Fifty Degrees Below - Kim Stanley Robinson [34]
“So there are people betting on who will do innovative work, or defect to China, or like that?”
“Yes. Like that. There are lots of different criteria.”
“Jesus,” Frank said, shaking his head in amazement. “But, I mean—who in the hell would bet on me?”
She laughed. “I would, right?”
Frank put his hand on top of hers and squeezed it.
“But actually,” she said, turning her hand and twining her fingers with his, “at this point, I think most of the investors in the market are various kinds of diagnostic programs.”
Now it was Frank’s turn to laugh. “So there are computer programs out there, betting I am going to become some kind of a security risk.”
She nodded, smiling at the absurdity of it. Although Frank realized, with a little jolt of internal surprise, that if the whole project were centered around Pierzinski, then the programs might be getting it right. Frank himself had judged that Pierzinski’s algorithm might allow them to read the proteome directly from the genome, thus giving them any number of new gene therapies, which if they could crack the delivery problem had the potential of curing outright many, many diseases. That would be a good in itself, and would also be worth billions. And Frank had without a doubt been involved with Yann’s career, first on his doctoral committee and then running the panel judging his proposal. He had impacted Yann’s career in ways he hadn’t even intended, by sabotaging his application so that Yann had gone to Torrey Pines Generique and then Small Delivery Systems, where he was now.
Possibly the futures market had taken notice of that.
Caroline was now looking more relaxed, perhaps relieved that he was not outraged or otherwise freaked out by her news. He tried to stay cool. What was done was done. He had tried to secure Pierzinski’s work for a company he had ties to, yes; but he had failed. So despite his best (or worst) efforts, there was nothing now he needed to hide.
“You said MIT,” he said, thinking things over. “Is Francesca Taolini involved with this?”
A surprised look, then: “Yes. She’s another subject of interest. There’s about a dozen of you. I was assigned to surveil most of the group.”
“Did you, I don’t know . . . do you record what people say on the phone, or in rooms?”
“Sometimes, if we want to. The technology has gotten really powerful, you have no idea. But it’s expensive, and it’s only fully applied in some cases. Pierzinski’s group—you guys are still under a much less intrusive kind of thing.”
“Good.” Frank shook his head, like a dog shaking off water. His thoughts were skittering around in all directions. “So . . . you’ve been watching me for a year. But I haven’t done anything.”
“I know. But then . . .”
“Then what?”
“Then I saw you on that Metro car, and I recognized you. I couldn’t believe it. I had only seen your photo, or maybe some video, but I knew it was you. And you looked upset. Very . . . intent on something.”
“Yes,” Frank said. “That’s right.”
“What happened? I mean, I checked it out later, but it seemed like you had just been at NSF that day.”
“That’s right. But I went to a lecture, like I told you.”
“That’s right, you did. Well, I didn’t know that when I saw you in the Metro. And there you were, looking upset, and so—I thought you might be trailing me. I thought you had found out somehow, done some kind of back trace—that’s another area I’ve been working on, mirror searching. I figured you had decided to confront me, to find out what was going on. It seemed possible, anyway. Although it was also possible it was just one of those freak things that happen in D.C. I mean, you do run into people here.”
“But then I followed you.” Frank laughed briefly.