Sandpaper Kiss

by Angel Wedge

  Love. It was the only possible answer. By changing his daughter into something not quite human, he thought he might just be able to save her from the ravages of Keppler-Monroe. I’d even come across the condition when I was reading about the man’s background, and I hadn’t realised what a big influence it would turn out to be. In among dozens of other innovations Conrad Faulkner had proved that this disease wasn’t an incredibly rare side effect of certain mineral deficiencies, but a genetic disorder which initially presented by preventing the patient from digesting several minerals. I’d thought it odd at the time, as that wasn’t the kind of research he normally did, but I’d put it down to wanting to know more about the condition that killed his wife. It seemed so obvious now that the condition must have been passed to his daughter, but nobody else had seen the connection either. Nobody had thought it mattered.

  Now, I started to wonder just how far he’d gone in the hope of saving her. Hybridisation, that was the big thing he’d been working on at his lab. But from everything I’d seen, that seemed more like Barishkov’s field than Faulkner’s. It wasn’t related to the disease that had destroyed his family, the condition he wanted to cure. Most of the scientists he’d recruited were disease specialists, with the emphasis on genetic engineering coming later. In hindsight, we should have looked for the connection, but nobody had even seen that there was a clue here to follow. His hybridisation process, however it worked, was just about changing the patient’s DNA. If her genetic code was wrong, then turning her into something else could be a cure.

  She hadn’t been comfortable in that cage. She hadn’t belonged there, and she knew that. Barishkov had put her into a cage, and she’d been free before. She was used to wearing clothes, but if any of the UN scientists had seen that they would have considered that she might be human and shut Barishkov down on the spot. I’d worked that out before, but I hadn’t stopped to think why Faulkner would let a specimen roam the facility as she wanted. If she was really his daughter, and ‘Father’ wasn’t just a pet name taken by her creator, it all made sense. Her father had changed her into something else rather than let her die. I could imagine that, and as soon as I started trying to imagine how the facility would have been organised, all the pieces started to fit together in my mind.

  If you had the insight to patch alien DNA into an animal, changing what it was at the most basic level, then why not use that same science to interweave human genetic material with some foreign species? The only answers were propriety, and the law. If he could replace the flawed, lethal genes in his daughter’s genome with something from a panther, would he let any regulations stop him?

  I might not know him, but I knew her, and I knew all too well how far love could push a man. He’d try it, like he would try anything to save his little girl. He’d done it, and maybe it had worked.

  I should have pursued that line of thought further, but I was sitting staring into space, amazed by the enormity of the revelation, when a guard came to fetch me. I couldn’t read anything in the young man’s face, whether they were taking me away to jail or if my papers had been found, or even if the doctor had managed to get Paul involved. He was dressed in olive fatigues, which was in any case a good sign. The President’s loyal militia had thought Paul was on their side the last time I came through here, so unless my brother had totally blindsided everyone there was a good chance that the people holding me had some goal that involved either justice, or making themselves valuable to American corporations. Either way, it was good for me.

  The soldier took me to the police station’s interview room. There was no kind of surveillance here, no high tech facilities. Just a room with two sturdy doors, a single high window for ventilation, and a battered tape recorder. And a telephone, which another man held out to me as I was pushed in. I tried to remember the soldier’s face, I wasn’t sure if he might have been one of the group that had met me off the plane. The one behind me pushed me down into the seat; I wondered why they couldn’t ever just ask. I probably muttered some sarcastic comment, but I don’t really remember. My mind wasn’t really on my predicament, I couldn’t stop worrying about that girl out in the jungle on her own.

  She was human, that was the important thing. I’d slowly been realising that as we trekked through the jungle, and I’d already found it natural to think of her as a person rather than a thing. But if she was fully human, then maybe it was okay to let myself think about her in other ways as well… the thoughts I’d entertained in my dreams, and then attempted to block from my mind on waking, might be acceptable again if she was human.

  Except that they weren’t, because if she was Lucretia Faulkner that must mean my companion was only fifteen. I couldn’t believe that, with the kind of intelligence and courage she’d shown me. It was all so confusing. I’d heard people say that a year is like seven years to a cat, but I had no idea how that would apply to a tiger, or to a formerly-human hybrid. She’d learned sign language amazingly fast, and from the stories she’d told she had become fluent in Mandarin in only 3 years. Could I imagine that her emotional development would have speeded up after the experiment, as well?

  Again, the guard thrusting the phone in my face demanded attention. I muttered a brief apology and took it.

  “Mark!” Paul’s voice was enthusiastic and cheerful, but I had no way of knowing how much of his ebullience was sincere. “Thank God, I thought you’d been caught up in the–” he paused for a second, no doubt hunting for the most diplomatically appropriate word. The guard glared at me as I raised my eyes from the desk. I wondered just how many people would be listening in to this telephone interrogation.

  “The war? What’s going on here, Paul? They’ve got a fence right round the city, the kind you’d see on construction sites. They said it was to keep the animals out, but just a few weeks later there’s armed guards patrolling the boundary!” I realised I was babbling, rushing to try and fit in a whole sentence before my brother – or someone of authority in this ad-hoc jail – interrupted the question.

