“I’ll be happy to volunteer,” Jabbar said, but he sounded resigned as he said it.
“Look, it could be worse,” Paul said. “We’ll play up the positive aspects, dwell on Hidey’s motives, concentrate on his sense of responsibility and his hope that this is a positive accomplishment and not just a capricious scientific adventure.”
“Maybe it is,” Hidey said glumly. “Maybe I was just too impatient for fame after being restricted for so long. I’ll be famous, all right, and for what? A number of others could have done it with little effort. The techniques were already there, I didn’t invent them, just refined them a bit in my work with animals. I only took the next logical step, the one everyone else was afraid to make.”
“Oh, Hidey,” Emma said, hitting her thigh with a fist, “don’t start with a Watson complex now. All we need is for Jason to think you’re loaded with doubts yourself.”
Hidey looked up and Paul could see that his friend was pulling himself together. “There’s one thing I have to do now,” the biologist said. “I’m going to call the Chancellor and ask for some campus security people around here.”
“Do you really think that’s necessary?” Paul asked.
“My friend, we’ll be lucky if we don’t have to call in state police and the Army. We’re incubating monsters, you know. Dr. Frankenstein will be here on the next train.
The windows in the faculty lounge were shattered. The sultry July heat penetrated the building as the air cooling system, unable to contend with various broken windows, had finally broken down. As he entered the lounge, Paul felt grateful at least that the laboratory which held the clones had no windows. The greenhouse had suffered most from the disorders that had erupted around the building intermittently in the past three weeks, and the botanists were not quite as friendly to the geneticists as they once were.
Jon Aschenbach was sitting in the lounge, in a chair near the wall farthest from the windows. Jon had called him that afternoon, asking calmly if Paul was free for dinner. “I know a nice place out past Alasand,” Jon had said, “with good home-style Italian cooking.”
“I don’t know, Jon. I’ve been a little worried about going anywhere lately.” Mort Jason had kept his word about his treatment of the story, but many of his colleagues had not been so merciful. Some of the news reports had been almost lurid, and the reporters had done an excellent job of locating other geneticists who were disturbed by Hidey’s actions and willing to be quoted, usually out of context. A group of outraged citizens had called for the resignation of Hidey and all those involved in the project with him from the university. The maintenance people had staged a two-day walkout in protest, leaving the biologists alone to tend the equipment until they came back to work. One of the state’s senators had flown in from Washington and announced that he would introduce a bill that would ban cloning and other biological experimentation with human germ plasm in the United States, a wise move for a senator who was running for re-election.
“Don’t worry about it, Paul,” Jon had gone on. “It’s a small place with dim lighting and the proprietor is a friend of mine. We can go in my car.”
Paul had finally agreed, grateful to Jon whose friendship, he felt, was being strained to the limit. Jon was still not reconciled to the project, and it could do him no good to be seen with one of its principals. Yet he had been one of the first to call on Hidey and Paul when the story broke, as well as doing nothing to interfere with the project when they had decided to go ahead.
Jon stood up as Paul entered the lounge. “You look tired,” he said.
“You should see Hidey,” Paul answered. “He’s got his hands full, watching over the kids and trying to save his job at the same time.”
“He told me the Chancellor would fight for him.”
“The Chancellor can only do so much before they start going after his hide as well. He’ll back down then. He’s pretty mad at Hidey and Eli himself but he doesn’t want to lose the whole genetics department, and that’s what’ll happen if he doesn’t at least try to fight for them.”
“You sound as though he doesn’t have a chance, Paul.”
“He has a small one. He talked to Jenny Berg today. She’s the head of the Sciences Division here and she’s sympathetic.” The two men walked out info the hall and ambled toward one of the side exits. “She’s going to ask that Hidey and Eli be suspended for a couple of years for misuse of funds or some such administrative reason. The rest of the group would get off with notations on their records. I told Jenny I would resign too.”
“There’s no reason for you to do that.”
“Yes, there is. They’re my clones. I don’t need the university’s money anyway, my royalties and those investments Eviane made will see me through with a little management. Besides, I always thought I was better at writing than teaching.”
“And you think your resignation might take some of the pressure off Hidey.” Jon pushed open the door leading outside. “You’re not fooling me. I know you enjoy teaching.”
Two soldiers were standing near the door. They glanced at Paul and Jon briefly. Paul felt uncomfortable, partly because he was not used to having soldiers in such an unlikely place and partly because he could sense their hostility. They would do, their job; but he had learned from overheard snatches of conversation among them that they were no happier with the cloning project than the general public. They had guarded his house as well until a week ago. The police still had the house under surveillance.
Paul had felt curiously vulnerable sitting in the house with guards stationed outside, trying to adjust to the fact that people might want to harm him. At least Zuñi and Bill had stayed. He had worried that they might want to protect themselves by leaving. The Hathaways were generally ignored in the news stories, at least so far, but Paul was sure they would be spotlighted when the reporters began to look for a new angle.
“I had to park under the anthropology building,” Jon said, gesturing at the square glassy building next to the circular six-story ziggurat that housed the biologists. “They won’t let a car near Hidey’s lab.” They entered the structure and took an elevator down to the underground parking lot. Jon had parked near the exit and they were soon driving up the ramp and outside.
