Chromosome 6 (9 page)
Authors: Robin Cook
Tags: #Fiction, #General, #Mystery & Detective, #Suspense, #Thrillers, #Suspense Fiction, #Fiction - Espionage, #Thriller, #Detective and mystery stories, #Espionage, #Onbekend, #Medical, #Medical novels, #New York (N.Y.), #Forensic pathologists, #Equatorial Guinea, #Forensic pathologists - Fiction, #Robin - Prose & Criticism, #Equatorial Guinea - Fiction, #Cook, #New York (N.Y.) - Fiction
"I work with a transponase that I discovered almost seven years ago," Kevin said. "It catalyzes the
homologous transposition or crossing over of the short arms of chromosome six." "What's the short arm of chromosome six?" Candace asked. "Chromosomes have what's called a centromere that divides them into two segments," Melanie explained. "Chromosome six has particularly unequal segments. The little ones are called the short arms." "Thank you," Candace said.
"So..." Kevin said, trying to organize his thoughts. "What I do is add my secret transponase to a client's cell that is preparing to divide. But I don't let the crossing-over go to completion. I halt it with the two short arms detached from their respective chromosomes. Then I extract them." "Wow!" Candace remarked. "You actually take these tiny, tiny strands out of the nucleus. How on earth can you do that!"
"That's another story," Kevin said. "Actually I use a monoclonal antibody system that recognizes the backside of the transponase."
"This is getting over my head," Candace said. "Well, forget how he gets the short arms out," Melanie said. "Just accept it." "Okay," Candace said. "What do you do with these detached short arms?" Kevin pointed toward Melanie. "I wait for her to work her magic." "It's not magic," Melanie said. "I'm just a technician. I apply in vitro fertilization techniques to the bonobos, the same techniques that were developed to increase the fertility of captive mountain gorillas. Actually, Kevin and I have to coordinate our efforts because what he wants is a fertilized egg that has yet to divide. Timing is important."
"I want it just ready to divide," Kevin said. "So it's Melanie's schedule that determines mine. I don't start my part until she gives me the green light. When she delivers the zygote, I repeat exactly the same procedure that I'd just done with the client's cell. After removing the bonobo short arms, I inject the client's short arms into the zygote. Thanks to the transponase they hook right up exactly where they are supposed to be."
"And that's it?" Candace said.
"Well, no," Kevin admitted. "Actually I introduce four transponases, not one. The short arm of chromosome six is the major segment that we're transferring, but we also transfer a relatively small part of chromosomes nine, twelve, and fourteen. These carry the genes for the ABO blood groups and a few other minor histocompatibility antigens like CD-31 adhesion molecules. But that gets too complicated. Just think about chromosome six. It's the most important part." "That's because chromosome six contains the genes that make up the major histocompatibility complex," Candace said knowledgeably.
homologous transposition or crossing over of the short arms of chromosome six." "What's the short arm of chromosome six?" Candace asked. "Chromosomes have what's called a centromere that divides them into two segments," Melanie explained. "Chromosome six has particularly unequal segments. The little ones are called the short arms." "Thank you," Candace said.
"So..." Kevin said, trying to organize his thoughts. "What I do is add my secret transponase to a client's cell that is preparing to divide. But I don't let the crossing-over go to completion. I halt it with the two short arms detached from their respective chromosomes. Then I extract them." "Wow!" Candace remarked. "You actually take these tiny, tiny strands out of the nucleus. How on earth can you do that!"
"That's another story," Kevin said. "Actually I use a monoclonal antibody system that recognizes the backside of the transponase."
"This is getting over my head," Candace said. "Well, forget how he gets the short arms out," Melanie said. "Just accept it." "Okay," Candace said. "What do you do with these detached short arms?" Kevin pointed toward Melanie. "I wait for her to work her magic." "It's not magic," Melanie said. "I'm just a technician. I apply in vitro fertilization techniques to the bonobos, the same techniques that were developed to increase the fertility of captive mountain gorillas. Actually, Kevin and I have to coordinate our efforts because what he wants is a fertilized egg that has yet to divide. Timing is important."
