Snippet of April 8 – rough

This doesn’t give away anything you didn’t already know was happening. : 😀

“Huhhh…” Hussein made a face to match the rough exclamation, and held the glass back up to the light. It wasn’t quite the obscene yellow it had been before. It was trending more to a buttery hue than the Slivovitz color it had in the first sample he’d tried.

“How old is it again?” he inquired of Detweiler.

“Almost a year. I didn’t mean to suggest it is mature,” he was quick to say. “Singh just gave me three hundred milliliters this time and said he had some friends who wanted to try it. Consider it more of a progress report. I personally am curious how far it will progress, and how fast of course.”

“One hopes they remain his friends,” Hussein said, “and didn’t have any unrealistic expectations.”

“It’s far from anything either of us would serve, even as cheap mix,” Detweiler admitted.

His club, The Fox and Hare, had been serving vodka based drinks from the same lunar source. They’d had a couple month advantage because their owners had a business relationship with the sovereign of central. Hussein was selling the same product from the Quiet retreat now as production increased.

“I’m thinking…just totally guessing, that it may be drinkable as mix at four years,” Hussein said.

“That sound reasonable,” Detweiler agreed. “Though the carryout trade will probably use it as a straight drink then.” They were both already selling bottles of vodka at nearly by the glass prices as take away, but to dinner guests only, not walk-ins.

“Out somewhere from eight to twelve years it may be a decent whiskey,” Hussein decided, “It’s just too early to tell.”

“One good thing is, if it does develop well, young Singh has started another batch,” Detweiler revealed. “He will keep doing that as the storage space is much cheaper on the moon, and the volume of agricultural feed stock is increasing steadily. So if it works out, we do have a decent volume of supply in process. He split this last batch in two however. Half is aging on the same schedule as this first lot, and the other half he’s keeping at seventy degrees to see if it ages more quickly.”

“Now that’s an interesting idea,” Hussein admitted. “If he were doing it in the traditional wooden barrels instead of a sealed system the evaporative losses would just kill you.”

“Undoubtedly, many traditionalists will decry the perversion of a perfected system,” Detweiler predicted. “But we’ll have to do some blind taste tests and see how it stacks up to Earth whiskey. I believe Singh already has some volunteers, but he’s aware we’ll give him a professional report. The amateurs are unlikely to say much negative since they don’t seem to be paying customers.”

“Oh they’ll pay,” Hussein said laughing. “Singh will extract all sorts of business deals and alliances over their thirst. I don’t believe he’s anywhere near the callow youth he projects when he stands up to give idealistic speeches in the Assembly.”

“The odd thing is I think he was rather disconnected, like some brilliant people seem prone to be,” Detweiler revealed, “but the Lewis girl is huge influence. She’s an owner in our club you know, and I see them come in together. She has moderated that side of him quite a bit.”

“I notice you didn’t say a bad influence. She isn’t just enchanted with all his money?”

“No, no. He needed a good grounding in social things, and he treats her as a full partner. I don’t think she’s a plaything anymore than the other one, the queen.” Detweiler said.

“Oh, the Sovereign of Central,” Hussein said. “Don’t call her Queen of the Moon to one of her subjects or you’ll get a big lecture on how she isn’t.”

“I’ll call her anything she wants as long as she sells good vodka,” Detweiler told him.

A snippet of April #8 in progress…Updated to be easier to read. Can’t get my Word formatting to work here.

“How can you possibly grow this to have the right texture and flavor?” April asked. She took another generous bite of tenderloin. It was red in the middle and charred on the outside, but hot all the way through. The little cup of steak sauce with it was built on a butter base with mustard, thyme, garlic, salt and a dash of Cajun seasoning, but no tomato. It was an heirloom recipe from Dr. Ames’ grandmother. No surprise anyone nicknamed Jelly would come from a family of cooks and appreciative eaters. The fact April was ignoring the sauce didn’t bother him at all. He took it as a good sign the beef stood alone just fine with only a little salt and pepper.

