Visions of the Future (55 page)

Among Bryan’s various companies was a zoo. The zoo was not, to his father’s exasperation, a profitable venture but it was the one he loved best. His deeply held regret was that there was no way he could bring his lions and tigers and bears with him into space. What he could bring into space, however, were the research personnel associated with the zoo. He had started the zoo when it became obvious that the Smithsonian Institution could no longer afford to keep one. Bryan could have saved that zoo by simply providing the funds to pay for it. But then, it would continue to be under bureaucratic control and subject to the whims of Congress. Better to start fresh. So he built a zoological park, acquiring the inhabitants thereof. Some, but not all of them came from the fire sale the Smithsonian had been forced to conduct. But what he really had his eye on were the researchers in the Smithsonian proper. He raided the staff of the Smithsonian as well as the faculties from the almost unlimited pool provided by the world’s universities. And how did he lure them? Not principally with money, although that was certainly a factor, but with the promise (a promise kept) of labs and travel and any other desires related to their work. Bryan headed off to his zoo to see who, if any, of his researchers would be good bets for the new settlement.

He checked in with the zoo’s director, George Boulent, and explained that he thought he had found a place that might not be too hard hit by climate change. While the changing climate would probably not destroy the Earth, it would make things thoroughly uncomfortable. Could Director Boulent recommend people on his staff who might be suitable to vet the location and be willing to take a year’s sabbatical? If the investigation was successful, Bryan would transplant as much of the zoo and as many of the researchers as he could to the chosen location. As the Director knew, Bryan was a man of his word. He gave his boss a list of likely candidates.

Bryan’s first stop was at the door of Dr. Ahmad Fakhoury. He entered to Fakhoury’s “C’mon in.”

Bryan entered. “Who’re you?” Fakhoury asked.

Bryan smiled. “Jonas Bourne. I’m a friend of the rich guy who owns this place. He asked me to look around and let him know if the place can be improved on, if its got any research holes.”

“Can’t George tell him?”

Bryan nodded. “He can. He’s as good as they come. But he’s also so close to the action that he might be missing something. My rich friend wanted another set of eyes.”

Ahmed shrugged. “If that’s what the rich man wants, that’s what the rich man will get. What do you want to know?”

“For starters, what are you working on?”

Ahmed cocked his head. “Well let’s see what version to give you. Are you science literate?”

Bryan nodded. “I have a doctorate in zoology. Don’t know if it’s in your field.”

Ahmed looked happier. “I’m looking at the biological processes in lakes—trophic interactions, microbial…”

A cursory knock on the door interrupted him and a little guy with a yarmulke on his head, burst in. He skidded to a halt when he saw Bryan. “Whoops,” he said. “Sorry to interrupt.”

Ahmed looked at his watch. “You’ve come to lure me to lunch, huh?” He nodded in Bryan’s direction. “This guy’s an emissary from corporate. They want to know how we’re doing. Let’s all three go to lunch. He can talk to both of us at the same time.” So off they went to a company cafeteria that would have made the chef at the Ritz Carlton proud. On the way, Ahmed introduced Bryan to Moishe Shapiro. Bryan selected sweetbreads for his lunch. Ahmed chose roast pork. Moishe picked broiled trout.

Bryan examined their choices. “You kosher?” he asked Moishe. The little guy nodded.

“Doesn’t your religion conflict with your scientific work? Or do you think they’re compatible?”

Moishe shook his head. “I’ve read some pitiful attempts to reconcile science and religion, but I don’t buy it. They’re not compatible. So. I live with it. What happens in the synagogue stays in the synagogue. What happens here gets written up in prestigious journals. I’m a conflicted man but a happy one.” He pointed at Ahmed. “That guy, on the other hand, wouldn’t know a conflict from a butternut squash. He don’t believe in nuttin.”

Bryan turned to Ahmed. “And you’re also a happy man? Believing in nothing?”

Ahmed grinned. “I am a very happy man. Why do I have to believe in something? It makes no difference to me or the rest of the world. People keep telling me that I’m doing useful things. So what? I’d be happy doing what I’m doing even if it had no effect on anyone or anything.”

“Then why does it make you happy?” Bryan asked.

“Because,” Ahmed answered, “my distinguishing trait is curiosity. And what I’m doing allows me to try to satisfy my curiosity.”

