Maybe things are changing, she thought wildly. Really changing. Maybe I don’t know as much as I think I do.
“You seem very interested in this,” Mr. Rodke said. “If it’s not too intrusive a question, may I ask why?”
“Well, I—” Gaia had no idea what to say. It was precisely the question she didn’t want to answer.
“Because she’s smart, Dad,” Chris said easily. He was cutting enthusiastically into his lamb.
“Gaia, if you’re really interested, you should come down to the office. I’d be happy to show you all the things we’re doing.”
“I’d love that,” Gaia blurted.
Immediately she regretted having spoken. It was rude and overeager, but she couldn’t help it.
“If you’d like, I could probably even find time for you tomorrow. How would that be?”
Gaia smiled. “That would be great,” she said. “That would be just. . . perfect. Thank you, Mr. Rodke. Seriously.”
Rodke waved a dismissive hand. “Please don’t mention it,” he said, smiling back. “I believe in educating future generations. You might play a major role in the history of genetics someday.”
I might, Gaia thought. I just might.
Screwed-up DNA
GAIA WAS STANDING ON SIXTH AVENUE, watching a flood of businesspeople flying in and out of the revolving doors of a sixty-story green glass building. The two-foot-high polished chrome sign read Rodke and Simon. It had to be lunchtime; the building’s twin granite fountains were swamped by crowds of suited men and women seated along their edges, eating sandwiches out of paper deli wrappers.
Secretaries, executives, and delivery guys were all threading their way past each other in a sort of intricate, choreographed ballet, hefting their briefcases and yelling into their cell phones.
Is this really what I want to be doing? Gaia asked herself, walking toward the Rodke and Simon entranceway. She wasn’t sure what the answer was, but she’d already come all the way up here—and she couldn’t exactly stand Mr. Rodke up. It would look bad, and it might even cause friction with Liz and Chris.
She pulled open the heavy chrome-and-glass door and went in.
Enter Gaia Moore, serious young biology student.
It seemed plausible, Gaia thought as the blast of air-conditioning hit her. She could be a science geek. Mr. Rodke already saw her that way—that was why she was here.
Gaia felt very self-conscious in the elevator. She was packed in with a crowd of Attractive Young Businesspeople, all of whom wore very expensive looking suits and gleaming shoes and wristwatches. Her ears popped as the elevator shot upward, bonging gently as it stopped on the forty-first floor.
The air up here was even colder. Gaia stepped off the elevator, her scuffed sneakers leaving tracks in the flawless beige carpeting. She was in a vast entryway, with another gigantic chrome Rodke and Simon logo on the wall. A row of modern white padded chairs faced a dark rectangular screen set into the fabric-covered wall. There didn’t seem to be anyone else around.
The elevator door slid shut behind her. Gaia stepped forward, clutching her book bag. Now she could see a beige desk to one side with yet another Rodke and Simon logo set into it. A severe-looking young woman in tortoiseshell glasses and a prim suit sat there, wearing a headset, staring at a computer monitor and typing.
“Excuse me,” Gaia said. “Um—”
The woman looked up at her and then beamed. “Gaia Moore?”
“Yes—”
“How do you do. I’m Emily Baskin.” The woman stood up. She was still smiling brightly at Gaia. She put out her hand. “Public affairs associate for Rodke and Simon. If you would please take a seat, Mr. Rodke will be with you in just one moment.”
“Um—okay, thanks,” Gaia said, shaking hands.
“Here,” Emily Baskin said, handing over a big glossy folder. “You can look at this while you wait.”
Gaia went over to the row of white seats, looking at the folder. Rodke and Simon: Building a Global Future, the cover read. There was a picture of a man in a white lab coat holding a beaker of amber fluid.
Gaia sat down on one of the plush white chairs. The moment she did so, the dark rectangular screen in front of her came to life. Music started playing as an animated version of the Rodke and Simon logo appeared on the screen. Behind the logo a series of photographs faded in and out, showing containers of shampoo, toothpaste, prescription drugs, suntan lotion, lipstick—every kind of product you could buy at a drugstore.
