Forever and Ever Read online

  Big decisions are like babies, she thought. They come when ready. This decision arrived unfelt, complete, in one of those moments of nothingness that weeks of crushing intensity produce. The swirling anxiety that had forced her to jump up and walk in tight little circles was gone now, worn to the point where it was just a dead nerve. The choking bitterness was gone, too. It was drowning in a high tide of unconquerable calculations. The fear, though, the pervasive fear was still there. It clenched her stomach in quick pulses and made her lower her head.

  After today, she would never be the same. After today, a brave young boy’s life would be saved; her father’s heart would not be torn out; and her long drive for recognition would be sadly requited. The arrival of a human future, decades ahead of time, and the gathering war for that future would happen in darkness.

  Jasmine Metcalf had just become the most important person in the world, for one day.

  She sipped the latte slowly, absorbing the taste of the strong, masculine Algerian coffee. The taste and smell, every atom of it, told her she was home. Home in a place where there was once normalcy, once a family, trusted colleagues, a community, and a place where she once belonged. Now she was a fearful, reluctant visitor.

  She watched the sheets of rain whip the battered cypress trees, and lapsed into an old habit from her mother’s insistence that she keep a diary. Today… the pages would begin, and she would reconstruct the day as it was ending. She could almost see her little red leather bound diary now, as the impulse to reconstruct the last two-year’s unimaginable events rose up in her battered mind.

  “Where did it all start?” she asked herself, trying to part the sleepiness, racing back through the bizarre chain of events that put her here. Alone and a stranger in her own home, facing the combined crushing power of emerging nations, the world’s super rich, and the most lucrative industry in the world.

  “Ski week,” she said to herself in a hoarse whisper. It seemed so long ago now she struggled to remember. Struggled to recall what it was like to have a normal life.

  CHAPTER TWO

  It was raining, just like this, the morning they left for Lake Tahoe, a trip that would change their lives and the future of the human race forever.

  Ski Week was Earl’s idea. Every year Earl rented a huge old ski cabin in Lake Tahoe and invited their friends for a week of skiing and relaxing. Everyone competed to bring the best food, funniest movies, and wacky gags to the old cabin. It was a time to relax, to completely forget the layered complexity of their lives, and even poke fun at the high-pressure world of biotech.

  Several ski week traditions had grown up over the years, but doing a big puzzle was Jasmine’s favorite. “Puzzle!” the battle cry would ricochet around the big living room in the old ski cabin, as Jasmine dumped out the pieces, pausing to watch the huge snowflakes fall on the Ponderosa pines.

  “Two-thousand pieces?” Victor asked, picking up the round box. Victor Magnusson was the CEO of Genetechna, a start-up drug discovery company, where Jasmine and Earl worked. This was the first year Victor was invited, and Jasmine was surprised he came.

  Victor’s eyes never stopped moving. They darted from the huge pile of pieces to the big round box in precise, quick moves. “Use the picture or not?” he said in his clipped, edgy voice.

  “We use the picture,” Jasmine said, suddenly realizing her mistake.

  “Two thousand pieces, three dimensional Windsor Castle. We don’t need a stinking picture,” Victor said, tossing the big can to the end of the couch. He sat up quickly and began organizing the pieces in little piles.

  Jasmine looked at Victor for a long moment. She could almost feel the intensity of his highly focused intellect, and the relentless drive that had carried him through three biotech startups in eight years. His forehead always shined and the sharp outlines of the muscles jerked across his face as he talked. His dark eyes were very deep set, which caused him to swivel his head in almost jerky motions. He was a tri-athlete, in perfect shape, with long legs and a deft way of passing people on stairs.

  Jasmine resisted the impulse to touch his arm, to modulate his intensity. “It’s going to be tough without a picture,” she said softly.

  “So much like life itself,” Victor said, with a trace of mockery.

  Jasmine laughed softly, thinking about the little joke, and her work. Then she laughed again, as she realized that was exactly what she did. She made pictures of life, and she quickly searched for a cute comeback.

  “It’ll be easier than modeling a protein, but not by much,” she said.

