by Dan A. Baker
“But you know, that’s all bullshit,” he continued, turning on the running lights.
“Yeah, I know,” Jasmine said.
“We’re programmed to want to live. We cherish life, we worship life, and we move heaven and earth to protect human life. It’s our one central immutable instinct, and nothing is ever going to change that. I know that if I argue with life, it wins every time,” he said thoughtfully, zipping up his jacket.
“I want to be young again,” Jasmine pleaded. “I want my skin to be smooth again, and I want my breasts to be firm. I want men to look at me again, and I want to get excited when I look at men. I want my face to be smooth and I want my hair to shine again. I want all that again,” she cried. “I just can’t help myself.”
Jasmine looked at Earl for a long time. At his kindly face and his narrow battered forehead. Earl was a giver. He gave himself to his profession, his family, and to the future, and never asked for anything for himself.
If people like Earl lived for a very long time, giving the world their wisdom, their skills, their knowledge, that would be a good thing, Jasmine thought.
“It doesn’t really matter very much if we do it or not. Someone will. We’re just several years ahead of the curve, that’s all. The pieces are all there,” Earl said, looking at the endless necklace of headlights on the Golden Gate Bridge.
“That’s what I kept thinking when Marjorie solved the cancer problem,” Jasmine said, speaking up over the wind. “The pieces are all there.”
“When the nanoball technology worked so well to deliver new genes to living cells, I knew it could be done. Will’s stem cell generator just made sure it would work, even in very aged people, or Progeric kids, which is why Nielsen helped him. Without those stem cells the therapy would probably kill a Progeric kid or an old person,” Earl worked the wheel rapidly to compensate for the whirlpools in the tide. “This tide is really ripping.”
“We should be able to get in pretty soon,” Jasmine said, noticing the lights twinkling in Tiburon.
“I don’t know, this is a big tide,” Earl said, fighting the wheel.
“Do you think Will’s stem cell organ will work?” Jasmine asked.
“Yeah I do. I talked to the guys in San Diego about it. The tissue-engineering guys have made some big, big advances lately. I think if anyone can make it work, he can,” Earl continued.
“Remember when the Genetechna Board voted to cancel support for his stem cell work? I remember that day. I thought then, that real genius is still ignored, even in this culture of knowledge we’ve created,” Jasmine said suddenly aware of how bad her night vision had become.
“That was a bad day,” Earl said. “I really felt for Will.”
“Why did you vote against it then?” Jasmine asked.
“It would have bankrupted the company, and diverted the best people we had away from the telomerase work, which had barely begun. And, the embryonic stem cell name had just caught the attention of the religious right who were looking for another blood issue to keep the abortion gravy train running. I thought it would spook the big pharmas who were looking at us. We wouldn’t have the money we have today if I had voted for that work to go forward,” Earl said softly.
“I wish it had gone differently,” Jasmine said earnestly.
“Here, take the helm. My knees are shot,” Earl said, handing her the remote for the autopilot.
They sat in the cockpit for a long time, sailing down the big swells. One of the huge new container ships came roaring out of the Bay with its loading lights still dazzling. The ebb tide was at its peak, adding seven knots to the ship’s speed. Jasmine carefully adjusted course with the autopilot remote, but the ship seemed to be sweeping down on them.
Earl suddenly realized they were too close. “Fall off! Fall off!” he shouted frantically.
Jasmine was completely baffled. She had been carefully adjusting course. Only now did she realize that the autopilot was not working. She leaped up, grabbed the wheel, pushed the autopilot button, which already read ON STANDBY, and screamed, “Oh no!” seeing the unplugged end of the autopilot remote control.
She threw the big stainless steel wheel over to starboard as the huge black wall of steel towered over them, blowing its horn under the bridge.
Earl leaped up as the big furling boom jibed over with a crash, catching him in the side and throwing him high into the air toward the ship.
