George
From the corner of his eye, George watched the stranger walk to the black bag, pick it up, and return to the cage.
Digging around in the case, the man removed a shiny glasslike object no larger than a pencil. Where an eraser would be, a push button glowed. The engineer clicked the button and a thread of light flashed against the floor. He whistled appreciatively.
"State of the art, George," he said. "We'll make quick time with this."
He squatted beside the cage.
George knew what the man was seeing: an elongated head that had taken on the contours of a pointed snout; a protracted jaw, the mandible a lustrous ivory where laboratory lights glanced off a layer of razor-sharp bone; shortened arms with pincer claws where hands had once been; a slim, abbreviated torso flowing into long, powerful legs with feet designed for burrowing; and an entire body covered with what looked like iridescent scales—soft and delicate.
George chuckled to himself. This young man's mind was open and curious. Right this instant, he had an urge to reach into the cage and touch the flesh, see if it really was scales or simply looked that way.
"A hell of a thing to happen, George," Dane said softly. "I have to tell you, if I were in your shoes, I'd be mad as an Arizona rattler with his tail stepped on."
He kept a running chatter as he worked, explaining exactly what he was doing and why. At one point, he drew a rough sketch of his idea, and held it up to the cage bars for George to see.
"I know my yapping doesn't mean a thing to you, but it helps me to think, so bear with me, okay?" Dane again squatted beside the cage. "Now, we've got a problem," he said. "I need to measure how tall you are—or how long. Whichever. I also have to find some way to project your ultimate weight gain." Dropping to sit on the floor, he clasped his hands around his legs, and stared into the cage. Picking up the measuring pen, he punched the button. George watched the light play down the length of his legs and back up again.
"This isn't going to work, old fellow," Dane said, as he glanced at the measurement. "You're apt to end up with quarters about half the size of this black box you're in now."
The misshapen head lifted; large, topaz eyes looked straight into Dane's with liquid intensity. Slowly, the creature scooted toward the center of the cage, its eyes never leaving the engineer's face. Its snout drew back into a snarl of silent pain as it stretched its legs straight and ever so carefully lowered its upper body to the floor of the cage. At last, it lay supine in the confines of the cage with feet elevated up the side of one end of the cage and the head bent forward as shoulders rested against the other end.
"My God," Dane whispered. "You do understand what's being said, don't you?"
A thin film closed across the yellow eyes, dulled the color. Slowly the film lifted.
"Oh, Christ," Dane said. "Oh, jeezus. To be locked into that body is one thing, but to know what you've become must be pure hell." He rocked back and forth.
George listened to the mental confusion of the man sitting beside the cage. He tried to shift his foot and felt his claw scrape down the bar. Somfbitch, he thought. Is he going to measure or is he going to rock? Much more of this and I might be tempted to do a little nudging.
His other foot slipped a fraction of an inch.
Dane's head snapped up at the sound. "The poor devil's in pain, Wyland," he muttered. "Get him measured." Thumbing the button down, he played the beam along George's body and jotted figures into the notepad lying beside the black bag. Topaz eyes followed his every move.
"She doesn't know, does she?" he jerked his thumb toward the paneled door.
George lowered the eye film twice in succession.
"But why?" Dane made a final measurement and clicked the beam off. "She's trying to help you."
Black hate raged into the yellow eyes and the lower limbs jerked to the creature's chest. Unable to control his burgeoning emotion, George clicked his eyes shut. It would not do for this man to know just how fierce the rage was. He might decide not to come again, not to build the container. He could hear Dane counting the seconds, knew that the engineer was holding his breath.
At last, the brilliant topaz glowed again. With slow, precise movements, George pulled himself to a sitting position, scooted back into the corner of the cage, and lowered his head in the abject ignorance of a dumb animal.
"Well, don't worry about me telling her," Dane muttered. "Whatever's happened here is between you and her. Me? I'm going to build you a house." He closed the bag and carried it back to the exact spot where he had found it.
At the door, he paused to look back at the creature, so still and silent. That man—animal is planning revenge, his mind said. When he's ready, he'll kill anything that gets in his way.
An intelligent man, George thought, following the rambling mental chatter. I will that. Indeed I will.
Dane's mouth puckered to the side. I'll have to tell her, his thoughts continued.
The creature's head lifted. You fool, he thought. If you tell her, I'll know and it will be the last thing you ever do. A low, ominous growl rumbled up his throat and topaz eyes glared.
Dane jerked back around. Hands shaking, he raised the intercom switch and spoke softly. A clicking sound echoed from the unlatching lock. The door slid back. George followed the man's thoughts as the engineer left the room.
What did happen here? Dane asked himself as he stepped into the outer laboratory. Was it Raborman's mistake that contaminated the virility experiment? Did Ellery Jensen know about this? Was that why she left Tartarus? He determined to ask her when he arrived for dinner. He would keep this newfound information to himself until he had more answers.
The door closed and George relaxed. An interesting turn of events, he thought. Bianca's old nemesis appeared to still be involved with the goings on at Tartarus. This Dane Wyland might prove useful after all. He settled back against the bars. He would wait—and watch. His time would come.