The Best of Michael Swanwick Read Free

responsibility that African business was based on. Then decided that if DiStephano didn’t know, he didn’t want to. “There are still problems. Africa has a high incidence of birth defects.” Because America exported its poisons; its chemicals arid pesticides and foods containing a witch’s brew of preservatives. “We hope to do away with the problem; if a major thrust is made, we can clean up the gene pool in less than a century. But to do this requires professionals—eugenicists, embryonic surgeons—and while we have these, they are second-rate. The very best still come from your nation’s medical schools.”
    “We can’t spare any.”
    “We don’t propose to steal your doctors. We’d provide our ownstudents—fully trained doctors who need only the specialized training.”
    “There are only so many openings at Hopkins,” DiStephano said. “or at U of P or the UVM Medical College, for that matter.”
    “We’re prepared to—” Wolf pulled himself up short. “It’s in the papers. We’ll pay enough that you can expand to meet the needs of twice the number of students we require.” The room was dim and oppressive. Sweat built up under Wolf’s clothing.
    “Maybe so. You can’t buy teachers with money, though.” Wolf said nothing. “I’m also extremely reluctant to let your people near our medics. You can offer them money, estates—things our country cannot afford. And we need our doctors. As it is, only the very rich can get the corrective surgery they require.”
    “If you’re worried about our pirating your professionals, there areways around that. For example, a clause could be written—“Wolf went on, feeling more and more in control. He was getting somewhere. If there wasn’t a deal to be made, the discussion would never have gotten this far.
    The day wore on. DiStephano called in aides and dismissed them. Twice, he had drinks sent in. Once, they broke for lunch. Slowly the heat built, until it was sweltering. Finally, the light began to fail, and the heat grew less oppressive.
    DiStephano swept the documents into two piles, returned one to Wolf, and put the other inside a desk drawer. “I’ll look these over, have our legal boys run a study. There shouldn’t be any difficulties. I’ll get back to you with the final word in—say a month. September twenty-first, I’ll be in Boston then, but you can find me easily enough, if you ask around.”
    “A month? But I thought…”
    “A month. You can’t hurry City Hall,” DiStephano said firmly. “Ms. Corey!”
    The veiled woman was at the door, remote, elusive. “Sir.”
    “Drag Kaplan out of his office. Tell him we got a kid in here he should give the VIP treatment to. Maybe a show. It’s a Hopkins thing, he should earn his keep.”
    “Yes, sir.” She was gone.
    “Thank you,” Wolf said, “but I don’t really need…”
    “Take my advice, kid, take all the perks you can get. God knowsthere aren’t many left. I’ll have Kaplan pick you up at your hostel in an hour.”
    ***
    Kaplan turned out to be a slight, balding man with nervous gestures, some sort of administrative functionary for Hopkins. Wolf never did get the connection. But Kaplan was equally puzzled by Wolf’s status, and Wolf took petty pleasure in not explaining it. It took some of the sting off of having his papers stolen.
    Kaplan led Wolf through the evening streets. A bright sunset circled the world, and the crowds were much thinner. “We won’t be leaving the area that’s zoned for electricity,” Kaplan said. “Otherwise I’d advise against going out at night at all. Lot of jennie-deafs out then.”
    “Jennie-deafs?”
    “Mutes. Culls. The really terminal cases. Some of them can’t pass themselves off in daylight even wearing coveralls. Or chador—a lot are women.” A faintly perverse expression crossed the man’s face, leaving not so much as a greasy residue.
    “Where are we going?” Wolf asked. He wanted to change the subject. A vague