Black Milk

by Robert Reed

  “I’m okay.”

  “You’re doing just fine,” she assured me. She squeezed my arm and gave the crowd a shy glance, then she sang a couple notes. Her voice made every other voice seem rough and graceless. Her face was pretty in an odd fashion. Her folks were Asian Indians, and her skin was effortlessly dark and her long black hair hung straight and pretty. “Just fine,” she repeated. Then she let me go.

  Cameras were drifting above their owners—bright new cameras lifted by humming fans, their glass eyes scanning this way and that. I knew faces and names, not even trying to remember them. There were a lot of important newspeople here. Some glanced at us, Cody making them pause and stare. Then Dr. Florida walked past us, his people beside him smiling. I watched two big men carrying a box by its rope handles. A cloth sack was thrown over the box, keeping it hidden, and we moved with the crowd to keep close to them. Kids shouted in the distance. They were coming from the candy-colored houses and from other parts of the parkland. I knew their voices and all of their names, memories welling up inside me; and I worked hard not to think of them, knowing I’d get lost again if I filled my head with too much.

  Jack wondered, “What’s he got? Anyone know?”

  Last year it had been pigs. Dr. Florida had released hairless, greasy pigs. There hadn’t been many of them and they were easily caught, and we didn’t even see one trace of them. It hadn’t been much of a year last year, and I remembered how we’d told one another that we wouldn’t even hunt this year unless it was something worth chasing. We’d made a vow to ourselves.

  Cody said, “It’s supposed to be tough.” That was part of her mothers’ rumor. “Fast and smart and nothing like it in the world. Whatever it is.” The creature was inside the box, and we watched the box and held our breaths.

  “Down here, men,” said Dr. Florida. I was close enough to hear his quiet voice. “That’s it, and thanks.” He stood beside the covered box, smiling, and for an instant he seemed to smile just at us. Then he gave the box a gentle kick, and something went whump whump whump so hard that the box rocked. Whump whump whump!

  “Jesus,” said Jack. And he laughed.

  Cody told us to be quiet.

  But Marshall said, “It’s something big. Huge. I bet so.” And he shivered. “I bet it’s enormous—”

  Cody touched Marshall’s long body, and he stopped talking.

  “People?” said Dr. Florida. “People.” Everyone turned silent. I blinked and saw Dr. Florida’s straight smile and sweet eyes and I told myself he didn’t look eighty years old. Except his hands looked old, long and spotted and hanging loose at his sides. “It seems amazing,” he told us. “They come faster and faster, these springs. Have you ever noticed?”

  People laughed. Dr. Florida’s people laughed loudest and quit first, keeping a careful watch on everything.

  “Another spring,” he said, “and I have to think back fifty years to recall our first Easter egg hunt. Fifty good long wonderful years. Isn’t that right?” He waited, always smiling, and I heard the whispering hum of the cameras and the soft wind in the grass. “Then I was so young,” he said, “and this lovely town and its wonderful good people had welcomed my first labs and shops into their midst. A brave, brave act on everyone’s part. I’ve said it before, I know, but I’ll always say it. Every chance I get. It took courage and vision to do what they did, and I’ll never stop thanking them. Not so long as I can draw breath, surely.”

  There was a stir in the crowd, then nothing. Nobody spoke. Nobody dared interrupt Dr. Florida.

  He asked us, “How many communities in that age would have accepted, much less welcomed, a gene-tailor? Do you wonder? Who wanted to be a neighbor to someone who was redesigning plants and animals to serve mankind?” He paused, then he said, “I thank this city. A thousand times every day I say, ‘Thank you.’”

  He had a silky voice. It had no age and no haste.

  “I started the Easter egg hunt for little children,” he told us. “I can recall some tailored eggs—brightly colored, low in fat and free of cholesterol. Primitive things by today’s standards. Even crude. Yet the contest itself was a success. We gave away little trophies to the children with the sharpest eyes, and after a few years we found ourselves with a ritual. A sign of spring.” People nodded to themselves and smiled. He said, “Soon the expectations started to rise. Bigger eggs and fancier trophies, and so on. In a very real sense this annual affair had mirrored the advances in gene-tailoring, in our manipulations of living, replicating DNA. On our tenth anniversary we released live chickens in lieu of eggs—big, ugly birds meant to give a good chase to children of all ages. Our mistake was to neglect intelligence. There was a heavy shower several hours later and most of the birds drowned. The poor things.” He halfway laughed. Everyone else shook their heads and smiled, the oldest few remembering the event. I could tell by their dreamy eyes and their knowing happy mouths.

