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| panda-like calm through fiction | |||||||||
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Only NuMan
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My mother died of stomach cancer when she was twenty-three. My dad died when I was six of prostate cancer. I grew up with my dad’s stepmother (who had married his father after his birth mom died when he was nine of lung cancer; his dad died a few years later, cancer, too, testicular). Cancer obviously runs in my family.
In high school I was the only sixteen year old I knew who already had scheduled screening visits with an oncologist. He kept me away from anything even remotely rumored to cause cancer: fake sugars, power lines, even lead paint chips at one point. He even told me not to use the microwave- just in case. In college, I was pre-med, focusing on genetics and gene therapy; you know, crazy people become head-shrinkers, those with lousy DNA become geneticists, that sort of thing. One of my professors, Dr. Hamilton, approached me about being in a study looking for cancer markers among high risk individuals. He told me, “Most people’s DNA replicates by forming a complementary set of zippers, each side fitting snugly into the other. Yours seems to work like silly putty, and each time it replicates it comes away with a reasonable facsimile- just nowhere near the exact copy you’d expect. Frankly, I’m amazed you haven’t exploded in a geyser of tumors by now.” I drank myself prehistoric that night. To my professor’s credit he bought me the first round, and made sure that I got home in a cab; he didn’t make sure my pants ended up in the same cab, but the driver was patient while I crawled to my apartment and borrowed forty bucks from my roommate. Of course, even with dead parents FAFSA only picks up so much of the tab, and I didn’t even get to finish my degree. I mean, I plan on it, and 23 isn’t that old for a college student, I just have to save up some money, first. Which brings me to a job. I was actually a pretty good student, and got my AA with honors, but hadn’t been able to get anything with it. This job was set up by Dr. Hamilton. He’d told them I was perfect for the job, said I was practically already employed. The downside to the job was it was in the middle of nowhere, and because of that you pretty much had to live on campus (which was at least free). Since I was lacking in the conveyance department, I was carpooling with a journalist. She’d been hounding Hamilton and anybody involved with this project for an interview, and they figured letting her walk along during an orientation would placate her enough that she’d go away. She started asking me questions the moment she picked me up at my apartment (which I immediately regretted, since she was cute enough I didn’t want her to know about the hovel I lived in). She obviously knew more about the job than I did. We were about twenty minutes into the drive out in the boonies when she finally realized, “You know less than I do, don’t you? I’ve been stonewalled before, so either you’re some kind of inhuman golem or they haven’t told you anything yet. So, um, what should I call you?” “Newman,” I said. It was a dorky name, and if my parents had lived long enough we probably would have had a fight about it. I tried to convince my gram to let me change it, and she spent the better part of the night crying because it was the only thing save for their lousy genes that they’d given me. But I guess it could have been worse, because the only nickname my schoolmates ever came up with to rip on me was “nude man,” which unless you’re staring down the barrel of a sex offenders’ list is pretty weak (especially when this kid in my kindergarten class with a long nose and the seemingly innocuous name “Rick Place” ended up, well, I don’t think I have to draw you a map, there). She daintily held out her hand, though I think it was more because she was driving than anything, and said, “I think I mentioned it earlier as I was launching into full-on interrogation mode, but I’m Amber.” I shook her hand just as awkwardly as she was putting it out there, and we spent a moment being awkwardly quiet. She broke the silence. “So what are you doing here? I mean, how’d you find out about this place?” “An old professor,” I said, and cut myself off; I was dangerously close to telling her I still hadn’t finished school- the most potent anaphrodisiac known to man this side of face scabies. She made a noncommittal grunt and that was all. See, I didn’t need my unfinished education or crappy apartment to alienate women, because I can do that just fine with my personality. We spent the rest of the car ride