The Immortality Factor (51 page)

Someone tugged at Arthur's jacket sleeve. Startled, he turned to see that Pat Hayward had moved into the seat beside him.

“Don't slaughter him,” she whispered.

“What?” he whispered back.

“When you cross-examine him, don't make a martyr out of him. Don't bully him. That's what he'll be expecting and he'll turn it against you.”

Before Arthur could reply, Ransom finished his statement, picked up his papers, and started to get up from his chair.

“Thank you,” he said, already on his feet.

“One moment, Mr. Ransom,” said Graves. “I believe Dr. Marshak would like to ask you a few questions.”

“I would indeed,” said Arthur. He stood up, gave Pat a quick wink, and walked to the front of the chamber.

Ransom sat back down and looked at Arthur sullenly.

“Mr. Ransom,” Arthur said, thinking on his feet, “what is the average life span of the American male today?”

Ransom scowled. “I don't know. Something like seventy years. Something like that.”

“Is this longer or shorter than the average life span of fifty years ago?”

“I don't know.”

“What would you guess? Longer or shorter?”

With a huff, Ransom said, “Longer, I suppose.”

“Does the average American woman live longer now than she did fifty years ago?”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“Despite all the disasters that you say science has brought down upon us?”

Ransom shrugged.

“Mr. Ransom, do you have a degree in science?”

“My degrees are in economics and history.”

“What's the last science course you took in school?”

“I don't remember.”

“A freshman survey course, perhaps?”

“I think so.”

“Did you take a physics course in high school?”

“It wasn't required.”

“But did you take it anyway?”

“No, I didn't.”

“Chemistry?”

“No.”

“Biology?”

“No.”

“Who invented the microscope?”

Ransom looked disgusted now. “I don't know,” he growled.

“Oh. I thought that with your degree in history you'd know.” Arthur hesitated
a moment, thinking. “How much of the United States' gross domestic product is spent on basic scientific research?”

“Billions.”

“What percentage, roughly?”

Ransom shrugged. “Five, ten percent. Somewhere in there.”

“It's actually less than one percent, Mr. Ransom.”

“So what?”

“So what is the knowledge on which you base your views? You call me and other scientists Nazis. You equate us with mass murderers, and yet you know nothing about science, and damned little about history and economics!”

“I know more than you think!” Ransom shouted, his face reddening.

“I certainly hope so. But how can you say that science is killing us when we live longer than ever before? How can you say we're being poisoned when every medical statistic shows we are taller, healthier, stronger than any generation that preceded us? We set new Olympic records every four years, don't we?”

Ransom started to answer, thought better of it, and merely said, “I stand by the statement I made.”

“Then how do you reconcile your statement with the facts? And how can you pervert scientists' attempts to improve our lives into some fantasy of mass murder?”

“Science hasn't improved our lives,” Ransom insisted. “Science is dangerous.”

“You are an ignorant man, Joshua Ransom,” Arthur said. “A petty ignorant man who'd be more at home in the Dark Ages or the Spanish Inquisition than in this world that modern science has made and which you obviously don't understand.”

Quivering with rage, Ransom staggered to his feet, pointing an outstretched arm at Arthur. “You're just like all the rest of them, all you smug smiling bastards, laughing at me, laughing at everybody who isn't in your tight little club. You don't care about us! All you care about is your own power and your own privileges!”

Arthur stared at him for a moment. The spectators were stock-still. The TV cameras were staring. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Graves raising his gavel as if to end this session before it could go any further.

Softly, almost gently, Arthur said, “You're wrong, Mr. Ransom. When the day comes, as it inevitably will, when you need a new heart or a new kidney or other organ, we won't turn you away. We'll help you, just as we'll help anyone. Because we
do
care about the human race. Scientists work very hard and their work is aimed at making the world better. Never forget that, Mr. Ransom. That is our goal: a better world for you—and everyone.”

Arthur turned his back on Ransom and went back to his seat. The audience
remained absolutely silent. Even Graves seemed frozen, unable to move. Well, Arthur said to himself, they didn't applaud Lincoln's little speech at Gettysburg, either.

Graves stirred to life, rapped the gavel once. “We will adjourn for lunch.”

Pat clutched at his arm, smiling approvingly. Reporters gathered around Arthur, shouting questions. Arthur beamed at them. I flattened the little twerp, he told himself. Flattened him good.

Then he remembered that after lunch Rosen was going to play Cassie's DVDs, and his elation sank into worried apprehension.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I
liked Arthur, always did. He always tried to come across as a man of the business world, you know, all sharp and dedicated to making profits for the corporation. But he was really a scientist; underneath that slick shell of his he was like a little kid with a new toy to take apart.

Sure, his work had made plenty of profit for Omnitech. But that was then; this was now. Nakata made it perfectly clear where he stood.

“It would be very difficult for my board of directors to approve a merger when your most attractive research program is in danger of being outlawed by the United States government,” he told me over the phone.

In my office at corporate headquarters I've got a video conferencing setup. I could see Nakata face-to-face on my desktop screen and he could see me. Not that it did much good: he kept his expression as stiff as a frozen mackerel.

I leaned back in my chair slightly. It was a little before seven a.m. in New York; nearly six in the evening in Tokyo. Nakata was in his office, tie neatly knotted, pearl gray jacket without a crease in it.

“I don't think the regeneration work is going to be banned altogether,” I said.

“My experts have been following Dr. Marshak's trial. They conclude that your government will not permit human experiments.”

“Dr. Marshak is much more optimistic than that,” I said.

“Dr. Marshak may face legal charges in connection with the woman's death.” Nakata wasn't asking a question; he was telling me.

