He’d spent a great deal of time beating himself up for having abandoned his daughter. It was just one of the many regrets that had begun to assail him. He had charged ahead for years, never considering the damage that he was wreaking on the lives of others. He’d simply pushed an agenda forward whether it was his own or one that he was hired to push forward. He was an intelligent man, but he had wasted most of that intelligence on methodology without thinking about the impact his decisions were having.
“I don’t pay you to think.” He’d heard it said by his superiors and he’d used it himself when it suited him. Any time someone wandered off of the agenda and started to consider cause and effect outside of the objective of the company or the project, they’d been called to the carpet by that statement.
Suddenly, however, he was being paid to think. He was being paid to think very clearly and being paid to accurately assess the impact of his decisions. In the fickle arena of politics, the safer road was to be pushing the agenda of your superior. The dangerous part of that approach was that when the dagger was sliding into Caesar’s back, it was penetrating your own as well.
In spite of the fact that he was preparing to meet the President very shortly, he couldn’t keep his mind off of Hannah. Even without him, she had turned out to be a very intelligent, well-adjusted and better model of himself. Was it in spite of his absence or because of it? Would he have screwed her up if he’d been around? The state of self-pity and reflection that he was in told him that he would have screwed her up. Pull it together, Rusty.
He had desperately hoped for a phone call from her, giving him some sort of hope to take into the meeting, but the call hadn’t come. He wished that he had gotten a number from her as well, though it was probably better that he wasn’t able to call her day and night to harass her for an answer.
Rusty looked up at the minute hand on the clock, which oddly enough was racing toward the time for him to leave for his meeting, rather than dragging on as it did when he was waiting for an answer.
He had already made up his mind to be honest with President James. If it cost him his job, so be it. It would be a pleasant relief not to have to worry over fixing things, though he was certain that he would never escape the guilt of screwing things up to begin with.
The best that he could tell the President where a fix was concerned was to say that it was in development. It was weak, but it was better than nothing. He’d much rather march into the Oval Office with the problem in one hand and the solution in the other. It reminded him of what his granddad used to say. “Put your hopes and wishes in one hand and pile shit in the other and see which one fills up faster.” One of his hands was certainly a lot fuller than the other.
The minute hand on the clock had rushed past the time that he had planned to leave for his meeting and he suddenly found himself in a hurry. He nearly left the office without his credentials, went back to grab them and shook out another handful of Rolaids to stuff in his suit pocket for the walk to the Oval Office.
“You’re scheduled for twenty minutes today, Mr. Whitman,” the receptionist said when he showed her his credentials. “We are running a little bit behind, but the President has made your meeting a priority.”
“Thank you,” Rusty replied. He took a seat in order to wait and quietly slipped several Rolaids out of his pocket and into his mouth. Did other people get as nervous as he did when they came to the Oval Office?
Though he sat there for several minutes, it seemed like it was only an instant before his name was being called by the Chief of Staff and he was being ushered in.
“Rusty,” President James said, extending his hand. “You look like hell, young man. Come on, let’s sit over here on the sofa and relax a little bit.” With his hand on Rusty’s back, President James guided him toward the sofa and took a seat beside him. “I’m going to guess that you are bearing bad news. People with bad news always look like hell when they come in here.”
“Yes, sir, I’m afraid that I am.”
“Tums or Rolaids?” President James grinned.
“Rolaids,” Rusty replied. The President had taken him completely off guard.
“You might as well be chewing on scraps of paper for all the good they’ll do you. Relax. You’re doing a hell of a job.”
“It’s a little hard to relax, sir.”
“That bad, huh?” The President's face suddenly changed. “Alright, out with it then. The eggs are sterile?”
“Yes, but that’s not the full extent of it. There is a very high likelihood that the terminator gene is being passed along through milk production. Basically, any mammal on the planet that is eating GM/Hybrid corn has the potential of becoming sterile.”
“Rusty, you’re going to have to back up a little and fill me in. What is the terminator gene?”
Rusty hadn’t realized that he hadn’t briefed the President concerning the report. He’d run through it in his mind so many times that he simply assumed that it had already taken place. “I’m sorry, sir, I’ve been sorting through a lot of things. Let me start from the beginning.”
“Good, but hold on a second first.” President James turned to Carl Johnson, his chief of staff. “I want to stretch this meeting to an hour. Bump ‘em, cancel ‘em, reschedule ‘em, whatever it takes. You know the drill.”
Carl started to object.
“Not negotiable.” President James’ tone communicated as much as his words and Carl left the room to make the necessary adjustment. “Sometimes he gets the mistaken idea that my schedule belongs to him,” he chuckled, turning back to Rusty.
Rusty attempted a nervous laugh. His throat was dry and he eyed the water pitcher and glasses on the coffee table in front of them.
“Pour a glass,” the President said. “Relax a little and then give me the whole story.”
“Yes, sir,” Rusty replied. He filled a glass and then took a long drink. He hadn’t realized that he was so thirsty. The water refreshed and revived him and he felt himself relax a little bit. President James watched him and waited, almost like a concerned father.
