Symbiont (Parasitology Book 2)

by Grant, Mira

  “You’re the one who came to us, Doctor,” said Fishy languidly. “That was a stupid choice and you knew it was a stupid choice, which means it must have been the only choice you had. You could have sent your USAMRIID buddies in to snatch Dr. Cale or Sal or even Adam if you just needed data. You could have carted us back to your precious company for disassembly on your own terms. You didn’t do that. Either you couldn’t do it, or your relationship with the United States military isn’t as cuddly as you want us to believe it is.”

  Dr. Banks didn’t say anything.

  I turned to look at him, frowning slowly. “You keep trying to convince me that I’m still Sally,” I said. “Why is that so important to you? You never tried to do that before.”

  Dr. Banks didn’t say anything.

  “Colonel Mitchell. Is he still in charge of the local branch of USAMRIID? You know, big guy, thinning hair, sort of old around the eyes—and oh, yeah, Sally’s father. Is he still the one calling the shots? How much oversight does he have at this point? He used to tell me his men would follow him to the end of the world. Was that more than just hyperbole?”

  Dr. Banks didn’t say anything.

  San Francisco continued to roll by outside our windows, broken windows, empty doorways, and the constant, distant smell of rot accompanying us across the city. I unfolded my legs, trying to make myself look a little bit less childish as I leaned closer, invading Dr. Banks’s personal space, and asked, “Are you trying to make me be Sally because you promised her father that you could bring her back to him?”

  Dr. Banks didn’t say anything… but his eyes cheated away and to the left, the same way Beverly’s did when I caught her digging in the laundry, and I knew that I had found my answer.

  “We should leave you on a corner for the sleepwalkers,” I said, disgusted. “You didn’t come to us because you needed to know how to stabilize Anna. You came because you wanted me.”

  “You think a lot of yourself, don’t you?” Dr. Banks’s voice was dull, like he couldn’t even find it in himself to sneer anymore. “I came for the reasons I gave. Anna won’t stabilize, and the ‘chimera’ ”—he made the word sound dirty—“market is going to be huge over the next few years. With as many people as have died in this little public relations nightmare, SymboGen will need a new product—a new name to go with it, of course, but no one’s going to shut us down. We have too much money, too much power…”

  “And you’ve shifted too much of the blame,” I interjected.

  Dr. Banks glared at me, but his heart wasn’t in it. “Your kind are as good a cash cow as any. The goodwill I might be able to gain with Colonel Mitchell by handing you back to him is a minor concern. Not nearly as important as stabilizing that little girl.”

  “But you told him you could bring Sally back, didn’t you?” Nathan kept his eyes on the road. I wanted to hug him, to chase the bitterness from his voice. “I know what it’s like to pursue your funding, Dr. Banks. I was just a kid when Mom was really dealing with the hard-core academia, but I’ll never forget the way she promised those men the moon and the stars if they’d just put their money in her hands, rather than in the hands of her competitors. You told him that because of the way Sal converted, you could bring back the original personality, even though that would normally be impossible—and of course, no one but you could ever manage such a feat of scientific glory. He needed you if he wanted his daughter back.”

  Dr. Banks didn’t say anything. But he didn’t deny it either, and under the circumstances, that was just as damning as a confession would have been.

  San Francisco was a city riddled with makeshift blockades, roadblocks, and destruction. For every open street there were three more that had somehow been stopped up by either the police or the locals, before they went off to meet whatever fate was waiting for them in the foggy hills. I hoped that whatever had happened to them—and even in a situation like this one, where the end seemed virtually preordained, there were still so many things that could have happened—it had been quick, and had left them with little time to suffer.

  Maybe that was the most terrifying thing about Dr. Banks’s attempts to convince me that Sally was still in my head, buried under trauma and scar tissue. The idea of being a prisoner in my own body, unable to change anything, but able to see and understand everything that happened, was horrifying. At least when I’d been an implant, I hadn’t really understood what was happening to me, or to the body I inhabited. The cousins were just tapeworms driving broken minds around the world. They weren’t jailers for the humans whose bodies they had taken over. To think anything else was to invite madness.