The ships steel gangway ladder was down almost to the water line, and just missed Jasmine’s head as the hull hissed by. Jasmine turned to the stern to find Earl, who was struggling in the water right next to the ship’s hull, his PFD had inflated and the bright orange bags on each side of his head held his face up.
“Grab the gangway!” she screamed, as she frantically tried to turn the boat to him, but there was no wind beside the massive ship. She stood at the stern and held her hands in front of her, clenching them tightly. Earl thrust his right arm up to catch the gangway but it smacked his arm with a loud crack as it flew over him.
It’s red! Jasmine thought as she watched the hull race past Earl. The ship is empty! She could just hear the thrashing of the monstrous propeller now and see the white water behind the ship.
“Swim! Swim Earl!” she screamed, as she frantically tried to start the engine. The wall of red steel spun around Earl, as the ship hissed past. Jasmine jumped down to the open stern, fighting the urge to jump overboard and help Earl swim away from the avalanche of red steel, but then she could see only a hundred feet left before he reached the indentation to the stern of the big ship.
“Swim! Swim! Swim!” she screamed, as the hissing grew louder. Earl saw the stern of the ship coming and stopped his futile swimming efforts. He tore at the PFD buckle frantically, looked at Jasmine across the black water and their eyes met for a moment. The noise vanished and Jasmine held her open hands out to him, all of the love they had shared rushing through her. Earl took a big breath and dove into the water, but the PFD popped him back to the surface just as the massive propeller reached him.
The sailboat was pulled backwards into the wash, and almost hit by a fluke from the propeller, spun around violently and slammed into the wake. The wind caught the main and jibed it over again, throwing Jasmine into the lifeline with a loud crunch. She ricocheted off the lifeline like a wrestler and slammed face first into the wheel pedestal.
Jasmine tried to stand up, but doubled over in blinding pain. She tried to breath but couldn’t, while sitting on her knees in front of the wheel and trying to get her lungs to pull in air. She saw bright orange when she closed her eyes and fell on her back against the pedestal. She glimpsed the bottom of the Golden Gate Bridge. “Earl… Earl… Earl…,” she said in a hoarse whisper, as she passed out.
She floated in a black silent place, for a long time. Then the black slowly became orange, then dark blue. Just as a loud buzzing began in her Ears, she was thrown down the companion way and under the table in the salon by a violent crash. The pain shot from one side of her ribcage to the other with every small breath. She grabbed the side of the table and pulled herself up to sitting just as the boat crashed into the seawall at Pier 39 again, slamming her head into the chart table, and splattering blood all over the salon.
She tried to reach the radio microphone, but fell again as the boat hit the concrete seawall. She finally put her back to the bulkhead and pushed with her feet until she could reach the microphone. She keyed the mic as she looked up at the display, which read WX1. The radio wouldn’t transmit on the weather channel. The boat slammed into the seawall again, and now she could hear voices, yelling. She took as deep a breath as she could and pushed up to the radio again, punching the channel 16 button, before she collapsed.
“Coast Guard Group, San Francisco, this is sailing vessel Etude, I am in distress, one aboard, one lost under Golden Gate Bridge! This is a Mayday call! This is a Mayday call! This is a Mayday call! Do you read me Coast Guard Group San Francisco? Do you read me?” Jasmine croaked a
s loud as she could.
“This is Coast Guard Group, San Francisco, what is the nature of your distress, your position, and number aboard? Repeat. What is the nature of your distress, your position, and number aboard?”
Jasmine suddenly noticed she was soaking wet. The water was rising in the cabin. She frantically keyed the microphone while peering out of the companionway. “I am a fifty-foot sailboat. I am taking on water. I am one aboard, and I have lost crewmember under Golden Gate Bridge. I am adrift at seawall at Pier 39, and I am badly injured,” she said, sobbing, finally dropping the mic and pulling up on deck, as the boat slammed into the seawall again.
“This is Coast Guard Group, San Francisco. I read your position as adrift at Pier 39, one aboard, one crewman overboard under Golden Gate Bridge? You are injured. Is this affirmative?”
