by Ben Bova
“I need your help on this analysis that O’Neill and his technicians are trying to do. They’re getting bogged down. They need somebody with your fine touch for these things.”
I looked up at Darrell. He wasn’t teasing, not being sarcastic. He meant exactly what he said.
“What’s their problem?” I asked.
Darrell glanced up at Max, who was watching us from his tree with sad brown eyes. “It’s this nerve-regeneration experiment they’re running for Arthur. They’re trying to do an analysis of the chemical pathways between neurons and they’re swamped with all kinds of spurious signals.”
With a resigned sigh, I signed good-bye to Max. He shook his head, a very human gesture.
Darrell was so much taller than I that I had to crane my neck to look up at him as we started back toward the lab. I asked him, “What equipment are they using?”
“Come on back to Zack’s lab. He can show you the whole setup.”
As we came up to the building’s rear door I stopped and said, “Darrell, I want you to look out for Max while I’m gone.”
“Me?” He looked startled.
“Please.”
“But the caretakers—”
“They don’t exercise him enough. They don’t give him any special attention. Max needs companionship. He’s not a lab rat or a minihog. He’s practically human!”
Darrell just stood there, looking upset.
“And it’s starting to get colder. It’s going to be winter soon. Max catches cold easily, you know. You’ve got to look out for him.”
Finally Uncle Darrell broke into a gentle smile. “I’ll look out for him. Don’t worry about it, Cassie. I’ll see that Max gets all the attention he needs.”
“I’ll make out a list of what he needs. And the foods he likes best. Treats, you know, like gumdrops; he’s crazy about gumdrops.”
“Any special flavor?”
“Spearmint’s his favorite. But he likes lemon, too. And raspberry. But don’t let him have too many.”
Darrell shook his head, and I could tell exactly what he was thinking. Maybe she’ll find some nice guy down there in Mexico and start to feel just as much for a man as she does for the damned dumb chimp. I knew that’s what he thought. Just like Arthur and all the rest of them. That shows how much they know about anything.
As we stepped through the door and into the laboratory building, I told Darrell what was really important to me. “Max is not to be used for any experiments while I’m away.”
“Now, wait a minute, Cass. We can’t—”
“That’s the deal I made with Arthur. Nobody touches Max until I get back. Arthur promised.”
“He did?”
“Yes, he did.” It wasn’t a lie, exactly. Arthur had said he had no plans to use Max for anything while I was away.
Darrell shrugged. He knew Arthur even better than I did, so I was certain he never believed for a moment that Arthur would flatly promise to put Max on the retired list while I was away. I was sure Darrell figured that maybe Arthur said he’d try to leave Max alone, or waved his hand and smiled when I asked him not to let anybody use Max until I came back.
“Well,” Darrell said, “you know that we’re going to mate him with the female chimps.”
“Yes,” I said. “That’s all right.”
A slow smile broke out across his horsey face. “Not such a bad life, at that.”
I didn’t dignify his smirk with an answer. But I hoped that Darrell realized I would cause a bundle of trouble if anybody tried to use Max for any experiments while my back was turned. And maybe that was as good as a promise from the boss.
JESSE
I kept telling myself that it’s crazy. I’m not a jealous man. And there was nothing to be jealous of.
I turned on that damned stiff, uncomfortable cot and looked at Julia, sleeping soundly on the cot next to me. We were practically touching, we had put our cots so close together. In the darkness of the tent I could barely make out the profile of her form against the slightly lighter side of the tent. I thought of how god-awful awkward it was going to be to try making love on these damned contraptions. Once she felt strong enough again.
Her breathing was deep and regular. That was reassuring. The fever seemed to have disappeared as suddenly and mysteriously as it had come. Some doctor. Can’t even diagnose your own wife.
And what about yourself? Are you jealous of some Canadian kid in a soldier suit? He does spend a lot of time around Julia; a helluva lot of time. Shouldn’t he be out there chasing down the bandits in the hills or inspecting the troops who’re protecting this hospital or something?
