At the end of it, my mind is buzzing with all the information he’s pumped in. Although I’m still daunted by the task ahead of me, Justin’s briefing has also left me more comfortable about my first day at work on Wednesday.
“I did some research on Huntingdon Life Sciences last night,” I say casually, stroking the female Alsatian’s tummy. “According to Google, HLS have been infiltrated a number of times.”
Justin slants me a look I can’t decipher. “You checked up on me. I’m surprised. And impressed.”
“The thing is, even after all the undercover investigations and public exposure, HLS are still operating. So what good did all that work do? And how much change can I achieve in only one month?”
“It’s not as bad as you make it out to be,” he says slowly, and I’m thankful he’s treating my question seriously. “Huntingdon had to rebrand themselves. They’ve suffered heavy financial losses, and banks and insurers are reluctant to do business with them.” He scratches the male Alsatian’s ear. “Anyway, SolomiChem are not in Huntingdon’s league. We’re hoping that’ll make them more vulnerable to negative publicity and public pressure.”
“But if legislation demands that new products have to be tested on animals, shouldn’t we rather be focusing our efforts on the government?”
“If you want to throw stones at a tank.”
“But—”
“There are mainstream anti-vivisection groups who’ll bombard the government with petitions and protest marches. If that’s the route you want to adopt, you’re better off with them.”
My lips tighten. “I told you before, I’m committed. I’m simply exploring other avenues.”
“I suggest you stick to the path, Red Riding Hood.”
“There’s one other matter. It concerns what happened to the MD of Huntingdon.”
“Brian Cass?”
“Yes.”
Justin rolls his shoulders. “Afraid I’ll take a pickax handle to the skull of SolomiChem’s CEO?”
“I don’t approve of that kind of violence.”
“Never for one moment thought you did.”
“Justin, I’m serious.”
“Relax, TT. Our pickax handles and letter bombs are all tucked away. Kane’s moral code is to do no physical harm.”
What about your moral code?I wonder, but I don’t ask. Not when I’m nervous of his answer.
#
At home that evening, sitting at the dinner table with my parents and sixteen-year-old sister, Karina, I have trouble concentrating on the conversation. I absently push roast potatoes and steamed vegetables around my plate, my appetite non-existent, while the others devour their steaks.
I’m the only vegetarian in the family. My mother insists I’mgoing through a phase. Never mind that the phase has lasted over three years. I don’t hold it against my parents. This way of life is all they’ve ever known.
On the opposite end of the scale, my sister doesn’t much care what she puts in her mouth. For her, food converts itself into energy and that enables her to play her beloved violin. While Karina pays little attention to animals, my father maintains my interest started the moment I learned to walk and headed straight to our slit-eyed Persian on the couch.
My interest reached its life-changing peak halfway through high school. One morning, I walked into my biology class to discover that on every desk was the splayed body of a frog we were required to dissect. I looked at my dead frog and listened to the crude jokes and squeals of my classmates as they sliced away. Suddenly, I had enough.
Praying blindly, I walked slowly to the front of the classroom, stopping in front of Mr. Stratoudakis’s desk, my heart pounding so hard I was sure everyone could hear it. No one voluntarily approached Mr. Stratoudakis, not unless they were prepared to be the target of an acerbic comment or a biting dismissal.
“What is it?” he asked, not looking up from the papers he was marking.
I cleared my throat. “Sir, I can’t do this dissection.”
“Feeling squeamish, Walker? Get over it. You told me you want to work with animals. That’ll never happen if you don’t overcome your queasiness.”
“It’s not that. It’s...” I tried to sound firm, but my voice came out weak and uncertain. “I have a moral objection to dissection.”
