CHAPTER 9

"I've got someone I want you to meet," it was Julius D. Nibble, the next time he paid me a visit. "She's been staying at home with her third litter but I thought, since she's such a big part of this story, you'd like to meet her... she's known as Moon these days, but of course you know her as Crystal."

As Moon, Crystal was a knockout... as beautiful a Hound as she had been a homo sapient... the longest ears and eyelashes I'd ever seen.

Wagging her tail shyly, she came right up and rested her soft muzzle on my knee while Nibble stood proudly by.

Guess that experience with old man Scoggins made you really anxious to get out of there. I said, bringing Moon up to date on Nibbles' story.

' It certainly did,' she replied in a soft feminine voice. 'And when we got our big chance, Irving proved himself a real hero.' She glanced adoringly at Nibble.

"That's getting ahead of things again," said a flustered Nibble. "I just did what I had to. First, though, we have to catch up on the rest of our story."

I suppose you mean Rae Greenfield, I said... we left her at a rather low point in her life didn't we?

"And Frederick B. Straker," Nibble's nose went up. "Back in New Jersey restless Fred had finally arranged a tele-conference with Rae... financial events at Combinant Technologies having gone from bad to worse, he had become pale and bloated"

' Always did overheat when he was nervous,' Crystal observed.

"We might as well begin where Straker and young Dimitri Rostov were entering the teleconference room of the Straker mansion," Nibble continued.

"The room, a former library, glowed mercilessly under studio lights. Heavily made up to look healthy, except for his pale white hands, Straker slumped in a massive wing backed chair behind a mahogany desk. Dimitri was seated at his left. Thick Chinese carpets, a crackling fire in the marble hearth, eighteenth century paneling and fine paintings completed the scene. Across from them, the room had been gutted and a communications center installed, manned by operators seated before a console of monitors and cameras which now focused on the two men. Despite the luxurious setting the scene seemed to have been generated by some malign force. While Dimitri Rostov smiled at himself and practiced charm, Straker glanced at his image in one of the monitors, winced and adjusted his tie. In a moment the screen will split and the impeccably groomed presence of Larsen McKantor will beam through from the skyscraping offices of the Greenfield Foundation at One Rockefeller Plaza in New York. The subject of the conference is supposed to be: Finding a way to get the Slave Project off the ground, or as Straker had put it to Dimitri: How to get Rae Greenfield to come out of the closet, 'If we can get her to show herself we can nail her.' "

"But as Larsen McKantor's face materializes on a screen, to Dimitri Rostov's surprise, Straker begins on quite another tack. 'Any news of the investigation?' he asks McKantor.

'I assume you are referring to the police investigation of Irving's death,' Larsen replies, lighting a pipe. 'Not much. Of course they're concerned that Dimitri wasn't where he said he was at the time of the murder - they're a little upset about that....they want to talk to you, Dimitri.'

Raising his eyebrows, Fred turns to Dimitri. 'Do you, in fact, know where you were?' he asks as though Dimitri might be retarded. 'I told them you were on corporate business in Paris but that was really a supposition on my part. You say you were in Texas. Where were you anyway?'

Furious that he should be addressed in such a manner by this California oaf, Dimitri Rostov felt his Czarist blood rising. Taking note of the whirling video tape decks behind the glass partition, however, he smelled a rat and resolved to play the fool. 'Sorry, I was daydreaming," he replies, 'guess I have to tell you, don't I?'

'It would be helpful,' says Straker firmly.

'Well, I was at an orgy at the home of a well known Houston hostess...husband away on business... luscious blond... shaves her pubic hairs...husband is a well known...'

'We can do without the details,' says McKantor briskly.'

'I think she'll remember me.' says Dimitri, 'most women do.'

'Don't be so sure,' says Straker.

'Oh, but I'm quite sure," replies Dimitri, smirking, my equipment is superlative, but what about you, Mr. McKantor, may I ask where you were that fateful day?'

'Lets not get acrimonious,' Starker blurts, using a big word he has just learned, 'We're all friends here. I'm sure Larsen doesn't have to prove anything. He was at his office, of course!'

'As a matter or fact,' Larsen sighs, 'I wasn't... unfortunately I chose that day to lunch at the Yale Club.'

