The Veritas Conflict (13 page)

Even if it was a controversial question Claire was looking forward to a high-level intellectual debate on the issue. She was curious as to what an academic college discussion
on all sides of an issue would look like, since it had been difficult to pull out many different viewpoints at a Christian high school.

Professor Lyte began the lecture outlining the evolution of life from the primordial soup on the newly formed earth billions of years ago. At a good clip she walked through Darwin’s process of evolution. She marked an estimated timeline on the whiteboard, detailing when amoebas evolved into more sophisticated beings, when dinosaurs walked the earth, and when the tree of life branched out to include man’s apelike ancestors.

Thirty minutes into the fifty-minute class, Claire noticed that the professor had never once used the word
theory
to describe interspecies evolution. It was presented as known fact, with a few details left to be filled in by scientists in the coming years.

“Okay, that’s a brief outline. As I said at the outset, this is a quick reminder of the foundations of evolution since I presume all of you had this in high school.” The professor capped her marker and turned to the class. “Who has questions?”

Several hands shot up, including Claire’s.

Professor Lyte called on a male student in the back and answered a complicated question about the cellular level evolution that was theorized to have started the whole process. She drew several diagrams with question marks beside a few of them.

“That is what we believe the process was, at any rate. There are still some holes to be filled in, as scientists can’t yet be sure of the exact order of events.” She grinned. “It was a few years ago, after all.”

As the students laughed, she pointed to another upraised hand. “Let’s try you there, with the marine buzz cut.”

The young man cleared his throat. “Well, I was wondering about what you just said—the assumptions underlying this process. You said ‘we believe’ but aren’t sure. But aren’t there more than just a few holes in our knowledge of how life started?”

Darn!
Claire thought,
He’s asking my question!

“I mean, isn’t interspecies evolution actually a theory rather than proven fact? There’s a great deal of other evidence that shows that it actually might not—”

“First of all, yes, the process of evolution is technically just a theory,” Professor Lyte said. “A key tenet of scientific analysis is that for something to be proven, it has to be reproducible. Therefore, evolution is only a theory because we haven’t been able to reproduce it as yet. It’s been a little hard for scientists to accurately reproduce the conditions spawned by the big bang.”

The questioner started to speak, but the professor raised her hand. “Look, you asked about theory versus fact, but let me deal with what I think your real agenda is in asking that question. You’re intending to challenge the theory of evolution with what you believe is the better theory of creation. Evolutionism versus creationism, the oldest
fight in the Bible Belt.” Her tone was humorous, and most of the other students laughed. “Am I correct so far, Mr …?”

“Turner. Doug Turner.”

“Mr. Turner, I get this same question every few semesters. So am I on track with what you’re really asking in keeping with your personal agenda?”

Claire winced.
Okay, I guess I’m
glad
he asked my question!

Doug Turner’s face was red, but he spoke up readily. “Yes, ma’am, that’s pretty much it. Everyone accepts evolution as fact, but since it really
is
still a theory and there are these other inconsistencies, I wanted to ask a few questions about that.” His voice trailed off, and he glanced around the classroom, embarrassed.

Professor Lyte stood still in front of the whiteboard for a moment, then calmly took a sip from her coffee cup and set it aside. She clasped her hands behind her back and began to pace the length of the room.

“Let me tell you one of my only ground rules for this class—and this is for Mr. Turner and anyone else in here who may share his belief system.” Her gaze swept the seats before her, and Claire quickly looked down.

“I have three main ground rules.” She ticked them off on her fingers. “Rule one, you do your assigned reading diligently before you come to class, so that, rule two, you can be an active participant in class discussions. And rule three—” she turned and focused on Doug Turner—“those class discussions do not include a debate about the validity of the theory of evolution versus any other theory.” She held his gaze for a moment, then nodded, satisfied, and turned back to the class.

“We have too much to cover in this class to waste time debating the validity of something that the scientific community has widely accepted for a century of the most rigorous scientific study. This is not a religion class or a philosophy class. This is a
science
class and as such must stick with the facts and not with flights of speculation or personal faith.

“I am not going to spend my class time arguing about this. So as of now, this particular debate will stop and never resume. Here’s how rule three works: In all class discussions, in your writing assignments and labs and problem sets—in your
tests
—we are going to treat evolution with the foundational and frankly
correct
assumption that it is the only valid explanation for life on this planet.”

Doug Turner started to say something, but she cut him off. “Period. End of story. If anyone can’t live with that ground rule, then that person should find him- or herself a different biology class. Or a different major.” She paused. “Understood?”

Claire saw that most of her fellow students looked either amused or perplexed by the whole topic. No one seemed inclined to argue. Claire glanced at Doug Turner and felt faintly ashamed of herself.

“Okay then, that pretty much does it for today. Check your syllabus for the next readings. See you Friday.”

As the students started rising to their feet, Jo Markowitz caught Claire’s eye. She chuckled and nodded toward Doug Turner. “Poor guy, he really got slammed.”

“Yes, he did.” Claire made very busy about gathering her papers into her notebook and loading up her backpack.

“Well, what does he expect? This isn’t some hillbilly church, after all. Welcome to college, mister.” Jo gathered up her books and moved away. “See you Friday”

“Yeah, see you.”

Claire sat still for a moment, downcast.
Lord, forgive me. I’m such a jerk!
Then she grabbed her backpack and hurried after Doug, who was moving toward the door. She caught the corner of his sleeve, and he looked wary as he turned toward her.

“I just wanted to say thanks, Doug.”

His eyes registered surprise, but he didn’t say anything. Claire briefly introduced herself and plowed ahead.

