"Don't let anybody call the kid by some stupid nickname based on how small she is."
"No legume names?"
The incoming-mail icon flashed on his desk.
"You've got mail," said Petra.
Bean sighed, sat up, slid over onto the chair, and opened the letter.
My oldest friend. I have five little presents with your name written all over them, and not much time left in which to give them to you. I wish you trusted me more, because I've never meant you any harm, but I know you don't, and so you are free to bring an armed escort with you. We'll meet in the open air, the east garden. The east gate will be open. You and the first five with you can come in; any more than that try to come in and you'll all be shot.
I don't know where you are, so I don't know how long it will take for you to get here. When you come, I'll have your property in a refrigerated container, good for six hours at the right temperature. If one of your escort is a specialist with a microscope, you are free to examine the specimens on the spot, and then have the specialist carry them out.
But I hope you and I can chat for a while about old times. Reminisce about the good old days, when we brought civilization to the streets of Rotterdam. We've been down a good long road since then. Changed the world, both of us. Me more than you, kid. Eat your heart out.
Of course, you married the only woman I ever loved, so maybe things balance out in the end.
Naturally, our conversation will be more pleasant if it ends with you taking me out of the compound and giving me safe passage to a place of my own choosing. But I realize that may not be within your power. We really are limited creatures, we geniuses. We know what's best for everybody, but we still don't get our way until we can persuade the lesser creatures to do our bidding. They just don't understand how much happier they'd be if they stopped thinking for themselves. They're so unequipped for it.
Relax, Bean. That was a joke. Or an indecorous truth. Often the same thing.
Give Petra a kiss for me. Let me know when to open the gate.
"Does he really expect you to believe that he'll just let you take the babies?"
"Well, he does imply a swap for his freedom," said Bean.
"The only swap he implies is your life for theirs," said Petra.
"Oh," said Bean. "Is that how you read it?"
"That's what he's saying and you know it. He expects the two of you to die together, right there."
"The real question," said Bean, "is whether he'll really have the embryos there."
"For all we know," said Petra, "they're in a lab in Moscow or Johannesburg or already in the garbage somewhere in Ribeirao."
"Now who's the grim one?"
"It's obvious that he wasn't able to place them out for implantation. So to him they represent failure. They have no value now. Why should he give them to you?"
"I didn't say I'd accept his terms," said Bean.
"But you will."
"The hardest thing about a kidnapping is always the swap, ransom for hostage. Somebody always has to trust somebody, and give up their piece before they've received what the other one has. But this case is really weird, because he's not really asking for anything from me."
"Except your death."
"But he knows I'm dying anyway. It all seems so pointless."
"He's insane, Julian. Haven't you heard?"
"Yes, but his thinking makes sense inside his own head. I mean, he's not schizophrenic, he sees the same reality as the rest of us. He's not delusional. He's just pathologically conscience-free. So how does he see this playing out? Will he just shoot me as I come in? Or will he let me win, maybe even let me kill him, only the joke's on me because the embryos he gives me aren't ours, they're from the tragic mating of two really dumb people. Perhaps two journalists."
"You're joking about this, Bean, and I--"
"I have to catch the next flight. If you think of anything else that I should know, email me, I'll check in at least once before I go in and see the lad."