by C M Dancha
When he got home, he was surprised to find nearly all the Sweats family members gathered throughout the dining and living rooms. At first, he took this mob of relatives to mean that Grandma LeeLee had passed away. But the jubilation, joking, and upbeat conversations indicated the opposite. Grandma LeeLee had not died but rather made a miraculous recovery. She was sitting in a recliner chair surrounded by a dozen or more of her descendants, relatives, and neighbors.
M.C. made his way through the crowd and got close to the recliner. He arrived just in time to hear LeeLee say, "Kids, God has given me a new lease on life. He came to me last night and said I had a few things left to do before joining him up above. So, I'll be staying right here pestering each of you as I have..."
That was all M.C. could remember from Grandmother's announcement that she was far from death's door. He was shocked by how good she looked and the energy she displayed at her not-going-away party. He was happy she recovered but there was something very odd about this turn of events. He could feel it in his gut; something just wasn't right. A few short hours before she was gasping for air and her body temperature was dropping like a rock. Now, she looked twenty years younger. How could such a radical recovery and change take place? It wasn't natural and defied the precepts of medicine. There had to be a logical explanation other than God told her she had more work to do on Earth. M.C. refused to believe that drivel. But, all the "Praise be God" and similar religious remarks indicated that those around her chair were more convinced than ever in the existence of a loving Creator.
"M.C. M.C. Boy, you come over here and give your Grandma a big hug."
His thoughts about his grandmother's remarkable recovery vanished. He put a big smile on his face and trotted over to hug and sit by her.
"Grandma, you look great. How do you feel? I can't believe how good you look. Did the doctor give you something …?"
"M.C. calm down. I feel great and no one on Earth doctored me. My medicine came from above. I've told you all the time to trust in the Lord. And, if you do that, everything will turn out okay."
"Well, Grandma, I'm not sure how you made such a great recovery but I'm glad you did."
LeeLee gave one of her raspy chuckles, kissed M.C. on the cheek and added, "By the way M.C., thanks for mailing the box to Rodolfo. He needs that box bad. The next couple of years are going to be so exciting and he's going to be right in the middle of it. In fact, you will be too."
Thank God, he chose to send the box. If Grandma was going to be around for a while, as it now appeared, then he made the right choice. But what the hell did she mean by the next couple of years were going to be exciting and the Sweats brothers were going to be in the middle of things? Was this another secret communique from her God or did she have a screw loose and think she could foretell the future? M.C. had no idea what to think. If there was a God, then He was probably the only One who knew for sure.
For the next hour, M.C. sat at her side, welcoming, shaking hands and making small talk with the Sweats family members. He was pleased to see the number of neighbors who showed up for the festivities and free food. As the custom, they had brought the food and beverages to the celebration. At least he wouldn't have to foot the bill for feeding the entire crowd.
Finally, he excused himself to go to the buffet-style food table. All this celebration made him hungry and he was a soft touch for the home-cooked dishes made by the women in the neighborhood.
As M.C. stood behind the food table eating a little bit of every dish, he scanned the room. He wasn't looking for anyone in particular but rather taking inventory of the guests.
For the first time in his life, he realized something that was so obvious it had slid by his conscious mind for decades. He stopped eating and stared at his grandmother and the relatives standing and sitting around her.
Grandma LeeLee looked a lot like his younger brother, Rodolfo. She had the same light complexion and chiseled nose and lips. The only prominent Negroid feature was the tightly wound hair on her head. He guessed that if he could find a picture of LeeLee from eighty years before the two of them would appear to be brother and sister.
He had never seen or paid attention to this resemblance in the past. It was probably the darker-skin Sweats now standing around her who highlighted the differences. Most Sweats had medium or very dark skin with broad noses and lips. Even the color of their hair was several shades darker than the color of LeeLee's and Rodolfo's hair.
