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by Michael Crichton

  And that was it.

  The kid bolted, shrieking for his mom. And Dolly suddenly starts acting like she doesn’t know him, and he’s cut and scratched, dragging himself out of the rose bushes with no help from her. Can’t work up any dignity getting up to your feet with your ass full of thorns. And there’s at least a hundred people watching him. And any minute, security guards.

  And the black monkey-looking kid is gone. Can’t see him anywhere.

  Vasco realizes that he’s got to get out of there. It’s finished; it’s a fucking disaster. Dolly is still frozen like the fucking Statue of Liberty, so he starts pushing her, yelling at her to get moving, that they have to leave. All the other women in the garden start booing and hissing. Some old broad in a leotard screams, “Testosterone poisoning!” And the others are yelling, “Leave her alone!” “Creep!” “Abuser!” He wants to yell back, “Sheworks for me!” but of course, she doesn’t anymore. She’s dazed and bewildered. And by now the leotard broads are screaming for the police.

  So it’s only going to get worse.

  Dolly is so slow;she might be sleepwalking. Vasco has to get out. He pushes past her, moving through the garden at a half-trot, his only thought now to get away, get out of this place. In the next garden he sees the kid standing with some guy, and in front of the two of them he sees the broad Alex, and she’s holding a fucking sawed-off twelve-gauge like she knows how to use it—hand on the stock, hand on the action—and she says, “If I ever see your face again, I’ll blow it off, asshole.”

  Vasco doesn’t answer, just keeps moving past her, and the next thing he knows, there’s a fucking explosion, and ahead of him the bushes along the path just blast away in a green cloud of fluttering petals and leaves and dirt. So of course he stops. Right there. And he turns, slowly, keeping his hands away from his body.

  She says, “Did you fucking hear what I said to you?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he says. Always polite to a lady with a gun. Especially if she’s upset. Now the crowd is huge; they’re three or four deep, chattering like birds, craning to get a look at what is happening. But this broad’s not going to let it go.

  She yells at him: “What’d I say to you?”

  “You said if you saw me again, you’d kill me.”

  “That’s right,” she says. “And I will. You touch me or my son again, and I will fucking kill you.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he says. He feels the red rushing into his face. Anger, humiliation, rage.

  “You can go now,” she says, moving the barrel ever so slightly. She knows what she is doing. A lawyer who goes to the shooting range. The worst kind.

  Vasco nods and moves off, quickly as he can. He wants to get away from her, and out of sight of all those women. It’s like some nightmare, all these women in robes watching him eat shit. In a moment, he’s practically running. Back to the Hummer, away from this place.

  That’s when he sawthe black kid, the one who looked like an ape. In fact, hewas an ape, Vasco was sure of it, watching the kid move. An ape dressed like a kid. But he was still an ape. The ape was circling around the garden. Just seeing that ape made Vasco’s head throb where his ear once was. Without a conscious thought, he pulled out his pistol and started firing. He didn’t expect to hit the little fucker at this distance, but he needed to do something. And sure enough, the ape ran, scrambled, went behind a wall, and disappeared.

  Vasco followed him. It was the damn ladies’ room. But nobody was around. The lights in the bathroom were off. He could see the pool, off to his right, but nobody was there now. So nobody was in the bathroom, except for the ape. He held his gun and moved forward.

  Chung chung!

  He froze. He knew the sound of a double-action pump. You never went in a room after you heard that sound. He waited.

  “Do you feel lucky, punk? Do you?” It was a raspy voice, sounded familiar.

  He stood there in the doorway to the women’s bathroom, angry and afraid, until he began to feel very foolish and very exposed. “Ah, screw it,” he said, and he turned and went back to his car. He didn’t care about the fucking ape kid, anyway.

  From behind him a voice said, “My, my. Such a lot of guns around town, and so few brains.”

  He spun, looked back. But all he saw was that bird, flapping its wings as it stood on the door leading to the bathroom. He couldn’t tell where the voice had come from.

  Vasco hurried to his Hummer. Already he was thinking what he would tell the law firm and the BioGen people. Fact was, it just didn’t work out. The woman was armed, she was tipped off, someone had told her in advance. Nothing Vasco could do about that. He was good at his job, but he couldn’t work miracles. The problem lay with whoever tipped her off. Before you blame me, take a look at yourself. They had a problem inside their organization.

  Anyhow, something like that.

  CH088

  Adam Winklerlay in the hospital bed, frail and weak. He was bald and pale. His bony hand gripped Josh’s. “Listen,” he said, “it wasn’t your fault. I was trying to kill myself anyway. It would have happened, no matter what. The time you gave me—you did me a big favor. Look at me. I don’t want you blaming yourself.”

  Josh couldn’t speak. His eyes were filled with tears.

  “Promise me you won’t blame yourself.”

  Josh nodded.

  “Liar.” Adam gave a weak smile. “How’s your lawsuit?”

  “Okay,” Josh said. “Some people in New York say we gave their mother Alzheimer’s. Actually, we gave her water.”

