Ancestor

by Scott Sigler

  “You’re serious. You’re actually telling me this is good?”

  “Good enough to keep me hooked. I’m a little surprised myself, but I’ve got to find out how Margarite handles Count Darkon.” He stopped talking and just stared at her, as if he were weighing his options about something.

  “What,” Sara said. “Do I have a booger or something?”

  Colding smiled and shook his head. “No, no boogers. I just … well, I think you should know what’s happening with the fetuses. I don’t think it’s anything to really worry about, but you should know—as long as you promise not to tell your crew.”

  “Why wouldn’t I tell them?”

  “Because you’re not supposed to know,” Colding said. “I like those guys, don’t get me wrong, but if Miller and Cappy start blabbing and Magnus finds out they know, it’s my ass, and …”

  “And?”

  “Well, nothing. I just don’t think you need that kind of pressure.”

  She never hid anything from her crew, but she trusted Peej. “Okay. I promise.”

  She waited. Eventually, he talked and told her what was happening inside her plane, what was growing inside the cows.

  She did freak out, but only a little.

  NOVEMBER 24: NICE FUCK-FACE

  Implantation +15 Days

  COLDING WALKED INTO the lounge knowing he’d see the same thing he’d seen for the past three days—Magnus and Andy getting trashed. Sure enough, there they were.

  Magnus was relaxing in one of the brown leather chairs. His left hand held a tumbler with amber liquid and ice. A half-empty bottle of Yukon Jack sat on the mahogany table in front of him. Next to the bottle lay the remote control for the lounge’s flat-panel TV.

  On the chair to Magnus’s right sat one Andy “The Asshole” Crosthwaite: shoes off, white-socked feet resting on a coffee table, Rolling Rock beer in his hand, a shit-eating grin twisting his mouth.

  “Colding,” Magnus said. “Ready to give your report?”

  Colding felt his face get a little hot. Every day, he had to stand in front of Magnus and report. Colding had a feeling the daily charade was Andy’s idea, some kind of partial revenge for drawing down on him.

  “No issues on my security shift,” Colding said. “Anything else?”

  Magnus took a slow, deliberate sip. “Yes, two more things. How is the progress in the lab?”

  “Couldn’t be better. Tim estimates the fetuses are all over a hundred pounds. I checked in with Rhumkorrf a few minutes ago—he said he may attempt a cesarean in about a week.”

  Magnus raised his eyebrows. He looked at Andy, who shrugged and took a pull on his beer. Magnus looked back at Colding. “Let me make sure I understand this. A cesarean, meaning, you cut them out, and the ancestors walk on their own?”

  “Hopefully, yes.”

  “So this isn’t hypothetical anymore. You’re telling me that we’ve actually done it?”

  “If the fetuses survive the coming week, then yes, we’ve done it. If not, then Jian and Rhumkorrf revise the genome. But we’ve come so far this time we know it’s not a question of if, but when.”

  Magnus took another sip, then smiled. “My brother did it.” He drained his drink in one pull, then lifted the bottle and refilled the glass.

  “You said you had two more things,” Colding said. “What’s the other?”

  “How’s Jian, Colding? How’s she doing?”

  Colding felt a small wash of fear creep across his back. “She’s fine.”

  Andy’s smile widened.

  “That’s not what Andy tells me,” Magnus said. “He said she is … what’s that delightful colloquialism you used, Andy?”

  “Crazier than bugshit on burnt toast.”

  Magnus pointed at Andy, a little gun-finger trigger pull. “That’s it. Crazier than bugshit on burnt toast. Funny how I’ve been here almost four days, Colding, and you haven’t told me about that. I gave you plenty of time. I even scheduled daily reports for you to give you the opportunity to be up front, but it seems you don’t want to be forthcoming to your boss. Why is that, Bubbah?”

  Colding shrugged and looked out the big window at the sprawling expanse of Lake Superior. How much more did Andy know? Did he know Jian might be hallucinating again? “Jian has some issues, but that’s the price you pay for dealing with genius.”

  Magnus nodded. “Right. Genius. And she’s reliable? Won’t have a sudden bout of homesickness, try and get back to the mainland?”

