Tom Hyman by Jupiter's Daughter

his five seated visitors. “The technical biological details for how these things are accomplished are naturally quite complex,” he said.
    “Only another geneticist could understand them fully. I must emphatically state, however, that what I am describing to you is not science fiction. All the techniques I’ve developed and refined to accomplish the enhancements I’ve just mentioned are either already being employed in some other form somewhere else, or can be quickly learned by any competent biotechnician. For that reason, I have taken great precautions to keep my work secret.”
    The doctor’s voice took on a harder edge. “But my work is not yet complete. As I’ve already explained to you, I need a considerable amount of money to complete this project. I estimate ten million dollars just to clear my outstanding debts and finance a year’s worth of additional research. More may be required beyond that. I can’t predict precisely what the final cost may be.
    But I can predict one thing. There isn’t a potential parent on the face of the earth who wouldn’t do almost anything—pay almost anything—to get for their future offspring what I will soon be able to offer them.”
    Finished with his pitch, the doctor leaned against the edge of his desk and looked expectantly at his guests: “Questions?”
    The baroness immediately challenged him. “What you say you’ll soon have to offer is in fact illegal to sell.”
    Goth nodded. “Of course it is. In Germany. In England. Japan.
    The United States. In many countries. But not everywhere. Not here, for example. That’s why my lab is here. It’s an inconvenience, but not a serious one. As long as the research and the clinical procedures—gene alteration and implantation—are done here, there’s no roblem. It isn’t against the laws of any country for its citizens to travel here to have such things done.”
    “What about your assistant?” the baroness asked. “How much does she know about your program?”
    “Kirsten? She’s been with me for two and a half years. She’s well acquainted with it.”
    “Can you trust her?”
    Goth looked pained. “Of course I can trust her,” he snapped.
    “How do you know?”
    Goth considered the question impertinent. He ignored it and pointed his finger at Fairfield.
    “What’s the drill, then?” the Englishman demanded. “What do we get back for our lolly? A happy glow? Believe me, mate, I don’t need any more charitable contributions for my tax returns.
    Inland Revenue’s already got their fingers up my ass.”
    The doctor gritted his teeth at the Englishman’s vulgarity.
    “Those who finance me will share in the profit when the procedure is marketed. And I have no doubt those profits will be immense.”
    “Do you expect us to form a consortium?” the baroness asked.
    “What do you mean?”
    “Do you expect us to invest in you as a group?”
    Goth threw out his hands. “I suppose that’s up to you. I invited the five of you hoping that at least one of you would agree to underwrite my project. If more than one wishes to be involved, that’s fine. I must warn you, however, that if any of you contemplate sending down a fleet of lawyers to nitpick, then you can forget it. I’ve already drawn up a very simple contract form. It’s only a few hundred words long. I’ll give you each copies to study.
    I’m amenable to reasonable changes, but I’m not amenable to letting any of you try to tie me up with yards of red tape and hundreds of pages of legal mumbo-jumbo. The intent of that tactic is obvious—to take advantage of the other party.”
    “Lawyers are necessary to draw up the legal documents,” the baroness replied coolly.
    Her command of English was excellent, Stewart thought—and embellished with a charmingly Germanic lisp, particularly when she pronounced her r’s. Their eyes met briefly.
    Goth folded his arms across his chest. “I insist this be done on my terms.”
    Yamamoto had the next