"I want it just ready to divide," Kevin said. "So it's Melanie's schedule that determines mine. I don't start my part until she gives me the green light. When she delivers the zygote, I repeat exactly the same procedure that I'd just done with the client's cell. After removing the bonobo short arms, I inject the client's short arms into the zygote. Thanks to the transponase they hook right up exactly where they are supposed to be."
"And that's it?" Candace said.
"Well, no," Kevin admitted. "Actually I introduce four transponases, not one. The short arm of chromosome six is the major segment that we're transferring, but we also transfer a relatively small part of chromosomes nine, twelve, and fourteen. These carry the genes for the ABO blood groups and a few other minor histocompatibility antigens like CD-31 adhesion molecules. But that gets too complicated. Just think about chromosome six. It's the most important part." "That's because chromosome six contains the genes that make up the major histocompatibility complex," Candace said knowledgeably.
"Exactly," Kevin said. He was impressed and smitten. Not only was Candace socially adept, she was
also smart and informed.
"Would this protocol work with other animals?" Candace asked. "What kind would you have in mind?" Kevin asked. "Pigs," Candace said. "I know other centers in the U.S. and England have been trying to reduce the destructive effect of complement in transplantation with pig organs by inserting a human gene." "Compared with what we are doing that's like using leeches," Melanie said. "It's so old-fashioned because it is treating the symptom, not eliminating its cause." "It's true," Kevin said. "In our protocol there is no immunological reaction to worry about. Histocompatibility-wise we're offering an immunological double, especially if I can incorporate a few more of the minor antigens."
"I don't know why you are agonizing over them," Melanie said. "In our first three transplants the clients haven't had any rejection reaction at all. Zilch!" "I want it perfect," Kevin said.
"I'm asking about pigs for several reasons," Candace said. "First, I think using bonobos may offend some people. Second, I understand there aren't very many of them." "That's true," Kevin said. "The total world population of bonobos is only about twenty thousand." "That's my point," Candace said. "Whereas pigs are slaughtered for bacon by the hundred of thousands." "I don't think my system would work with pigs," Kevin said. "I don't know for sure, but I doubt it. The reason it works so well in bonobos, or chimps for that matter, is that their genomes and ours are so similar. In fact, they differ by only one and a half percent." "That's all?" Candace questioned. She was amazed. "It's kind of humbling, isn't it," Kevin said. "It's more than humbling," Candace said. "It's indicative of how close bonobos, chimps, and humans are evolutionarily," Melanie said. "It's thought we and our primate cousins have descended from a common ancestor who lived around seven million years ago."
"That underscores the ethical question about using them," Candace said, "and why some people might be offended by their use. They look so human. I mean, doesn't it bother you guys when one of them has to be sacrificed?"
"This liver transplant with Mr. Winchester is only the second that required a sacrifice," Melanie said. "The other two were kidneys, and the animals are fine." "Well, how did this case make you feel?" Candace asked. "Most of us on the surgical team were more
also smart and informed.
"Would this protocol work with other animals?" Candace asked. "What kind would you have in mind?" Kevin asked. "Pigs," Candace said. "I know other centers in the U.S. and England have been trying to reduce the destructive effect of complement in transplantation with pig organs by inserting a human gene." "Compared with what we are doing that's like using leeches," Melanie said. "It's so old-fashioned because it is treating the symptom, not eliminating its cause." "It's true," Kevin said. "In our protocol there is no immunological reaction to worry about. Histocompatibility-wise we're offering an immunological double, especially if I can incorporate a few more of the minor antigens."
"I don't know why you are agonizing over them," Melanie said. "In our first three transplants the clients haven't had any rejection reaction at all. Zilch!" "I want it perfect," Kevin said.
"I'm asking about pigs for several reasons," Candace said. "First, I think using bonobos may offend some people. Second, I understand there aren't very many of them." "That's true," Kevin said. "The total world population of bonobos is only about twenty thousand." "That's my point," Candace said. "Whereas pigs are slaughtered for bacon by the hundred of thousands." "I don't think my system would work with pigs," Kevin said. "I don't know for sure, but I doubt it. The reason it works so well in bonobos, or chimps for that matter, is that their genomes and ours are so similar. In fact, they differ by only one and a half percent." "That's all?" Candace questioned. She was amazed. "It's kind of humbling, isn't it," Kevin said. "It's more than humbling," Candace said. "It's indicative of how close bonobos, chimps, and humans are evolutionarily," Melanie said. "It's thought we and our primate cousins have descended from a common ancestor who lived around seven million years ago."
