Discovery

by Douglas E Roff

  ***

  Paulo continued his welcome, “First of all, I wish to thank you all for coming to this your last Progression before college begins for you next term. Once in school, your ongoing Progressions will be less frequent on general topics and more frequent on topics related to the work you plan to undertake. So, thank you and welcome.

  “Let me begin by asking you a question and throwing it out for discussion. Your next-door neighbor, a human you’ve known for many years and who you consider a friend, comes over to your home one day and rings the doorbell. Your little sister answers the door and invites the man in. He has just returned from purchasing a semiautomatic handgun at a local gun shop and has three twenty bullet clips. He proceeds to shoot your sister, your mother and father, killing them instantly. You escape and call the police who come to you home and see the carnage.

  “The police arrest the man; let’s call him Mr. Smith. Mr. Smith talks to the police, and later the prosecutor, and freely admits that he killed your sister, mother and father. No question, no doubt. He did it, killed them in cold blood and offers no excuse or mitigation for what he has done. The prosecutors have a seemingly open and shut case from a man who has confessed to what is clearly first-degree murder. He is unrepentant. Mr. Smith pleads not guilty and claims that no crime has taken place. He therefore cannot be guilty of murder and must be set free.

  “At trial the Mr. Smith and his lawyers offer no explanation for what he did or why he did it. The prosecution puts on its case, and rests. The defense team objects to nothing in the prosecution case and does not even cross examine the prosecution’s witnesses.

  “When the time comes for Mr. Smith to offer his defense, he makes only one statement and calls only one witness. He has irrefutable proof of the accuracy of that statement and his witness has impeccable and unimpeachable credentials. The prosecution is unable to refute that statement in any way.

  “The judge gives some interesting jury instructions. The jury retires to consider the evidence and is back with a verdict in less than five minutes. What is the verdict, and why?”

  Chapter 36

  The room was replete with young faces who thought that the question was absurd. Even a kid in second grade could tell you that Mr. Smith was going to jail for a very long time, probably life. New Jersey did not have the death penalty so final retribution was not possible.

  Paulo looked at the sea of young faces and called for quiet. “So, let’s take a show of hands.” He said. “How many of you think that Mr. Smith is guilty, and the judge gives him at least a life sentence. Raise your hands!”

  Almost every hand flew into the air. A few acolytes held back either because they weren’t sure of the answer but more likely because they smelled it was a trick question. Paulo looked on his seating chart and called out a name. “OK, so, Mr. Elverton, I see you did not raise your hand. So, based on the evidence I provided, you think Mr. Smith will walk. You must not watch any of the cop shows. Surely you think this Mr. Smith is guilty, don’t you?”

  Franklin Elverton was the very bright eighteen-year-old son of a Gens research scientist. The boy had been accepted into an Ivy League school for next fall term and would then follow in his fathers’ footsteps as an organic chemist. He was appropriately skeptical of the facts as presented and thought the other kids had simply jumped the gun and to a rash conclusion. He would not make the same mistake today, or ever.

  “I do not think we have enough data to answer the question one way or another. Mr. Smith may be guilty or maybe not. Depends on the one single statement he made and the identity and credentials of the one single witness he called. Once we know what was said, and who the witness is, we may be able to answer your question.”

  “But I said that the statement is true, and the fact is irrefutable. The witness backs it all up. Assume ‘judicial notice’ of the facts. Doesn’t that mean anything?”

  Franklin said, “No. It still doesn’t mean a thing. For example, if the irrefutable fact stated was that the sun rises in the east and sets in the west, then no. That testimony doesn’t help. Mr. Smith is in big trouble and his witness only serves to confirm a true but irrelevant fact about Smith’s guilt.”

  “Go on.”

  “If the irrefutable fact is that Mr. Smith was somehow five thousand miles away at the time, then he has an alibi. So that irrefutable fact and the witness suggest he’s innocent. There are thousands of possibilities, but we cannot know what they mean unless put into context of what was actually said.”

  “Very good, Mr. Elverton, very good. In fact, you are correct that without knowing more information about the irrefutable fact we cannot accurately answer the question. So, let me give you the facts then let’s all answer the question again, by show of hands.”

  Paulo looked around his audience, now all facing forward and interested in the answer. “The single irrefutable fact was that all three individuals murdered by Mr. Smith were transformed Gens, all were novo humans. And the single witness called was geneticist who confirmed that fact, beyond any shadow of a doubt.”

  Paulo surveyed all these young and eager minds, then continued.

  “So now class, how does that change your answer if at all? Show of hands. Is Mr. Smith guilty or does he walk free? All in favor of ‘guilty’ and jail time for our defendant, please raise your hands.”

  Every hand now shot up in the air. There was total unanimity that Mr. Smith was guilty and would spend the rest of his life behind bars. Not a single acolyte thought Mr. Smith would walk free.

  “OK, so we’re all agreed, on the basis of the facts provided that a just outcome is pretty certain.” A sea of faces seemed to nod in agreement.

  One boy in the back shouted out, “Last year a transformed Gens teen was murdered by a drug dealer in Scranton. Random act of violence. The drug dealer was caught, tried and convicted. He’s serving a long sentence.”