I turned over cautiously on the creaking cot, worried that it might tip over. I listened for a minute or two longer to Julia’s breathing—and for the terrifying sound of a mosquito inside the tent. Nothing, thank god. I bug-bombed the tent every evening, while Julia was outside having dinner.
With Captain Eberly.
I couldn’t sleep. Every time I closed my eyes I saw that long line of people out there, needing, hurting, waiting for me to do something for them, ease their pain, make their lives better. I could feel their pain, their misery. Every time I started to fall asleep all their stares and moans coalesced into one lone person: Ma, lying haggard and shriveled in her nursing home bed.
It had been almost impossible to get to see her, with so much else to do at the last minute before leaving for the airport. Patients at the hospital. The custodial staff at the medical center was threatening a job action. Inoculations and a ton of paperwork for the UN and the African officials and the damned snotty State Department bureaucrats.
And Arby chewing on my ass every day about driving up to see Ma.
“I’ll send a limo for you,” Arthur promised. Threatened, really. “The driver will wait for you and then take you wherever you have to go.”
What good would it do to see Ma? She’s dying and there’s nothing I can do about it. Not a damned thing. But Arby’s pushing and I guess I really should see her before I go. What if she dies while I’m overseas?
Ma looked no different than the last time I had seen her. Emaciated, withered down to wrinkled skin and bones. Somebody had smeared some lipstick on her and brushed what was left of her hair. But that’s not Ma, not that dying little bag of bones that can’t even smile at me. It’s not her. There’s nothing left of her. She’d already died, only she wasn’t ready to admit it yet.
That was just like Ma. Strong and gutsy. The mother who fought the whole goddamned New York City school board to get me into the Bronx High School of Science. The mother who sat by my bed every minute when I was sick with hepatitis and the doctors thought I was going to die only she wouldn’t let me die because she loved me so much she kept me alive and made me strong again. The mother who told Arby that if Julia wanted me instead of him it wasn’t my fault and there was nothing he could do about it.
But this half-paralyzed old lady in this lousy little room—I had to force myself through the doorway and into her room.
Someone had put an extra chair beside her bed. Probably Arthur had phoned ahead to tell them that we’d both be coming.
Ma’s eyes fastened on me. I made myself smile and go to her and bend over and kiss her forehead. It felt like kissing a corpse.
“How are you, Ma?” I asked, feeling totally stupid as soon as the words left my lips.
Arby bustled around and pulled the tray with the computer on it over to the bed. I had to scrape my chair across the floor to get it to a position where I could see the display screen.
Painfully, Ma typed, GLAD TO SEE BOTH
“How are you feeling?” Arby asked, his voice strangely low, tight.
OKAY. HOW YOU JESS
“I’m fine,” I said with a heartiness I sure didn’t feel. “Going to Africa for a couple of months, working at a UN hospital.”
VERY PROUD OF YOU
That made me smile.
HOW JULIA
“She’s fine, Ma. She’s going
with me.”
WHEN WILL I BE GRANMA
Christ, I should have known she’d bring that up. Nothing but pressure, every time.
But I kept the smile on my face and answered, “Not yet, Ma. We’re not ready yet.”
I DONT HAVE LONG
“Oh, you’ll be okay,” I said. “You’ll be at his bar mitzvah.”
SURE
I looked up at Arby, hovering over Ma. They didn’t need an extra chair for him, he wouldn’t sit down anyway. Say something, for chrissakes, I begged him silently. Take me off the hook.
But Arby just stood there in his handsome suit and tie, looking as pained and helpless as I felt. If only there was something we could do for her, I thought. Some way to help her. They’re standing in line all over the place, waiting for me to help them somehow, all their eyes on me, at the clinic, at the field hospital. Humanitarian of the Year and I can’t even help my own mother, for chrissakes, can’t help all those frightened, sick, beaten people. AIDS victims, rape victims, addicts and drunks and people starving in Africa and kids dying of dysentery within sight of the big high-rise apartment blocks on the beaches of Rio. And they all want me to cure them, save them, feed them, and make them happy again.