Rusty began to relate what he had learned from Hannah’s research report about the bamboo and algae DNA, as well as the terminator gene that had been put in place to prevent duplication.
“So, what you’re saying,” the President said, after Rusty finished that portion of his brief, “Is that it’s the terminator gene that is causing sterility in chickens and is presumed to be causing sterility in other animals as well?”
“Yes, sir,” Rusty replied. “That’s what I’ve been led to believe by the researcher.”
“Well now, that is grave; grave indeed,” the President answered, leaning back into the cushion on the couch in deep thought. “This thing could potentially wipe out all of the food sources that come from animals. The vegetarians would love to see that, of course, but not under these circumstances.”
Rusty waited a few beats while the President was pondering. He felt like a son who had just disappointed his father, though the President didn’t seem to be blaming him or laying any form of guilt on him. As near as Rusty could tell, he was simply analyzing the information he’d just received. “There might be a way to reverse it.”
“A way to reverse the terminator gene?” The President sat up and fixed his penetrating eyes on Rusty.
“The researcher is working on a virus that would somehow be able to restructure the DNA of the animals on a cellular level that would get rid of the effects of the terminator gene. She said that it could take months to develop and test it though.
“How many months?”
“She said that if she had already developed the virus, it could take two to three months to do the proper tests on live animals to make sure that it had the right effect.”
“That’s a long time when you’re talking about the kind of crisis we might be facing.”
The President had become noticeably agitated, but he was remaining calm and thoughtful. Rusty assumed that when a person in President J
ames’ position had spent every day with their feet being held to the fire, they got used to the heat and learned to remain calm. He waited, allowing the man time to think.
“You trust this researcher?”
“Unequivocally,” Rusty replied. “In fact, she reminds me a great deal of myself. Younger and smarter, though.”
“I hardly doubt that she’s smarter.”
Rusty desperately wished that he could confide in someone that the researcher, Hannah, was his daughter. How did you bring up the subject and with whom? He’d considered talking to Gerald about it on their drive back to Saluda, but he’d chickened out. It certainly wasn’t something that you confided in the President of the United States while you were discussing a critical issue in the Oval Office, but somehow it seemed that if he told someone, he could relax about it a little bit.
“Do you have any other suggestions?” the President asked.
“Sadly, no, sir, I’m sorry.” He wanted to have some solution so he jumped on the first one that came to mind. “We could ask Walsanto to stop the production of seed until they reengineered it without the terminator gene. They’ve put out their other seed too; however, the terminator gene will be in the wheat and oats as well, no doubt.”
The President let out a low whistle. “A recall would have disastrous effects. Demand for the seed is pretty high, too. No, that would be admitting defeat.”
“But we have to stop the terminator gene from continuing to be produced, sir.”
“You’re right, of course. I just don’t know how best to do that yet,” the President mused. After a few minutes of thought, he spoke again. “We got in over our heads on this one, didn’t we?”
“Sir, I really screwed up. I just charged ahead and spread this stuff all over the world without knowing what I was doing.” It felt something like confessing to a priest.
“Nonsense, Rusty. You did a superb job of carrying out my policy. If anyone has screwed up, it’s been me.” The President had a faraway look in his eyes. Regret perhaps. “Dammit. Feeding the world, having control of the food war and outpacing China was supposed to be a great achievement. No, son, if anyone has failed, it’s been me.”
They sat a few moments longer in silence. Rusty was relieved to have made his confession and been given the somewhat hollow encouragement of the President taking the blame upon himself.
“Well, alright then. Let me know the minute that you hear any news about that reversal virus. I’ll need to do some maneuvering and such for the time being. For the moment, we just ride things out and see what develops. But you relax, son, you’re doing a hell of a job. Take better care of yourself.”
“I’ll try, sir,” Rusty replied. He took the words as dismissal and started to stand.
“Give it a few minutes. Sit,” President James said.
“There’s more, sir?”
“Yeah. I want to know about your fishing trip in South Carolina.”
“Very relaxing, sir.”
“Did you catch any whoppers? Of course, you can never trust a fisherman’s tale, but sometimes the only chance I get to do any living is vicariously through others, so I’ll buy whatever you’ve got,” he chuckled.
“I caught several pretty good sized catfish, but no whoppers.”
“Good eating though, no doubt.”
“They were pretty tasty, sir.”
“Ahhh... there are some places in East Texas and on into Louisiana where the best fried catfish and hushpuppies in the world are cooked up. I don’t doubt they do it right in South Carolina, but damn, I could go for a good mess of beer battered fried catfish right now.”
To hear the President ramble on about normal, everyday things put a different light on him and Rusty felt himself relax a little bit more. The confidence of a man to think of things that were completely trivial when facing a crisis was actually a great encouragement to him.
“Maybe I should take you with me next time,” Rusty commented.
“Ah, shit Rusty, if only I could. For the leader of the free world, I feel pretty chained up. Do you realize the mountain of shit we’d have to climb for me to take just a half day to go fishing in that little town in South Carolina? Hell, there’d be so damned many people around taking my picture, or making sure that I was safe, that they’d scare away all the fish.”