"That underscores the ethical question about using them," Candace said, "and why some people might be offended by their use. They look so human. I mean, doesn't it bother you guys when one of them has to be sacrificed?"
"This liver transplant with Mr. Winchester is only the second that required a sacrifice," Melanie said. "The other two were kidneys, and the animals are fine." "Well, how did this case make you feel?" Candace asked. "Most of us on the surgical team were more
upset this time even though we thought we were prepared, especially since it was the second sacrifice."
Kevin looked at Melanie. His mouth had gone dry. Candace was forcing him to face an issue he'd struggled to avoid. It was part of the reason the smoke coming from Isla Francesca upset him so much. "Yeah, it bothers me," Melanie said. "But I guess I'm so thrilled with the involved science and what it can do for a patient, that I try not to think about it. Besides, we never expect to have to use many of them. They are more like insurance in case the clients might need them. We don't accept people who already need transplant organs unless they can wait the three plus years it takes for their double to come of age. And we don't have to interact with these creatures. They live off on an island by themselves. That's by design so that no one here has the chance to form emotional bonds of any sort." Kevin swallowed with difficulty. In his mind's eye he could see the smoke lazily snaking its way into the dull, leaden sky. He could also imagine the stressed bonobo picking up a rock and throwing it with deadly accuracy at the pygmy during the retrieval process. "What's the term when animals have human genes incorporated into them?" Candace asked. "Transgenic," Melanie said.
"Right," Candace said. "I just wish we could be using transgenic pigs instead of bonobos. This procedure bothers me. As much as I like the money and the GenSys stock, I'm not so sure I'm going to stick with the program."
"They're not going to like that," Melanie said. "Remember, you signed a contract. I understand they are sticklers about holding people to their original agreements." Candace shrugged. "I'll give them back all the stock, options included. I can live without it. I'll just have to see how I feel. I'd be much happier if we were using pigs. When we put that last bonobo under anesthesia, I could have sworn he was trying to communicate with us. We had to use a ton of sedative." "Oh, come on!" Kevin snapped, suddenly furious. His face was flushed. Melanie's eyes opened wide. "What in heaven's name has gotten into you?" Kevin instantly regretted his outburst. "Sorry," he said. His heart was still pounding. He hated the fact that he was always so transparent, or felt he was. Melanie rolled her eyes for Candace's benefit, but Candace didn't catch it. She was watching Kevin. "I have a feeling you were as bummed out as I was," she said to him. Kevin breathed out noisily then took a bite of hamburger to avoid saying anything he'd later regret. "Why don't you want to talk about it?" Candace asked. Kevin shook his head while he chewed. He guessed his face was still beet-red. "Don't worry about him," Melanie said. "He'll recover." Candace faced Melanie. "The bonobos are just so human," she commented, going back to one of her
Kevin looked at Melanie. His mouth had gone dry. Candace was forcing him to face an issue he'd struggled to avoid. It was part of the reason the smoke coming from Isla Francesca upset him so much. "Yeah, it bothers me," Melanie said. "But I guess I'm so thrilled with the involved science and what it can do for a patient, that I try not to think about it. Besides, we never expect to have to use many of them. They are more like insurance in case the clients might need them. We don't accept people who already need transplant organs unless they can wait the three plus years it takes for their double to come of age. And we don't have to interact with these creatures. They live off on an island by themselves. That's by design so that no one here has the chance to form emotional bonds of any sort." Kevin swallowed with difficulty. In his mind's eye he could see the smoke lazily snaking its way into the dull, leaden sky. He could also imagine the stressed bonobo picking up a rock and throwing it with deadly accuracy at the pygmy during the retrieval process. "What's the term when animals have human genes incorporated into them?" Candace asked. "Transgenic," Melanie said.
"Right," Candace said. "I just wish we could be using transgenic pigs instead of bonobos. This procedure bothers me. As much as I like the money and the GenSys stock, I'm not so sure I'm going to stick with the program."