  “But we’ve gotten better,” he insisted. “I’ve watched our skills and cleverness grow by tremendous leaps. Today, at this instant, this world of ours is fed and fat because of our work here. People even live on other worlds because of our commitment to progress.” He paused, his eyes full of light. He told us, “Forgive this old husk for his ramblings,” and he gestured at the covered box. “We’re talking about the contest, aren’t we? Of course we are.” He sighed and told us, “I swear to you. Even when I’m gone—when my legacy is something you and your children can debate about—this contest will continue. My people and my companies will see to it. In every real sense I am rooted in this fine warm community, and I will make certain that each year some novel and wondrous creature will be set free in the parks. For the children. For always.”

  People clapped. The five of us clapped with them.

  Then Dr. Florida silenced us, lifting a long finger to his lips. “This is the fiftieth anniversary, yes. It’s fifty years to the day. So of course we have something special, something extraordinary.” He smiled, his gaze coming around to the five of us. We were the only kids standing in the front of the crowd, in plain view. He seemed to speak to us, saying, “I don’t think you’ll be disappointed.”

  No one spoke.

  He said, “Lillith,” and a tall, slender woman produced a trophy from a black carrying case. The trophy’s base might have been gold, and there were crystal pillars topped with a brilliant false flame. I watched the flame flicker and curl, and he said, “Thank you.” She set the trophy in the grass, and he told us, “Its materials come from my asteroid mines, the ingenuity from my various electronics companies, and the shape is my own design. I hope you like it. The flame is a holo projection, of course, and the super-loop batteries are charged and good for a geologic age. Give or take.” He grinned and promised, “If you catch this year’s prize, I will personally give you this token and shake your hand. Absolutely.”

  I blinked and breathed, imagining such a thing.

  Dr. Florida nudged the covered box. Whump whump whump! The creature made the box shiver and jump. Beth eased back a step, one hand on Cody and one hand on me, and Cody looked at her face, telling her, “It’s okay. It’s safe.”

  “Like every year,” Dr. Florida was saying, “we have rules to be obeyed. They’ll be published tonight, but suffice to say they’re the same reliable rules as every year. You can’t be older than fifteen. One trophy per capture. The prey can’t be harmed, and we pay for the return of the tailored organism. A modest fee, like always. For the research value it brings.” He winked at the five of us, asking, “Do you understand?”

  We felt everyone watching us. Nobody spoke.

  “So that covers it? We’re finished?” He seemed to stare at me, and I felt weak and shaky. “What’s left to do? Do you kids know?”

  I couldn’t talk. Not for anything.

  Cody was the one who said, “Open the box,” with a soft voice.

  “Let it go,” Jack added, talking louder. “You’ve got to—”

  “Indeed!” Dr. Florida stabbed
the air with a finger. He did it comically, making everyone laugh. Then he said, “But I’m an old man. I don’t bend so well, you see,” and people sported warm smiles and laughed some more. I felt the newspeople pressing forward, grass breaking under their feet. “I’ll tell you what,” Dr. Florida announced. “Why don’t the four…no, five…the five of you come here and let this marvel go free? All right?”

  We couldn’t move for an instant.

  Even Cody froze.

  I glanced to one side, the cameras turning toward us with their glass eyes focusing. I told myself to concentrate. To focus. I was terrified that I might get lost and weird—

  “Come on. Don’t be bashful,” he warned us. “I’m not going to bite. Come here,” and he smiled, his voice so smooth and warm that I couldn’t help but feel better. I felt at ease.

  We went toward him. Cody whispered, “Ryder? Look at us?” and she rolled her head once. I understood. I walked past the box while the others kneeled around it. Then I stared at them and at everything. I saw Jack’s worn green jeans and Marshall’s long hairless face, Cody stroking her own stubbly hair and Beth small beside Cody, and finally Dr. Florida asked, “Why don’t you take off the cover? Go on.”

