difference. You’ve made genetics and race an issue. You’re just impatient.”
“Impatient?” Berrington said irritably. “You bet I’m impatient! I’ll be sixty in two weeks. We’re all getting old. We don’t have much time left!”
Jim said: “He’s right, Preston. Don’t you remember how it was when we were young men? We looked around and saw America going to hell: civil rights for Negroes, Mexicans flooding in, the best schools being swamped by the children of Jewish Communists, our kids smoking pot and dodging the draft. And boy, were we right! Look what’s happened since then! In our worst nightmares we never imagined that illegal drugs would become one of America’s biggest industries and that a third of all babies would be born to mothers on Medicaid. And we’re the only people with the guts to face up to the problems—us and a few like-minded individuals. The rest close their eyes and hope for the best.”
They did not change, Berrington thought. Preston was ever cautious and fearful, Jim bombastically sure of himself. He had known them so long that he looked fondly on their faults, most of the time, anyway. And he was accustomed to his role as the moderator who steered them on a middle course.
Now he said: “Where are we with the Germans, Preston? Bring us up-to-date.”
“We’re very close to a conclusion,” Preston said. “They want to announce the takeover at a press conference one week from tomorrow.”
“A week from tomorrow?” Berrington said with excitement in his voice. “That’s great!”
Preston shook his head. “I have to tell you, I still have doubts.”
Berrington made an exasperated noise.
Preston went on: “We’ve been going through a process called disclosure. We have to open our books to Landsmann’s accountants, and tell them about anything that might affect future profits, such as debtors who are going bust, or pending lawsuits.”
“We don’t have any of those, I take it?” Jim said.
Preston gave him an ominous look. “We all know this company has secrets.”
There was a moment of silence in the room. Then Jim said: “Hell, that’s a long way in the past.”
“So what? The evidence of what we did is out there walking around.”
“But there’s no way Landsmann can find out about it—especially in a week.”
Preston shrugged as if to say “Who knows?”
“We have to take that risk,” Berrington said firmly. “The injection of capital we’ll get from Landsmann will enable us to accelerate our research program. In a couple of years’ time we will be able to offer affluent white Americans who come to our clinics a genetically engineered perfect baby.”
“But how much difference will it make?” Preston said. “The poor will continue to breed faster than the rich.”
“You’re forgetting Jim’s political platform,” Berrington said.
Jim said: “A flat income tax rate of ten percent, and compulsory contraceptive injections for women on welfare.”
“Think of it, Preston,” Berrington said. “Perfect babies for the middle classes, and sterilization for the poor. We could start to put America’s racial balance right again. It’s what we always aimed for, ever since the early days.”
“We were very idealistic then,” Preston said.
“We were right!” Berrington said.
“Yes, we were right. But as I get older, more and more I start to think the world will probably muddle along somehow even if I don’t achieve everything I planned when I was twenty-five.”
This kind of talk could sabotage great endeavors. “But we can achieve what we planned,” Berrington said. “Everything we’ve been working toward for the last thirty years is within our grasp now. The risks we took in the early days, all these years of research, the money we’ve spent—it’s all coming to fruition at last. Don’t get an attack of nerves at this point, Preston!”
“I don’t have bad nerves, I’m pointing out real, practical problems,”
“Impatient?” Berrington said irritably. “You bet I’m impatient! I’ll be sixty in two weeks. We’re all getting old. We don’t have much time left!”
Jim said: “He’s right, Preston. Don’t you remember how it was when we were young men? We looked around and saw America going to hell: civil rights for Negroes, Mexicans flooding in, the best schools being swamped by the children of Jewish Communists, our kids smoking pot and dodging the draft. And boy, were we right! Look what’s happened since then! In our worst nightmares we never imagined that illegal drugs would become one of America’s biggest industries and that a third of all babies would be born to mothers on Medicaid. And we’re the only people with the guts to face up to the problems—us and a few like-minded individuals. The rest close their eyes and hope for the best.”
They did not change, Berrington thought. Preston was ever cautious and fearful, Jim bombastically sure of himself. He had known them so long that he looked fondly on their faults, most of the time, anyway. And he was accustomed to his role as the moderator who steered them on a middle course.
Now he said: “Where are we with the Germans, Preston? Bring us up-to-date.”
“We’re very close to a conclusion,” Preston said. “They want to announce the takeover at a press conference one week from tomorrow.”
“A week from tomorrow?” Berrington said with excitement in his voice. “That’s great!”
Preston shook his head. “I have to tell you, I still have doubts.”
Berrington made an exasperated noise.
Preston went on: “We’ve been going through a process called disclosure. We have to open our books to Landsmann’s accountants, and tell them about anything that might affect future profits, such as debtors who are going bust, or pending lawsuits.”
“We don’t have any of those, I take it?” Jim said.
Preston gave him an ominous look. “We all know this company has secrets.”
There was a moment of silence in the room. Then Jim said: “Hell, that’s a long way in the past.”
“So what? The evidence of what we did is out there walking around.”
“But there’s no way Landsmann can find out about it—especially in a week.”
Preston shrugged as if to say “Who knows?”
“We have to take that risk,” Berrington said firmly. “The injection of capital we’ll get from Landsmann will enable us to accelerate our research program. In a couple of years’ time we will be able to offer affluent white Americans who come to our clinics a genetically engineered perfect baby.”
“But how much difference will it make?” Preston said. “The poor will continue to breed faster than the rich.”
“You’re forgetting Jim’s political platform,” Berrington said.
Jim said: “A flat income tax rate of ten percent, and compulsory contraceptive injections for women on welfare.”
“Think of it, Preston,” Berrington said. “Perfect babies for the middle classes, and sterilization for the poor. We could start to put America’s racial balance right again. It’s what we always aimed for, ever since the early days.”
“We were very idealistic then,” Preston said.
“We were right!” Berrington said.
“Yes, we were right. But as I get older, more and more I start to think the world will probably muddle along somehow even if I don’t achieve everything I planned when I was twenty-five.”
This kind of talk could sabotage great endeavors. “But we can achieve what we planned,” Berrington said. “Everything we’ve been working toward for the last thirty years is within our grasp now. The risks we took in the early days, all these years of research, the money we’ve spent—it’s all coming to fruition at last. Don’t get an attack of nerves at this point, Preston!”
“I don’t have bad nerves, I’m pointing out real, practical problems,”