The Darwin Variant

by Kenneth Johnson

  Dr. R.W. Hutcherson. . .

  I wasn’t always invited into Mitchell and Lauren’s private meetings. They’d kept the special out-of-state contacts they’d been creating a closely guarded secret. But I knew something was up when they called me into her CDC office that night. I saw two gray-suits plus big Dubrovski with a Friends’ palm ID unit on the secretary’s desk. I eased through Lauren’s inner door.

  The night rain spattered against the window behind Lauren, who sat looking across her elegant desk at the disheveled, bearded man opposite her. His back was to me. His hair and shoulders were wet. Lauren’s investigative eyes were drilling into him, trying to be certain of his allegiance. “Well, the fact that you’ve come forward of your own accord stands you in good favor.”

  Bradford Mitchell was to one side, also addressing the man in the chair. “The bottom line is that you’re here, among Friends, where a man of your intellect definitely belongs—and deserves the financial rewards that’ll go with it.”

  I moved to the opposite side where I could see the man’s profile, which I couldn’t quite place, but I saw by his tense, troubled countenance that he seemed conflicted about being there. Lauren sought to reassure him, saying, “You’ve made the right decision.” Then she gestured toward me. “This is Dr. R.W. Hutcherson. Hutch, Dr. Christopher Smith.”

  Without looking, Smith barely nodded his head, but nothing more.

  Dr. Susan Perry. . .

  “Wake up, little Susie.” It was Crash, whispering.

  My eyes snapped open. “Oh, shit!” I was angry that I’d dozed off on the seedy couch while struggling unsuccessfully to turn Chris’s near-incomprehensibly complex chemical computations into the answer we needed. I looked for his papers, but somebody’d removed them while I slept. I blinked to gather my wits and realized that the power was off again. “What time is it?”

  “Little after eleven, and you aren’t the only one who burned out.” I saw that the monotonous patter of rain on the tin roof and the darkness had lulled most all of my exhausted colleagues to sleep. Only a few candles provided a soft light. Crash’s clothes were soaked. I sat up, looked around for Chris. “He ain’t here,” Crash said, sitting down on a wooden box. He ran his hand through his wet black hair, mortified. “The great Indian tracker lost him.”

  I sagged, then touched his wet shoulder as I stood up. “Nobody could’ve done better. And we’ve got other problems. Simone’s been arrested, but her husband gave us some info.” I rubbed my tired eyes and noticed Lilly wasn’t in her usual spot. I glanced around the candlelit lab area—and what I saw startled me completely awake. “Lilly?”

  My sister was sitting with her back to me at a lab table in the candlelight. Chris’s notes were beside her. She was mixing some chemicals! “What’re you—?” I choked myself back, not wanting to frighten Lilly into an accident. “Honey, put that down before you hurt yourself.” I eased toward her but halted abruptly as Lilly turned to face me. Her usually unkempt hair was pulled tightly back.

  And she was looking at me. Steadily. Right in the eye.

  I drew a breath. “Lilly?” My voice was an anxious whisper, “What’s happened?”

  My sister smiled strangely. The candlelight made her smile seem even more eerie, chilling. Then Lilly spoke with a clarity that I had never, ever heard from her:

  “I took the virus.”

  27

  METAMORPHOSIS

  Dr. Susan Perry. . .

  My blood congealed. “Oh, Lilly, no!” My voice caught in my throat. My eyes searched her face, I prayed it wasn’t true. But Lilly’s completely uncharacteristic, steady gaze verified what she had said.

  She spoke softly, with total assurance and no hint of a stutter, “There’s nothing to fear, Susie. I’m well.”

  Crash came closer behind me. Several others nearby had awakened and realized that something very unusual was going on.

  “Actually”—Lilly laughed lightly—“I’m extraordinarily well, dear sister.” She smiled comfortingly, enjoying the huge understatement, as she reached out her hand to me, still gazing directly into my astonished eyes.

  Katie McLane. . .

  Eric and I came quietly into our Resistance warehouse, bringing some groceries. My chest felt so tight I could hardly breathe. Reverend Brown’s damn voice kept echoing in my head. I hated what he was making me do. When he offered me the CAV-B, I actually considered taking it. I knew it would make me smarter, which might help me figure a way out of this horrible dilemma. But I decided to rely on the brain I already had. I didn’t want anything clouding my thinking, and for sure not that dangerous crap—though I had absolutely no idea how to deal with my painful predicament: I loved all my friends here, but I was really scared for Darren and Eric. I couldn’t let them be tortured or killed.

