The Romero Strain

by Alan, TS

  “Who gave the captain the nicked artery?”

  The doctor answered by continuing with his story, “After he shot Derek, he pushed the chair aside and accessed the program himself. Next thing we knew, doors all over the base started to open and close again. A warning came on screen and over the command center speakers regarding the exterior ventilation and a contamination breach. The transmutes were tearing up the labs. The decontamination protocol triggered. But that idiot had the doors open, so when it initiated it took out more than just the labs, it took out some of his men. What he did to Derek made me angry, more angry perhaps than afraid for my life. I had a refillable pencil in my shirt pocket; when he turned to leave, I drove it into his neck as hard as I could. I was not trying to be a hero. I was just angry. Then I became fearful, for the wound did not incapacitate him. When he turned around, I thought he was going to shoot me, but he hunched over and pulled out the pen. Blood spurted from his neck. I saw an opportunity and I ran to the bio storage room. A few soldiers near the labs were helping their fellow servicemen by pulling the door open, hoping to escape. I could see the men trying to squeeze through to no avail. I made it to the bio room. It was my intention to retrieve the antiretroviral and return to the command center, but the captain had not succumbed to his injury. He caught me by surprise and started shooting at me with a rifle. He missed, and then collapsed. I did not wait around for him to have another chance. I took what I had gathered and headed to the command room. I pounded on the door, but no one responded. I kept hearing gunfire down the hall, which was replaced by a loud, ghastly screech. It was time to leave. I did not know if my security card was going to work on the emergency exit, but that was the only way to go. And that is the truth.”

  With what I had discovered and the rest of the information he supplied, the puzzle was complete, with the exception of one small but crucial piece: the source of the airborne virus. He was never going to tell the truth, unless I bitch-slapped him with it. This time I did it with my intellect, instead of my hand.

  “Ah, finally the truth.” I was about to give him his slap. “Just enough to pass as believable, but not enough to implicate yourself in any wrongdoing.”

  “I told you the truth about what happened. There is nothing more I can tell you.”

  I let him have it. “‘Knowledge rests not upon truth alone, but upon error also.’”

  France was defensive. “Are you accusing me of lying?”

  “When we first met, you said you weren’t infected because the Trixoxen had a pathogen route of entry through the gastrointestinal tract.”

  “Did I?”

  “You know damn well you did. You didn’t go to bio storage for anything noble. There was no need to get any antiretroviral, since it was not a respiratory pathogen––until you had a helping hand in releasing one.”

  “Your accusations are unfounded. I told you—”

  “Oh, shut the fuck up! I know why you went there. It was opportunity. You wanted something out of that room. I don’t know if it was actually the antiretroviral or if it was one of your viruses, but—”

  “I assure you that my intentions were—”

  “Dick, we all know what you took… that little kit of yours. But there were other viruses in that storage chamber. Did you actually believe that one of us wasn’t going to figure it out? I know how to read a specimen label.”

  He looked at me in disbelief. I paused momentarily, waiting for another lie, but he decided against it. He just sat silently.

  “Dick,” I continued. “I’m waiting for an answer.”

  He stammered on his first few words, gathering himself. “It… it was an accident! You understand? I did not know he—”

  “Yes, Dick,” I interrupted, “an accident. I believe you,” I assured him. “But I need you to tell me about what got loose.”

  “All the vials in the room contained various strains of Trixoxen.”

  “And how many strains would that be?”

  “Ten,” he murmured.

  “Ten!?”

  He became defensive. “You do not understand. Translating a hypothesis into an actual viral agent is a difficult step. The research and development process goes through many defined stages. First there is the preclinical aspect—cell culture, fermentation, viral replication, recombinant DNA—during which we develop the pathogen’s biology through genetic engineering. Once a sequence strain has been developed in the lab, it is put through a series of tests and gradually improved or terminated. In order to view the steps in the biological process, dozens of specimens must be viewed at various stages in order to capture each desired step in the process. It is a tedious but necessary phase.”

  I put my hand to my face. I hoped it wasn’t going to be a Sam Drukker-style dissertation.

  “Get to the point,” I said, with slight irritation.

  “Once we have determined we are on the right path, we move into clinical experiments where the viral agent is first introduced to monkeys, which are biologically similar to humans. However, animal models are useful, but only up to a certain point. Despite the similarities, monkeys are also biologically different from people—”

  I interrupted with a snide comment. “You don’t say.”

  He continued his lecture without acknowledgement or pause. “Then we move into clinical trials on human test subjects, where we determine the genetic hypervariability of the virus. Clinical trials are conducted in three sequential phases, each enrolling larger number of volunteers. We did not have the luxury of this type of trial, so only a Phase I trial could be conducted. If we had developed a viral agent that could have given us the results we were trying to achieve, then the next step would have been testing the virus on a larger group to gather risk and pathogenicity data.”

  “What does all that have to do with the price of bananas in Uganda? Simplify!”

  “All viruses are destroyed once we determine that they cannot be improved. They are considered non-viable specimens. Only the data is saved.”

  “But they weren’t, were they? Are you about to tell me that multiple airborne strains were released?”

