The Dinosaur Feather (19 page)

He had said: “Have you examined Freeman’s underlying premises properly?” and she had nearly throttled him. Johannes was forever boring her with science theory and had written a highly intellectual theoretical science dissertation about Cambrian arthropods and been awarded a first. However, her dissertation was about bones and feathers, she had no use for his philosophical musings, she thought, and she had told him so. She had brushed him aside and carried on wallowing in her crisis. Finally, Johannes lost patience with her and gave her an ultimatum.

“Tomorrow morning, 10 a.m., in the lecture hall. If you don’t show, you’re on your own forever. I mean it.”

That evening she reluctantly conceded that it would be in her best interest to show up.

When Johannes had failed to arrive by 10:10 a.m., she had been on the verge of leaving. She had just gotten up and reached for her bag when he stormed in, gasping for breath.

“Great,” he panted, “you’re here.”

“It sounded like an order yesterday, not an offer.”

Johannes pulled off his jacket and faced her.

“Anna,” he said calmly, “it
is
an offer. You want out?”

Anna didn’t dare nod even though everything inside her urged her to.

They went up to the board.

“Take a seat,” Johannes said, pointing to the tall desk. She climbed up and looked at the empty board.

“Right, Anna Banana . . .” he said and quickly massaged his forehead. “When you say the word ‘science,’ most people imagine a strict, objective discipline that is impersonal, general, and true. We like and accept that literature, architecture, and politics are subjective, but most of us would bridle at this being applicable to, say, chemistry or biology.” Johannes cleared his throat. “The strictly objective view of science is represented, among others, by the philosopher Karl Popper, who lived from . . . ah, that escapes my mind . . . Popper was in search of an absolute set of rules for science, and he used the so-called hypothetical-deductive method, which says scientific theories must always be tested by conclusive experiments. Only when a theory could be falsified, could it be called scientific. Do you follow?” Johannes looked directly at Anna.

“Er, no,” Anna said. “Popper thought a theory was false when it was scientific?”

“No, of course not, you dork. Popper thought it was only when a theory was
open
to testing and could, possibly, be disproved, that it could be deemed scientific.

“At the start of the 1960s,” he continued, “a new school of thought in scientific theory was born that wanted subjectivity to be acknowledged and included in our understanding of science. One of the frontrunners was the physicist Thomas Kuhn, who pointed out the value of subjectivity in science. I just want to interpose,” Johannes said tapping his upper lip lightly, “that of course there are many different ways to interpret Kuhn, so it’s not
absolutely
certain I’m right.” He gave her a teasing look before he continued.

“Kuhn was later supported by a woman I have the greatest respect for, the brilliant science theorist Lorraine J. Daston, who in an attempt to solidify the role of the subjective in science introduced a concept she named the Moral Economy of Science. So we’re talking about a shift in perception, with on the one hand Popper’s demand for an absolute set of rules for science and, on the other, a more relative attitude, as proposed by Kuhn and Daston.” Johannes wrote Kuhn on the board following by a colon.

“Of course, none of them was a genius working in isolation who suddenly saw the light, that goes without saying,” he added, “but to simplify matters I’ll give you the shortened version, okay?”

Anna nodded.

“Kuhn demonstrated that a scientist’s choices are influenced by the personality and biography of that scientist, and that ultimately subjectivity determines what the scientist chooses. Kuhn, you won’t be surprised to hear, attracted huge criticism and was accused of having a completely irrational understanding of science, but he responded by pointing out that making room for disagreement doesn’t equal throwing open the doors to a misleading and totally subjective understanding of science, as long as”—Johannes raised his index finger—“the scientists in question are 100-percent loyal to their own explanations and can argue convincingly in case of any breaches of that loyalty.” Johannes planted a hand on the desk either side of Anna and stood very close to her.

“Have you examined whether Freeman is consistent within his own work? Is he loyal to his own choices, and when he changes his explanations, is his argument satisfactory?”

“I don’t know,” Anna said.

Johannes took a step back.

