Panic in Level 4: Cannibals, Killer Viruses, and Other Journeys to the Edge of Science Read Online Free PDF

“THE AIR WAS FLOWING DOWN PAST YOUR FACE AND OUT OF THE OPENING. NOTHING COULD GET INTO YOUR SUIT. IT COULDN’T MOVE UP TO YOUR FACE.”
    I really wanted to believe that an Unknown virus was not having an encounter with me inside my space suit. The air had been gushing out, I told myself. The flow would have carried any particles of a hot agent out of my suit. Anyway, if something had gotten in, by now it was too late to panic. I told the scientists that I wanted to remain in Level 4. After that, I touched my chest zipper frequently to make sure it was closed. Habits can save your life.
    The researchers had work to do. Martha intended to open a flask of the Joe Doe Unknown. She carried one of the flasks to a Steriguard safety hood—a cabinet that produced a curtain of air blowing between the virus samples and the person sitting there. This air curtain acted as a shield, preventing any drifting particles from coming near the researcher. The cabinet also had a sliding glass door. If you opened the glass too far—potentially releasing a virus into the air of the hot zone—an alarm would go off.
    With a pair of tweezers, Martha picked up a glass slide that had spots of reactive compound on it. It was called a spot slide. You drop liquid samples of virus on the spots, and if a spot changes color, it helps you identify the virus. “WE HANDLE GLASS WITH TWEEZERS BECAUSE YOU DON’T WANT TO PICK UP ANYTHING MADE OF GLASS WITH YOUR FINGERS,” she said. “YOU NEVER WANT TO CUT YOURSELF IN HERE.”
    Martha opened the flask containing the Unknown. She took up a push-button pipette—a device that is used in biological labs for moving very small quantities of fluid from one place to another.
    She inserted the tip of the pipette into the open flask and pushed a button, and the pipette sucked up a small amount of the liquid containing the Unknown X. She positioned the pipette over the glass slide and placed droplets of the liquid on the slide. Her hands moved with deft precision.
    “DO YOU WANT TO TRY DOING THIS?” she asked.
    I sat down in front of the safety cabinet. She handed me another flask. I had difficulty removing the cap from the flask. My heavy rubber space-suit gloves were impossible. I picked up the pipette and began dropping the liquid into a row of small test tubes, so that tests could be done on it. Even this simple task proved to be achingly slow and difficult. I couldn’t see how anyone could do medical research wearing Mickey Mouse gloves and a space suit. The fact that the Army researchers were able to do it every day made me appreciate the depth of their skill and training. My cheek began to itch, but I couldn’t figure out how to scratch it, since my head was inside a helmet hood. When I had finished the task, I closed the flask and held it up to the light.
    The liquid shimmered inside; I was face-to-face with a presumed Level 4 Unknown. My cheek was itching badly. “HOW DO YOU DEAL WITH AN ITCH IN ONE OF THESE SUITS?” I asked.
    “YOU DON’T,” Jeremy shouted above the unending roar of air.
    Eventually the two researchers wrapped up a certain phase of their work. Thus far, they still had no information about what had killed John Doe.
    Martha remarked that it was time to check on the monkeys.
    “THERE ARE MONKEYS IN HERE?” I asked nervously. The little voice started up again: Are they infected? Go now to the exit.
    Of course there were monkeys in here, Jeremy said. They had been vocalizing—screeching—the whole time, but the rushing sound of air in our space suits had drowned out their cries, he explained. He detached his air hose and began walking down a corrider, evidently heading for the monkeys.
    “DO THEY HAVE BLOODY NOSES?” I asked.
    The monkeys were fine, Jeremy said. He led me through a door into the largest room in Hot Suite AA-5. It was lit with flourescent lights. Along two walls of the room, stainless steel wire cages were stacked from floor to ceiling. Most of the cages were