“Huh? Mom, I’ve got kids in there.”
“I’ll make sure they get home safely.”
“No. No, they just got here. Our play opens in eight days, I’ve got parents attending.”
“Olive, this is business. That thing you’re doing in there, that’s playtime. What did I tell you about helping out around here? Have you packed a suitcase yet?”
In the field, plenty of time had elapsed since Olive’s berating. Nathan had meticulously checked the plane’s external and internal controls and instruments to make certain they were operating correctly. He finally fired up the engine, failing to notice a disheartened Olive approaching. She climbed into the copilot’s seat, suddenly growing pale as she recognized Nathan.
“Oh. Hi. I mean, nice to see you again.”
“What are you doing?” Nathan asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Why are you here?”
“My mother, she didn’t explain things?”
Nathan didn’t respond. Olive continued over his impassive stare.
“Her planes never fly without an escort.”
“Go tell your mother I’m not much on babysitting.”
“I’d like to, believe me, but I don’t set the rules around here. Maybe you should tell her… sir.”
Nathan exited the aircraft, not happy, crossing for Waltona.
Lidia Barnardi, 39, waited for Colin to be sworn in before approaching the witness stand. Class and style, she was, but there was plenty about her that betrayed that she hadn’t been bred from old money. She was as talented as she was ambitious and this was a crowning moment for her, a high profile court case to help win widespread name recognition before her run for a seat in the United States Senate. She planned a public announcement in just over one year and her strategy was to primary an embattled and increasingly unpopular incumbent.
“Mr. Ford, can you tell the court what it is that you do?”
“I’m President and CEO of Sonanfield Reed.”
“And Sonanfield Reed is one of the leading biotechnology firms in the country, is that correct?”
“That’s correct.”
“Would you mind briefly describing for the jury what it is that your company does? Its main activity.”
“We specialize in the agricultural sector. We make it possible to feed a growing population by creating conditions that allow for larger, more nutritious crop yields.”
“You mean you genetically modify food plants.”
“Yes.”
“You take toxins meant to kill insects and genetically engineer those toxins directly into crops, that’s what you’re talking about, that’s some of what your company does, correct?”
“I realize how alarming that may sound to the average person, but the technology is not only completely safe, it’s among the most vital pieces of knowledge on humanity’s shelves. We’ve made it possible to produce more food in less space with fewer pesticides, which is good for the environment, and good for human health as well. One day our products may, in fact, be essential to human health. It may become possible to manage health concerns just by eating. We’re testing tomatoes, for example, enhanced with phytonutrients that prevent prostate cancer. We’re also testing bananas and potatoes that contain vaccines against childhood diseases. Healing the world with food is our ultimate vision.”
“Some of your critics, including a growing number of highly regarded bioengineers, worry about transposing genes between species that are naturally prevented from crossbreeding in nature. They cite the practice as, quote, at best a high risk venture, and at worst, could breed catastrophic new plant diseases and novel epidemics.”
“Everything we do is rigorously researched and evaluated.”
“By whom? Certainly not the FDA. Or any other regulatory agency for that matter.”
“Our products have been deemed, by those agencies, to be substantially equivalent to their non-GMO counterparts.”
“All that means is that your products contain comparable amounts of basic components, like proteins, fats and carbohydrates, which incredibly, our government finds is enough to avoid compulsory safety testing by their regulatory agencies. So, when you say everything you do is rigorously researched and evaluated, what do you mean? Who’s testing your products?”
“We test them.”
“Your people, your employees. Exclusively.”
“Yes.”
“Why haven’t you ever published any findings?”
Roger wasn’t only Colin’s personal assistant, he was also an attorney, one of a trio representing Sonanfield Reed that day. He objected, remaining seated, almost bored.
“Objection. Proprietary information.”
“Sustained.” responded the Judge, also demonstrating a certain degree of boredom.
Colin and Lidia however, had continued to speak over each other, Colin leading the way.
“There’s nothing to publish. Our products are safe because they’re substantially equivalent, Ms. Barnardi.”
“Yet patented because they’re uniquely different, Mr. Ford.”
Roger objected once again, forcefully this time. The Judge slammed down his gavel, his boredom quickly evaporating, all business now.
“I said sustained! Move on, counselor.”
“Actually, I’d like to speak to that.” Colin said, his voice increasingly growing more brittle.
“You don’t have to.” reminded the Judge.
“I understand, Your Honor, but the prosecution is employing a dog whistle to make veiled insinuations concerning outrageous rumors that are often cited in conspiracy circles about our products and how they might be responsible for killing bees or causing childhood diabetes, to list only two, and that we don’t release or publish internal research documents because we’re desperately trying to cover things up. The allegations are baseless and the prosecuting attorney knows that, but she’s attempting to alarm and confuse members of the jury anyway. Some of them may be cognizant of those conspiracy theories, Your Honor. I’d like to answer her question.”
