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Chapter Nineteen
Kristen
Kristen stepped out of the subway station and into the bustle of Midtown. The crowded streets and busy intersections reminded her of moving through the bottom of a man-made canyon, with rows of coruscating skyscrapers rising high overhead on each side of the avenue. In the morning sun, Times Square shined in storied brilliance. Lurid advertisements of every description blinked and glowed. All Kristen could do was gawk at the flashing lights, smiling celebrities, and fall's new lineup.
The Marriot Marquis turned out to be a towering and opulent architectural marvel directly in the center of Times Square. Kristen trudged wearily past a golden atrium and into the marble of the main lobby, her hands grasping the straps of her backpack. She was stunned by the lofty height of the room that ascended above her. The pristine white lobby rose all the way to the barely visible roof of the hollowed out skyscraper. Turning her gaze upward, Kristen felt the sensation of being outdoors. It was as though some enormous hand had reached down and carefully gutted out the entire center of the towering building, leaving only open air in its space. The tiers of individual floors visibly encircled a series of extravagant open-glass elevators that gracefully raised and lowered the guests within.
The convention was being held in the Lutvak ballroom on the second floor, and Kristen ascended the main stairs as her sneakers squeaked faintly against the rich carpet. The ballroom was an expansive space with a few hundred chairs aligned into rows around a raised stage sporting a broad projection screen and a ring of tables assembled around the perimeter walls. A large banner hung across one of the walls with the words: Welcome to The Twenty-First Century of Science. Several grand chandeliers shimmered above the heads of the crowd, and elaborately designed moldings added a chic touch to the ballroom. The folding tables along the walls were set up with poster boards and laptop monitors depicting the progression of various research groups from around the globe. There looked to be easily two or three hundred people crammed among the rows of chairs. Most of the researchers and university professors were engrossed in eager discussion or quietly watching small research pitches.
Kristen rolled her eyes at the predictable demographic and scanned the tables for the Vatruvian cell. She found Professor Vatruvia standing by a display along the nearest wall. A conspicuous assemblage of men in stern military uniforms was congregated around him. Kristen shifted her backpack against her shoulders and eyed the buzzed haircuts and square jaws distrustfully. What possible new development would this prove to be? She felt confident that whatever their purpose, it would no doubt displease her. Kristen reluctantly stepped forward and passed through a group of quietly mingling geologists.
"Hi, professor." Kristen forced her best smile as she met him and the many military men.
A Vatruvian cell research display had been haphazardly set up on the table, consisting of little more than an open laptop with a rotating image of a unicellular Vatruvian cell. Several copied stacks of stapled research overviews were there for the taking. The display was humorously simple compared to some of the others she saw around the Lutvak ballroom. Kristen had no doubt Professor Vatruvia was planning to impress the convention with their lecture, not their display.
"Glad you could join us, Kristen. I wanted to introduce you to General Peter Redford." Professor Vatruvia raised an arm to the most decorated of the military men. "General Redford, this is one of my most gifted students, Kristen Jordan."
Kristen held out her hand, and the tall broad man met it with a firm shake. General Redford was in his fifties, and had a pleasant though authoritative impression. There were four polished silver stars on each of his shoulders and various insignias Kristen did not recognize on his chest. He had a kindly paternal look to him, perhaps akin to a high school sports coach. In her miserable mood, Kristen did not take a liking to him. General Redford weighed Kristen up and down, noticing her sneakers and jeans with an amused smirk.
"Ms. Jordan, how are you?" General Redford smiled warmly. "Very impressive to be involved in such prestigious and avant-garde work at your age."
"Will you be able to stay for our presentation?" Professor Vatruvia asked the general. "Kristen will be presenting most of it."
"Unfortunately, no. I'm just stopping by," General Redford said. "I'm on my way to make an address at the UN, then back to Washington by this evening. I find this Vatruvian cell technology terribly interesting though . . . a shame I'll miss it. It really is truly incredible. You should be very proud, Ms. Jordan."
Kristen nodded and broke his courteous gaze, drawing her attention to his chest and wondering what all the insignias could possibly stand for. She turned to Professor Vatruvia and measured his broad smile suspiciously. Why did he seem to be so keen on speaking to the military about Vatruvian cell technology? Kristen tried to maintain an unreadable expression despite her rising frustration.
"Well, I do what I can," Kristen said. "We're a large team, I do my part."
"Kristen, don't be modest." Professor Vatruvia leaned against the table. "She has been with me from the very beginning of our work. Kristen's been integral to our progress."
"It's always a pleasure to meet bright young Americans. I'm sure you have a very auspicious future ahead of you. Are you nearing the end of your PhD program?" General Redford asked.
"Yeah." Kristen nodded. "I'm hoping to finish my doctorate over this next year."
"Any plans for after graduation?"
"Eh." Kristen shied away from his eye contact again. "None at the moment. I'm putting off any job decisions until I complete my PhD."
General Redford nodded. "Well, I'm sure you'll be successful finding work with such a glowing recommendation from Dr. Vatruvia on your resume. I'm certain there are plenty of military contractors that would jump at the chance to snatch you up. If you would like, I can pass your name along to some of my contacts."