  We stopped on the Presidio to let Nathan get out and Fishy get behind the wheel. Nathan transferred an uncharacteristically silent Dr. Banks to the front passenger seat and got in next to me, putting a hand on my knee without saying a word about why he thought I might need the comfort. I sighed, shifting to rest my head against his shoulder. Beverly mirrored the sound a moment later, and I had to clap my hand over my mouth to smother my giggles. For better or for worse, we were driving into the unknown. Yes, it was a trap, but wasn’t everything a trap these days? I couldn’t think of the last time I’d experienced something that wasn’t a trap in some way. Even Nathan and my dogs were traps. They made me want a life I probably wasn’t going to ever have, and a world that had been buried because of the circumstances of my birth.

  “Sleepwalkers at three o’clock,” reported Fishy. “They don’t seem to realize we’re here, but I’m going to take the next few blocks a little faster. You kids may want to hang on.”

  “Okay,” said Nathan. Fishy accelerated. I felt, rather than saw, Nathan twist around to peer down at me. He asked, “Are you sure that you’re okay?”

  “I’m pretty sure, and that’s better than I was expecting,” I said. “I feel numb, more than anything else. I don’t think I have the energy to be scared anymore. Don’t worry. I’m sure I’ll have some screaming nightmares about this later.” If there was a later.

  Nathan chuckled, reaching up to stroke my hair with one hand. “I’ll look forward to it.”

  “You’re never having another nightmare,” said Dr. Banks. “Things in jars don’t have nightmares.”

  “You’re such a charmer, I totally understand why people let you talk them into swallowing live worms,” said Fishy calmly. “Now shut the fuck up, or I’ll dump your useless ass on the street corner.”

  “You can’t keep threatening me forever, boy,” said Dr. Banks. “Eventually, you’ll have to either act on your words or admit that you still need me too much to waste me on a bit of petty revenge.”

  “I know which one I’d prefer,” said Fishy. The van sped up a little more, the soft whir of the engine filling the cab.

  I sighed and closed my eyes. I could feel the faint buzz that notified me of sleepwalker presence at the back of my head, like the blood there was carbonated and fizzing against my skull. It was almost comforting, now that I knew what it was and what it really meant. The sleepwalkers would have a harder time sneaking up on us now, at least while I was awake—and I had Dr. Banks to thank. It wasn’t until he’d brought Anna into the building that I’d really begun to understand what I felt around Adam, and around Sherman and the others.

  Sherman had to know that we could detect each other. Maybe that was the real reason he’d kept me isolated from his people the way he had: he hadn’t wanted me to develop this little party trick any faster than I was going to on my own. I didn’t know what useful applications it would have had back in his mall, but there must have been something I could have done with it, if I’d understood what those occasional flashes of disorientation and awareness really meant.

  “You’ll never lie to me, will you, Nathan?” I asked, quietly, trying to keep the pair in the front seat from overhearing.

  “I promise I’ll do my best not to,” he said, and that was somehow better than an outright pledge to never do it, ever, under any circumstances would have been: he was h
uman, and fallible, just like all of us. He could make mistakes. Pretending that was never going to happen wouldn’t do anybody any good, but it could leave us unprepared for what was yet to come.

  In the front seat, Dr. Banks made a small noise that was neither scoff nor snort. I lifted my head to see what he was looking at, and stiffened, the drums suddenly beating loud and angry in my ears. All the fear I hadn’t been feeling flooded into me at once, leaving the small boat of my courage floundering on the tide.