And Julia’s spending more time with that damned Canadian than with me. In my mind’s eye I saw her with the UN captain sitting in the shade of a plane tree in the late afternoon while I worked my ass off with these damned hopeless cases. Only it wasn’t Captain Eberly that she was sitting with, chatting with, laughing with. It was Arby who was sitting with her. Julia had gone back to Arby and left me alone with the endless needy and my dying mother.
I sat bolt upright on the cot, drenched in sweat.
Julia stirred, woke up. “What is it, darling? Are you all right?”
“Go back to sleep,” I said. “It’s nothing. Just a bad dream.”
THE TRIAL:
DAY TWO, MORNING
So, after originating the idea for organ regeneration,” said Rosen, still seated at the end of the judges’ desks, “you went to Africa to work with a UN mercy mission.”
“That’s correct,” Jesse replied.
“And you did not work on the organ regeneration program at Omnitech’s Grenford Laboratory?”
“I did not.”
“Not at all?”
“Oh, I talked with my brother about the progress of his program when it first got under way, but by the time I got back from Africa he had already put together a team of Omnitech employees and medical consultants from several hospitals and research centers.”
Rosen seemed to think that over for a few moments, hands pressed together prayerfully before his face. Then he asked, “Did you receive any financial remuneration from Omnitech Corporation?”
Jesse grinned at him. “Not one penny.”
“Did you ask for compensation?”
“No. Why should I?”
“Again I ask,” Arthur called from his seat on the front bench, “what does this have to do with the scientific facts?”
Jesse turned in his chair to see his brother. Arthur was clearly angry, his face a storm cloud. “Does it really change the scientific data if someone was paid by Omnitech or not? Are you implying that the scientists who worked on this program biased their results according to who signed their paychecks? That’s monstrous!”
Graves reached for gavel, a pained look on his face. Rosen gave Arthur a wintry smile.
“Dr. Marshak,” said the examiner, “you are the one who has used the word ‘biased,’ not I.”
“If you’re implying that my staff people deliberately altered their research results to suit some corporate objective, I’ll sue you for libel!”
Jesse had never seen Arthur so boiled. He almost laughed out loud; Arby never let his emotions show like this. Rosen must really be getting to him.
The chief judge was pointing his gavel at Arthur, saying, “This is not the proper forum for such an outburst!”
Arthur got his feet. “This isn’t the proper forum for smearing honest, dedicated scientists!”
“Dr. Marshak, sit down and be quiet!” Graves screeched.
“I will when you instruct that inquisitor to stop maligning my staff scientists!”
Rosen, still in his chair, raised both his hands, palms outward. “I assure you, Dr. Marshak, that I have no desire to malign anyone.”
“Then retract your insinuation,” Arthur snapped.
“I made no insinuation. I merely asked if your brother received any compensation from Omnitech. If you like, we can have the clerk read it back from the transcript.”
“The implication was clear,” Arthur said. But he sat down.
Jesse turned back toward the judges and the examiner. Wow! he thought. Arby’s going to pop his cork before this is over.
ARTHUR
I stood at the big picture window of my living room with my morning mug of coffee warming my hands and watched Nancy back her red Taurus out of the driveway. Heading toward the corporate headquarters in Manhattan, I surmised. Probably she’ll stop at her apartment first and change into fresh clothes. I didn’t know and didn’t care.
Nancy had awakened early, all smiles, and pranced off to the shower with barely a good morning. I had gotten out of bed, pulled on my robe, pissed in the guest bedroom’s toilet, and gone to the kitchen to grind some coffee beans.
“I’ll get breakfast in town,” Nancy told me, declining even a cup of fresh-brewed coffee. She swept out of the house with nothing more than a peck on my cheek.
