Molokai Reef (7 page)

Dr.
Wilson’s hobbies included scuba diving, fishing, and kite
boarding.

Dr.
J. Splicer, the female victim, worked for GeNesRus, another
biotechnology company. Dr. Splicer had joined GeNesRus directly
after completing the requirements for her Ph.D. at the University of
California, Davis. During her sixteen months with GeNesRus, she
worked out of their Moloka‘i research center. The company did
not reveal Dr. Splicer’s area of expertise.

Dr.
Splicer was single and rented a small home in Kaunakakai.

“
The
facts are pretty sparse.” Gybe summarized. “There isn’t
much about the murders or the reason for arresting Susan.”

He
flipped the page and found brief overviews of each company.

Beginning
with the SynCorn history, he learned that Dr. Lester Spooner had
founded SynCorn three years ago. The privately held firm employed
seventeen scientists and technicians. SynCorn conducted research in
the area of genetic modification of hybrid corn.

SynCorn
had employed the male victim, Dr. Ray Wilson, for two years. He had
moved to Moloka‘i from Stillwater, Oklahoma. According to a
SynCorn spokesperson, Helena Feedum, “Dr. Wilson, Ray, wanted
to test his laboratory findings in the field test plots here on
Moloka‘i. Dr. Wilson’s work involved the modification of
the gene that gives common corn its distinctive yellow color.”

Remembering
that Heinz had introduced green ketchup and then blue ketchup, Gybe
surmised that SynCorn was attempting to do the same with corn. Gybe
looked up at Kara. “Do you think kids would eat more veggies
if they were rainbow colored?”

“
The
kids or the veggies?”

"For
now, let’s assume they are coloring the veggies.”

He
returned to the article but wondered if some other company was
creating a variety of green beans that were purple or pink.
“Remember the artist who created the luminescent rabbit?”

Kara
shuddered. “These guys are fucking nuts! I can’t
believe we are allowing these genetic hackers to experiment with
life. Do they have any idea of the repercussions of their
experiments? Do they KNOW what will happen when a farmer plants
blood-red corn on his Nebraska fields?”

Gybe
ducked back behind the newspaper to avoid the rant.

“
How
do they change the color of corn? Suppose they are taking the color
gene from tropical fish, maybe a clownfish, and splicing it into the
corn genome. What happens when some of that corn washes into the
ocean here on Moloka‘i? What happens when it enters the
pelagic food chain?” Kara ranted on.

“
Why
do we need colored corn?” As Gybe’s mouth started to
move, Kara answered her own question. “Just so some greedy
multinational corporation can make more money. I’m so damned
mad. Let’s go visit SynCorn right now!”

“
Hold
on. I’m hearing a lot more emotion than facts. You may be
right, but we don’t know that Dr. Wilson was mating Nemo with
the Jolly Green Giant. I want to read the rest of this article, OK?”

Gybe
finished the SynCorn story and sailed his eyes over to the GeNesRus
company overview.

In
the GeNesRus sidebar, Gybe read that Dr. Elizabeth Miller had founded
the company two years earlier. The company enjoyed the status of
woman-owned although there was no public record of government
contracting.

The
privately held firm hadn’t released any financial data. A
press release eighteen months ago indicated that a Boston venture
capital firm had invested in GeNesRus.

In a
telephone interview with Dr. Elizabeth Miller, the founder and CEO,
the reporter had learned that nineteen employees worked at the
laboratory on Maunaloa Highway west of Kaunakakai. When asked about
the specific business of GeNesRus, Dr. Miller told the reporter
“GeNesRus is researching the transfer of genetic material from
one plant species to another.” When pressed, the CEO refused
to elaborate.

“
They
sure don’t reveal much about either the victims or their
employers.” Gybe amplified his earlier comment. “I
guess the companies are worried about their trade secrets.”

“
Public
opinion is their real fear.” Kara offered. “Why do you
think they perform their research on Moloka‘i, an island with
little industry and few job opportunities? There is no daily
newspaper and no scheduled airline flights. Because Hawai‘i
has only one mayor per county, the mayor of Moloka‘i sits in
the county seat on Maui. And how much will the state help? The
state capitol is in Honolulu. Frankly, they care more about waders
on Waikiki than mutants on Moloka‘i. The greedy multinational
corporations are taking advantage of these people.”

Wow,
she never stopped to breathe once. Greedy-multinational-corporation
came out as one word. “You seem to know a lot about Hawai‘i
for someone who flew in yesterday?”

“
We
have a network of volunteers within Oceans Now who contribute to a
master database. I read the report on the flight from San
Francisco.”

“
So
I take it that you are opposed to genetic engineering?”

“
Damn
straight. We don’t know if it is safe. We don’t know
the long-term effects on the environment. We don’t know if the
genes can migrate from one species to another in the wild. There are
a hundred things that we don’t know about the process.”

“
But
if the scientists can make crops that produce more food or require
less fertilizer and pesticide, isn’t that good?”

“
Only
if it is safe. Today, we don’t know that. Europe has banned
genetically modified organisms (GMOs) because we can’t prove
they are safe. Besides, marketing reasons drive the creation of many
of the GMOs. They’ve spliced terminator genes into crops so
their seeds are sterile. This forces the farmer to buy new seeds
every year. They’ve modified tomatoes so that they hold up
better for shipping, but they taste like cardboard.”

Rolling
along, Kara continued, “Remember back in the nineties when they
created BtCorn. The genetic engineers designed it to be resistant to
the European corn borer. Well, it also killed monarch butterflies.”

“
Hold
on,” Gybe interrupted, “that isn’t true. More than
a dozen studies countered that report. It was a flawed study. Don’t
let your emotions overrun the facts.”

