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"Ax, hell," David blurted, "that thing's a monster! It can't be legal!" He leaned toward the desk and sca
I know we use .ceramic blades in machine-tools... but that's in factory settings, with safety standards! You can't just sell 'em to all and sundry-it's like handing out personal flame-throwers!"
Andrei spoke up. "Don't tell us, David-tell Singapore.
They are radical technical capitalists. They don't care about forests-they have no forests to lose."
Laura nodded. "That's not farming, it's mass destruction.
That'll have to be stopped," she said.
Prentis shook his head. "We got one chance to stop it, and that's to put every goddamn farmer in the world out of business." He paused. "Yeah, honest old Mr. Yeoman Farmer, and the wife, and his million goddamn kids. They're eating the planet alive."
Prentis reached absently through the hole in the desk and pulled out a tube of glue. "That's all that matters. Sure, maybe we've cooked a little dope in Grenada, liberated a few programs, but that's just for start-up money. We make food.
And we make jobs to make food. See all those people work- ing down there? You wouldn't see 'em in a Stateside plant.
The way -we do it here, it's labor-intensive-people who might have been farmers, making their own food, for their own country. Not just handouts, dumped from some charity plane by rich nations."
"We have no quarrel with that," Laura said.
"Sure you do," Prentis said. "You don't want it stripped down and cheap. You want it expensive, and controlled, and totally safe. You don't want peasants and slum kids with that kind of technical power. You're afraid of it." He pointed to the machete. "But you can't have it both ways. All tech is dangerous--even with no moving parts."
Long silence. Laura turned to Andrei. "Thanks for bring- ing us down here. You've brought us in touch with a genuine problem." She turned to Prentis. "Thank you, Brian."
"Sure," said Prentis. His gaze flickered upward from her breasts. She tried to smile at him.
Prentis set the glue down carefully. "You want to tour the plant?"
"I'd love to," David said.
They left the office, reassuming their masks. They went down among the workers. The crew didn't look much like
"slum kids"-they were mostly middle-aged cadres, most of them women. They wore hair nets and their paper overalls had the shiny look of old bakery bags. They worked in twenty-four-hour shifts-a third of the crew was asleep, in soundproof acoustic cubicles, clustered under the giant mural like Styrofoam barnacles.
Backed by Millie Syers, David asked alert questions about the equipment. Any containment spills? No. Souring trouble?
Just the usual throwbacks to the wild state-tailored bacteria did tend to revert, after millions of generations. And wild bugs wouldn't produce-they just ate goop and freeloaded.
Left to multiply at the expense of the worthy, these backslid- ers would soon take over, so they were scorched from the tanks without mercy.
What about the rest of the Charles Nogues, beyond the bulkheads? Why, she was full of factories like this from bow to stern, all safety-sealed so spoiling couldn't spread. Lots of careful slurry-pumping back and forth between units-they used the old tanker pumps, still in fine condition The ship's containment systems, built to prevent petroleum gas explosions, were ideal for bio-hazard work.
Laura quizzed some of the women. Did they like the work?
Of course-they had all kinds of special perks, credit-card boosts whenever they beat the quotas, TV links with their families, special rewards for successful new recipes.... Didn't they feel cooped up down here? Heavens no, not compared to the crowded government yards down-the-island. A whole month vacation time, too. Of course, it did itch a bit when you got that skin bacteria back...
They toured the plant for over an hour, climbing bamboo stiles over the hull's six-foot reinforcement girders. David spoke to Prentis. "You said something about bathrooms?"
"Yeah, sorry. E. coli, that's a native gut bacterium... . If it gets loose, we have a lot of trouble."
David shrugged,. embarrassed. "The food upstairs was good,
I ate a lot. Uh, my compliments to the chef."
"Thanks," Prentis said.
David touched his glasses. "I think I've sca
"Uhmmm ..." Prentis said. Andrei broke in. "That's a bit difficult, David." He didn't elaborate.
David forgot and offered to shake hands again. When they left, they could see Prentis stalking behind the office glass, pumping his spray gun.
They retraced their steps up the catwalk. Andrei was pleased.
"I'm glad you met Dr. Prentis. He's very dedicated. But he does get a bit lonely for his native countrymen."
"He does seem to lack a few of the amenities," David said.
"Yeah," Laura said. "Like a girl friend."
Andrei was surprised. "Oh, Dr. Prentis is married. To a
Grenadian worker."
"Oh," Laura said, feeling the gaffe. "That must be won- derful.... How about you, Andrei? Are you married?"
"Only to the Movement," Andrei said. He wasn't kidding.
The sun was setting by the time they returned to their safehouse. It had been a long day. "You must be tired,
Carlotta," Laura said as they climbed stiffly from the three- wheeler. "Why don't you come in and have supper with us?"
"It's nice to ask," Carlotta said, smiling sweetly. Her eyes glistened and there was a soft rosy glow to her cheeks. "But I can't make it tonight. I have Communion."
"You're sure?" Laura said. "Tonight's good for us."
"I can come by later this week. And bring my date, maybe."
Laura frowned. "I might be testifying then."
Carlotta shook her head. "No, you won't. I haven't even testified yet." She reached from the driver's seat and patted the baby's tote. "Bye, little one. Bye, y'all. I'll call or something. She gu
"Typical," Laura said.
They walked up onto the porch. David pulled his key card.
"Well, Communion, that sounds pretty important-"
"Not Carlotta, she's just a klutz. I mean the Bank. It's a ploy, don't you see? They're go
And they're calling Carlotta to testify first, just to rub it in."
David paused. "You think so, huh?"
"Sure. That's why Sticky was giving us the runaround earlier." She followed him into the mansion. "They're work- ing on us, David; this is all part of a plan. That tour, everything... . What smells so good?"
Rita had di
And no dishes to wash. The servants cleared everything, stacking it onto little rosewood trolleys. They brought brandy and offered Cuban cigars. And they wanted to take the baby too. Laura wouldn't let them.
There was a study upstairs. It wasn't much of a study-no books-just hundreds of videotapes and old-fashioned plastic records, but they retired to the study with their brandies anyway. It seemed the proper thing to do, somehow.
Lots of old framed photos on the study's walls. Laura looked them over while David shuffled curiously through the tapes. It was clear who Mr. Gelli, the former owner, was.