  “We’re waiting for Ryder,” Cody explained.

  “Okay. Where’s this Ryder person?” He stood on his tiptoes, watching the crowd and adjusting the big brim of his hat.

  Beth said, “He’s here,” and I rejoined them. We stood in a knot, and one of Beth’s hard little breasts came up against my arm. Then we weren’t touching, and I looked about and saw all the staring faces. I began to shiver, just slightly, and Dr. Florida asked, “What’s your name?”

  I saw his own hard gaze and his enormous smile. I squeaked, “Ryder,” and didn’t perish. Here he stood—the great and wise Dr. Florida—and it felt so strange and wondrous to be speaking to him. I wouldn’t have guessed that such a thing would happen. Not in my life.

  He took a step toward us. “A special skill?” he wondered, his voice barely loud enough to be heard.

  “I guess,” I admitted, shrugging.

  “No one else is like him,” Marshall boasted. “No one.”

  “I thought I noticed…something,” he responded.

  But I felt normal most of the time, in most ways. Didn’t I? I felt I’d been doing a good job of acting normal, considering all the things that were happening, all the faces begging to be remembered, and all the voices triggering switches inside my panicking brain…wasn’t I doing good just the same?

  “Ryder? Why don’t you and your friends do the service. Please?” He waved at the crowd, bringing them around us but not too close.

  I breathed hard and focused on the box. Just on the box.

  Cody said, “Here. Get the other edge,” and she grabbed the covering sack. Jack helped her lift it, exposing the heavy wooden walls and the double-thick screen door. The door was dented and twisted by something inside. I leaned closer, the sack gone. There was pale yellow straw and nothing else. For an instant I believed the creature had escaped—through a hole somewhere?—and then the straw exploded. I saw white, white fur and tar-black eyes, and everyone else jumped backwards. But not me. I was too well focused, too much a part of things. I saw the creature slam into the screen door with its pointed face, whump, and it was part of me. A snake with tiny, tiny legs. And fur. And fury too. Look at it! I thought. Look! There’s nothing like it in the world! I thought. Look!

  “It’s a compilation organism,” Dr. Florida explained. “We’ve named it the snow dragon because of its color and appearance. It’s half rattlesnake genes—the venom and fangs removed, of course—and much of the rest is mammalian. With synthetic genes for the extras. Those little feet you see? They can be retracted for speed. The metabolism? It’s close to a shrew’s. Very fast. Very demanding. The snow dragon is the biological equivalent of a firestorm.”

  It had thick white fur on its back and sides, golden bits of straw clinging to the fur, and its belly was covered with shiny, ivory-colored scales. I saw its eyes wink, and its broad, triangular head moved left and right and left again, a snake’s tongue moving faster than I could follow. The snow dragon was a stout, five-foot bundle of muscle and bone and superquick nerves. Snakes can be fast, sunwarmed and mad, but this thing slipped back and forth too quickly for any snake. Or most anything else alive. Dr. Florida promised, “It will be active year-round. Even in the coldest winters. It eats mice and birds and snakes and…well, pretty much anything. My staff tell me it should grow through this year, maybe doubling its size. We’re releasing fifty of these marvels throughout the city’s parklands…this particular specimen being the clone mother to the others…and it won’t be an easy chase, I warn you. Not this year!”

  The snow dragon leaped against the screen door, then hissed.

  Marshall stumbled backwards, saying, “Gosh.”

  People laughed at him. I turned and looked at Dr. Florida, studying his face, seeing little things because I was so close. No, he didn’t look eighty. But he was very tired just the same. I saw tiredness in his bright smiling eyes. There was something hard through his face and body—a tension, some spring wound tight, something working against his insides. He was the world’s most important person; I thought of all the important work he had to do. People had spoken well of him throughout my life, praising him for his countless good deeds and his ceaseless energy; and I gazed up at him, feeling ever so glad that he’d taken the time to come here today. I could scarcely believe it…

  “One last word of advice,” he told us. “And tell this to your friends too. We’ve got no dumb beast here. Not at all. My dragon has a quick brain and great eyes and good ears and a fine tongue.” He was smiling with pride. “I wouldn’t be surprised if this particular dragon is never caught. How’s that for a challenge?” He paused, then he said, “Well? Why don’t we stand back and let these kids start the show?”

