Gifted Read Free

slamming shut. “Understand that we are informing you of our recommendation purely as a courtesy—”
    “What are you not saying?” she demanded, her eyes narrowing.
    Mr. Bean looked politely confused. “I’m not sure I—”
    “There’s something else. Something you’re not telling me. I’m very good at reading body language, Mr. Bean, and there’s something going on that you’re not being candid about.”
    He exchanged glances with the others of his ilk at the table, and then he cleared his throat and said, “The, uh…the simple fact, Doctor Rao, is that mutants aren’t what one might call sexy.”
    14 She stared at him as if he’d suddenly started speaking in tongues. “I’m sorry? Not…sexy? Have you
seen
some of their outfits?”
    Mr. Bean and the others started to laugh until they saw that she wasn’t, at which point they immediately fell silent.
    “What I mean to say is that mutantcy isn’t like, say, sickle-cell or Tay-Sachs or Parkinson’s. It doesn’t have someone like Michael J. Fox who everybody adores going around filming commercials or testifying to Congress about how funds are needed for research. People are, in fact, terrified of mutants. Even the so called,”—he held up finger quotes—“‘good mutants’ are objects of fear, because you never know when they’re going to turn evil or destroy property fighting the mutants that supposedly are worse than they are. You think the average citizen cares about who’s good and who’s evil in one of these huge fights? They don’t. To them, it’s an extended bar brawl that’s spilled out into their front yards and demolished their new Ford Fusions.”
    “You’re telling me,” she said slowly, “that despite the fact that people are suffering—both mutants and average citizens. Benetech won’t support research into mutants because they can’t use it for
fundraising?
”
    “Sad to say, yes. That’s exactly right. Especially when it’s combined with the lack of progress. It’s not like muscular dystrophy where telethons can be held for decades, and people understand the fact that the condition is still around. Being a mutant is simply a different proposition from other genetic research. And that’s the truth.”
    “Really.” She stood up, knowing there was no point in continuing the discussion. That indeed there hadn’t actually been a discussion. The men automatically rose when she did. Then she ticked off on her fingers, one at a time: “Muscular dystrophy. Cystic fibrosis. Hemophilia. 15 Tay-Sachs. Sickle-cell. Do you know what all of those are?”
    “Diseases?” said Mr. Bean, looking puzzled.
    “Mutations. Every single one. Point mutations, to be specific. And people treat those sufferers with simple human compassion. If we’d spent all this time trying to help mutants instead of running from them or attacking them, then maybe—just maybe—the research would be further along.”
    “Well,” and he shrugged, “I guess we’ll never know, will we?”
    “No,” she said icily. “We won’t.”
    She walked out without another word.
    RAO strode down the hallway, the edges of the lab coat, worn over her sari, swirling around her legs. Her fists were clenched tightly and her posture was ramrod straight.
    Fools. Blind fools. They don’t understand. None of them understand
.
    She wondered how much of her department was going to be left when she returned to it. Would her office even be there? Maybe they were just planning to move her desk into the cafeteria. She could continue to do her work as long as she was willing to bus tables.
    Then, as she walked past one lab that had been emptied during the last round of budget cuts, she heard a deep, rough voice call to her from within. “Doctor Rao,” it said.
    She turned and looked. The main light wasn’t on, but the glow from a single overhead fixture provided some illumination. Rao stepped to the threshold and looked inside.
    There was a table in the middle of the room