ARCHIBALD BURGESS WAS TALL, LEAN, and had what could only be described as a powerful presence. Ian had read all about the man and talked to him once or twice (never intimately, always in a crowd), but it took being with him to appreciate that the rumors seemed to be true: The man was in his seventies, but his movements were as smooth and energetic as someone in his twenties. Archibald Burgess, the press joked, might just live forever.
“Ian! It’s good to see you again.” Burgess extended a large hand. Ian took it and shook, following rather than leading, wondering which “again” the man was referring to.
“Good to see you too, sir.”
“Don’t call me sir, Ian. Even my father wasn’t a sir, and he lived in Britain most of his life. Call me Archibald. Or, if you insist, Archie.”
Ian didn’t want to insist. After all his idolizing — and all the idolizing the world as a whole had bestowed upon the man — there was no way Ian could ever call him Archie. Or even Archibald, for that matter.
“How are things over at headquarters?” Burgess went on.
“They’re fine.”
“Do you have everything you need?”
“Um … sure.”
“You have an open line to me, Ian. I want you to keep that in mind. Anything you need, you just call or send word through Raymond. I try to keep an open-door policy at all times, especially for this company’s key lieutenants. But lately it’s been tricky, what with all the wolves at the door.”
To his right, Ian could just make out the tops of the news vans he’d seen earlier on the front lawn. The Apex was situated so that the only way to look into Burgess’s office was to stake out a place off the grounds. Unless they walked to the edges, they were mostly invisible. And of course, if Burgess wanted, he could lower blinds or tint the windows.
“I noticed the wolves at the door,” Ian said.
Burgess nodded. He was supposedly a meticulous eater, following most of the diet outlined in Ian’s mother’s book. His arms were lean. The old skin hung at his neck, but the look wasn’t a bad one. He didn’t seem old despite his wrinkles and thinning hair. He seemed like an imposing man in sheep’s clothing.
“Raymond talked to you about that, I assume?”
“He asked me to review Alice Frank’s latest special. The one from Yosemite.”
“That’s what I mean. I believe in the free press, Ian. And despite all the blabbing you hear today about civil liberties and rights and how Panacea has too much authority, that’s one thing that hasn’t been stifled. As long as anyone can say whatever they want about those in charge — or in positions of authority — then freedom isn’t threatened. Don’t you agree?”
He didn’t wait for Ian to weigh in before continuing.
“I actually like Alice Frank. The press sets us up as adversaries. She’s ‘trying to catch Hemisphere and Archibald Burgess doing something wrong’ and we’re ‘soldiering on and trying to keep saving the world despite the accusations.’ But who is the good guy or gal there, and who is the bad one?”
“Maybe it’s just a difference of opinion.”
Burgess stabbed a finger at Ian. They were ten feet apart, and there Ian was, still waiting for an offer to sit.
“Exactly. That’s exactly what it is. She’s doing her job, and that’s watching to make sure no abuses are taken. I admire her for it. I’ve read much of her stuff. But even so, some of her facts and many of her more subtle implications are simply incorrect, and it would be irresponsible — not just within this company, but to the world we report to as well — to simply let those inaccuracies go. So it’s not a war. It’s not them against us. This is the natural balance.” He walked a few steps closer to the window over the lawn, now seeing the farthest vans. “This is the way of life, of evolution.”
Burgess turned to Ian, waiting for something Ian couldn’t imagine. A response, or perhaps applause.
Instead, Ian found himself asking his most impertinent question.
“Why did you have people drag me in here?”
“Drag?”
“I was on my way to the office. Getting out of my car and crossing the parking lot. They came up and took me by the arms.”
“They were asked to retrieve and escort you here.”
“They could have asked. I dropped my phone on the ground when one of them grabbed me.”
“Were you hurt? Did they hurt you?”
Ian watched Burgess’s eyes, suddenly seeing exactly what game was being played. Of course he knew what had happened. There were no mistakes. There was a reason Ian had always idolized Burgess: his unflinching boldness in going after what he wanted, letting nothing stand in his way. Men like Burgess didn’t ask permission, or apologize. The company’s first stem cell research had taken place in Singapore, where it was encouraged rather than restricted. When he’d opened a subsidiary to use research in America that the States wouldn’t have allowed him to gather, he hadn’t asked. He’d looked everyone in the eye and dared someone to stop him. Maybe in time, someone would have. But Rip Daddy happened first.
