Lethal Savage

by Dave Edlund

  “I agree,” Ming replied, his voice even.

  Darnell snorted a humorless chuckle. “Environmentalists love me, and pretty much everyone else thinks I’m certifiable. I’ve even been accused of being a Nazi extremist advocating for global genocide.”

  “I don’t think that, not at all. We have a lot in common. I’d like to meet you, if that’s convenient, of course.”

  Not expecting such a direct reply, Darnell stammered. “Uh, yeah, sure. My schedule is open the rest of the week. Do you want to meet for coffee or lunch?”

  “Actually, I think a more private setting is appropriate. I have a proposal I think you’ll be interested in.”

  “Proposal? What do you have in mind?”

  “Let’s just say that I share your vision and would like to offer a pathway to achieving meaningful change. Would you be willing to meet me at my office, tomorrow at four p.m.? It’s near the University of Oregon campus.”

  Intrigued, Darnell readily agreed. After the details were exchanged and confirmed, the call ended. For the remainder of the day, he was consumed with speculation about what, exactly, Simon Ming had in mind.

  s

  The next day, promptly at four p.m., Darnell entered the facilities leased by Utopian-Bio. It was a modern structure, built as part of a state-subsidized university-industry collaboration. Such collaborations were a popular mechanism for the state government to show that investment in higher education paid dividends, and it was highly regarded by faculty since it provided avenues to export their research into the private sector.

  After signing in at the reception counter, he was led by a security guard to a large office on the top floor of the five-story building. The door was open, and the guard announced Darnell’s presence.

  “Please, come in Mr. Price,” said the man rising from behind his desk. He was slim and not especially tall, with jet black hair cut very short on the sides and allowed to grow much longer on top. It was combed back without a part and held in place with gel. His chin sported a neatly-trimmed goatee, but otherwise his face was clean-shaven. He wore a dark gray suit and white shirt, unbuttoned at the collar, conveying a casual business attire more to be expected in a Silicon Valley boardroom than a small Oregon start-up. As he approached, he extended his hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m Simon Ming.”

  The guard closed the door and Simon motioned to a conference table at one end of the office. “Please, have a seat. Would you like coffee or tea?”

  “No, thank you,” replied Darnell. Although he was a poor judge of age, he surmised that Simon Ming was rather young to be leading a biotech company, even a small start-up company. His smooth facial features and tight skin suggested a man who was no more than thirty-five years of age.

  “Thank you for taking time to meet me.”

  Darnell smiled. “I must confess, I know only a little about your company, and that’s only what I’ve heard from other tech-business owners. But I gather Utopian-Bio is doing well?”

  “Yes.” Ming smiled. He was pleased that his guest had invested time and energy in conducting background research. It meant he was taking the meeting seriously. “We have made some remarkable advances in genetic engineering. Perhaps I can offer you a tour. I think you’ll appreciate our achievements. From my research I know you have an education in medical engineering plus an MBA. But now you own and are the CEO of Cascade Aqua, a water bottling company. I’d imagine you receive a lot of criticism for using plastic bottles. That hardly fits with your pro-environment stance.”

  “I’m very proud of the fact that we use 100 per cent recycled PET. My competitors use less than ten percent recycled plastic in their bottles. Sure, I pay more for my bottles, but it’s the right thing to do.”

  “Plus, I’d imagine, it’s a good marketing strategy. Still, switching from medical engineering to water bottling is a major transition. Some might even think it’s a step backwards.”

  Darnell shrugged. “Medical devices can be a very lucrative business. I did well when I cashed out and decided to follow a different lifestyle. One that provided time for my environmental evangelism.”

  “I suspect there is more to your decision than wanting to pursue a different lifestyle. Perhaps family matters?”

  Darnell stared back, his face expressionless.

  Ming continued. “As I said, I did some research on you. It is only natural that I’d want to know something of your history before asking for this meeting.”

  “I have to say your approach certainly is unusually direct… and intriguing. Had me thinking all night just what you wanted to talk about.”

  “Right to the point, I like that.” Simon leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. “I’ve read all of your posts, and I see a central theme. You believe the human population is too large, and still growing at an alarming rate.”

  “Yes, the facts are undeniable. But even worse is that the global population is completely unregulated. I mean, take for example wildlife populations such as deer, wolves, coyotes, cougars—all species native to Oregon and the Northwest. Historically, as people moved outward from cities, expanding development—roads, houses, businesses—pushed away the native species. So we find ourselves with overlapping habitats. In some rare cases, such as deer and cougar, the animals adapt fairly well. But there is still conflict between people and animals, and the result is that our State Department of Fish and Game regulates the deer and cougar population through controlled hunts.”

  “That’s a good analogy,” Simon said, rubbing his goatee. “But surely you are not advocating for the government to take a similar approach to reducing human population.”

  “Of course not. It is unconscionable to think that killing people is the solution to human overpopulation.”

  “I agree.”

  Darnell leaned forward. “But my point is more than academic. As populations of any species exceed the carrying capacity of the ecosystem, the population must be managed, or it will face catastrophic corrections.”