Jasmine crawled to the wheel and pulled herself up. A crowd had gathered to watch the beautiful boat smashing against the seawall.
“Sailing vessel Etude, say again your position. Say again, location of man overboard. This is Coast Guard Group, San Francisco,” the radio blared.
Jasmine sat down in front of the engine controls and tried to remember how they worked, as the boom swung around wildly over her head. She turned the key and the engine started. The shift lever was just like the Islander. She pushed it forward and the transfer case engaged. She pushed the lever forward again and the boat surged ahead. She turned the wheel until the telltale on the masthead indicated she was heading into the wind. Breathing hard and coughing blood, she pulled herself up to the wheel and looked around.
The Golden Gate Bridge was on her port, she spun the wheel frantically toward the bridge, trying desperately to calculate how long it had been since the collision. She knew they were on the north side of the entrance, and the tide was running out, so Earl would be… Where? What time was it! What was the tide doing?
The bright searchlight lit up her back as she motored toward the bridge, warm blood pouring from her shattered nose and dribbling down her chin. She turned around to motion to the Coast Guard crash boat that was rapidly catching up. “Sailing vessel Etude, heave to! Heave to and secure! Are there any weapons aboard?” the bullhorn blared.
Etude suddenly slowed as the water reached the top of the cushions in the salon. When the crash boat came alongside Jasmine pulled back on the throttle and fell into the arms of the Coast Guard crewman. When he put his arms around her, the pain exploded and she screamed and collapsed, sobbing through the blood in her mouth. “We have to find him! He’s out here!” she said as the swelling forced her mouth open.
“Ma’am, tell me where your crewmember was lost! Where did he go overboard? What time did he go overboard? Please answer me if you can,” the Lieutenant’s face was a dull pinkish blur as the waves of pain forced Jasmine to close her eyes.
“Under the bridge, we were coming in, we almost hit a ship, the tide was changing, my husband… he, he… went into the propeller!”
“What time did this happen? Please tell me the time!”
“It was about seven o’clock,” Jasmine squeezed her hands together trying to remain conscious.
“Lieutenant, this vessel is sinking!” A crewman shouted from the salon.
“Note tidal speed and direction. Call Air Group and request they spool Helo for medevac of injured crewman ASAP, off Crissy Field. Request a jumper search pattern Golden Gate Bridge one-hour post-max ebb. Ready air lift stretcher, and have Robinson administer morphine to the victim.” The young lieutenant looked down at her smashed face, and pulled her blood soaked hair from her eyes.
“Can we search for him now? I, I…,” Jasmine choked again on the blood, and felt the pieces of broken teeth in her mouth. Then the orange slipped into black, as she vomited blood.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The warm water in the hot tub made breathing easier now that the tape was off her ribcage. Jasmine’s left shoulder still felt like it was hanging in the socket, and it crunched loudly whenever she lifted her elbow.
She looked up into the thick white overcast that hung over the Northern California Coast during summer, and was grateful for the nothingness there. She stared at the whiteness for hours, in a strange, complete limbo. Sometimes she tried to count the weeks and remember what time of year it was, but nothing happened. Even glancing at the dates on the stacks of mail in the kitchen only told her it was early July, somewhere.
“Here’s some tea, Mom,” Malia said softly, setting down a plastic tray on the hot tub rim. “You wouldn’t believe who just drove up.”
“I really don’t want to see anyone,” Jasmine said, as the sliding glass door on the deck opened. It was the color of burgundy: a beautiful, sophisticated burgundy that first jolted Jasmine. It was very obviously Italian, and cut just a little too long. Victor’s jacket always signaled his frame of mind. Jasmine couldn’t understand why he would wear that jacket now.
He looked good, as always, tanned, in shape, and moving fast. He climbed the yellow cedar stairs silently, and was beside Jasmine and Malia before they were ready.
“Good morning Jasmine, good morning Malia,” Victor said in a studied, subdued manner.
