Interface (21 page)

"Yes, I can see it very clearly, thank you."

"I should have anticipated our interest and had it running when you came aboard. My apologies."

"Oh, I'm not that much of a player," Dr. Radhakrishnan said,
embarrassed by the fuss. "But I have a bit of stock in Genomics, that
company in Seattle. When we began working with them, I was so impressed that I decided to buy in."

"And it's been moving rapidly of late, making you a nervous
wreck," Mr. Salvador said.

"Exactly. Takeover rumors. I told my broker to sell at eighty-
three."

"Then you made out brilliantly."
"I did? What do you mean?"

"Genomics was just bought out by Gale Aerospace this morning.
At eighty-five. You called it exactly."

"Gale Aerospace now owns Genomics?" Dr. Radhakrishnan
said. He was relieved and delighted. But he also thought it was just
a bit eerie. He glanced around at the interior of the jet's cabin as if it might be able to tell him something.
"Yes."

"Why would a rocket and missile company want to own a
scruffy little genetic engineering firm in Seattle?"

"Diversification!" Mr. Salvador said. "An intelligent enough strategy in this age of world peace, wouldn't you say?"

"Yes. Now that you mention it, it does seem perfectly logical." "While we happen to be on the subject of tissue culture, did you
get my other package? The tissue samples?" Mr. Salvador said.

Tissue samples was a nice word for it. "I did," Dr.
Radhakrishnan said. "They were good clean samples. Whoever
took them for you knew his business."
"We try to hire well," Mr. Salvador said.

"This is the first opportunity I have had to work with human
brain tissue," Dr. Radhakrishnan said. As he delivered this
sentence, he slowed down, sensing that he was on slick footing.

Mr. Salvador smiled understandingly. "I know that the regulations on these things in the States can be quite stifling."

"Exactly. Anyway, I, uh, or we, my students and I, were not sure exactly - we have so little experience." Dr. Radhakrishnan knew
that he was groping pathetically, but Mr. Salvador kept smiling and
nodding. "We have, anyway, initiated the cell culturing process with those samples . . . sent them on to Genomics. There were a
few false starts-"

"Naturally. That's how science works."

"-but the samples you gave us were so, well, generous, so
large, that we had a lot of margin for error. I am almost surprised,
well . . ."
"Yes?"

"Of course human brains are larger than baboon brains, so my
perspective is skewed just a bit, but if I were to take samples of a
human brain that were so large, I would" - again, he sensed he was
on slick footing - "well, let us say that in America, with its
malpractice hysteria, where you always have to cover your tail-"
"Ridiculous." Mr. Salvador agreed.
"-lawyers-"

"Carping and niggling and backfilling," Mr. Salvador said. "In
some ways, Doctor, America is the best place in the world to do
research. In other ways, with its litigiousness, it is a terrible place. We think that India and America may be able to complement each
other in this respect."

He was so good.
"Exactly. Mr. Salvador, you have a knack."
"I am so pleased that we are able to see eye to eye on this," Mr.
Salvador said.

"How
  
are
  
the,
  
uh,
  
patients
  
doing,
  
by
  
the
  
way?"
  
Dr.
Radhakrishnan said. "Ha! I almost called them specimens."

"Call them whatever you like," Mr. Salvador said. "They are
doing well. You will be able to examine them shortly. Of course
we would not have selected them for inclusion in this program if
they had not already suffered neurological damage, so this makes
answering your question somewhat problematic."
"Yes, I see your point."
"Well. I don't mean to wear you out with all this technical chitchat. We'll be taking the great circle route to Delhi," Mr.
Salvador said. "We'll make refueling stops in exciting places Anchorage and Seoul. There's a private cabin on the other side of
that bulkhead where you can get some rest, and while you're there I'm sure that Maria will be happy to give you a massage or engage you in conversation or whatever it is that would make the time go
faster."

"Ah," Dr. Radhakrishnan said. "I thought I smelled perfume."
"As you can see, Mr. Coover is a consummate host. My job does
not come with such fringes, but I have more than enough to occupy myself." Mr. Salvador nodded in the direction of the
communications rig on the bulkhead.

"You are a busy man," Dr. Radhakrishnan observed.
"Great things are afoot," Mr. Salvador said with uncharacteristic gusto. "For certain people, this is a fascinating time to be alive."

Dr. Radhakrishnan certainly felt that way. "How long have you
been working for Mr. Coover?"

Mr. Salvador paused before answering, his face alert, his eyes
glittering. He was not thinking about how to answer so much as he
was studying Radhakrishnan's face. He seemed, as usual, ever so
slightly amused. "I wouldn't make unwarranted assumptions," he
said.

Dr. Radhakrishnan wanted to pursue this line of questioning but
he had realized that, by asking about Mr. Salvador's background, he
had blundered into the realm of bad taste. And that was much
worse than bad morals or bad manners for a certain kind of person.
However, he sensed without having met her that Maria would b
e a much more accessible person on all levels. "I'm going to
freshen up," he said, nodding toward the private cabin in the back.
"Take your time and relax," Mr. Salvador said, "it's a long way
to India."

