Soul

Isolated in her cynicism, Julia glanced back at the Candidate, thoroughly unamused by the sycophantic display of hero worship. The conference hall was festooned with banners advertising Xandox’s company logo—a double helix composed of glittery silver arrows—and posters of the Candidate. The giant pharmaceutical company had staged the event in an attempt to seduce the government into passing legislation that allowed contentious research, such as stem-cell and genetic manipulation, under the guise of promoting working relationships between commerce, politics and science.

‘I believe that with sensible and faith-sensitive legislation, we can see this state leading the world in this revolutionary and exciting field. Science is big business! I am big business!’

The crowd erupted again, swept up by the Candidate’s rhetoric. Even Julia had to admit he had a gift for infecting everyone with his celebrity, as if by supporting him one was instantly elevated from the banality of everyday life and propelled into a parallel glamorous universe—fame by proximity.

‘So I want you guys…’

You guys—there it was again, she thought, the insidious suggestion of the personal.

‘…to loosen your ties, drink as many margaritas as you can—after all, Xandox is paying…’ (Another big laugh here.) ‘…Talk business to each other, make deals—let’s put California on the map again!’

The Candidate waved, then was swiftly escorted from the podium by four squat, muscular bodyguards.

The two geneticists pushed their way through the crowd to a waiter. Grabbing two margaritas, Julia handed one to Andrew.

‘What the hell is faith-sensitive legislation?’ she asked.

‘Stem-cell research, sweetie, it’s the next ticking clock. The President wants the industry to use adult stem cells only, or embryonic stem cells that are already in storage.’

‘There are problems with that.’

‘Sure, but the guy’s got the pro-lifers breathing down his neck. Hey, as we know, the path of progress is littered with bioethical potholes.’

Andrew scanned the crowd, looking for the right industry representative to lobby. Unlike Julia, he was good at working the room. Watching his face alight with enthusiasm made her feel guilty. Julia knew she should be doing the same. Events like these were invaluable opportunities to canvass for more funding; she couldn’t remember ever witnessing this many power brokers together in the same room.

‘Jesus Christ, is that Professor Bedelmayer over there?’ Andrew whistled in awe.

A towering figure in his early eighties, Bedelmayer was universally feared. President and co-owner of Xandox, he’d studied alongside Crick and Watson at Cambridge in the 1950s, and held an MBS (Harvard) and a PhD (MIT). He was one of the few men in the States who had the influence to completely bury a research venture or kick-start it with full funding. In short, he was considered a deity.

Julia swung around and tried not to stare. She had only seen the man once before—on the front cover of Forbes magazine.

Andrew took a big swig of his margarita. ‘Okay, so he’s at the top of my dance card, followed by…’ He shamelessly rotated 360 degrees, then reversed 30. ‘Sony over there—they have a division I want to get sponsorship from. I have an idea about nanotechnology being able to speed up detection processes. What about you? Girl, you have to get out there and mingle. Besides, you’re the only one here with legs.’

Reluctantly, Julia surveyed the small clusters of businessmen, then noticed a short man striding towards her.

‘Damn, I’ve been spotted.’

‘Who?’

‘Starboard. Some rep from Xandox, I owe him a call. Cover me while I lose him.’

Andrew glanced at the man who was now about twenty yards away. ‘He is rather attractive in a bearish kind of way.’

‘Please, Andrew.’

‘Just remember, you owe me, big time. Now vanish.’

Andrew moved in front of her and smiled in an overtly sexual manner at the representative, who, confounded, stopped in his tracks. Julia disappeared into the crowd, weaving her way to the other side of the hall, glass in hand. Someone grabbed her arm.

‘Professor Julia Huntington? I’ve been looking for you.’

A bullish man in chinos and an expensive Ralph Lauren suede jacket cornered her.

‘Jonathan Jenkins,’ Julia said. ‘A dubious pleasure.’

Jenkins was the head of the claims division of an insurance company for whom Julia had once written a report on DNA and its uses in insurance claims—something she’d regretted ever since.

‘I can live with that,’ Jenkins said. ‘I hear you’ve landed a very interesting commission for the Defense Department.’