In Search of Neva

"You’ll never know, Ned. God, how long have I been sleeping in the lounge?"

"A good half hour, old buddy. Hey, you remember you have a meeting with Crampon?"

Eric Styles slowly reclaimed his wits as he looked steadfastly at his friend and colleague of three and a half years. Corley had worked in the accounting section the Company for five years in sales. On many occasions Ned and Eric had complained about certain Company policies, or more plainly put, its lack of honesty in informing its own publicity officer, and, hence the public, of the full scope of its research projects.

"You know, Ned, the pure gall is that I’m the P.R.O. man."

"Well, perhaps you’re not yet a member of the club, Eric. Guys have come and gone during the years I’ve been here. Granted, I know some have made it, but the hierarchy’s been entrenched, and it’s been getting worse since Blaisdell merged with Viacor. You and I well know everything’s been hush-hush. Hell, when did Blaisdell, a company which manufactures artificial body parts and related prosthetic devices, become interested in particle physics research? It just doesn’t make sense."

"Precisely what I hope to find out, Ned."

"Just what do you expect to get out of Crampton?"

Eric hesitated momentarily. "For three years, the company has taken its pound of flesh from my own dogged determination to put Blaisdell’s interest over my own. I know damn right well that assets have tripled, hell, quadrupled just in the course of the last two years. You just can’t tell me the earnings were limited statements on production of artificial limbs and prosthetics. What about the stem cell research? Crampton has released nothing on this. There’s too much subterfuge here."

"I’m wondering if the merger with Viacor changed company direction," Ned responded. "There is such a disparity, though; yet you apparently were never brought into the fold, Eric? I realize it doesn’t make any sense."

"My days are numbered, Ned. I should have pushed more and demanded to inform the public about DNA research."

"Blaisdell has plenty of company in experiments on cloning. Like, what’s the big deal?"

"They must be hiding something, Ned. Either personnel or Harris tells me or I’m out of here."

"Are you sure you want out?"

"There have to be disparate enterprises with the merger. I think there’s more going on than developing telescopes and artificial limbs."

"I’ve read your updates on the purchases of Microtrac Particle Analyzers. Seems Blaisdell –Viacor has government contract liaisons with GenMac supplies and Alpha Electronics. We’ve been buying and installing biomedical equipment, laser equipment, and a host of specialized DNA sequencing lab parts for all the years I’ve been here. Just what have we been selling?"

"Just the standard prosthetic devices, Eric. You yourself have put out the recent circular on cryo support systems."

"Yeah, and I got in touch with Simmons at one of the research units at a plant which apparently supplied us with a plasma extraction device. You’ve aware this is a kit used with DNA sequencing."

"Specifically cloning, you’re saying."

"You said it, Ned, not I."

"I don’t think you’re alone, Eric."

"But Jesus, Ned, I’m the PR man. How absurd is this?"

At that moment the telephone in the lounge buzzed, and Ned answered. After ten seconds, Ned hung up.

"Your meeting’s been cancelled. You’re to meet with Crampton at ten on Monday. What are you going to tell him?"