“Let’s move on,” he said, and spent the next fifteen minutes reviewing Lorraine J. Daston’s concept of the Moral Economy of Science. Anna listened in awe and made notes as Johannes’s talent for abstract thinking unfolded before her.

“I think that’s enough for today.” He smiled. “But first let’s summarize.” He looked gravely at her. “Over to you.”

“What?”

Johannes nodded.

Anna took her notes and jumped down from the desk. Suddenly the situation reminded her of her forthcoming dissertation defense, and her heart started pounding as she wiped the board, picked up a piece of chalk, and carefully accounted for her understanding.

Johannes looked pleased when she had finished and said: “Find out if Clive Freeman adheres to universal and established premises for sober science. If he doesn’t,” he snapped his fingers, “then you’ve got him.”

“And if he does?”

“Then you’re screwed,” Johannes laughed.

Anna was about to sulk, but then she felt it. There was something. Something almost terrifyingly intangible, but vital. Something she could work with.

Over the following weeks she studied Popper, Kuhn, and Daston in detail, and as the days passed, two points emerged: scientists who contradicted themselves couldn’t claim their theories were scientific; and scientists must, at any given time, be able to substantiate effectively any theories they propose or reject.

She revisited the controversy with a fresh pair of eyes. She reviewed Freeman’s arguments for the umpteenth time, and they were just as well oiled, indisputable, and professional as they always had been, but to Anna’s huge astonishment Freeman’s scientific premises didn’t bear scrutiny. Spurred on by renewed enthusiasm, she attacked Freeman’s book
The Birds
again, and the contradictions sprung from the pages like mushrooms after a rain shower. Triumphantly, she slammed the desk and when Johannes, who had just entered the study at that point, gave her a quizzical look, she got up and kissed him on the cheek. Johannes giggled.

“I don’t know how to thank you,” she said. A scent of something dark and perfumed surrounded him.

“Ah, well,” he said, shyly, “you’ll think of something.”

Two students walked noisily down the corridor, past the study, and interrupted Anna’s train of thought. She massaged her forehead and felt ashamed. Her way of thanking Johannes had been to scream at him, and he hadn’t deserved it. She tried calling him on his cell, but he didn’t answer. She left a message and asked him to call her back. The air in the study was oppressive and uncomfortable. She called Dr. Tybjerg to cancel their meeting that evening, but there was no reply. Then she did some preparation for her dissertation defense. Just after 2 p.m. she packed up and left, locking the study behind her. Johannes still hadn’t returned her call. She was outside in the cold air when she heard someone tap on a window. She turned and saw Professor Moritzen.

“Can I come in?” she mouthed. Hanne nodded.

“Have a seat,” she said, when Anna entered her tasteful office. Anna sat in a molded chair and, without asking, Hanne handed her a cup of tea.

“I’ll get straight to the point,” she said with a quick glance at Anna. “I’ve a favor to ask you. Can this remain just between the two of us?”

Anna nodded.

“I presume you’ve heard about Helland?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Good.” Hanne looked briefly relieved. “Yesterday I had a visit from a police officer, Søren Marhauge. I’ve seen him here a few times, so I assume you know who he is? Very tall guy with short hair and dark eyes?”

Anna nodded a second time.

“He wanted to know if it was at all possible that the material came from my department, and—”

“What material?”

“The proglottids, obviously.”

“I don’t follow.”

“Ah, so you don’t know that . . .” she said.

“Know what?”

Hanne sighed and told Anna what she knew. Anna was shocked.

“Who did it?” she whispered.

“I refuse to believe that anyone did,” Hanne said dismissively. “The material was in my care, and everyone who needs to work with live material must be approved by me before the material is released, and afterward they must account for how it was used in detail. Everything happens under strict control, and the people who work in the laboratory are colleagues I trust.” She took a sheet of paper and reeled off a list of names. “All of us have worked with parasites our entire professional lives and we’re very careful. Besides, it requires imagination to even think of infecting someone with mature eggs. It would have been much easier to push Helland out in front of a car, or shoot him even,” she remarked drily.

“Could someone have stolen the material?”