There was an entrance to the automated highway on the edge of the campus past the athletic fields. Cars were already in line at the ramp and the highway was growing thick with rush hour traffic. There had been talk of extending train service to the areas near the university and plans were being drawn up for the route. The automated highway was becoming crowded with local traffic.
Jon punched out his destination and waited for the controls to guide him onto the highway. Paul leaned back in his seat and sighed. “It’s unnerving to see the military on a campus,” he said. “It takes me back to my undergraduate days, except then I was afraid they might shoot me. Now they have nonlethal weapons and they’re protecting me.” Paul turned toward his friend. “I don’t mind about myself, or even about Hidey and Eli, but I can’t accept the fact that someone might try to harm the kids.”
“They don’t view them as kids right now, just as something to fear. Some of the stories I’ve seen talk about mass minds, or mental telepathy among clones. One even said they might be condemned to doing the same things at the same time. Maybe when they’re born, people will regard them differently.”
“Will they? I’m not so sure.”
The car was guided around the ramp, then shot forward onto the highway. Paul drummed absently on his safety belt, accidentally releasing it. The car buzzed angrily at him and he quickly fastened it again.
“Look at it this way,” Jon said. “It could have been worse. Someone might have tried to burn the lab down or bomb it. All you really got were a few disorderly citizens and some rocks through the windows.”
“And a few nasty phone calls. I had to change my number.”
“And a few students who come by now and then with signs. Think about what could have happened. Peo
ple still remember how violent New Year’s was, a disorderly end to a disorderly century. Most people are quietly fearful now. They’ll give you a hard time and I don’t doubt they’ll pass a law restricting such things in the future. Maybe they’ll nail poor Hidey, although I hope not. But after all that, they’ll console themselves with the thought that at least it won’t happen again.”
“You’re probably right, Jon.” Paul started to relax. “‘And I’ve been feeling a little too sorry for myself lately. Right now Hidey’s the one who needs sympathy. On top of everything else he got a call from one of his old professors. The man was cursing at him, saying he’d ruined things for every other biologist. Apparently this man thinks that if Hidey had waited and just let the moratorium expire, people in biological research could have taken the time to educate the public, get them used to the idea of possible experiments. He wanted to get a public relations campaign going that would point out possible benefits of genetic research that was carefully controlled.”
“The man might be right. You do have to consider the society around you. Science doesn’t work in a vacuum, figuratively speaking. What did Hidey say?”
“He exploded. He said that if science had to wait for a consensus every time something new was tried, we’d still be living in trees and eating raw meat. He said a few other things too.”
“I wouldn’t have expected such an oversimplification from Hidey, Paul. Surely he realizes that a scientist could accomplish little without some support from the society around him. How much did Leonardo da Vinci really do with his ideas? Renaissance Italy wasn’t ready for them. And the society has a lot to do with how science is used, as you’ve heard a thousand times.”
“Funny you should say that,” Paul said. “Hidey said pretty much the same thing once he was off the phone and calmed down. But he also said it’s both the gift and the curse of the scientist that regardless of these considerations, he keeps trying new things and looking for new answers. He can’t help it and sometimes it’s almost a compulsion you found another interest so you left science. Hidey and I are still looking. Knowledge can’t be supplied before we can think of what to do to help ourselves.”
Paul could see Alasand in the distance. The arcology was a large hexagonal latticework, narrow at the top and bottom and wide across its middle. It towered over the surrounding forests and parks. A million people lived in Alasand or owned businesses there. They had the advantages of city life while living near wilderness. As Alasand glittered in the sunlight it resembled a giant’s abandoned toy. The traffic thinned out a little as cars were guided off the highway toward the arcology.
“Sometimes,” Paul went on, “I think we’re all born scientists. When we’re children we always explore, asking a lot of questions and trying different things to see if they work. But we get it knocked out of us. It’s our most natural impulse and so many grow up to hate it.”
Suddenly the car began to slow down. It came to a stop quickly and Paul could feel his belt holding him as he moved forward, then fell back.
The cars around them had stopped too. Paul looked over at the part of the highway going in the opposite direction. The cars there had halted also.
“I think we’re going to be late for dinner,” Jon said. “I hope it doesn’t take them too long to make repairs.”
They could do nothing but wait in the car which could not be driven manually while still on the highway. It was dangerous to get out since traffic could start moving again at any time.
“This is the first time,” Paul said, “I ever heard of the highway breaking down.”
“Everything seems to, sooner or later,” Jon muttered. “If it isn’t the equipment, it’s the computers or the technicians or a strike.” The car’s air cooling system had stopped functioning also. Paul leaned over and rolled down his window.
“Hey, mister.” A burly bearded man in the car on Paul’s right was leaning out his window. The man had aparently removed his belt and harness. “You know what the hell’s happening?”
“Probably a computer failure, an overload maybe,” Paul replied. “About all we can do is wait.” He didn’t tell the man it might take a while. Modern transportation systems rarely suffered breakdowns and were doubtless more efficient than their predecessors. But if the repairs needed were complex, and they usually were, specialists would have to be rushed to the source of the problem and would take their time repairing it.
