“Yes. What you’re looking at is research, and I’ll tell you about that in due time,” said Peterson, then he waved his hand. “Find a chair and sit. We’ll have a little chat.”
Painfully, Paul dragged a chair over and sat down. While Sluggo hovered obediently in the background, Peterson grabbed another chair and sat across from him. “Well, I’m glad you made it,” he began.
“Where are my friends?” Paul demanded.
His demand earned a chuckle from the monstrosity. “They’re safe. As I said, I have no interest in them. Oh, by the way, we’re not in South Dakota anymore. I won’t tell you where we are. All I will say is this room, like a number of others, is something I’ve worked on keeping secret for a long time.”
Relieved his friends were out of the danger zone, Paul nevertheless had his questions. “Why are you doing this?”
“You mean, creating clones, building secret labs and threatening the country?”
“All of them.” It shocked Paul to listen to the truth of the matter being spoken of so openly, so casually, as if someone was saying they were going to go for a walk and buy a carton of milk from the corner store.
Peterson’s laugh echoed over the entire complex. He spread his hands wide in a theatrical gesture then dropped the theatrics to assume the manner of a lecturer imparting wisdom to a neophyte student. “Well, creating clones is a natural extension of what my late colleague, Dr. Bolson, started. However, let me start at the beginning. After all, I founded Rallan, Inc., and since that’s where you met Bolson—indirectly. You deserve to hear the whole story.”
He leaned back in his chair, and it groaned under his weight. Rallan was founded a number of years ago, designed to produce hardier fruits and vegetables. “That was its original purpose, believe it or not,” Peterson said. “Then we lucked into something big.”
“Military contracts… You made deals with the military.”
“Yes, and that was a boon to us,” the monstrosity replied. “You see, at about that time, I’d been diagnosed with cancer. I received the usual treatments, had an operation that took out half my lower bowel, got the follow-up chemotherapy and I’d hoped the disease wouldn’t return.
“At about the same time, Dr. Bolson had the idea of using stem-cells to not only create healthy internal organs as a substitute for the real thing but also to counteract the ravages of cancer. He was a very decent sort, and I was grateful for his thoughtfulness.”
If becoming something so outside of humanity was a way of expressing gratitude, this thing needed a reality check in the worst way. However, Peterson, his voice beginning to rise with passion, continued. “Bolson was on to something, and he wanted to carry his research further than anyone had ever done. He wanted to create a person.
“Once I entered remission and got out of the hospital, the military contacted me and I thought of killing two birds with one stone. I helped Bolson build his chamber. I paid for the materials and everything else.”
He shifted his bulk around, the chair’s legs creaking as he did so. “They said it couldn’t be done, but he did it. Bolson created beings from his own body. He was a lab god, if you will. Once the military heard about his success, they had the idea of using those creations—your allies—as weapons.”
A frown crossed his face. “Unfortunately, I misjudged Bolson’s true nature. He really was an altruist. We argued about the benefits of military applications, but in the end, he couldn’t go through with it. Call it not sharing my vision. He wanted no part of it.”
“But you gave the go-ahead on the project, didn’t you?” asked Paul, partially fascinated by this history lesson, but also repelled by the scope of the idea and the way it had been perverted.
“I did. I didn’t find out he’d changed the programming until the last moment, but no matter. That’s all in the past.”
History had indeed been gone over, so Paul decided to bring things into the present. “And the moral of this story is?”
The question earned him a rumble of a laugh as Peterson got up from the chair. “The moral is…things change, ideas change and so do values. I also had the idea of creating life. As you may have already surmised, my creations don’t last as long. The cells of my body, while they can sustain me, cannot sustain other, independent forms of life, hence the molecular instability and inevitable breakdown. I need the knowledge.”
Something didn’t add up in this scenario. Although hampered by his relatively poor knowledge of science, still, Paul knew the doctor was wrong. “But it worked with Quill,” he said. When a blank look greeted him, he added, “The porcupine girl.”
