During a public tour of the foundation’s facilities given one afternoon to a handful of visitors, a postdoctoral fellow in cellular biology, Dr. Harold Hoops, demonstrates the massive instrument. The object of the demonstration is a cross section of a sample of
Cilia flagella
, a microorganism which is, as Hoops put it, “a plant which thinks it’s an animal.”
Cilia flagella
is grown in the labs at the foundation by scientists because its cellular makeup closely resembles human cells, yet it is far less expensive to whip up and study a batch of microflora than it is to obtain and study human cells. It also has a hair-like structure which is easy to observe, Hoops explains. A drawing of the microorganism resembles a grape with a long, skinny tail.
As Hoops explains the function of the electron microscope, he passes around the slide on which the specimen is placed. This is the visitor’s first encounter with the dynamics of size associated with this kind of work. The specimen is mounted on a metal grid in the slide which is permeated with hundreds of holes. The diameter of the grid is almost exactly the diameter of the character “o” printed on this page; it has about three hundred holes per inch. The specimen placed on this grid appears as a barely perceptible mote of dust, so tiny that even when the slide is held up to the light it is practically invisible.
Hoops slips the slide with the grid and specimen into a slot halfway up the trunk of the microscope, then briefly works the pushbutton controls on the console until the image appears on the microscope’s screen, a small oval surface behind a Plexiglass cover. He then adjusts the magnifier, which is much like a conventional microscope, until he is able to make out the
Cilia flagella
. Then he lets his visitors peer through the lens.
Now the dust mote has expanded to the apparent size of a small discus, magnified one-half million times by the microscope. What is seen is a roughly oval-shaped collection of cells: a single large, tan oval surrounded by a cluster of tiny, bubble-like cells. It almost looks like an alien creature brought back to Earth by an interstellar probe, not like something born on this planet.
The visitors step up, one at a time, to peer at the tiny critter, and someone finally asks how big it is. Hoops calmly says that the
Cilia flagella
measures about 200 nanometers in diameter; each bubble-like cell lining its epidermis measures about 25 nanometers.
Now, one has to stop and realize just how big a nanometer is: one billionth of a meter. Compared to the size of an atom, of course, something 25 nanometers in diameter is roughly comparable to the diameter of Earth compared to the diameter of the solar system. The most powerful electron microscope in existence has only recently photographed the shadowy outlines of an atom. So, in comparison to an atom, an object 25 nanometers in diameter is a big, fat bull’s-eye.
But, on the other hand, to be able to see something about 25,000,000,000 times smaller than the length of a meterstick is nothing to sneeze at. It’s a feat inversely equivalent to radio astronomers’ recent accomplishment of being able to detect a planet orbiting a star some hundreds of light-years away. One stares down the lens at a specimen of
Cilia flagella
and wonders just how in the hell anything that small can possibly be alive.
A matter of scale, that’s all. Sometimes we, as a race, are a bit too intellectually self-centered for our own good. Everything “real” is that which is at our eye-level or within our personal reach. “Big” is the height of the John Hancock Building. “Little” is something you have to get tweezers to pick up. “Far away” is, say, a drive from Worcester to a relative’s house in New York; “very far away” is a plane trip to London. Therefore, distances such as light-years or sizes like nanometers are beyond our everyday perspective. The mind can hardly grasp the fact that vast universes exist just outside the safe confines of our own solar system … or in a speck on the tip of your fingernail.
This is, perhaps, what science is ultimately good for: putting things in their proper proportions, for stealing away from us our blind, self-aggrandizing delusions of our importance in the space of things. After all, little
Cilia flagella
doesn’t know, or care, that vastly larger, more “important” creatures exist all around it, just as we are ignorant of its existence.
Kinda takes you down a notch, doesn’t it?
“O
KEFENOKEE SWAMP, ALSO SPELLED
Okefinokee, primitive swamp and wildlife refuge in southeastern Georgia and northern Florida … The swamp’s name probably is derived from the Seminole Indian word for ‘trembling earth,’ so called because of the floating islands of the swamp.”
