by Greg Cox
“This is Dr. Fyodor Leonov, my colleague and mentor,” Takagi [65] explained, gesturing toward the stranger. Roberta didn’t recognize the name from her recent research, but that wasn’t too surprising; she could hardly be expected to have memorized the name of every scientist working in the field of genetic engineering. “Dr. Leonov, this is Veronica Neary, of the University of Washington.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Doctor,” Leonov greeted Roberta, bowing his head slightly in her direction. The candlelight provided a glimpse of thinning, snow-white hair. “Walter speaks highly of you.”
A waiter, unsmiling and cadaverous in appearance, approached them from beside the front entrance and silently handed out a trio of shabby, laminated menus before retreating into the kitchen area. “Please feel free to order whatever appeals to you,” Leonov stated. “The dinner is atop me.”
“On me,” Takagi corrected him.
“Yes, of course. On me. My apologies.” The older scientist had a courtly, avuncular manner that Roberta found charming. He spoke slowly and deliberately, but without excess formality. “My English, I fear it is not so good.” He glanced over at the swinging metal door that led to the kitchen. “We may speak freely, though. The staff here speaks English not at all.”
“Why so hush-hush?” Roberta asked.
“Our work is not without controversy,” Leonov said solemnly, “as I am sure you must know.” As her eyes gradually adjusted to the dim lighting, Roberta saw that Leonov was wearing a dark suit and tie, as well as a pair of spectacles. She got the vague impression that he was in his sixties or seventies. “Walter tells me, however, that you are quite an advocate for exploring the full potential of new breakthroughs in genetic manipulation.”
“Oh yes!” she gushed, much as she had earlier with Takagi. “The possibilities are just astounding. Cracking the genetic code opens up all kinds of new opportunities in medicine and human development. I firmly believe that we’re on the verge of a social and scientific transformation that will make the Industrial Revolution seem like a minor hiccup.”
“Me neither,” Leonov agreed, not quite getting the expression right. [66] “It is good to meet a young person with such enthusiasm for the future.” A rueful tone entered his voice. “Those of us who have lived through the ... upsets ... of this century can only hope that the generations that follow us will know a safer, saner world.”
Oddly enough, Roberta thought that Leonov sounded a bit like Gary Seven, who frequently opined that modern-day humans had not yet lived up to their full potential. “Oh, I’m sure they will,” she insisted. “You can’t stop progress.”
She didn’t even need to fake her optimism. Having actually met a couple of very likable individuals from at least one possible future, she had a lot more confidence these days that the human race might actually—what was that phrase again?—oh yeah, live long and prosper.
Assuming Seven and I don’t screw things up, of course.
Their zombified waiter reappeared to take their orders, although his drawn, emaciated countenance hardly filled her with confidence regarding the restaurant’s cuisine. She struggled with the menu (her automatic translator no help when it came to printed material), but eventually ordered the spaghetti with clam sauce. She declined any wine, however, wanting to keep her wits about her. Were Takagi and his so-called mentor buying any of this?
Apparently so, since Leonov leaned forward to smile at Roberta, bringing his face within the scope of the candlelight for the first time. “American courage and optimism at its finest,” he said approvingly. “A most admirable trait, especially for a scientist.”
Roberta’s eyes nearly bugged out once she got a glimpse of the man’s face. Oh my goodness! she thought, her poker face slamming into place. Keep your cool, her brain screamed. Don’t give yourself away.
She had good reason to be excited, though. The man sitting across the table, whom Takagi claimed was somebody named Leonov, was actually Dr. Viktor Lozinak, a celebrated Ukrainian geneticist who had vanished from sight over a year ago. As far as Seven and the Beta 5 had been able to determine, Lozinak’s whereabouts had been unknown to both the American and Soviet authorities since he disappeared from his modest dacha in Kiev last fall.
Roberta had no doubts. There was no mistaking the thoughtful [67] brown eyes behind the man’s bifocals. Wisps of snow-white hair lay flat atop the elderly man’s cranium, just as they did in the grainy photograph tucked away in a folder in Roberta’s hotel room. Now that she was looking for it, she even noticed a slender wooden cane, of the sort Lozinak reportedly used, leaning against the older scientist’s chair. You can’t fool me, Doctor, Roberta thought triumphantly I’ve got your number.