The thought of working for a military contractor nauseated her, but Kristen merely shrugged. "Maybe."
"If you'll excuse me," Professor Vatruvia interjected and turned away from them to greet several other eminent synthetic biologists who had gathered to shake his hand and talk shop. The conversation among them at once reached a level of technicality that would likely come off as gibberish to most.
Kristen sighed in their direction as General Redford leaned down and stared at the image of the Vatruvian cell on the open laptop. He shook his head in wonder. "The sky is the limit as far as I can see with this technology of yours, Ms. Jordan. Who could have predicted it ten years ago? Or even one year ago for that matter?"
"Yeah, it's a scary new world."
"Scary?" General Redford looked up. "Interesting word choice. But I can't say that I disagree. It makes me feel old as my knowledge of science becomes so glaringly obsolete. I can't help but wonder what the world will be like when I'm tucked away in retirement somewhere."
"If the world is still here," Kristen said.
General Redford burst into a laugh that took Kristen aback. "Well put. But that's what all this is for in the end, right? Technology, advancements, and so on—self-preservation is the name of the game."
"If self-preservation is indeed the actual driving force."
General Redford stood to his full height and dwarfed over Kristen. His presence was powerful, and even if he had not been in his distinguished uniform, he would have commanded respect. He waved a hand to the entourage of reticent soldiers beside him, and they walked out of earshot and stood by the doors to the ballroom.
"I suddenly get the distinct impression you were being polite when I suggested a career in defense research," General Redford said.
"No, not really." Kristen shrugged. "I pass no judgment on military research. Or at least I make a conscious effort not to. I mean, to each her own. But I don't think that nature of research is cut out for me. That is to say, the kind of research that holds the end goal of killing people. I like to cling to the idealistic belief that science should be used to help humanity."
"There's certainly nothing wrong with that perspective, Ms. Jordan. I guess it takes a specific type of person to step outside the rigidity of pacifism. Someone who accepts that hard decisions have to be made, that evil flourishes if given the opportunity, and that conflict is simply an aspect of our very existence. The rational minds have to secure their power. And in this world we live in, the technological advantage is everything."
Kristen said nothing as she mulled over his words.
General Redford leaned down and again examined the laptop monitor that depicted a rotating Vatruvian cell. Kristen watched his face intently. Surely this military mind had no idea of the significance of what he was watching.
"Are you familiar with our work?" Kristen asked.
"Oh, yes. I've been following it closely since the first Vatruvian cell. To think that the technology is still in its infant stages is almost too difficult to grasp."
Kristen felt herself taking a liking to General Redford. He was undeniably thoughtful, not at all what she would have imagined a high-ranking military officer to embody. He seemed clearheaded, poised, and coherent.
"I'd say there are some fairly substantial questions that arise about the future of the technology," General Redford said. "If you don't mind my asking, Ms. Jordan, how does the Vatruvian cell operate—in simple terms? Dr. Vatruvia tried to explain it to me and it went right over my head."
Kristen stirred uncertainly. "Um, okay. Well, to put all the convoluted synthetic biology aside, Vatruvian cell technology has always revolved around the idea of allowing a given biological design to integrate specific artificial proteins we created in the lab using computer programs. What we do is not just an injection of foreign DNA into a pre-existing cell, but the ground up creation of a new cell by using novel genetic coding. The Vatruvian cell still follows the basic genetic architecture of a template cell, though. It uses the altered genetics we created using lab techniques and a ton of advanced software to mimic the form of a template organism. So the Vatruvian cell is similar, but also very different than the given species it copies."
General Redford shook his head in awe.
"If it's any consolation, I know how it works and it still scares the hell out of me," Kristen said.
"I'm sorry if my basic knowledge of the technology is so insufficient that this question is ludicrous. But, let's say purely theoretically, would it be possible for things larger and more complex than cells to be replicated by this technology?"
Kristen hesitated and stepped out of the way as a woman took one of the pamphlets from the display table. She thought the question interesting. If he already knew about the mice, he never would have asked it. Kristen turned to look at Professor Vatruvia. If high-ranking generals did not yet know about the mice, who did? What would General Redford think if he knew how advanced the technology had really become behind locked doors—if he knew Professor Vatruvia was years, decades, ahead of what she just described.
"It would be possible to create more complex systems, yes," Kristen said.
"Good lord, I miss the days when technological advancements took place in fields like production and aviation. Tangible, logical things." General Redford gazed at the Vatruvian cell. "I remember being amazed the first time I saw a laptop. Now we tamper with life. I agree with you, it is a scary new world."
"Indeed it is," Kristen said. "But I'm confident international regulations will soon oversee the technology. Between you and me, I would venture a bet that in ten year's time Vatruvian technology, along with all synthetic biology, will be supervised strictly."
Kristen's thoughts wandered to what Cara Williams had told her. The Vatruvian bacterium cells had greater resilience, strength, and efficiency than their natural versions. Did the frantic little Vatruvian mice have the same traits? Would larger mammals? The skin on her arms broke into goose bumps at the notion.