  Then I realized something weird was happening in the warehouse. Eric and I saw there was only candlelight and silence. Everyone was moving slowly toward the lab area in the back that was a little higher than the floor level. They were all gazing at Lilly who was—what?!—Looking Susan right in the eye?!

  Coming closer I touched the sleeve of the Israeli scientist, Rachel, who whispered to me, “Lilly took the virus!”

  Dr. Susan Perry. . .

  Lilly grasped my hand lovingly, then smiled out at the others who were moving closer into the glow of the candles; several carried their own. All of us were amazed by Lilly’s remarkable transformation. She had a new countenance that was accessible, inviting, insightful. She seemed to embody the soft humanity and innate wisdom of a Zen master. “There is such clarity now,” Lilly said to us with pure enjoyment, “like a veil has lifted.”

  We all stared in wonder. It felt almost like a candlelit religious ceremony. Then Lilly began to speak more quickly, “Let me explain: many people like me—many kept in institutions—apparently have a latent, ribonucleic viroid. It’s held dormant by an enzyme inside the amino chains of our DNA molecules—just like Chris postulated and,” she paused, realizing that we were all blinking incredulously at her. “I’m sorry,” Lilly said with a charming giggle as she looked at me, “this is a bit like when you taught me to ride a bike successfully that first time, Susie. I get so elated, I hate to slow down.”

  I was more amazed than she. I stared at this person who had been affected by a neurodevelopmental disorder all her life. How could this be my childlike sister with the ever-downcast eyes? How could this be the autistic woman who had needed help to brush her hair? I was staggered by what had become of my beloved, challenged older sibling who, from my earliest memory, had always spoken haltingly in a flat monotone. My pulse was racing as I nervously pressed Lilly’s hand. “It’s . . . okay. Go on, honey . . .”

  She said, “The comet’s virus connects with pathology like mine in a way that’s . . . exceptional.”

  I inhaled. “You heard me talking about Chris being exceptional. That’s why you took the virus?”

  “Yes.” Lilly nodded, smiling. “‘Exceptional’ struck a chord because it was my word—the way you’ve always so kindly described me, Susie. And I’ve discovered that when autistic savants like me are exposed to the virus, it makes us intellectually superior—but far beyond any urge to dominate.” We reacted in amazement as Lilly went on, “I can see now that in my autistic state, I was already at an intelligence level equal to the Friends. But the myelin sheaths around the axons of my brain cells were impaired, and I lacked the vital, neurological connective channels that make correlative thinking possible.”

  We were all trying to keep up as Lilly continued, “So all that vast reading you let me do, Susie, all those thousands of books, journals, articles from the CDC, and everywhere, including specific research about biochemical neural interactions, all that material that I inhaled nonstop, plus what you and Chris just discovered about the CAV structure—all of that was tremendous input, but until I took the virus which opened up those connective channels, my poor brain simply couldn’t—”

  Lilly and I both burst
out laughing, saying it together:

  “Connect the dots!”

  “Yes!” She smiled broadly. “And now I can. I’m able to connect and correlate all those billions of input bits. That new ability allowed me to easily extrapolate and deduce exactly how CAV operates on human DNA and neurology. So I instantly understood how Lauren had decreased CAV’s potency to create the CAV-B.”

  “Which is why Lauren’s CAV-B makes people somewhat more intelligent, but not as driven to domination like those infected by the prime CAV-A?”

  “Precisely.” Lilly nodded gracefully. “And equally important: I’ve understood that people with my condition do not have that drive to dominate. By infecting myself with the virus”—she took a breath, seemed amazed herself by what she was about to say—“I’ve actually surpassed the level of the dominants.”

  “My God, Lilly!” I saw the light dawning on several others as it had on me. “You’ve risen to a level above the Friends!? You’re . . . the next step beyond them?” Lilly modestly nodded yes.

