The countdown blipped to zero. The computer screen froze for an interminably long second, then a picture of Kelly’s mother and father appeared. The pair looked shocked and relieved.
“Thank God!” her father said. “We’ve been trying to reach you for the past hour.”
Olin moved aside for Frank. “Computer problems,” her brother said, “among many others.”
Kelly leaned in. She could not wait a moment longer. “How’s Jessie?”
Her mother’s face answered the question. Her eyes fidgeted, and she paused before speaking. “She’s…she’s doing fine, dear.”
The image on the screen fritzed as if the computer had become a lie detector. Static and snow ate away the picture. Her mother’s next words became garbled. “Lead on a cure…prion disease…sending data as we speak…”
Her father spoke, but the interference grew worse. They seemed unaware that their message was corrupted. “…helicopter on its way…Brazilian army…”
Frank hissed to Olin, “Can you fix the reception?”
He leaned in and tapped quickly. “I don’t know. I don’t understand. We’ve just received a file. Maybe that’s interfering with our downstream feed.”
But for each key the man tapped, the signal deteriorated.
Static whined and hissed with occasional words coming through. “Frank…losing you…can you…tomorrow morning…GPS locked…” Then the entire feed collapsed. The screen gave one final frazzled burst, then froze up.
“Damn it!” Olin swore.
“Get it back up,” Waxman said behind them.
Olin bent over his equipment and shook his head. “I don’t know if I can. I’ve troubleshot the mother-board and rebooted all the software.”
“What’s wrong then?” Kelly asked.
“I can’t say for sure. It’s almost like a computer virus has corrupted the entire satellite communication array.”
“Well, keep trying,” Waxman said. “You’ve got another half hour before the satellite is out of range.”
Frank stood, facing everyone. “Even if we can’t link up, from what we did hear, it sounds like the Brazilian helicopter may be on its way here. Maybe as soon as tomorrow morning.”
Beside him, Olin stared at the frozen screen. “Oh, God.”
All eyes turned to the Russian communications expert. He tapped the screen, pointing to a set of numbers in the upper right-hand corner. “Our GPS signal…”
“What’s the matter?” Waxman asked.
Olin glanced over to them. “It’s wrong. Whatever glitched the satellite system must’ve corrupted the feed to the GPS satellites, too. It sent a wrong signal back to the States.” He stared back at the screen. “It places us about thirty miles south of our current position.”
Kelly felt the blood rush from her head. “They won’t know where we are.”
“I’ve got to get this up and running,” Olin said. “At least long enough to correct the signal.” He rebooted the computer and set to work.
For the next half hour, Olin worked furiously with his equipment. Oaths and curses, both in English and Russian, flowed from the man. As he labored, everyone found busy work to occupy the time. No one bothered to try resting. Kelly helped Anna prepare some rice, the last of their supplies. As they worked, they kept looking over to Olin, silently praying.
But for all the man’s efforts and their prayers, nothing was gained.
After a time, Frank crossed and placed a hand on Olin’s shoulder. He raised his other arm, exposing his wristwatch. “It’s too late. The communication satellites are out of range.”
Olin sagged over his array, defeated.
“We’ll try again in the morning,” Frank said, his encouragement forced. “You should rest. Start fresh tomorrow.”
Nate, Kouwe, and Manny returned from a fishing expedition by the swamp. Their catch was bountiful, strung on a line between them. They dropped their load beside the fire. “I’ll clean,” Kouwe said, settling easily to the ground.
Manny sighed. “No argument here.”
Nate wiped his hands and stared at Olin and his computer. He crossed toward the man. “There was something I was wondering about while fishing. What about that other file?”
“What are you talking about?” Olin asked blearily.
“You mentioned something about a file being down-loaded during the feed.”
Olin scrunched his face, then nodded with understanding. “Da. Here it is. A data file.”
Kelly and Manny hurried over. Kelly now remembered her mother had mentioned sending something just before the system crashed.
Olin brought up the file.
Kelly leaned closer. On the screen appeared a 3-D model of a molecule spinning above pages of data. Intrigued, she settled nearer. Her eyes scanned through the report. “My mother’s work,” she mumbled, glad to occupy her mind on something other than her own worries. But the topic was troublesome nonetheless.
“What is it?” Nate asked.
“A possible lead on the cause of the disease,” Kelly added.
Manny answered, peering over her shoulder. “A prion.”
“A what?”
Manny quickly explained to Nate, but Kelly’s attention remained focused on the report. “Interesting,” Kelly mumbled.
“What?” Manny asked.
“It says here that this prion seems to cause genetic damage.” She quickly read the next report.
Manny read over her shoulder. He whistled appreciatively.
“What?” Nate asked.
Kelly spoke excitedly. “This could be the answer! Here’s a paper from researchers at the University of Chicago, published in Nature back in September of 2000. They hypothesized through the study of yeast that prions may hold the key to genetic mutations, even play a role in evolution.”
“Really? How?”
“One of the major mysteries of evolution has been how survival skills that require multiple genetic changes could happen so spontaneously. Such changes are termed macroevolution, like the adaptation of certain algae to toxic environments or the rapid development of antibiotic resistance in bacteria. But how such a series of simultaneous mutations could be generated was not understood. But this article offers a possible answer. Prions.” Kelly pointed to the computer screen. “Here the researchers at the University of Chicago have shown that a yeast’s prions can flip an all-or-nothing switch in the genetic code, causing massive mutations to develop in unison, to spark an evolutionary jump start, so to speak. Do you know what this suggests?”