The people in the car on Paul’s left began to honk their horn. Paul glanced at them and saw that the car had five teenagers in it. One of them opened a door and stepped out onto the highway. He was a tall boy dressed only in a pair of green shorts. He stumbled a bit as he came closer to Jon’s car.
“Get back in your car,” Jon shouted at the boy. “It’s dangerous standing out there.”
The boy peered into the car with expressionless gray eyes. “We’re not going anywhere,” he said softly. “I might as well get some air.”
“These cars could start moving any minute,” Jon went on. The boy watched him coldly. Then he turned away and motioned to his companions.
“Come on out,” he yelled. The others stumbled onto the road. A small dark girl, giggling loudly, hurried to Paul’s side of the car.
“Come on out, mister,” she said, grinning. “You’re kind of cute for an old man.”
“Get back in your car,” he said. “These cars might start moving.”
“They’d warn us first, wouldn’t they? Sure they would.” She leaned in the window. Her hands, dancing on the car door, seemed to have a life of their own, disconnected from her body. Her black eyes were glazed.
She’s on something, Paul thought. One of her friends, a tall lean brown-skinned girl dressed in a loincloth and beads, was hollering at the burly man on his right. Paul had heard of the kids who cruised the automated highways, punching out distant destinations while they drugged themselves in their cars. There was little that anyone could do about the situation as long as the young people endangered no one else, which they were unlikely to do as long as they remained on the automated highways.
Someone pulled the dark-haired girl away from his window. Paul found himself gazing at a scholarly-looking boy with glasses and freckles.
“Excuse me,” the boy said. His tongue seemed to trip over the words. “I feel kind of sick. You got any stomach stuff?”
“I’m sorry but I don’t.”
“That’s too bad. I think I’m going to vomit.” The boy’s speech was slurred. He squinted at Paul. “I’ve seen you,” he said in sonorous tones. “I know who you are, I know I do. I watch the news a lot.” The boy sighed. Paul could hear the tall girl and the burly man exchanging remarks. “You’re the guy with the clones, Paul Swenson. You want to hear a good one? What’s two identical tor
nadoes? Bet you can’t guess.” The boy paused. “Cyclones.” Paul could feel the perspiration on his face grow cold.
The discovery seemed to galvanize the boy. “Hey!” he screamed at his companions. “It’s Paul Swenson over here in this car!”
“Who’s he?” the small dark-eyed girl asked. The black girl came to the window and glared at Paul.
“He’s the man,” she said slowly, “who thinks he’s so damn fine there should be more of him around.”
“What the hell,” the burly man said. He was leaning far out of his window now, thick arms over the car door, staring at Paul with astonishment. “You’re some kind of a pervert, Swenson, you know that? Why can’t you have kids like a normal dude instead of freaks? Haven’t you got balls?”
Paul felt a tap on his shoulder and turned. “Paul,” Jon said, “one of the kids passed out on the road.” Jon unfastened his belt. “We’ve got to get him back in the car fast.”
“Do you think his friends will let us?”
Jon did not answer. He was already opening his door. Paul released his own belt.
The tall boy and girl had both moved toward the car on Paul’s right. “You fat bastard,” the boy shouted a
t the burly bearded man. He opened the man’s car door suddenly and the man tumbled into the road. “I don’t like your looks and I don’t like you calling Corinne a black savage.” The man, on his knees now, was trying to stand up. The boy began to kick him in the stomach.
Paul was out of the car and beside the boy without thinking. He pulled him away from the man, then felt nails digging into his arm. The lean brown-skinned girl was clawing at him. He thrust her away.
Frightened faces peered out of the nearest cars. He would get no help from anyone, else, he knew that. No one would risk getting out into the road.
“Come on, Swenson,” the tall boy said. He circled Paul weaving uncertainly. “I can take you. I can take you and your clones all at once. Come on.” The boy threw a punch. Paul stopped it with his left arm and managed almost accidentally to hit the boy in the stomach. The boy groaned, then leaned over and vomited into the road.
The two girls had disappeared. Paul helped the burly man to his feet. The man got inside his car and Paul helped him fasten his belt. “Are you all right?”
“I don’t know,” the man answered. “I think so.”
“There’s a hospital at Alasand. Punch out at the next exit and drive over to it just to be sure.”
“Thanks, Swenson.”
The tall boy had stopped vomiting and was leaning against the side of Jon’s car. Paul grabbed him by the arm and propelled him toward the left side of the highway. As they approached the boy’s car, he noticed that the freckled boy was already climbing inside. The two girls were in the back seat with the boy who had passed out. Paul pushed the tall boy into the car.
“Why should there be five of you?” the thin girl shouted at him. The dark-eyed girl was giggling softly. Paul stood in the road trying to figure out what to do next. He was afraid to leave the young people alone in their car, hurtling to whatever destination they had. The freckled boy was moaning softly, holding, his stomach.
“Paul!” Jon shouted. “Get inside, now!” Cars all around him buzzed furiously in warning. He dived for the driver’s seat, barely slamming the door behind him before the car began to move forward on the highway.
Cloned Lives Page 7
