Micro

“Let’s move on,” Erika Moll said. “We take your point even if Rick doesn’t.”

“Okay, the point is that claims for biopiracy of plants really can’t occur in Hawaii because there are, strictly speaking, no indigenous plants. These are mid-Pacific volcanic islands that rose from the surface of the ocean as barren, hot lava plains, and everything growing on them now has been brought from elsewhere—by birds, by wind, by ocean currents, by Polynesian warrior canoes. Nothing’s indigenous, although some species are endemic. The legalities of the situation are one reason why, in fact, we have located our company in Hawaii.”

“Evading the law,” Rick mumbled.

“Obeying the law,” Drake said. “That’s the point.”

They were coming to an area of chest-high green leaves, and Drake said, “Now, we call this area Ginger Lane, with white, yellow, and kahili ginger. Kahili has those foot-long red stems. The trees above us here are mostly sandalwood, with the typical deep-red flowers, but there are also soapberry and milo trees, with large dark green leaves.”

The students were turning, looking in all directions.

“I assume you’re all familiar with this, but in case you’re not, this spiky, striped leaf is oleander, and it will kill a human being. One local man died from grilling meats over a fire on an oleander stick. Children sometimes eat the fruits and die. In addition, the very large tree off to your left is a strychnine tree, originally from India; all parts are fatal, the seeds most of all.

“Next to it, that tall shrub with the star-shaped leaf is the castor bean plant, also fatally toxic. But at very low doses, castor bean compounds may have medicinal properties. I assume you know that, Mr. Hutter?”

“Of course,” Rick said. “Castor bean extracts have potential to improve memory function, as well as antibiotic properties.”

Drake turned at a fork, following a path that went down to the right. “Finally, here we have Bromeliad Alley,” he said. “About eighty varieties of this plant family, which as you know includes the pineapple. Bromeliads harbor a great range of insect life as well. The trees around us are primarily eucalyptus and acacia, but further on we have the more typical rain-forest trees—ohia, and koa, as you will see from the curved leaves littering the trail.”

“And why are we being shown all this?” Jenny Linn asked.

Amar Singh joined in. “Exactly. I’m curious about the technology, Mr. Drake. How do you take samples from so many different living things? Especially when you consider that almost all living things are very small. Bacteria, worms, insects, and so forth. I mean, how many biosamples are you collecting and processing per hour? Per day?”

“Our laboratory sends a truck to this rain forest every day,” Drake said, “to pick up precision-cut flats of earth, or a selection of plants, or whatever else our researchers have asked for. So you can expect to have fresh research materials brought to you daily, and in general to be provided with whatever you ask for.”

“They come here every day?” Rick said.

“That’s right, about two p.m., we just missed them.”

Jenny Linn crouched down. “What’s this?” she said, pointing to the ground. It seemed to be a small tent, about the size of her palm, covering a small concrete box. “I saw another one just like it, a short distance back.”

“Ah yes,” Drake said. “Excellent observation, Ms. Linn. Those tents are scattered throughout the rain forest in this area. They’re supply stations. I’ll explain that to all of you later. In fact, if you are ready to leave, I think it’s time you learned what Nanigen is all about.”

They began to circle back toward the parking lot, skirting a small brownish pond with overhanging palm fronds and small bromeliads lining the edges. “This is Pau Hana Pond,” Drake said. “Means ‘work is done.’ ”

“Strange name for a duck pond,” Danny said. “Because that’s what it is. I saw three or four families of ducklings here before.”

“And did you see what happens?” Drake said.

Danny shook his head no. “Is this going to upset me?”

“That depends. Look in the fronds about three feet above the water.”

The group paused, stared. Karen King saw it first. “Gray heron,” she whispered, nodding. A dusty-gray bird, standing about three feet tall, with a spiky head and dull eyes. It looked unkempt and lazy. It was absolutely motionless and it blended perfectly into the shadows of the palm foliage.

“It can stay that way for hours,” Karen said.

They watched for several minutes, and were about to leave when one of the duckling families began to skirt around the edge of the pond. They kept their bodies half-hidden in the overhanging waterside grasses, but to no avail.

In a swift motion, the heron left its perch, splashed among the ducks, and resumed its perch, this time with tiny duck feet protruding from its jaws.

“Ewwww!” Danny.

“Yuch!” Jenny.

The heron threw back his head, looking straight up, and in a single flip motion gulped down the remains of the duckling. It then lowered its head, and turned motionless again in the shadows. It had all taken place in a few seconds. It was hard to believe it had happened at all.

“That’s disgusting,” Danny said.

“It’s the way of the world,” Drake said. “You’ll notice the arboretum is not overrun with ducks, and that’s the reason why. Ah! If I am not mistaken, here are our cars, waiting to take us back to civilization.”

Chapter 8 (#ulink_82261f1e-97a0-5446-a66b-9128fce46021)

Kalikimaki Industrial Park

28 October, 6:00 p.m.

On the way back to the Nanigen headquarters, Karen King drove the Bentley convertible and the other students crammed themselves into it, while Alyson Bender and Vin Drake went in the sports car. They hadn’t gone far when Danny Minot, the science studies student, cleared his throat. “I think,” Minot said, speaking above the rush of the wind, “that Drake’s arguments about poisonous plants are subject to dispute.”

“Subject to dispute” was one of Minot’s favorite phrases.

“Oh? How’s that?” Amar said. Amar in particular loathed Minot.

“Well, this notion of poison is slippery, isn’t it,” Minot said. “Poison is what we call any compound that does us harm. Or we think does us harm. Because it may not, in reality, be so harmful. After all, strychnine was once dispensed as a patent medicine in the 1800s. It was thought to be a restorative. And it’s still administered for acute alcohol poisoning, I believe. And the tree wouldn’t go to the trouble of making strychnine unless it had some purpose, self-defense most likely. Other plants make strychnine, like nightshade. There must be a purpose.”

“Yes,” Jenny Linn said, “to keep from being eaten.”

“That’s the plant’s view.”

“It’s our view, too, because we don’t eat it either.”

“But for humans,” Amar said to Minot, “are you arguing that strychnine is not harmful? Not really a poison?”

“That’s right. As a concept, it’s slippery. One might even say it’s indeterminate. The term ‘poison’ doesn’t really refer to anything fixed or specific at all.”

This brought groans throughout the car.

“Can we change the subject?” Erika said.

“I’m simply saying the idea of what is poison is subject to dispute.”

“Danny, with you everything is subject to dispute.”

“In essence, yes,” he said, nodding solemnly. “Because I have not adopted the scientific worldview of fixed verities and immutable truths.”

“Neither have we,” Erika said. “But some things are repeatedly verifiable and therefore justify our belief in them.”

“Wouldn’t it be pleasant to think so? But that’s just a self-serving fantasy that most scientists have about themselves. In reality, it’s all power structures,” Minot said. “And you know it. Whoever has the power in society determines what can be studied, determines what can be observed, determines what can be thought. Scientists fall in line with the dominant power structure. They have to, because the power structure pays the bills. You don’t play ball with the power structure, you don’t get money for research, you don’t get an appointment, you don’t get published, in short you don’t count anymore. You’re out. You might as well be dead.”