  Victor looked up at her, in one of those strange moments when seriousness intrudes on humor. “Then we have the right… right combination of people,” he said, turning to look out the big window.

  A sharp gust of wind shook the puffy snow off the big trees as Jasmine turned to the fireplace. The wind was unpredictable around Lake Tahoe and often cancelled ski days. She was wondering about the weather, when the sliding glass door opened.

  “Ah, Jasmine, you look so beautiful by the fireplace!” Koji said, pulling down the large oversized zipper on his bright yellow ski parka.

  “Why thank you, Koji,” Jasmine said, stopping momentarily to admire Koji’s perfect head of black hair and dark shining eyes. Koji grew up in California, but could not assimilate in Japan when his family returned. He taught Jasmine how to cook Tempura, and worked closely with the Fujitsu computer technicians.

  “You’re wondering if this wind will increase. Will we ski tomorrow? Will we go on Dawn Patrol?” Koji said, smiling broadly.

  “I was wondering about the weather,” Jasmine replied.

  “I have calculated it exactly. The backside of this system will pass our position at about five AM. The winds will clock around to the south, and diminish. Tomorrow will be calm and clear until five o’clock. This will require, or course, the Dawn Patrol to operate per usual!” Koji held up a small black radio with a long antenna. “It is so.”

  “No wind, no snow tomorrow?” Jasmine asked.

  “Not until late afternoon,” Koji shouted back, crossing the big living room to hug Jasmine. Koji worked for Jasmine in Genetechna’s bio-informatics lab, operating the supercomputer cluster and the servers.

  “When did you log on for the weather, Koji?” Victor asked.

  Koji held up a small black radio. “I was into wireless before wireless was cool,” he said, turning up the NOAA weather radio broadcast. “Radio operators always know the score.”

  “My uncle was a ham, and he was weird… too,” Jasmine said.

  “You will all love me someday! You will! You will!” Koji cried mockingly, clomping upstairs.

  “Are all the propeller heads like that?” Jasmine asked Earl.

  “The mass of brain tissue necessary for technical achievement resides just north of the Medulla Oblongata. As this tissue swells, it puts pressure on the old brain, forcing out social skills,” Earl replied, slicing avocadoes with a feigned flourish, waving the big knife around.

  Every time Jasmine looked at Earl, she felt lucky to have a husband like him. Earl was a consummate gentleman, a kind father, and an uncompromising giver. Earl was tall, and rangy, with the weathered, ruddy complexion of an ocean sailor and gardener. His round gold-rimmed glasses gave him a kindly appearance, and his long, strong fingers helped him describe complicated medical things to bewildered patients.

  “Then the Final solution for the Engineer Problem is what, Herr Doctor?” Victor replied with a nicely faked, melodramatic tone.

  “Complete radial brainectomy,” Earl dead panned.

  “But what would this person be able to do without a brain?” Malia asked innocently, brushing her long red hair.

  Jasmine looked over at her daughter, sitting in the big Lazy Boy chair in her flannel underwear, her cheeks beet red from cross-country skiing.

  “Only one thing,” Earl said with grave finality. “Advise the right wing politicians on biotechnology.”

  “We must rush to pub
lish this finding!” Malia squealed.

  “And file a small molecule drug patent!” Victor added, his comment quickly stifling the humor. The long pause was punctuated by the snapping of the fire.

  “And write a grant to fund an orphan drug program!” Jasmine said, trying to save the fun. But it was too late. Victor’s comment about a patent opened a ball of feelings they were trying to forget.

  “But, we’ll waive the royalty stacking and the reach-throughs!” Victor tried valiantly to save his faux pas, but he only jagged another nerve. The reach-through was a gene licensing mechanism that had created a firestorm of resentment in academia.

  “I’ll tell you one thing,” Earl said, trying to prevent another pause. “If anyone in this room sequences this guacamole, you’re going to find some familiar DNA.”

  “Earl! You’re bleeding,” Jasmine said, rushing into the kitchen.

  “I should have worn my glasses,” Earl said softly, looking down at the nasty cut on his finger.

  Earl was a somewhat unusual Gene Jockey at sixty-seven. A Stanford MD PhD, he was a physician and a biotech researcher, and had spent a lifetime studying children who were dying of old age; dying of one of evolution’s many genetic mistakes, Progeria.