in quiet. The first real words she said after that came when she pulled into a parking lot just off the main road. “Huh. Must be a warm welcome, finding they’ve named the building after you.” Her eyes were better than mine, so I gave her a confused look until we got close enough to read the sign that said the facility was the home of “Project: NuMan.” Dr. Patten, whom I’d spoken to over the phone was already waiting outside. When he saw the car he pressed a button on the intercom, and a moment later a man in a muted green suit stepped out of the building’s thick glass doors. Dr. Patten greeted us first, leading with his palm, “Pleasure to finally shake your hand, Newman. And you must be the indefatigable Ms. Prentice.” “I prefer persistent; it’s alliterative and isn’t as likely to make your tongue seize up.” Dr. Patten smiled, but the other man didn’t. “Oh, right,” Patten said, “this man next to me is Colonel Sherman. And he’s honestly not as big of a sourpuss as he might look right now.” Patten swiped his ID badge over a reader in front of the doors and then opened them to let us inside. “As I’m sure you’ve both guessed this is a joint research facility. The Colonel is our liaison with the DoD, specifically DARPA. He wanted to be here just to be certain I don’t say something I shouldn’t. But I’m ecstatic that he’s finally relented, and we’re going to tell the American people about the work we do here- but I’m sure both of you are more interested in what Project NuMan is than the politics of the visit.” Patten paused to input a ten-digit code into the wall; a panel slid away, and we were suddenly standing in a large vault. “To put it simply, NuMan is the future. Man is too smart for his own good- we’ve basically removed ourselves from virtually all evolutionary mechanisms. So NuMan is our way of giving nature a push.” Patten continued to walk us through the vault, passed any number of important-looking pieces of equipment, towards the far wall. It was only as we started getting closer that I realized it was full of water, and that it seemed to have part of an apartment in it, like a giant fish tank where instead of a castle it was the set of Perfect Strangers. A man walked out of one of the rooms in the underwater apartment in his underwear and smiled. “This is the whale.” The underwater man spoke, but at first all we heard was a low, dull gurgle, then words came out of an overhead speaker. “You know you could give a guy body issues, always introducing me like that.” My eyes got wide, and he laughed. “You forgot to tell them about the speakers, didn’t you? They’re hooked to sensors on the side of the tank that capture underwater vibrations and translate them back into open-air speech. Cool, right? There’s an annoying delay, but frankly it was easier for the techs to build that than it was for me to learn how to understand underwater speech.” Patten cleared his throat to get our attention focused back on him. “The whale is a triumph of any number of engineered traits. He can withstand higher pressures, breath underwater, see with far less light. Right now the downside is we haven’t figured out how to make these optional; he’s stuck in a pressurized tank, and he has to breathe water. Later in the tour we’ll take you to the aviary, where we’re having similar issues with a high altitude NuMan we call ‘the bird.’” Amber clicked her heels in annoyance. “Isn’t the term Nu-Man sexist? Don’t you have any female test subjects?” Patten began to stammer out a reply as Sherman launched into an explanation of the original project, which involved only combat soldiers and was thus only men. Of course, I didn’t pay much attention to it; gender-baiting irritates me, and besides, the whale had moved closer to the tank and was leaning forward. I didn’t hear the low rumble of his voice in the water; I think maybe he was whispering. “You’re going to the aviary? Tell Racheal I said hey.” I cocked my head to the side. There was excitement in his eyes, and something I couldn’t understand at first- sadness. “Wait,” I said, “you’re in love with the bird?” “That’s where the names came from- that old Tom Waits song. I just don’t think we’ll end up the same way. I sort of can’t.” “But isn’t that song called ‘Fish and Bird?’” “Goddamnit, that’s what I said. Bunch of comedians around here.” He smiled. “It’s okay; I’ll just get Rex to piss in the coffee machine again. But since I figure you’ll be around, you can call me Dale- and uh, don’t drink the coffee, because there’s pee in it.” I was suddenly aware of the debate going on a few feet from me: “It’s NuMan, like ‘human’- I don’t think there’s a more gender-neutral term in the language.” She sighed, a big, heavy