Micro. Michael Crichton
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Jenny said. “Did she tell you that?” She ran her fingers along the fender. “I think it’s beautiful.”
In a basement room furnished with a Formica table and a coffee machine, Vin Drake had seated himself at the table, with Eric Jansen and Alyson Bender, the two Nanigen executives, placed on either side of him. The grad students clustered around, some sitting at the table, some leaning against the wall.
“You’re young scientists, starting out,” Vin Drake was saying. “So you have to deal with the reality of how your field operates. Why, for example, is there such an emphasis on the cutting edge in science? Why does everybody want to be there? Because all the prizes and recognition go to new fields. Thirty years ago, when molecular biology was new, there were lots of Nobels, lots of major discoveries. Later, the discoveries became less fundamental, less groundbreaking. Molecular biology was no longer new. By then the best people had moved on to genetics, proteomics, or to work in specialized areas: brain function, consciousness, cellular differentiation, where the problems were immense and still unsolved. Good strategy? Not really, because the problems remain unsolved. Turns out it isn’t enough that the field is new. There must also be new tools. Galileo’s telescope—a new vision of the universe. Leeuwenhoek’s microscope—a new vision of life. And so it continues, right to the present: radio telescopes exploded astronomical knowledge. Unmanned space probes rewrote our knowledge of the solar system. The electron microscope altered cell biology. And on, and on. New tools mean big advances. So, as young researchers, you should be asking yourselves—who has the new tools?”
There was a brief silence. “Okay, I’ll bite,” someone said. “Who has the new tools?”
“We do,” Vin said. “Nanigen MicroTechnologies. Our company has tools that will define the limits of discovery for the first half of the twenty-first century. I’m not kidding, I’m not exaggerating. I’m telling you the simple truth.”
“Pretty big claim,” Rick Hutter said. He leaned against the wall, arms folded, clutching a paper cup of coffee.
Vin Drake looked calmly at Rick. “We don’t make big claims without a reason.”
“So what exactly are your tools?” Rick went on.
“That’s proprietary,” Vin said. “You want to know, you sign an NDA and come to Hawaii to see for yourself. We’ll pay your airfare.”
“When?”
“Whenever you’re ready. Tomorrow, if you want.”
Vin Drake was in a hurry. He finished the presentation, and they all filed out of the basement and went out onto Divinity Avenue, to where the Ferraris were parked. In the October afternoon, the air had a bite, and the trees burned with orange and russet colors. Hawaii might have been a million miles from Massachusetts.
Peter noticed Eric wasn’t listening. He had his arm around Alyson Bender, and he was smiling, but his thoughts were elsewhere.
Peter said to Alyson, “Would you mind if I took a family moment here?” Grabbing his brother’s arm, he walked him down the street away from the others.
Peter was five years younger than Eric. He had always admired his brother, and coveted the effortless way Eric seemed to manage everything from sports to girls to his academic studies. Eric never strained, never seemed to sweat or worry. Whether it was a playoff game for the lacrosse team, or oral exams for his doctorate, Eric always seemed to know how to play things. He was always confident, always easy.
“Alyson seems nice,” Peter said. “How long have you been seeing her?”
“Couple of months,” Eric said. “Yes, she’s nice.” Somehow, he didn’t sound enthusiastic.
“Is there a but?”
Eric shrugged. “No, just a reality. Alyson’s got an MBA. Truth is, she’s all business, and she can be tough. You know—Daddy wanted a boy.”
“Well, Eric, she’s very pretty for a boy.”
“Yes, she’s pretty.” That tone again.
Feeling around, Peter said, “And how’re things with Vin?” Vincent Drake had a somewhat unsavory reputation, had been threatened twice with federal indictments; he had beaten back prosecutors both times, although no one knew quite how. Drake was regarded as tough, smart, and unscrupulous, but above all, successful. Peter had been surprised when Eric first signed on with him.
“Vin can raise money like nobody else,” Eric said. “His presentations are brilliant. And he always lands the tuna, as they say.” Eric shrugged. “I accept the downside, which is that Vin will say whatever he needs to say to get a deal done. But lately he’s been, well…more careful. More presidential.”
“So he’s the president of the company, Alyson’s the CFO, and you’re—?”
“Vice president in charge of technology,” Eric said.
“Is that okay?”
“It’s perfect. I want to be in charge of the technology.” He smiled. “And to drive a Ferrari…”
“What about those Ferraris?” Peter said, as they approached the cars. “What’re you going to do with them?”
“We’ll drive them down the East Coast,” Eric said. “Stop at major university biology labs along the way, and do this little song-and-dance to drum up candidates. And then turn in the cars in Baltimore.”
“Turn them in?”
“They’re rented,” Eric said. “Just a way to get attention.”
Peter looked back at the crowd around the cars. “Works.”
“Yes, we figured.”
“So you really are hiring now?”
“We really are.” Again, Peter detected a lack of enthusiasm in his brother’s voice.
“Then what’s wrong, bro?”
“Nothing.”
“Come on, Eric.”
“Really, nothing. The company is underway, we’re making great progress, the technology is amazing. Nothing’s wrong.”
Peter said nothing. They walked in silence for a moment. Eric stuck his hands in his pockets. “Everything’s fine. Really.”
“Okay.”
“It is.”
“I believe you.” They came to the end of the street, turned, headed back toward the group clustered around the cars.
“So,” Eric said, “tell me: which one of those girls in your lab are you seeing?”
“Me? None.”
“Then who?”
“Nobody at the moment,” Peter said, his voice sinking. Eric had always had lots of girls, but Peter’s love life was erratic and unsatisfactory. There had been a girl in anthropology; she worked down the street at the Peabody Museum, but that ended when she started going out with a visiting professor from London.
“That Asian woman is cute,” Eric said.
“Jenny? Yes, very cute. She plays on the other team.”
“Ah, too bad.” Eric nodded “And the blonde?”
“Erika Moll,” Peter said. “From Munich. Not interested in an exclusive relationship.”
“Still—”
“Forget it, Eric.”
“But if you—”
“I already did.”
“Okay. Who’s the tall, dark-haired woman?”
“That’s Karen King,” Peter said. “Arachnologist. Studying spider web formation. But