“She’s nothing.” Peterson dismissed his statement with a wave of his flipper along with an animal-like grunt. “Her program is flawed. Her cells will break down, just like the others, only not as fast.”
The reply made Paul snap his head up and he regretted it, as it sent a shaft of pain up and down his spine. “She’s going to dissolve?”
“No, I’ve solved that problem in hybrids,” Peterson answered as he walked over to a pile of papers and lazily stirred them with his massive flipper. “However, her lifespan has been considerably shortened. The process does work, but it somehow accelerates the growth and death of cells, similar to cancer, but instead of invading the healthy cells, it simply burns them out.”
The answer shocked Paul. “How long does she have? And who was she, anyway?”
From his guard position, Sluggo chortled out a raspy laugh. “She’s a little young for you, pal, ain’t she? I thought you were already dating that vampire chick.”
Paul didn’t reply, so Sluggo walked over with a smirk on his ugly mug and stood next to the doctor. “If you want to know more about how she came to be here, I’ll tell you. She’s some girl I found on the streets, a runaway. I knocked her out then took her to a lab where the doc worked his magic. Tell you the truth, I don’t even know her name. She had a bag, and it probably had some identification in it. She dropped it, and I got no idea.”
It seemed like such a cruel thing to do—to steal someone’s life and transform it into something no one else could deal with. Paul knew about the acceptance thing all too well. “And to answer your first question,” Peterson cut in, “she’s got roughly a year left. You, on the other hand, are quite a different matter.”
Now this scenario had gone into the realm of the truly weird. How was he so different, outside of being a hybrid? In that sense, he wasn’t any different from Quill. They seemed cut from the same mold…and he tried not to show any surprise when a flash of insight hit. First, he had to make sure. “Hija was also a hybrid.”
Peterson nodded. “He was, and you’re correct when you use the past tense. The others you met around six months ago, Mason and Catherine, they were all like you, human to begin with. I created them through the chambers, but,” he stopped to rub his oversized chin with an equally oversized flipper, “I must confess that I’m not half the scientist Bolson was. My process was flawed. Even if they’d have survived the fight with you and your friends, they wouldn’t have lived very long. The original Hija died about a month ago. What the news reports are saying about him? That’s his clone, made from my flesh.”
The truth washed over Paul like a tidal wave then left him speechless. Peterson also said nothing for a time, but he wore an expression of what looked like regret. It came as a surprise he could feel anything, save a naked lust for power.
“I didn’t know it at the time,” said the doctor. “The process was supposed to have worked, but it didn’t. Yet, you’re still walking around and healthy, and now we’ve come full circle and I’m going to tell you why you’re here.”
He didn’t have to. The answer lay there, plain as could be. The enemy hadn’t been after Ooze. Another perfect test subject was needed. As if reading his mind, Peterson said, “You’re the one. For some reason, the process worked on you and you alone. I don’t know if it’s your blo
od, your cellular makeup or something to do with your immune system, but you’re the key.”
If ever there was a time to fight, this was it. Paul leaped out of his chair and took on Peterson, hand to multiple flippers. It didn’t work, as his opponent was far too strong and blocked all his punches. Sluggo then stepped in with his own brand of mayhem, launching a right hook. Paul saw it coming, but couldn’t get out of the way in time, and he fell to the floor.
“You’ve got some fight in you, boy,” said Sluggo, satisfaction oozing from every pore. “You’ve got fight, but you can’t beat the doc and you can’t beat me.”
Bloodied and weary, Paul gasped out, “You’re going…to die, just like the others. He’s just using you.”
“Is he now?” Sluggo grinned. “The process will work. He’ll make it work. Now shut up and pass out.”
He raised his arms, and Paul steeled himself for the onslaught. When it came, he was surprised it didn’t hurt more.
****
He awoke later, but how much time had passed, he couldn’t say. After opening his eyes, he uttered a groan. Damn, that Sluggo hit hard! He moved his hand over his body. Nothing broken, so with an effort, he sat up.
