by Jon McGoran
“I hear you,” he said. “But…I’ll see you tomorrow, right?”
“Absolutely. Do you want to just hang out at your place?”
“We could, but I was thinking maybe we could walk down by the river or something. Get out of Silver Garden and keep some distance between us and the cleanup at the church. Just in case.”
“That sounds good. Should we meet at New Ground first? Ten-ish?”
“Perfect.”
“Great.”
“Well…I hope you have a nice, quiet evening.”
I laughed.
“What?”
“Howard Wells is on 60 Minutes tonight. I’m probably going to watch it, but it could be pretty infuriating.”
“Oh, right! Thanks for reminding me. We can compare notes tomorrow.”
How romantic, I thought.
He chuckled, as if reading my mind. “Or not!”
We said our good-nights and got off the phone. I looked up at the clock and sighed. It was getting late. I had three more days of winter break, and I didn’t want to spend it worrying about getting ready for school. That meant I needed to get ready now.
I put in a load of laundry and got my stuff together, then gave a final read to an essay I’d written about the impact of energy policy on depopulation of the zurbs. I put on some pasta and threw some fresh spinach into a pan with some jarred sauce. When the pasta was done, I served myself a big bowl—rotini topped with lots of sauce and plenty of Parmesan. I left enough for Kevin, even though he was being particularly annoying.
The Holovid had shut itself off, but when I came into the living room with my dinner, it lit up again, and I grinned at the ancient tick-tick-tick-tick of the 60 Minutes title segment. It was kind of adorable, in a way.
Then there was Howard Wells, right up close.
The sight of the guy made my skin crawl: his unnaturally tanned, unnaturally smooth face, and his unnaturally white teeth. Creepiest of all was the signature glassy disc over his left eye—his Wellplant, the computer implant that bore his name and had made him trillions of dollars.
The clip they showed upfront had Wells grinning in an aw-shucks kind of way, humble and self-effacing while flashing a smile that cost more than our house.
I felt vaguely depressed as I mixed the Parm into the pasta. As the feed cut to a commercial, I went back into the kitchen.
If I was going to watch Howard Wells, I needed more cheese.
CHAPTER 14
I got back to the sofa just in time for the introductory montage that recounted Wells’s rise to prominence, including some 2-D footage of his young adulthood and his early career working in pharmaceuticals, public health, and computers, among other things. That was followed by a brief history of Wellplant Corporation, and then Wells’s involvement in H4H, how he transformed the organization from some fringe joke into a serious political force that was driving anti-chimera legislation. There were some hints at Wells’s political aspirations, and the voice-over also mentioned the events in Pitman. They were careful to point out that Wells was never directly connected to Pitman and that he had personally condemned what happened there, but they also described how it had damaged public perception of the anti-chimera movement, H4H, and Wells and his company.
As a commercial played in the background for Wellplant’s new 10.0 model, considered its most ambitious and powerful yet, the voice-over turned ominous, referring vaguely to production and other challenges facing the company, and quoting some famous economist as saying that with its expanding pharmaceutical and medical-care divisions and its ambitious new implant products, Wellplant Corporation might be overextended.
Alenka Bogdan, the interviewer, was in her late sixties, with spiky gray hair, a half smile etched on her mouth, and fierce gray eyes. The interview was taking place at Wellplant’s global headquarters, a campus of towers in West Philadelphia, south of the University of Pennsylvania. Bogdan and Wells were both perched on stools in a white room with large windows. The towers of Center City were visible over Wells’s shoulder, somehow looking fragile and small from that angle.
Bogdan welcomed Wells to the program and congratulated him on the release of Wellplant 10.0.
“Thank you,” said Wells, flashing his teeth. “We’re very excited about it.”
“And why exactly is that? What’s so special about this upgrade?”
Wells leaned forward, tilting his head downward, as if to show off his Wellplant. I leaned forward, too, to get a better look. The previous versions were black, but this was a smoky gray. The skin around the disc seemed faintly discolored, and I realized there was makeup covering redness.
“This technology is nothing short of revolutionary, with significant upgrades in connection speed, computing power, wetware connectivity—”
“And by that you mean the connections to the user’s brain, is that right?”
Wells held his head up straight. “Yes, that’s right.”
“It’s also substantially more expensive.”
“And worth every penny.”
“What do you say to critics who complain this technology is out of reach for most Americans and others around the world, and that it gives an unfair advantage in schools or the workplace to those who can afford it?”
As she spoke, he tilted his head again, as if showing off his Wellplant. He flashed his teeth once more and pursed his lips, as if he was thinking. But I got the distinct impression that the pause was purely for effect, that he knew exactly what he was going to say.