  “You going to win?”

  “Oh sure.”

  Adam sighed. “Liar.” His hand relaxed. “You take care, bro.” And he closed his eyes.

  Josh panicked, wiped his tears away. But Adam was still breathing. He was sleeping, very peacefully.

  CH089

  The Oxnard judgecoughed in the chilly air as he handed the ruling to the assembled attorneys. Alex Burnet was there, along with Bob Koch and Albert Rodriguez.

  “As you can see,” he said, “I have ruled that BioGen’s ownership of Mr. Burnet’s cells does not entitle them to take these cells from any individual, living or dead, including Mr. Burnet himself. Certainly the cells cannot be taken from members of his immediate or extended family. Any contrary ruling would conflict with the Thirteenth Amendment, forbidding slavery.

  “Within the context of my ruling, I observe that this situation has arisen out of confusion from prior court rulings as to what constitutes ownership in a biological context. First is the notion that material removed from the body is ‘waste’ or ‘lost material,’ which is therefore unimportant to the person from whom it was removed. This view is false. If one considers a stillborn fetus, for example, even though it has left the mother’s body, we can well intuit that either the mother or other relatives might feel a strong attachment to the fetus, and wish to control its disposition, whether in burial, cremation, or to provide tissues for research or to help others. The notion that the hospital or the doctor may dispose of the fetus as they wish, merely because it is outside the body and therefore is ‘waste’ material, is clearly unreasonable and inhuman. A similar logic applies to Mr. Burnet’s cells. Even though they are removed from his body, he will rightly feel that they are still his. This is a natural and common human feeling. The feeling will not go away simply because the courts rule according to some other legal concept shoehorned in by analogy. You cannot banish human feelings by legal fiat. Yet this is precisely what the courts have tried to do.

  “Some courts have decided tissue cases by considering the tissues to be trash. Some courts have considered the tissues to be research material akin to books in a library. Some courts consider the tissues to be abandoned property that can be disposed of automatically under certain circumstances, as rental lockers can be opened after a certain time and the contents of those lockers sold. Some courts have attempted to balance competing claims and have concluded that the claims of society to research trump the claims of the individ
ual to ownership.

  “Each of these analogies runs up against the stubborn fact of human nature. Our bodies are our individual property. In a sense, bodily ownership is the most fundamental kind of ownership we know. It is the core experience of our being. If the courts fail to acknowledge this fundamental notion, their rulings will be invalid, however correct they may seem within the logic of law.

  “That is why when an individual donates tissue to a doctor for a research study, it is not the same as donating a book to a library. It never will be. If the doctor or his research institution wishes later to use that tissue for some other purpose, they should be required to obtain permission for this new use. And so on, indefinitely. If magazines can notify you when your subscription runs out, universities can notify you when they wish to use your tissues for a new purpose.

  “We are told this is onerous to medical research. The reverse is true. If universities do not recognize that people retain a reasonable, and emotional, interest in their tissue in perpetuity, then people will not donate their tissues for research. They will sell them to corporations instead. And their lawyers will refine documents that forbid the universities to use so much as a blood test for any purpose at all, without negotiated payment. Patients are not naive and neither are their attorneys.

  “The cost of medical research will increase astronomically if physicians and universities continue to act in a high-handed manner. The true social good, therefore, is to enact legislation that enables people to maintain disposition rights to their tissue, forever.

  “We are told that a patient’s interest in his tissues, and his right to privacy, ends at death. That, too, is outmoded thinking that must change. Because the descendants of a dead person share his or her genes, their privacy is invaded if research is done, or if the genetic makeup of the dead person is published. The children of the dead person may lose their health insurance simply because contemporary laws do not reflect contemporary realities.

  “But in the end, the Burnet case has gone awry as it has because of a profound and fundamental error by the courts. Issues of ownership will always be clouded when individuals are able to manufacture within their bodies what the court has ruled someone else owns. This is true of cell lines; it is true of genes, and of certain proteins. These things cannot reasonably be owned. It is a standing rule of law that our common heritage cannot be owned by any person. It is a standing rule that facts of nature cannot be owned. Yet for more than two decades, legal rulings have failed to affirm this concept. Patent court rulings have failed to affirm this concept. The resultant confusions will only increase with time, and with the advances of science. Private ownership of the genome or of facts of nature will become increasingly difficult, expensive, obstructive. What has been done by the courts is a mistake, and it must be undone. The sooner the better.”

  Alex turned toBob Koch. “I think this judge had help,” she said.

  “Yeah, could be,” Bob said.

  CH090

  Rick Diehlwas trying to keep it together, but everything seemed to be falling apart. The maturity gene was a disaster. And worse, BioGen was getting sued by a lawyer in New York who was smart and unscrupulous. Rick’s attorneys told him to settle, but if he did, it would bankrupt the company. Although that would probably happen anyway. BioGen had lost the Burnet line, they had failed to replace it with cells from Burnet’s kid, and now it looked like a new patent interfered with their product, rendering it worthless.