The Judge asked the court reporter to read back Lidia’s last question. “Why haven’t you ever published any findings?” the court reporter echoed.
Colin regarded the jury.
“Proprietary information, also known as trade secrets, is simply information that a company wishes to keep confidential from its competitors. Coca-Cola’s formula serves as a good example. The prosecuting attorney has studied many of our internal research documents because we voluntarily made them available to her during the previous lawsuit she filed against us which alleged that we rushed our modified corn and soybeans to the marketplace without adequate testing on human health. It was a closed court so it’s true our research was never made public, but she’s seen much of it and she knows fully well that her case would not have been thrown out had she found a smoking gun. The truth is, the scientific community has not come to a consensus about what’s been killing bees. Another truth is that literally tens of millions of people have eaten our products over the past twenty-some-odd years and there hasn’t been a single instance of anyone being made sick. Not one. Those are the facts.”
“Your products aren’t labeled, or even segregated, thanks to your industry’s lobbying efforts in Washington and at the World Trade Organization. It’s a bold and clever business strategy, actually. Consumers who may suffer unanticipated health effects wouldn’t think to attribute their illnesses to your products. And just because it’s difficult to assign blame or determine liability doesn’t mean there hasn’t been a single instance of anyone being made sick.” Lidia rebutted, forceful.
“Is there a question?” Colin submitted.
“Would you agree with my assessment?”
“Baseless conjecture. Here’s some justified conjecture. The main reason you keep filing these nuisance suits against us is because you’re planning a run for the U.S. Senate and you’re looking to enhance your name recognition.”
“Objectio
n, Your Honor. Mr. Ford’s comments are as ridiculous as they are unsubstantiated. I ask that they be stricken.”
“Overruled. You opened up the innuendo buffet. Enjoy.”
Lidia glanced at a group of reporters in the back of the courtroom who were all busy jotting notes all of a sudden. She gauged the jury… and realized she was probably losing them.
The view above scattered low flying clouds was majestic and awe-inspiring. Far below, the magnificent beauty of oat grasses on rolling hillsides complimented clusters of forested areas and made the entire scene look like a living landscape portrait.
Nathan was piloting the crop duster, and Olive had made the trip after all. He’d obviously preferred she not have tagged along, and he almost abandoned the agreement with Waltona after she stubbornly refused to budge, but he ultimately decided to go through with his plan because he convinced himself, in the moment, that he could achieve his goals relatively quickly and without putting Olive in any real danger. Hopefully, he could keep her unaware and out of the way. And hopefully, as he also initially feared, he could keep her somewhat less chatty as well.
“I’m also teaching theater to kids. Original script, I wrote it.” Olive offered, sheepishly, but proudly.
When she got no reaction from Nathan, she allowed a few seconds to pass before attempting to engage him once again.
“I figure writing screenplays will be my fallback option in case the acting thing somehow doesn’t work out, which is why I’m so not worried.”
Nathan chuckled at that.
“What’s so funny?
“Nothing.”
“You don’t think I can make it in Hollywood?”
“I suppose if you’re a failure at everything else, you might as well give Hollywood a try.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Sound it out, kid.”
“Whatever. You sound just like my mom. Well let me tell you something. I’d rather follow my dreams and fail than wake up one day at your age and hate myself for never having tried.”
“How old are you?”
“Seventeen. Eighteen next month.”
“Do yourself a favor and get a college degree first. Something in the sciences. You’ll have plenty of time to roll the dice in Hollywood at age 22.”
“I plan on being a huge star by the time I’m 22.”
Nathan reflexively rolled his eyes before focusing his attention on the terrain below.
“Damn, where are we?” Olive asked, after following his gaze, realizing all of a sudden that she was unfamiliar with the landscape. She pulled out her cell phone. “No signal. This isn’t good. We should be heading back.”
Nathan banked the plane into a relatively steep dive instead.
The crop duster was now on the ground, motionless in a forest clearing and Olive was not happy about it.
“Are you insane, you can’t just land here like this.”
“Why not?”
“Well, for one thing, it’s dangerous. You could’ve damaged the landing gear, rocks and gopher holes all over the place. Plus who knows who owns this land, it could be private property.”
Nathan found his duffel bag and threw open the cockpit door.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
“Where are you going?”
“Wait here.”
Nathan exited, snaking into the brush. It wasn’t until he’d completely disappeared that she realized he’d taken the ignition keys.
A cabin. Eerie and decayed. Rupert, the dog that came nose to nose with Nathan three years earlier, was relaxing on a rickety porch, one of his ears suddenly standing at attention. He growled menacingly, moving off the porch to dissuade whatever it was that was approaching. When he recognized Nathan, he darted for him, animated and excited, greeting him with a wet tongue and furiously wagging tail.
Nathan dropped to his knees and hugged him, petting him, voicing things like, I missed you, buddy, and you’re such a good boy, and a million other sentiments. It was a love fest.
