At that crucial moment she asked, “Why is it more difficult to clone an organism from an adult than a fetal cell?”
Every rational brain cell told me to proceed, to use the spray, to perform the collection process. I needed only ten clear minutes and all evidence would be hidden away. But she was touching on twin passions of mine, clones and telomeres. I could not resist. With the spray can sitting in my left hand, I explained. A clone developed from adult cells would be born with its telomeres already shortened. It would have a reduced life expectancy. But telomeres are rebuilt in an organism’s germ cells. Thus fetal cell clones are provided with long telomeres and gain a “fresh start.”
She asked me two questions, both intelligent and searching. As I concluded my second answer, a police car drew up beside us. An officer appeared. He was black, very young. He politely asked me what we were doing in a deserted parking lot. I gave an honest answer. I was Dr. Oliver Guest, and I and my passenger were discussing problems of genetics. He nodded, but he said to LaRona, “How old are you, miss?”
“I’m fourteen.” She was wearing the skimpy top and short skirt favored in her district.
“Thank you.”
He moved back to his car. Even then, for the briefest moment, I thought they might leave. They were just cruising, and I was respectably dressed. But I heard his words to his woman partner: “Disgusting old fucker. Even if she is a hooker, she’s still only a kid. People like him oughta have their balls cut off.” And, returning to me, “I’m afraid that I must ask you to come with me.”
“My car—”
“Your vehicle will not be moved or damaged.” He glanced down, wary for possible weapons, and saw the spray. “What is that in your hand, sir?”
Use it on him, LaRona, and his partner? Impossible. I would botch any attempt. Unplanned violent action is alien to my nature.
It was over, then and there. I knew it, even though I had told the exact truth and nothing was farther from my mind than sex with LaRona. But policemen are creatures of habit. They would inspect my car, from sheer routine. They would find everything, my whole collection kit.
It was a tragedy. LaRona would have been a star, one of the crown jewels of my collection. It was not to be.
She is presumably still alive. Thinking about her now, I wonder if she has achieved her ambition. She is almost twenty. Has that keen mind and fiery desire for knowledge lifted her from awful family circumstances, into formal medical studies? I am curious, but only mildly so. As I say, she is now close to twenty. Much too old. Even were we to meet, she would no longer be of interest to me.
10
The snowfall had dwindled to a few random flakes. A cold night breeze blew from the north, and the curious odor that it carried made the waiting woman wrinkle her nose in disgust.
Muffled in a long black coat and with a black woolen scarf covering her face, she was sitting on the lower level of the great memorial. At the sound of footsteps she rose to place her back against the stone wall. Her gloved right hand slipped into her pocket.
The man approached confidently and quickly, saying when he was still ten steps away, “It’s all right, Sarah. Don’t put a bullet through me.”
She relaxed as soon as she heard his voice, and removed her hand from her pocket to show a wicked ten-inch blade. “Knife, not gun.”
“Very wise. Most of the guns don’t work anyway.” Nick Lopez made a careful survey of their surroundings. As the woman had done, he sniffed the air. “Pretty rank up here. This is the first time I’ve been outside the Federal Enclave in over a week. Now I can see why.”
The air carried multiple odors, burning wood and paper and plastic mingled with the sweet reek of animal putrefaction and decay.
“It’s coming in from the north. I gather it’s much worse up there.” Sarah Mander moved forward and turned to ascend the steps. “Apparently martial law isn’t working worth a damn outside the Beltway. Good thing there are no media outlets. They’d be having a field day with the bodies and the burning.”
“Still plenty of media types around, itching to do what they’ve always done. That’s one reason I felt I had to see you in a place without eyes and ears.”
“I wondered why you dragged me out here.” Sarah Mander paused in the shadow of the great seated figure and stood staring up at it. “What you have to say had better be good. I didn’t enjoy the walk over, and I don’t like the idea of walking back. And this place is freezing.”
“Then I’d better get right down to business.” Lopez moved closer. With his tall pompadour hairstyle he towered over the woman by nearly two feet. “You must be getting the same briefings on the House side as I hear in the Senate. How’s it look?”
It was a question rather than the information that she wanted, but after a moment she nodded and said, “Four days ago I’d have sworn that this country was down and out. Power grid dead, information network destroyed, data bases vanished, no working infrastructure. Looting and rioting along the eastern seaboard, thousands freezing to death in Chicago and Minneapolis. Nothing much of Florida south of Orlando after the second hurricane, and lots of California wiped out by mud slides. Horrible. For a while I worried about outside attack, because all our weapons had turned to junk. Then I said to myself, who could possibly want our problems?”
“I can add to your list. I’ve heard of starvation and cannibalism in the Dakotas, there’s nothing civilized in Houston or Kansas City after the second round of fires and floods, and tornadoes took out most of Oklahoma City. We’ve had it easy by comparison. But you said that was the way you felt four days ago. How about now?”
“Now?” Sarah Mander paused, her gloved hand at her chin. “You know, I really think we’ll make it. We had running water for an hour this morning — no way you’d drink it, of course — and my staff reported a flicker of power for a few minutes in the electric grid. I heard people laughing in the Rayburn Building for the first time in weeks, and one of my aides actually used the words ’next year’ in a report.”
“It’s the same on the Senate side.” Lopez took a step closer to the statue. “So things are looking up. Which brings me to the main point. How do you see our chances with what we’ve talked about for the past year?”
Her laugh was humorless, muffled by her scarf. “Are you kidding? The country may recover, but our plan doesn’t have a prayer now. It’s the old story: in a time of crisis the power always swings back to the presidency. Any ideas of tilting control more our way died on February 9. We just didn’t know it then. You’d better not have dragged me out in the cold and dark to argue that point.”
Nick Lopez stood by the base of the great statue. With his height and coloring and dark cloak, he was like a carved icon himself. He nodded slowly. “I agree with you. The supernova changed the game. We don’t have a chance.”
“So why are we standing out here?” “Every problem is also an opportunity.” “Nick, do you mind? Save the platitudes for the public appearances.”
“Sorry. Only, this time the cliché happens to be true. I realized it yesterday, when I was listening to the acting chief from Navy describing loss of naval capability. Apparently the only branch that’s working right is the submarines.”
“I knew that. The deep subs weren’t touched.” “But while old Rumfries was droning on I decided that although we may be in deep shit, every other country in the world is a lot worse off. This may not be the right time for a power struggle between branches of our own government, but it’s one hell of a good time to show the rest of the world who’s boss.”