But she whispered into my ear, “It was wonderful. See you next Monday night.”
And I felt my heart sink.
As I stood by the window and watched her Taurus disappear behind the hedges of the front lawn, I wondered if the price of Nancy’s information wasn’t going to be too high. I didn’t mind helping her to get the advancement she wanted. But I shuddered at the thought of having a regular Monday night date with her. Or anyone. Like paying the rent on the first of the month. Too cold-blooded. It becomes an obligation. A business deal.
Well, I asked myself, that’s what you set up, isn’t it? A business deal. She tells you what you need to know and you help her move up the corporate ladder. The fucking is just there to clinch the transaction, like the signatures on a contract.
In blood, I thought. She’s going to be more trouble than she’s worth. I could feel it in my bones.
As I showered and shaved and dressed, I wondered what I should do about this Japanese deal now that I knew about it. Confront Johnston? Find out who Johnston was talking to and go to Japan to see them personally? Find my own buyer for the lab?
Maybe I should just barge into Johnston’s office and ask him what the hell he was doing. It might bounce back to Nancy, but why should I care about that? Could be the best way to get her off my neck.
I wanted to be angry with Johnston, sore at him for even thinking of selling off the lab. But I couldn’t work up the emotion. Johnston had saved my life, back when Potter had driven me out of Columbia, out of academia. I owed Johnston a lot.
I started thinking back to the first time I had met W. Christian Johnston, nearly fifteen years earlier, at a fund-raising party at Columbia one snowy January evening.
It had been a tepid affair, at best. Weak punch and thin finger sandwiches. Not much to offer the university’s big money people, I thought as I looked around the darkly paneled old room. Nobody under sixty except me. All gray heads. I should talk. My hair was already silver.
There was only one black man in the room, a big man, physically. And he must have been big in the wallet, too, I saw from the way the president and other university officers were clustered around him.
Wilson K. Potter, my department chairman, came out of the crowd around the black man and made his way through the gathering directly toward me. Even back then Potter was nothing more than a pinch-faced bald little gnome who hadn’t changed his teaching plan since he had achieved tenure ages ago.
“The
re’s someone that the president wants you to meet,” Potter told me. The expression on his face was even more rancid than usual, as if this was a distasteful duty. “He’s the new CEO of Omnitech Corporation.”
Johnston behaved like a salesman at first, all toothy smiles and his voice too loud. He insisted on being called “just Johnston. That’s all. No Mister or anything. Just Johnston. With the tee.”
He doesn’t want to be called Chris, I figured. And whatever his first name is, he must hate it.
The crowd slowly melted away, until Johnston and I found ourselves alone in a corner of the room. Through the narrow mullioned window we could see the snow floating softly through the lights of the streetlamps outside.
“I hear you have some very practical ideas about genetic engineering,” Johnston said, his voice much lower than before.
“My brother and I have played around with a few things,” I replied.
“Bugs that eat oil spills?”
He knew all about that, I was certain. “I think your company is already using some of our ideas.”
“Yes, we are.”
I made a rueful smile. “So we get the credit in academia for the work and companies like yours make the money out of it.”
“What are you working on now?”
“Toxic wastes.”
That made his eyes widen. “A bug that eats toxic wastes?”
“Several different strains, yes.”
“In landfills?”
“In landfills. Or wherever.”
Johnston made a soft whistle between his teeth. “That could be worth a lot of money, Dr. Marshak. A lot of money.”
“To Omnitech.”
“To whoever owns the patent on the bug.”
Now my eyes widened. Of course! I told myself. If I could get the university to grant me the rights to the patent . . .
“Omnitech will pay very handsomely for a license to produce and sell your bug,” said Johnston, his voice even lower. Then he grinned and added, “Providing it works, of course.”
But my excitement ebbed as quickly as it had peaked. “I imagine the university will want the patent.”
