When
the car approached the gate it quickly opened up just long enough to let the
Royce in. It did not even slow
down, but kept up going at motorway speeds up the double lane road. Frank looked around and finally said to
me, “Where the hell is this place?”
“Remember,
sir, it is underground.”
Almost
as soon as I said that we turned a corner and entered a downward slope into a
tunnel. The car was finally slowing
down. The car came to a stop in
what looked like a huge atrium, but with the floor carpeted. Waiting by our car door was a fembot
dressed in what looked like what a research scientist would wear. I immediately synced with it and knew
her task was to greet us and bring us to wherever we were to go to. The route or destination were not
revealed by her public file. She
was called Gracey.
Gracey
opened the door and in a very pleasing voice told Frank and me that we were,
“Welcome to Maidstone Labs. If you
would follow me I will take you to our reception room.”
While
we walked she gave us the usual P.R. speech about Maidstone Labs, “The facility
was designed by Sir Terrance, himself.
Maidstone employs over 450 researchers, scientists, technicians and
support staff. Many live on site in
order to be close to their research at all times. So far over 2000 patents have been
granted Maidstone Labs since it opened.
Besides the lab research spaces there are restaurants, theaters, and
other facilities to keep the staff happy in their work. In fact, just last year a six acre water
park opened for the staff. The
water is kept a relaxing 85 degrees all year round. If getting wet is not your cup of tea
there is also a skating rink where the lab’s hockey team plays every Wednesday
and ---"
This
dialogue went on for six more minutes while we walked down hallways or stood in
elevators. Finally, we entered a
large room that looked like a hotel lobby.
This, Gracey announced, was the reception room. She led us to a bar where she offered
Frank a refreshment of his choosing.
Behind
the bar was a pretty redhead that asked what Frank would like.
“What
I like and what I should have are two different things,” Frank said with a
smile. “Do you have iced
coffee?”
“With
or without cream?” came her overly cheerful response.
“Cream
and sugar please – what do they call you?”
“I’m
called Cherry,” she said without losing her smile. She handed Frank his drink and he took a
sip.
“How
long have you worked here Cherry?
“Two
years.”
“Do
you have to keep bar here all the time?
“No,
I work at several of the watering holes at the Lab.”
“I
imagine you meet a lot of interesting people here.”
“Not
really, most of the researchers are pretty geeky.”
“Don’t
geeks like to drink?”
“Yes,
they do, but mostly they talk about science and stuff I don’t understand. I can’t complain; the pay is great
here. I make three times what I use
to make working bar in London.”
At
the sound of a door all three of us turned to see Sir Terrance enter
himself.
“Mr.
Huntington, welcome to my playground.”
“Thank
you, you have a lot of nice playmates,” at which Frank raised his glass towards
Cherry. Lutts seemed to ignore that
and told Cherry, “Scotch on the rocks.”
After
taking a sip, Lutts pointed with his glass and said, “Let’s start with the main
lab.” Frank followed him and
Lutts’s GAIC robot and I followed four feet behind. Other than the identification number of
Lutts’s GAIC I could not sync any other information. GAICs are like me, but are generalized
for many tasks. That is what the
“G” stands for – General. A lot of
nickname their GAICs General so and so, or Genbots.
“The
main lab,” Lutts explained, “is probably the most advanced bio lab in the
world. We actually won’t be able to
enter it, but there are several observation windows that will give you a good
view.”
“Why
can’t we enter?” asked Frank.
“An
important question; my lab is a BSL-4 rated facility. That means that we can handle and
contain the most dangerous biological organisms known to man and maybe
unknown.” Frank saw a fleeting
smile on Lutts’s face. “The cells I
developed to reattach spinal nerve cells had to be developed in a BSL-4
environment.”
“You
don’t do any military research do you?”
“Heavens,
no. Wouldn’t touch the stuff or
their money. Frankly, I would find
the world’s military imagination rather limited. They are not interested in life, only in
ending life. Our hopes are to
enhance life. I hope my gifts to
humankind will bring us closer to world harmony.”
“I
didn’t know you were such a humanitarian, Sir Terrance.”
“I
lost my parents to warfare, Mr. Huntington. I have no family, thanks to war and
religion. I find neither of these
notions helpful to humankind’s long term health.”
“No
doubt. I agree. Unfortunately, there are a lot of
people, like my sister, who believe in Yahweh or Allah and will condemn to hell
anyone who has a different flavor of religion from themselves. How long have you been an atheist, Sir
Terrance?”