'You mean you were there when it happened,' Straker incredulously, 'Why didn't you tell me this before?'

'Quite frankly I didn't see any reason to, Fred, I lunch there quite often. That day I was in another part of the club, but yes I was there. I came, I lunched and I left. Later I remembered having heard a siren, probably the ambulance which was carrying Irving and his girlfriend away. It was rumored someone had had a heart attack. Poor guy. The last thing I can imagine is that anyone would want to get rid of Irving.'

'Poor guy, indeed,' Straker grunts.

McKantor shrugs. 'Had Irving lived I doubt we'd be in this mess. He might well have been brought round to our point of view and changed Miss Greenfield's mind too.'

'If you could have kept your Miss Greenfield away from him we wouldn't be in this mess,' Straker replies angrily. 'By the way, have you located her?'

The camera zoomed back for a wider view of Larsen McKantor seated in the Tudor style communications room of the Greenfield Foundation. 'Matter of fact, I had a phone call just last week from Atlanta. First time she's ever let me know where she was calling from. Something seems to be upsetting her, something personal I believe. But I've persuaded her to talk with us and she's standing by in Atlanta right now.'

'Good!' says Straker shifting his weight ponderously in his wing chair.

'I have her on my monitor,' McKantor whispers, 'All you have to do is open up another channel and you'll see her.'

Straker glances at Dimitri Rostov and rolls his eyes. 'Better put out your cigar, Dimitri, she might be one of those...err...no smoking nuts.'

"The screen split in three and a pleasantly animated face with steady grey eyes materialized. Dimitri noted that it was a plain face, a face that reminded him of a painting by that curious American, Grant Wood. Although her prominent cheekbones were sunburned, the face was unwrinkled. Thick, silver hair was pulled back into a large bun at the back of her neck and her mouth, though he saw it could betray her emotions easily, was relaxed and smiling. She wore soft blue cotton overalls over a white blouse; her only jewelry a single strand of pearls around her neck and seemed to be talking with someone off camera."

"Fred Straker couldn't believe what he saw. This was the richest woman on earth? There must be some mistake."

'Ready,' asked a voice off camera, 'We're on.'

'Oh,' says Rae, obviously surprised at what she sees in her monitor. 'Ah...

here we are then... well gentlemen... mercy... you must forgive me I'm not used to this sort of thing. And you must be Larson, the one on the screen alone. I never thought you'd look like that.'

'Beg pardon,ma'am,' says Larson McKantor in New York.

'From your voice I expected a much older looking man, someone nearer my own age, I guess.... you look like a teenager... how old are you?'

'Forty-two,' McKantor replies.

'You must take good care of yourself,' observes Rae. 'And you two on the other screen... what an attractive room. Which of you is Straker and which is Rostov?'

'I'm Fred Straker,' Straker smiling obsequiously , 'and this is Dr. Dimitri Rostov, Dr Allen's former assistant.'

'Hmmm,' Rae mutters, 'do you mind my asking your age, Mr. Straker?'

'Fred Straker scrapes his throat. 'Thirty nine.'

'And him?'

'Thirty eight, Madam,' Dimitri Rostov replies.

Rae relaxed back in her chair, sighs and gazes at the three men.

'This explains a lot,' she sighs, 'still, it doesn't excuse you.'

'I beg your pardon?' Straker says.

'You may beg, but I won't pardon you Mr. Straker, It's simply this... I'd imagined you a lot older and thought you should have known better... I was going to give a good scolding... that's what comes of spending so much time with my father when I was young... I always assume all businessmen are old. But now I see you I realize your youth excuses you somewhat... but not enough. I'm afraid you need some lessons in Ethics.'

Straker rises from his chair, 'I can't believe you,' he says pointing at Ray 'you talk about ethics... what about your father and your grandfather... indeed Miss Greenfield you are not credible... and now I would like to say...'

'Sit down and stop fussing, my credibility is just fine,' Rae smiled, 'and I'm not to be indeeded... If you don't behave I shall cut this conversation short... I have worked hard most of my life supporting myself and I'm afraid it's made me a very blunt woman... I don't like your looks and would be only too happy to just pull the plug on this conversation...'

'Three cheers for her,' thought Dimitri Rostov.

