Micro. Michael Crichton

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СКАЧАТЬ 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 she worked on the textbook Living Systems. Kind of won’t let anybody forget it.”

      “A little stuck-up?”

      “Just a little.”

      “She looks very buff,” Eric remarked, still staring at Karen King.

      “She’s a fitness nut. Martial arts, gym.”

      They were coming back to the group. Alyson waved to Eric. “You about ready, honey?”

      Eric said he was. He embraced Peter, shook his hand.

      “Where now, bro?” Peter said.

      “Down the road. We have an appointment at MIT. Then we’ll do BU later in the afternoon, and start driving.” He punched Peter on the shoulder. “Don’t be a stranger. Come and see me.”

      “I will,” Peter said.

      “And bring your group with you. I promise you—all of you—you won’t be disappointed.”

Chapter 2

      Biosciences Building

      18 October, 3:00 p.m.

      Returning to the lab, they experienced that familiar environment as suddenly mundane, old-fashioned. It felt crowded, too. The tensions in the lab had been simmering for a long time: Rick Hutter and Karen King had despised each other from the day they had arrived; Erika Moll had brought trouble to the group with her choice of lovers; and, like so many grad students everywhere, they were rivals. And they were tired of the work. It seemed they all felt that way, and there was a long silence as they each returned to their lab benches and resumed work in a desultory way. Peter took his milking beaker off the ice block, labeled it, and put it on his shelf of the refrigerator. He noticed something rattling around with the change in his pocket, and, idly, he took the object out. It was the little thing he’d found in his brother’s rented Ferrari. He flicked it across the bench surface. It spun.

      Amar Singh, the plant biologist, was watching. “What’s that?”

      “Oh. It broke off my brother’s car. Some part. I thought it would scratch the leather.”

      “Could I see—?”

      “Sure.” It was a little larger than his thumbnail. “Here,” Peter said, without looking at it closely.

      Amar put it in the flat palm of his hand, and squinted at it. “This doesn’t look like a car part to me.”

      “No?”

      “No. СКАЧАТЬ