  He answered quickly. He name-checked half the generals I’d heard of around here, and some politicians. After a couple of minutes, I heard a faint click that might have been someone else on the line putting down a phone. A few minutes later, another man in olive uniform came into the stark interrogation room, and the guard who’d brought me left discreetly. They knew that handling this wrong wouldn’t be a good career move.

  I listened to what my brother was saying, but I didn’t take in all the details. He said there’d been some kind of coup in a neighbouring kingdom, the ruler being overpowered by a mob who didn’t like Americans making decisions within their borders. This had led to the PSBR, the Sante Benedicté People’s Militia, being fully mobilised to remind the upstart nation where the borders actually lay. He didn’t need to point out that there were at least three nations who thought Lucretia Falls was theirs, and there had never been any kind of agreement.

  The situation was made even more complex by the nomadic tribes who lived in the jungles. Paul explained that they didn’t like trading with the rest of the world, and they believed that they were the only real people. They wouldn’t let anthropologists in to study them, they wouldn’t interact with the modern world at all except for a few very basic trades. And yet, Paul revealed as if it were some big secret, they had sworn allegiance to Faulkner, and seemed to be sticking with Barishkov after the first mad scientist had died. Nobody understood why. I could have corrected him on that, but I figured that was a point best left for some time when I knew nobody was listening in. The fact that would let you control the natives could be a mighty powerful bargaining chip in these parts.

  The tribes didn’t recognise that anyone might have a valid claim on the land, so they didn’t usually obstruct groups moving through the jungle unless someone tried to take something from them, or shot a tiger. But when two militia groups from two nations had converged on Lucretia Falls to settle the question of who owned it once and for all, the tri
bes had appeared to demand that both armies leave, and then had attacked Sante Benedicté en masse in reprisal. That was enough to get the UN troops on full alert, and to force the squabbling nations into an uneasy truce. It appeared that the number of tribes in the jungle was an order of magnitude greater than anyone’s estimate, and if they turned their wrath on other towns there was unlikely to be an effective defence.

  The whole situation was a mess, every conflict setting off some new wannabe ruler, or bringing to the surface some old argument about a tiny piece of disputed land. Suddenly, everyone was toting guns, and formerly civil neighbours couldn’t keep up their careful diplomacy in case it set a bad example when more heavily armed aggressors came looking for trouble. At some point, the growing military presence had forced the hand of the black-coats, and they had tried to take power from the President before they were really ready. It wasn’t clear whose side Paul was on, especially when I knew that his version of events was carefully censored to convince our unseen eavesdropper that they still wanted to ally with him. It was even possible my brother was just playing the factions off against each other for his own benefit, but he seemed to still have some clout around here.

  “Anyway, this isn’t what you signed up for,” he finished with all the recap and rhetoric and returned to the present, “The lab is a moot point. If the natives won’t let people near then it will be closed down in a hurry. The specimens left there will be euthanized to avoid contaminating the local ecosystem, because there’s no way we could get them out now. That’s what you really wanted, isn’t it? I thought you were playing me to help out a certain ex-junkie, but after I spoke to your little newspaper’s office I found out where your loyalties really lie. So, you win this time. But you still need my help to get out of jail again?”

  I felt my fist clench around the phone as he said that. He made it sound like some kind of corny, rehashed joke. Maybe it was for the benefit of the soldiers on the line, maybe if they thought I wasn’t taken that seriously then they’d be more willing to let me go. But it was far from the truth, and I couldn’t help feeling angry at his dismissive tone. In the past he’d bailed me out a couple of times before when a story struck too close to home for some politically-affiliated authority. But I’d never actually asked him to, and every time up until now, I had been fully prepared to spend a few months in a cell while my lovely editorial team either drummed up money for a lawyer or wrote me up as a martyr crusading for the truth.

  “No,” I snapped, “There’s no nepotism in my politics. If I’ve broken some law I’d be happy to take the consequences, and if some dictatorial regime wants to hold me then the truth coming out should be all the help I need. I never asked for your help before.”

  He made some meaningless comment, supportive on the surface but calculated to make a good soundbyte if someone was recording. Typical Paul Jenner. Then: “But you want my help now.”

  “Yes,” it was hard to say, but there were things more important than my dignity. “But not for me. I need to get someone else out of here. She’s had the worst luck in the world for the past few years, and she needs to be away from here before the situation turns into even more of a train wreck. I want her free without becoming a poster child for some asshole’s ambitions of power and glory.” We were both silent for a few moments then. I’m sure he was trying to work out if the asshole in this case was him or John, or both. It would be a slap in the face to him that I was asking him to help someone and not splash his altruism all over the tabloids. I didn’t know if he’d go that far, even for family, but as I was actually asking him, hopefully he’d realise this was something really important to me.

  “Right,” he finally offered. No answer yet, no ‘yes’ or ‘no’ to my desperate plea, just a sign that he understood what I was asking. I considered for a moment trying to force his hand, threatening to show the press some of his dirtier secrets. But I was pretty sure some of the militia here would have no qualms taking one more foreigner out to be tragically lost in the jungle if I was too much of a problem. Anything that hurt him would probably upset their leaders too; and I didn’t know just how close my brother was holding this conflict to his heart. If he even had one any more.