"Are you okay, Ms. Jordan? You look pale all of a sudden," General Redford asked.
"I'm fine. Just tired. Been working around the clock recently."
General Redford was about to say something, but his cell phone rang. He held up a hand to Kristen in apology. "Redford here . . . Flight eight-thirty-two? Yes . . . The plane crash . . . right . . . only what I've heard in the news." His eyebrows narrowed, his lips tightened. "Repeat that last sentence . . . I beg your pardon? What are you talking about? Flying p—"
General Redford looked up at Kristen then turned away, pushing the speaker against his ear and lowering his voice. "Explain yourself!" he demanded. "How certain is the airline? And the FAA? The possibility that lines were crossed has been ruled out of the question? That was the actual mayday call? Not some mistaken transmission? They are absolutely certain? Okay. Yes, I'll teleconference in right away."
General Redford snapped the phone shut and turned to Kristen with a twitching smile. "Well, Ms. Jordan, it was very nice meeting such an accomplished young woman as yourself, but I have to leave."
"Okay, it was very nice meeting you too, general," Kristen said with a questioning tone. "But wait. Was that phone call about the plane crash in Albany? Flight eight-thirty-two?"
"Goodbye, Kristen." The general's tone was final. He turned on the spot and exited the room with a swift stern gait, pointing to the group of military personnel. The soldiers immediately followed in his wake. Kristen watched them until they turned a corner and moved out of sight down the stairs toward the lobby. She felt suddenly nervous. Kristen sat down at a folding chair and placed her forehead into her hands, resting her elbows on the table. The beginnings of a stress headache were forming in her temples. She folded her legs under her and wished she was anywhere but this stupid convention.
Professor Vatruvia, who had been beckoned over to one of the other nearby displays, walked back to their table and shook hands with nearly every person that passed him. Everyone wanted to meet the visionary, to ask his opinion on so-and-so, to fawn over him.
"Did General Redford leave?" Professor Vatruvia asked disappointedly, scanning the room.
"Yeah, he left in a hurry," Kristen said, her face still held in her palms.
"Did you explain to him the basics of the Vatruvian replication? He seemed a bit lost when I tried to draw it out for him earlier."
"Yep. I think he had to leave because of something involving the plane crash in Albany, but he didn't say."
"That's strange," Professor Vatruvia said with a frown. "Who knows what a general's daily schedule is, right?"
Kristen shrugged.
"I just talked to the organizers. We're going to present our research second on the itinerary. I'll have you go up to the stage first and introduce the Vatruvian cell and so on. Then I'll take the reins for the close out. We'll keep the lecture short and sweet."
"Okay," Kristen nodded, knowing that before she finished her portion of the lecture she would tell everyone in the hall of the Vatruvian mice. Her gaze shifted to a nearby table where the international winners of a youth synthetic biology competition were discussing their work. These children were surely being taught that the only limit to their tampering with life itself was their own imagination. Look at what Nicoli Vatruvia did, kids. Look at what Kristen Jordan did. The high schoolers' faces were beaming, exuberant as they discussed their work. Kristen thought for a moment she was going to throw up.
She was glad Ryan was going to be there for support. Her words would set off a firestorm of questions about the Vatruvian cell, but Kristen also felt certain that everyone who had a hand in synthetic biology would be after her blood for slamming the brakes on the locomotive. Ryan would be her ally, her protection against the zealotry.
"Excuse me, if I can please have everyone's attention for one moment." A blaring voice rose over the crowd, magnified through the Lutvak ballroom's speaker system. Kristen lifted her head and looked to the podium. One of the hotel workers stood at the pedestal on the main stage. "Once again, may I please have everyone's attention? This will only take a moment."
The man cleared his throat and loosened his necktie as the room reluctantly grew silent.
"It has come to our attention that the Department for Homeland Security has issued a national security alert." Immediately, whispers and hushed voices extended through the room. The hotel worker spoke over the rabble. "At this point no specific city or form of public transit or anything like that has been threatened. The president has issued assurances that the alert is strictly precautionary, and not cause for panic or alarm. To those of you visiting from foreign countries, we want to stress upon you that this is not an altogether uncommon occurrence here in the United States. Again I must emphasize that there is no cause for panic. We at the Marriot Marquis will do our best to keep you updated on any developments issued by the media." He smiled professionally and held an arm to the nearby tables. "The lectures will begin momentarily. Until then, the buffet tables are still well stocked if anyone desires a snack. Thank you for your attention, and I hope everyone enjoys the presentations."
The momentary concern of the room evaporated as quickly as it had arisen. A knot turned in Kristen's stomach, and an unsettling sensation ran up her spine. General Redford did not seem like the type of man who was easily shaken, and his face had looked severely disturbed by whatever was said on the other end of that phone conversation. At the same moment the government had issued a national security alert. It could not have been a coincidence.
Something was happening.
Kristen's first thought unwillingly went straight to terrorism. Unwelcome imagery of explosions, airplanes, and skyscrapers formed in the depths of her mind. She felt a strong desire to be tucked away in the middle of suburbia and far from the masses of a city. Instead, she was in Times Square, the epicenter of New York City and the entire western world.