  Now he understood Magnus’s concern. A crazy Jian was unpredictable, could do anything, including trying to contact the outside world.

  “She’s good,” Colding said. “Trust me.”

  Magnus stared at him, said nothing. It took everything Colding had to not turn away, to stay locked on those cold, violet eyes.

  “Okay, Bubbah, I’ll take your word for it.” Magnus turned to look out the picture window once again. Colding gathered that he had been dismissed. He started to walk out of the lounge when Magnus stopped him.

  “Oh, Bubbah, just one more thing.”

  Colding stopped and turned. “Yes?”

  “As a supervisor at Genada, do you think it’s wise to be fucking the help?”

  Magnus knew. Colding looked at Andy, who just kept on smiling.

  “I figured Sara for a lezbo,” Andy said. “But man, that bitch loves the cock, eh, Colding?”

  Magnus picked up the remote control. The TV’s dark screen flared to life with a green-tinged night-vision image. Colding on his back, in Sara’s bed, Sara sitting up, on top of him, riding him.

  Colding felt his hands ball up into fists.

  Magnus raised his glass, saluting the screen. “Impressive. Why, then, can one desire too much of a good thing?”

  Colding ground his teeth. “I ordered cameras off in the rooms.”

  “Oh, that,” Andy said. “I guess I didn’t get the memo. Man, love the titties on that bitch.”

  Colding’s rage welled up, threatening to blow wide open. Only once before in his life had he wanted to kill another man—that was the day he’d attacked Paul Fischer. He had to think clearly, stay calm. The whole Erika/Claus/Galina triangle had almost destroyed the project. Magnus might not take kindly to a love affair between Colding and Sara. If Magnus had murdered Erika Hoel, the man would have no compunction about killing Sara Purinam.

  Magnus hit the pause button, freezing Sara as she leaned far back, her hands behind her on the bed, her breasts standing out. Past her shoulder, Colding could see his own eyes squeezed shut in ecstasy, his mouth a combination of a smile and a snarl.

  “Hey, Colding,” Andy said. “Man, you’ve got a great fuck-face. Nice.”

  Magnus shook his head. “And here I thought you were such a straight shooter, Bubbah. Fraternization with a subordinate is prohibited.”

  “Uh-oh, am I going to get written up? Will this go on my permanent record?” Colding looked at the wall, trying to appear bored with the whole thing. “What do you want, Magnus?”

  “I want to know if Sara Purinam is your girlfriend.”

  “I’m fucking her. So what?” The words sounded sick to his own ears.

  “That’s all, Bubbah? Just fucking her?”

  Colding shrugged. “Is that against company rules?”

  Magnus laughed. “Not against the letter of the law, but you are her boss.”

  Colding had to be the stereotypical man-pig, convince Magnus he didn’t care about Sara. “Are you ordering me to stop fucking her?”

  “Take it easy, Bubbah. I just want to make sure you aren’t falling for her, something that might compromise your judgment.”

  “No worries there,” Colding said.

  “So,” Magnus said, “Sara’s just a whore to you?”

  “She sure fucks like a whore,” Andy said. “Where do you think she learned to fuck like that?”

  “Where indeed,” Magnus said. “She give up that pussy to anyone?”

  Andy laughed. “Not everyone. She won�
�t give it up to me.”

  “No surprise there,” Colding said. “Your infinitesimal cock wouldn’t be enough for her, little man.”

  Andy’s laugh died in his throat.

  Magnus chuckled. “Infinitesimal cock. In case that’s outside of your vocabulary, Andy, it’s an insult. You going to just take that?”

  Andy stood and tossed his beer aside. It fell to the ground, spilling on Clayton’s immaculate carpets. “Fuck a duck, Colding. I’m going to kick your ass right now.”

  “Sit down, Andy.”

  Andy looked at Magnus, then back to Colding. “But you said—”

  “Sit!” Magnus shouted the word, so loud even Colding flinched. Andy sat.

  Magnus raised his glass to Colding in a mock salute. “Fuck who you want, Bubbah, just keep doing your job. But remember, some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps.”

  The way Magnus said that made Colding’s blood run cold.

  “Cupid? Magnus, with all due respect, what the fuck are you talking about?”