"They're not going to like that," Melanie said. "Remember, you signed a contract. I understand they are sticklers about holding people to their original agreements." Candace shrugged. "I'll give them back all the stock, options included. I can live without it. I'll just have to see how I feel. I'd be much happier if we were using pigs. When we put that last bonobo under anesthesia, I could have sworn he was trying to communicate with us. We had to use a ton of sedative." "Oh, come on!" Kevin snapped, suddenly furious. His face was flushed. Melanie's eyes opened wide. "What in heaven's name has gotten into you?" Kevin instantly regretted his outburst. "Sorry," he said. His heart was still pounding. He hated the fact that he was always so transparent, or felt he was. Melanie rolled her eyes for Candace's benefit, but Candace didn't catch it. She was watching Kevin. "I have a feeling you were as bummed out as I was," she said to him. Kevin breathed out noisily then took a bite of hamburger to avoid saying anything he'd later regret. "Why don't you want to talk about it?" Candace asked. Kevin shook his head while he chewed. He guessed his face was still beet-red. "Don't worry about him," Melanie said. "He'll recover." Candace faced Melanie. "The bonobos are just so human," she commented, going back to one of her
original points, "so I guess we shouldn't be shocked that their genomes differ by only one and a half
percent. But something just occurred to me. If you guys are replacing the short arms of chromosome six as well as some other smaller segments of the bonobo genome with human DNA, what percentage do you think you're dealing with?"
Melanie looked at Kevin while she made a mental calculation. She arched her eyebrows. "Hmmm," she said. "That's a curious point. That would be over two percent." "Yeah, but the one and a half percent is not all on the short arm of chromosome six," Kevin snapped again.
"Hey, calm down, bucko," Melanie said. She put down her soft drink, reached across the table and put her hand on Kevin's shoulder. "You're out of control. All we're doing is having a conversation. You know, it's sort of normal for people to sit and talk. I know you find that weird since you'd rather interact with your centrifuge tubes, but what's wrong?" Kevin sighed. It went against his nature, but he decided to confide in these two bright, confident women. He admitted he was upset.
"As if we didn't know!" Melanie said with another roll of her eyes. "Can't you be more specific? What's bugging you?"
"Just what Candace is talking about," Kevin said. "She's said a lot of things," Melanie said. "Yeah, and they're all making me feel like I've made a monumental mistake." Melanie took her hand away and stared into the depths of Kevin's topaz-colored eyes. "In what regard?" she questioned.
"By adding so much human DNA," Kevin said. "The short arm of chromosome six has millions of base pairs and hundreds of genes that have nothing to do with the major histocompatibility complex. I should have isolated the complex instead of taking the easy route." "So the creatures have a few more human proteins," Melanie said. "Big deal!" "That's exactly how I felt at first," Kevin said. "At least until I put an inquiry out over the Internet, asking if anyone knew what other kinds of genes were on the short arm of chromosome six. Unfortunately, one of the responders informed me there was a large segment of developmental genes. Now I have no idea what I've created."
"Of course you do," Candace said. "You've created a transgenic bonobo." "I know," Kevin said with his eyes blazing. He was breathing rapidly and perspiration had appeared on his forehead. "And by doing so I'm terrified I've overstepped the bounds." CHAPTER 6: MARCH 5, 1997 1:00 P.M.
COGO, EQUATORIAL GUINEA
percent. But something just occurred to me. If you guys are replacing the short arms of chromosome six as well as some other smaller segments of the bonobo genome with human DNA, what percentage do you think you're dealing with?"
Melanie looked at Kevin while she made a mental calculation. She arched her eyebrows. "Hmmm," she said. "That's a curious point. That would be over two percent." "Yeah, but the one and a half percent is not all on the short arm of chromosome six," Kevin snapped again.
"Hey, calm down, bucko," Melanie said. She put down her soft drink, reached across the table and put her hand on Kevin's shoulder. "You're out of control. All we're doing is having a conversation. You know, it's sort of normal for people to sit and talk. I know you find that weird since you'd rather interact with your centrifuge tubes, but what's wrong?" Kevin sighed. It went against his nature, but he decided to confide in these two bright, confident women. He admitted he was upset.
"As if we didn't know!" Melanie said with another roll of her eyes. "Can't you be more specific? What's bugging you?"