Jasmine was beginning to learn a new response to people. She didn’t say anything when she had nothing to say. She didn’t even smile the acknowledging little smile that seemed so important. Malia walked down the stairs quietly. Victor paused for a much longer time than was normal for him, wondering if Jasmine would make it easier to start.
“Earl did a lot of good stuff,” he said, carefully choosing his words.
Jasmine said nothing, slowly tracing her forehead with her fingertips.
“I heard the service was…,” Victor froze up for a moment, unexpectedly stuck on picking the right word.
“Beautiful,” Jasmine said sadly.
“Do you want me to… leave?” Victor said, fidgeting with this car key remote buttons.
“Yes,” Jasmine said.
“Are you going to continue?” Victor asked, looking directly at her.
“Yes,” Jasmine said, surprising herself.
“I wanted you to know you could work with us again, if you felt like it.”
The nothingness response engaged before Jasmine even had a chance to process what Victor had said. She floated on her back until her ears were under water. She swung her legs around slowly and sat up in the jets.
Victor sat beside the hot tub for a long time, “Jasmine. You know I like you. I’ve always liked you very much. You’re involved in some work that might position you in a way that interferes with the interests of people with money and power; unlimited money and power. People who, who…”
“Want more money and power,” Jasmine said in her hoarse, weak voice.
“Yeah, Victor responded, especially the power part. They know a lot about you, Earl, and Marjorie. They would like you to continue,” Victor slowly lifted his head and looked at her.
“Continue?” Jasmine whispered.
“Yeah, come with me to Singapore for a few years. Bring the boy. You’ll have everything you need.”
Jasmine floated back out into the middle of the hot tub, the jets billowing through her hair, as the years of frustration and mystery flooded back to her. She slowly pulled herself to the edge and turned to Victor. “No,” she said softly, as she envisioned Earl disappearing before her eyes.
“Is that the short answer?” Victor said, quickly looking at her.
“No,” Jasmine said, drifting out into the middle of the tub again.
Victor stood up and walked over to the tub, switching off the jets. When Jasmine floated to her knees he leaned in. “Jasmine, it’s about forces,” he said pointedly.
Jasmine looked at him and said nothing.
“Forces, Jasmine. We’re inside very, very large forces that are coming together at the same time, and at the same point. Marie Antoinette was a person who encountered very large forces. The name of the game is to be on the winning side, when large forces are conv
erging. I can’t come back here, Jasmine. I can’t go to Marjorie again. I can only tell you to either leave this work now, or work with us, and do this now. Please.” Victor said in a very steady, even voice.
“No,” Jasmine said.
“I’ll tell you something, Jasmine. Even I’m not sure where this is going to go. I’m not sure I can anticipate and control all this. I wish you would carefully think this through.”
“I’m not thinking anything through.”
“Be careful around Will,” Victor said, and slowly walked down the Cedar stairs. “Will is at the center.” The hot tub jets stopped as he reached the sliding glass door on the deck. Jasmine sat up and looked at him. She looked at him for a long time, wishing he could just tell her everything in total honesty. She sensed for a moment he wished for that too, and then he slid the door closed.
The weeks went by in a muted blur. Marjorie came every day and showed Jasmine the new MRI images of Roy, and they marveled together at how well the treatment was working. When Marjorie clicked on a digital picture of Roy, Jasmine actually gasped. He had grown two inches, his hair was almost fully grown in, and his skin was pink and healthy. They were discussing Marjorie’s newest ideas on the full gene treatment when the little flasher went off on the remote phone. They both looked at the number.
“I’ve got something to show you,” Rammy said in an excited voice.
“I’ll drive you down there,” Marjorie said, as Jasmine clicked the phone off.
The drive down to Santa Cruz seemed to take forever. The big Audi station wagon was almost dead quiet, and Marjorie played a lovely Vivaldi CD. The genius of the music helped Jasmine keep the morbid and restless thoughts from leaping up at her. As the gentle green hills slipped past, she wondered what genius was. What drives human beings to express feelings in sound, color, and shape?
