Dr. Coutant knew she should be thinking of James Watson, the co-discoverer of the structure of DNA, but instead her mind kept drifting to James Whale, director of The Bride of Frankenstein. Estes’s laboratory was not nearly so primitive, electrified, or black-and-white. But the analogy still seemed appropriate.
“I was not informed you would be using live test subjects,” she said, trying not to inhale her surgical mask.
Dr. Estes did not look up from the gurney. Sweat dripped from his brow and the underarms of his scrubs were stained a dark black. “There would be no benefit in using dead ones.”
Coutant marveled at how little the man seemed to have aged. She assumed the years passed for Estes just as they did for everyone else, but you couldn’t tell by looking. Maybe that was because he was already so old when she met him. Or perhaps his enthusiasm for his work animated him. Which was a nice way of saying that crazy people lived longer.
At least he appeared to have his lab rats under control this time.
“Where did you get the guinea pig?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
Not obvious. But she had a strong suspicion. The Getty. “And the ones who were massacred?”
“That wasn’t a massacre. That was a culling. Remember, what we’re attempting is a transplant, ultimately. A genetic one, true, but still a transplant. And the early days of transplants are always fraught with error. The first blood transfusions went horribly wrong, because people didn’t know about blood typing. Similar results from the first organ transplants. So it’s inevitable that in our first sweep, we would find that most potential test subjects are unsuitable. We released a gas that contained a trace sampling of the compound—with predictable results. It may be some time before we’re able to anticipate compatibility with any degree of certainty.”
“Did you see how many men died? You must be searching for the rarest DNA combination on the face of the earth.”
“Perhaps.” Estes picked up a scalpel and made a deft incision. Blood spurted for a second. “But then again—we only needed one suitable recipient. And we got him.”
“How long have you been operating?”
“Fourteen hours.”
“And the subject has been conscious the entire time?”
“We can’t put him out—that would affect his autonomic responses. Don’t worry. We’ve used a muscular numbing agent so he can’t speak or squirm.”
“But he can still feel. And you’re…cutting on him.”
“That is true.”
“Could you numb the pain at least?”
“Sadly, that would affect the test results. We have to be able to observe his biological responses on all levels.”
Her mouth felt dry. “And…how is this not torture?”
“Because it’s being done in the name of science. Do you think me cruel?”
How honest should she be? “I thought you were cruel when you did this to rats. Now I think you’re…something else entirely.” She blew the mask from her lips. “You’re experimenting on humans.”
“Human now, perhaps. Not for much longer, I think.” Estes pulled back the white sheet and revealed what looked for all the world like a corpse. Motionless. Hairless. Black circles around the eyes. Green tint to the skin. Naked, though most of the distinguishing body parts seemed to have been eliminated.
But very much alive.
“DNA grafting is not like transplanting a limb or an organ. Rewriting genetic code is much like inducing a computer program to rewrite its own operating system. It takes time. And occasionally you have to reboot. Which is what we’re going to do right now.” He laid down the blood-soaked scalpel, removed the microvisors from his face, and picked up a huge syringe, the sort she thought might be used to tranquilize an elephant.
“I assume you’re using all the Shine data we fed you. All the DNA and RNA samples we took from Dr. Hope’s sleepy-time chair. All the observations we made when they were in the infirmary. All the data we recorded when they were eating, when they were sleeping. What we got from the girls beneath the stables. Before they were relocated as per your directions.”
“Are we going to argue about that again?”
“It was risky and indulgent and…sick.”
“And useful. And yes, the data obtained in your underground stalag proved particularly enlightening. I’ve been able to adapt those little black bugs—the nanobytes—into a fluid self-replicating injection.”
“Other researchers have found Shine DNA impossible to reproduce.”
Estes continued cutting. “Do you know when we made the biggest breakthrough in cancer research?”
“Enlighten me, Doctor.”
“When we stopped focusing on the genetic structure of the organ infested with cancer and started focusing on the gene that drives the cancer. It’s the same thing here. Everyone else is trying to understand the origin of the Shine genome. I’m focused on duplicating it. I want to map the switches in the junk so we can produce the result we want.”
“Is that wise? Or safe?”
“What I’ve done,” Estes continued, “is fully sequence both the Shine cells and the normal cells and compare the two. I used our forty-two sequencing machines and four different supercomputers around the clock. I isolated the chromosome that makes all the difference, the one churning out huge amounts of a special protein that makes those Shines…well, shiny. And I’ve begun identifying the switches that trigger particular Shine reactions. Say, for example, the one known as Tank. Her powers seem like the most potentially useful to my backers.”
“If you can isolate these individual genes, pharmacology might be able to come up with a cure. Or an antidote. Or an antitoxin.”
“And perhaps one day someone will work on that,” Estes said. “But that wasn’t the brief I was given.” He waved the huge syringe in the air. “I believe the test subject’s cellular tissue is now ready to absorb it.”
“You’re going to give him the drug? Full dose?”
“Only way to give the backers what they want.”
“The Chief gave you specs on what they wanted?”
“And I have implemented them. Among others.”
Estes pressed the tip of the needle against the man’s left temple, then shoved the needle all the way in.
Despite the numbing agent, the test subject’s body writhed and spasmed.
