The Love Potion Murders in the Museum of Man_ A Norman De Ratour Mystery - Alfred Alcorn [19]
Ms. Schanke, in the kind of non sequitur to which she is given, stood up and spoke as though reading from a prepared statement. Looking directly at me, she said, “I know that people like you, Mr. Ratour, think that people like me are perverts. But we all know that what’s going on in those labs is the real perversion. You people are perverting nature and you’re going to f*ck everything up. You pretend to be scientists, but all you’re really interested in is the bottom line and how much money you can make …” After several more minutes of this kind of diatribe, Ms. Schanke sat down and helped herself to a Chocolate Frosted.
I let the silence at her outburst gather and provide its own rebuttal.
Attorney Dearth bestirred himself. “What Berthe’s trying to say —”
Ms. Schanke, standing again, interrupted him. “I’m not trying to say anything. I have said what I wanted to say.”
In what appeared to be an attempt to strike a moderating note, Professor Athol opined how “the research into the secrets of life needs a spiritual dimension.”
“Yeah, until they find the God gene, and then they’ll find a way to market that as well,” Ms. Schanke rejoined with some bitterness.
Izzy perked up at that. “Well, judging from what’s out there, there must be lots of different God genes. I mean a Methodist God gene, a Catholic God gene, a couple of Jewish God genes, one for the Reformed and one for the Orthodox. And think about the Hindus …”
Professor Murdleston, who is hard of hearing, asked, “A Methodist gene?”
“Well, not a Methodist gene per se …”
“I think Randy is trying to say something important here,” Mr. Dearth put in.
And in rare agreement with the attorney, Father O’Gould, the lilt of his native Cork still in his speech, said, “If we are nothing more than our genes, then what are we?”
No one seemed to know.
Mr. Dearth wondered aloud what two people were doing in the lab alone at night.
Izzy asked the learned counsel if he was suggesting there ought to have been chaperones.
“No, I am wondering where the security guard was.”
I informed the committee that there were, as usual, two guards on duty in the Genetics Lab building itself, one making rounds, “who can’t be in all places at all times,” and one watching an array of monitors.
“You mean to say there was no video monitor set up in the lab where this tragedy occurred?” Dearth asked me in his best withering courtroom manner.
“There was a monitor,” I replied, “until several of the researchers, led by Professor Ossmann, took the matter to the American Civil Liberties Union and forced us to remove it on the grounds it was an invasion of privacy.”
Mr. Dearth subsided.
Izzy waxed philosophical at that point. He noted that we are increasingly taking over our own evolutionary destiny; that, vide his latest publication, evolution itself is evolving. Once Crick and Watson let the genie out of the bottle, well, there was no putting it back in.
I agreed. I pointed out that before long we will be raising pigs with genetically altered hearts that can be transplanted into human beings.
Ms. Berthe declared that for most corporate types the genetic modifications wouldn’t be necessary.
Thad Pilty weighed in at that moment, saying that “transgenic swine are already old hat.” In an attempt to lighten the mood, he added, “Before long, theoretically, anyway, you’ll be able to grow yourself a second sex organ.”
Not everyone laughed.
Izzy chortled. “I think it’s quite enough to manage one.”
“Tell me about it,” said Ms. Doveen, trying not to giggle.
Ms. Brattle brought us back to the frowning level by recalling the attempts of Dr. S.X. Gottling to produce a new “perfect” human genotype at the lab using chimps as experimental models.
Professor McNull scowled his approval of her disapproval.
The question, Professor Athol stated somewhat pretentiously, “is not what is to become