“
That’s
what you say. Do YOU know the effect of the BtCorn twenty or fifty
years from now?"

“
No.
Our grandparents didn’t know the effect of automobiles, jet
planes, or electricity either. How many butterflies have they
killed? How much poison do they produce? You’d be waist deep
in horse shit if it weren’t for the automobile. Is the car
better than a horse?” Gybe paused. “I don’t know.
The answers aren’t simple.”

“
OK,
then do you agree we should use the precautionary principle?”

Gybe
was familiar with the principle. It stated something to the effect
that when an activity raises threats of harm to human health or the
environment, precautionary measures should be taken even if some
cause and effect relationships can not be established scientifically.
In other words, we should protect the environment and human health
first – even if we have no clear evidence of harm. We should
err on the safe side.

“
You’re
suggesting that if we have no evidence of harm from a genetically
modified organism then we ban it because it MIGHT harm the
environment or people?” Gybe questioned.

“
Better
safe than sorry.”

“
Good
thing that the precautionary rule was invented recently.”

Kara
wrinkled her forehead and then played the part. “Why?”

“
For
starters, you wouldn’t be able to eat cooked food. You’ve
read of the studies that list all the carcinogens created during
frying and how other forms of cooking break molecular bonds. If you
had just invented cooking, could you get it past the precautionary
principle?”

“
That’s
absurd.” Kara appeared to be searching for a deeper answer
before she blurted. “Besides, I’m a vegetarian.”

Gybe
let the knowledge of her mahimahi sandwich for lunch slide by. “OK,
if you don’t like that one, then how about raising corn in
Africa?”

“
What
about it?”

“
Corn
wasn’t invented in Africa. It came from Mexico.”

“
So?”

“
Who
tested corn in the growing conditions of Africa? How did they know
that corn wouldn’t interbreed with endemic plants to create a
new Frankenplant? Suppose there was an organism in the soil of Kenya
that interacted with corn plants to create a toxin that killed
giraffes?”

Clearly
angered, Kara butted in, “You don’t care what the mad
scientists create in their genetic labs?”

“
Didn’t
say that. I’m saying that the issue isn’t as simple as a
bumper sticker. Biotech promises great new positive developments for
the environment, agriculture, medicines, quality of life, etc.”
Holding up his hand to stop her response, he continued. “AND,
it holds the potential for great danger. It’s not a question
of either we do it or we don’t. The masses need to learn that
milk does not come from a carton and electricity does not come from
an outlet. Society is scientifically illiterate, ignorant, and
stupid.” He may have been redundant, but Gybe held the masses
in very low esteem.

Though
he had known Kara for only a couple of days, he knew she wasn’t
stupid. She wouldn’t buy his arguments at face value, but he
suspected that she would ponder some of the things he had said. Of
course she would never admit this.

While
Kara steamed, Gybe finished reading the newspaper article.

Finished
with the
Star-Bulletin
, Gybe traded papers with Kara and
scanned the reports in the other major newspaper.

He
glanced up at the kitchen clock, saw that it was nearly 6:00 p.m.,
and flipped on the small countertop television.

12

On
the TV, the face of a pretty woman filled the small screen. She was
pretty because five test audiences gave her a high rating during her
hiring process. She won additional points for white, straight teeth
and perfect hair. On cue and at random, she could call up any of
seven pre-defined facial expressions ranging from laughter to
misty-eyed gloom. Tears spoiled her make-up, so she never used them.
Her agent negotiated a contract stipulating that during a broadcast,
she would never utter more than four consecutive sentences. Each
sentence would contain no more than eleven words – no more than
three syllables per word.

Or at
least, that was what Gybe imagined after listening to the woman
speak.

Gybe
watched as she announced the top story. “In Wailuku today, the
Maui County Prosecuting Attorney held a news conference.” She
hit her maximum word count, so she started a new sentence. “He
discussed the recent murders on Moloka‘i.” Hawaiian
words, such as Moloka‘i, were exempt from the three-syllable
rule. She stumbled through their pronunciation. Turning her head,
she directed the audience to follow her eyes to the growing inset of
the reporter on the scene.

The
on scene reporter’s head oscillated between her notes and the
camera. Reading from her notes, she reported that during the news
conference, the Prosecuting Attorney (PA) had told reporters that at
one p.m. today, Susan Combs had appeared before a District Court
judge via video link to the Kaunakakai jail. The purpose of the
hearing was to set the date for a preliminary hearing to determine if
sufficient evidence warranted proceeding to trial.

The
state charged her with two counts of first-degree murder. The
prosecutor had sufficient evidence to show pre-meditation in the
killings. Further, he said that several eyewitnesses had placed her
in the area of the crime; that she had a documented history of
“violence” (his word) against the companies that employed
the victims; and that Susan had access to specific physical evidence
used in the commission of the crime.

A
video clip of the news conference bloomed on the screen as the
reporter’s image faded to a small corner. The Prosecuting
Attorney was speaking: “Under Hawai‘i Revised Statutes,
a conviction of first degree murder carries a mandatory life sentence
without possibility of parole. This heinous crime will not go
unpunished.”

Already
building his case for the jury and possibly political office, Gybe
thought.

The
prosecutor continued, “A civilized society tolerates no
justification for murder. A life cannot be traded for the
environment.”

Was
the converse true? Gybe wondered. Was it OK to trade the
environment for a life?

Several
reporters jumped up with questions. “What was the cause of
death?” yelled Melinda, the on-scene talking head of the
television station they were watching.

“
No
comment.”

Undaunted,
the reporter fired back. “I’ve heard that the victims
were wearing concrete overshoes. Is organized crime involved?”