Breaking News!

Romeu Martins

[Anchor] It’s eight-oh-one PM. Now that the Voice of Brazil broadcast has ended, your radio network, Tribuna Central, operating in Amplitude Modulada and surfing on the Internet waves, is back to the news.

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[Anchor] And we are again reporting directly from the interior of Paraná, where the laboratory of a company in the agricultural research sector risks being invaded at any moment now by a mob of landless rural workers. Let’s talk to reporter Helena Garcia, who has been tracking everything on the spot since early afternoon. Helena, can you hear us? What can you tell our listeners throughout Brazil? Good evening.

[Reporter] Good evening. I hear you loud and clear, Herbert. I am here in the municipality of Telêmaco Borba, approximately 250 kilometers from the capital of Paraná, Curitiba. In front of me is the one that is considered the largest and most modern greenhouse in Latin America, used by the multinational TransCiência as a laboratory for growing genetically modified products. It is a huge dome made of a special, transparent plastic. Right now, there are approximately one hundred demonstrators of the Rural Workers Movement shouting slogans and threatening to break into the company premises. They are people of the most different origins, I see descendants of Japanese, Germans, blacks, people from all over the state. I can also see people of all ages, from gentlemen and ladies with white hair to children, most of them young people, who are the front line at the entrance of the greenhouse. We are the only press team present in this live coverage of the demonstration. We can’t get too close because this movement is very hostile to the presence of journalists, but I think you can hear them shouting on my cell phone. One moment, I’m going to adjust the TalkCel’s directional mike to try to pick up the sound… There it goes.

[Crowd] …with the lab food! We are not guinea pigs of the multinationals! Off with the lab food! We are not guinea pigs of the multinationals! Fuck frankenfood! Fuck franken…

[Reporter] As you can hear, there has been an atmosphere of war since dawn, when demonstrators set up camp on the ground around the greenhouse. In the middle of the afternoon, they left their improvised blue canvas tents and surrounded the lab, blocking the access of researchers and staff. Although many of the company’s resources were acquired through agreements with the Federal University of Paraná and Embrapa, the governor did not authorize the sending of Military Police troops to contain the demonstration. At this moment, only the security guards of the multinational are making a cordon to try to prevent the entrance of dozens of people, many of them armed with hoes, shovels, sickles, and machetes.

[Anchor] Helen, did you talk to any of the leaders?

[Reporter] No, Herbert, as I said, the Rural Workers are a very radical dissidence from the MST. Their main leader is a man from Santa Catarina who presents himself as Medina, but refuses to speak to the press… Wait a moment… Attention, studio, things are starting to get more intense here. Apparently, the demonstrators are advancing against the company’s laboratory as we speak. Yes, they have broken up the cordon and are breaking through the greenhouse doors. With blows of hoes and kicks, the crowd forced the entrance… They are in, the Rural Workers have invaded, right now, the largest experimental greenhouse in Latin America. Between screams and a lot of rushing, dozens of men, women, and even small children are destroying with sickle blows the transgenic plants of the place. Anyone who is not carrying a tool is ripping out stalks with bare hands or trampling the crops.

[Anchor] Hello, Helena, were there any employees inside the lab?

[Reporter] No, Herbert, the greenhouse was empty, and even the TransCiência security guards, who were trying to protect the place, remain outside. Meanwhile, more and more demonstrators enter the premises through the broken doors. It’s very hard to get closer, but the environment is very well lighted, and we can see the movement of people through the transparent walls. They are destroying not just the plants, but all the equipment inside. Computers are thrown to the floor, tables are turned. I can see that even large gallons, probably fertilizer or other chemicals, are thrown against the walls. Chaos is widespread within what is the largest transgenic research laboratory in Brazil.

[Anchor] Helena, we were able to make contact with one of the persons responsible for the research done in this laboratory. Orson Wellmann is the CEO of the Brazilian branch of TransCiência and chief scientist of the unit being invaded right now. He’s at the company’s office in Curitiba. We will pass him on to your line, so you can interview him as you keep on reporting. Good evening, Mr. Wellmann.

[Scientist] Good evening, journalists, good evening, listeners and Internet users in Brazil and all over the world.

[Reporter] Mr. Wellmann, what do you have to say on the Rural Workers’s agenda?

[Scientist] My dear Helena, I’m the one who asks: what agenda? These people aren’t interested in negotiating, they have no willingness to dialogue.

[Reporter] But the movement claims that your company doesn’t just work with the creation of genetically altered foods. They accuse TransCiência of having links with military groups and claim that you experiment with weapons, don’t you? What can you tell us about that?