  Cody undid the first latch with a click, then grabbed its mate and looked at us. “Ready?”

  Jack and Marshall were standing. I stood too. Beth was behind us and off to one side, cautious like always, and Cody undid the other latch and said, “Ready?”

  We felt ready.

  She lifted the screen in one motion. The dragon launched itself like a torpedo. I blinked and saw a white streak on the grass, and the adults scattered, a touch frightened and giggling because of their fright, and the five of us looked at one another, too startled to move. Then Dr. Florida said: “Get after it! Go!”

  So we ran, tearing across the pasture. Cody was in the lead, and Marshall was behind her with his long legs pumping. The dragon moved like rushing water, following the curves and slopes of the ground. I saw its body against the greenness, and Cody sprinted and dove for it, falling short. The dragon had sensed motion and slipped sideways, and now Cody was down and laughing at herself and I was past her. Then Marshall slowed, already winded, and I was ahead for an instant. All I could think was that I wanted to grasp the dragon, wrestle it and bring back its long body, winning the trophy and Dr. Florida’s respect. “Look what you’ve done,” he would say to me. “Look what you’ve managed, Ryder.”

  The dragon left the pasture. It slipped down onto our bridge, and for an instant I thought it was trapped. I came onto the bridge leaning forward, charging hard, and the dragon turned its head and saw me and turned and slipped past the oak’s trunk, leaping into the air—a curling rubbery shape with its fur shining in the afternoon sun.

  It seemed to be flying, buoyed up by invisible wings.

  I watched it cover an enormous arc, neatly dropping into the brush at the base of the slope, and I was left trapped on the bridge. Everyone else slid down the bare earth of the slope, straight onto the bottoms, Jack hooting and Beth slowing and me turning to look back at the crowd. I saw Dr. Florida watching me, and I felt sick. I had failed and seemed foolish, I was sure, and he was speaking to the tall woman beside him with his eyes fixed on me. Me. I froze and stared back at him for a long mo
ment, then I took a desperate breath and made myself turn and leap.

  The snow dragon was streaking down the bottoms.

  I paced myself, hoping against hope that I might outlast it. Beth quit and told me to be careful, and Jack stopped and said, “Forget it.” He looked small against the tall weeds. “It’s long gone,” he assured me, and I was past him and closing on Marshall. Marshall found a cramp in his leg, and his face was pale from all the running. Only Cody was ahead, and I focused on her and wouldn’t let myself quit. Not for anything. My legs ached and my breath tore at my throat; but she had speed and power, not endurance, and I knew I could catch her if I really wanted.

  We approached the end of the bottoms. There was a high roadbed cutting across it, and a stone-lined basin was laid at the roadbed’s base. The basin was filled with dark water. We called it the almost-pond. Cody was standing motionless, panting and watching the almost-pond; and I came up beside her and saw the dragon’s white body swimming, its head reared high. Birds squawked and lifted from the far shoreline, flapping hard and cursing while the dragon slipped up onto the land again. I couldn’t see it now. The watered weeds nodded and nothing showed, and Cody said, “No more,” and fell to her knees. She was laughing, sweat soaking her clothes and her face and her gasping voice saying, “Shit,” a couple times.

  I looked back the way we’d come. Some of the newspeople had followed us into the bottoms, but now they were giving up. Their day was finished. Bunches of kids were hunting the underbrush, kicking up rubbish and joking among themselves. Beth was talking to Marshall, kneeling and touching his cramped leg. I couldn’t see Dr. Florida anywhere. Not his hat or his raincoat or anyone tall enough to be him, and I felt a little bit sad.

  Muscles aching, I trotted to the far side of the almost-pond.

  The dragon was nowhere. It had evaporated. I climbed the steep west slope and reached a flat stretch where there weren’t any trees, just tall grass, the outlines of a big old house showing in the side of the hill. Years and years ago the house had burned. All that remained was a partial foundation on three sides, the concrete bricks crumbling to nothing. I pictured the dragon trapped in a corner. Trapped and mine. I moved on my leaden legs, my mouth full of dust, and of course there was nothing but the grass and the bricks and I ended up folding and dropping onto my back.