  Gwyneth excitedly turned the battered dry board toward us, saying, “So Lilly, lass, is it like this then?” She wrote as she spoke. “Let’s call us normal folk: Human 1.0; those given CAV-B are made somewhat smarter, with only a bit of the dominant drive, call them: Human 1.5; and people infected with CAV-A, call them: ‘Human 2.0.’ Much smarter and with the strong drive to dominate.” Again Lilly nodded and Gwyneth continued, “But when people like you are given CAV, they take a leap that makes them the most highly evolved. Call it,” she wrote as she spoke, “Human 3.0.”

  Lilly smiled, inhaling deeply. “Yes, Gwyn. It was as though I’d been in a muddled, troubled sleep and suddenly had a grand awakening. Beyond that actually, more like a complete enlightenment.” She pressed my hand lovingly. “I’ve always wanted to help you, Susie. As much as you’ve helped me all the years since we were little. Now I truly can.” She held out a vial of milky liquid. I was puzzled. Lilly explained patiently, “This is the answer you’ve all been searching for: the correct molecular structure for your antidote.”

  I could barely speak. “You’ve found a way to . . . treat all those infected?!”

  Lilly nodded.

  Nate voiced the concern plaguing many of us, “Does it bring ’em back, Lilly? Or—”

  “No.” Lilly shook her head. “There’s no bringing them back, Nate.” Then her freckled face formed the most curious expression yet. “The correct answer is: to push them forward.” Everyone blinked again. Even the candles seemed to flicker. “Think about it,” Lilly explained softly. “The logical and ideal path of evolutionary progression always leads upward, toward an adaptation that’s better. In humans that means toward a higher, more intelligent plane that’s truly altruistic. Unselfish. Compassionate. And most importantly: soulful. It means for human beings to become entirely humane beings.” She glanced at the vial in her hand. “This formula will carry everyone upward to that level. And it’s easy to demonstrate.” Her caring, intelligent eyes sought out one among us. “Would you trust me, James?”

  Jimmy-Joe looked at her sharply, with that cynical dark glint in his eye.

  Jimmy-Joe Hartman. . .

  Buncha times since Poppa died, I still been tempted by that dark side, heard them angry voices start hissin’ inside me. But then I’d think of what ol’ Phil done for me, of what he’d want me to do, of all that horror at Reidsville, of Claire bein’ so brave, and of Poppa. It’d be like warm water floodin’ back acrost me, tryin’ to put out all them angry, dangerous fires down deep. But I knowed they was still smolderin’ down in there.

  And when I heard Lilly ax me, that ol’ dark side boiled right up scaldin’ hot. Said, No! Said, Fight it and run yo’ ass outta there! Screamed it loud inside my head, like to burst my skull open.

  But then I looked into Lilly’s eyes . . . and it wuz, I dunno . . . she had . . . some kinda magic in her. And it made somethin’ shift in me.

  Damned if I didn’t let her take my hand and lead me to a chair.

  Dr. Susan Perry. . .

  As he sat down, very edgy, Lilly asked, “You took the CAV, right?” Jimmy-Joe nodded. “So, what’s 378 multiplied by 1,862?”

  “That’d be 703,836.” His eyes went wide. “Whoa. Didn’t know I could do that!”

  Lilly smiled. “But how about 703,836 multiplied by 16,784,221?”

  He stared. “Uh . . . dunno . . .”

  “Nor should you.” Lilly knelt before him. “Now, there’s nothing to be afraid of.” Her gentle nature calmed him only slightly. “This will feel a little startling, you might clutch or slump a little, so I’m going to ask Crash to support your shoulders, but I guarantee you’ll be okay. You’ll still be you, but better than you can imagine. Just like I am.” She showed him a transparent inhaler mask with a tube that led to a small squeeze bottle. “I’m going to hold this over your nose and mouth. You good to go? Ready to take the leap?” He paused, looked about to bolt, but finally nodded. His breathing was still shallow. I saw nervous moisture appear on his upper lip as Crash held his shoulders lightly from behind. Then Lilly lifted the mask up into place. “When I tell you, just take one good breath.” Lilly sprayed a fine milky mist into the mask as she said, “Now.”

  He inhaled. And his entire body clutched slightly. His eyes sprang wide open.

  Jimmy-Joe Hartman. . .

  A zillion pictures flashed and wuz swirlin’ in my head all at once! Like I wuz in the middle of a tornado! I seen Poppa dyin’. The prison. Them cops beatin’ the shit outta me. Them damned tomatoes. Our old house. Claire smilin’ in her nurse’s scrubs. The moon. The stars. My playpen. Claire when she wuz a little kid kissing my head. Momma. Oh God, I saw Momma. A hospital. Delivery room. Me bein’ born. Then this brilliant white light rushin’ past all around me.

