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specimens,” Bastian led the way to another room. Four monkeys were in individual cages. “First, a male and female baboon.” Bastian put his hand on top of their respective cells. “They allow me to measure the hormonal contribution to emotions.” He turned away from the cowering animals and directed the camera to the final set of cages.
    “Meet Frost and Nixon”. Bastian smiled at the two captives. “Chimpanzees. Ninety-six percent of their DNA held in common with humans. Very social animals in the wild. They form clans of 100 or more. Like families. The information we get from them is as close to humans as possible.” The camera framed the two chimps. Electrodes protruding from their skulls. Catheters inserted into their arms and penises. Nixon held his arm out, reaching through the cage in supplication.
    The video went blank. The Fixer took two deep breaths and tried to shake the images from her mind.
    “Okay, so Bastian’s an asshole,” she called up to the rafters. “I don’t get involved with the politics of academic research. Contact some sort of review board.”
    This time a woman with a soft English accent. “Bastian brings millions in grant funding to the university. The regulatory agencies are under-funded at best. Apathetic at worst. Even the newspapers aren’t interested.”
    “Lots of universities conduct animal research, Jones. It’s an evil, I’ll give you that. But it doesn’t warrant my involvement.”
    “Think back to your history lessons, Ms Carr.” This time it was the patrician tones of a Boston male speaking to her. “Back to the beheadings in ancient Rome or during the French Revolution.”
    “Your grace period is long past, Jones.” The Fixer wanted her prospect to know her irritation. “You want to waste my time on a Western Civ review or do you want to tell me what you want?”
    “When I’m finished, Ms Carr, you’ll have no question about the need to rid the world of Dr. Bastian’s work. Indulge me, please?” Sincerity rang through the synthesized plea. The Fixer gave a reluctant nod.
    “Recall the scene re-created in countless epics. The defeated led to the chopping block. The blood-thirsty mob gathered to witness their payback. The victor grabbing the severed head and holding it aloft for the cheering crowds.”
    “What’s this got to do with Bastian?” The Fixer stood with her hands on her hips. “You’ve got two minutes before I walk out of here.”
    “Common lore has those severed heads held high so the crowd could savor their revenge.” The Boston-accented man had the perfect voice for this history lesson. “However, the act served another purpose. You see, the victims’ senses continued to work for as long as a person can hold their breath. What’s that, Ms Carr? A minute? Perhaps ninety seconds? The victor could turn the poor soul’s gaze for a horrifying view of their own headless body. One last exquisite torture before the great abyss.”
    The Fixer swallowed hard. The list of ways humans could be cruel to one was as endless as the heavens. “What’s this have to do with Bastian? I won’t ask again.”
    “You’ve seen the monkeys in Bastian’s lab. You’ve heard the dogs. I’m sorry they’re not enough to convince you. Let me tell you about Ortoo.”
    The video came to life again. The Fixer took a shuffled step back as the screen filled with a colossal hairy face.
    “Ortoo’s a Silverback Gorilla. A rare specimen in the wild, let alone in captivity. Silverback’s are between 98 and 99 percent genetically identical to humans. Our closest cousin.” Jones fell silent as The Fixer watched Ortoo pace back and forth in a room-sized cage.
    “Ortoo was somewhere around 20 years old when this video was taken. Full in his prime. Did you know, Ms Carr, that gorillas live 50 years? Some more. They have individual fingerprints. They even have face-to-face sex. I’m sure you’re aware that it’s possible for them to learn sign language and