  That half-smile again. “Didn’t they teach you Shakespeare in America?”

  “Not really. I wasn’t much for the literature classes.”

  Magnus nodded a little, as if that statement had answered some longstanding question. “Go ahead and take off. I’m sure you’ve got something, or someone, to do.”

  Colding walked out of the lounge. Not only were his personal problems magnified, but he’d been slacking on his main job—Jian. Magnus was watching her. Colding had to make sure the woman got the help she needed.

  Rhumkorrf had to fix Jian’s meds, and fix them now.

  NOVEMBER 24: YOU UNDERSTAND

  Implantation +15 Days

  THE SNOW HAD not come with a big, gale-force storm, but it most certainly had come. An inch here, another two overnight there, usually light but fairly steady over the past weeks. Only now did Colding really notice the accumulation of a half foot of snow that covered everything.

  And still the flakes came.

  He stood at the water’s edge, watching Claus Rhumkorrf try to skip stones. Above and behind them stretched the mansion’s sprawling back porch. In front of them: water, whitecaps, and Horse Head Rock.

  Rhumkorrf picked up a flat stone from the water’s edge. It slipped out of his mitten-covered hand twice before he held it firmly enough to throw. The rock skipped once before plunging into a three-foot wave.

  “Need flatter water for that,” Colding said.

  “Now you’re a physicist?”

  “Come on, Doc. Talk to me. We need to help Jian.”

  Rhumkorrf shrugged. “Pressure and stress exacerbate her symptoms, and we’re under the gun, as they say. There is only so much we can do for her.”

  “That’s a cop-out answer and you know it.”

  Rhumkorrf kept staring out at the water, seeming to focus on Horse Head Rock some two hundred yards from shore.

  “She was fine for months,” Colding said. “Now she’s struggling. Hallucinating. We have to stop it before she tries to kill herself again.”

  “I increased her dosage.”

  Rhumkorrf tried to pick up another rock, but it kept falling out of his oversized black knit mittens. He gave up after the third try, stood straight, and stared out at the choppy water.

  Something was wrong here. Rhumkorrf was the visionary, the planner, but nothing in this project happened without Jian’s genius. And yet Doc didn’t seem remotely concerned that her biochemistry had changed, that he might have to scramble to find a new medicine that worked.

  “I’ll bring in someone else if I have to,” Colding said. “Another physician who can help her.”

  Rhumkorrf suddenly shifted into a visible state of anxiety just a few degrees below panic. “If you bring another doctor out here, or take her to the mainland, the Americans might find us and shut us down.”

  Colding held up both gloved hands, palms up. “If you can’t help her, what do you want me to do?”

  “Do your job,” Rhumkorrf shouted. “Keep us safe, keep us secret until I finish my work. Jian’s job is to help me create the ancestor, something that she’s doing exceedingly well right now, so maybe we just need to take the good with the bad.”

  The prick didn’t give a rat’s ass about Jian. All he cared about was the experiment.

  “You’re a medical doctor,” Colding said. “You’re supposed to help people.”

  “That is exactly what I’m doing. Helping millions of them. Haven’t you noticed, P. J., that when she gets like this she is at her most brilliant? It’s for the greater good. You of all people should understand that.”

  Colding stared down at the little man, the cold forgotten for the moment. Realization set in. Rhumkorrf wasn’t concerned about finding a new medicine, because he knew the current medicine would work just fine … if she got the proper dose.

  “You motherfucker,” Colding said. “You shorted her meds.”

  Rhumkorrf shrugged and again looked out at Horse Head Rock.

  Suddenly it was hard to think. Colding wanted to kick Rhumkorrf right in the teeth. “How long has this been going on?”

  “Five weeks. Had to be done, and it worked. You understand.”

  Colding snapped out his left hand and grabbed the back of Rhumkorrf’s neck, squeezed it tight as he pulled the smaller man close.

  “Don’t you touch—”

  Rhumkorrf couldn’t finish his sentence, because Colding’s right hand locked on Rhumkorrf’s throat, pressing down on the Adam’s apple. Rhumkorrf’s gloved fingers tried to pry the hands away but couldn’t find purchase. Another memory flashed in Colding’s mind, this time of Magnus back on Baffin Island, squeezing just a little bit harder to get Andy to stop struggling. Colding’s hands tightened. He also gave one short shake, bobbling Rhumkorrf’s head.