  SymboGen was directly in front of us, standing like a shining beacon of enduring civilization among the ruined and smoking wreckage of the city. It looked… it looked like nothing at all had changed, like everything was business as usual and anyone who claimed that there was an emergency going on was just crying wolf. The late afternoon sun gleamed off the unbroken windows of the high-rise, and the gated parking lot was filled with cars. That was the only thing that broke the illusion of perfect normalcy: there were several olive drab army convoys parked in among the hybrids and electric cars, which looked like candy-colored jewels next to their larger, more functional cousins. From what I could see, even the exterior landscaping was still perfectly maintained.

  “You couldn’t even let the gardeners go home to their families, could you?” The question seemed nonsensical, but it was the only thing I could think of to say. Nothing would have put the sheer incongruity of the scene into words, and so I didn’t even bother to try.

  “They were safer staying with us, and they recognized that.” There was a shifty note to his voice that made me suspect he wasn’t telling the full truth, that there’d been a lockdown or something that kept those low-level employees on the grounds until it was too late, and there was nowhere else for them to go. I didn’t bother calling him on it. When had he ever told us the full truth, about anything? Even when his own life was on the line, Dr. Steven Banks was still trying to play the angles.

  “That’s why I chose Dr. Cale’s brand of monster over yours, you know,” I said quietly. “At least she was always honest about what she was.”

  Nathan’s hand tightened on my knee, but he didn’t contradict my assessment of his mother. I think we both knew her too well for that.

  Dr. Banks stiffened but didn’t say anything.

  Fishy broke the silence. “Gee, will I be glad to go back to crazy science land, and no longer be sharing a van with the issues party,” he said, amiably, and started down the hill toward SymboGen.

  The buildings around us seemed cleaner somehow, like they had been cleared out before they could take anything more than superficial damage. I kept a tight hold on Beverly’s leash, watching warily for signs of ambush. It wasn’t until we were almost to the front gates that I realized the fizzing sensation in my head was gone. There were no sleepwalkers nearby, unless Dr. Banks was holding some inside the building for further study. If they were in airtight rooms—and they would have to be, to keep them from upsetting each other—I wouldn’t be able to pick up on them. The thought was sobering. If he got me into one of those rooms, no one would ever find me.

  I didn’t have time to dwell on that new and disturbing idea. Fishy pulled up in front of the security gate. I was somehow unsurprised to see that it was still manned, although the two men who were waiting to check our IDs were wearing full SWAT gear and carrying assault rifles—a far cry from their careful inoffensiveness of days past. Fishy rolled down the window.

  “Afternoon, gentlemen,” he said. “As you can see, we have your fearless leader captive. You want to go ahead and buzz us in?”

  “Sir?” asked one of the men, sounding utterly baffled as he peered past Fishy to the handcuffed form of Dr. Banks. Confusion was an understandable sentiment. Fishy was pretty darn confusing when you weren’t prepared for him.

  “I’m their hostage, Kirk,” said Dr. Banks, sounding more annoyed about the situation than anything else. “Go ahead and let us in.”

  The man—Kirk—blinked. “Do you want me to notify Security?”

  “Uh, hostage-taker right here, remember?” said Fishy.

  Both men ignored him. “It won’t be necessary,” said Dr. Banks. “I’m in no immediate danger. Just open the door.”

  “Sir, this goes against the protocols that you established—”

  “I know full well who established the protocols, Kirk,” said Dr. Banks. A hint of steel had crept back into his tone, stiffening and sharpening it. This was something he knew how to deal with: a disobedient subordinate was easy pickings. “Now let us in, or you’ll have your termination slip by the end of the day. And you know what that means.”

  Kirk went pale. “Yes, sir,” he said, and retreated to the booth with his companion. The other man flipped a switch. The gate rolled slowly open.

  “Man was pretty terrified of being fired,” observed Fishy, as he restarted the engine and rolled forward through the opening.

  “Any staff whose family was able to survive the initial outbreak and survive the trip to SymboGen has been allowed to have that family stay here with them,” said Dr. Banks. “Living space is tighter than we would prefer, but sheltering those people was the only humane thing to do.”

  “I bet it also made an excellent PR opportunity,” said Nathan.