  “Yes, that is correct and there are many instances each year of Gens being killed, and the killers taken through the human criminal justice system. But the missing point in all this is that neither the court, the defense team nor the prosecution knew that the victim, in each of those cases, was a transformed Gens. They assumed the victim was a human.”

  “Why does that matter? What possible difference could that make? He was transformed, therefore novo human. Justice prevails.”

  “Does it?” Paulo asked. The class stopped looking at Paulo and began murmuring among themselves.

  Someone in back shouted, “Always has, hasn’t it?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact, it has. Until now. But we must be prepared for what happens if the humans become aware of us. If they do, the result may be totally different. And very bad for our kind.”

  “But how?” A young woman, bound for Princeton next term, was confused.

  “It lies in the overall religious and legal concepts that mankind has developed over the past several thousands of years. At the root of all culpability for crimes is the concept that for any human to be guilty of a crime, such as murder, the victim must also be a human being. In the case of a homicide, it must involve the death of a homo sapiens at the hands of another homo sapiens.”

  “I don’t understand,” asked another young woman. She was bound for UC Berkeley.

  “If a human, say in our example the fictional Mr. Smith, kills Franklin over there in cold blood and in front of twenty witnesses all of whom are police, it is most likely that, under current human law worldwide, Mr. Smith walks free. After all, the definition a homicide, of which murder is the most serious extreme, is defined as the killing of a human being by another human being. In this case Mr. Smith, a human being, killed Franklin, a Gens and not a human being. As such human law everywhere would say that Mr. Smith killed an animal, not a person. In theory Mr. Smith may be responsible for killing someone’s personal property but it simply cannot be a homicide. That means, of course it cannot, by definition, ever be murder.”

  “You�
��re saying if we are discovered not to be people, humans, I mean, they could just kill us, any of us, and that would not be a crime. We have no rights?” Franklin Elverton looked nervous and was not certain that what Paulo was saying could possibly be true. We’re just like them, aren’t we?

  “You have the same rights as does a dog, a cat or a wild bear. No more, certainly but possibly far less. We do not have human rights and we all need to understand this. How does this change your understanding of our world? What does this mean? What do we do next?”

  “We fight back. We … we …”

  “Think about this dilemma and what you have learned in past Progressions and be prepared for a discussion regarding the implications of this knowledge to our current and existing responses and projects. We’ll discuss those options this afternoon. For now, it’s lunch time. Be back here at 2:00 pm. We start promptly, and I expect a thoughtful discussion. You may break up into teams of five. See you then.”

  The question might be a closer call than as he had explained, thought Paulo. But maybe not. The youth gathered there today had to understand the possible ramifications of being Gens in a human world. The fantasy of being almost human had to be dispelled. Much was at stake.

  Chapter 37

  Misti woke up beside her boyfriend on a cold, gloomy and wet Saturday morning wondering what she could have done to him the night before that would cause him to still be sound asleep at seven in the morning. Adam habitually was awake by five every morning, up and drinking his first cup of coffee fifteen minutes later. He generally arose to a home enveloped in darkness then gingerly worked his way from a warm bed and delicious wife to the kitchen, moving ever so quietly so as not to disturb.

  Misti, ever the feline, always noted the morning movements of her hubby but generally only smiled to herself, content in her life and love, vainly reaching out for him as he departed. His absence duly noted, she returned to a safe and serene sleep she had so infrequently experienced in her short lifetime. Misti had been long been plagued by sleepless nights, nightmares of unknown origin and sudden random attacks of anxiety. Since childhood she had been in counseling for sleep deprivation and related problems, but no amount of therapy or meds had provided any lasting relief. Until Adam.

  Though she had seemingly begun to outgrow her condition as she got older, it was not until her relationship with Adam that she noticed that she no longer woke up night after night, constantly in fear that something was terribly wrong, and that danger was ever present. Simply put, she slept. Soundly and peacefully.

  As time passed in her new surroundings she began to slowly let go of her general sense of disquiet and apprehension, feeling safe in the cocoon that was Adam, the family, the Institute and Barrows Bay. While the occasional fleeting thought of the sudden loss of Adam invaded her formidable mind from time to time, she was blissfully content in her growing sense of belonging. She believed her new happiness and sense of personal and emotional security mightily influenced her sleep patterns and reflected that joy.

  That Adam was soundly asleep would not normally be a sign of anything wrong but Misti was used to waking up hours after him to freshly made French roast coffee and a warm embrace. A creature of habit, she normally did not respond well to abrupt changes in routine. Neither did Adam, for that matter. The two were made for each other.

  She shook her mate, who was sound asleep. “Hey, wake up you. It’s after seven. You’ll be late for Mass!”

  Adam awoke with a start, responding to years of his father waking him to get ready for Sunday Mass with Maria. When he realized it was only a ploy by his wife to get his attention, he groaned and rolled over to go back to sleep.

  “Up you go, mister. Time to rise and shine.”

  “No.” He was definite and firm in his resolve to continue sleeping.

