"The Transgenic Falcon"
Chapter Two

Belinda laid it all out for me while I wished I’d just taken the retainer and showed her the door. Early this morning Dr. Constantine Cho, chief genetic scientist and arguably the most brilliant man on the planet had been found dead in his lab, along with six of the cleaning staff.

While she talked I shot a look out the window to my left. Off in the bright haze of a Houston morning I could easily make out the ziggurat form of the Gen-Tech building. The place was controversy itself. It had always struck me as odd that the fine, if conservative as hell, people of Texas were willing to have it here in Houston.

Gen-Tech was the world leader in genetically engineered organisms. I’ve read that GMO used to refer to crops or animals that had a selective gene tweaked to bring out a particular feature like being resistant to herbicides, but what Gen-Tech did was in completely different category. They didn’t only tweak existing organisms; they made new ones or used their genetic science to code in behaviors. Need to get some apples picked? They’ll sell you a set of Harvest Lemurs who love to pick apples, but will never, ever eat one. Having a problem with rabbits, Gen-Tech can sell you a mini-cougar that will only eat rabbits and won’t leave your property.

The ability to edit the genome of a living organism had been found in the early twenty-teens. But in the last thirty years, principally by Gen-Tech, it had been advanced to full scale design. Of course, for those future shocked people who fear new science this was cause for great strum und drang. They dug out Michael Crichton’s quaint dinosaur books as an example of how bad this was. Gen-Tech merely shrugged its corporate shoulders and pointed out that if the fictional scientists at Jurassic Park had edited out the reproductive system of the dino’s, there would have been no problem.

It is an issue that is still up in the air, with business wanting the new creatures for various purposes and the great unwashed and fearful horde fighting a losing battle just like they did with GMO foods. How Gen-Tech found itself headquartered in what could be considered enemy territory all came down to money.

After Hurricane Wendy pushed a storm surge across all of Galveston and most of Houston, the city fathers were desperately in need of money and a PR win to keep companies from relocating to cities not as threatened by climate change. Gen-Tech was quite willing to move in, but being in the buckle of the Bible Belt the level of invective against the work they did by the local god-botherers was truly epic. That’s when the politicians came up with a perfect solution.

They would grant Gen-Tech a large plot of land to build their very own acrology. This city-in-a-building would then secede from the county and be its own municipality. Houston would reap the benefits of the building boom, the influx of new workers and, through a unique agreement, still have access to the tax revenue like any other business.

What Gen-Tech got out of it was the ability to proceed with their very profitable work without having to blow in every political wind that came through the locals. Even so the continuing cutting-edge work of Dr. Cho’s kept the pot of discontent and fear bubbling nicely.

His work was why there was only one murder to investigate even though there were seven dead. The janitorial staff were Eolin-I (pronounced O-lin-ee) which means children in Korean. They were wholly created sentient creatures. The good doctor and his company claimed they had no human DNA at all; the short bipeds had a 400-word vocabulary and were happy to do simple tasks like cleaning. As owned property of Gen-Tech they were not considered humans, and as such the crime of murder didn’t apply.

I, like a lot of the world, was on the fence about the Eolin-I. On the one hand creating thinking beings for unpaid labor cuts too close to the slavery. On the other, they were a new life-form that could think and talk like humans; having someone like them around might change us for the positive. As there were a grand total of 40 of them in the whole world, and all lived in the Gen-Tech building, it was a bit of problem for tomorrow.

Until now.

Dr. Cho and six of his creations had been found dead in Cho’s lab. There were no logs showing anyone entering or leaving the lab for hours before they were found. The last three in the lab, other than Cho had all left together, and there were logs and video of them with the right time stamps all along. Cho had flatly refused to let cameras in his labs, so there was no video of when they died. Adding to the mystery, it seemed they all died at the same time, and without any external wounds. Of course, in a place like Gen-Tech the potential for new and deadly beasties had to be off the chart.

“So why look for PI’s?” I asked, “Sure it’s a mystery, but it’s also the kind of crime the cops handle all the time. I know a couple of detectives down at HPD, they’re good. I can make a call and see if they can’t arrange to catch the case.”

She shook her head and gave me a sour look. “That won’t work.” When I gave her an expectant look she continued, “It’s complicated. There are hearings in Congress right now; the Religious Right is making a full court-push to shut down all genetic products. They are getting a lot of help from the damned crunchy granolas who took down Monsanto. It could be very touch and go.”

Now it made a little more sense. “So, if the word gets out that your top guy died from something he made himself, it throws the safety of all your products into question.” She nodded.

I leaned forward, suddenly really angry “And the fact that a person, maybe seven people, died is less important than the bottom line?”

Belinda rocked back as if I’d slapped her.

“No!” she said, her cheeks coloring and ruining the marble smooth quality her makeup gave. “Dr. Cho was a friend of mine, and I knew all the Eolin-I as well. I want whoever did this caught! We can’t change the fact they died, but we can be sure whoever did this doesn’t take down the whole company and ruin thirty thousand lives.” Her sea-green eyes became ice hard. “I can’t believe you’d even think that of me!” she all but hissed.

“If you say that’s the case, I’ll believe you. But look at it from my point of view. When you broke things off it was to go to work for a big company, make lots of money. Now a decade later you walk in here showing all that money, looking very much like a corporate high-flyer, and then tell me you aren’t taking a murder to the police because of what might happen in Congress. If I am wrong, you can’t blame me for putting the pieces in front of me together in the wrong order.”

“Yes, well, not all of us are content to squander our gifts. Some are smart enough to make their brains and education pay,” Belinda replied.

The old argument, really the only argument we’d had. I never asked to be brilliant, never signed up to be one of those guys who learning came easy to; it happened and had nothing to do with my choices. By the time I met Belinda I already had two bachelors’ degrees, chemistry and engineering, was nearing a masters in physics and halfway through a combined archeology/anthropology masters as well. Like I said, learning is easy for me.

The thing is I don’t really want to do the things I study. I like to learn and know things, but work in a lab? Or worse, out in the field? Thanks, but no thanks. Call me a well-read dilettante and you won’t get any argument from me, I am comfortable with who I am. For Belinda who grew up in the small middle-class of the early part of the 21st century it was betrayal of the work ethic to spend time and effort to learn things but not making them pay. For her, failing to reinvest for the next generation by using hard-won knowledge to climb the socioeconomic ladder was an abomination.

Even with all the areas where we agreed, this one was so fundamental to each of us there was no room to give. Not without giving up ourselves. Have you ever met a twenty-something who’d give up themselves for another? Me either.

“That’s true,” I said, “yet here you are asking me for help.” Shit! Ten years apart and after ten minutes we were right back where we’d left off. This was not how I imagined our reunion. Still, it was exactly what reason told me would happen.

“So, you’ll take the job?” she asked.

I sat back for a second, like I was considering it. Truth was, I’d already decided. A locked room mystery combined with a chance to poke around in one of the planetary-level, cutting-edge labs? And my old flame as my point of contact? Others might be good at resisting temptation, but not me. I just didn’t want Belinda to know she’d had me like a trout on a line.

I reached out and picked up the envelope full of money. I opened a drawer and dropped it in without counting it. After using a thumbprint to set the lock I looked back up at Belinda.

“You just hired yourself a private investigator.” I told her, trying to ignore the feeling of a metaphorical hook through my lip.