“Look,” he began, “it’s no secret that wealthy people have nicer things than people who aren’t wealthy. You can argue whether that’s fair or not, whether we should have a capitalist society or a socialist society, but right now, this is a capitalist country. I think that’s the best system, and I won’t apologize for a system that makes it possible for people to become rich, even if it doesn’t make everyone rich. I think that’s better than a system where everyone is poor. And as for an unfair advantage in universities or the workplace, well yeah, sure. If it didn’t give an advantage, it wouldn’t be performing as advertised. But frankly, if someone can afford one of these babies”—he paused to lightly tap one finger against his Wellplant—“they’ve already got an advantage. And as for anyone else…” He paused, holding his head up straight as he looked right into the camera. “There is financing available, and with the professional advantages and increased earning potential provided by your new Wellplant, you’ll be able to pay it off in no time.” He smiled, looking confident, but it also seemed fake. Forced. Calculated for effect. “Plus, Wellplant has programs, both in the US and around the world, to make Wellplants affordable, and in some cases even free, to those who are working hard to make the world a better place.”
“I hadn’t heard about that program. Can you tell me more about it?”
“Well, we don’t like to talk about it, frankly, because we’re not doing it for the PR, we’re doing it to give back, and do our part. I shouldn’t have mentioned it in the first place. Next question.”
“Okay. I understand advance orders are already well beyond your company’s projections.”
The fake smile widened by a quarter inch. “That’s correct.”
“I’ve also read some analysis suggesting you may be struggling to meet demand due to scarcity of materials, including this.” She held up a glass vial containing a small, silver nugget. “Yttrium, one of the rare metals essential for production.”
Wells laughed. “That’s ludicrous. Some people may have to wait longer than they’d like for delivery because the 10.0 is so popular, but I assure you, there is no shortage of yttrium or any other essential components—in fact, we have new domestic sources coming online.”
“Really? Where is that?”
“Trade secret,” he said. Wells kept smiling, but now his frustration was barely concealed. I realized I kind of liked this Alenka Bogdan person.
She moved ahead. “Some have expressed safety concerns over these so-call
ed domestic sources—”
“Look,” Wells said. “I’ve told you I can’t comment on that, but I will say that in any of our extraction operations around the world, wherever there is undue hazard, we can always rely on robotic equipment.”
“Yes, and robotic equipment is also heavily dependent on yttrium, isn’t that right?”
“Like I said, there is no shortage.”
Bogdan sat back and took a breath, changing her focus. “What is it that makes you so vehement in your dislike of chimeras?”
Wells didn’t miss a beat. “I don’t dislike chimeras. I feel sorry for them that they would willingly abandon humanity. Willingly make themselves less than human.”
“Some people have argued that you’re the one trying to make them less than human, given your enormous financial support of Humans for Humanity and getting the Genetic Heritage Act passed.”
“I’m simply advocating that the law mirror reality, and recognize these creatures for what they are.”
“The law has been blocked by the courts—”
“Parts of the law have been temporarily blocked. And similar laws are being legislated in twenty-seven other states, as well as the US Congress.”
“Where do you see it going from here?”
“I think the judges will come to their senses and reinstate GHA in its entirety, and other states and the federal government will emulate our success and make it the law of the land.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely.”
“Do you accept any responsibility for what happened in Pitman?”
“I have condemned what happened in Pitman in the strongest terms. I have nothing further to say on the subject.”
“You have devoted much time and energy to condemning chimeras as being less than persons, and vilifying them for altering themselves so they are not human. What do you say to those who argue that Wellplants are an alteration as well, and that those who have them, who have computers implanted into their brains, are themselves not entirely human?”
Wells’s face showed a flash of anger, then he got it under control. He tipped his head down again, as before, but this time I got the impression that instead of doing it to give Bogdan a better view of his new Wellplant, he was giving it a better view of her. “Alenka,” he said, with a friendly smile as his eyes looked up at her, “people have been using tools since the dawn of humanity. Some believe that’s part of what made us human. Wellplants are the next generation in tools. If anything, they make people even more human, not less.”
“Interesting. What do you make of the recent flood of chimera references and depictions in popular culture, including songs, Holovid feeds, even T-shirts?”
“Popular culture in this country has a long and tawdry history of flirting with dangerous and self-destructive character archetypes. Look at the Old West gunfighters, the Depression-era bank robbers, and the gangsters at the turn of the century. It’s no surprise mixies would become a part of that shameful legacy.”
“I believe chimeras consider the word mixie to be a slur.”
“Do they, now? Well, I consider them debasing their humanity to be an affront against God. So there you are.”
CHAPTER 15
When the phone rang at eight the next morning, somehow I knew it was Rex. And somehow I knew it wouldn’t be good news.
“Hello?” I said, glancing up the stairs to see if Kevin was in earshot.
“Hey,” he said, and I could hear from the tone of his voice that I’d been right about something going wrong.
“What’s going on?”
He took a deep breath. “Doc’s bail has been revoked.”
“What?”
“That explosion yesterday kicked up a major shit storm. Doc’s judge revoked his bail.”
“On what grounds?”
“On the grounds that the judge is up for reelection next year.” He let out a sigh, and I could feel his deep disappointment, not just in what had happened but in what it said about the people involved. “There’s more in the spineless politician judges department. The injunction against GHA might be revoked.”
“Are you serious?” I said, slumping against the doorjamb.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “And now DeWitt’s so busy on that front, she won’t be able to do much for Doc.”
