The Incision of Being, page 9
“I would be, if you gave me what I came here for,” Kevin said. He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. They had bags, and his normally kempt facial hair had grown unruly. “I need reports, okay? Recorded data that clearly and concisely reports the process of your prognosis.”
“You sound like a person who writes poetry in his free time,” Ernest said. “Are you more of a Whitman or a Shakespeare? I’d put money on the ladder, given your sternly erect posture.”
Kevin smirked. “Keep withholding your results and you’ll soon find yourself out of the betting circle.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ernest said.
“It means we need results. Soon. Very soon.”
“And you will have them,” Ernest said. “How do I look? Never mind, let’s go.”
Kevin wheeled Ernest to the EGL parking lot and helped him into the handicap van. It was parked in the newly designated transportation-for-the-disabled area, a space suggested and approved by Ernest’s sister and mother. Though somewhat embarrassed of having to be “cared for,” it was nice to know that the Emerson name still carried weight.
The crowd of scientists, doctors, and researchers strolled from one incubation egg to the next. Inevitably they lost interest in surveying the same scenes and branched off to examine the side exhibition being hosted by a man in a wheelchair and his quiescent friend.
“Good morning colleagues, friends, and…family,” Ernest said, spotting Emily as she approached the display table. “You are here to witness, eh, um…” What is she doing here? Did she drive over? Why hadn’t she mentioned coming beforehand? “Please, everyone, give a warm welcome to my sister, Doctor Emily Emerson, creator of the famous Sunset hair highlights and various other research breakthroughs, including the heart-cell printer, an advancement that will surely decrease the impact of cardiovascular diseases in the future.”
Emily stopped showcasing the iridescent shine of her hair and offered the applauding crowd a submission of humility. When the clapping quieted, she motioned toward Ernest. “My brother is too kind to share the spotlight. Please, Ernest, share with us the progress of your regrowth project.”
Ernest allowed the crowd a few moments of uninterrupted applause. Rotating his wheelchair, he decided to start his presentation with the deep-sea squid.
“We can see the display just fine,” Emily said. “I think a raw image of the progress would be better appreciated. We’re all here in person, anyway.”
Several people in the crowd nodded:
“Yes, show us your legs.”
“I can bring up a photo on the web for a before and after comparison.”
“What is the ratio of growth between bone and flesh, and does it hurt? Do you get growing pains, as children often do?”
Ernest rubbed his thighs, drying the sweat from his hands. “These are wonderful questions. I’d love to have a Q&A after the presentation. We also have a form for those interested in contributing to the project here on the table. Feel free to leave your contact information—”
“We don’t have time for a Q&A,” one of the spectators said.
“The tour starts in six minutes,” another said. “Just show us the progress.”
“Yes, Ernest, show us the progress,” Emily said. She stood with her arms crossed and eyebrows raised, creases climbing her forehead in the form of a ladder.
Ernest turned to Kevin for help, but his sponsor seemed to be just as intrigued to see Ernest’s incomplete legs as the others. Their regeneration was a secret Ernest had kept from the world for the past four weeks. He had done this for two reasons: 1. Generate interest. 2. There wasn’t much to see. By his calculations, a recovery rate of three percent had been achieved.
It’s still something, Ernest reasoned with himself. And if the rate remains stable, it’ll be a few years before the limbs fully develop, but the experiment will have been successful by all accounts except estimated recovery time.
“Very well,” Ernest said. “The people have spoken, and I will give them what they want.”
With the help of Kevin and an enthusiastic audience member, Ernest shed the sheet that was wrapped tightly around his waist and then removed the slacks Ernest wore as a reminder of what he had had, what he had lost, and what he would regain.
The femur bones, once the longest and strongest in Ernest’s body, stretched to an eighth of their original length, and the encircling muscles had shrunk in on themselves. Ernest knew this because he was able to grip more of his thigh than he had during the preliminary trials leading up to his self-mutilation.