He wondered if anyone else in the family had noticed these differences. He was reluctant to say anything about this to any family member. There was no sense creating another family dispute. But he decided to do a little snooping and try to figure out how this happened. Was it due to normal breeding and genetics or reflect something more secretive or sinister?
Chapter Six
Company and Careers On The Line
"Good afternoon, Helga. You're looking stunning as usual."
Klaus Ekstrom's middle-aged assistant blushed and gave a faint school girl snicker in response to Rollie's pointed and exaggerated compliment. He loved watching her turn from the CEO's stern sentry to a radiant wallflower each time he praised her appearance in one way or another. It didn't get him any special treatment from Helga, but it did brighten his day a bit seeing the joy he added to her life.
"Oh Mr. Sweats, you say the nicest things. I bet your mother taught you how to be such a gentleman."
"It was my grandmother, Helga. She spent a lot of time making sure the girls in our family acted like ladies and the boys knew how to treat them properly. For Grandma, there was no such thing as equality among the sexes. Boys learned how to become men and girls learned how to become ladies. And each sex had their own rules and values which were not shared with the other sex."
"That's quite an interesting take on child rearing, Mr. Sweats. You and Helga can continue your conversation some other time." Klaus Ekstrom turned and walked back into his office after eavesdropping on their conversation. Rollie looked at Helga and gave her an exasperated smile before following his boss.
Of the three chairs in front of Klaus's desk, Rollie sat in the one to the right. He learned from experience that Klaus spent a great deal of time looking to his right as he thought about what to say to guests in his office. Not being in his direct line of sight was a break from the pointed and confrontational discussions with Klaus.
Seven years earlier, when Klaus was selected the new CEO, it took Rollie two meetings to understand his management style. It was a dictator rather than a benevolent and concerned leader. There was no horse-play, laughing or screwing around in Klaus's world. He was direct, to the point and expected results. Failure was not a word in Klaus's vocabulary.
During his first month as CEO, one-half of the upper Phoenvartis management staff looked for new careers. Most were let go after they were unable to write a convincing one-page memorandum explaining why they shouldn't be fired. Rollie could still remember when he got this assignment. After two days of worrying about what to write, Rollie knew there was no right answer. So, he decided to be blunt and as honest as possible. He wrote in big bold letters across the letter-size paper, MR. EKSTROM: YOU SHOULDN'T FIRE ME BECAUSE I'M DAMN GOOD AT WHAT I DO. I DON'T ACCEPT A CHALLENGE UNLESS I PLAN TO BE THE BEST AT IT. IF I CAN'T BE THE BEST, THEN I WON'T TAKE THE ASSIGNMENT. AND, I LIKE TO WORK; ALWAYS HAVE AND ALWAYS WILL. Signed ROLLIE SWEATS.
Rollie was packing the personal belongings in his office when he received an unexpected incoming call on his UCN. It was from Klaus Ekstrom and was short and to the point. "Mr. Sweats, welcome to my team. Please contact my assistant, Helga, to arrange our first meeting. Be prepared to explain your current projects with a detailed timing and action. Also, I will want to know what we can do here at Phoenvartis to make the company more successful."
Rollie was relieved to survive the first reduction in management positions but knew this wasn't going to be the last. There was no such thing as having a safe and tenured position in a Klaus Ekstrom regime.
Your performance was constantly under examination and evaluation. At any time, the boss could let you go because he decided you weren't of enough value to the company.
That day, six years earlier, Rollie decided to play by Klaus's rules and see what the future held at Phoenvartis. Since then, he was satisfied with his decision to stay at Phoenvartis and work for King Klaus, the unofficial nickname many people at the company called Ekstrom. After all, how many people had the chance to take part in medical breakthroughs like the replication of life?
"Well, Mr. Sweats, it appears that your idea from a couple of years ago has finally paid off. Congratulations. Now, what do you see as the next step in this project?"