“The
moment my parents were riddled with bullets. To this day I don’t know whether the
look of horror on their faces was from the fact they were being killed or that
their god could allow this to happen to them. As Epicurus
said so well, ‘Is God willing to
prevent evil, but not able? Then he is not omnipotent. Is he able, but not willing? Then is he malevolent. Is he both able and willing? Then whence
cometh evil? Is he neither able nor willing? Then why call him
God?’”
“So
is science your religion?”
“No,
science is my mistress. The more I
love her the more she will reveal.”
“That
is rather poetic. Is there a
romantic under that hard rational exterior, Sir Terrance?”
“How
can anyone who loves life and knowledge not be a
romantic?”
“Fair
enough. So you don’t do your work
for the money?”
“No,
the money is only secondary. Look
at my cancer cure. I charge only
one thousand pounds for the treatment.
An operation to remove a cancerous lung cost a hundred times that. I could have demanded the moon for my
cure, but I did not. The medical
establishment was not very happy when I killed off their biggest money
maker. They got rich while millions
of people died from cancer. I could
be richer than all the billionaires combined if I charged what the market could
bear, but I chose instead to practically give it away.”
I
could tell from Frank’s expression that he was surprised at the forcefulness at
which the good doctor spoke. It was
forceful, but not apologetic.
We
entered a long room with large windows.
Beyond the glass looked like a large space station where many of the
technicians were wearing white suits complete with helmets. The array of machinery was astounding
and Frank found it impossible to guess what they did.
“What
is that bank of equipment over there?” Frank asked pointing to the far
left.
“Those
are my own brand of sequencers – they can sequence a human genome in 3
minutes.”
“If
I recall it takes several hours to do that. Why don’t you market
it?”
“I
will eventually, but I always like to keep a slight edge over the
competition. The technology has
been patented so I have plenty of time.
Over there is our super computer.
It is the most powerful computer in the world – but the world doesn’t
know it yet.” said Lutts with a slight smile on his face.
“So
what is your big project they are working on?”
“Oh,
I am working on curing the greatest scourge facing
humankind.”
“What
is that? Stupidity?”
“Close,
Mr. Huntington, close,” Lutts said with another of his slight smiles fleeting
by. “Let me show you our Bio Bank
next.”
With
that Sir Terrance walked to the door that had been opened by his GAIC robot
which had anticipated his master’s move.
The Bio Bank room was another BSL-4 area except it was cold and like the
other labs had a viewing area where we could see it. It was really cold. Minus three hundred and twenty degrees
Fahrenheit or as they would say in the UK - 195.79° Celsius. Either way it is cold enough to freeze
my circuits and preserve any biological material indefinitely. Even I was glad to be in a nice warm
viewing room.
Frank
asked if I could take a photo of the Bio Bank and Lutts said, “Of course. What are your impressions about
it?”
“Size. I can’t believe how many Dewar vessels
you have. There must be over a
hundred.”
“Off
by a factor of three.”
“How
tall are they?”
“A
little over eighteen feet. Each can
hold over three hundred gallons of liquid nitrogen. Even though they are insulated we do not
heat the Bio Bank so the air is almost the same temperature as liquid
nitrogen. We do that as a security
measure. Unless you are fully
fitted with a heated biohazard suit you would freeze to death in less than two
minutes. “
“I
suppose those suits are like spacesuits?”
“Very
good, Mr. Huntington. Yes, they
are. They have to have their own
oxygen supply as well as heat source and insulation. They don’t need to be vacuum proof, but
it does keep your breath contained so we don’t have excessive buildup of
dihydrogen monoxide ice.”
“Ha,
frozen water. I always think it
sounds like a poison when I hear water called dihydrogen monoxide,” chuckled
Huntington as Lutts had another of his very small smiles. I had by that time taken over 100 photos
of the Bio Bank at various angles and perspectives. Frank likes me to be ‘creative’ in my
photography.
“Mr.
Huntington, it is time for lunch.
Will you join me?”
“Of
course. Frozen TV
dinners?”
“I
have something less plebian in mind.
My GAIC will show you to a guest room where you can freshen up and then
he will take you to the castle where we will continue our
conversation.”
“This
way Mr. Huntington. It will be a
pleasure for me to serve you,” intoned the GAIC unit with a slight British
accent that sounded like some posh butler.
Lutts headed off in the opposite direction like a man on a
mission.
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