  “And by ‘catastrophic correction’ you mean what?”

  “I mean mass die-outs.”

  “Like famine and disease?”

  “Exactly,” Darnell replied. “Pandemics are not relegated to the history of the Dark Ages. HIV has claimed thirty-nine million lives; the Spanish influenza of 1918 killed twenty million. And more recently, the Asian flu of 1957 to ‘58 took two million lives. The Hong Kong flu of 1968 to ‘69 killed over a million.

  “As sobering as those totals are, they pale in comparison to modern conflict. Warfare in the twentieth century has resulted in four to five times as many deaths, with estimates ranging as high as 230 million people. Famine and natural disasters account for many tens of millions of additional fatalities.”

  “It would seem Nature has a way of dealing with overpopulation.”

  “It sounds like you know something of the natural order?”

  Simon nodded. “But I confess, until I began to follow your blog, I was comparatively ignorant of the topic.”

  “The problem is that science is making advances in quality of life at an ever-quickening pace. Modern medicine, especially with the power of genetic modification, makes it very unlikely that large numbers will ever again be killed by disease. And the probability of mass famine has been significantly reduced—thanks to advances in farming machinery and pest control. Warfare is still a threat, but even large-scale conflict, something engulfing a continent or a world war, appears to be relegated to a footnote in history rather than a real risk.”

  “I understand your point. Humankind has advanced its knowledge of science and technology to counteract the opposing natural forces that would normally be a check on population growth. But there is still a limit to the number of people we can feed, right? I mean, there still are natural checks and balances.”

  “Of course,” Darnell said. “But as the global population continues to increase, we are pushing closer and closer to that hard limit. Where it is, and when do we reach it, I can’t
say. But think of the problem this way: imagine the human population is exactly at the carrying capacity of our ecosystem—the Earth—such that only a hundred thousand more people pushes us over the edge. What is the result?”

  Simon clasped his hands, pausing in thought. “Well, conceptually, I think it means that everyone has to consume less of what is required to survive. But if we are already at the limit of what people must have to survive—food, air, water—then I guess the added stress with having less will result in some people dying.”

  Darnell leaned forward, pleased that his host had thought through the hypothetical exercise. “Many will die. And that will be the beginning of a cascade. Because when an organism, any organism, is stressed it is less able to ward off disease. When people are competing for resources, conflict ensues. So the inevitable result will be pandemics and global, catastrophic, war.”

  “You think it could lead to the extinction of humans?”

  “No, but it would be a major population correction. Billions would die. It would represent pain and suffering of Biblical proportions.”

  “An interesting metaphor, since we are discussing science and not theology.”

  Darnell held Simon’s gaze. “The outcome is inevitable. It is only a question of when.”

  “Unless we make a change—put mankind on the path to regulated population growth.”

  “Which probably means a negative global growth rate for several generations.”

  “Population reduction.”

  Darnell nodded. “Yes—in certain parts of the world, those areas where populations are growing much faster than elsewhere.”

  “I agree with your assessment.” Simon paused, making certain he had Darnell’s undivided attention. “And that leads me to my proposal. What would you say if I told you I know how we can effect change, real change?”

  Darnell’s eyes widened. This was exactly what he’d been working to achieve. Yet, Simon Ming was not a politician, nor did he possess any known connections with the power to influence national policy. “Okay. I guess this is where I ask what you have in mind?”

  “A gentle correction where, as you said so elegantly, population growth is rampant.”

  “What type of correction?”

  Simon shrugged. “If people will not voluntarily rein in procreation, then we have no choice but to implement a biological limit.”

  “Birth control has been tried in Africa and Southeast Asia. And it has failed.”

  “Yes, I know. Homo sapiens are like any other creature. We are hard-wired to reproduce. The drive to have sex is undeniable and virtually irresistible. If we are to succeed, we must take a different path. One where individual choice is eliminated. A path where the consequences of giving in to passion are not so severe.”

  “But, you can’t,” Darnell objected. Others had proposed birth control hormones be added to food staples and distributed in poor regions where families tended to be very large in number. Even chemical sterilization had been put forward for consideration. But the vociferous objection that such measures were racist, aimed at persons of color in poor and underdeveloped countries while citizens of wealthy nations—mostly caucasian—continued to exercise free choice, always won the debate. “That would be unethical.”

  “Perhaps. But to do nothing is equally immoral. Maybe even worse.” Simon leaned forward, his eyes ablaze. “People are unwilling to see beyond their own self interests. You’ve said as much yourself, on your blog. We cannot allow the ignorance and self-centered actions of a segment of the population to drive humankind to the brink of extinction. Imagine the suffering that billions will be subjected to simply because those who can least afford to have offspring are unwilling to rein in their lust. To allow that to happen is nothing short of the worst crime against humanity the world will have ever witnessed.”

  Darnell rose from his chair and nervously paced the executive office. For several uncomfortable minutes, he considered Simon’s argument. Logically, he could not find fault with it. What did that say? Did it mean he was cold and callous? Or logical and courageous enough to do what he knew had to be done?

  Finally, he spoke. “And if I agree?”