Bryan raised an eyebrow. “Allows you to try to satisfy your curiosity?”

“Sure,” said Ahmed. “There wouldn’t be any fun in finding something out just by asking an expert. Doing science is a journey, my friend, and half the fun is getting there.”

The three men discussed the state of the zoo through dessert, and walked back to Ahmed’s office. On the way, Bryan asked Moishe about his area of interest. Moishe laughed. “I thought you’d never ask. I’m looking at biodiversity in barren environments.”

Bryan looked at him. “Like in deserts?”

Moishe nodded. “Yeah. Even in hot deserts you get diversity. With plants, there’ll be something like cacti. The animals that live in the desert are the ones that can survive there because they don’t sweat and can retain water. Camels aren’t typical. Most of the animals are small—rodents or rabbits and such. Little beasts with the big ears that help them evaporate heat and keep cool. And there are insects and snakes and some birds.”

Ahmed asked, “So are they kosher?”

“Don’t start,” Moishe said.

Bryan left them and went to his next destination. Unlike Ahmed and Moishe, he was not a happy man at the moment. Ahmed was obviously a good candidate. Moishe, on the other hand, was not. He violated the “no religion” stricture. Moishe was religious, but clearly no trouble maker. He was intelligent, sociable, likable, and a serious scientist. But if Bryan could break a rule so could everyone else. Not good. The only thing that saved Bryan from a kick-the-can grump was the virtual certainty that Moishe would never agree to the sabbatical if he had to leave his synagogue behind. Bryan arrived at the next door.

He took two more days to complete his interviews. By the time he left the zoo, he had five candidates. The next step was to see how many of them would want a year’s sabbatical on an island paradise.

Unlike Bryan, Verry Aguilar was a familiar figure around her biotech companies. Under the alias of Angelica Vargas, she was a valued consultant, called in as needed. She was more than capable of assimilating new ideas and helping to incorporate them into current research. The research personnel loved to work with her. They bounced ideas off of her. They asked for advice whenever they stumbled over a glitch in their research. And she never took a smidgeon of credit. What’s not to love? The only person who knew her real identity was Prudence Henderson.

Pru had been a year ahead of her in undergraduate school and Verry followed her to grad school. Pru had not only been a friend, when needed she had been a mentor. While Zoe’s interest had shifted to human genetics, Pru’s had remained in the plant world. Her PhD thesis had examined the consequences of alterations in climate, land-use, and biodiversity on plant-soil interactions. Under ordinary circumstances, Pru would have been a bridesmaid at Verry’s wedding. As it was, when Verry and Bryan got together, the two women had a celebratory drink. Verry would have put Pru in charge of one of the companies, but Pru didn’t want to be in charge of anything. As she put it when Verry broached the subject, “I wouldn’t be competent to organize a two car funeral and what’s more, I wouldn’t want to.” Pru was a bench scientist and that’s where she wanted to stay.

Verry knocked and walked into Pru’s lab. “Take your eye off the microscope and listen to me.”

Since Pru hadn’t had her eye on a microscope, she found no difficulty in following orders.

Verry began. “My putative in-laws believe they have found an island in the South Pacific that has a good chance of evading the worst of the climate change wreckage. We all agree that it would be a good idea to assemble a team on the island and rescue as many people and things as needed to preserve and restore civilization. Would you be willing to take a year’s sabbatical to help us?”

Pru was puzzled. “You mean move my lab to the South Pacific?”

Verry nodded. “You and whatever personnel and labs you need to keep your research going.”

Pru thought about it. “I know you well enough, my dear Verry, to recognize when you’re doing some prevaricating. But it doesn’t matter. I don’t know what you’re up to, but since it’s you, yeah. I’ll do it.”

Verry grinned. “Come on, Pru. Would l lie?”

Pru nodded. “Yeah, you would. What do you need from me?”

“A list of people from here or some of the other companies to join you in paradise.”

“Well, if we’re going to live cheek by jowl on an island, our colleagues had better be able to get along with one another. Unfortunately, that’ll eliminate some good scientists. But needs must when the devil drives. When do you want the list?”

Verry considered. “Beginning of next week? Plus a few names now so I can start interviewing.”

