Free Mutant by Peter Clement Page A

his seat, leaving everyone leaning forward expectantly in their chairs. Instead of saying anything, he looked at his mentor, as if waiting for her to speak.
    “Can we finally know what you found once you studied all this DNA you made?” a man at the end of the table called out, his voice brimming with exasperation.
    “Nothing,” said Sullivan.
    At first there was dead quiet.
    “Pardon?” the man finally managed to say, his tone incredulous.
    “I said we found nothing,” repeated Sullivan. “No replication occurred.”
    A chorus of disbelief erupted.
    “What!”
    “You wasted our time for this?”
    “Jesus Christ!”
    Above the din the familiar shrill voice of
Environment
Watch
called out, “Does this mean your concerns over naked DNA vectors are bogus?”
    “Not at all!” shouted Sullivan to make herself heard. “It could simply mean that we don’t know what vectors Agrenomics is using. Or it could even be that they’ve installed proper filters.”
    “Are you saying they take your claims seriously?”
    “Ask them that.”
    “How do we know you wouldn’t come up just as empty around other research centers which use naked DNA vectors, filters or no filters—that the stuff just isn’t infectious?”
    “We don’t. I’m suggesting we check the grounds of every such plant worldwide, to find out. And for the tests to be reliable, the companies must be pressured to disclose what vectors they’re using so we’d know which primers to use.”
    The initial outburst subsided to a sullen grumbling as the rest of the reporters, most of them ignoring the two women’s conversation, angrily shoved back their chairs, stuffed notepads into briefcases, and packed up tape recorders. More than once Sullivan heard the word
hoax
.
    “Wait a minute. Listen, all of you!” said Steve Patton, jumping up from his chair. “Don’t you realize the real story here is the testing method we just walked you through— that there exists an easy and cheap way to screen whether naked DNA has infected the environment?”
    “Sit on it, mister,” snarled the man at the end of the table. “I don’t like being manipulated.” He stormed out the door.
    “The fact that no one is running such tests is really what you should be in an uproar about,” Patton shouted after him. “The fact that not one corporation worldwide provides independent geneticists with the access they need to company grounds or discloses the vectors we should be testing for—that’s the true outrage. And I’m here to announce that the Blue Planet Society would finance any such study.”
    The reporter never looked back.
    Patton turned to Sullivan and shrugged.
    Sullivan eyed those who were still packing up their equipment. “Won’t you grasp the opportunity here? You could report
how
these simple standard procedures can be used to establish essential screening, then maybe pressure will build to make it happen. If it does, possibly someone somewhere will find the hard evidence we need to wake everyone up to the fact that the risks are real. And if we’re truly lucky, that will happen before some lab accidentally causes a catastrophe with permanent consequences, such as resurrecting a new equivalent of the Spanish flu.”
    A few paused to listen, but most left, still fuming. The woman from
Environment Watch
said nothing more, but rather stood where she was and regarded Sullivan with a steady, thoughtful gaze. After a few seconds, she nodded and joined the others.
    “It’s so unfair,” consoled Azrhan later as he took a cup of tea with Sullivan and Patton in his mentor’s office. “They were the ones who insisted on coming here.” He appeared much more relaxed now that he’d proved himself in his first encounter with the press.
    Sullivan sighed wearily. “I’d so hoped that we could convince them to get on board with us—issue a call for mandatory screening and a disclosure of vectors.” She gave a sarcastic laugh. “As it is, we’ll get pasted for