  Koji bounded down the stairs talking too loud. “And who will be on the Dawn Patrol this year, and who will be with the Snooze Snails for our first day of skiing?”

  “Dawn Patrol!” Malia shot her fists in the air, and shook her long red hair. The glow from the fire turned her soft round cheeks cherry red.

  Jasmine glanced over at Malia, still amazed that their daughter was so delightfully simple, and uninterested in the all consuming business of science. She was a grown up tomboy, with long curly red hair, strong shoulders and a little smile for everyone. “Snooze Snail,” Jasmine said, toweling the bright red blood from Earl’s finger.

  “Eh?” Koji replied, puzzled. “But you are always on Dawn Patrol with us!”

  “I’ve been with my mother every night this week. She had a rough month. I’m, I’m… a little tired,” Jasmine said, without really thinking.

  Koji noticed the fatigue in Jasmine’s face. “Yes, I know, that’s very difficult. My parents are very old now in Japan.”

  “How’s she feeling, Jasmine?” Victor tried to sound sentimental.

  “Weak. She had a hard time holding down anything. The chemotherapy has improved a lot, but it still takes it out of an eighty-five year old,” Jasmine replied, her voice cracking slightly.

  “We’ll be taking care of that little problem before too long,” Victor offered, in a bouncy tone. “The chemo guys have made way too much money poisoning people. I’m going to buy some patent licenses next week that will eat those guys up when we get it into trials.”

  The comment hung in the air for a moment.

  “How is grandma?” Malia asked, earnestly.

  “Weak, but she still likes to talk,” Jasmine said.

  “What does she talk about, Mom?” Malia asked.

  Jasmine hesitated slightly, surprised by the question. “People, mostly. She seems to be going through a slow motion Rolodex of the people she’s known. It scares me a little.”

  “Why does it scare you?” Malia asked, loudly chomping a baby carrot.

  “I don’t know. It’s like she’s… reviewing, or something,” Jasmine said.

  “This is the first time we’ve been away in a long time, Jas; let’s plow through this bottle of Chardonnay, and let go for a few days,” Earl said softly, as he gave her a quick nuzzle.

  “I neglected to tell you that I know more about puzzles than any person living, or who will ever live,” Victor said airily, counting his little piles of puzzle pieces.

  “Still struggling for confidence, Victor?” Marjorie said from the upstairs alcove.

  “Marjorie! How was the worrywart conference?” Victor said in a bubbly tone.

  “Mildly troubling,” Marjorie said, yawning.

  “A bioethics conference was only mildly troubling? I thought they were in the hysteria business,” Victor shot back.

  Earl turned his head slightly to check Jasmine’s reaction. Marjorie Cunningham was an important molecular biologist at UCSF, Oxford trained, with a long list of achievements in telomere research, a once obscure area of chromosome structure. Marjorie was a force, but more importantly, Marjorie was a voice, and she was Jasmine’s best friend.

  “You’ll be thrilled to know Genetechna’s telomerase patent firewall was again the poster child for overzealous and predatory gene licensing practices, Victor. I promised the committee I would have a chat with you, since I discovered the field. And I know you,” Marjorie said cheerfully, “Nominally.”

  “There you go, pulling rank again Marjorie. You did not discover telomerase; you described it and sequenced it. Anyway, we’re going to scale back the fees again, but I was threatened with electrocution by the board if I touch the material transfer agreements,” Victor replied.

  “But, you did do pretty well with your designer children technology,” Marjorie said brightly.

  “Don’t say that! Don’t even say that Marjorie! You can’t be that mad at me!” Victor was serious.

  “I just like to see you jump,” Marjorie laughed, and bounded down the stairs, her full breasts animating her blue monogrammed bathrobe. Marjorie still had the vivaciousness and long brunette hair that had always intrigued men. Her face was fuller now, with a stubborn fold under her chin, and deep laugh lines in her round, cherubic face.