It occurred to her that Lozinak certainly didn’t look as though he had been kidnapped against his will; perhaps all those missing scientists had their own reasons for dropping out of sight?
“Oh, I’m sure we Americans haven’t got a monopoly on positive attitudes,” she commented lightly, aiming to return the compliment. “I bet there are plenty of gung-ho researchers back in the Ukraine.”
Lozinak blinked in surprise and Roberta realized she had made a mistake. He leaned back into his chair, putting a little more distance between him and Roberta. His eyes narrowed as he peered at the American woman through his glasses.
“How do you know I am Ukrainian?” he asked her, not in a hostile way but clearly more interested in her answer than maybe he should be. He exchanged a worried glance with Takagi, who looked somewhat baffled and caught off guard by the edgy turn the conversation had taken, as innocuous as it seemed to be.
Roberta kicked herself mentally. “Just a lucky guess,” she improvised. “I dated a Ukrainian guy in college once, when I was a freshman.” Is he buying this? she wondered, sweating beneath her increasingly clingy dress. “Your accent sounds a little like his.”
“Ah,” Lozinak replied. He mulled her explanation over for a heartbeat or so, then appeared to relax to a degree. He slid his chair closer to the table, coming back into the constricted circle of light. “I see.”
An awkward silence followed, mercifully interrupted by the arrival of the appetizers. After they had sampled the antipasti, which weren’t as bad as Roberta had feared, Takagi got to the point. “What if I told you—hypothetically, of course—that human genetic engineering was a lot closer to happening than most people realize, that many of the world’s finest minds were already working on the project?”
“I’d think that was very exciting news,” Roberta said carefully, [68] aiming to act just as curious as Dr. Ronnie Neary would be at this point—and no more. “How much closer are we talking here?”
“Very,” Takagi said emphatically, his eyes gleaming. Roberta guessed that he was just aching to tell someone about this mysterious project, and had probably been biting his tongue since the conference began. “Let’s just say that old-fashioned evolution is in serious danger of becoming passé. Why, even now, at this very minute—”
Lozinak coughed, interrupting Takagi before he could spill too many beans. Clearly more cautious than his somewhat chattier colleague, the incognito geneticist rerouted the conversation. “Perhaps Dr. Neary will be so kind as to tell us more about her own work?”
Uh-oh, Roberta thought. Looks like we’ve entered the job-interview portion of the evening. Thank goodness she’d done her homework!
“Well, lately I’ve been experimenting with new ways to subdivide DNA into sections, using restriction enzymes,” she said, praying that Lozinak wouldn’t quiz her in too much detail; as far as she was concerned it was minor miracle that she’d picked up enough genetic know-how to be able to string coherent sentences together. “I also want to find a better technique for pasting the isolated gene sequences into bacterial plasmids, so I can use the altered bacteria as a vector to deliver foreign genes to a host cell.”
Lozinak nodded thoughtfully. To Roberta’s relief, he didn’t look like he found her imaginary experiments too implausible. “A pr
omising field of study,” he commented. “How are you able to tell whether the recombination has succeeded or not?”
Is this a trick question? Roberta worried. “I can’t—yet.” She recalled reading about some new technique that hadn’t quite been perfected yet, and dredged her memory for the details. “Er, ideally, I’d tag the recombinant plasmid with a radioactive probe, but I still haven’t found the right sequence to use as a carrier.”
“We may be able to offer you some assistance in that area,” Lozinak replied slowly. Judging from his benign expression, and the encouraging tone of his voice, she hadn’t flunked the exam so far. “What is your opinion of the function performed by introns?”
Introns, Roberta remembered hastily, were segments of DNA—[69] nucleotides, to be exact—that appeared to contain no useful genetic information. There were various competing theories as to what purpose they actually served, including the notion that they were nothing more than microbiological filler. I can probably B.S. my way through this particular question, she thought, but I’ve got to find a way to turn this chat around, before the old guy catches me on something stupid.