Fred Straker's face turns maroon. 'I assure you, Miss Greenfield, I'm a very moral individual... have a wife, two lovely children..... girls... and a dog. I can have them join us if you'd like to meet them.'

'I'm not interested in meeting your family, Mr. Straker, or your dog... I'm not talking about that kind of morality... many profoundly immoral men have had large families... I'm talking about the ethics of this project... of all the money you will make from this scam of yours.'

'Miss Greenfield, whoever says business can be ethical? We businessmen have never said that... Were your father's deals...ethical?... I don't think so...'

'It was while observing him that I learned these things... however, one man's mistakes cannot excuse another's... we are living in a far more dangerous age, Mr Starker... thanks to people like my father, technology has greatly expanded the dimensions of power and opportunities for infinite corruption... I simply can't go along with this horrendous project... another giant step in the wrong direction... nor will the Greenfield Foundation... I find the whole idea appalling.'

'Out of work again,' thought Dimitri Rostov, torn between his admiration for the woman's guts and concern for his own bank balance.

'Many new ideas have seemed appalling at first,' put in Larson McKantor, 'think of trains and horseless carriages... how strange and frightening they must have seemed years ago.'

'Exactly,' Rae shot back, 'and see how we've all become slaves to them, me included... millions of people everywhere locked in these dreadful metal boxes speeding here and there... polluting the planet. Life would be a lot more interesting and healthy at a slower pace... have you ever lived in a place without the automobile?'

'But couldn't you say that about all machines, Madam,' replies Rostov, 'They do enslave us, but they also free us for other pursuits... for culture.'

'To become enslaved by labor saving devices is one thing,' Rae replies, 'but this race of biological half human slaves you're proposing... however submissive they might be... would ultimately degrade all human life and ruin us... I believe man has come too far to let that happen."

'You admire man then?' Dimitri asked.

'Why yes and why not?... the human brain is a divine miracle, man alone among animals, despite his relapses into cruelty, developed compassion... I do admire him but you don't... you find him unmanageable and disgusting, greedy and self-willed...that's because you spend too much time in your offices, your laboratories, and never see ordinary people. If you did, you'd realize most people don't want half the things created in their name... your interest is in lining your pockets, living for the moment, for the next rise in productivity, for the next stock split, the next bonus... You call that being 'progressive?'.

'Well, now, I see we're off to this friendly start,' Larson McKantor smiles and wrings his hands, a gesture which causes everyone to laugh. 'Let us hear the opposing view.'

Dimitri Rostov clears his throat. 'This human race of which you speak, Madam, this brain of which you are so enamored... was it not built up by slavery? Slaves gave men time to invent what you call compassion. How much compassion was there for the poor, even in the author Charles Dickens' time? Compassion was always for the rich, or for ascetics.'

'Nonsense,' cries Rae.

'Think of Egypt and Greece, think of Rome, think of the wage slaves of our own Industrial Age,' Rostov went on. 'Robotic machines are making the end of slavery possible, but the energy to run them and to clean up the mess they make is getting scarce. The genetic fabrication of creatures to serve mankind is a vital necessity... someone has to do the dirty work... I think Dr. Allen's concept was pure genius... creatures programmed with the work ethic who live on garbage - what more can you ask for?"

'Not only garbage, put in Straker, all wastes... nuclear, chemical and human wastes as well.'

'Madam, we want to save mankind from a future of terrible drudgery looming before it,' Rostov, looking forcefully into the camera. "Can't you understand that?'

'I understand perfectly, but I don't buy it,' sighed Rae. 'I simply don't believe energy is going to run out... that's your excuse for all this and I don't believe it. As long as the sun rises there is going to be plenty of energy... we just don't know yet how to tap it... you're advancing this argument because creating fear in peoples' minds is a sure way to control them... Insurance Companies invented this method and have made billions... so have armament industries and protection rackets of all kinds ...it's a Pandora's box... you're going to create something nobody will be able to control.'

Straker trying to remain calm. 'Don't you think it's only fair to let the consumer decide the issue, Miss Greenfield?'

'The consumer! When have consumers ever been asked what they want? If they'd been asked, would they have wanted television?... all those ugly faces beaming into their homes bossing them around and constantly trying to sell them things? Would they have wanted nuclear bombs? No one ever asks because the real purpose of technology has always been power and money.'