“Of course not,” Ian said.
“Was your phone damaged?”
“No.”
Burgess’s face didn’t change, but its question did. It said, If you’re fine and nothing was broken, what are you whining about?
Burgess turned, paced to his desk, then leaned against it, his posture like a college kid.
“Do you believe in evolution, Ian?”
“Of course I do.”
“Don’t answer so quickly. We all learned about it in school. Men from apes. Or rather, men are apes. Only a fool or a fundamentalist would deny it. But I’m not asking about evolution’s past. I’m asking about its present.”
“Its present?”
“I began Hemisphere with two premises. The first was that evolution, in modern society, had been stopped in its tracks, and that we as a people have been artificially kept alive by medicine. The second was that without that crutch, we might have advanced again — but that with the crutch, we’d never change. Never become what nature intends us to be.”
“I don’t follow.”
“Everything we’ve made has improved through selective pressures. Capitalism only allows the strong to survive — in this case, strong ideas, strong companies. When media went DIY — independent music, books, movies, and more, at prices that were affordable by anyone — society itself (not a handful of high-powered executives) became the selection force that made art better. The same is true of technology: Only the best were purchased; only the best advanced. Natural selection works for everything, Ian. Everything but us.”
Burgess picked up a paperweight, twirled it, set it back down.
“Disease and predators no longer thin the weak and unfit from the human population. It’s not only the best adapted genes that get passed on to the next generation to make humanity stronger as a species. Now, thanks to medicine, all genes get passed on. Our diseases aren’t making us stronger. Those diseases are simply being forced to adapt. If they can’t kill off our weak, the selective pressures simply need to become stronger. It’s almost as if evolution has flipped: instead of improving us, it’s improving the pressures allied against us.”
Ian shook his head.
“I know you’ve been talking to the press, Ian.”
Ian felt blindsided. He’d settled into Burgess’s monologue, and now here was this pat accusation. He was unprepared. His most naked response was unfolding as Burgess watched — surely the old man’s intention.
“It’s okay. They’re persistent, and the best, like Alice Frank, have a way of finding modes of contact they shouldn’t have, to bypass official company channels. I’d never forbid anyone from speaking what they feel is the truth. But it is important to me that if my people talk behind my back, I have a chance to correct any misperceptions they may have first.”
“I haven’t been … behind your back … ” Ian stammered.
“After I watched Alice’s documentary about Yosemite, I came away with a few distinct impressions. They’re why I asked Raymond to talk to you, and then for you and a few others to decide the best way to respond: overtly, through our PR channels, or subtly, by shifts in direction. We’re not perfect, Ian. None of us are, and Hemisphere certainly isn’t. But I don’t think it’s as Alice suggests. If this was about money, we’d charge for Necrophage’s base formulation instead of making it freely available. She’s pointed out before that we receive government stipends as compensation, but she doesn’t point out that those stipends are a drop in the bucket. This company, by all accounts, loses hundreds of millions of dollars each year providing the drug. Did you know that?”
“Sure, I — ”
“Another thing this misinformed crowd of media folks outside seems to believe is that we’re in bed with Panacea. We have partnerships, of course. Panacea’s purpose is to contain Sherman Pope, and efficient Necrophage distribution is a large part of that. But despite her allegations in that piece, this has never been a heartless company bent on power.”
“I don’t think the world sees Hemisphere as heartless, Mr. Burgess. Quite the opposite, actually.”
“Of course. But disruption always starts small. Evolution again. It always begins with a few individuals and a critical change. Evolution walks hand in hand with chaos. Neither can be contained. But we must try to guide and shape it. Right now, our detractors are a small group. But tell me: After you watched that piece, did you begin to wonder if the way we handle the terminally infected individuals in this country is right? Did you feel for the MP whose job involves escorting hunters who book vacations to hunt people a few degrees farther down the ladder than her?”