"Just what Candace is talking about," Kevin said. "She's said a lot of things," Melanie said. "Yeah, and they're all making me feel like I've made a monumental mistake." Melanie took her hand away and stared into the depths of Kevin's topaz-colored eyes. "In what regard?" she questioned.
"By adding so much human DNA," Kevin said. "The short arm of chromosome six has millions of base pairs and hundreds of genes that have nothing to do with the major histocompatibility complex. I should have isolated the complex instead of taking the easy route." "So the creatures have a few more human proteins," Melanie said. "Big deal!" "That's exactly how I felt at first," Kevin said. "At least until I put an inquiry out over the Internet, asking if anyone knew what other kinds of genes were on the short arm of chromosome six. Unfortunately, one of the responders informed me there was a large segment of developmental genes. Now I have no idea what I've created."
"Of course you do," Candace said. "You've created a transgenic bonobo." "I know," Kevin said with his eyes blazing. He was breathing rapidly and perspiration had appeared on his forehead. "And by doing so I'm terrified I've overstepped the bounds." CHAPTER 6: MARCH 5, 1997 1:00 P.M.
COGO, EQUATORIAL GUINEA
BERTRAM pulled his three-year-old Jeep Cherokee into the parking area behind the town hall and
yanked on the brake. The car had been giving him trouble and had spent innumerable days being repaired in the motor pool. But the problem had persisted, and that fact made him particularly irritated when Kevin Marshall pretended not to know how lucky he was to get a new Toyota every two years. Bertram wasn't scheduled for a new car for another year. Bertram took the stairs that rose up behind the first-floor arcade to reach the veranda that ringed the building. From there he walked into the central office. By Siegfried Spallek's choice, it had not been air-conditioned. A large ceiling fan lazily rotated with a particular wavering hum. The long, flat blades kept the sizable room's warm, moist air on the move. Bertram had called ahead, so Siegfried's secretary, a broad-faced black man named Aurielo from the island of Bioko, was expecting him and waved him into the inner office. Aurielo had been trained in France as a schoolteacher, but had been unemployed until GenSys founded the Zone. The inner office was larger than the outer and extended the entire width of the building. It had shuttered windows overlooking the parking lot in the back and the town square in the front. The front windows yielded the impressive view of the new hospital/laboratory complex. From where Bertram was standing, he could even see Kevin's laboratory windows. "Sit down," Siegfried said, without looking up. His voice had a harsh, guttural quality, with a slight Germanic accent. It was commandingly authoritarian. He was signing a stack of correspondence. "I'll be finished in a moment."
Bertram's eyes wandered around the cluttered office. It was a place that never made him feel comfortable. As a veterinarian and moderate environmentalist, he did not appreciate the decor. Covering the walls and every available horizontal surface were glassy-eyed, stuffed heads of animals, many of which were endangered species. There were cats such as lions, leopards, and cheetahs. There was a bewildering variety of antelope, more than Bertram knew existed. Several enormous rhino heads peered blankly down from positions of prominence on the wall behind Spallek. On top of the bookcase were snakes, including a rearing cobra. On the floor was an enormous crocodile with its mouth partially ajar to reveal its fearsome teeth. The table next to Bertram's chair was an elephant's foot topped with a slab of mahogany. In the corners, stood crossed elephant tusks. Even more bothersome to Bertram than the stuffed animals were the skulls. There were three of them on Siegfried's desk. All three had their tops sawn off. One had an apparent bullet hole through the temple. They were used respectively for paper clips, ashtray, and to hold a large candle. Although the Zone's electric power was the most reliable in the entire country, it did go off on rare occasions because of lightning strikes.