“Every cell in the host’s body is receiving a super-charged injection of keratin and osteopontin. This will make his bones harder. Thicker. Bigger. Stronger. But also more resilient, better able to absorb shocks. This will provide significantly increased agility and flexibility. This will give him the physical structure he needs to support the power he’ll receive when his DNA is transformed.”
The test subject thrashed one way, then the other, twisting and tearing at the leather restraint straps.
She took a step back from the table. “I don’t think your test subject liked his shot.”
“His muscle tissue’s DNA is being recoded. Normally the body has strong Type Two muscles and less resilient skeletal muscle tissue. Now it’s all being rewritten into what I call Type Three—or maybe it should be called Type Tank. Something stronger than we’ve ever seen before.”
“But for how long? Anyone consuming energy at the rate you’ve described will burn out quickly.”
“Unless, of course, the injection also rewrites their metabolic system.”
Her lips parted.
“Human blood cells, as you know, discard their nuclei so they can hold more hemoglobin and thus carry more oxygen. But this host’s mature blood cells are growing new nuclei. This will result in vastly increased metabolic energy.”
“A person designed like that could function for days without rest.”
“Or even longer. Perhaps forever.”
The thrashing continued with such intensity that it lifted the table off the floor, rocking it back and forth. Was the numbing agent wearing off? It reminded her of a movie werewolf, his body changing while he felt every transition.
One of the leather straps started to give.
“There are costs, of course, as there always are with progress. He will need a high protein intake to sustain himself. His frontal lobe will expand.”
“Because the forebrain—the basal ganglia—controls appetite.”
“Precisely.”
“You’re creating a monster with cravings.”
“You’re speaking emotionally, Dr. Coutant, not scientifically.”
“What will it crave? How will it slake that gigantic thirst?”
Estes only smiled.
All at once, the test subject’s eyelids flew open. The eyes darted from side to side. She sensed an extreme emotion, but she wasn’t sure what it was. Curiosity? Fear?
No. Anger. Rage.
The test subject let out a roar.
That was the best word she had for the sound that emerged from those lips. But it wasn’t like a beast and it certainly wasn’t like a man.
Something else. Something she’d never heard before.
She adjusted her eye reader, taking a closer look. “What’s happening to him?”
“Every drug has side effects.”
Muscle ridges formed around the test subject’s neck. His skull became more jutting and pronounced. His arms thickened. A blackness swept across him, rippling like an underground current, then disappearing. The green of his skin intensified, then seemed to…calcify.
He got bigger.
“How is this possible?” she asked.
“In the post-Einsteinian universe, size is relative, like everything else. Specifically, size is a factor of how much space lies between our atoms. Increase that space and a person becomes larger. Though they may still be the same person. But not in this case. He’s not simply getting bigger. He’s accumulating mass and much much more.”
All at once, the roar changed to a scream. The hideous banshee sound was difficult to describe, but she sensed that the primary emotional motivator had shifted from rage.
To agony.
Then his face split apart.
His entire head grew, vastly out of proportion to the rest of his body. His eyes narrowed. The pupils disappeared, replaced by a faintly yellow tint. He foamed at the mouth.
His hands glowed.
Facial sores swelled then burst like rotten pustules. Some kind of eerie green fluid spurted out.
She stepped back, hoping to avoid the spray. The air reeked.
“This is nothing like Tank’s appearance,” she said.
“I may not have gotten every single detail right. It’s my first attempt.”
“But this is—”
“Wait for it,” Estes said, smiling.
A long vertical ridge crawled down the center of the test subject’s body, as if he were dividing in half. The ridge split open like a fault line. Blood and more of that green pus oozed out.
The skin peeled away. Sinewy muscles and tendons were exposed.
Coutant covered her mouth. “What—is happening?”
“He’s becoming something different from what he was. Something better.” Estes’s eyes lit. “Shines aren’t the only ones evolving on this planet now.”
The test subject roared again, and this time two of the three restraint straps split. He sat upright, arms suddenly thrust toward her.
“Do something!”
Estes stared at the table thoughtfully. “Fascinating. This has never happened before.”
The test subject slid off the gurney, roaring as if in a murderous rage.
Green pus flew everywhere. Saliva spilled from its lips.
It looked at her with hungry eyes.
She flashed back to that meeting five years before when another of Simon’s demonstrations went horribly wrong.
The test subject rushed toward her—then stopped, barely inches away. She tried to run but it wrapped its long arms around her, holding her in place. She felt its hot fetid breath on her cheek. She peered into its horrific yellow eyes.
It leaned in closer, head tilted, as if scrutinizing her.
It sniffed her.
“For Gandhi’s sake, Estes—do something!”
Estes smiled but did not move.
The test subject leaned in so close green ooze rubbed onto her lab coat.
And then it stepped away.
She ran to the farthest corner of the room.
“He isn’t interested in you,” Estes explained. “He’s hungry. Genetically programmed that way. Looking for something, to be sure. But it isn’t you.”
She heard a high-pitched whizzing sound. Something thunked the test subject on the chest. It collapsed onto the floor.
“Thank you,” she said, leaning against the wall. “Estes, when are you going to learn to control your guinea pigs?”
Estes scanned his fallen test subject, taking readings with his tablet. “Don’t you see, Dr. Coutant? I do control this test subject. Completely. All he has done—or ever will do—is exactly what I want.” He smiled like a doting father. “I do believe it’s time to take this jalopy out for a test drive.”