  “Not as good as it should have. People kept getting distracted by the chaos on the streets.” Dr. Banks sounded disgusted. How dare people die when he was trying to capitalize on showing some basic human decency? “Anyway, everyone who works here knows that space is limited, and that we’re doing serious research to try to resolve the problem. Anyone leaving my employ will have a choice between heading to the official government quarantine facilities in Pleasanton, or being turned out onto the street to do as they will. It’s remarkable how many have chosen the latter.”

  Fishy pulled into a parking space near the building and twisted to stare, openmouthed, at Dr. Banks. Nathan and I did the same in the backseat, neither of us quite able to process what the man was saying. Finally, Fishy managed, “You mean you’re turning them out to die just because they don’t work for you anymore?”

  “Resources are limited,” said Dr. Banks coolly. “Can you really tell me your precious Dr. Cale would do any differently?”

  Fishy shook his head. “You are a piece of work. Let’s get you back into your ivory tower so that I can go back to where the monsters are the only thing I have to worry about fucking me over.”

  It was strange to be climbing out of a vehicle in the SymboGen parking lot like nothing had changed; like the world was still the way that it had always been before. The doors would open automatically at our approach, releasing a gust of perfume, while tinny elevator music played in the distance. And Chave would be there, my straight-laced, by-the-book handler in her impeccable business attire, ready to take me off to whatever tests and appointments they had scheduled for me…

  But Chave was dead. She had been a double agent for Dr. Cale, and her implant had eventually decided to take her over. I’d never known her well enough to really miss her, but I’d known her well enough to grieve for her. That would have to be enough.

  Nathan took the hand that wasn’t holding Beverly’s leash and squeezed it firmly. I squeezed back, and together, the four of us started toward the doors to SymboGen.

  The closer we got, the more apparent it became that the illusion of normalcy was just that: an illusion. The grounds were still being maintained at a minimal level, but none of the dead or dying flowers had been replaced. It was late November; the flower beds should have been a riot of poinsettias, and every hedge should have been dripping with tinsel and no-break glass balls. Instead, the early fall plants were still in place, being coaxed along to keep things looking as functional as possible.

  I wasn’t the only one who noticed. “Who are you keeping up appearances for?” asked Nathan. “Who could possibly be looking at your hedges right now?”

  “It’s been important to downplay staff losses and their impact during this crisis,” said Dr. Banks. “The peopl
e we’re working with want to look at us and think that we’re weathering the storm without getting wet. It builds their confidence. You understand.”

  “Image is everything with you people,” said Nathan. He sounded disgusted. I was just glad he was the one doing the talking. I wasn’t sure I would have been able to shape the words.

  “Son, image is everything with everyone, no matter what you try to tell yourself.” The glass doors leading into the lobby slid smoothly open as we approached. The cool air that drifted out to greet us was perfumed—apple, orange blossoms, and fresh corn, a far cry from the sugary chaos of Captain Candy’s—but the music wasn’t playing. That was almost a relief. “Or are you trying to tell me you’d still be so interested in that little girl whose hand you’re holding if we took her pretty chassis away and handed her to you in a jar? You love the woman, but you love the look, too. Don’t think you’re any different from me.”

  “I am different from you,” snapped Nathan. “I didn’t cut somebody’s head open and shove a worm inside to get the look I wanted. I fell for a miracle, not a science project.”

  “Just keep telling yourself that,” said Dr. Banks, and he stepped inside.

  The lobby was empty: they must have been running on a skeleton staff. That, too, made me feel a little better. Anyone who wasn’t here was probably either dead or in the quarantine facilities that Dr. Banks was using to keep his remaining staff in line. Either way, they would probably have been happy to return to work if it meant that their lives would also return to normal.

  Dr. Banks stopped when we were halfway across the lobby. “Now’s when you untie me,” he said, a new serenity in his tone. “I’m home.”

  “I’m not seeing where this changes anything,” said Fishy.