[Scientist] These accusations, as you call them, are ridiculous. Where’s the evidence? This is nothing more than slander and speculation to harm us, since we are a global company, a conglomerate with shares traded on the main stock exchanges in the world and with the participation of many investment funds. This lab being attacked in front of you is a good example of this. Do you see the large mirrored panels above the transparent polymer forming the walls of the greenhouse?

[Reporter] Yes, they form a kind of cover on the sides of the premises, but…

[Scientist] We call them electrical photosynthesizers, a technology capable of employing the principles of photosynthesis of plants for the production of electricity. These panels capture the sunlight so that the biophotovoltaic cells convert it into energy for the whole complex, making this unit totally autonomous. During the night, as now, the electricity used in lighting and to power the equipment is the same as that stored in the batteries located in the central part of the greenhouse. This technological innovation is one hundred percent sustainable and was fully developed by us. We work in many different areas in various industry sectors. However, all our research is guided by ethics and respect for the laws of each country in which we operate. It’s not different with regard to our branch in Brazil.

[Reporter] How would you label the demonstrators’s actions, then?

[Scientist] They use terrorist methods to hinder our work and the progress of science. Maybe your listeners have heard of neoluddites, haven’t they? Neoluddites are people who, like what happened at the beginning of the Industrial Revolution back in England in the nineteenth century feared the advance of science and technology. They are afraid—indeed they are full of spite—for all that’s new and try to prevent the march of the future. At that time, in the nineteenth century, the automatic weaving machines were their focus. Nowadays, the target of these intolerants are genetically modified organisms.

[Reporter] So, in your opinion, the Rural Workers are a terrorist and neoluddite group?

[Scientist] My dear Helena, I call these people Neolysenkists. I’ll explain it for you and for your qualified listeners in Brazil and every part of the world who happens to be listening to us on the internet. Trofim Lysenko was a very important man in the former Soviet Union in the mid-thirties of the last century. He was the favorite scientist of the dictator Josef Stalin. He said he did not believe in genetics as it was taught in the West, because he considered it a bourgeois science, which would not be in accordance with dialectical materialism, the ideology prevailing in the Soviet state. His influence was so huge that any reference to chromosomes was banished from the textbooks of that country, begetting an incalculable scientific and technological kickback. But it was much worse than that: Lysenko claimed that his philosophically correct genetics would ensure greater wheat production for the Russians in the winter. Do you know what really happened, my dear Helena?

[Reporter] No, I’ve never heard of it…

[Scientist] The crazy theses of that man caused hunger and strife to millions of people in the fields and cities of the Soviet Union. They destroyed the country’s economy and condemned many thousands of Russians to death and malnutrition. And that’s what these people, these Neolysenkists, are trying to revive now, here in Brazil, in the twenty-first century. By stopping the work of genetic scientists, they are creating difficulties for discovering new medicines, new food sources, new products that may be fundamental for the future of humankind and for the Brazilian economy. The classic example I always mention is that of a type of genetically modified strawberry. Transgenic experiments allowed the use of salmon genes, a fish capable of resisting very low temperatures, to produce fruits with the same characteristics, a big economic differential.

[Reporter] But, if you’ll excuse me, sir …

[Scientist] I’ve just told you, Helena, about the bio-electric technology we’ve developed to power the energy needs of our lab. Even more important than that are the improvements we have made in the plants grown there to better take advantage of their natural ability to turn sunlight into organic matter. Our country is privileged both for its natural genetic diversity and for the high rates of solar irradiance throughout the year, advantages that led TransCiência to decide on the installation of our greenhouse in Brazil. The same greenhouse that is being barbarically destroyed at this point. Another great Brazilian advantage is that we have some of the best researchers in this area of the world. Particularly among those working with plant genome sequencing, an area where national scientists are a well-recognized reference everywhere. It is one of the few cases where we remain technologically on par with any nation of the so-called developed world. We cannot lose these differentials that makes us stand out among the nations because of a radical group that insists on living in the past…

[Reporter] Mr. Wellmann, thank you for the interview, but I must interrupt to report that something strange seems to be happening inside the invaded greenhouse. The screams and the breaking noise have subsided. I can see that the movement of the demonstrators has changed from one second to the next.

[Anchor] Helena? Helena? This is the studio. What’s happening? What can you see?

[Reporter] All right, Herbert. Yes, that’s right! Several of the demonstrators who until a few moments ago were running and excavating the soil stopped moving. Little by little, more and more landless people are stopping their attack on plants and equipment. They’re just standing there. It’s as if they’ve forgotten what they were doing. They seem confused. Almost every one of them at this very moment stands still, and only a few go on… What’s that? It’s not possible! Those people started to attack each other! A man has just crushed a child’s head with hoe blows… It’s horrible…

[Anchor] Helena, I don’t understand. Are the security guards of TransCiência taking the lab, is that it? What’s going on?