  Katie McLane. . .

  I had moved up closer to stand beside Eric. We watched as Jimmy-Joe’s head slumped down onto his chest, his body sagged in the chair, then slightly convulsed. Crash held him in place. Gwyneth and others looked concerned as he started panting. Susan said, “He’s hyperventilating!”

  Lilly was totally calm. “Yes. Next his heart will fibrillate a moment, then his respiration will normalize.”

  Susan pressed her ear to his chest. “He is fibrillating!”

  Lilly smiled with quiet confidence. Nate, Javier, and the rest of us watched in amazement as Jimmy-Joe’s breathing grew normal.

  Then his head shot up, his eyes snapped open, and he blurted out, “Eleven trillion, eight hundred thirteen billion, three hundred thirty-eight million, nine hundred seventy-one thousand, seven hundred fifty-six.”

  Lilly smiled. “Of course.”

  “Yow,” he said, catching his breath. “How the hell’d I know that?” Then he paused, like trying to regain his balance, as his new mind understood. “Oh. Yeah. I get it.” We sensed Jimmy-Joe was very different. His arrogant, angry, superior vibe was like totally wiped away. When he looked at us, his eyes were clear, soft, friendly.

  Dr. Susan Perry. . .

  Jimmy-Joe breathed slowly, looking at each of our faces like a person returning from a life-altering, near-death experience. Seeing the world for the first time. His demeanor was miraculously different. Serene like Lilly’s. Jimmy-Joe now had the presence of a sage.

  He blinked and looked at Lilly in astonishment. She smiled back at him. They seemed to have an almost telepathic communication. He spoke slowly, in quiet wonder, “. . . Everything seems sorta, I dunno . . .” His newly expanded mind searched for a phrase that might encapsulate the magnitude of what he was feeling. Finally he said, “Clear.”

  Lilly smiled ironically at the understatement. “Yep. Know the feeling.”

  Then suddenly everyone was talking at once, asking what the spray was, how Lilly could have devised it and accomplished it so incredibly fast.

  “Chris and Susie were close, but hadn’t interrelated several key elements.” Lilly held up the spray bottle. “Basically it’s like the opposite of a
typical neurotoxin. Instead of bringing death or paralysis by blocking synaptic connections between neurons, this specific molecular formula greatly enhances the potassium-sodium flux ratio, accelerating and diversifying the neuroelectrical interlinks between the pons cerebri, the pons cerebelli, and the frontal lobes.”

  “Rrrright . . .” The uncomprehending Javier chuckled from his wheelchair. “Whatever you say, Lil.”

  Ronnie was confused, too. “But I still don’t get it. How were you able to piece all that together?”

  “Simple,” I said, touching Lilly’s arm, “just memorize the entire CDC research library—”

  “Not to mention hundreds of other books,” Eric chimed in, “about history, philosophy, biography, religion, plus several thousand literary classics!”

  “Yes,” I went on, “then develop an astonishing new brain that can associate, theorize, correlate all that data and”—I laughed again—“connect the dots. Hey, piece of cake.”

  “Aye,” Gwyneth mused, “just your basic supreme wisdom, applied with brilliance.”

  “It’s so strange”—Lilly shrugged modestly—“my mind used to be like a muddy puddle, and it suddenly became a crystal clear, limitless ocean.”

  Jimmy-Joe’s face took on a quirky smile. “And y’all know what? It feels good, too.”

  Chunhua’s mind had been working. “So we treat all the infected people with this solution and their drive for dominance will be eliminated?”

  “It’s not a panacea,” Lilly cautioned. “A few people with rare RH factors like AB negative blood, will likely not be changed. But for the most part, it can evolve everyone’s minds up to a far higher, soulful ideal.”

  Crash had picked up the vial of white liquid, peering at it. “‘The Milk of Human Kindness.’ I can dig it.”

  Rachel had been pondering and said, “My God, leaders would truly deserve to be leaders.”

  “You realize of course that was the dream of Socrates and Plato,” Nate said. “The unselfish, compassionate, superintelligent philosopher-kings. The ideal leaders of the ideal human community.”