It was true that Rollie had suggested looking at the possibility of creating life by cloning. But, if the truth be known, he never expected it to become a reality. When he brought it up as a possible project, he considered it a creative way to keep his job. If the boss bought the idea, he was guaranteed at least a couple of years of further employment. The years had raced by. Now, he faced the bigger problem of where to take the replicant life project. The successful cloning of a simple creature had changed his life. And, most likely, the future of the world.
"Mr. Ekstrom, I haven't had a chance to think through how this project should proceed. It was only an hour or two ago when I heard about the recent developments from your nephew, Claude. In fact, I still have yet to see the recording of the first cloning."
"Rollie, you've had over four years to lay out a Timing and Action for this project. There shouldn't be any doubt in your mind what the next steps should be in this project. And, as far as the recording goes, I think you'll like..." Klaus Ekstrom caught himself before incriminating his nephew's deceit with the recording.
"Never mind about the recording. It's not that important. Here's what I want, Rollie. By 8 a.m. tomorrow morning, I want on my desk a detailed T & A for the cloning project. I want to know what direction we'll be taking and how fast. The executive committee expects big things from this project so let's not disappoint them. Any questions?"
"No, I don't think so. I have a pretty good understanding of what you want."
Rollie stood up to leave. He started to reach out to shake Klaus's hand but withdrew it after seeing that his boss was already thinking about other things. To him, Rollie was already gone from his office.
Rollie walked past Helga's desk and let out a muffled whistle. He replicated the whistle young, attractive ladies on the street get from construction workers. He smiled to himself as he walked away hearing Helga's girlish snicker again. He wished that he felt lighthearted like Helga but couldn't ever remember leaving Klaus's office in a positive mood. He always left feeling like the loser in a one-round cage match with a wrestling bear.
By the time he reached his office, he knew exactly how he was going to handle Klaus and give himself at least a 50% chance of surviving this debacle. Unfortunately, he needed Claude Ekstrom's cooperation to pull off his plan.
"Ingrid, please find that dweeb, Claude Ekstrom, and tell him to get up here immediately."
"Is it okay if I call him a dweeb, Mr. Sweats?"
Rollie smiled to himself. "Ingrid, after what he pulled today, I don't care what you call him."
Fifteen minutes later Claude crept softly into Rollie's office. He knew he was on the hot seat for going around Rollie's back. He had been warned about communicating directly with his uncle, Klaus.
Rollie waved Claude to a chair, shut the door to the office and sat down across from the dweeb. He stared at Claude for two to three minutes, not saying a word but rather snapping his pencil on the desktop. Each successive snap was louder and more forceful until the pencil finally broke in two.
"Claude, you and I have a problem, a big problem called SOA. Do you know what SOA stands for, Claude?" Rollie didn't give Claude a chance to answer the question. He didn't care what Claude thought it meant and he didn't want him to utter a word.
"SOA stands for Save Our Asses. Let me repeat Claude, it stands for Save Our Asses. Or, put another way, how can we develop the cloning project in a scientific manner without getting fired."
Rollie could tell from Claude's expression that he didn't have any idea what this lecture was about. He stood up and walked to the back of Claude's chair. Leaning forward, he balanced himself by resting his hands on the chair's back.
"Claude, I spent a half hour with your uncle talking about the cloning project. He told me that he saw the CR47 recording of the field mouse cloning. He said he got the recording from you. And he has already run to the executive committee to share the good news."
At the mention of his involvement in the disappearance of the CR47 recording, Claude swung around in his chair to face Rollie. He rambled on trying to explain away his disloyalty and deceit.
"Claude, shut up! Don't say a word and don't even think about trying to deny giving the recording to your uncle. He already sold you out, so don't make things worse than they are already." Rollie's lie was having the desired effect on Claude. His bottom lip started to quiver, and he frantically looked around the room to find something or someone to help him get out of this predicament.