sigh signaling that she was happy to disagree, and, of course, thought the Colonel was a caveman. But he didn’t let it ruffle his feathers, and led us out into another hallway just off the tank, and took over for Patten. “I’m a man of science first, an American second, and a military man a distant third. I came to DARPA in ’72, when it got mostly out of the missile ballistics business and into the science business. One of the things I’m most impressed by is this machine right here. Measures telomeres. They’re the wicks left in your cellular candles, let you know how much time you’ve got before your cells stop replicating right- barring an accident, of course. Care to-” Patten interrupted him, because he hadn’t forgotten that the only reason I was here was my cells already weren’t replicating right, “That isn’t necessary, Colonel.” “How about the lady, then? Pretty thing like you must have an excellent genetic structure.” She forced a smile, trying to take it as innocently as she could in light of the argument they’d just ended. But curiosity got the better of her, and she put her hand inside the machine. A tiny needle jabbed her finger; she pulled it out hastily, jabbed it into her mouth, and glared at Sherman. “Er, uh, I forgot to mention there’d be a little prick.” Dr. Patten and I exchanged a mischievous glance, and Amber noticed, understood and stifled a laugh. Sherman took it as a sign that she’d forgiven him and clapped her on the shoulder. “There you are. I appreciate a woman who can man up.” He leaned forward to read a number off the screen. “88. You’ve got some healthy telomeres. You’ll bury us all.” Patten smiled. “Now, if you want to take Newman to meet the bird, now’d be a good time. I actually have a few, uh, technical things I need to discuss with Ms. Prentice. Make sure our national security interests are being looked after in her article.” Sherman threw his arm around Amber and pulled her down a branching corridor, and the speed and precision of it all, along with Patten’s nonreaction, told me it was scripted- though I had no real reason to worry about it. Patten immediately started back into his tour: “The bird is fascinating, and most of the reason NASA throws a chunk of its estimable budget behind us. Currently we’re butting up against the limits of known carbon-based tissues, though we have made some interesting headway with silica-based cells. She’s the polar opposite of the whale- though both of them are built to live at different pressures than most humans. In fact, Dale can leave his tank for short periods of time, so long as he’s careful about nitrogen narcosis, but the bird, Racheal, has to stay at high altitude. Most of her time is spent in what we call the aviary, which I’m always happy to show to people, but, and you’ll see why in a moment, she has to sleep in a hypobaric chamber. Because of the aviary, she can only speak through sign language; I don’t suppose you sign?” I once wanted to date a non-blood “cousin” who at the time wanted to major in ASL- but that didn’t really count, so I shook my head. “Not surprising. You’ll learn. But for today, just put on this headgear. Once you’ve got it in place you won’t be able to hear my voice- but it’ll still be loud in there.” I think he said something after that- but I couldn't hear it. The room was massive but dull, all concrete and metal. I couldn't hear much, but I could tell there was a loud rumbling, and wind pulsed throughout the room. On the floor was a heavy grating, and beneath gigantic industrial fans pointed at the ceiling. The bird was floating on a pillow of air, reading on a tablet computer. A light on the computer flashed red, and she turned languidly towards us. Her skin was exceedingly pale, perhaps even slightly blue, but most of it was covered in a similarly-tinted flight suit. She smiled at Dr. Patten, then seemed surprised to see me, and winked. Then she did a backstroke of sorts, letting the way she contorted her body float her across the jet of air. Then she turned back towards us and began quickly signing something; Patten made a few gestures then shrugged. He grabbed my shoulder and guided me back out of the room. He was already talking again by the time I removed my headgear. “fans are powered entirely by a small wind farm we bought in the hills you probably saw on the drive in- it pleases me to no end to be able to say that her 'flight' is powered by the wind. The techs that work with her actually have specially-built helmets that shield noise and allow for point to point radio chatter, but they're expensive so we don't keep too many of them on hand. And those we do keep, well, they disappear- the regular crew squirrel them away so they