—Encyclopedia Britannica
1. The Mesozoic Express
A high-pitched chop of helicopter rotors from somewhere high above the treetops, the faint invisible perception of drifting on still waters, hot sunlight on his face and cold water on his back. An amalgam of sensations awakened Steinberg, gradually pulling him from a black well. Awake, but not quite aware; he lay in the muddy bottom of the fiberglass canoe and squinted up at the sunlight passing through the moss-shrouded tree branches. His clothes were soaked through to the skin and even in the midday sun he was chilled, but somehow that didn’t register. All that came through his numbed mind was the vague notion that the canoe was drifting downstream, bobbing like a dead log in the current of the …
Where was he? What was the name of this place? “Suwannee Canal,” a voice from the fogged depths of his mind informed him. Yeah. Right. The Suwannee Canal. How could he have forgotten? “Up Shit Creek and no paddle,” another voice said aloud. It took him a moment to realize that the voice was his own.
The helicopter seemed to be getting closer, but he couldn’t see it yet. Well, if I’m drifting, maybe I need to find a paddle. Steinberg sat up on his elbows and his eyes roamed down the length of the canoe. Muddied backpacks, soaked and trampled sleeping bags, a rolled-up tent, a propane lantern with a broken shield, a black leather attache case which for some reason looked entirely appropriate for being here … but no paddle. Must have fallen out somewhere back there. Yes, Denny, you’re definitely up Shit Creek …
“That’s a joke, kid.” The new voice in his head belonged to Joe Gerhardt. “Laugh when the man tells you a joke …”
No. Don’t think about Joe. Don’t think about Pete. He shook his head and instantly regretted it; it felt as if someone had pounded a railroad spike through his brain. He winced, gasping a little at the pain. Aspirin. Tiffany has the aspirin bottle …
Where’s Tiffany? The thought came through in a rare instant of clarity. Where’s Tiffany? She was right behind me when we were running, she was right behind when …
Something bumped the bottom of the canoe, behind his head. He slowly looked around, his gaze travelling across sun-dappled water the color of tea, and saw the long, leathery head of an alligator just below the gunnel of the canoe, slit-pupilled green eyes staring up at him. Startled, Denny jerked upward a little and the gator disappeared beneath the water without so much as a ripple. If his hand had been dangling in the water the gator could have chomped it off, yet somehow Denny wasn’t frightened. Just Old Man Gator, coming by to visit his canoe without a paddle here on Shit Creek …
Where’s Tiffany?
Now the sound of rotors was much louder. The exertion and the headache had drained him; feeling as if all life had been sucked from his bones, Steinberg sank back into the bottom of the canoe, the back of his throbbing head finding a cool puddle of water. Mosquitos purred around his ears and before his eyes, but he couldn’t find the strength to swat them away. He stared back up at the blue sky and listlessly watched as the twin-prop Osprey hove into view above the treetops. I know that thing, he thought. I was in it just yesterday. Me … and Joe Gerhardt … and Pete Chambliss …
And now he really didn’t want to think about them. Especially not about what happened to them, because if he did he might remember the sound of jaws tearing into flesh, of screams that go on and on and on … and if that happened he might just jump right out of the canoe and take his chances with Mister Old Man Alligator, because even if he didn’t know what happened to Tiffany, he knew what happened to Gerhardt and the senator. And that’s not a joke, kid. That’s not funny at all …
He watched as the Osprey grew closer and found to his relief that there was a little mercy to be found in Shit Creek, because his eyes closed and he rediscovered the bliss of oblivion.
Transcript of the Kaplan Commission Hearings on the Assassination of Senator Petrie R. Chambliss; Washington, DC, July, 2004. George Kaplan, former United States Attorney General, presiding. From the testimony of Daniel Steinberg, former legislative aide to Sen. Chambliss.
KAPLAN: Thank you for being here with us today, Mr. Steinberg. The Commission realizes that you’re involved in serious litigation in regards to this incident, so we’re especially appreciative of the effort you’ve taken to speak to us.
STEINBERG: Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.
KAPLAN: Many of the facts of this case are already known to us, Mr. Steinberg, both from public accounts and from the testimony of witnesses before you. However, there has been a great deal of confusion and … might I add for the benefit of the press pool reporters in the hearing room … obfuscation on the part of the media. There has also been some lack of corroboration among the testimonies of prior witnesses. It’s important for this Commission to get the facts straight, so some questions we might ask you may seem redundant. So I hope you don’t mind if … well, please bear with us if we seem to be beating the same ground that’s been beaten before.
STEINBERG: Not at all, sir … I mean, yes, sir. I understand completely.