"You and I both know that putting together one lousy little field mouse is light years away from what your uncle wants. He wants to clone humans. That's where the money is and that's what will make him the most renowned scientist-CEO in the world. And, he wants to start the human cloning immediately. Are you starting to see the problem yet, Claude?”
Again, Rollie went on without waiting for Claude to answer. "Let me make this really simple for you. If we start human cloning now, without following scientific procedures, there's a 99% chance the first human clone will be a vegetable or some unspeakable freak. Your uncle might be able to explain away the first failure to the executive committee but he sure as hell won't be able to explain why clones two, three and four are mutants. And when that happens, you and I are toast. In other words, when he goes down with the ship, we go too. And instead of honor and notoriety, we'll be lucky to have jobs sweeping floors."
Rollie walked back in front of Claude and sat on the front side of his desk. "Claude, do you understand the problem you've created by running to your uncle and shooting off that big mouth of yours?"
This time, Rollie waited for Claude to respond which was a simple nodding up and down of his head. He then started his well-known nasal snorting to clear his sinuses and airways. Rollie felt like grabbing him by the neck and slapping his sinus cavities clear.
When Claude calmed down and stopped snorting, Rollie continued. "Claude, we have a choice. We're going to decide right now whether to do exactly as your uncle wants or put together a game plan which might save the cloning project and our jobs. Which one should we do, Claude?"
It didn't take long for the dweeb to reach a decision. "God, I really screwed up, didn't I?"
"Claude, that's water under the bridge. There's nothing we can do about that now. Again, what do you think we should do?"
Claude pushed back the glasses on his nose and answered. "I think we better take the scientific approach and not rush into human cloning. Like you said, Rollie, the odds of perfecting human cloning right away are probably a thousand to one. But, how are we going to put off my uncle? He's going to be furious if we don't start human cloning right away. Especially now that he has oversold the idea to the executive committee and told them it's as easy as the mouse cloning."
As Rollie suspected, Claude confirmed what Klaus told the executive committee. He had convinced them that bringing the cloning project to market was going to be as easy as baking a pie. And, by doing so, he had jeopardized the image and reputation of the company. But worse, the fallout and rumors of a failed human cloning project would work their way up the food chain. It would stop with the ultimate government overlords—the World Council. And that would be the end of Phoenvartis, Klaus and Claude Ekstrom and Rodolfo Sweats. Rollie had to tone down Klaus's unrealistic enthusiasm and goals. His boss needed to eat a
plate of humble pie to save the project, company and everyone's careers.
"Claude, it's better that Klaus gets really pissed off now rather than drag out one disappointment after another. In other words, we are going to hit him with every disaster I can think of in the next few days. And the first thing will be the death of the cloned field mouse."
"Rollie, I just checked on the field mouse. He's in great shape."
"Claude, wake up. You are going to go back to the lab and euthanize the mouse. In one hour, the mouse will be no more. And, by the way, kill it using some method or drug that isn't traceable."
"Well, what good will that do?"
"It will be the first step in convincing Klaus he needs to throttle down on the cloning project and realize it's not a sure-fire success. The unexpected death of the mouse will start him thinking the cloning process might be faulty. By the end of this week, he'll mellow on the project and start conveying his reservations to the executive committee. He's going to be really pissed at us for the next few weeks but that's a lot better than handing him one human cloning failure after another."
"So, let me see if I understand this. I'm going to kill the mouse and you are going to think of some fake setbacks to tell my uncle?"
"That's right, and I just thought of another one. The CR47 incubator is going to suffer an electronic and mechanical malfunction. A malfunction that we create. One that takes several weeks to fix."
Claude thought about Rollie's proposed plan and summarized it out loud to see if it seemed reasonable. "Okay, we pile these problems on my uncle and hope like hell he tones down his enthusiasm toward the project. If that happens, he'll temper his reports to the executive committee. And if we get really lucky, he'll make up some bullshit excuses about the project and tell the committee it will take an extended period to fix the problems. Have I got this right?"