  “Find another way to make me jump. You know we’re waiting for human trials approval on PIES,” Victor said, dryly. Victor had spent six years shepherding PIES, Genetechna’s Pre-Implantation Embryo Screening treatment into clinical trials, and the religious right was working hard to portray this gene therapy as the long dreaded “designer children” technology that would start the “gene wars.”

  “O.K., I’ll go easy on the biotech robber barons,” Marjorie said, digging her nails in again.

  “Did Herr Kloss trot out his all science is bad science line in Santa Fe, or did he just pick at our PIES project?” Victor asked, still ruffled. Herman Kloss led the Luddite bioethics tribe, endearing himself to the religious right.

  “Oh, both the patients groups have come a long way now, and the Parkinson’s bug group has a very bright spokesperson that cut him up nicely, but yes, he went after PIES,” Marjorie called diseases bugs.

  “Anything new?” Victor said, studying a puzzle piece.

  “Same old, we can’t trust ourselves to alter in the slightest way, the work of the all knowing, albeit somewhat nasty, God,” Marjorie said, crossing into the kitchen. “Are they still picketing Genetechna?”

  “Yeah, the number of wind-ups has stayed about the same. Fortunately, it’s not news anymore,” Victor yawned, suddenly shaking his head. “Hey, who’s going down the Sudden Death run with me tomorrow?” Victor added.

  “I’ll help you find your way down that run,” Earl offered.

  Victor slowly picked up his new racing boots and turned the heel toward Earl. “Get used to it,” he said mockingly, in his edgy voice.

  “Forever the alpha male, Victor,” Marjorie said, posing the statement like a question.

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Victor said.

  “I did?” Marjorie shot back.

  “Yeah, you did.”

  “I like alpha males,” Marjorie replied.

  “Me included?” Victor said, hopefully.

  “Yes, at the end of the day. I don’t like that part about hoarding all the food and controlling the ranking females though,” Marjorie said with a little giggle.

  “Conserved behavior, Marjorie, there’s not much we can do to change conserved behavior. It’s instinct to some,” Victor said pushing buttons on the TV remote.

  “Not anymore! I’ll send you a picture of a mother mouse looking at her dying babies wondering what to do. All the British did was to remove a single gene, and the whole maternal instinct be
havior pattern was gone! We could find the alpha male gene and knock it out! It would kill the private jet industry, but it would be nice for the rest of the tribe, especially us ranking females.” Marjorie was a born fighter.

  “Maybe I’ll do a BLAST gene database search for a human ranking female gene, and work on knocking that out,” Victor replied, acidly.

  “Victor!” Malia screeched. “You’ll have to move to Texas if you talk like that!”

  “Or Kansas,” Jasmine added.

  “Or South Dakota,” Earl checked in. “Just don’t take your teenage daughters with you.”

  “Maybe Francis Fukuyama should have used the term gene fights, instead of gene wars,” Victor said, finally finding the weather channel.

  “Ooh, good idea, Victor! Marjorie said cheerfully, and in this corner, in the white trunks, Ms. Medical Research, with fifteen straight knockouts on all chromosomes!” No one took the bait.

  “You don’t have any press conferences planned do you Marjorie?” Victor asked.

  “No, should I?” Marjorie replied, with her signature impishness.

  “I mean, if it’s a slow news day, and the press guys want to hear about this bioethics conference, you wouldn’t bring this gene wars thing up would you?” Victor asked.

  “I would if they didn’t,” Marjorie said.

  “Why, exactly, would you do that?” Victor bore in, genuinely irritated.

  “Well, I think it’s best to take the frightened and the misled on by discussing and illuminating their fears. The religious right sees a chance to create more fear and exploit that fear by becoming warlords of fear. So, why not do what we do best-educate.”

  “Marjorie, you’re scaring me. We’re two months away from FDA human trials approval on PIES. Would you keep that in mind? Keep in mind the millions of people this treatment will help, and try not to bring up this designer children debate if you don’t have to,” Victor said in a serious pleading tone.

  “Oh Victor, you’re such a drama queen! Besides, they do have a point. The automated gene knockout system Jasmine has perfected could possibly be used to design children. I’m just not sure why that would be such a bad thing. Especially since Earl works with one of evolution’s worst design mistakes,” Marjorie chimed.