  “Yes, and right now. I have no coffee or breakfast and am in urgent need of sustenance. Now get up before you make me do terrible things to you.”

  “Really? Can’t you let me sleep a little while longer? Make your own coffee for once?” Adam tried to cover his head with a pillow, but Misti grabbed it quickly, and was astride him instantly.

  “No chance. You make coffee and I drink it. That’s our deal.”

  “I don’t recall any such deal. Besides it’s only three steps: coffee, water and ‘on’. How hard can that be?”

  “Not the point,” Misti said firmly.

  “What is the point, then? Please leave me alone. I’m tired.”

  “I don’t like being alone in the morning. I don’t need your stupid coffee, I need you. I need you paying attention to me.”

  “You’re cruel. And a big baby. And that was not fair. You cheated.”

  “What?” Misti did not know what he meant; but she thought she did.

  “Playing the ‘I love you’ card. Just to get your way.”

  “Did it work?” Misti was not surprised. For such a tough guy in real life, Adam was a bigger a pushover than her Dad. And he was not much of a challenge either.

  “Every time, although I still may need a little napski later. I’m really tired.”

  “Oh excellent! I like naps. I win again,” said Misti.

  Adam really was tired and wanted nothing more than to be left in peace a little while longer. “You’re relentless. At everything, aren’t you?”

  “I am. It’s how I bagged you, isn’t it?”

  “Hardly. Besides it was me who bagged you, I’m almost certain.”

  “If you say so.”

  “Well, that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.” With that, Adam sat up, stretched and jumped out of bed. “Hey, what happened to my boxers?”

  “How would I know? They’re your boxers.”

  Adam looked around, and finally noticed what Misti was wearing as she walked provocatively from the bedroom into the hallway.

  “Aren’t those my missing boxers you’re wearing?”

  Misti looked over her shoulder at Adam and said, “Nope. They’re mine now.”

  ***

  Adam did not mind the rain and cloudiness of Vancouver Island one bit. Whether because he had lived there most of his life or just because he saw the intimate connection between the green landscape he loved and rain, he truly loved his home and everything that went along with it. Including the weather.

  The young couple sat at the tiny breakfast table, beside the window with a view overlooking their front lawn of evergreens and the little lane that connected their home with the paved street below. They were both uncharacteristically quiet as they sipped fresh coffee and nibbled on the buttered bagels that Adam had toasted up.

  “Something wrong? Misti asked. “You don’t seem yourself this morning.”

  “No, actually quite the opposite. You remember our chat last night before bed?”

  “Vaguely. Some software problem you were trying to solve. I don’t remember it exactly. Why?”

  “It was an important breakthrough and one I’ve been mulling over for months. You said something before we went to bed that made me rethink the solution.”

  “Good for me.”

  “But it kept me up for hours while I worked it out.”

  “After sex?”

  “During too.”

  “Nice. Let’s try not oversharing our thoughts. We’ve already had that discussion, right?”

  “Yeah. But still, you know how thoughtless I can be. Especially when I’m thinkin’.”

  “Perish the thought!” Misti chucked at her own little joke.

  “So anyway, I was awake forever and just got to sleep a few hours ago. So that’s why I’m so sleepy this morning. And then you made me get up.”

  “So, I didn’t wear you out? I’m kinda disappointed.”

  “Don’t be. But you can try again later if you want.”

  “You did promise me a nap.”

  “Wouldn’t want to disappoint, nag.”

  ***

  Misti was pensive as she
looked out the window and over the verdant landscape. “So, you said last night that you would tell me about the incident here in Barrows when you were a kid. The one that freaked your Dad out so much and really scared the shit out of him after our little incident in Seattle when we were kids.”

  “Oh, that one. Yeah, I remember. So?”

  “So, you’re not the only one who wants to know the whole story of our childhoods. This is about knowing the history of my hubby and I’d like to hear it from you.”

  “Alright.”

  ***

  Professor Willard Van Housen was an eccentric, well-known and oft published academic of peerless credentials. He was also opinionated, outspoken and almost universally detested by his colleagues almost everywhere he taught. For his second sabbatical, he chose to spend a year engaged in research and scholarship at the Victoria Institute through a generous offer from the Institute’s Fellows extended based on his extensive academic achievements. With him, for his temporary assignment to the Island, came his wife, thirteen-year-old son and ten-year-old daughter. Like their father, the Van Housen children were equally disagreeable and opinionated but without any meaningful justification. Both were dullards academically and found other more negative ways to attract attention.

  His son, Lawrence, was a particularly distasteful child, given to both verbal and physical bullying of his classmates. His father, though aware of his son’s behavior, was nonetheless undisturbed by complaints from his teachers. He had little concern for trivialities, as he called them, and, after all, boys will be boys.

  Mrs. Van Housen, a rather corpulent woman with a long history of physical ailments and an equally long history of complaining about their lack of personal wealth and insufficient status, was likewise unconcerned. If her son was a bully, well it was the fault of the kids who let themselves be bullied. They should buck up and learn how to take care of themselves. Her son wasn’t the cause of their tribulations and blaming him appropriately fell on a second set of deaf ears.