Most people, especially visitors from GenSys, assumed the skulls were from apes. Bertram knew differently. They were human skulls of people executed by the Equatoguinean soldiers. All three of the victims had been convicted of the capital offense of interfering with GenSys operations. In actuality, they had been caught poaching wild chimps on the Zone's designated hundred-square-mile land. Siegfried considered the area his own private hunting reserve. Years previously, when Bertram had gently questioned the wisdom of displaying the skulls, Siegfried had responded by saying that they kept the native workers on their toes. "It's the kind of communication they comprehend," Siegfried had explained. "They understand such symbols." Bertram didn't wonder that they got the message. Especially in a country which had suffered the
yanked on the brake. The car had been giving him trouble and had spent innumerable days being repaired in the motor pool. But the problem had persisted, and that fact made him particularly irritated when Kevin Marshall pretended not to know how lucky he was to get a new Toyota every two years. Bertram wasn't scheduled for a new car for another year. Bertram took the stairs that rose up behind the first-floor arcade to reach the veranda that ringed the building. From there he walked into the central office. By Siegfried Spallek's choice, it had not been air-conditioned. A large ceiling fan lazily rotated with a particular wavering hum. The long, flat blades kept the sizable room's warm, moist air on the move. Bertram had called ahead, so Siegfried's secretary, a broad-faced black man named Aurielo from the island of Bioko, was expecting him and waved him into the inner office. Aurielo had been trained in France as a schoolteacher, but had been unemployed until GenSys founded the Zone. The inner office was larger than the outer and extended the entire width of the building. It had shuttered windows overlooking the parking lot in the back and the town square in the front. The front windows yielded the impressive view of the new hospital/laboratory complex. From where Bertram was standing, he could even see Kevin's laboratory windows. "Sit down," Siegfried said, without looking up. His voice had a harsh, guttural quality, with a slight Germanic accent. It was commandingly authoritarian. He was signing a stack of correspondence. "I'll be finished in a moment."
Bertram's eyes wandered around the cluttered office. It was a place that never made him feel comfortable. As a veterinarian and moderate environmentalist, he did not appreciate the decor. Covering the walls and every available horizontal surface were glassy-eyed, stuffed heads of animals, many of which were endangered species. There were cats such as lions, leopards, and cheetahs. There was a bewildering variety of antelope, more than Bertram knew existed. Several enormous rhino heads peered blankly down from positions of prominence on the wall behind Spallek. On top of the bookcase were snakes, including a rearing cobra. On the floor was an enormous crocodile with its mouth partially ajar to reveal its fearsome teeth. The table next to Bertram's chair was an elephant's foot topped with a slab of mahogany. In the corners, stood crossed elephant tusks. Even more bothersome to Bertram than the stuffed animals were the skulls. There were three of them on Siegfried's desk. All three had their tops sawn off. One had an apparent bullet hole through the temple. They were used respectively for paper clips, ashtray, and to hold a large candle. Although the Zone's electric power was the most reliable in the entire country, it did go off on rare occasions because of lightning strikes.
Most people, especially visitors from GenSys, assumed the skulls were from apes. Bertram knew differently. They were human skulls of people executed by the Equatoguinean soldiers. All three of the victims had been convicted of the capital offense of interfering with GenSys operations. In actuality, they had been caught poaching wild chimps on the Zone's designated hundred-square-mile land. Siegfried considered the area his own private hunting reserve. Years previously, when Bertram had gently questioned the wisdom of displaying the skulls, Siegfried had responded by saying that they kept the native workers on their toes. "It's the kind of communication they comprehend," Siegfried had explained. "They understand such symbols." Bertram didn't wonder that they got the message. Especially in a country which had suffered the
atrocities of a diabolically cruel dictator. Bertram always remembered Kevin's response to the skulls.
Kevin had said that they reminded him of the deranged character Kurtz in Joseph Conrad's Heart of Darkness.
"There," Siegfried said, pushing the signed papers aside. With his accent it sounded more like "zair." "What's on your mind, Bertram? I hope you don't have a problem with the new bonobos." "Not at all. The two breeding females are perfect," Bertram said. He eyed the Zone's site boss. His most obvious physical trait was a grotesque scar that ran from beneath his left ear, down across his cheek, and under his nose. Over the years its gradual contraction had pulled up the corner of Siegfried's mouth in a perpetual sneer.
Bertram did not technically report to Siegfried. As the chief vet of the world's largest primate research and breeding facility, Bertram dealt directly with a GenSys senior vice president of operations back in Cambridge, Massachusetts, who had direct access to Taylor Cabot. But on a day-to-day basis, particularly in relation to the bonobo project, it was in Bertram's best interest to maintain a cordial working relationship with the site boss. The problem was, Siegfried was short-tempered and difficult to deal with.
