Micro - Michael Crichton [28]
“Strange name for a duck pond,” Danny said. “Because that’s what it is. I saw three or four families of ducklings here before.”
“And did you see what happens?” Drake said.
Danny shook his head no. “Is this going to upset me?”
“That depends. Look in the fronds about three feet above the water.”
The group paused, stared. Karen King saw it first. “Gray heron,” she whispered, nodding. A dusty-gray bird, standing about three feet tall, with a spiky head and dull eyes. It looked unkempt and lazy. It was absolutely motionless and it blended perfectly into the shadows of the palm foliage.
“It can stay that way for hours,” Karen said.
They watched for several minutes, and were about to leave when one of the duckling families began to skirt around the edge of the pond. They kept their bodies half-hidden in the overhanging waterside grasses, but to no avail.
In a swift motion, the heron left its perch, splashed among the ducks, and resumed its perch, this time with tiny duck feet protruding from its jaws.
“Ewwww!” Danny.
“Yuch!” Jenny.
The heron threw back his head, looking straight up, and in a single flip motion gulped down the remains of the duckling. It then lowered its head, and turned motionless again in the shadows. It had all taken place in a few seconds. It was hard to believe it had happened at all.
“That’s disgusting,” Danny said.
“It’s the way of the world,” Drake said. “You’ll notice the arboretum is not overrun with ducks, and that’s the reason why. Ah! If I am not mistaken, here are our cars, waiting to take us back to civilization.”
Chapter 8
Kalikimaki Industrial Park
28 October, 6:00 p.m.
On the way back to the Nanigen headquarters, Karen King drove the Bentley convertible and the other students crammed themselves into it, while Alyson Bender and Vin Drake went in the sports car. They hadn’t gone far when Danny Minot, the science studies student, cleared his throat. “I think,” Minot said, speaking above the rush of the wind, “that Drake’s arguments about poisonous plants are subject to dispute.”
“Subject to dispute” was one of Minot’s favorite phrases.
“Oh? How’s that?” Amar said. Amar in particular loathed Minot.
“Well, this notion of poison is slippery, isn’t it,” Minot said. “Poison is what we call any compound that does us harm. Or we think does us harm. Because it may not, in reality, be so harmful. After all, strychnine was once dispensed as a patent medicine in the 1800s. It was thought to be a restorative. And it’s still administered for acute alcohol poisoning, I believe. And the tree wouldn’t go to the trouble of making strychnine unless it had some purpose, self-defense most likely. Other plants make strychnine, like nightshade. There must be a purpose.”
“Yes,” Jenny Linn said, “to keep from being eaten.”
“That’s the plant’s view.”
“It’s our view, too, because we don’t eat it either.”
“But for humans,” Amar said to Minot, “are you arguing that strychnine is not harmful? Not really a poison?”
“That’s right. As a concept, it’s slippery. One might even say it’s indeterminate. The term ‘poison’ doesn’t really refer to anything fixed or specific at all.”
This brought groans throughout the car.
“Can we change the subject?” Erika said.
“I’m simply saying the idea of what is poison is subject to dispute.”
“Danny, with you everything is subject to dispute.”
“In essence, yes,” he said, nodding solemnly. “Because I have not adopted the scientific worldview of fixed verities and immutable truths.”
“Neither have we,” Erika said. “But some things are repeatedly verifiable and therefore justify our belief in them.”
“Wouldn’t it be pleasant to think so? But that’s just a self-serving fantasy that most scientists have about themselves. In reality, it’s all power structures,” Minot said. “And you know it. Whoever has the power in society determines what can be studied, determines what can be observed, determines what can be thought. Scientists fall in line with the dominant power structure. They have to, because the power structure