“No!” Hanne sounded momentarily offended, then she sighed again. “Of course it’s possible—in theory. It’s also theoretically possible to steal the crown jewels. But it’s very unlikely. You need to know how to treat the material, or it will die. Live organisms are complicated.” She paused.

“So what’s your explanation?” Anna asked.

“I think he was infected on a trip abroad,” she said. “I know the police claim that Helland has never been outside Europe, but he doesn’t have to have been.
Taenia solium
is cosmopolitan, because it spreads via pigs, so even though the number of incidents is infinitesimal, it’s still a possibility. My conclusion: he must have been infected elsewhere.” The expression in Hanne’s eyes suddenly changed.

“I don’t know if you’re aware, but there is no permanent Parasitology department at the Institute of Biology now, nor will there be any teaching next year. The course and the department will be closed due to cuts.”

“I don’t understand.” Anna was genuinely puzzled. “You still work here.”

“I do, but when I leave, it’s all over.” Her eyes shone. “We weren’t awarded a single grant to fund graduate programs, PhDs, or post-doctoral studies this year, and that means when the money runs out, well, that’s it.” Hanne fished out a thin string of pearls from under her blouse and started fidgeting with it.

“The Faculty Council controls the distribution of faculty grants and, like in any other council, they agree to an overall plan. What to invest in and why. It’s important for Denmark to have a competitive research profile that not only matches what happens elsewhere in Europe, but also in the rest of the world. That said, few people believe the Faculty Council bases its decisions exclusively on what’s best for Denmark.” Hanne gave Anna a hard stare. “Of course, a certain amount of nepotism exists in the charmed circle that is the Faculty Council. You scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours. A mechanism that has undoubtedly enjoyed great popularity since the government slammed its coffers shut,” she added tartly. “I’m not saying it’s an easy job, and that’s why I’ve always avoided administrative work myself. You won’t believe how much money we need to save right now. Council members are under pressure, and they experience, first hand, how even their own areas of research are being slimmed down. They try to compensate for that in the notorious faculty meetings. They trade pots of money and grants like kids trade stickers, and when they make an announcement, everyone holds their breath and crosses their fingers.” She held her breath for a moment.

“I do actually believe they’re trying their hardest—up to a point—and some level of self-promotion is unavoidable. Let me give you an example: take the Natural History Museum’s beetle collection. We have one of the most impressive collections in the world, and it’s left to rot. There’s no one to look after it, and no research happens within that field. Beetles are low status, they’re not ‘sexy.’ The Faculty Council shut down the department of Coleoptera Systematics, which used to be in this building. From an outside perspective, it seemed a small sacrifice, the department had only two staff, Professor Helge Mathiesen, who was about to retire anyway, and a very young scientist, Asger . . .” Hanne shook her head, as if she had forgotten his surname. “He went into a total tailspin. Before the summer break, he had a promising academic career ahead of him, after the summer break, his department had been closed. For a scientist who has micro-specialized within a specific field . . .” Again she shook her head. “He’s finished. It’s the end of his science career. That’s the way it is. Certain areas of research are high status because they reflect what’s happening globally, others have high status because they’re areas of interest to members of the council, whose decisions have huge consequences for all of us, depending on whether or not we work in a field that happens to be flavor of the month. Up until this year, I had never been directly affected by the council’s priorities and have always been given my fair share. However, this spring, it was finally our turn. My turn. The department will be closing.” Her voice rang hollow.

“They dropped the bombshell on the first day after Easter break. We have three years to finish our work. Research, which has already cost the Danish tax payer millions of kroner, and projects that—were we allowed to complete them—could save the lives of hundreds of thousands of people in the Third World where parasites kill people every day. Three years. That may not sound unreasonable to you, but it’s the equivalent of building the Great Wall of China in an afternoon. It’s a preposterous timetable.” Hanne gave Anna a dark look. “My research is my life, Anna,” she said. “I’m forty-eight, and I have devoted my life to my academic career.”

Slowly Anna began to grasp the implications.

“And now you’re scared you’ll be fired on the spot if the material found in Helland is traced back to your department?”