Stephen Cannell - Runaway Heart

Susan entered the crowded room full of reporters and onlookers and took a seat at the back. Herman saw her but didn't wave. He had one more thing to say.

Sandy Toshiabi at the plaintiff's table turned to give Susan a smile and a thumbs-up.

"Life is precious, Your Honor," Herman went on. "Precious in all forms wherever it exists. But it is important that we don't try to redirect or redesign the course of natural evolution. The results can become ungodly nightmares, but they won't all stay in our dreams. Some are bound to get away from us and, like these chimeras, chase us into the streets. One day they may even overthrow us, become our masters and enslave us. It is with these frightening scenarios in mind that I beg the court to rule for the plaintiff."

He sat down.

Chris Webb didn't have much to offer. He wandered around trying to attack standing and Herman's lack of a fiduciary obligation. "Mr. Strockmire doesn't have an attorney-client relationship," he argued. "Earlier he claimed that this animal, Charles Chimera, reached out to him. But now he says the animals are all dead. He cannot produce his client or any evidence that he was ever retained. This alone is enough to disallow the TRO. Further, Mr. Strockmire doesn't have the legal right to represent vials of liquid." Chris Webb also argued that science had to be allowed to flourish if we were going to have a brave new world.

Herman smiled. This dipshit didn't even know that Brave New World was the title of a novel about science and government gone mad.

So there it was, lawyers dressed in black, bullshitting just as always. And once again only Herman seemed to be standing alone between the forces of tyranny and sanity. Only Herman the German seemed to give a damn.

Judge Krookshank called a recess and went into chambers to deliberate or maybe, Herman thought, he just went in there to

take a whiz, because he was back in less than ten minutes.

They were all hustled out of the hall and reseated in the big, gothic courtroom looking up at the judge while he polished his glasses.

"On the issue of standing, which I said I would rule on at a later date… it is the decision of this court that these chimeras, this DNA, is not essentially human DNA, despite the fact that it is closer than the DNA of some humans who have been granted standing in court before. These animals, while close, are still not essentially Homo sapiens, so this court rules that they cannot be plaintiffs in a court of law."

Chris Webb slammed his palm down on the table in victory.

"However," Judge Krookshank said. "There are signs that grave criminal wrongdoing has been committed, and this court agrees with counsel for the plaintiff that these human-chimp hybrids might well present a serious threat to human beings if this experimentation is allowed to continue. This court will therefore hear a case for injunctive relief to prevent DARPA, or any other agency of the United States, from further engaging in this kind of reckless experimental activity on these chimpanzees or any other life-forms that have had their DNA unalterably changed. Mr. Strockmire, if you can find a human client and get that action filed, I will personally hear it at the earliest possible date."

"Thank you, Your Honor. I have contacted the SPCA and will file on behalf of that organization this afternoon."

Judge Krookshank looked down at his calendar and marked a date. "Is June fifth too soon for the hearing?"

"Works for me," Herman said, grinning.

"I'm afraid June is going to be impossible," Chris Webb said standing. "We have a lot of pretrial work to do on this."

"There are enough of you, so you'll just have to work quickly. Let's say June fifth then." Judge Krookshank banged his gavel. "Court is in recess." But before he stood he looked down at Herman and smiled. "Good try, Mr. Strockmire. I almost went for

your argument on standing. Pretty convincing. Maybe next time." "Thank you, Your Honor."

Herman turned and exchanged smiles with Sandy. Then he looked for Susan, but she had already slipped away.

While Jack lay in the hospital bed waiting to be

released from Cedars he read the story in the L.A. Times. There was a small picture of him next to Sandy's drawing of the chimera a toss-up which one of them looked better. Russell Ibanazi made a statement about how his beloved reservation had been exploited by the federal government and that he was personally offended by the horrible research that had taken place out there without the tribe's knowledge.

Way to go, Izzy.

Donald Trump was interviewed about his plans to build a new, luxurious casino on the Ten-Eyck land. He was calling it Indian Lakes Resort. That meant there was going to be a lot of concrete pipe

going in out there because Jack couldn't recall seeing one drop of water on the reservation.

The paper confirmed that the nuclear devices used had been low-yield "clean" weapons detonated from a satellite in space. A sidebar story on the second page detailed computer-cracker Roland Minton's death. His body had finally been returned to his mother for burial.

At the bottom of the story was a picture of General Turpin. Jack had never seen him before. It said that he ran DARPA but had resigned two days ago. His expression was as hard as Vince Valdez's. Both guys looked cold enough to freeze mercury. There wasn't much info about General Turpin, just a brief mention of a Senate inquest initiated by animal-rights activists who were going to march on Washington.

There was a long story in the Metro section written by the Liar for Hire. The diminutive PR man had profiled Herman and the Institute for Planetary Justice and provided his picture.

Jack had been left in the wake of the story, which was probably not great for the Wirta Detective Agency, but frankly he hated dealing with the press so it was more or less okay by him. He'd been safely tucked away in Cedars-Sinai and, except for a few phone interviews with a reporter at the Times, he had been left out of it. Really out of it… Susan hadn't been back to see him.

Now, three days later, he was getting ready to leave the hospital. His doctor had released him. Jack really liked his new doctor. When he'd asked how often he could refill his prescription for Percocets, the doc said, "Until the pain goes away."

Adios, Carbon Paper… at least for a while, anyway.

Things were definitely looking up. Except that Susan hadn't come to see him.

It was ten in the morning and ten was when the docs at Cedars made their final rounds. Jack's guy came in and wrote him a nice painkiller prescription: forty Percocets.

"You can get this filled in the pharmacy downstairs," he said. "If I were you I'd try and back off a little each day. Percocets can become very addictive if you're not careful."

"Y'know, I've heard that can happen. I'll be sure and be careful."

Then came the ten o'clock parade of wheelchairs patients being pushed into elevators carrying floral arrangements and get-well teddy bears.

Jack was wheeled out of his room by a nurse and found Miro waiting for him. His face had lost its puffiness but the ugly bruises were still there. He had a temporary bridge where his front teeth had been knocked out.

"Look who's going home today," Miro gushed.

"Thanks for coming," Jack smiled.

"Hey, it's the least Miro can do for his best bud."

They stood at the payment counter downstairs and Jack handled the bill with his Blue Cross card. "Hope I'm covered for gunshot wounds, since I'm America's favorite standing target." He smiled at the girl behind the desk.

"Oh, was this a gunshot wound? Let me see if your HMO reimburses for that." She started flipping pages on his form, then turned to her computer.