[Reporter] No, no, it’s the rural workers who are killing themselves… They all dropped the plants and started attacking each other… Oh, my God! It’s the most horrible thing I’ve ever seen! Men are hacking each other to bits, and also the women and children who came with them. Whoever isn’t carrying a weapon is throwing objects upon the nearest person. Or attacks with punches, kicks, and bites. Many are lying on the ground, getting up… Everyone, even small children, attacks… blood flows everywhere.

[Anchor] But how is this even possible? Has anyone come near the greenhouse?

[Reporter] Nobody approached the place… Sorry, Herbert, excuse me, listeners, but it’s very hard to describe what I’m seeing here. The level of violence is horrible. Even women, who are apparently the mothers of some of those children, are assaulting those by their side indiscriminately. Wait…did you get that in the studio, Herbert?

[Anchor] Did it sound like thunder…or an explosion? Grenades? Did the police or the Army decide to take action?

[Reporter] Hard to say, but I did see a glow and… Yes, a cloud of black smoke has begun to come out of the back of the greenhouse. I can see the flames, the place is on fire. That’s right, the fire spreads faster and faster. It hits the plants and runs across the floor, among those gallons of chemicals with its contents spread… Another explosion, this time right in the middle of the greenhouse! Several people were thrown into the air… Oh my God, they still keep attacking! No one is trying to escape through the broken doors. Those people are still killing each other… Even those with their bodies covered by fire seem more intent in injuring their colleagues than in protecting themselves! It’s not possible! An old man who had his arm ripped out and his clothes on fire came to the door, but instead of running out, he picked up a machete on the floor and returned only to attack a woman from behind… Nothing makes sense…

[Anchor] Helena, what was that noise? What happened? Are you ok?

[Reporter] More explosions, Herbert… The gallons of fertilizer are exploding everywhere… The black smoke is spreading, and is apparently toxic… Calm down, don’t push me! I’m working here… The security guards are leaving the place and trying to make me leave too… The lights went out, the solar-powered batteries have just exploded. You can’t see much in the glow of the fire. I can see that the ceiling is collapsing… The huge panels that collected the sunlight shattered into millions of pieces. Shards of glass fly through the skies. The metal structure supporting the ceiling and walls of the dome took a bad shaking. It just collapsed… Holy crap! The noise of the steel twisting is very loud. Tons of material crushed dozens of people. Even so, nobody tries to escape from that hell… I don’t think anyone survived… Hello, Herbert, it’s no longer possible to stay here. The security guards pushed me away from the greenhouse, only to see the fire, louder and louder, and a huge column of smoke that covers the moon and the stars…

[Anchor] Hello, Helena? Hello? They must have taken our reporter out of the place. We will try to resume the live link with our report. You from all over Brazil heard, here in Tribuna Central AM, the report of an invasion that ended in tragedy, in the interior of Paraná. Approximately one hundred demonstrators from the Rural Workers’ movement may have died in an attempt to break into the laboratories of the agribusiness giant, TransCiência. More details after the commercial break, when we will continue with our exclusive, live coverage at the place where the news happens. With the support of TalkCel, the only cellular operator present in one hundred percent of the national territory, we are the station that listens to you.

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* * *

“Only garbage now. We can turn it off and celebrate.”

The speaker is a man dressed entirely in white, with hair as light in color as the social clothes he wears. He activates the remote control, muting the sound from the landscape in front of him, in a clearing 250 kilometers from where those events were being narrated.

On the other side of the huge room, still with the cellphone with which he gave the interview, the second occupant of the apartment gets up from the sofa with an enthusiastic expression on his face. Although he has darker hair, it is also much more scarce than his guest’s, and his clothes less formal.

“Change the station, put some music on while I get the wine. We have a lot to celebrate; everything happened exactly as planned, or even better.”

He heads for a side door while his guest looks over the musical selection available on the sound equipment display. The arrows on the small black monolith show the names of the artists, albums, and musicians on the screen that previously showed the Tribuna Central radio station’s dial number.

“Did you have any questions at all, Orson? My organization gives a hundred percent guarantee on the services offered to the contractors. We said that you would at the same time achieve the experience you wanted with humans and all the publicity needed to launch the new product.”

The answering voice comes muffled from the air-conditioned cellar.

“Sometimes your efficiency scares me, my dear Mr. Neves.”