'If we don't do it, someone else will,' Starker ventures.

' Ah... that's always the excuse,' Rae counters, 'Let's take a truly conservative position and let those other people do it first. At least then we won't have it on our heads... believe me gentlemen... the Greenfield Foundation has always been vitally interested and proud to have shared in the real scientific achievements of Combinant Technologies. Why can't you focus on Dr. Allen's other work? Extending life or his cancer research, for example?'

'I see you are well informed," Straker says. 'These are supposed to be top secrets... I doubt even Larson knows what you're referring to.'

'Not a clue,' McKantor frowns.

'Dr. Allen told me everything... he was a very nice young man.' Her voice trails off and she sits back in her chair thinking of Irving Allen's voice. 'Incidentally, which one of you shot him?'

Fred Straker, speechless, glares at the monitor.

'Now you're toying with us, Madam,' Dimitri Rostov chuckles.

'No... I'm shooting from the hip,' Rae laughs... like my friends in Cheyenne, Wyoming...'

'Can't you tell which one of us did it just by looking at us?' intones Larsen McKantor.

'No... each one of you looks perfectly capable of committing murder.

'Miss Greenfield,' Straker hisses furiously, 'we have every reason to believe the order was given in Washington... there is definite information that the government will stop anyone who tries to extend human life on a widespread scale.'

'Dr Allen's method would have stopped people at whatever age they chose... I see no old age problem there.'

'They don't see it that way... scares the hell out of them... upsets the status quo... too revolutionary... death is normal.'

'Well to hell with Death,' Rae exclaims, 'I say we should go ahead with LIfe whether the government agrees with it or not. I'm sure the President and Congressmen wouldn't mind being somewhat immortal'

'Indeed they would not,' Dimitri Rostov replied, 'but why them?'

'As a bribe to allow us to continue,' Rae replies, 'Dr Allen's process is very expensive... those selected would live very long lives while the great majority would have normal life spans... eventually the process might become affordable for everyone.'

'You have a point there, but just think of the ensuing chaos, Madam, if word got out.'

'How do we know?' Rae asks, 'Things calm down... if people knew they could be around for six hundred years or so they might lead more responsible lives.'

'You'd like to try it?' Rostov asks.

Straker kicks him under the table.

'If you took a dose out of the same needle, I wouldn't mind,' Rae smiles... 'I say you should go ahead in that direction and forget this slave business. Did you ever see those creatures?'

Straker and Rostov nodded.

'Dr Allen sent me some photographs... pitiful... awful!. Who in their right mind would have wanted one of them around the house?'

'They weren't designed for housework, Madam. Those specific creatures were designed to work in the mining industry. There were to be different models for different work... just like cars or trucks or anything else."

'I can tell you the labor unions wouldn't stand for it,' Ray said

'At first,' Straker says cautiously,' but when they realize their members could retire to beautiful country estates with the profits these creatures would create, they would quickly change their minds.'

Rae stares off into space, 'I think you're a gang of Frankensteins... just because the possibility is there you say it must be done... there is no way of knowing the long term consequences of such a project... most likely they would be disastrous. How do we know what diseases these creatures might be able to carry and transmit? The gamble is too great and I'm going to oppose you with every ounce of energy I have... and sacrifice my privacy if necessary.'

'You don't care that the Greenfield Foundation could lose millions, perhaps billions?' Larsen McKantor asks.

' Not a whit, Rae responds, 'why should I, I'm a wage earner?... anyway Larsen, you should be on my side, not theirs. The Greenfield Foundation can and will afford such losses if necessary... not one penny more for this project...'

'Dear Miss Greenfield,' McKantor fawns as humbly as he knows how, 'I am only an administrator... I must follow your wishes, however, I am not as much opposed to the whole idea as you are.'

' I can see that but Lars you saw them... I only saw photographs, but think of them running around everywhere... those tragic eyes and faces still haunt me.'

'They weren't meant to be attractive, Madam," Dimitri replies, 'In fact they were specifically designed to be vaguely disturbing so that one could not imagine becoming emotionally involved with them... we don't want to have to deal with an Abolition Movement.'

Rae sighs. 'My people were founders of the Abolition Movement in this country and....'