“Wait a second,” she protested. “What’s with the third degree? To be honest, I’d like to know a little more about this project of yours before I submit to some sort of entrance exam.”
“Oh, it’s nothing like that,” an abashed Takagi insisted unconvincingly. “Please believe me, we thought we were just talking shop, not conducting some sort of interrogation. Good heavens, no.”
Takagi probably would have kept on burbling denials, but Lozinak held up his hand, silencing the younger man. “No, Dr. Neary is correct. This was indeed a—how you say it?—an interrogation.” He gave Roberta a penetrating stare. “Forgive an old man his suspicions, but there is much at stake, and it is important that we be certain that you are for real what you appear to be.”
“Look who’s talking ... Dr. Lozinak,” Roberta said, letting the elderly scientist’s true name out into the open. Takagi’s jaw nearly dropped into his salad, but Lozinak himself merely nodded and scratched his chin, examining Roberta with a new mixture of respect and wariness.
Blowing the old man’s cover was a calculated risk, but it was the best way she could think of to turn the tables and place Lozinak on the defensive instead. “Did you really think,” she continued, “that I wouldn’t recognize the celebrated Dr. Viktor Lozinak? Come on!”
He smiled ruefully and removed his glasses, placing them upon the tabletop. “Guilty as charged, I’m afraid. The others, they said it was too dangerous for me to come to Rome in person, but I was certain I could keep a sunken silhouette.”
“Low profile,” Roberta corrected him. “So where have you been for the last several months?” she asked, going for broke. “Aren’t you supposed to be missing or something?”
Lozinak sighed and shrugged his shoulders; evidently, he felt that [70] matters had gone too far to hold back now. “You must understand, my American friend, that there are many people in this world, some of them highly placed in government, that are very afraid of where science has brought us. They hear ‘genetic engineering’ and they think eugenics and Hitler and Frankenstein. We who wish to lift mankind to a new level of advancement, by rewriting the genetic code that makes us what we are, must do our work in great secret.”
“You don’t have to tell me that,” Roberta pretended to commiserate. “Trust me, I’ve heard every single ‘mad doctor’ crack there is, sometimes from my own colleagues at the U.W.”
Lozinak shook his head mournfully. “It is no joking matter. If the people and their political leaders knew how far we have come, they would take drastic measures to halt our work. That is why my colleagues and I have been forced to go—what is the expression, beneath blankets?”
“Undercover,” Roberta supplied, being extremely familiar with the concept.
“Yes, undercover, thank you,” the venerable Ukrainian researcher continued. “We must go into hiding, conduct our work out of the world’s sight, and conceal our progress even from our fellow scientists, such as yourself.”
“What progress?” she pressed him, wishing she’d thought to carry a concealed recording device on her person. Seven would want to hear all about this. “How far have you gone?”
There was another long pause as Lozinak once again considered how much to divulge. Roberta held her breath, as did Takagi, and she wanted to scream in frustration when their waiter chose that minute to return bearing their entrees, thus prolonging the suspense even further. Once the waiter left them to their meals, however, Lozinak finally broke his silence.
“Let us call it the project,” he said, “and I truly believe it is our world’s best hope for survival. Our technology has evolved faster than our ability to use it wisely. The only solution is to create a superior human being, more intelligent and better able to contend with the challenges and opportunities of the future. This is what I, and a [71] number of my fellow scientists, have devoted the remainder of our lives to accomplishing: the next step in the evolution of humanity.”
“Pretty fantastic, huh?” Takagi blurted. A plate of hot calamari sat in front of the younger scientist, as yet untouched. “I couldn’t believe it myself the first time I heard about it.”
Roberta’s wide-eyed amazement was only partly faked. “And all this is actually happening somewhere?” she asked, leaning forward avidly. “Now?” She decided a bit of cautious skepticism was in order. “How do I know this isn’t just hype? I like to think I keep up with the cutting edge of things, and what you’re talking about, that’s decades away. Real twenty-first-century stuff. No offense,” she added hastily.
