Implantation +15 Days
COLDING WALKED INTO the lounge knowing he’d see the same thing he’d seen for the past three days—Magnus and Andy getting trashed. Sure enough, there they were.
Magnus was relaxing in one of the brown leather chairs. His left hand held a tumbler with amber liquid and ice. A half-empty bottle of Yukon Jack sat on the mahogany table in front of him. Next to the bottle lay the remote control for the lounge’s flat-panel TV.
On the chair to Magnus’s right sat one Andy “The Asshole” Crosthwaite: shoes off, white-socked feet resting on a coffee table, Rolling Rock beer in his hand, a shit-eating grin twisting his mouth.
“Colding,” Magnus said. “Ready to give your report?”
Colding felt his face get a little hot. Every day, he had to stand in front of Magnus and report. Colding had a feeling the daily charade was Andy’s idea, some kind of partial revenge for drawing down on him.
“No issues on my security shift,” Colding said. “Anything else?”
Magnus took a slow, deliberate sip. “Yes, two more things. How is the progress in the lab?”
“Couldn’t be better. Tim estimates the fetuses are all over a hundred pounds. I checked in with Rhumkorrf a few minutes ago—he said he may attempt a cesarean in about a week.”
Magnus raised his eyebrows. He looked at Andy, who shrugged and took a pull on his beer. Magnus looked back at Colding. “Let me make sure I understand this. A cesarean, meaning, you cut them out, and the ancestors walk on their own?”
“Hopefully, yes.”
“So this isn’t hypothetical anymore. You’re telling me that we’ve actually done it?”
“If the fetuses survive the coming week, then yes, we’ve done it. If not, then Jian and Rhumkorrf revise the genome. But we’ve come so far this time we know it’s not a question of if, but when.”
Magnus took another sip, then smiled. “My brother did it.” He drained his drink in one pull, then lifted the bottle and refilled the glass.
“You said you had two more things,” Colding said. “What’s the other?”
“How’s Jian, Colding? How’s she doing?”
Colding felt a small wash of fear creep across his back. “She’s fine.”
Andy’s smile widened.
“That’s not what Andy tells me,” Magnus said. “He said she is … what’s that delightful colloquialism you used, Andy?”
“Crazier than bugshit on burnt toast.”
Magnus pointed at Andy, a little gun-finger trigger pull. “That’s it. Crazier than bugshit on burnt toast. Funny how I’ve been here almost four days, Colding, and you haven’t told me about that. I gave you plenty of time. I even scheduled daily reports for you to give you the opportunity to be up front, but it seems you don’t want to be forthcoming to your boss. Why is that, Bubbah?”
Colding shrugged and looked out the big window at the sprawling expanse of Lake Superior. How much more did Andy know? Did he know Jian might be hallucinating again? “Jian has some issues, but that’s the price you pay for dealing with genius.”
Magnus nodded. “Right. Genius. And she’s reliable? Won’t have a sudden bout of homesickness, try and get back to the mainland?”
Now he understood Magnus’s concern. A crazy Jian was unpredictable, could do anything, including trying to contact the outside world.
“She’s good,” Colding said. “Trust me.”
Magnus stared at him, said nothing. It took everything Colding had to not turn away, to stay locked on those cold, violet eyes.
“Okay, Bubbah, I’ll take your word for it.” Magnus turned to look out the picture window once again. Colding gathered that he had been dismissed. He started to walk out of the lounge when Magnus stopped him.
“Oh, Bubbah, just one more thing.”
Colding stopped and turned. “Yes?”
“As a supervisor at Genada, do you think it’s wise to be fucking the help?”
Magnus knew. Colding looked at Andy, who just kept on smiling.
“I figured Sara for a lezbo,” Andy said. “But man, that bitch loves the cock, eh, Colding?”
Magnus picked up the remote control. The TV’s dark screen flared to life with a green-tinged night-vision image. Colding on his back, in Sara’s bed, Sara sitting up, on top of him, riding him.
Colding felt his hands ball up into fists.
Magnus raised his glass, saluting the screen. “Impressive. Why, then, can one desire too much of a good thing?”
Colding ground his teeth. “I ordered cameras off in the rooms.”
“Oh, that,” Andy said. “I guess I didn’t get the memo. Man, love the titties on that bitch.”
Colding’s rage welled up, threatening to blow wide open. Only once before in his life had he wanted to kill another man—that was the day he’d attacked Paul Fischer. He had to think clearly, stay calm. The whole Erika/Claus/Galina triangle had almost destroyed the project. Magnus might not take kindly to a love affair between Colding and Sara. If Magnus had murdered Erika Hoel, the man would have no compunction about killing Sara Purinam.
Magnus hit the pause button, freezing Sara as she leaned far back, her hands behind her on the bed, her breasts standing out. Past her shoulder, Colding could see his own eyes squeezed shut in ecstasy, his mouth a combination of a smile and a snarl.
“Hey, Colding,” Andy said. “Man, you’ve got a great fuck-face. Nice.”
Magnus shook his head. “And here I thought you were such a straight shooter, Bubbah. Fraternization with a subordinate is prohibited.”
“Uh-oh, am I going to get written up? Will this go on my permanent record?” Colding looked at the wall, trying to appear bored with the whole thing. “What do you want, Magnus?”
“I want to know if Sara Purinam is your girlfriend.”
“I’m fucking her. So what?” The words sounded sick to his own ears.
“That’s all, Bubbah? Just fucking her?”
Colding shrugged. “Is that against company rules?”
Magnus laughed. “Not against the letter of the law, but you are her boss.”
Colding had to be the stereotypical man-pig, convince Magnus he didn’t care about Sara. “Are you ordering me to stop fucking her?”
“Take it easy, Bubbah. I just want to make sure you aren’t falling for her, something that might compromise your judgment.”
“No worries there,” Colding said.
“So,” Magnus said, “Sara’s just a whore to you?”
“She sure fucks like a whore,” Andy said. “Where do you think she learned to fuck like that?”
“Where indeed,” Magnus said. “She give up that pussy to anyone?”
Andy laughed. “Not everyone. She won’t give it up to me.”
“No surprise there,” Colding said. “Your infinitesimal cock wouldn’t be enough for her, little man.”
Andy’s laugh died in his throat.
Magnus chuckled. “Infinitesimal cock. In case that’s outside of your vocabulary, Andy, it’s an insult. You going to just take that?”
Andy stood and tossed his beer aside. It fell to the ground, spilling on Clayton’s immaculate carpets. “Fuck a duck, Colding. I’m going to kick your ass right now.”
“Sit down, Andy.”
Andy looked at Magnus, then back to Colding. “But you said—”
“Sit!” Magnus shouted the word, so loud even Colding flinched. Andy sat.
Magnus raised his glass to Colding in a mock salute. “Fuck who you want, Bubbah, just keep doing your job. But remember, some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps.”
The way Magnus said that made Colding’s blood run cold.
“Cupid? Magnus, with all due respect, what the fuck are you talking about?”
That half-smile again. “Didn’t they teach you Shakespeare in America?”
“Not really. I wasn’t much for the literature classes.”
Magnus nodded a little, as if that statement had answered some longstanding question. “Go ahead and take off. I’m sure you’ve got something, or someone, to do.”
Colding walked out of the lounge. Not only were his personal problems magnified, but he’d been slacking on his main job—Jian. Magnus was watching her. Colding had to make sure the woman got the help she needed.
Rhumkorrf had to fix Jian’s meds, and fix them now.