The reaction from the crowd was underwhelming. Ernest assumed they were expecting the absurdity of misshapen thighs—two green watermelons—or a monstrous regrowth akin to Frankenstein—two white spears protruding from a fleshy base that was receding in surrender to the accumulating pus. The last thing they seemed to be expecting was a normally healed set of amputated limbs.
“The study has been producing positive results,” Ernest said. “A sma—” he cleared his throat. “An increase in overall length from here,” Ernest drew an invisible line on his thigh an inch higher than the original severing site, “has been noted.”
“And for how long has the experiment taken place?” a man dressed in a business suit asked. “From the time of dismemberment?”
“A little over a month,” Ernest said.
The crowd remained apathetic. Some stared while others shook their heads. Kevin was focused on the ground. Ernest sought his sister in the crowd, but she was no longer among them. She had left.
“Poor thing,” a woman muttered under her breath.
“I wish you a speedy recovery, Dr. Emerson,” the man in a business suit said, and then walked off.
The others followed his lead. They trickled away, their appetite for novelty temporarily fulfilled. Those few that lingered looked sad, profoundly confused, or disgusted.
“The growth rate is estimated to progress at an exponential rate,” Ernest said. “By this time next year, it will have uh, taken off at uh…” he moved his wheelchair and gestured at the three-dimensional laser projection of a Crayfish re-growing its claws. “As we can see.” But the crowd had gone, splintered off into smaller clicks to discuss their findings. “I’m nothing but a freak show. Well, aren’t you going to tell me otherwise?” he said to Kevin.
“You are not,” Kevin said. “Let’s pack up.”
They did, and had just about every pamphlet, picture, and written explanation neatly organized and crammed within cardboard boxes when a woman approached the exhibit.
Dressed in a slim gray suit, its jacket unbuttoned to reveal the red blouse underneath and a golden necklace with the pendant of a pyramid hanging by her bosom, she appeared to be the embodiment of Ernest’s next sponsor. Kevin seemingly sensed his impending dismissal and tugged at his collar nervously.
“The presentation will be relocating for phase two,” Ernest said. “If you’d like to accompany us back to EGL to discuss potential collaboration, Ms.?”
“Agent Welding,” she said, offering an infectious smile and a handshake that was firm, yet soft to the touch. Everything about her was balanced between rough and tender. Ernest was mesmerized. “Collaboration is something I am highly interested in,” she said.
“Did you hear that?” Ernest said, turning toward Kevin. “Highly interested.”
Behind the woman, the tour guide of the facility had called for the lolling crowd to convene. Each of them was to receive a personal pair of earbuds and a digital chaperone that would inform them of the various stages of Human Productions. They approached one of the denser incubators and listened in rapt silence.
Agent Welding turned her attention back to Emerson. She took a step closer, her shin brushing against the wheel of his chair, and peeled back the hem of her suit jacket. Clipped to her waist was a golden badge that read: Department of Homeland Security. “I have an important matter to discuss with you, but it has to be in private,” she said, cocking her head at Kevin.
“Oh look, my phone’s ringing,” Kevin said, and gave them some room.
“My experiments gained federal attention?” Ernest asked.
Agent Welding took a knee. “Yes, and they can gain federal funding too, if you decide to work with us.” She examined Ernest’s left hand. “We’re interested in researching and developing bioweaponry.”
Ernest lifted his eyes. “What? No, I work in…” he gestured at the dismantled exhibit. “I work in Augmented Heredity.”
“Genome manipulation?” she asked. “Resculpting the double-helix?”
“Yes, but, bioweaponry?” Ernest stammered. “What does that have to do with what I do?”
“We need someone with experience working at the molecular level to test the effects of different chemicals on altered DNA strands.”
“Why me?” Ernest asked.
“Because you’re hungry,” Agent Welding said. She squinted at his hand again. “And available.”
“If you’re looking for availability, we can skip the whole nuclear chemicals seminar and just grab some coffee,” Ernest said.
