The microscope hummed like a sick fridge. Inès had rested her cheek on the cold edge of the bench and was watching the screen without blinking. On the slide, skin cells in culture, three days old, were bathing in a pink liquid. The day before, she had injected a small molecule cobbled together in her chemistry workshop, a probe that was supposed to stick only to the DNA-copying machines, and only when those machines were running.
The image was almost black. A few grey spots, a milky background. Nothing that looked like a lit-up nucleus.
"It doesn’t work," said Malik, pushing the door open. "Three weeks of synthesis for that."
"Wait. I may have forgotten the second step."
The second step was the dye. The probe carried a small chemical hook, a nitrogen attached to three atoms, and the dye carried the clip that fastens onto it. If the probe had caught its target, the dye was supposed to attach there and glow. Inès had rinsed the cells, then added the dye. She had waited thirty minutes. Perhaps too long.
She started the procedure again. Rinse, dye, rinse, and this time she watched the timer instead of her phone. After ten minutes, the screen changed. Green dots appeared in the nuclei, dense, numerous, like grains of light laid on a dark fabric. Inès counted. The treated nuclei glowed at least five times more than the control nuclei, the ones that had received only the solvent.
"That’s sharp," said Malik. "Too sharp?"
"What do you mean?"
"If your probe sticks to any protein that contains a reactive sulphur, it glows too."
He was right to be suspicious. The probe was built around a fungal poison, a molecule that normally blocks the DNA-copying machine by driving into it. It had been modified so that it attaches permanently, through a bond the cell cannot undo. But nothing guaranteed that it did not attach elsewhere.
Inès prepared two series. In the first, she added a hundred times more free, unmodified poison at the same time as the probe. The free poison was supposed to occupy the places before the probe took them. If the probe was truly selective, its signal was supposed to drop. It dropped by more than eighty per cent. In the second series, she used cells whose DNA-copying machine carried a mutation: the reactive sulphur of the active site had been replaced by another atom, inert. The signal fell to less than twenty per cent of that of normal cells.
"Now," said Malik, "I’m starting to believe it."
The problem of movement remained. A DNA-copying machine that is working is anchored to the DNA; a machine at rest slides freely in the nucleus. Inès lit a small area of the nucleus with a powerful beam, erasing the local light, then watched the fluorescence return. In the control cells, whose machine had been made fluorescent by genetic engineering, the light returned to more than seventy per cent in a few seconds: the machines were circulating. In the cells marked by the probe, the light returned only to thirty per cent at most. The machines were stuck in place.
"They’re stuck," said Inès. "They don’t move any more."
"That’s what was wanted. But then, what’s the use?"
Inès turned off the lamp and sat down. Outside, the morning light was falling on the neighbouring greenhouses, where sensors measured the humidity of the tomato plants. She thought of her sister, who worked in a medical analysis laboratory and received every week slides of tumours stained with antibodies. Those antibodies marked all the DNA-copying machines, whether they were working or not.
"For your sister," she said at last. "If she could see only the cells whose machines are still running, she would know which are alive and which are exhausted. On a single slide, she would see the difference without waiting for a computer’s answer."
"And if the probe gets the wrong target, your sister makes a decision on a false image."
"That’s why it gets checked. It won’t be given out before that."
She put the slides away in the cold box, noted the series number, and turned off the microscope. The probe held. For now. The question of the reactive sulphur lying around elsewhere in the cell remained open, and Inès knew that no image would close it this morning.