faces. "There are over four hundred thousand frozen embryos. Unleashing scientific experimentation on so many potential lives is the moral equivalent of mass murder—no different than abortion on demand.
"There are always 'good reasons,'" Marotta continued with disdain, "to destroy a human fetus, and now there are other 'good reasons' to destroy a human embryo. But there will never be a reason good enough to allow us to play God."
Watching Marotta, Corey judged that his delivery, unusual in its fervor, was intended to match Christy's passion. "And where does it end?" Marotta asked. "Do we begin to tinker with the cells—or even the genetic makeup—of babies? Do we create 'research infants' to satisfy whatever experiment we dream up? Do we begin to wonder if human cloning is truly so unthinkable?" Abruptly, Marotta's voice rose. "Are we edging closer to the day when our moral preceptor is not God, the Father of us all, but Josef Mengele, the father of Nazi experimentation in the laboratory that was Auschwitz?"
Glancing up, Corey saw Lexie Hart's expression, a stoic mask. "Life is precious," Marotta said with sudden quiet. "We forget that at our peril."
COREY HAD WRITTEN the speech himself. When his turn came, after an hour of debate, he felt the close attention of the other undecided senators—Lynn Whiteside and Timothy Cole of Maine, Brian Kell of Rhode Island, and, to his surprise, Chris Lear of Nebraska.
"In the last few years," Corey began, "we have seen a development almost as disturbing as the horrors cited by Senator Marotta: the politicization of science, in which decisions that affect the health and welfare of Americans are based on bogus data and political calculation.
"We've heard that global warming doesn't exist. We've seen appointees to scientific agencies whose ignorance is matched only by their partisan zeal. We've even meddled in the familial tragedy of a literally brain-dead woman. And, in the end, all of this is as inhumane as it is pointless."
A few rows ahead, Marotta turned to watch him. But Corey was more conscious of the other Ohioans who had stood at this desk and whose names were carved inside: Warren Harding, who became president because he was so pliable; Robert Taft, perhaps worthy of becoming president but too principled to be another Harding. Corey also knew—and this both tempted and troubled him—that what he was about to say could help make, or unmake, the
next
president. "Politics," Corey said, "can no more block legitimate scientific progress than the anti-scientists of the Renaissance could stop Galileo from changing our conception of the universe. We cannot halt the advance of human knowledge—we can only damage human beings."
After pausing, Corey spoke quietly to his colleagues, as though unmindful of the galleries. "With due respect to Senator Marotta, I believe that most Americans can distinguish living fetuses from frozen embryos that would otherwise be discarded. Just as I believe that we, as senators, know that conducting Nazi experiments is different from relieving human suffering."
At once, Rob Marotta was on his feet. "Senator Grace," he asked sharply, "may I ask a question?"
Though unusual, this intervention was no surprise to Corey. "Of course, Senator."
Marotta held aloft a binder. "Collected in this binder are articles by scientific experts stating that embryonic-stem-cell research will yield no medical benefits. Are you familiar with this research?"
"I am, Senator. Just as I'm familiar with the doctors who claimed that Terri Schiavo had a functioning cerebral cortex." As a spasm of nervous laughter came from the galleries, Corey continued. "Let me suggest that you postpone this vote a week; give those binders to the most recent winners of the Nobel Prize in medicine, Drs. Carole Lauder and Joseph Di Santi; and advise the Senate of their conclusions. Having consulted with both, I know they'd be willing to help you."
Though Marotta looked startled, he swiftly
"There are always 'good reasons,'" Marotta continued with disdain, "to destroy a human fetus, and now there are other 'good reasons' to destroy a human embryo. But there will never be a reason good enough to allow us to play God."
Watching Marotta, Corey judged that his delivery, unusual in its fervor, was intended to match Christy's passion. "And where does it end?" Marotta asked. "Do we begin to tinker with the cells—or even the genetic makeup—of babies? Do we create 'research infants' to satisfy whatever experiment we dream up? Do we begin to wonder if human cloning is truly so unthinkable?" Abruptly, Marotta's voice rose. "Are we edging closer to the day when our moral preceptor is not God, the Father of us all, but Josef Mengele, the father of Nazi experimentation in the laboratory that was Auschwitz?"
Glancing up, Corey saw Lexie Hart's expression, a stoic mask. "Life is precious," Marotta said with sudden quiet. "We forget that at our peril."
COREY HAD WRITTEN the speech himself. When his turn came, after an hour of debate, he felt the close attention of the other undecided senators—Lynn Whiteside and Timothy Cole of Maine, Brian Kell of Rhode Island, and, to his surprise, Chris Lear of Nebraska.
"In the last few years," Corey began, "we have seen a development almost as disturbing as the horrors cited by Senator Marotta: the politicization of science, in which decisions that affect the health and welfare of Americans are based on bogus data and political calculation.
"We've heard that global warming doesn't exist. We've seen appointees to scientific agencies whose ignorance is matched only by their partisan zeal. We've even meddled in the familial tragedy of a literally brain-dead woman. And, in the end, all of this is as inhumane as it is pointless."
A few rows ahead, Marotta turned to watch him. But Corey was more conscious of the other Ohioans who had stood at this desk and whose names were carved inside: Warren Harding, who became president because he was so pliable; Robert Taft, perhaps worthy of becoming president but too principled to be another Harding. Corey also knew—and this both tempted and troubled him—that what he was about to say could help make, or unmake, the
next
president. "Politics," Corey said, "can no more block legitimate scientific progress than the anti-scientists of the Renaissance could stop Galileo from changing our conception of the universe. We cannot halt the advance of human knowledge—we can only damage human beings."
After pausing, Corey spoke quietly to his colleagues, as though unmindful of the galleries. "With due respect to Senator Marotta, I believe that most Americans can distinguish living fetuses from frozen embryos that would otherwise be discarded. Just as I believe that we, as senators, know that conducting Nazi experiments is different from relieving human suffering."
At once, Rob Marotta was on his feet. "Senator Grace," he asked sharply, "may I ask a question?"
Though unusual, this intervention was no surprise to Corey. "Of course, Senator."
Marotta held aloft a binder. "Collected in this binder are articles by scientific experts stating that embryonic-stem-cell research will yield no medical benefits. Are you familiar with this research?"
"I am, Senator. Just as I'm familiar with the doctors who claimed that Terri Schiavo had a functioning cerebral cortex." As a spasm of nervous laughter came from the galleries, Corey continued. "Let me suggest that you postpone this vote a week; give those binders to the most recent winners of the Nobel Prize in medicine, Drs. Carole Lauder and Joseph Di Santi; and advise the Senate of their conclusions. Having consulted with both, I know they'd be willing to help you."
Though Marotta looked startled, he swiftly
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