Amazed by so many options in the mp3 files, the white-haired man ends up programming the shuffle mode on the jazz channel. Then Keith Jarrett’s music begins to spread from the towering black boxes all over the room, sending piano chords around the place. Satisfied with the result, the guest drops the remote, pulls a cigarette box and lighter out of his pockets and, while lighting his cigarette, speaks louder to his host.

“What of it? The new weapon is all that your investigators have been announcing.”

“Blessed was the day that I read that Royal Society paper about the possible impacts of an obscure protozoan on society’s behavior.” He sticks his head out of the door and points with his chin to a bookcase next to the stereo. “There’s a hardcopy there, I was reading it again this morning. The London scientists gave me the idea of using Toxoplasma gondii, the cause of toxoplasmosis, as raw material for the hate gas.”

Still sitting on the couch, Neves stretches his arm to the appointed spot and picks up a white folder with the TransCiência logo: the letters TC in blue surrounded by two gray bands simulating the DNA helix. On the same cover, the title of the six-page article appears in the English translation and in the Brazilian Portuguese translation: “Can Toxoplasma gondii, common brain parasite, influence human society?”

“Oh, so that was the original source of your insight.”

“That’s right. The UK Academy of Sciences was worried by the evidence that this simple parasite could affect people’s brains and induce new behaviors in them. The protozoan has been shown to be able to traverse the membrane of our self-defense cells, invade the nucleus and simply fool all the immune barriers of the human brain. An authentic phenomenon of nature, it acted like a hacker who invades a computer, changes the software, and forces the hardware to function as it pleases.”

Unseen by his interlocutor, Neves looks up at the ceiling as if instinctively reacting to a particularly boring lecture at a scientific seminar.

“A second paper, presented during an annual meeting of the International Society for Behavioral Neuroscience, stated that the microorganism had unveiled ‘the vocabulary of neurotransmitters and hormones’.”

“All in all, we’re talking about a clever little bug.” The guest flips through the paper without paying much attention. After all, the technical language in those few lines is indecipherable to laypeople like him.

The real expert on the subject finally returns to the room displaying a bottle of Romanée-Conti as a trophy.

“Really… Look, I’m going to open this precious thing as soon as I can find the corkscrew. The list of behavioral changes that our small biohacker is able to bring varies according to gender. It makes women more affectionate and men more conformist. It seemed capable of making people more sensitive to guilt. On the one hand, they become more predisposed to engage in dangerous situations, on the other, they become averse to change.”

“A huge change in the brain chemistry, for sure.” The expression on Neves’s face while still leafing through the document doesn’t display such certainty. “I’d buy a whole lot of this parasite if it could make my last mother-in-law, may the devil have her, a more affectionate woman… But I don’t think that all the… Toxoplasma gondii of the world would be capable of such a feat, and I also believe the poor thing would fail if it tried to create in me such a sense of guilt.”

“True, my friend, but you are a lost case of any kind of manifestation of the superego, as guilty or self-critical, as we well know.” Orson Wellmann laughs at his own tirade as he opens and closes drawers in search of the corkscrew. Between one and the other he goes back to talking enthusiastically. “The point is that, worldwide, there are billions of people infected with toxoplasmosis. Billions of them. One detail that caught my attention is that the most affected country would be Brazil, with almost seventy percent of the population serving as a carrier to our friend. As a result, of course, of the indigent sanitary services in this country, which facilitate the contagion of the parasite. Isn’t it ironic? Brazil may even have some of the best genetic engineers on the planet, as I told that bloody reporter, but it can’t get plumbing to reach all the houses or end rodent infestations. Speaking of rodents, what really interested me was another Oxford experiment. This experiment proved that Toxoplasma gondii was responsible for an even more radical change in the behavior of rodents. The parasite simply induced these animals to suicide, can you imagine that?! In a maze, scientists marked a few corners with the smell of cat urine. Healthy people fled from there as if the devil chased them. But for the contaminated specimens, that odor had the same attraction as the smell of food. It is as if the animals, controlled by microorganisms in their brains, begged to be devoured!”

Sensing that the conversation might turn out to be a speech after all, Neves puts the British paper away as if he received an electric shock, straightens his jacket, stands up and goes in the direction of the owner of the apartment, searching for a shortcut to any subject that might be more in his domain:

“That’s what I always say, if a thing like that can’t be used as a biological weapon, what else could?”

“That’s exactly what I thought. We just needed to figure out a way to take advantage of the skill of this lovely protozoan. In the TransCiência labs we detected, isolated, and enhanced the potential of the genes responsible for the production of the substances that induce behavioral changes in mammals. The next step was inserting this genetic code into some laboratory-modified plants so they could release a new toxin in the air along with their normal oxygen production. And then we have our hate gas. Where did my servant put that corkscrew, goddamnit?”