“You’re probably right, sir.”
“I know I’m right, Rusty.” He stood and extended his hand. When Rusty gripped it, the President grabbed his elbow with his other hand. “We’ll nip this in the bud somehow, Rusty. Don’t fret over it.”
“Thank you, sir. I appreciate your encouragement.”
“Good. Now get your ass back out there. Keep me informed.” When he finished speaking, he turned away and started back to sit behind his desk. Rusty started for the door, the burden he’d been carrying noticeably lighter.
Chapter 24
Linden, Michigan
Mid-winter 2020
At the new Edan residence
More and more every day, Cathy had been seeing segments on TV national news shows that were really negative on Walsanto Seed’s new products. Since she had dropped the big news on Terry that she was pregnant, he hadn’t been letting her to do much. Despite her best argument; “I’m not sick, I’m just pregnant,” he had practically forbidden her to even go outside to feed or clean up after their constantly growing herd of rabbits, and flocks of birds. Granted, they had an unusual amount of snow this year, and the temperatures were lower than average too. She knew that he was afraid that she’d fall or strain herself and put herself or the baby in danger. On one hand, she loved that he was so concerned for her; on the other hand, she was beginning to get a touch of cabin fever. Terry had always been headstrong about the things he believed. It was one of the things that she loved most about him. They would not have been able to get as far as they had come with their homesteading if he had not been determined to get fencing up and coops built and all of that; however, she was realizing that Terry had also cooped her up and that she might have to figure out a way to fight back. Being a middle child, she was always the peacemaker and always wanted everyone to get along. She followed the rules and balanced Terry’s stronger personality well, but he was about to get a dose of how headstrong she could be if he kept this up.
In order to keep the peace for now, she obediently stayed inside and let Terry do most of the work. She felt really bad that he worked all day and insisted tending to the animals, but until she could figure out a way to convince Terry that she could do a few things to help, she felt stuck. For the first time in a long time, she gave in to her old habits of watching TV news and eating junk food by the truckload. She was a news junkie at heart.
They kept covering small towns in South Carolina where the main industry revolved around chickens. Apparently, they were all just about to go out of business, because suddenly the eggs that their chickens laid would no longer hatch. The chickens that they already had were developing gray/green skin and their feathers were falling out. The news crew had both stills and video of unidentified hatcheries full of gross looking chickens like this. One, after another, after another.
Terry walked into the room and sat down beside her. “How’s Mommy tonight?” he asked, kissing her on the cheek.
“Mommy’s getting fat sitting around here watching TV and eating, because Daddy won’t let her do anyth-“
The news team was now interviewing some agitated looking old farmer with a ragged, soiled, John Deere ball cap on. He was holding one of the gross adult chickens without many feathers under one arm, and a smaller, younger looking chicken with no feathers, and smooth grayish but quite green skin under the other. It stopped Cathy right in mid-sentence. Terry stood and gawked too, as did millions of people watching that evening.
“That looks like a damned dinosaur or something,” Terry said.
“No shit!” Cathy replied.
The newsman said the farmers name was Harvey Winters. He was asking Winters what he had there.<
br />
“Well, I’m not exactly sure what to say it is,” the old farmer began, “but I think it’s important, and here’s why; I went and got me some new chickens from a place that ain’t been affected by all this here ole crazy goin’s on so’s I could start over-“
“And where was that?” interrupted the reporter.
“Now you just wait your turn young man, I ain’t finished yet,” Winters came back. “Like I was sayin’, I got me some new chickens to start over, and guess what,” he said, looking at the camera, “I ain’t feedin’ ‘em none of that God damned Walsanto corn, neither. Anyhow, the rooster, he got to some of my youngest hens that hadn’t lost all of their feathers yet, like this one here,” he said, lifting up the arm that held the pitiful looking hen without many feathers. “Well, in a bit, they started layin’ weird lookin’ green pullet eggs. I thought to myself, ‘Well that’s different’, so I put some in the incubator, and this is what hatched, so I guess they ain’t entirely sterile, at least at this point.”
Winters held up the arm that was holding the smooth skinned, green velociraptor looking creature. The camera zoomed right in on it for a close-up for a few seconds.
“What – the – hell – is – that?” Terry asked absently. “Look at that ugly son of a bitch!”
“I know,” said Cathy. “Hey, none of ours are getting like that are they?”
“Nooo,” answered Terry. “Our stupid chickens won’t touch their feed. They keep eating the rabbits’ feed.”
“Well, maybe they’re smarter than we think. Go out there right now and put away all of the chicken feed with corn in it, and only feed them rabbit feed until they get this shit figured out, ok?”
“Yeah, good idea, because we aren’t ever eating anything that looks like that shit.”
Terry jumped up and headed out back. Cathy continued watching, eating her store brand corn chips and salsa, and drinking a Coke.
The Rise of Walsanto (Self-Inflicted Series Book 1) Page 14