  “There should have been none. The door sealed as I left. The decon protocol should have destroyed everything.”

  “But it failed, didn’t it? So, how many viruses?”

  “There was only one that could have become airborne. The last one we developed. The one with the most promise… Trixoxen 4-8-10. It was protean.”

  “Protean!? Jesus, Joseph and Mary! This just keeps getting better,” I sarcastically said.

  France continued. “I was ordered to secure all remaining specimens along with all accompanying research documentation and have them transported to another research facility. They wanted to review all the data which led up to the discovery of the transmutes.”

  “Ah, yes. The transmutes. There’s a subject that is near and dear to me.”

  “Why?” he asked.

  I presented him with his diary.

  “Where did you get this?” he demanded to know in an angry tone.

  “From your room, Doctor… along with this.” I slid him the letter I had found.

  “You broke into my room and stole my private property!?”

  “Stealing is such a strong word, Doc. Let us call it salvaging what was abandoned. Do you have any clue as to what the transmutes are? You told us a detailed story about how you tested soldiers with the delta-32 mutation, and it was all bullshit! You weren’t testing people; they were doing it at a place called Fort Wyvern. Project Night Owl, as it was being called, was out of your control. You were being reassigned under Doctor Josephson.”

  “That is not true. The transmute phenomenon was discovered here. The initial study was done here! You saw those things.”

  “I don’t think any of you knew anything about the creatures. They’re a lot smarter than you think. They’re also not devoid of emotions. There was more humanity left in them than you knew.”

  “You have no idea what you
are talking about. You have had no interaction with them except to kill them. I discovered them. I studied them. You seem to be confusing fact from fantasy. This is not one of your science fiction films.”

  “Are you sure about that? I didn’t kill any transmutes, but I did save one. Luci Leinster!” The doctor gave me a look of fright and confusion. “Look at you. You’re all freaked out.”

  He pointed an accusing finger at me. “You are a liar! They are predatory creatures and would not allow you to get near them.”

  “Doc, maybe you forget about a simple basic fact of life. When a creature, human or otherwise, even as fierce as a transmute, has no energy to defend itself, it has no choice but to succumb. Her name was Luci, Luci Leinster.” I slid the file folder across the desk to him. “Go ahead, pick it up! Do you remember her, Doc? Do you? One of your court-martialed volunteers… another lie! Well!?”

  “Yes. Yes. This was the specimen Doctor Josephson insisted we transport alive. The females were not as predominant as the males. The female to male ratio was low, that is to say that the experiments showed that a male was more likely to transmute than a female.”

  “Specimen. How nice of you to dehumanize what you have done. The transmutes retain more of their humanity than you think. Luci still remembers her name, has emotions, and can physically communicate.”

  “That is not possible. The data in conclusive.”

  “Really? Then I say you’re grossly incompetent at your job.”

  “You have no research to substantiate this ridiculous claim!”

  “Don’t I? I spent time with her.”

  “What were doing in those hours you were gone?”

  “You mean besides tending to her wounds? Should I spell it out for you? I was… fornicating.”

  “What!?”

  “You heard me. I had sex with her. Several times.”

  “How is that possible?”

  “What’s the matter, Doc? You’ve never been laid? Is that your problem?”

  “Are you attempting to be snide?”

  “And here I thought you weren’t observant.”

  “Why would you want to copulate with that thing?”

  “If you call her a thing again I’m going to reach across this desk and smack you into next week. Her name is Luci. Got it?”

  Needing to understand my actions, the doctor responded with, “Fine. What possessed you to copulate with Luci?”

  “Is this a scientific inquiry or are you generally just fascinated?”

  “Both.”

  “Have you forgotten that I’m part transmute? Instinct took control. I knew what I was doing and I wanted to do it, yet I wanted to fight the urge and keep in control.”

  “Fascinating. And this mating was strictly a physical act of propagation, or was pleasure derived from the act?”

  “First you’re appalled and now you’re weirdly curious. You’re a queer little fellow, aren’t you?”

  “My sexual preferences have nothing to do with this!” he replied, taking offense.

  I clarified. “I was referring to you being odd.”

  “Please answer the question. I need to know.”

  “It was physically and emotionally pleasurable, for both of us.” I relayed.

  “What!? That is not possible. Luci did not have the emotional capacity to experience such things. Breeding was strictly an instinct to propagate the species. They are one step above the evolutionary scale from the undead.”

  “And your narrow-mindedness is blinding you from accepting the truth. She pleasured herself, both physically and emotionally. I should know; I was there. We even… cuddled. If that isn’t a human need, what is?”

  The doctor had no comment. He looked perplexed, taking a moment to absorb my statement. He finally said, “Do the others know about Luci? That you mated with her, then let her go?”

  “Not even Marisol.”

  “Tell me you did not had intercourse with that child.”

  I hadn’t, and even though I wanted to, I couldn’t. I had, in a sense, betrayed Marisol by being with Luci.

  “Child!? She’s far from a child!”

  “Your defensive attitude indicates you have. And did you wear protection?”

  “I’m going to say this again: I did not have sexual relations with that woman.”

