Feature
Big science
by Rebecca Macfie
How science and technology could make New Zealand wealthy again.
The bright yellow plastic device sitting in Andrew
Rudge’s central Christchurch office looks as if it could be some newfangled piece of kit for the home handyman. In fact, it’s the latest in anthrax-detection technology, and at $25,000 a pop, it is in demand
from government and security agencies around the world.
It’s called the Ceeker, the result of four years of intensive effort to turn a discovery by former University of Canterbury science dean Lou Reinisch into a highvalue product with a global market. After 20 years of research in the area of optical detection of biological agents, Reinisch discovered in 2005 a unique way of identifying anthrax spores. The finding was patented, a company called Veritide was formed to commercialise it,
and Endeavour Capital and Ngai Tahu Capital invested $1.6 million in venture capital to take the invention to market.
Last month the Ceeker received a rousing endorsement from Florida’s Midwest Research Institute, which after
two weeks of testing concluded that the hand-held instrument accurately identified 100% of anthrax samples, and was correct in 95% of tests involving hoax substances.
Rudge, Veritide’s chief executive, explains that the Ceeker shines ultraviolet light onto a sample of suspicious white powder, determining from the
“optical signature” whether it’s anthrax or a hoax substance. The test can be done on the spot, taking just a few minutes, and the sample remains intact for
further forensic analysis. By contrast, traditional tests involving “wet chemistry” have to be done in a lab, can take up to three days – during which the targeted building or service may have to stay closed – and destroy the sample.
For security agencies, it’s not hard to see the value in a device that minimises the disruption caused by anthrax scares. France’s La Poste is forced to close a major facility every week because of a white powder scare, Washington DC has a scare at least once a day and the US has 20,000 a year. In New Zealand, recent anthrax scares have forced shutdowns at the Beehive, ACC
and the Queenstown courthouse. The Inland Revenue building just across the way from Rudge’s offi ce has a “white powder” room set aside for dealing with
threatening packages sent in by disgruntled taxpayers.
Such scares are almost certain to be hoaxes, says Rudge, but authorities have to treat the substance as if it’s anthrax until they’re sure it’s not. One of Veritide’s first customers is Arlington County, which has jurisdiction over the Pentagon. The US Army is also buying the Ceeker. Veritide director Stuart McKenzie puts the potential market at US$600 million in the US
alone – and that’s not counting the technology’s potential application to other agents of biological terrorism, such as ricin and botox, and in the food safety sphere.
Veritide is set to make the move to large-scale contract manufacturing in Christchurch, and the staff of fi ve will increase to 10-15 with the recruitment of scientists, engineers and marketers. The company is seeking
about $5 million in fresh capital to fund the scale-up. Reinisch, now at Jacksonville State University, remains involved as a director and technical consultant.
It has taken four years to get Reinisch’s science from the lab bench to the marketplace – rapid progress in
the world of new technology start-ups. And, compared with many attempts to commercialise novel science, Veritide has had a dream run: it received $450,000
of government R&D funding through the Foundation for Research Science and Technology (Forst); and it won the backing of venture capitalists at an extremely early stage of development, ensuring it got over the so-called “valley of death”: the high-risk phase of establishing whether the science can be translated into a usable
product and manufactured at a price the market is willing to pay.
But Rudge also cites a raft of frustrations that have
slowed progress, providing a glimpse of insight into
why New Zealand fails to produce many more smart
high-value science-based products.
For starters, none of the New Zealand agencies
responsible for dealing with anthrax scares – police, defence and fire service – have bought a Ceeker. All three seemed enthusiastic about it, Rudge says, but after 18 months of discussion no one has been able to decide who has jurisdiction to write out the cheque. If he had been able to tell potential buyers it was being
used by authorities in its home country, this would have helped establish the Ceeker’s credibility in foreign markets.
And in any case, he’d thought the Government, having pumped R&D money into Veritide, would have an interest in helping it succeed in the marketplace.
But two or three months ago Rudge gave up on the locals. “I decided there was no point. Why waste time going to Wellington and getting nowhere, whereas I
can drop in on one [hazardous materials] team in the US, demo it and it’s sold?”
Likewise, he gave up trying to get contract research work done through crown research institutes (CRIs) and the University of Canterbury. As a former Mac Diarmid Young Scientist of the Year, lecturer, researcher and employee of the university’s commercialisation office, he knows his way around the science system better than most businesspeople. But
even so, he had trouble finding people in the CRIs with the right skills to help solve specific technical problems, and negotiating research contracts with the university
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