In his usual style, Mr. Salvador had gone to great lengths to make
Dr. Radhakrishnan feel at home in Delhi, even though Delhi
was
his home. A large suite had been rented out at the spectacular
Imperial Hotel, an aptly named pile sitting at the end of a palm-
tree-lined drive just off Janpath. It was just south of Connaught
Circus and less than a mile from where the institute was being constructed. Mr. Salvador had rented out a couple of floors of the
hotel. During the course of the long flight across the Pacific, Maria
had developed quite an infatuation with Dr. Radhakrishnan and
insisted that she be allowed to stay in Delhi for a while; Mr.

Salvador had grudgingly granted her a suite of her own, just down
the hall from Dr. Radhakrishnan's. Mr. Salvador was staying at the
other end of the hall in lesser but still opulent surroundings.

When Dr. Radhakrishnan arrived at the Imperial, a pleasant
surprise awaited: his entire extended family. They all cheered and
hugged and kissed him right there in the parlor of his suite and then
moved downstairs to a banquet room for a lengthy dinner. Dr.
Radhakrishnan felt like a conquering hero back from the wars,
being welcomed home by the maharaja with a royal feast.

After that, Maria had to nurse him through a day or two of
hangover, fatigue, and jet lag. When he finally felt ready, he called
for a car and told the driver to take him southward down Janpath
into the New Delhi South Extension, where, he had been assured,
the temporary laboratories of the Radhakrishnan Institute were
bustling away.

On his way out of the hotel, he met a young American fellow in
the elevator. Dr. Radhakrishnan could have met this man in
Antarctica and still recognized him immediately as an American
high-tech entrepreneur. He was in his early thirties. He had long
hair that had probably been cut in the mirror at home. He
beard. He wore glasses. He was dressed in blue jeans, sneakers, a
decent enough striped white shirt, and a crumpled wool blazer. He
was carrying a briefcase in one hand and a rather formidable laptop
computer in the other.

And one other key point: unlike everyone else he had met since the beginning of the flight to Delhi, he did not make any effort to
brown-nose. "Hi, you must be Radhakrishnan," the man said. "I'm Peter Zeldovich. Most people I work with call me Zeldo.
That's my handle on most e-mail systems. Nice to meet you." He
put his laptop on the floor of the elevator and stuck out hand; Dr.
Radhakrishnan shook it, limply and reluctantly.

"Gotten over your jet lag yet?" this man said as they took the
elevator down to lobby level.

Dr. Radhakrishnan had already forgotten his proper name. He
was terrible with names. Now he knew why everyone called this
person Zeldo. His real names vanished instantly from memory; Zeldo lingered unremovably on the doorstep of the mind, like a
steaming turd left behind by a stray dog. Hopefully they would not
be working together very much.

Naturally they would not have to work together. It was Dr.
Radhakrishnan's institute, he was in charge, he could send Zeldo
back to his festering West Coast bachelor pad whenever he got to
be too annoying. Which might not take very long, at this rate. "
Heard you were on your way in to the Barracks, so I thought I'd hitch a ride with you," Zeldo said as they exited into the lobby.
"The Barracks?"

"Yeah. That's what we've been calling the temporary institute. G
uess you haven't seen it yet."

"Why would you call it by that name?" Of course it was su
perfluous even to ask questions like this; these breezy American c
haps had to have nicknames for everything.

"Because that's what it is. It's down south, on the edge of this military zone-"
"The Defence Colony?"

"Yeah." Zeldo reached for one of the doors, almost colliding wi
th the turbaned doorman who opened it for him.
Dr. Radhakrishnan had only been back in the civilized world for a couple of days, but now it felt as if he had never left, and as if the ye
ars in Elton were nothing more than a frigid nightmare,
"Anyway, the temporary lab facilities are set up in these barracks-ty
pe buildings. Soviet concrete things, you know. It'll be okay for
the time being, I guess."

Zeldo had the presence of mind to allow the driver to open the car
door
 
for
 
him,
  
and
 
he
 
slid
 
into
 
the
 
seat
 
ahead
 
of Dr. R
adhakrishnan. He folded up his long legs so that his knees were pr
essed against the back of the driver's seat and piled the briefcase and
the computer on his lap. The driver pulled out on to Janpath, ign
oring the painted lanes and creating his own, in the traditional loc
al style.

"I'm
 
the
  
chiphead
 
from
 
Pacware,"
  
Zeldo
  
said,
  
as
 
if Dr. R
adhakrishnan were supposed to know what that meant.
"What is Pacware?"

"Pacific Netware. I design logic devices - chips - for them."
"Am I to gather that you are connected, in some way, with my ins
titute?"

Zeldo gaped at him. "Sure," he said. "I'm doing the hardware des
ign on the silicon portion of the new model biochips."
"I was not aware that a new model was required."

Zeldo shrugged. "New models are always required," he said.
"Hardware design is a fast-moving target. You don't update your
designs every few months, you're working with Stone Age
technology."

Dr. Radhakrishnan was finding it very difficult to keep his
temper under control. Perhaps he was still just a bit irritable from
his travels. For him to come home in triumph and finally to receive
the recognition he deserved, and then to be stuck in an elevator,
and a car, with this laid-back Yank who told him he was back in
the Stone Age-

But he held his tongue, because he had an inkling that Zeldo
might be half right. The chips they put into the baboons were off-
the-shelf models with limited capabilities. It was a basic fact, with
electronics, that if you designed a customized chip to do a particular
job, it could work thousands of times faster than an off-the-shelf
model.