He'd started his African career as a white hunter, who, for a price, could get a client anything he wanted. Such a reputation required a move from East Africa to West Africa, where game laws were less rigidly enforced. Siegfried had built up a large organization, and things went well until some trackers failed him in a crucial situation, resulting in his being mauled by an enormous bull elephant and the client couple being killed.
The episode ended Siegfried's career as a white hunter. It also left him with his facial scar and a paralyzed right arm. The extremity hung limp and useless from its shoulder connection. Rage over the incident had made him a bitter and vindictive man. Still, GenSys had recognized his bush-based organizational skills, his knowledge of animal behavior, and his heavy-handed but effectual way of dealing with the indigenous African personality. They thought he was the perfect individual to run their multimillion-dollar African operation. "There's another wrinkle with the bonobo operation," Bertram said. "Is this new concern in addition to the weird worry of yours that the apes have divided into two groups?" Siegfried asked superciliously.
"Recognizing a change in social organization is a damn, legitimate concern!" Bertram said, his color rising.
"So you said," Siegfried remarked. "But I've been thinking about it, and I can't imagine it matters. What do we care if they hang out in one group or ten? All we want them to do is stay put and stay healthy." "I disagree," Bertram said. "Splitting up suggests they are not getting along. That would not be typical bonobo behavior, and it could spell trouble down the road." "I'll let you, the professional, worry about it," Siegfried said. He leaned back in his chair, and it squeaked. "I personally don't care what those apes do as long as nothing threatens this windfall money and stock options. The project is turning into a gold mine."
Kevin had said that they reminded him of the deranged character Kurtz in Joseph Conrad's Heart of Darkness.
"There," Siegfried said, pushing the signed papers aside. With his accent it sounded more like "zair." "What's on your mind, Bertram? I hope you don't have a problem with the new bonobos." "Not at all. The two breeding females are perfect," Bertram said. He eyed the Zone's site boss. His most obvious physical trait was a grotesque scar that ran from beneath his left ear, down across his cheek, and under his nose. Over the years its gradual contraction had pulled up the corner of Siegfried's mouth in a perpetual sneer.
Bertram did not technically report to Siegfried. As the chief vet of the world's largest primate research and breeding facility, Bertram dealt directly with a GenSys senior vice president of operations back in Cambridge, Massachusetts, who had direct access to Taylor Cabot. But on a day-to-day basis, particularly in relation to the bonobo project, it was in Bertram's best interest to maintain a cordial working relationship with the site boss. The problem was, Siegfried was short-tempered and difficult to deal with.
He'd started his African career as a white hunter, who, for a price, could get a client anything he wanted. Such a reputation required a move from East Africa to West Africa, where game laws were less rigidly enforced. Siegfried had built up a large organization, and things went well until some trackers failed him in a crucial situation, resulting in his being mauled by an enormous bull elephant and the client couple being killed.
The episode ended Siegfried's career as a white hunter. It also left him with his facial scar and a paralyzed right arm. The extremity hung limp and useless from its shoulder connection. Rage over the incident had made him a bitter and vindictive man. Still, GenSys had recognized his bush-based organizational skills, his knowledge of animal behavior, and his heavy-handed but effectual way of dealing with the indigenous African personality. They thought he was the perfect individual to run their multimillion-dollar African operation. "There's another wrinkle with the bonobo operation," Bertram said. "Is this new concern in addition to the weird worry of yours that the apes have divided into two groups?" Siegfried asked superciliously.
"Recognizing a change in social organization is a damn, legitimate concern!" Bertram said, his color rising.
"So you said," Siegfried remarked. "But I've been thinking about it, and I can't imagine it matters. What do we care if they hang out in one group or ten? All we want them to do is stay put and stay healthy." "I disagree," Bertram said. "Splitting up suggests they are not getting along. That would not be typical bonobo behavior, and it could spell trouble down the road." "I'll let you, the professional, worry about it," Siegfried said. He leaned back in his chair, and it squeaked. "I personally don't care what those apes do as long as nothing threatens this windfall money and stock options. The project is turning into a gold mine."
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Warriors in Bronze by George Shipway
Suddenly a Bride by Ruth Ann Nordin
Reunion in Barsaloi by Corinne Hofmann