'Because they wanted to replace inexpensive slaves with their expensive machines,' Straker objects, 'sacrificed thousands of young Americans in a Civil War to do it.'

'I'm going to found a new abolition movement right here and now before any of these slaves exist... obliterate the whole idea!... if some other group goes ahead and tries, we'll stop them too. Patents can be bought up, you know, and locked up too. It's been done many times before.'

'Miss Greenfield,' Starker, calmly, in a voice that was taking all the energy he had, to control. 'With these new helpers, the possibility of ending human slavery in all its forms will become a reality. These creatures are not much more intelligent than dogs and will be programmed by a central artificial intelligence to obey. I think one of the problems here is a semantic one. The word slave, for example connotes... perhaps we should rethink that part of it. Coin a brand new name for them like Coke, or Kleenex.'

Rae, pointing at him menacingly, 'You elemental ! You really think by changing the name of something you can change its meaning?... Slaves, helpers, servants, whatever... always weaken the people who use them. I've done plenty of physical work in my time, Mr. Straker and contrary to your opinion there's nothing bad about it... keeps one fit. You could use some yourself !'

'Madam,' Dimitri Rostov murmured condescendingly, 'Hard work may keep a man fit, but it leaves no time for leisure in which culture and the life of the imagination can bloom.'

'Don't talk of culture to me... Just what culture has this leisure produced?... Disneyland... Nuclear Weapons... Industrialized Food and Dirt Biking! I'm sorry, imagination and the vision for something better arises out of hard work.'

Larsen McKantor scrapes his throat. 'It doesn't seem to me we're getting anywhere. Perhaps it would be more productive if we could agree on a face to face meeting... I think all this technology is coming between us,' waving his hand at the tube.

'Don't worry, Lars,' Rae, her jaw set, 'You and I are going to see each other soon. I'm coming to New York... decided before I consented to this little tela-tete-a-tete... but I doubt any further discussions between me and these gentlemen will come to much.'

'On another matter, Miss Greenfield, before we part,' Fred Starker, trying to sound casual, by chance did Dr. Allen ever send you any papers... any of his files? Some of his notes seem to be missing... Though they are useless without the files we have, they are nevertheless important theoretical calculations which should be saved... somehow they've vanished and we thought as you were...err...more or less responsible for changing Dr Allen's mind, you might have a clue as to their whereabouts.'

Like George Washington, it had always been very difficult for Rae to tell a lie, nevertheless, she now made a valiant effort to do so.

'Mercy, Mr. Starker, why would Dr Allen have sent me anything?'

'That's what I'm wondering,' Starker replies.

Rae trying to sound innocent. 'So these papers are something you need?'

'Not exactly need, Miss Greenfield... want is more the precise word...they'll save some time, that's all.'

'Then you mean to go ahead with this hair brained thing in spite of my opposition?' Rae sputters.

'Yes, of course,' Starker coldly, 'too many investors involved, ready and willing to help us.'

'Well, sir, you'll have a battle on your hands then that's all I can say. I believe the Greenfield Foundation has a rather large interest in your company?'

'I wouldn't count on that,' replied Starker and signaled the operator to terminate the conference. The screen went dead. The lights dimmed. The embers in the library hearth glowed. Starker mopped his forehead and removed his jacket.

'She's got those papers,' Dimitri Rostov said excitedly, 'I can feel it... Didn't you see how evasive she looked when you mentioned them... she was lying."

'The important thing is...' Straker replied nervously, shrugging his shoulders as if ridding himself of a bad dream, '...is that we have lured her out of hiding. I can tell you this woman will bankrupt us unless we get rid of her... somehow she must be neutralized!'

The phone beeped and it was Larsen McKantor. 'Hanging up on her didn't exactly make her any happier,' he growled.

'Sorry, power outage here, Larsen... anyway, who cares... she's impossible... just another idealistic dim witted woman meddling in something she doesn't understand.'

'What will you do now?' McKantor asked.

'Resume operations, of course. As soon as Irving's lab is rebuilt Dimitri will take charge... your job is to see to it that she doesn't bother us... for that little service you'll be well rewarded... right now I'm going to contact our lobbyists in Washington... we have many friends in high places like the Pentagon and NASA... We'll see if Miss Greenfield can stand up to them....'

© Elwyn Chamberlain 2009