“It’s the least of evils. I think people understand that.”
“Maybe.” Burgess shrugged. “But I’m troubled by the direction of your inquiries.”
“My … my inquiries?”
“I don’t blame you for being curious. But perhaps you can tell me what exactly you think is the matter with our systems? I can tell you all day that this company’s purpose has always been to foster humanity’s potential — through our non-Necrophage lines as a matter of progress and through Necrophage as a matter of triage — but that means nothing if you believe something different.”
“I’m sorry, sir. I don’t know what you mean.”
“Please, Ian. Don’t call me sir.”
Burgess picked up an apple from his desk and took a large, crisp-sounding bite. Then he chewed, waiting for Ian to speak next.
“I honestly don’t know what you mean. Alice Frank has tried to call me. But I haven’t spoken to her. I’ve hung up each time.”
“Why?”
“She should go through official channels. And she’s a troublemaker with an axe to grind.”
“So says your sense of loyalty. But do you honestly not think she has any valid points?”
“Well … ”
“And the files our IT department tells me you’ve been browsing and copying. I can’t make sense of them, and I’m sure I know the research far better than you could, no offense. I’m just wondering what point you’re trying to establish. None of it is confidential, other than the fact that it came directly from our systems rather than the Internet. How do you feel it all connects, Ian?”
“I didn’t pick any of it out! It was shoved at me!”
Burgess’s face changed. Not to anger, but to a sense of acceptance. Now they were finally shooting straight, no bullshit.
“Is it for August Maughan? Has he been in touch?”
“August Maughan? No; I’ve never even met him. Why?”
“Frankly, he’s the only person I can see finding any use for what you seem to be … well, it doesn’t matter. If you are talking, please tell him to call me. He was the best, and the conditions that caused him to leave were unfortunate. I question this thing he’s supposedly doing now, as a guru. But to each his own.”
“I haven’t talked to him!”
“Or to Alice Frank.”
“No.” Ian willed himself to calm. If Burgess knew about the calls and the files, what was left to hide? It was all just a big misunderstanding.
Except for the unseen hand he’d felt lately: one incursion telling him to copy, read, and delete, and another somehow connecting his phone to Frank’s as if making an introduction. Did Burgess know about that? Should he hide, or volunteer it? He was a company man, not a rat. Hemisphere had nothing to fink on anyway. He could come clean, but said nothing.
“That’s good.”
Burgess took another bite of his apple, still just staring at Ian. The way he was simply accepting all of this was flat-out emasculating, but Burgess’s sense of authority and control was palpable. Ian felt like he’d just run a race, and would be happy to get out of here unscathed.
“Is … is that all you need from me?”
Burgess answered obliquely. “Do you believe in this company? Do you believe our mission statement — ‘Upgrading Nature’ — is more than just hyperbole?”
“Yes. Of course.”
Burgess nodded, seemingly satisfied. “That’s good. I respect you, Ian. Your mother’s book is my bible, and the apple—” He held up his own half-eaten fruit. “Does not fall far from the tree. There’s a reason I greenlit your speedy climb. Especially today, in this time of rapid social evolution, we need minds like yours to thrive. Survival of the fittest, am I right?”
“Survival of the fittest,” Ian parroted.
“As we face opposition, a firm and convicted belief in the mission at hand is the only thing that can keep us on course.”
“Sure.”
Burgess touched something on his desk. The door opened, and the two black-suited men appeared, as if they’d been waiting just outside.
“Paul and Richard will take you back to HQ. I’m sorry to have occupied so much of your time.”
Ian fought the urge to reply that the visit was an honor. He wouldn’t kneel that deeply, even though it was exactly how he felt.
“It’s no problem,” he said instead.
They exchanged a handshake. Then, halfway to the door, Burgess called out.
“Ian.”
Ian turned.
“You’re a good man with priorities for yourself and your family firmly in order. I’m glad to hear you’re with, rather than against, us.”
Ian managed to nod, but it wasn’t easy to swallow.
It was hard to forget the manner in which he’d been brought here, and harder not to hear Archibald’s parting words as a threat.