have them on hand if one of theirs breaks.” “But she's uniquely adapted to the sky. It would be impossible to create a human being with bones as light as a bird's. As it stands, Racheal had trouble walking more than a few hundred feet under her own steam, but if her bones were any more hollow she'd have clinical osteoporosis, which starts at 2.5 standard deviations below peak bone mass for a healthy female. She's at a little over 2. But the innovation I'm enthused by, and the reason she had trouble walking, past tense, is those hollow bones now house hydrogen-excreting microorganisms. Lots of them. It's enough that she basically floats when she moves around- even walking, and it's decreased the strain on her skeletal structure to the point where she can walk all day. She doesn't like to, and frankly, we don't want her to. This research is designed to create an airborne human being, after all.” “She also sports a few additions that make sky-living possible, like highly attuned vision. And I'm sure you noticed, even in the jumpsuit, that the woman doesn't have an ounce of fat on her. Some of that is the nigh constant aerobic exercise, but some of it is a few little tweaks to some energy storage genes. And the best part of that is those microorganisms, her immune system is attuned to cannibalize them if either their population grows too large or she requires energy. It's an almost perfect-” A red light I hadn't noticed before in the hallway began to flash. “That’s, probably just a routine alarm,” Patten said, though the way he narrowed his eyes I wasn’t certain. His eyes flicked to a member of security I hadn’t seen come around the corner. “Cross will take you to a security checkpoint to ride out the lockdown. I want to go check on Sherman and Amber.” There was a moment of tension, when Cross looked at Patten; he didn’t want to let him go anywhere alone, but Patten won their standoff and he turned the other direction down the corridor. “Is this normal?” I asked. “Nope. I’ve only ever heard the alarms kick on during a drill, and as head of internal security, I’m always in on the drills. I don’t know what this is.” “I really don’t like this. First day here, and suddenly the building goes to crap. I’m in a bad SyFy Channel movie.” He sighed, and took a pistol off his belt and handed it to me. I cocked my head; it couldn’t be that easy. “Did you just give me a gun that’s not loaded or has the safety on or something?” “Nope. Though I’d suggest kicking on the safety until you’re thinking of using it.” I looked at the gun and flicked what I was fairly certain, having played with my share of air soft guns in the store, was the safety, and he nodded his approval. “Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t just hand over a pistol. But the same reason Patten sent me with you is the same reason I did: you’re worth a hell of a lot of money. $67 million dollars. That’s how much it costs to find and recruit a candidate for NuMan. If you got yourself killed, it would cost that much, mostly gene sequencing, really, to find a replacement. At that price I’d be tempted to take a bullet for you.” “You mean you wouldn’t?” I asked, unnerved by the entire line of thought. “Not consciously. I mean, I’m security, so there’s a chance I would, just on instinct, but if I had the time to think about it, about the lousy pension and almost insignificant life insurance my wife would get out the deal, I’m not sure I’d step between you and gun. Especially anything with a big bore.” “Isn’t part of being security making me feel secure?” “Nope. We got head-shrinkers for that.” He opened a metal-barred door with his badge. “And this will be your temporary home, where- shit.” The room, full of monitors and sensors and desk-space for five was empty, and from the papers and spilled coffee had been emptied in a hurry. Zoomed in on the big monitor in the center was a pile of security staff on top of a man, before they were abruptly thrown off. The man had scaly green skin, and a too-wide mouth. In the corner of the monitor was the name “REX” in big white block letters. Cross turned to me. “You stay here.” He started for the door, but I interrupted him. “Am I safer at the deserted security station, or with you?” “Point taken,” he said. “Just hold back, all right. Rex is a pussy cat, for the most part, but sometimes his instincts can get the better of him. He knows not to chew on me- but instinctually he might see you as fresh meat.” We crossed through the checkpoint into another hall, and Cross ran to the where the hall bent like an L and told me “Hug this wall.” He ran around the corner, and I peaked to see. The other security were lying on the ground, mostly mumbling