’s life, it’s everything. And, and…”
Johnson had always known his friend to be a dispassionate
sort of man. The only time he ever saw him excited was at the moment of
discovery, and Johnson could only assume that this was the case now. They had
been working for a while now on a project together. A unique bacteria was found
within the body of a centuries dead mummy. Within a tomb laid hidden beneath
the earth for countless ages, was this reminder of a civilization long turned
to dust. Yet in that tomb this bacteria survived. It was alive. Despite the
centuries and the death of all that surrounded it, this speck of live somehow
survived. It was this find that came to involve Johnson. And it was this find,
even more than the discovery of an unspoiled tomb, that had excited Wilson. It
was a living clue for both professors, a way of bringing the past into the
present.
Johnson looked back up at his now stuttering companion and
knew what he had done. This bacteria was unlike any known to biological
science. To know more about it had become both men’s life work. Because of a
need to know more that transcended mere professional curiosity, Wilson had
infected himself. He had become the host of an unknown organism in order to
understand what countless white mice had been made to know; mice that did not
die but were never again what they were.
“You’ve done it, haven’t you?”
Wilson nodded his assent forcefully. It was as though he
wished to communicate his thoughts, to make himself known. But every time he
spoke, a stream of meaningless babble erupted from his mouth. Frustrated by his
inability to communicate but still exhibiting the same inner fire, Wilson
leaped from his chair and left the room.
By the time Johnson thought to go after him, Wilson was out
of sight. Johnson headed toward the one place where he thought his friend might
go—the laboratory where the bacteria was kept. He rushed to the lab, but found
nobody there. He was alone with the bottle sitting on the table where Wilson
had left it. He looked at the bottle and slowly the realization of what he
would do came over him. A scientist’s first rule is objectivity: he must
distance himself from whatever it is he is studying. But a scientist’s first
love is to know, and love knows no rules. He scrambled around until he found a
pen and paper, and began scribbling on the paper the last lucid thoughts he may
ever know in his life.
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