Yet to the great masses of people all around the Earth, genetic research is new, and what is new to them is terrifying.
So I decided that the genetic research would have to be done in orbit, entirely off the Earth. Too many important people are frightened of having something go wrong, causing a man-made plague or some other disaster. It is a foolish fear, but it is very real.
In the U.S. and many other nations, it is impossible to do the research that we need. The U.S. Supreme Court, no less, decided against field testing of genetically altered plants and bacteria, stating that “damage to the environment from testing cannot be ruled out to a scientific certainty,” even though there have been no recorded incidents of accidental release of genetically altered organisms into the environment.
This proved to me that the pressures against genetic experiments are getting worse. We want to save the world, but the world does not trust us!
There is literally nowhere on Earth that scientists can do the research that needs to be done. That is why we needed a research laboratory in space. No national government would do it. No single corporation could afford to risk the necessary investment capital. That is why Trikon Station had to be a multinational effort by the multinational corporations.
To save the world. To keep the human rate from going the way of the dinosaurs.
—From a speech by Fabio Bianco, CEO, Trikon International, to the United Nations Committee on the Global Environmental Crisis, 22 April 1997 (Earth Day)
Hugh O’Donnell trembled, soaked with sweat.
“Don’t worry, O’Donnell, my main man. No jury in this state will convict you.”
Pancho Weinstein, Esq., directed O’Donnell’s attention to the jury box. One juror drooled, another played solitaire, a third had his hand stuffed into his shirt a la Napoleon. All were cross-eyed.
O’Donnell turned back to the gallery where Stacey, his live-in girlfriend, sat in the first row. She wore black stockings and a miniskirt short enough to reveal the garters crossing her thighs.
“I’m cold,” she said with a pout.
Weinstein plucked O’Donnell’s motorcycle jacket from the back of his chair and tossed it to Stacey. She smiled and drew her tongue across her lips.
“Order!” The judge banged a ball peen hammer, then affixed a surgeon’s lamp to his forehead. “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”
A bailiff wearing polka-dot suspenders danced into the center of the courtroom.
“Foundation for Thus ‘n Such versus Agri Bio Futuro Tech Something or Other,” he announced through a megaphone. “Aw hell, read the program.”
“Oh, that one,” said the judge. “The defendant is directed to rise so we all can take a look at his mug.”
Weinstein elbowed O’Donnell in the ribs, then blew Stacey a kiss. O’Donnell struggled to his feet. The people in the gallery hissed. At the opposite table, the foundation’s attorney floated on a perfect cumulus cloud. He was dressed in a long white robe; a halo circled his head.
“What’ll it be?” said the judge. “Testimony evaluated by an impartial jury, or would you two rather just duke it out?”
“Duke it out,” said O’Donnell.
“That’s what I say,” said the judge. “Let’s hear the evidence.”
A young boy materialized on the witness stand. He looked like a normal teenager except for the tomato plant growing out of his shoulder. The tomatoes were ripe enough to pick.
“I grew up next to a field sprayed with SuperGro Microbial Frost Retardant produced by that man.” The boy leveled a leafy finger at O’Donnell. “The tomatoes were very juicy.”
He pulled one from the plant and offered it to the judge.
“Not on your life, baby,” said the judge. “Next.”
The boy dissolved and re-formed as a pretty woman with vines for hair. A watermelon hung from each ear.
“I worked on a farm that used GroFast Microbial Fertilizer,” she said. “We grew watermelons in five weeks. But as you can see, progress had its price.” She tossed her head and one of the watermelons slapped the judge in the face.
“I think we’ve heard enough,” the judge said as he readjusted his surgeon’s lamp. “Has the jury reached a verdict?”