and grumbling, communicating in sharp whispers, probably about making another run at Rex, who was standing at the end of the hall, swishing his big reptile tail. “Stand down, idiots,” Cross said. “Rex, you need to sit down, Indian style. I’m making the request exactly once.” A moment passed, and Cross retrieved a taser from his belt, and fired the prongs into Rex’s crotch. “I will tase your testicles, Rex. We’ve had this stand-off before, remember? And you remember how that ended, right?” Rex let out a roar- louder than should have come out of a man (though I guess my gram’s dog barks louder than should come out of an animal I could punt thirty yards). “Can’t say I didn’t try to be reasonable.” Rex reared back, like he was about to make a dash for Cross, then the electricity kicked him off his feet. He slumped to the floor. “Help me,” said Cross. I looked around, and none of the other security staff were to their feet yet, so I ran towards him. “He’ll only stay out a few minutes. By then he’ll probably be back to his old self, but still, I’d like to get him into one of the holding cells just to be sure.” We each took an arm over our shoulders. He was heavier than a normal man, but not by much, though he was slick, and smelled. “Like a Gardner snake, right? Anyway, it’s just down this hall. Rex knows he has these rages, so he tries to keep himself in proximity to the cells, just in case.” “So he isn’t usually a terrible lizard?” Cross didn’t dignify that with a response, and I guess he didn’t need to, since we were at the cell. We lowered Rex onto the bed, and Patten came in over the intercom. “One of our visitors has been attacked. I need ambulatory response at my location, and a security detail as well. The building will be locked down. Please evacuate your work stations as a group to the nearest checkpoint and wait for lockdown to be over.” Rex stirred, and Cross stepped back quick, reaching for his baton. “Cross? Damnit, my balls hurt.” He seemed to know what that meant. “I hurt anybody this time?” Cross hustled me out of the cage and locked it. “Far as I saw all you bruised was egos. Any idea what’s up with the alarm?” I looked at Rex, whom I’d assumed had caused it until Patten’s announcement. “Huh-uh, though that might explain why I hulked out on your guys.” “I keep telling tech they need to silence horns and strobes at your location, but the tracker seems to want to keep you in several rooms at once. I think we have the creative minds to launch a burrito into space, but not the technical wherewithal to microwave one.” “One small step for burrito, one giant leap for burritokind,” Rex said, and for the first time seemed to notice me. “So this is the new guy? Mind if I talk with him a sec. I know I’ve already made an ass of myself for a first impression, but-” Cross raised his hands and backed around the corner. “I’ll be kicking my guys’ asses for forgetting their tasers if either of you needs me.” “Can’t believe he asked me about the alarm. That’s completely racist, or at least speciest. They always suspect the lizard.” I smiled; “You do piss in the coffee.” “Dale has a big mouth, though nobody ever suspects me of that.” “But you were taking on all comers when I got here.” “Yeah, sometimes when I get excited the lizard brain takes over. Leopard lizards are cannibals, too, so that probably doesn’t help.” He leaned in closer. “And also- can I tell you something? I have a clutch of eggs hidden in the building.” “But-” “I’m a guy? Yep. Apparently something went screwy with the mutation process, and I ended up chimeric- part female leopard lizard and part human male. I’m kind of wigged about telling Dr. Patten, plus, I don’t think they’d let me keep my eggs. How fucked up is that, that I’m worried about my freak eggs? I know logically I shouldn’t care, but they’re my eggs, you know?” I squinted at him. “Don’t take that the wrong way: I’m not saying I regret being a part of the project, there are just sacrifices and occasional turmoil. And sometimes weirdness. Like Amy- Amanda Panda, she’s my opposite number, arctic deserts rather than hot ones- basically lives in a big freezer all the time. At least I can walk around, you know, so long as I bundle up.” “Ame’s actually pretty cute for a big girl. She really has polar bear genetics, but I guess out in the world she was into the goth scene, so she dyes her fur black, but rather than just be a big black polar bear she dyes it in varying panda patterns. But you probably won’t meet her today, because there’s a lot of work that goes into entering her pen. Since it has to be kept real cold- well, you know, that and the alarm thing.” My eyes narrowed. “You don’t know the way out of here, do