I tried to keep my face from showing anything. “Look, even if human trials are forbidden here in the States, we could do them in Mexico or South America. Maybe even in Japan.”

Nakata shook his head about half an inch in either direction. “If the United States forbids human experiments, it would be very difficult for me to permit my scientists to conduct such experiments.”

Sure, I thought. Use the American ban on human trials as an excuse to drop the merger while you duplicate our work in your own labs, behind our backs.

Nakata just sat there, waiting for me to say something. He knew damned well the price of Omnitech stock was eroding; this damned trial in Washington was helping the goddamned Europeans to mount their takeover bid. The first wave of greenmail was already hitting our stockholders, and the lower the stock went on Wall Street, the more attractive the European offer looked.

“Well,” I said, stumped for anything significant, “I think Dr. Marshak will come out of this trial in fine shape and we'll go ahead with human tests of the regeneration work pretty much on schedule.”

Nakata pulled his lips back in what was supposed to be a smile. “I sincerely hope you are right. A merger then would benefit both of us.”

I caught the slight but important emphasis on the word “then.” Okay, so I said good-bye after a couple more minutes of polite jive. When the picture screen went dark I sank back in my chair and wondered how the hell I could keep this corporation together and out of the hands of those damned Europeans.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?”

I looked up, almost startled. It was Nancy Dubois, looking nice and sexy in a white silk blouse and navy blue skirt. She was a good-looking woman who knew how to use her looks. She had climbed over several bodies to move up the corporate ladder; I started to wonder if she had any ideas about mine. Me, when I need more than my wife can do, I go to professionals. No lawsuits and no repercussions.

I waved her into my office. “I thought I was the only one working this early.”

She smiled as she sat primly on the chair in front of my desk. “I just got in. I have to go over the survey results on the Consumer Division's new product introductions.”

“How's it look?”

She shrugged. Must have known it looked provocative, in that sheer blouse. “Only so-so, I'm afraid.”

“That's what I was afraid of.”

“I couldn't help overhearing part of your telephone conversation,” Nancy said.

“It's not to be repeated,” I warned her. “To anybody.”

“Arthur's becoming a liability, isn't he?”

I had to blink at her. She and Arthur had been a twosome for a while. From what my personnel chief told me, he had helped her get into Uhlenbeck's department and then dumped her. She had been pretty pissed at him over that, but she got over it after a while. Or so we had thought.

“First time I've heard him called a liability,” I said.

She was totally serious. “I know you like Arthur, but isn't it time we started to look at this problem squarely, without letting personalities get in the way?”

“What do you mean?” I asked, wondering what she meant by “we.”

She looked at me as if I were some slow school kid. “What do you do when you recognize that part of the corporation has become a liability instead of an asset?”

I felt my eyebrows crawl upward. “You get rid of it. You sell it, if you can.”

“And if you can't?”

“You dump it.”

Nancy smiled warmly at me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I
t was amusing, at first. I mean, Zack was as obvious as a bulldozer at a picnic. He wanted me to help convince my father to let him use Max for experimentation. And Dad would influence Darrell, who had Arthur's confidence.

So Zack pursued me. And I let him. Why not? He was kind of good-looking, kind of cool. He knew the best restaurants in the area and he liked music, especially jazz. I had been more into hard rock, but Zack opened my eyes—my ears, really—to how great modern jazz can be. It was fun to be with him. But although I allowed Zack to pursue me, I had no intention of getting caught. This was strictly for laughs, a fling to be enjoyed while it lasted.

The really funny thing, though, was that instead of getting Dad on his side, Zack was making my father furious. Dad has
ancient
ideas about his only daughter; he still thinks a daughter should be a virgin on her wedding day. That possibility was kaput before my second year of college, but Dad didn't know it. So the more I saw of Zack, the
less
Dad thought of him and any ideas he may have had about anything.

Yet the more I saw of Zack, the more I liked him. Oh, sure, he was brash
and full of himself. But underneath that veneer he was really kind of scared of being among the big boys. He was brilliant and he knew it, but he wasn't certain that he was brilliant enough to run with men of Arthur's caliber. Or even Darrell's. That's why he was constantly trying to prove to them how bright he really was. That's why he wanted to get into chimp experiments—so he could go on to human trials as soon as possible.

He tried to have lunch with me most days, in the cafeteria. Some days he was busy, though; some days I was. One particular Saturday I passed his lab around noontime and he wasn't there. I knew his car was in the parking lot and he couldn't be in the cafeteria, because it was closed on the weekends. Instead of driving over to one of the fast-food joints I went out back, looking for him.

Zack was there, all right, sitting on the concrete bench in the exercise area, feeding bananas to Max. The chimp was stuffing himself like a greedy little kid, hardly even bothering to peel one banana before he crammed it into his mouth and reached for another.

“You're going to make him fat,” I teased.

He whirled around. I guess he hadn't heard me coming up to him.

“He'll be harder to operate on if he's layered with lard,” I said, sitting next to Zack. Max hardly paid me any attention, he was so busy eating.

Zack gave me a funny look. “I don't know if I can go through with it,” he said, sort of soft, sad.

“Go through with . . . you mean, using Max?”

He tried to force a grin. “I think I'm getting to like this dippy ape as much as Cassie does.”

I looked hard at him. Zack seemed totally sincere.

“It's like, well, he trusts me.”

“You feed him.”

“Yeah, but it's not like a dog or a cat. He's more like a person.” Again the forced grin. “Dumb, isn't it?”

I didn't think it was dumb at all. That's when I began to think that there was more to Zack than I had realized.

And there was. Nobody saw the real Zack except me. I got to know him really well, and as he let his defenses slide, as I got to see the anxious little boy who was hiding behind his bravado, I guess I started to fall in love with him.