“Look, I had a lot of the same types of questions. I’m sorry you got hammered like that.”

He sighed, smiling ruefully. “Yeah, well, so am I. I guess it’s to be expected. Welcome to Harvard!”

“I had hoped we could get into a good scientific debate on the subject. I’ll bet most of these guys haven’t ever heard an intellectual presentation of a viewpoint other than evolution. When you started to ask that question, I was glad that we would have a chance to get into it.”

Doug snorted. “Are you kidding? This is
Harvard,
Claire. Harvard makes such a thing about tolerance and the freedom to express all viewpoints. Gays, communists, humanists, Buddhists—all are invited to panicipate in the ‘marketplace of ideas.’ But get some conservative Christian in here, and the marketplace of ideas is curiously closed. Now gee … why is that?”

Claire was puzzled and it must have shown on her face. Doug’s tone softened. “Claire, are you a Christian?”

“Yes.”

“So am I … as you probably guessed. Look, I’m sorry to go off like this. I guess I’m just smarting a bit. I was warned about this, but that doesn’t mean I know how to handle it. At least there is one other Christian in the class. That’s something! It’s always good to have an ally.”

Claire smiled, trying not to let him see the shame behind her eyes.

At a large secluded house on Nantucket Island, off the New England coast, about two dozen men huddled in conversation. Bay windows overlooked a backyard that ended abruptly in windswept bluffs. The men were long used to the stunning view and took it for granted. They didn’t talk sand and surf, but dollars, pesos, and soles. Heavy gold jewelry glittered on fingers and wrists, and heavy bodies fit into well-cut casual trousers and sweaters. On the coffee table, laptop computers jostled notepads for space.

A lone man stood by the windows, eyes scanning the bluffs and the ocean that churned nearly a hundred feet below. Victor Pike couldn’t see the forces that moved beyond his dimension of sight, but he could feel them. It was a familiar and welcome presence today.

The discussions and negotiations continued behind him at a brisk clip, punctuated by the swift clicking of a keyboard. After a moment his right-hand man appeared, and he jerked his head toward the kitchen that adjoined the large common room.

The kitchen door silently swung shut behind them.

“Victor, they balked at the first proposal as you expected.” His aide spoke with a subtle Latin accent. “But even Mulligan and his people think they can make your counteroffer work.” He smiled. “Of course, I did not tell them that this was what you wanted all along.”

“Do they recognize that I am still taking all the risk down south? Are they properly grateful for the buffer I provide them?”

“One can never be sure, of course, but yes, I’d say so. That was probably why the bosses agreed to your undisputed control of the international channel.”

A slow smile spread across Victor’s face. “Excellent, Alfonse, excellent. Go and tell them.”

Alfonse stepped back into the room. “Victor Pike agrees to the deal.” Carefully restrained nods of acknowledgment greeted the long-awaited announcement, but the players did not exchange words of congratulation. They might have to cooperate out of necessity, but that didn’t mean they wished each other well.

Alfonse smiled to himself at the dynamics running just under the surface. “Congratulations, gentlemen. It is a pleasure to continue doing business with you.”

When all the hands had been firmly shaken, the men ushered out, and lackeys had collected the coffee cups that littered every conceivable surface, Victor called his leadership team together. Unlike those who had just left, this group grew animated as they outlined plans and projected profits.

Victor pulled Alfonse aside. “Does anyone know when my brother arrives?”

His aide checked his watch. “The Lear should be landing any moment, and we
have a car waiting at the airport. Fifteen minutes, max.”

“Good. Peru is next on the agenda. Let’s wait on that until he gets here. This team will have all day today and most of tomorrow to hammer out the distribution issues before the other Fellows arrive for the joint meeting.” He frowned suddenly, thinking. “Of course, Anton will have to go back tonight since he has class tomorrow morning. The joint meeting will have to address recruitment issues once he returns on Friday. Anton says he has some very promising candidates this year.”

He looked around at the others in the room, still deep in discussion over the ramifications of the morning meeting. Quite the contrast to those who had just left. These men and women—his Fellows—were younger, trimmer, better looking. Their business casual attire was trendy, not ostentatious, designed for lithe, well-toned bodies. Leather loafers and expensive watches spoke of understated wealth. Even the few women wore little additional jewelry.

Golden boys and girls, Ivy League grads—poster children for the business. Perfect.

Victor turned to his aide. “What day is Anton bringing in the primary candidates?”

“He said he’d stay here Friday night for meetings, then take the Lear back on Saturday morning and pick up about six students, including a few coming in from other universities. They should be back here midmorning.”

“Excellent. On Saturday our business will mostly be done, and our team members will have more casual time to talk with the newcomers.” Victor walked a few steps toward the windows, gazing out at the slate-colored water. “Here’s the only restriction: I don’t want the candidates to see the size of our leadership—not yet. Not until they are more committed. Why don’t you pick which Fellows would be best for recruiting and assessment—say about twenty or so.”

He glanced over at one young man, perched on one of the overstuffed chairs, caught up in a lively brainstorming session with a petite woman. “I think some like Murphy would be particularly good. He’s a fairly recent alum, and his business line has been highly successful. And Johanna, of course.”

Alfonse pulled a small notepad and pen from his jacket, smiling slightly. “Will do. I’m sure Johanna will be happy to oblige you.” Victor raised an eyebrow as Alfonse briskly jotted a few notes. “We’ll arrange for those twenty to have lunch with the candidates and take them around the island in the afternoon. I’m assuming we’ll do a few of the usual tests?”