Before even reaching the counter where the bulky bottle of red wine is resting, Neves sees the opener waiting to be used in its proper place: the wall bracket.

“So many times all we need is an outside perspective, my dear scientist.” With the same hand that holds his cigarette, he points to the opener as he speaks. “I suppose you have enough gas in stock to start industrial production.”

“Merci, Monsieur Neves. Of course, of course, we now control the whole process and we can already synthesize the gas on a large scale, manipulating chemicals the way my beloved plants did with sunlight in the greenhouse. It was only a matter of doing the, say, reverse bioengineering of the toxin they released into the air. That’s why the laboratory became expendable and we could destroy it from here, from the comfort of my apartment, triggering the explosives hidden in its structure. The hyperoxygenated environment and the amount of flammable substances helped spread the fire and put an end to all the clues that would compromise us. The fire will consume any traces of the gas and burn all the plants and human guinea pigs. Concentrated energy cells were charged with blowing up any clues that might remain of our experiments there, leaving a crater in its place.”

Once the seal is cut, the scientist drills the thick cork of the bottle as he speaks, almost in the same rhythm as the music he continues to play.

“The precautions are not so much for fear of the police investigation, the idea was only to avoid industrial espionage. After all, the research of our private competitors is much more efficient than that of state agents. Now it’s just trigger the insurance, put the blame on the landless, and recover the money invested. But that greenhouse served us as a field of evidence in the last necessary experience: the aerial application of the neurotoxin to humans in a real situation. To that end, those rabid workers that their organization manipulated to attack our solar laboratory of Telêmaco Borba were a bit useful.”

Unmaking the knot of his tie, Neves dismisses the other’s compliments with a gesture.

“That was the easy part of the plan. The technical expertise of your team of scientists wasn’t even required. My organization specializes in finding creative solutions to the kind of problem you have presented us. It’s not as if we lacked for manpower here. So, creating such a social movement in Brazil is as easy as opening an NGO or founding a new church. I speak of this from experience, believe me.” While walking down to him, Neves picks up two glasses as he watches the other’s effort to open the precious bottle. “Parasitizing the state and the parastatal structure of this country to make it work just the way we want is far more simple work than that of your protozoan changing behaviors of kamikaze rats. And the best thing is that, with all the dramatic advertising this episode will reach in the next few days, we will have the ideal advertisement to present the product to the several groups that have shown an interest in acquiring hate gas. The ETA and the IRA are no longer in business, but our network has already contacted Hamas and Hezbollah, along with the Farc…”

A dry noise interrupts him when the cork is finally removed from the bottle neck.

“Voila, and it’s open! Yes, the experiment was proof that the toxin, when applied among a population predisposed to violence and with the necessary conditions to carry it out, can cause a remote control carnage.” The chief scientist of TransCiência pours the drink for his guest, being careful with each drop. “And thanks to the diversity of the sample of peasants you gave us, we proved that the gas works in both sexes, in any age group and with different ethnicities. Couldn’t be more perfect if we had asked for it! I almost cried out laughing as I remembered that even Darwin was not interested in parasites, did you know that? He said the creeping little creatures were just a deviation in the natural course of species evolution.”

Wellmann hands the glass to Neves, who pulls a last drag on his cigarette and waits for the guest to finish pouring for himself.

“So old Charles had his day of—what’s the name of that Russian you mentioned in the interview? Lysenko? Thank you, Orson. A good wine is always fine with these cold nights you have here in Curitiba.”

The scientist is pleased with a third of his glass filled and lifts it in front of the visitor.

“Even geniuses are not immune to a few stumbles, my friend. But let’s have a toast: to the Toxoplasma gondii, to my scientists and their human guinea pigs.”

Having got rid of the cigarette already, Neves returns the gesture, which makes the crystal resonate when the glasses touch.

“They did their part well, of rats in the maze. To the future, that belongs to us. Cheers!”

Neves turns red, makes a face and declares:

“Very heavy. It’s best to put it in the decanter for a while to rest.”

* * *

Romeu Martins is a journalist, specializing in scientific dissemination, and an author of fantastic literature. He began writing fiction in 2008 for his own blog, Terroristas da Conspiração (Terrorists of the Conspiracy), where he also published a few dozen other writers. Today, he has work in books by three national publishers, and an excerpt from his short story has been selected and translated into English for the Steampunk Bible by Americans Jeff VanderMeer and S. J. Chambers. With Editora Draco, he debuted as a short storyteller in Sherlock Holmes — Aventuras Secretas (2012).