you?” Rex began to panic. “I didn’t mean it. It’s actually pretty great here. All the food you can eat, porn and video games you could want. Plus it’s really fucking cool. I look like a tiny dinosaur, man. I wouldn’t trade my life for anyone’s- okay, maybe Brad Pitt’s, I mean Angelina and Jennifer Anniston, plus all that money, but I’m only human, you know? Don’t panic just because-” “I’m not leaving,” I interrupted him. “I think someone else is- and I think I know who.” “Oh.” Rex didn’t get it; he was still convinced he’d talked me out of sticking around, and that he was going to be a pariah because of it. He pointed half-heartedly down the hall and said, “left at the end, through the double doors and you’re there.” “Rex,” I said, “I’m not leaving. I’ll be back.” I put my hand through the bars, and he shook it. “I’ll see you around.” He smiled like he wasn’t sure he could trust me, but really wanted to. I ran down the hall. So much time had passed, I was sure I would be too late, or that I was just paranoid, but then I burst through the double doors. Colonel Sherman was a few feet from the main entrance, holding a briefcase. I wanted to do something cool or intimidating, like chamber a round in the pistol so he knew I was there and wouldn’t let him leave, but before I could even touch the slide (or safety) he turned to face me. “Newman,” he said, and there was almost a smile. “I’m glad it’s you. Most everyone else would have shot me already, but you, you’ll at least listen.” He took several steps towards me. “I didn’t want Ms. Prentice to die.” “Her telomeres gave her 88 years, but she was dying, Huntington’s. She had an ax to grind- believed this project was a waste of money and genius, and that we should have been spending that money on fighting diseases like hers. I don’t know as I disagree with that, being frank, but I tried to tell her it weren’t the government that would suffer, hell, probably not even the research. But the subjects, yourself and the others, how do you think society at large would react to someone like Rex? Persecution ain’t even the half of it. I tried to bribe her. I tried to threaten her. Til it came out that the only thing to be done was to trade my life for hers.” “I’ve known for a long time she wanted to expose the project. I don’t know if that, of itself, would be worth killing for, but she didn’t just want the public to know, she wanted us demonized. She picked and chose her facts to fit the evil picture of us she wanted to paint; I paid someone to break into her apartment and steal a draft of her piece, and some of it is a flat fabrication, connections to Japanese war crimes and the like. I even offered her a place in the program, access to the best science on earth- though I think by then we both knew her DNA wasn’t near malleable enough to be fixed.” He sighed. “I tried to put something in her coffee, but she said it smelled like piss, which I suppose it does. And guns are unpredictable: even a clean shot to the head or chest isn’t likely to kill instantly. No, I’ve had more experience with a knife, more precision. She didn’t suffer beyond what she had to; it was a moment’s pain, and far removed from what she was staring down the barrel of.” “I don’t expect you to understand the decision I made, Newman, leave alone agree with it. But what we’ve done here, what we’ve yet to do, it’s important, more important than some story; more important even than that young girl’s life.” He held up his briefcase, and I could make out along the crease a dollar bill poking through- though I likely wouldn’t have noticed had he not underscored it. “What I’m taking is only what Uncle Sam owes me, and not a penny more, my pension, down to the hour per the time I’ve got left on my telomeres. If you let me go, and I don’t presume you already have but if- you’re not offering me absolution. I can never again see my wife and sons, and what I did will weigh on me the way no combat death ever could, but what I did I did for all mankind. If you can understand that- that’ll go a ways to getting me to forgive myself.” He didn’t wait for an answer; and I didn’t have one to give, at least not out loud, but he looked down to the gun in my hand with the safety still on, then to me, and walked away. I didn’t know if I believed him; I hoped Amber’s coldness to me wasn’t a factor. I hoped he was right, that what he’d done was what had to be done, but all I could know for certain is I couldn’t shoot him for it. Maybe security could have stopped him; maybe faced with the same decision they’d have let him walk, too. It was my first day at NuMan, and my life was much, much stranger for it. |
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