“I’ll tell you if you’ll agree to strict nondisclosure,” Ames offered. “I intend to keep the process secret as long as possible. Heather is agreeable to allowing me to keep the production in physical isolation with very few people knowing the entire process. She offered to start issuing patents, but I figure the Earthies wouldn’t respect that even if she does. If you’re going to invest in it I understand why you’d need more details.”

April chewed and swallowed. She looked at the hunk of meat in wonder, and perhaps resented a little bit needing to stop eating and speak with Jelly.

“Of course,” April agreed, readily. “I’d do that much for friendship, not just business. I think you’re right, the Chinese especially, will have factories set up cranking this stuff out in a couple months if you let it be public knowledge. And you’ll never see a plastic Yuan coin for it. I just don’t understand how you can grow this without…the cow.”

“Tissue culture is nothing new. Even growing it to a certain shape is not unheard of. We can grow some complex organs easier than bulk muscle tissue. I can grow chicken chunks, nuggets, pretty easily. People will buy those. But with beef it’s hard to market it in small pieces. They don’t sell very well, even for kabobs. The shape and texture are not what people expect,” Ames lamented.

April took the opportunity to slice off another bite while he was talking.

“There are difficulties both in getting a large mass without vascularization to oxygenate it and to provide nutrients…”

“Where do you get the nutrients?” April asked around a full mouth.

“The first experiments used Bovine blood fractions, the same as a cow. Obviously that’s not cost effective,” Ames said, “even on Earth. But you can create bacteria to produce the proper nutrients by altering them genetically. So far we haven’t been able to get everything we need from less than five separate cultures.

“You process them, add electrolytes, add a few extracts we obtain from food plants, and introduce it as a nutrient bath. The culture is started on a platinum plate and grows from it along a grid of very thin tubes with microscopic orifices which release the nutrients. It’s also done at higher than normal pressure, and with additives in the mix which have no function but to increase its oxygen carrying capacity.”

“But doesn’t it have a bunch of holes through it then?” April asked, making a repeated gesture with her straight fingers. “I don’t see a grid of holes in my steak.”

“The tubes are very thin, Think of a ultra fine hypodermic needle. One of the ways they tenderize natural beef is to stab it repeatedly with fine needles,” he said, copying her gesture. “You won’t see holes from that process either. But when the culture is mature you slide it off the grid of needles and it appears a solid mass. Then you sterilize the apparatus and start a new one. It takes about two weeks to grow a quarter kilo filet. Electro-stimulation hastens that and is a factor in giving it the proper grain.”

“Just like Gunny had ‘trodes on each one, making his fingers grow faster inside the clamshell when they grew him a new hand?” April guessed.

“Very much so, but I’d avoid bringing that up when marketing the product,” Ames suggested.

“I know people are squeamish. Don’t worry. Even if I invest, I know better than to interfere with things for which I have no talent, like selling,” April promised.

Ames nodded appreciatively. For all of his professionalism he was squeamish, but he’d rather not admit it to April. Ames let her eat. The steak was selling itself better than anything he could say.

April was chewing, but thoughtfully, looking off in the air trying to visualize something.

“Why do you have to keep starting and stopping?” she finally asked. “A batch process is always less efficient than a continuous production. Just grow the meat and trim it off. As long as you keep monitoring and your nutrient bath stays clean and doesn’t spoil it could run a long time.”

“The tissue will degrade once it grows past the ends of the needles,” Ames explained. “It needs the oxygen and nutrients continuously. Just like tissue in a cow needs constant circulation.”

“Oh…” April appraised the height of the filet on her plate. “Have the needles six or seven centimeters long. When the steak has grown out near the ends have the needles retract five centimeters and slice it off. Then push them back out to full length.”

Ames looked distressed. “You’d have to anchor the remainder of the culture to the base…or hold it in place with a sort of fork temporarily, while the needles come back out. I can think of several ways to do that, actually. What made you think of that?” he asked, a little irritated.

April borrowed a phrase from her good friend Barak. “I’m not sure. It seemed obvious.” The look of consternation on Ames face didn’t make her enjoy the steak any less at all.