“Welcome to Rodke and Simon,” a deep-voiced male narrator said. “Building a global future.”
Now the screen was showing cities around the world and white-coated scientists working in laboratories.
“Rodke and Simon is the world industry leader in cosmetic and pharmaceutical technology,” the narrator went on. He sounded like a judge or a cop: the world’s most authoritative voice. “With assets in excess of two hundred billion dollars, Rodke and Simon has offices and laboratories in twelve major cities around the globe and holds forty-two separate chemical patents. Since 1972 Rodke and Simon has stood for—”
“Gaia!”
She turned her head. Mr. Rodke was walking toward her, his hand already out. He was wearing a suit that must have cost four thousand dollars.
“Hello, Mr. Rodke,” she said awkwardly, getting up off the couch.
“Please, call me Robert,” he said, smiling easily. His handshake was firm and quick. “I’m so sorry to keep you waiting. Emily, turn that off, would you?”
“Yes, Mr. Rodke,” Emily said quickly. She pressed a button on her desk and the promotional film suddenly stopped, cutting the world’s most authoritative voice off in midsentence.
“Did you get a brochure?” Rodke asked, looking over at Gaia. “Good. Let’s go somewhere more comfortable, shall we? Have you had lunch?”
“What? Oh—yes,” Gaia said. She was hurrying to keep up with Rodke as he held a wide oak door open for her and then strode forward along a bright, carpeted corridor. Giant plate-glass windows showed a dazzling view of Midtown Manhattan, its towers and spires sparkling in the bright midday sun. “Thanks so much for taking the time to see me.”
Rodke frowned, waving a hand dismissively. “Not at all. We’re all about the future here at R&S: you may have noticed our slogan. I’ve always got time for a young scientist like yourself.”
Gaia felt a twinge of guilt at that. This man was going out of his way for her based on a false pretense. I’m not a scientist. I can still tell him that, tell him why I’m really here.
“This way,” Rodke said, gesturing toward a massive double oak door. “Marion, no calls,” he barked out at a young blond woman seated at a desk nearby.
“Yes, Mr. Rodke,” the woman said briskly.
Gaia had never seen such a large office in her life. It was nearly the size of the cafeteria at the Village School. A gigantic oak desk stood near massive floor-to-ceiling windows. Bright sunlight was blasting into the office. Out the window Gaia could see the Hudson River twinkling in the sun like pebbled glass far in the distance. To one side, a ten-foot-tall chrome sculpture of a DNA molecule stood on a green granite base. Two couches flanked a glass coffee table, which held a stack of the same glossy brochures Gaia had been given.
“Please, take a seat,” Rodke said, gesturing toward a leather chair. “And let’s talk about genetics.”
Gaia sat down. She realized she was excited—Rodke’s brisk manner was contagious. There was something about the way he spoke that appealed to her: direct and serious.
“Last night,” Gaia said, “you were talking about improving people’s lives.”
“Through knowledge,” Rodke said, dropping into a massive chair behind his equally massive desk. “Through learning. You know, a hundred years ago they didn’t even know what DNA was?” Rodke squinted fervently. “They knew something was happening when they bred horses, but the science was a mystery. Today there’s no mystery at all—we breed for speed, for strength, for anythi
ng you want. Now, thanks to science, we can change traits. What do you want to be, Gaia? Taller? Shorter? Brunette? Green eyed?” Rodke pointed at Gaia. The afternoon sun backlit his thick hair. “Smarter? Faster? All traits that used to be set in stone from birth, and almost all of them can be changed.”
“But you’re talking about two different things,” Gaia said. “You can change the results of someone’s genes—give a bald man back his hair or dye someone’s hair—but you can’t change the genes themselves.”
Rodke smiled. “Who says we can’t? Gaia, you should see what we’re doing here. We are beginning to do exactly what you just said—change the genes directly. Alter a person’s genetic pattern so that everything that used to be determined in that person’s life can now be changed.”
