Obviously, she had to go; no question about it. Hastings Research Institute had standards.
But if she were to go, where did that leave them on the innovation front? With a handful of people making poky-pony progress, that’s where. And poky ponies didn’t inspire much in the way of big-ticket grants.
Fortunately, Zott did work with three others. Hastings management had sent for them straightaway; they needed assurance that Zott’s so-called critical research could limp along without Zott—whatever it would take to make it seem as if the money it never actually got was being put to good use. But as soon as the three PhDs were in the room, Hastings management knew they were in trouble. Two reluctantly conceded that Zott was the main driver, essential to any forward progress. The third— a man named Boryweitz—went the other route. Claimed he’d actually done it all. But when he couldn’t back up any of his assertions with meaningful scientific explanation, they realized they were in the presence of a scientific idiot. Hastings was rife with them. No surprise. Idiots make it into every company. They tend to interview well.
The chemist sitting in front of them now? He couldn’t even spell abiogenesis.
And then Miss Frask from Personnel—the one who’d first sounded the alarm regarding Zott’s condition? She’d used her limited talents to spread the Zott’s-knocked-up rumor, ensuring that all of Hastings knew of Zott’s plight by noon. Which scared the hell out of them. The rumor’s wildfire effect meant it was only a matter of time before the institute’s big investors knew, and investors—as anyone knew—hated scandals. Plus, there was the problem of Zott’s rich man-fan. The multimillionaire who’d written them a virtual blank check on behalf of abiogenesis—who’d claimed to have read Mr. Zott’s old paper. How would he feel when he learned that Zott was not only a woman, but a knocked-up, unwed woman at that? God. They could picture that big limo swinging back round the drive, the chauffeur keeping the motor running as the man strode in and demanded his check back. “I was funding a professional slut?” he’d probably shout. Trouble. They had to do something about Zott immediately.
* * *
—
“I’m afraid you’ve put us in a terrible, terrible position, Miss Zott,” scolded Dr. Donatti a week later as he pushed a termination notice across the table in her direction.
“You’re firing me?” Elizabeth said, confused.
“I’d like to get through this as civilly as possible.”
“Why am I being fired? On what grounds?”
“I think you know.”
“Enlighten me,” she said, leaning forward, her hands clasped together in a tight mass, her number-two pencil behind her left ear glinting in the light. She wasn’t sure from where her composure came, but she knew she must keep it.
He glanced at Miss Frask, who was busy taking notes.
“You’re with child,” Donatti said. “Don’t try and deny it.”
“Yes, I’m pregnant. That is correct.”
“That is correct?” he choked. “That is correct?”
“Again. Correct. I am pregnant. What does that have to do with my work?”
“Please!”
“I’m not contagious,” she said, unfolding her hands. “I do not have cholera. No one will catch having a baby from me.”
“You have a lot of nerve,” Donatti said. “You know very well women do not continue to work when pregnant. But you—you’re not only with child, you’re unwed. It’s disgraceful.”
“Pregnancy is a normal condition. It is not disgraceful. It is how every human being starts.”
“How dare you,” he said, his voice rising. “A woman telling me what pregnancy is. Who do you think you are?”
She seemed surprised by the question. “A woman,” she said.
“Miss Zott,” Miss Frask stated, “our code of conduct does not allow for this sort of thing and you know it. You need to sign this paper, and then you need to clean out your desk. We have standards.”
But Elizabeth didn’t flinch. “I’m confused,” she said. “You’re firing me on the basis of being pregnant and unwed. What about the man?”
“What man? You mean Evans?” Donatti asked.
“Any man. When a woman gets pregnant outside of marriage, does the man who made her pregnant get fired, too?”
“What? What are you talking about?”
“Would you have fired Calvin, for instance?”