“We could also skip coffee and you take me straight to your lab, Doctor.” Smirking, she took a step back.
Kevin had returned. He wiped the lenses of his glasses with the fabric of his shirt. His cheeks were warm with pink flush. “It turns out I had a call. From Building Blocks.” He scratched his neck. Fidgeted with his glasses. “They say you have two weeks to produce something substantial, or they’re pulling the endorsement.”
Agent Welding clicked her tongue. “Guess I came in the nick of time.”
“Two weeks?” Ernest repeated. “The first stage of regrowth was time-stamped for six months alone. That was two-and-a-half months ago.”
“Substantial milestones,” Kevin said, tugging at his collar. “I told you what we needed…” he trailed off, shaking his head at the ceiling.
A calling card had slipped into Ernest’s hand.
“Get in touch if you want to work with a company that truly cares about your experiments,” Agent Welding said.
“I appreciate your offer and will thoroughly consider it,” Ernest said.
Agent Welding winked and made for the exit.
The folding table slipped from Kevin’s grip and caused a ruckus as it slammed the ground. A handful of tourists turned to see the commotion. Ernest waved and gave his best everything-is-fine smile. Nobody returned the wave.
“Put the box of pamphlets on my lap,” Ernest said. “And the projector. You just worry about the table and display.”
They fled the premises, doubling their pace as Kevin spilled his burden for a second time. Outside, after loading his contents into the van and then being loaded into it himself, Ernest saw a black SUV with tinted windows ripping through the open fields toward the lake, apparently in a hurry. The spectacle reminded Ernest of EGL’s new policy regarding lethal weapons; namely, the security guards were now permitted to possess them.
And now a job offer to work for Homeland Security, Ernest thought. He wondered what would happen if the mechanthrops living on the other side of the UZ ever got their hands on Biochemicals. There’d be no collateral damage for them, and humans would perish. Hell, they wouldn’t even have to cross the border to launch an attack.
Ernest pried his gaze away from the UZ and dismissed the thought. It wasn’t only ridiculous, it was implausible. Mechciety would never risk what little they had. The Created didn’t wage war with the Creator; every weakness was already known. Designed, even, specifically for quick pacification.
Still, Ernest couldn’t extinguish his curiosities. He needed an update and found a reliable source back at EGL. Bill, standing in the elevator, holding the door.
Ernest thanked him, asked about his family, shared his experience at Human Productions, and then brought up the trail-blazing SUV.
“A day ago I would have said they were our people, but I’m not so sure with all the controversy surrounding PD right now,” Bill said. “Could be pissed-off teenagers—”
“What happened to PD?” Ernest asked.
“You know the social media craze going on?”
Ernest shook his head.
“You Emersons, always up to your necks in research…” he trailed off, embarrassed. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine, Bill. What happened?”
Bill lifted the brim of his patrol cap and breathed deeply. “Well, this group of unidentified individuals took to every social media outlet threatening the government. They said that until the government responds, everyone can expect a dark cloud to loom overhead. PD upped their presence all over the city, and soon after that a brawl erupted. Four officers beat down some guy they thought was a terrorist. Put him in the hospital. Turns out the guy was the son of a former police chief from a different county, different time. Now nobody knows who to blame.”
The elevator dinged. Bill made room for Ernest to leave. “Talks of auditing the force?” Ernest asked.
Bill nodded. The elevator door slid shut. “It’s going to get ugly. Heard talk of recalls, dismissals…” He shook his head. “I wouldn’t want to be PD right now.”
“It always happens eventually,” Ernest said. “Some flaw pops up in a few and the whole batch is scrapped.”
“Yup,” Bill said, and stepped aside as the elevator door opened. “Good luck on your next presentation.”
“Thanks,” Ernest said, and wheeled himself out. He was on the ninth floor, two above his own, but staying on the elevator as the door opened and closed again would had given the impression that he was traveling through life aimlessly—an assertion not far from the truth. But Bill didn’t need to know that.