  At Diehl’s request, his wife had come out of hiding and returned to town. The kids were at her parents’ house in Martha’s Vineyard for the summer. She was going to get custody. His attorney, Barry Sindler, was himself facing a divorce, and didn’t seem to have time for Rick these days. There was a big uproar over all the gene testing being done for custody cases. Sindler had been widely denounced for pioneering the practice, deemed unethical.

  There was talk in Congress of passing laws to limit genetic testing. But observers doubted Congress would ever act, because the insurance companies wanted testing. Which was only logical, given that insurance companies were in the business of not paying claims.

  Brad Gordon had left town while awaiting trial. It was rumored he was traveling around the West, getting himself into trouble.

  Rodriguez’s law firm had presented BioGen with the first part of their bill, for more than a million dollars. They wanted another two million on retainer, in light of all the pending litigation the company faced.

  Rick’s assistant buzzed him on the intercom. “Mr. Diehl, the woman from BDG, the security company, is here to see you.”

  He sat up in his chair. He remembered how electrifying Jacqueline Maurer was. She radiated sexuality and sophistication. He felt alive just being with her. And he hadn’t seen her in weeks.

  “Send her in.” He stood up, hastily stuffed his shirt into his pants, and turned to the door.

  A young woman of thirty, wearing a nondescript blue suit and carrying a briefcase, came into the room. She had a pleasant smile, a chubby face, and shoulder-length brown hair. “Mr. Diehl? I’m Andrea Woodman, of BDG. I’m sorry I haven’t been able to meet with you earlier but, gosh, we’ve been so busy with other clients the last few weeks, this was the first I could come. I’m so glad to make your acquaintance.” She held out her hand.

  He just stared.

  CAVEMEN PREFERRED BLONDES

  Anthropologist Notes Rapid Evolution of Light Gene Are Blondes Really Sexier?

  A new study by Canadian anthropologist Peter Frost indicates that European women evolved blue eyes and blond hair at the end of the last Ice Age as a way to attract mates. The hair color geneMC 1R evolved seven variants around 11,000 years ago, he notes. This occurred extremely rapidly, in genetic terms. Ordinarily such a change would take close to a million years.

  But sexual preference can produce rapid genetic change. Competition by women for males, who were in short supply due to early death in harsh times, led to the new hair and eye color. Frost’s conclusions are supported by the work of three Japanese universities, which fixed the date of the genetic mutation for blondes.

  Frost suspects that blondes have sexual appeal because light hair and eyes are a marker for high estrogen levels in women, and hence greater fertility. But not everyone agrees with this view. Jodie Kidd, 27, the blond model, said, “I don’t think being a blonde makes you more ripe for sexual activity…Beauty is much deeper than the color of your hair.”

  Professor Frost’s theory appeared in the journalEvolution and Human Behavior . His research was corroborated by a WHO study that predicted the demise of blondes by 2202. Subsequent reports contested the results of the WHO study after a UN panel denied its accuracy.

  CH091

  Frank Burnetwalked into the starkly modern offices of venture capitalist Jack Watson shortly after noon. It was as he had seen it on previous visits. The Mies furniture, the modern art—a Warhol painting of Alexander the Great, a Koons balloon sculpture, a Tansey painting of mountain climbers that hung behind Watson’s desk. The muted phones, the beige carpets—and all the stunning women, moving quietly, efficiently. One woman stood beside Watson with her hand on his shoulder.

  “Ah, Frank,” Watson said. He did not stand. “Have you met Jacqueline Maurer?”

  “I don’t believe so.”

  She shook his hand. Very cool, very direct. “Mr. Burnet.”

  “And you know our resident tech genius, Jimmy Maxwell.” Watson nodded to a kid in his twenties, sitting at the back of the room. The kid had thick horn-rim glasses and wore a Dodgers jacket. He looked up from his laptop and waved to Burnet.

  “How ya doing?”

  “Hi, there,” Burnet said.

  “I asked you to come in,” Watson said, shifting in his chair, “because we are very nearly finished with the entire business. Ms. Maurer has just negotiated the license agreement with Duke University. On extremely favorable terms.”

  The woman smiled. A sphinx-like smile. “I get on with scientists,”
she said.

  “And Rick Diehl,” Watson continued, “has resigned as the head of BioGen. Winkler and the rest of the senior staff have gone with him. Most of them face legal troubles, and I am sad the company will not be able to assist them. If you break the law, the company’s insurance policy does not cover you. So they’re on their own.”

  “Unfortunate,” Jacqueline Maurer said.

  “So it goes,” Watson said. “But given the present crisis, the BioGen board of directors has asked me to take over, and put the company back on its feet. I have agreed to do so for an appropriate equity adjustment.”

  Burnet nodded. “Then it all went according to plan.”

  Watson gave him an odd look. “Uh, yes. In any case, Frank, nothing more prevents you from returning home to your family. I am sure your daughter and grandson will be happy to see you.”