"Simple?" Decker shook his head, as much in disbelief as in sheer wonderment at the never-ending tricks the universe had up its proverbial sleeve. "That's a lot of DNA for something I'd scrape off my breakfast. Speaking of which--" He turned toward his yeoman, who happened to be walking past. "Lawford, get me some coffee, will you?"
"Lawford transferred to the Yorktown two weeks ago, sir," the yeoman said. "I'm Guthrie."
Decker squinted in disapproval. "And that has precisely what to do with my coffee?"
"Nothing, sir."
The commodore pointed the yeoman toward the food slot. "Milk, no sugar."
"I know, sir."
"Thanks, Lawford."
"Guthrie, sir."
"Whatever." Decker turned back toward the science station while the yeoman plodded away, muttering quietly. Returning his attention to Masada, Decker said, "Why would mold need that much genetic information?"