Gazing around, he was back in his cell, sitting on the cot. A bandage neatly covered the crook of his right arm, and another bandage covered a small section of his left forearm. Touching it, it stung, so he gently peeled back the covering to reveal a missing one-inch square section of skin. It had been sliced off.
Slumping back against the wall, he realized his captors now had the means of examining every fiber, every cell and every atom of his form, all in their quest for genetic supremacy. Why was he so different, though? He’d been pondering that question ever since his transformation. It wasn’t as if he was stronger than his girlfriend…
Abruptly his head snapped up, sending a spike of pain through every extremity, but he ignored it. The answer had been there all along, but he’d never bothered to look. The arrival of Sluggo interrupted his musings. Two zombies accompanied him, and they stood as silent as sentinels outside the cell. “You ready for another talk, tough guy?” asked Sluggo in a pseudo-pleasant voice. “Please tell me no, so I can work you over again.”
“I’m going to say no, and you can drop dead, in that order.”
“Just like I figured… You’re stupid.”
Sluggo snapped his fingers and the zombies tore the door open. Paul readied himself for the inevitable, but no beating came. Instead, the zombies grabbed his arms and pulled him out the door and down to the lab.
Once there, Peterson emerged from a room at the back and waved out the zombies. Sluggo remained in place, standing near the doorway. The scientist flashed an obscenely cheerful grin. If it was an attempt to look merry, he’d already failed. “You’re awake, and I’m glad you’re here. I have some wonderful news for you. You’re getting out of here after one more test.”
“You don’t need me,” Paul said. “You already know the secret.”
The grin grew broader. “Yes, and I thank you for giving it to me. Your skin sample and blood sample proved it.” He went over to the computer and pressed a button. “Have a look.”
Wary of any attack, Paul edged his way to the table to stare at the picture on the screen. The cells were in the process of changing shape from round to triangular—which seemed impossible—and back to round again. “These are my cells?”
The answer came from the doctor in a supremely satisfied voice. “They are. The reason why you’re healthy after all this time isn’t because of the chamber itself or how it altered your physiology. I thought so in the beginning, but I was wrong. The answer lies in the blood… Except it’s not your blood.”
He knows. Paul attempted to keep a straight face, but his voice caught. “I don’t understand what you’re trying to say.”
In an explosive move, Peterson backhanded him across the face. The impact sent him sprawling. “Yes, you do,” the scientist replied, suddenly angry. “You do, so don’t play innocent with me. Angela’s blood is the key, the key to immortality. It carried a certain enzyme that stops the cell-accelerating process, and somehow it’s mixed with your blood. It’s in you.”
A flash of fear went through Paul. It must have showed in his face, as Peterson’s grin faded. Instead, an almost benevolent expression settled over his horribly ugly features. “You’re worried about your girlfriend, aren’t you? Rest assured that we don’t need her. We have everything we need from you right now. All we have to do is to filter out the impurities and synthesize enough of it. Then no one will be able to stop us.”
Paul got up slowly, blood running from his nose. He realized this nutball knew everything, and it all had to do with blood. He remembered the injuries she’d suffered at the hands of Simpson, one of Peterson’s minions, and also at the hands of the police in Los Angeles. In both cases, she’d been severely hurt by electricity and had needed blood.
“Take mine,” he’d told her at the time.
Hesitant though she was, as she’d always ingested synthetic blood in the past, she’d bitten him. Her saliva and traces of her blood must have mixed with his. Their blood types were identical. She was the key.
Instead of debating scientific methods, he asked, “What about your secret weapon?”
Peterson, in a move all mad scientists seemed to do, shed his anger mode and moved into his bad-actor role. He threw his enormous head back and laughed. “You are so young, so naïve and so out of touch. It was a ruse in order to lure you here. There never was any such thing. It was a gambit—a way to get you and your friends in on the action, assess their weaknesses and to learn how to beat them. They came, they got knocked out and they can go back to their miserable little lives. I don’t need them. If they attempt to fight me, they’ll lose. If they join me, they can live long and happy lives and be part of what I am attempting to create.”