  “Unprotected sex could place her life in danger. I do not even know if your mutation has stabilized. For all I know you could become a full transmute and Marisol could give birth to one, or worse.”

  “We don’t even know if my sperm is viable. Nor have I had any further changes. So don’t push the panic button, yet. Besides, when the hell have I had time to have sex?” I quickly added, “With Marisol!”

  In an insistent manner he said, “You need to come to the lab. I can run blood and semen tests. We should do this immediately.”

  “Can you reverse the damage to my DNA?”

  “No. The mutation is a double strand break. The best I can do is to develop an antiviral drug to treat the disease and put it into replicative senescence so that you won’t mutate any further. If I had a pre-mutated DNA strain, I could do minor repair by reintroducing your original DNA with stem cells by the way of excision repair.”

  “I missed that science channel episode. Clarify.”

  “An excision repair is where the damaged base or bases are removed and then replaced with the correct ones in a localized burst of DNA synthesis. There are three modes of excision repair, each of which employs specialized sets of enzymes. The first is direct repair, where—”

  I closed my eyes, tilted my head to the side, and faked a snore. “Sorry, I must have fallen unconscious for a moment,” I sarcastically responded, interrupting his soliloquy. “What about Luci?”

  “What about her?”

  “Can you reverse any of her damage? Surely you took DNA samples from her prior to infection.”

  He tried to side-step the question. “Her mutation is too advanced. This is not Star Trek, this is real science and real science has not evolved to a point where an entire DNA helix can be repaired, even with Recombinant DNA engineering. Besides, Luci is not here.”

  “Since you obviously weren’t listening when I asked this before, I’m forced to repeat myself… can you reverse any of her damage?”

  “If her DNA material and the stem cell material are still viable, then it might be possible to reverse a minimal amount of damage. Perhaps some slight reversal in the facial structure and memory loss. She still will never be human… and this is all supposition. The treatments would take months, perhaps longer, and may never counteract the damage. Even so, the point is moot. The needed genetic materials were loaded onto the train prior to lockdown. That was ten days ago. By now the storage units have failed. And you would be insane to risk your life going up there for some… one that may not be alive.”

  “Oh, she’s alive, I’m sure of that. You let me worry about retrieving what you need. I’ll have your DNA and stem cells by morning. Just tell me what I need to look for.”

  * * *

  The first thing out of the doctor’s mouth, as I sat in front of the desk waiting for him to look up from his paperwork was, “I will give it to you straight.”

  In the short time I knew him, he had never once given a simple, straightforward answer, so of course I had to say, “That’ll be a first,” which brought on a long winded explanation of my condition.

  Indeed my DNA had not stabilized and my sperm had DNA damage. However, since the doctor was not a human reproductive specialist, he said he could only hypothesize, which was a first for him without the use of threat or force. He told me there were two scenarios that could unfold. The first was that post-testicular sperm DNA damage would only marginally affect sperm physiology due to the lack of gene expression, but that it would affect embryo development at the stage that embryo genome (including the paternal damaged DNA) expression was initiated. Or increased sperm DNA damage and increased abnormalities in conventional semen parameters co
uld have a pronounced impact on my reproductive potential.

  After listening to his discourse, I felt it my obligation to be snide. “Your last sentence ended with a preposition,” I told him. “Please restate it properly.”

  This evoked a response of, “Unprotected sexual intercourse could result in the birth of mutated offspring, or if you are lucky you will only shoot blanks. Even you should be able to grasp the next point. Your DNA is unstable. You could have a pronounced change at any time.”

  I had to get one more dig in, just to irritate him. “I’d like the straight answer this time.”

  France was blunt. “You are a danger to us all. Is that clear enough?”

  I shut up after that, and we finished our conversation in a non-adversarial manner.

  I was more concerned about my unstable condition than my reproductive organs, so I decided a self-imposed exile was best for everyone’s safety. But every form of refuge has its price, as I would later realize. The doctor agreed to do weekly tests of my blood and see what he could do to stabilize me. He also agreed to work at synthesizing DNA replacement for Luci.

  I got the genetic materials. Just like I told him I would.

  VIII. Subterranean Homesick Blues

  I had sequestered myself for five weeks, without outside contact, except for the visits by the doctor. I had not been locked in, but rather I had locked everyone out. My friends brought me my meals; everyone took turns, except Joe. It was Marisol, though, who brought my meals and clean bed linens the most, but that was in the later part of my separation.

  I explained to Marisol that what needed to be done was for her safety as well as the others. I tried to gently tell her that I could not be “with her” as she wanted. When I told her about Luci, Marisol’s first reactions were ones of confusion, repulsion, and need.

  Why would I and how could I have sex with a monster?

  Then the true realization of what I had done set in. Her feelings abruptly changed to ones of betrayal and hatred. I had hurt her deeply, a hurt which I could not understand for I had never experienced the emotion of love betrayed. I was sure she would never forgive me. My transmute side taking control over me didn’t fly with her. Emotionally distraught and angry, she rebuked Max when I told him to follow her. “I don’t want anything to do with you or your stupid dog again,” was her response. But Max followed her on my command. I knew she would change her mind about him; he was too loveable to blame for my indiscretion.