“Lions and Bears,” Millie cued.
“And how ’bout them Tigers,” Howie continued the setup.
“Oh my!” Millie brought it home with the punchline.
Then the Reverend and Millie headed to the guest room to freshen up. Lila went to check on the turkey, instructing the boys to bring the good china up from downstairs and get to work setting the holiday table. And for a few minutes, it was just the Fell boys.
“So why’re you reading that book?” Howie asked, gesturing to the tome on genetic disorders as he began un-boxing a set of holiday plates.
“For fun,” Nathan said. The book was recreational reading for him, not assigned. He rarely felt a need to read the texts for his classes. They were rudimentary. He needed more depth.
“Ha,” Howie rolled his eyes.
He’s smart, Nathan reminded himself, before deciding at last to give a more candid reply.
“The subject—the book—it’s related to a new theory I’m developing,” Nathan said. “To be fair, I’m not the only one working with this particular theory—but I’m sort of, you know, adding my own twist.”
“What’s the theory?”
“That ultimately, the best way to eradicate genetic disorders—from Tay-Sachs and spina bifida to dementia—is to augment human material with better-engineered material.”
Howie stopped unpacking plates. “Better-engineered material? The hell does that mean?”
“Mechanics,” Nathan said. “Bioengineering. Not just ‘better living through science’—better life through science. Better bodies, better minds. The things we’re starting to be able to do with computers is also—”
“You’re talking about… what, robot-people? Cyborgs? Man-meets-machine? Like on The Six Million Dollar Man? ‘We have the technology’—”
“Not like that dumbass TV show,” Nathan snapped, already regretting confiding in his brother. “I’m talking about real science. A real opportunity to improve mankind. Not something inefficient like throwing a bunch of resources into rebuilding one stupid guy. An upgrade for the entire species. Designing people better. There’s so much potential for us to—”
“Nathan,” Howie said, shaking his head. “Come on, man. That’s messed up.”
“Stop interrupting me,” Nathan said quietly.
“Jesus,” Howie went on. “An ‘upgrade’ to the ‘species’? Look, I’m all for medical science, but you can’t ‘design’ people. That’s just wrong. You do get that, right?”
“No.”
“Be reasonable, Nathan. You can’t really think—”
“You’re the one who’s not thinking,” Nathan said, hating the rising pitch in his voice. “I am the one demonstrating all the reason in this conversation. You’re demonstrating emotion. Emotion is not reasonable! I want to move the world forward, you want to let it stagnate. We’re killing the planet, overusing resources, refusing to evolve. That’s not how it has to be.”
Nathan limped angrily to the other side of the table, shoving Howie out of the way and reaching into a cardboard box for the gleaming good china, grabbing a plate roughly.
“Hey, careful,” Howie said, but Nathan slammed the plate onto the table, shattering it.
Their mother entered the room, carrying a golden-roasted turkey on a giant platter. Her apron was tied loosely around her slim waist; her hair was streaked with gray and powdered white with flour, making her appear suddenly much older. She looked from Nathan, to Howie, to the shattered plate, and finally back to Howie. Her expression was tortured.
“You can’t even be civil on Thanksgiving? We haven’t even sat down, and I hoped—”
But Nathan limped from the room, dousing her hope with his scowl, furious at himself for opening up to his brother about ideas far too big for his small thinking.
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