Nathan finally produced a large rawhide bone from his duffel bag and presented it to Rupert. Rupert chomped down on it greedily, quickly moving off to find a suitable location to devour it without interruption. As Nathan found his feet, he noticed the backwoodsman standing nearby, expressionless, staring at him.
“You don’t look like a molecular biologist.” the backwoodsman lamented as he puffed on a thick, hand-rolled cigarette.
“What does a molecular biologist look like?”
“Intelligent. Logical. The type who wouldn’t go out looking to get murdered for a second time. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? To say goodbye?”
Nathan extracted a large bundled wad of money from his duffel bag – the dimensions of an oversized brick – and tossed it to the backwoodsman who caught it cleanly.
“Get yourself a proper wood stove. I froze the entire time I was here.” Nathan said before turning to leave.
The backwoodsman called out after him.
“Hey.”
Nathan stopped, regarding him, waiting for it.
“Goodbye.”
Nathan disappeared without responding. It wasn’t too long before he found the location where he and his sister, Kate, were dumped – and where Kate was buried.
He crouched over her crude, wooden marker, digging into his duffel bag for a container of Field in a Bag, sprinkling the contents over her grave, attempting a smile that didn’t quite make it up to his eyes. He left without saying a word.
The crop duster was airborne again and there was plenty of tense silence despite the rumble of the engine. Olive finally spoke, managing a contrived civil tone, but plainly still agitated.
“It was very inconsiderate.”
“It would’ve been inconsiderate had I done it on purpose. I took the keys out of habit, why is that so hard to believe?”
“You thought I might abandon you because I was angry, fly off on my own and leave you there, that’s why you took them.”
Nathan responded with a not-so-subtle gesture meant to convey that she was wrong – and she was. It never crossed his mind that she couldn’t be trusted, and it had nothing to do with the fact that he had rescued her from being assaulted, and that she owed him. He didn’t discount that she might’ve felt that way, but he didn’t consider her indebted to him at all. From his perspective, she came across as an innocent and unworldly, but exceptionally honest kid, and she simply had given him no reason to distrust her. The truth was he really did pocket the keys subconsciously, out of a predisposition to do so virtually every time.
She waited for a moment to pass, managing to artificially settle her combative juices before continuing to admonish him in a somewhat gentler tone.
“I would’ve been stranded had something happened to you. That was bear country out there. What if you got mauled to death? Or what if you simply just got lost and were unable to find your way back? I had no cell reception.”
Nathan dabbed one of his eyes with a soiled shirtsleeve as he heaved yet another mildly exasperated sigh. He’d already apologized and explained himself a handful of times but there was no convincing her.
“That was a very inconsiderate thing to do, that’s all I’m saying.” she added continuing to stare at him, studying him more closely now, wondering why his eyes were a little bloodshot and why he’d been dabbing them from time to time.
“So what happened to you back there anyway?” Olive asked, as she produced a clean tissue and handed it to him.
“What do you mean?”
“Wherever you went. Have you been crying?”
“A lot of irritants in the air. Thanks for the tissue.”
“You’ve been crying.”
“Sure, whatever you say.”
“You know, the least you could do is fake a vaguely persuasive apology for risking our lives with that dangerous stunt and then continue on credibly pretending when you tell me you’re not just some emotionless badass, you have feelings, and what
ever you did on the ground back there and wherever you went – that was deeply personal so shut up and mind my own business. I’d respect that.”
“Can I fake that type of vaguely persuasive apology later? I mean, so I potentially won’t have to do it twice?”
“What’re you talking about?”
Nathan answered by banking the plane into another fairly steep descent.
The plane was on the ground once again, in the middle of rugged terrain this time. Olive was furious as she examined a shredded tire.
“Look at this, what did I tell you?! Now, what’re we supposed to do?!”
“How long will it take to fix?”
“What, you think we could just magically call up triple A and they’d send out a technician?!”
“There’s a spare tire under my seat, a hydraulic jack under yours.”
Olive locked eyes with him, no longer shouting, but absolutely no flexibility in her voice.
“What’re we doing here?”
“I need to go somewhere, last stop.”
“Where? There’s nothing out here. What’s going on?”
Nathan produced two hand-rolled cigarettes.
“I won’t be long. You smoke?”
Olive frowned because the hand-rolled cigarettes looked a lot like marijuana joints. He clarified.
“Tobacco.”
“No.”
“The other stuff?”
“No.”
“Think that’s wise? In your case, I mean?”
“Of course that’s wise, what’re you talking about, in my case?”
“The whole Hollywood thing. Fitting in.”
“Not every Hollywood actor smokes pot. Some don’t even drink.”
“Like who?”
“Blake Lively.”
“Who?”
“A Simple Favor, Accepted, The Town, The Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants…” Olive trailed off, continuing a moment later over Nathan’s blank stare. “Tom Cruise. Ever heard of him?”
“Fine actor.”
“One of the greatest of his generation. We’re not all degenerates, you know.”
Wicked Seeds Page 4