Here it came, the dream of every lunatic dictator and madman. “Let me guess,” Paul said as he wiped the blood from his face. He had to stall for time, hoping someone would come after him, but he realized that it was likely no one was coming. “You want to rule your own country?”
“Yes.”
The answer had come out simply. “Believe me”—the scientist’s his eyes lit up with dreams of future glory—“I can do it. I’ll soon have the manpower to overwhelm anything the US Armed Forces can throw at me.”
Curious now, Paul asked how he could succeed.
Peterson replied, “When you have hidden resources and a little time, you can make anything. Think of how fast my creations came to life. They may not live very long, but there are always tradeoffs in every situation.” Once again, he paused for effect, nodding his oversized melon and posturing, as if to impart the image of a future Napoleon. “If you’re wondering how I’ll be able to do so, let me tell you that I’ve managed to speed up the process. It works much faster than before.”
“But your creations still break down.”
Peterson shrugged. “What of it? They serve a purpose, and they’ll defeat any army—anytime and anywhere. Once I synthesize the blood, I’ll be able to counteract the problem of cellular breakdown. I’ve already given Sluggo his first treatment, and he’s responded marvelously to it. The others will as well. I’ll take on anything the government sends after me. They’ll have no choice but to grant me my wishes.”
Paul glanced at the door, but it meant getting past an adversary who’d already defeated him with ease multiple times and, in his condition, the odds of winning came out to nil. Instead, he waited for a possible opportunity, and in an attempt to stall for time, asked, “How did you manage to get your gang to be everywhere?”
His question earned him a blank look at first, then Peterson reached into his pocket and brought out a small box the size of a lighter. “As I said, my creations grow quickly. I simply implant their essences into any place I choose. With
this remote,” he waved the device around, “I can start the reaction. It’s all very simple.”
No, it wasn’t—not really. Paul didn’t get the science behind it all, but he did know this maniac had a plan, a very evil plan, and he was about to carry it out. He did have a final question, though—the most important one of all. “If you know everything, why do you need me here?”
With a malevolent look in his eyes, Peterson put the remote away then took a step forward. “I don’t. That’s why I’m going to do you a favor. I’m going to give you back your life. Not the life you have now. No, because you’re a freak, like me. The difference is I accept what I am and revel in it. I don’t care about being different, as I’m above humanity and beyond it. I’m the next step in evolution.
“As for you, in your current state you’ll never be accepted by the general populace. And the thing is, you don’t have to be, not if you join up with us.”
“I’ll never join you.”
Peterson offered a smirk. “I know what you want. You want that acceptance by the masses. You crave it, but it will never be yours. Sluggo, do it.”
Like a king ruling his court, he clapped his flipper-like hands, and Sluggo rushed Paul, grabbing him in an iron-clad grip. Peterson’s voice rang out in triumph as the centipede man dragged Paul over to the chamber and tossed him inside. “I’m going to change you back to what you were—weak, worthless but human. That way you can have your chance at fitting in.”
Hammering on the walls did no good. A light overhead started to glow, then Paul felt invisible rays begin to pound his body, penetrating every muscle and tendon fiber of his being. A scream tore out of his lungs and the world faded. Not entirely, though, as perhaps one minute later—or maybe it was five—he felt inhumanly strong hands drag him from the chamber. Weak and drained, he lay on the floor as Peterson whispered harshly into his ear, “Now your strength is ours, and you are what you were. I haven’t changed your appearance, just your physiology.
“Remember what I said, though. If you decide to rejoin humanity, then you’ll never be accepted as one of them. Even if they do accept you, you’ll be just as weak and frail as they are. Think about it. Give my best to your girlfriend…if she’ll have you.”
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