“None taken,” Lozinak assured her. Giving her a conspiratorial smile, he reached beneath the table and brought forth a small package, about the size of a shoebox, covered with a dark velvet cloth. He placed the bundle gently on the tabletop between them. Roberta thought she heard something skittering inside and gulped involuntarily. Images of tarantulas, rats, and even ickier creatures raced through her mind. Oh boy, she thought, what have I got myself into now?
“We anticipated your skepticism,” Lozinak explained. “Thus, a small demonstration.” With a theatrical flourish, he whisked the cloth off the mysterious item, revealing a rectangular glass case housing a single white mouse. Wood shavings carpeted the bottom of the case while a wire mesh lid let air pass freely between the case and the outside world. Inside his cozy domicile, the tiny mouse scurried back and forth, excited by his new surroundings, or perhaps by the smell of their dinners.
Okay, a mouse I can live with, Roberta thought, grateful that Isis was not around to frighten the little guy. “Umm, he’s cute enough,” she commented, unsure about what exactly the pint-sized rodent’s presence was supposed to prove, “but, er, I don’t know about you guys, but I can’t really see his DNA from here.”
Maybe he’s super-smart, she speculated, like the mousie in that Cliff Robertson movie? Roberta remembered crying when the mouse died in the motion picture.
“Patience,” Lozinak counseled her. Lifting a corner of the metal [72] grille, he fed the mouse a piece of cheese from his plate. “The demonstration has not yet concluded.” He lowered his head until his lips were level with the flickering yellow flame of their candle. “Behold.”
He blew out the candle, casting the table into utter blackness—or almost so. To her surprise, a soft white effulgence, coming from inside the glass case, caught her eye. She gasped out loud as she realized that the mouse itself was glowing in the dark, radiating a cool, constant phosphorescence even as the unconcerned animal contentedly nibbled on the piece of cheese that the older scientist had dropped onto the floor of the case. “Oh my goodness!” Roberta exclaimed.
Takagi leaped in eagerly to explain. “We isolated the gene for bioluminescence in an ordinary firefly, then spliced it into the DNA of this mouse’s mother. At least half of the offspring glow like this.” He could barely contain his exuberant glee at being able—fina
lly—to share this discovery with someone. “Isn’t it amazing?”
“I’ll say,” she admitted, her gaze glued to the sight of the luminous rodent. Intellectually, she realized that it would be possible to fake this display, simply by dipping an unsuspecting lab animal in radioactive, glow-in-the-dark paint, but, in her heart, she knew this wasn’t a hoax, not with all the high-powered scientific talent involved. “Talk about show-and-tell.” She looked up from the case to Dr. Lozinak, whose head and shoulders were only faintly discernible in the descended gloom. “Okay, I’m convinced,” she said, totally serious. “What now?”
Drawing a matchbook from the pocket of his jacket, the elder spokesman of two scientists relit their candle, then placed the velvet cloth over the mouse’s case before returning it to its place beneath the table (where, frankly, Roberta doubted that it was the only mouse thriving upon the floor of this particular restaurant). Lozinak regarded Roberta thoughtfully, looking her directly in the eye.
“The project needs young people like yourself and Dr. Takagi,” he began, “to see it safely into the decades to come. To be candid, we have already investigated your credentials and found them to be more than satisfactory.”
“Thanks,” she said nervously, relieved that the phony background [73] Seven had manufactured for Veronica Neary had apparently survived some sort of rapid-fire background check. “You guys move fast.”
“With modern civilization racing ever more recklessly toward the abyss,” Lozinak lamented sadly, “we can hardly afford to do otherwise.” The irony inherent in the old man’s words, which could have just as easily emerged from Gary Seven’s own lips, was not lost on Roberta as the elderly scientist cut to the heart of the matter. “I am offering you the opportunity to join the project, take part in our work, but I must deliver a warning as well. If you join us, you must be prepared to disappear as we have. You must be willing to cut yourself off from the outside world, sharing your secrets and successes with only your fellow members of the project, as well as those few individuals we employ to guard our operations and handle various logistical arrangements.”