  Eyes wide with terror, looking up through glasses knocked askew, Rhumkorrf stopped moving.

  “Fix it,” Colding said. “Or I’ll fix you.”

  He pushed Rhumkorrf away, a little too hard. The man stumbled and fell, skidding across the snow-covered sand. Hand on the ground behind him, he looked up at Colding. Colding suddenly saw the scene through Rhumkorrf’s eyes—a bigger man, a stronger man, towering over him, ready to hurt.

  Sanity snapped back into place, and with it, deep embarrassment.

  “Claus … I …”

  “Stay away,” Rhumkorrf said. “I’ll correct her medication, just stay away from me.” He scrambled to his feet and ran for the steps to the mansion, giving Colding a wide berth as he passed.

  Colding didn’t know what bothered him more, that he’d flipped out and put his hands on Rhumkorrf, or that for a brief instant he’d used Magnus Paglione as a template for proper behavior.

  “Fuck,” he said.

  He waited a few seconds to give Rhumkorrf plenty of room, then walked toward the steps that would take him up to the mansion.

  He’d check in on Jian, and then go find Sara.

  NOVEMBER 25: STUPID COW

  Implantation +16 Days

  AT THREE IN the morning, Jian found herself alone in the C-5’s upper-deck lab. She blinked and looked at the work log she’d called up on her computer. It couldn’t be. But there it was, the keystroke log didn’t lie.

  She’d just done a protein analysis. The results had looked familiar. Now she knew why—she had done the same analysis yesterday, and the day before. But she didn’t remember doing either of them.

  She called up more logs, looking at her work. Some things she remembered doing, some she did not. Maybe it was the lack of sleep. She couldn’t even manage twenty minutes of sleep before the mishmash animal of her dreams came for her.

  Doctor Rhumkorrf had brought her meds today, not Mister Feely. Rhumkorrf said he had made an adjustment. It would take a little while for her body to acclimate. Three days, maybe four, to get back to normal, he had said. She’d start feeling a little better as early as tomorrow. And when she did feel better, could she please please please make
sure she told Mister Colding?

  She knew she wouldn’t feel better. Doctor Rhumkorrf was lying. Everyone lied to her.

  But the numbers didn’t lie.

  Maybe her failure caused the dreams, the spiders. The rats. The mishmash. The numbers.

  Movement on her left. She turned and took a step back all at the same time, then felt a dribble of pee trickle hot down her leg.

  An orange spider.

  Big as her whole head, staring at her. Jian’s hand shot to the desktop, where she’d left her Dr Pepper. She grabbed and threw all in one motion, the open bottle trailing brown and white froth as it shot toward the corner.

  The spider scrambled out of the way as the plastic bottle hit the floor and spun, spraying the area.

  “Zou kai!” Jian screamed. “Zou kai!”

  The spider was gone. Must have slipped into a crack or something, even though she couldn’t see a crack. Damn spiders.

  The numbers. She had to fix the numbers, fix the numbers so the ancestors would come out right.

  But … ancestors … for people parts?

  That was it! How could they expect to produce an animal with transplantable organs? Out of a cow? She could fix it, she could fix it all, make the whole project work. They just needed a different kind of host.

  She put on gloves, then opened the liquid nitrogen container. She carefully pulled out sample trays and set them aside until she found the one she wanted. The one nobody else knew about. She put the other trays back inside, then carried her special sample to the elevator and descended to the empty lower deck.

  Some of the cows were asleep. The ones that were awake watched her. Sir Moos-A-Lot had an orange rat on his head. It didn’t seem to notice that the rat was gnawing on a black-and-white ear, red blood spilling down the cow’s big flat cheek. The cow just stared at her, oblivious.

  Stupid cow.

  Jian quietly walked down the center aisle, trying to ignore several sets of cow eyes that followed her motion. She opened the storage cabinets in Mister Feely’s area. There, a sterile envelope that had what she needed: a catheter that looked like a thin turkey baster.

  Jian grabbed the catheter package. She placed it and the sample tray on the lab table.