KAPLAN: Good. To start with, Mr. Steinberg, can you tell us why you and the late Senator Chambliss went to the Okefenokee National Wildlife Reserve last April?
STEINBERG: Well, the senator felt as if he needed to take a vacation, sir. We … that’s his staff and the senator, sir … I mean, his Washington staff, not the campaign committee …
KAPLAN: We understand that. Please, just relax and take your time.
STEINBERG: Uhh … yes sir. Anyway, Pete … that is, the senator … had just come back from Moscow, after his discussions with the new government regarding the unilateral nuclear disarmament treaty. Everyone had been burning the candle at both ends, both with the Moscow arms talks and the presidential campaign. The campaign for the Super Tuesday primaries was coming up and the Senate had gone into recess, so Pete … I’m sorry if I’m so informal, Mr. Kaplan …
KAPLAN: That’s quite all right. We understand that you were on a first-name basis with the senator. Carry on.
STEINBERG: Anyway, Pete wanted to take some time off, do something just for fun. Well, he is … I’m sorry, he was … an avid outdoorsman, and he had taken an interest in the paleontological research being done at the Okefenokee Wildlife Refuge because of his position on the Senate Science Committee, so he decided that he wanted to take a canoe trip through the refuge and …
KAPLAN: Excuse me, Mr. Steinberg. The chair recognizes Dr. Williams.
FREDERICK WILLIAMS, Ph.D; Chancellor, Yale University: Mr. Steinberg, you say the senator wanted to visit the Okefenokee Swamp. I can understand that he might have wanted to take a break by taking a canoe trip, since I’m an aficionado of the sport myself, but I’m still not sure of his intent. Was it because he wanted to paddle where he had not paddled before, or was it because he wanted to see the dinosaurs?
STEINBERG: Well, it was both, sir. I mean, he could have taken a raft trip down the Colorado River, but he had done that a couple of times before already. And he did want to see the dinosaur project and it was going to be in a Super Tuesday state besides, so the exposure couldn’t hurt … well, he just came to me and said, “Denny, what do you say to a little canoe trip down South?”
DR. WILLIAMS: And what did you say?
STEINBERG: I said, “Sounds great, Pete. Let’s go.”
DR. WILLIAMS: And you didn’t consider this to be an unsafe venture?
STEINBERG: No, sir. Not at the time, at least. Why should I?
DR. WILLIAMS: I would think that you would want to ask yourself that question, seeing as how you’re facing a charge of second-degree murder …
The Bell/Boeing V-22 Osprey which had carried them the last leg of the trip, from Moody Air Force Base in Valdosta to the Okefenokee National Wildlife Refuge, had barely settled on the landing pad when Pete Chambliss unsnapped his seat harness and stood up in the VTOL’s passenger compartment. “Okay, boys, let’s go!” he yelled over the throb of the rotors.
Before anyone could stop him, the senator had twisted up the starboard passenger door’s locking lever and was shoving open the hatch. Denny Steinberg looked across the aisle at Joe Gerhardt. The Secret Service escort only shrugged as he unsnapped his own harness, then stepped to the rear cargo deck to pick up Chambliss’s backpack. Gerhardt had barely lifted it from the deck when it was grabbed from his hands by Chambliss. Hefting it over his shoulder, Chambliss turned around and pounded Denny’s shoulder with his huge right hand.
“C’mon, Denny!” he boomed. “Let’s go get that river!” Then Chambliss jumped out of the Osprey and was trotting out from beneath the swirling blades of the starboard nacelle. Two officials from the Deinonychus Observation Project, a man and a woman who had come out to the pad to greet their honored guest, seemed unprepared for the sight of Senator Petrie R. Chambliss—dressed in jeans, red flannel shirt, and hiking boots—suddenly appearing in their midst, grabbing their hands and pumping them so hard it seemed as if he were about to dislocate their elbows. Their expressions, to Steinberg’s eye, matched that of the Soviet Foreign Minister’s, the first time Kamenin had met Pete Chambliss in Moscow last week. The senator from Vermont was an awful lot to take in one dose.
The Osprey’s pilot, who had watched everything through the door from his right-hand seat in the forward compartment, looked at Steinberg. “Is he always this enthusiastic?” he asked loudly, grinning at the young aide from beneath his mirrored aviator shades.