Verry took the initial names and walked down the hall to begin the interviews.

As late as the middle of the 21st century, rural medicine in the United States was a disgraceful mess. Telemedicine was an attractive option, but sometimes you need a hands-on doctor. While there were a few good, dedicated doctors in rural areas, an awful lot of the rural MDs were drunks or druggies. They hadn’t paid any attention to current medical practice since they left medical school. Most of them couldn’t pass their re-certification exams. Those that flunked were replaced by other drunks and druggies. Their offices were filthy; pills spilled out of cabinets and rolled on the floor.

Randy followed his mother’s example and founded a string of rural clinics, staffed by well-paid physicians and surgeons. If the clinics didn’t have the equipment to treat patients with unusual problems, the patients were referred to an urban hospital—but not one that Hep owned. There would be no visible connection between Hep and her son.

His rural clinics did not provide Randy with his billions. He also opened a chain of very expensive upscale spas. He, Adam, and Hep devised the winning strategy. His spas would not take any old customers. People had to apply. They needed references. They had to have things like A-lists. They had to go through all sorts of hoops before Randy would agree to bilk them. The rich upper-crust were beating at the doors, begging to be bilked. Of such are billions made.

Randy traveled to Mississippi where his flagship clinic was located. Dr. Billy-Bob Caldwell was the director. Billy-Bob was not responsible for his ridiculous given name. His parents were and he never forgave them. He also never thought of changing his name until it was engraved on his professional resume. Then it was too late. He was an interesting man. His first degree was in agronomy. He spent some years working for the U.S. Agricultural Extension Service, during which time he observed the miserable state of rural medicine. He went back to school to get his M.D., intending to practice in the farm country. His intention became reality and he found himself on the fast track to become one of Randy’s clinic directors.

As soon as Randy arrived in Billy-Bob’s office, they contacted another of the clinic directors, this one in Alabama, and told her to get to Billy-Bob’s place ASAP. Dr. June Bradley grew up on a farm. She knew, first-hand, about cows and horses and alfalfa and corn and farmers.

Randy and Billy-Bob discussed the state-of-the clinic until June got there about three hours later. Then Randy got down to business, first offering the island-safe-from-climate change tarradiddle.

“What do you want from us?” June asked.

Randy explained. “I want you to help choose the people who will join us on the island. I want Billy-Bob to make the first pass at choosing the agronomists and veterinarians and I want you to select the farmers and, to a lesser extent, the farm laborers. Are you willing to do that?”

Understanding that they were speaking to their boss, and not being damn fools, they both nodded.

Billy-Bob scratched his balding head. “Veterinarians? Do you have animals on the island.”

“Not quite on the island. We made a smaller, artificial island, towed it off-shore and tethered it to the big island. It’s got a few chickens, cows, sheep, and goats.”

Billy-Bob and June stared at Randy. “You built a rural island? That must have cost at least a billion.”

Randy nodded.

June asked, “Did all you guys graduate from the Drunken Sailor School of Financial Management?”

Randy and Billy-Bob laughed.

Randy said, “I’ve got billions. If we get stranded on an isolated island, what the hell else am I going to do with the money. And if the climate change deniers are right and the world as we know it remains intact, I’ll just make some more money.”

“What are the criteria for selecting people?”

Randy told her.

June sighed. “You do realize that you’re in the Bible Belt, do you not?”

“Uh oh,” said Randy. “I forgot about that. Do you think you’ll be able to lasso a goodly number of agnostics?”

“Sure, if that were the only criterion. But those people are mavericks. Will they be able to get along with their colleagues? Who knows? I think I’d better concentrate on the big farms and orchards in California and if I can’t find enough people there, I’ll try the smaller farms in New England.” She thought further. “It would be best if I didn’t take any of the marijuana growers. I think they sample too much of their own product.”

Jenny Wang’s startups were pharmaceutical companies. Quite a few of them manufactured and sold totally useless dietary supplements and quack cancer cures. They were all wildly successful. Jenny didn’t head in that direction. She arrived at the door of the director of a pharmaceutical company that evidenced a sincere desire to do good. Sort of like the old Eli Lily Corporation of the early twentieth century. Jenny knocked and entered to the sound of, “What’re you waiting for? C’mon in.”