Gaia couldn’t believe what she was hearing. All the attention she paid to the CIA and the Organization and her family problems and fighting and Jake and all of it, and she had never truly focused her attention on the core problem of her life—her genetic code. She hadn’t ever focused on it because there was nothing she could do about it.
Except maybe there was.
She wasn’t about to start talking to Robert Rodke about her own screwed-up DNA. That was out of the question.
But she had to learn more about what Rodke and Simon was doing. She had to.
“Can you tell me more about what you’re doing?”
“Only in a limited way,” Rodke said apologetically. “I certainly can’t master the technical details. I’m just a lowly CEO. If you’re really interested, you should talk to Dr. Ulrich. He’s working on all kinds of genetic alteration techniques. He can explain much better than I can.”
“Dr. Ulrich?” Gaia wondered if she was supposed to recognize the name.
“He’s our resequencing guru. Gaia, I’ve managed to drag a very well known and very expensive geneticist away from Princeton University. He works for me now in our new lab right here in this building. Would you like to meet him?”
“Well—”
Genetic alteration techniques, Gaia thought. The phrase was incredibly suggestive.
Gaia was surprised at how quickly this was moving. Maybe too quickly. At a certain point all these terribly nice people were going to want to know why she was so interested in what they were doing.
Still, what could it hurt to talk to a scientist? His time couldn’t be more valuable than a CEO’s.
“Sure,” Gaia said, brushing her unkempt hair back from her face. “That would be great.”
Rodke was reaching for the phone. “Let me call him right now,” he said. “Karl’s a busy man—he’s barely got time for me. But I’m sure he’d be interested in meeting a bright, young American student of genetics.”
Or a girl born without the fear gene, Gaia thought. If I could find a way to keep that a secret.
Hate Each Other
“NINE P.M.,” THE SPEAKING CLOCK said.
Heather could barely hear it. She was three doors away in the small, windowless room reserved for phone conversations. One of the special Braille phones was in front of her on a table.
The room was empty except for Heather. She could tell, from the feel of the air and the silence.
Here goes, she thought.
Heather’s heart was beating fast. It had only been a day since those two men—Rowan and Morrow—had visited her room and asked her those strange questions, but she was still frightened. She had barely slept a wink that night.
Heather picked up the phone receiver. Its plastic surface felt cold and slick.
Don’t tell anybody about us, Rowan had told her. He’d stood right in front of her and put his hand on her shoulder and threatened her directly. If you do, we’ll find out. And we’ll come back. Do you understand?
Heather understood. Somehow the threat was even scarier when it wasn’t explained. And she’d agreed in her mind. She would keep her mouth shut. At least, that was what she’d thought right then, at that moment.
Heather reached for the keypad. Her fingers brushed the Braille buttons, and she started dialing. It was easy to tell which button was which; she’d gotten good at it.
One. Two one two. Five five five. Twelve twelve.
New York City directory assistance.
A day later Heather’s feelings had changed a bit. She was still frightened, but now she was angry, too. Heather didn’t know much about government bureaucrats, but she was pretty sure they didn’t threaten people. So if Rowan and Morrow weren’t bureaucrats, who the hell were they?
“Residence of Gaia Moore,” Heather told the recording. “East Seventy-second Street in Manhattan.”
She had to warn Gaia. It was that simple; she had no choice. How could those men “find out,” anyway? Heather didn’t think they could. That was just something they’d said to scare her. It was obvious now.
And all their questions had been about Gaia.
There was a click as Heather was connected to a live operator. She got ready to memorize the number—something else she’d gotten good at.
“That number is no longer in service,” the operator told her.
Heather hung up. A cold wave passed over her.
Could they have gotten to her? So fast? A day later?
Heather told herself that was silly. It had been a long time since she’d been in New York. It had been a while since she’d spoken to Gaia or anyone else. She’d moved, that was all. Heather had to warn someone else—get the message to Gaia.
One. Two one two. . .