“So what are we going to do?” I said, struggling to keep my voice even and strong.
“Well, you’re going to stay where you are. I don’t know what’s going to happen today, but after what went down when GHA passed in the first place, who knows what the streets will be like. We’re going to need to change our plans. Maybe I can come out there or we can meet somewhere else, but we’re going to have to push things back today. I need to meet with Jerry and try to figure out what to do next.”
“Don’t you think I can help with that?” I added annoyance to the list of things I was trying to keep out of my voice.
Rex started to say something, then stopped, apparently thinking better of it. “I know you could be helpful,” he said slowly. “Very helpful. I just worry about you, that’s all.”
“Right. So you’re meeting Jerry at New Ground, I’m guessing?”
“Yeah.”
“What time?”
“In an hour.”
“I’ll see you there.”
* * *
—
The streets were quiet and empty. Maybe it was too cold for idiots to riot. Or maybe it was just too early. New Ground was empty as well, except for Ruth sitting at the counter and Pell standing behind it.
Ruth slid off her stool and came over to me, crying silently on my shoulder as she put her willowy arms around me. I squeezed her back and smoothed the feathers on her head, like I had seen her and Pell do to each other.
“Thanks,” she said, laughing as she wiped away a tear. “And sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry about that,” I said quietly, as she stepped back toward her stool. “Hey,” I said, turning to Pell.
She nodded at me, her eyes angry and her forehead creased. “They’re in the back.”
When I opened the door to Jerry’s office, Rex got up from the chair facing the desk and crossed the distance between us in two steps. He grabbed me by the upper arm and gave me a kiss that dissipated my need to lecture him on making assumptions about what was best for me and disregarding my contributions to the fight against GHA and H4H, and several other things that, by the time he pulled away from me, I had temporarily forgotten.
Jerry, sitting behind his desk, raised an eyebrow. “You about done?”
Rex ignored him. “I’m sorry,” he said to me, with an earnestness that, as far as I had seen in the world, only he was capable of. “I worry about you sometimes, that’s all.”
“Yeah, you said that already.”
“Well, it’s still true. But I’m also really glad you’re here. We can definitely use your help.”
I put my hand on his cheek and nodded.
Jerry cleared his throat, and Rex and I turned to look at him. He looked terrible. Then I realized Rex did, too. They were both pale and haggard, with dark rings under red eyes.
“You two look awful,” I told them. “Were you both up all night?” They exchanged a glance, then Rex nodded. “We were with Doc. Trying to get the bail thing sorted out. Then going with him to turn himself in.”
“Oh, wow. Sorry.”
“Yeah, so we’ve got a lot of stuff to figure out,” Jerry said.
Rex gestured toward a second chair facing the desk, and I sat in it as he eased himself back onto his. There was a platter of muffins on the desk; he gestured at those, too, but I shook my head. “We were talking about how the hell we’re going to get Doc out of jail,” he said.
Jerry looked at his watch. “Yeah, and we were doing it in a hurry because I got to get out of here.”
“Where are you going?” I asked.
Jerry huffed impatiently, but Rex said, “He has to go get the case files from DeWitt, to hand them off
to whoever we get to take over this case.”
“Is there another lawyer ready?”
“Not with all this GHA stuff,” Jerry said. “We had a hell of a time finding the first one.” He pointed at Rex. “Which reminds me, you were saying something about using GHA as part of Doc’s defense?”
Rex shook his head. “No, I was saying we couldn’t. DeWitt suggested we could argue that there was no crime because of GHA, that Cornelius wasn’t…a person, as far as the law is concerned.”
“Yeah, but Doc said no way,” I cut in. “That was when he kicked us out. He said it was against everything he stood for.”
“Exactly,” Rex said. “That’s what I was saying.”
Jerry shook his head. “Look, I feel you. I really do. And Doc, too. I love the guy and what you just said is a big part of why. But you saw him yesterday. They beat the crap out of him in that jail. How much more of that do you think he can take? We need to get him out of there. Now.”
“We need to go out to that hospital,” I blurted out. “OmniCare. The one from the bracelet.”
“What are you talking about?” Jerry asked, looking back and forth between Rex and me.
“The hospital bracelet,” Rex said. He moved around a few papers on Jerry’s desk and pulled out a photocopy of the bracelet. “The one Cornelius was wearing. Doc said the code was from an OmniCare hospital, and there’s only one in the whole state.”
“You have a copy of it?” I reached out and took it from him. “How did you get this?”
“DeWitt. She got her copy from the police and made a copy for Doc.” He turned back to Jerry.
“Yeah, yeah, I remember,” said Jerry. “But DeWitt said the police called there, and she called there, and they said they didn’t have this Cornelius kid in their system, right?”
“Yeah, but what if that’s BS?” I said, holding up the photocopy. “We need to go out there. To the hospital. Show them this, at the very least. And see if we can find—”
“Ach.” Jerry shook his head dismissively. “We don’t have time to be chasing down false leads.”
“How do you know it’s a false lead?” I shot back.