  “Right,” he repeated, “You found some girl out there, and you’re concerned about her escape but not your own? Who is she?”

  “I don’t think I can tell you that,” I hesitated.

  “Mark, you’re coming to me for a favour. Is she a border-jumper and you’re worried the militia might not approve? Some scientist from the lab? A barbarian native you’re ashamed of? Throw me a bone, Mark.”

  “I don’t want to say,” I answered, and gave a loud sigh. I was sure he must be able to hear it, and if he remembered any of our childhood arguments it should have been a warning sign. I was telling him ‘You don’t want me to say.’

  “I just want you to be honest with me, Mark,” he sneered, “That’s the most important thing, I’m sure we all agree.” Well, I’d tried to keep it quiet, but with a kick in the teeth like that he wasn’t giving me much choice.

  “Her name’s Lucretia Faulkner,” I was sure I could hear a shocked gasp on the line as I said it. That meant someone was listening in on his end, as well. Kidnapping the little girl was part of Faulkner’s story before he came out here. From the local newspaper cuttings I’d seen in the original files, they hadn’t heard about the foreign scientist’s daughter. I just had to hope it wouldn’t turn out I was wrong later.

  “Her own father was experimenting on her, Paul. I don’t think she was treated badly, but she looks… let’s just say she’ll find it hard to make friends. When Barishkov took over, he had her locked in a cage, and some of the security guys treated her like an animal, like all the other specimens. You know I’d never come to you begging for help, but this is a little girl and she deserves better.” I tried to recall everything I knew about her, hoping for any detail that might help to convince him. Then, to my shame, I realised just how smart she’d been in the lab: “It was her who helped me escape when they captured me. If she hadn’t been there I’d be dead by now, twice over at least. She’s saved me, don’t you think that means we owe her?”

  Silence. I didn’t know if that was a good thing or not. After a minute or two, I figured that the only way I was going to get a favour from my brother was to put something on the table. I spoke again: “Paul, if you help me out, maybe I can help you. I’ve spoken to one of the tribesmen, a guy called Amba, and I know how Faulkner got their support. I can help you choose a negotiator, and help you get all the American staff out of that place in one piece.”

  Paul was silent. I strained to hear any sound from the old, bulky phone receiver, but I couldn’t even make out breathing or drumming fingers to tell me I hadn’t been put on hold. It seemed like an hour, though it was probably closer to ten minutes that I waited.

  “Fine,” he was back, a voice in my ear so sudden that I nearly dropped the phone, “We can put some kind of spin on this, so long as nobody else finds out. My guys are on the phone to General Marcosai now, sorting out an exit for you both. They’ll go pick up the kid and–”

  “No,” I interrupted.

  “What?”

  “We left Lucretia Falls in a hurry, there was no other choice. She’s out there in a jungle lean-to, naked and scared. We’ve spent half the last week avoiding all these different groups of soldiers, so if your people go out there she’ll just vanish. She’s a tough girl, but she’s terrified and I don’t want her to get hurt. No, I’ll go out and find her, she trusts me. I’ll bring her back here, and you sort out a plane. We can talk about it further when I get home.”

  “Fine,” he conceded eventually, “You got your exit. The militia’s got a few dissident elements, but they won’t touch you if you’re the only one who knows how to control the tribes. You owe me one hell of a good news story when you get back here, little brother.” The line went dead with a solid click, and another a few seconds later. I gues
s at least part of that was meant for whoever was listening in.

  The men in the interrogation room stared at me with the same indifference. They hadn’t heard what Paul said, so my body language would be the only way they could guess if I’d got what I wanted. I wasn’t broadcasting a beacon of hope, because I’d put all my cards on the table now to save Lucretia. But it was only my instincts telling me she was still human. My heart was telling me I could trust her, but I still didn’t know for sure that I was doing the right thing here. I knew what a gamble I was making, and I couldn’t stop the little voice in the back of my head that was warning me I was making a terrible mistake. But no matter how much I worried, even if I’d had no reason at all to trust her, I don’t think I could have brought myself to leave her there.

  After a few minutes, another man came in, with a different rank badge. He was carrying a canvas bag of supplies. “Mister Jenner,” he greeted me. His tone carried more information in two words than most of John’s speeches: He had been ordered to help me, but he wasn’t happy about foreigners having anything to do with his beloved country’s politics, and he was just hoping for some excuse to leave me stranded in the jungle. Behind him, though was a familiar face I was a lot more glad to see.

  Marcos smiled, seeming as happy as he had when I’d last seen him at Lucretia Falls. “I thought we’d lost you!” he said, “I had to come back here with the news, as they said there was a problem with the communications array. They said you were tampering with the antenna and fell over the falls, I had to hope that was not true.”

  “No, nothing like it. I just saw the truth, and then had to run before the guards there found out. I think they’re there mostly to protect the secrets. It’s good to see you again.”