Lab Notes: a novel Read Online Free PDF

folly.
    People had warned me against marrying a man ten years my senior, but after twelve years together, I still feel his sterling qualities by far eclipse his lack of derring-do.
    However, in this case, there’s more at stake than a party. I have a premonition that our government funding will not be renewed.
    Granted, we have always thought of ourselves as intramural researchers. But, who knows, maybe Bayside Research could prove the perfect non-university venue for us. Vincent could complete the development and testing of Peruvase without funding worries. I would continue collecting and analyzing plants for medicinal compounds. And, if BRI is affiliated with a university, I wouldn’t have to give up teaching. As a matter of fact, I would stipulate that as part of our contract.
    Commercial biotechnology. To many, the term conjures up a brew of crazed scientists, evil clones, bioterrorism, super bugs, Frankenfood and super drugs. But in my mind, I see it as a soft landing if our government grant doesn’t come through this time.
    I understand Vincent’s resistance. If we left Pittsburgh, he’d miss the gaggle of relatives who assemble at his father’s house on Sundays and holidays. He seems to thrive on that tumultuous camaraderie. Whereas, now lacking the unifying force of grandparents; my aunts, uncles and cousins have all scattered. Family interface has been reduced to words on a computer screen. So, I can communicate with them wherever I go.
    Then there’s Vincent’s position as department chairman—he’d have to give that up if we moved on. I, on the other hand, might possibly improve my circumstance.
    Is it heresy for scientists to entertain the idea of becoming rich from their intellectual properties? Raymond Bellfort hinted at generous salaries and royalties and unlimited funding that day at lunch. I find it all tempting enough to want a closer look. But Vincent, the trust fund baby, does not in any way measure success by his income. He says (never unkindly) that salary’s such an issue with me because I’m running from my blue-collar background. Maybe so.
    I have to admit that even though it was my grandmother’s small, plastic-covered, herbal greenhouse that set me on this path, at times I avoid any disclosure of my background to colleagues—as though I’d left behind a childhood riddled with crime; as if, exposed, I’d be remanded to “et al” limbo once again.
    Am I being naïve in my thinking? Do my glossy expectations come from lack of any other experience? Has my growing up in the science world, under Vincent’s peerless tutelage, been akin to finding my way wearing sterling blinders? Is it safe for me to go out into the world at large?
    I can’t use my friends and colleagues at the university as sounding boards. They’ve made it clear that they’d consider a move to Texas akin to giving up my U.S. citizenship.
    I know you’ll be swamped when you return to civilization. But please send your thoughts on this as soon as you can.
    Having said all this, is a Christmas yacht party really the proper venue for deciding our future? Would we be able to see clearly through tinsel-dazzled eyes?
    Regards,
    Diane
    -SEND-
     
    Where are you Olimpia?

μ CHAPTER FIVE μ
     
    The yacht Enterprise sat in BRI’s marina looking festive with evergreen garlands and blue Christmas lights adorning her deck rails. In the main salon, gaslights flickered and musicians played Christmas carols.
    Most of the invited guests were on board.
    In the pilothouse, Raymond Bellfort accepted a cigar and a light from Gabriel Carrera, his South American cousin. He puffed vigorously, feigning pleasure as he endured the obligatory Cuban cigar ritual.
    Gabriel Carrera and his father Carlos Carrera had arrived from Barranquilla the previous day for business meetings in Houston and stayed on for the Bayside Research Christmas party. Father and son had traveled separately, as usual.
    Raymond Bellfort slid open a starboard window to