Heather’s fingers pressed the Braille buttons. The phone receiver, next to her ear, was already damp with her perspiration. This number she knew all too well.
The phone was ringing. It picked up. Immediately she heard music in the background and shuffling noises.
“Hello?”
Ed’s voice. Unmistakably. Heather felt a wave of relief at the sound of Ed’s voice.
“Ed, it’s Heather.”
“Heather?” Ed sounded a bit stunned but pleased. “Wow. I don’t believe—how are you?”
“Fine. Okay. Not so good.”
“What’s wrong?”
Don’t tell anyone, Rowan had warned her.
Too bad.
“Ed, listen,” Heather said. “You have to do something for me.”
“Sure,” Ed said affably. “Anything. Name it.”
“You have to give a message to Gaia.”
“That’s going to be difficult,” Ed said heavily.
There was silence at the other end of the phone. Heather could hear Ed breathing in and out.
“Why?” Heather croaked. “Why will it be difficult?”
“We’re, um—we’re not exactly speaking.”
“Not—” Heather was relieved. She’s all right, she thought. Relax.
But wait. Ed and Gaia? Not speaking? That was crazy. What could possibly have driven a wedge like that between Gaia and Ed? Heather was almost afraid to ask. “Ed, what happened?”
“That’s a long story. She—it’s really the best thing for both of us right now. And there’s—” Ed paused again, and Heather realized, with her newfound ability to read voices and detect moods, that this was something recent that Ed was reacting to. “There’s someone else in the picture. She’s got a—Gaia’s been spending a lot of time with a guy named Jake.”
Jake? Heather didn’t have the slightest idea who that was. It reminded her again how long she’d been away from New York.
“Do you think you could talk to her anyway?” Heather went on. “I’m sorry, Ed, but it’s important. Can you just tell her that I think she might be in some kind of trouble?”
“What?”
“Two men came here yesterday. And. . . they were kind of scary. They asked me a whole bunch of questions about what happened to me, about being blind. . . and about Gaia. They were seriously kind of scary, Ed. And I’m afraid they’re going to come looking for her.”
“Of course.” Ed laughed bitterly. “Someone is always looking for Gaia.”
“They told me not to tell anyone,” Heather went on. “But I had to, Ed.”
“Right.” Ed was breathing again. “What did they look—oh, sorry.”
“I can’t tell you what they looked like. They talked about Oliver, too—you know, Gaia’s uncle. Could you just tell her what happened? Please, Ed?”
He’s not going to do it, Heather thought. They hate each other now, and he’s not going to talk to her.
“Nine-ten P.M.,” the speaking clock in the next room said.
“Of course,” Ed said quickly. Heather’s concern melted away. “Of course I’ll do it.”
“You don’t mind?”
“No, I don’t. . . . I mean, we’re not really talk—no, forget that. Forget it. If you think she’s in trouble. . . then I don’t have a choice.”
“Good.” Heather felt a wave of admiration for Ed. She could tell from the weariness in his voice how much he didn’t want to do it. But he was going to come through as usual.
“Let me make sure I’ve got the story straight,” Ed said. All traces of resentment were gone from his voice. “Two men came to harass you and asked questions about your blindness; they mentioned her uncle and gave the impression that they’re going to talk to her next. Do I have it right?”
A wave of relief passed over Heather; it was almost a physical feeling of a weight being lifted. I’ve done the right thing, she thought firmly. She was sure of it.
“Yeah, you got it right. Thanks, Ed. Thanks so much.”
“That’s okay.”
“I miss you, Ed.” It was true. She missed everybody. She could spend the next ten minutes giving Ed greetings to pass on to everyone. But that could wait. “Please, just talk to Gaia as soon as you can. It’s important.”
“All right,” Ed said. “I’ll do it. Don’t worry.”
“Thanks, Ed.” Heather suddenly felt like crying, she missed everyone so much.
That’s done, Heather thought, hanging up the phone. And there’s no way those two men will find out.
But she wasn’t sure. And she was mildly surprised to find that she was still as frightened as before.
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