Sophia, sitting at the help desk straight ahead from the elevators, waved at Ernest with enough enthusiasm to wiggle her hair bun. “Congratulations. They’re already in there.”
“Homeland Security?” Ernest asked.
Sophia frowned. “I’m sorry?”
“Where are they?”
“Meeting room three,” she said, perking up again.
Ernest peered through the glass walls of the meeting room. Inside were people eating crackers and cheese, their sleeves rolled up and the top button of their shirts undone as if it were the end of the workday. Shiny streamers hung from the ceiling and a large framed certificate of sorts sat behind the hors d’oeuvre tray.
Ernest recognized his father as he was scanning the many faces. It made him question if he had stepped out of a time machine instead of an elevator. How many years have passed since he’s been in this building?
Other familiar faces included Emily, her fiancé, and a few employees that worked on the ninth floor. Ernest even recognized a few people from his own floor. A sudden urge to bust in and yell What’s the big fuss? overcame him. But he didn’t move. He couldn’t. The thoughts racing through his mind had zapped his nervous system. And then Emily caught his gaze and came to him.
“You decided to show,” she said.
“Yeah. What’s Dad doing here?” Ernest said.
“Celebrating.” Emily crossed her arms. “Nolan was approved for a three-year grant, for his mechanical prosthetics prototype.”
“You’re joking.”
“Wow. I’m going back in.”
“Wait, I’m sorry.” The walls in Ernest’s throat were condensing, making it difficult to swallow. “That’s great news. For him. For both of you. Wait…” he cleared his throat. “What was with the question earlier, at Human Productions?”
“Ah, your motivation stems from the thrill of confrontation. It’s all making sense.”
“I’m serious. You humiliated me in front of potential sponsors.”
“Kind of how you humiliated me by insulting Nolan’s work? Do you know how much time he put into designing not one, but two custom prosthetics? And for you to reject him without a second’s hesitation. I didn’t go today to humiliate you, I went there to support you. I figured I had just enough time to squeeze it in before coming back here to set up Nolan’s surprise party, and then I got to thinking that if the tables were turned…and I kept thinking about it and getting frustrated and finally pissed off because I knew deep down that no, you wouldn’t lift a finger if it didn’t involve you or your experiments.”
“Everything I’m doing is for the family,” Ernest said. “For you. For Mom and Dad. For EGL. I want people to respect us again. I want you to feel comfortable in the lab again, to be given a chance to publish articles in Science Weekly.”
“Look in the room, Ernest. Do you not see the people celebrating? We are doing great things for EGL, and you could’ve been a part of it.” Emily shook her head. “I’m not getting angry today. I’m going back in. If you can manage to behave yourself, your welcome to join me.”
“How condescending of you.”
“Not arguing,” she said, and returned to the party.
Those in attendance glanced back and forth from Emily to Ernest. Their expressions changed from sympathetic to confused to mildly irritated, the array of their glares like tiny daggers stabbing at Ernest’s gut.
The heat in his neck and cheeks became unbearable, and he rolled his wheelchair back to the elevator. As he waited, he examined the calling card given by Agent Welding, the fire in his chest and mind working like a branding iron to burn the numbers into his memory.
Chapter 10
Orvil and the two coppers scampered on all fours through the sewer tunnels. They reached their egress a half hour later, emerging in the middle of a street. The lights used by humans to direct traffic had recently cycled, and the cars slowly entering the intersection honked their horns. The person in the red sedan yelled obscenities, and the people in the silver sports car pointed and laughed.
Later, after traveling with the coppers and sustaining some near-misses, Orvil realized how catastrophic a mere collision with a vehicle could have been if the familia had emerged from the sewers when traffic was active.
The mechanthrops kept off the roads and sidewalks as best they could. Still, the area was buzzing with humans with slow reactions and poor situational awareness. Orvil executed a practical assessment program for predicting the fastest, safest route of travel. The results pointed up.