  “Then I would have something to show you. A breakthrough of biochemical engineering made possible by genetic modification. Only a few short years ago, what we’ve achieved here would have been dubbed science fiction. Now, it is science fact.”

  “I don’t know,” Darnell frowned. “There has to be another way. This just doesn’t seem right.”

  “What else would you propose? Please, share your ideas. If you can tell me how to solve this problem, then I’ll give you my undivided support.”

  Darnell stared back in silence.

  “You don’t have any better ideas,” Ming said. “No one does. This is all that is left. You know, as I do, that we must act. You know we must do this—for the greater good. Historians will write about this day, the day that two heroes saved mankind from self-destruction.”

  With trepidation, Darnell agreed. “For the greater good.”

  Chapter 2

  Bend, Oregon

  Present Day, March 3

  “A tall latte, for here.” He paid the cashier, placing the change in the tip cup.

  “Robert, right?” she asked with pen poised to write on the paper cup.

  “You remembered,” he said. Every morning for two weeks, Robert had been hanging out in the coffee shop. Arriving promptly at seven thirty a.m. and savoring his large latte, sometimes drinking two.

  The coffee shop was a popular location in the Old Mill District—a posh shopping and dining area on the west side of Bend along the banks of the Deschutes River. The shop was frequented by local professionals as well as tourists, all aiming to satisfy their morning caffeine fix.

  He sat at a table facing the doorway, pretending to be engrossed in email or something on his phone. In fact, he’d been doing research. Over the past two weeks he’d established that his mark would arrive about eight a.m. and order a cappuccino to go.

  Today was the day. Robert—which was a convenient alias—was ready. From across the street he saw the man approach. He stood about 6 feet tall and wore his brown hair in a conservative cut. He was of medium build and average weight. By all measures, rather plain and unremarkable. Except, that is, for his eyes. They were steel gray and conveyed determination and confidence.

  Robert had no idea why this man was his assignment. His name—Peter Savage—meant nothing. He wasn’t a politician, and as far as Robert knew, he wasn’t a professional criminal either. Not that it mattered. The contract was too enticing to pass up. Once he fulfilled the terms of the agreement, the payout would be extremely good—the kind of payday that could set someone up for life.

  The bells hanging on the door chimed and the man walked up to the order counter. “Good morning,” Peter said.

  “Cappuccino to go?” the cashier asked.

  “Ah. You know me too well.”

  “No lid, right?” she added while writing his name on the carboard cup.

  “No, I don’t need it. Only means more trash.”

  After paying, Peter shuffled to the end of the counter. Like almost everyone else in the coffee shop, he scrolled through messages on his phone. His inbox was already filled with a couple dozen emails, mostly offers for loans and executive recruiting that he wasn’t interested in. He ran his company—EJ Enterprises—with a minimum of staff. Marketing wasn’t really a challenge. His company designed and manufactured high-tech small arms, called magnetic impulse weapons. It was a breakthrough technology—the product of brilliant science and engineering. His only customer was the U.S. government. Even sales to Uncle Sam’s closest allies were forbidden. But the revenue was steady, and the margins attractive, though growth was limited.

  Robert moved behind the man, standing close to the counter. He didn’t have to wait long. The server pushed forward a cup with the name Peter written on the side. Robert cradled his hands around the cup just as Peter
turned.

  “Oh, my apologies. I thought this was my order,” Robert lied.

  Peter smiled and lifted the cup to his mouth. But before it reached his lips, the barista grabbed his arm forcefully. The cappuccino sloshed in the cup and spilled onto the counter, nearly scalding his hand.

  “I wouldn’t drink that,” she said. “I saw him put something in it.” She motioned with her head toward Robert, who was turning to leave.

  Peter glanced at the foamy top of his drink and saw a sprinkling of tiny white crystals that should not have been there. He handed the cup to the barista and then followed Robert out onto the sidewalk. “Hey!” Peter called, jogging to catch up.

  Robert looked back over his shoulder and then took off in a sprint. He was fast, and already a full block ahead of Peter. He turned the corner, Peter still in pursuit, dodging other pedestrians on the sidewalk.

  By the time Peter made it to the corner, the man was nowhere in sight. He thought about calling the police, maybe filing a report, but what would he say? He couldn’t offer a good description. He’d only briefly noticed the man’s face and all he really recalled was that he was bald. And why would someone put a drug—or something—in his beverage?

  Weird, Peter thought as he walked back to the coffee shop. “Do you still have my coffee?” he said to the barista.

  She shook her head. “No, I poured it out.”

  “But you’re certain you saw that man put something in the cup?”

  “Absolutely certain. He tried to hide it, but I keep an eye out for that type of thing. I tended bar for a while before this job. You’d be surprised at how often some creep tries to drop Klonopin or Xanax in a woman’s drink. Anyway, I wouldn’t expect someone to try to drug a guy, usually it’s the single females who have to be careful.”

  “Huh,” Peter grunted, still trying to make sense of it all.

  “I can tell he’s not your type.” The barista smiled. “Can I make another cappuccino for you?”

  Chapter 3

  La Pine, Oregon