By the time she’d brought him up ten feet, sweat was pouring from her brow, soaking her arms. The blisters on her palms had ripped open, decorating the rope with splashes of red. The X shape wasn’t giving her enough help. John was simply too heavy. She was going to drop him, she knew it. There was no way she could get him the rest of the way up. It was just too far!
“I can’t,” Dana said. Her voice trembled as she spoke. The rope slid through her shredded hands, dropping back a painful two inches before she stopped the slide. She hung on with everything she had.
Then she felt a tug from behind her. Dana looked over her shoulder. The deer had grabbed the rope in its mouth and was pulling with her!
She squared her shoulders and leaned away from the X, using her body weight and the deer’s help to gain another half-foot. Then she reached forward on the rope, pulling her body back upright before leaning backward again to lift once more. Each pull brought John a little higher. A little closer to safety. She couldn’t see him yet, but he had to be nearing the top, right?
“Just a little more,” she said.
John’s head appeared first. His hair came into sight, blown about by the wind. Dana pulled at the rope with renewed vigor. She was almost done! His face appeared, and then his shoulders. She didn’t stop pulling until his entire body was back on solid ground.
Then she raced forward to his side, crying tears of mixed relief and release. She knelt beside him and cradled his head in her hands. The deer came up on his other side and leaned over to sniff at his body.
John’s eyes fluttered, then opened. He looked about like he was unsure where he was. Then his face contorted with pain.
“Ow,” he said. “Oh, that hurts.”
“You’re lucky to be alive at all!” Dana told him.
“I have to agree," he mumbled, his eyes pinched shut as he fought against the pain. How…?”
“I got you out. With a little help from your other friend,” Dana said. She nodded at the deer, who gave her a head bob in reply.
“That sounds like an amazing story,” John said. His voice was faint. “I think it might have to wait until I feel a little better, though.”
Dana looked him over. Most of the open wounds had already stopped bleeding, but the broken limbs had to be causing him intense pain. He wasn’t going to be able to go anywhere under his own power until that leg healed, that much she was sure.
“I’ll go get something to drag you back to your camp. Then we’ll see about getting you warm, and I can splint those broken bones,” Dana said. She started to stand. Exhausted she might be, but there was still a lot of work to be done. He needed her to be strong.
His good hand caught hers before she was out of reach. She knelt back down beside him.
“Why?” John asked. He had a puzzled expression on his face. His eyes bored into hers, seeking answers. “After what I did to you, why would you risk yourself to help me?”
“Because I was wrong,” Dana said, unable to meet his gaze. “Because I was stupid, and you almost died because of it.”
“That’s fair,” John said, the hint of a smile returning to his eyes. “Let’s try not to make a habit of having to save each other though, shall we?”
“Oh, I don’t know about that. I think I could get used to it. Besides, two sets of hands make for lighter work,” Dana replied. She grinned at him, and this time, he mustered the energy for a smile in return.
They had a great deal of work ahead of them. Maybe she had been the only survivor of her people for just this reason. Perhaps her purpose was to be there, in that place at that exact time. If her experiences with the berry and the cliff had taught Dana anything, it was that she wasn’t anywhere close to being ready to let go of life just yet.
Which meant it was time to let go of what was and start living again.
Forty-Four
Kantrobil was all but prancing in front of his partner. It was a good day, after all! The humans were back together, and they were giving every indication of planning to stay that way. In the three days since the female had rescued the male, she had barely left his side. She’d gotten him food and helped him recover. But more telling, she had brought most of her possessions and tools over to his camp. The female hadn’t disassembled her old nest, but she wasn't using it.
“You’re looking especially pleased with yourself,” Felizian grumbled.
Kantrobil snorted. He was happy. But Felizian was anything but. Kantrobil suspected his old friend was mostly just sore from being left out of the firsthand observations he’d been able to make of the humans in a crisis. It had been an enlightening experience, one which probably wouldn’t have had near as much impact when only viewed through monitors. There was something visceral about the experience of actually being there that instrumentation couldn’t possibly capture.
“We have everything we need to proceed to the next phase,” Kantrobil said. “I would say there is reason to be pleased.”
“Agreed,” Felizian said in a grudging tone, “but the amount of intercession required to accomplish that end was somewhat excessive.”
“Excessive? From you, that’s saying something,” Kantrobil said. “You’re the one usually first in line to have direct interactions with these subjects. We’ve discussed that before.”
“I am, and we have,” Felizian said. He looked away and shifted uneasily from one set of hooves to the other. “Which is why when I say I am alarmed by this, it would be good to listen to my concerns.”
He had a point. Kantrobil thought about it a moment, chewing over the idea. “You speak true. What worries you?”
“You helped them. First, you helped the male. You appeared to him personally, to stop him from making the attempt?” Felizian asked.
“To see firsthand what he was up to,” Kantrobil lied. He felt the smallest twinge of guilt, and worry, that he was able to lie so glibly to his partner. He had indeed gone to stop the human from trying the climb. Which was pointless, since they could easily prevent his death. The only reason to stop him from trying would be to spare him the pain that a failure would bring.
That was impossible. It would imply he cared about the subject not being injured.
“Then you used the drones to stop his fall,” Felizian went on.
“Which is per protocol.”
“Agreed,” Felizian said. “We have well-established procedures for such things, which is why I wonder why you went into the pen personally. But you went beyond our protocols.”
Kantrobil canted his head sideways. “By helping the female rescue him?”
“Yes. You gave her an anti-gravity assist in her ascent, and then again when lifting the male up the cliff,” Felizian said. “But more than that, you blocked her from leaving. Twice. You intervened in her free choice.”
Felizian sounded scandalized, and rightly so. Free choice was the centerpiece of all of their experiments. The human subjects had to at least believe they were making their own decisions, or all of the data would be corrupted. It was easy for a scientist to encourage a subject to respond in a preconceived way. Any hint of that would invalidate their entire research project.
“I didn’t block her. I got her attention and reinforced the idea that the male was still alive. But she was free to make her own decision about what to do with that information,” Kantrobil said. He couldn’t help but feel relieved that the female had made the right decision, though. Intervening even as much as he had was bad. But now, it looked like she and the male would mate, which meant she would be allowed to live. But the relief he felt from that fact was certainly simply due to the greater efficiency this set of circumstances provided.
“Fine. That’s defensible. But this next I simply do not understand. You personally helped her by pulling the rope up,” Felizian said. He shook his head. “Why?”
Because it felt like the right thing to do, Kantrobil thought. But he could never give voice to that. It was wrong, dangerously wrong. That line of thinking would lead him down a
road he didn’t want to travel. There were other scientists who had, on occasion, become overly sympathetic with their subjects. It never ended well.
“How else was I to mask the drones' action in helping her lift?” Kantrobil said. “It was simply a ruse to prevent the humans from suspecting anything was out of the ordinary.”
“Playing in the mud felt good, didn’t it?” Felizian said.
“Excuse me?” Kantrobil froze in place for a moment. How did Felizian know?
Felizian laughed. “You always got on my tail about running into pens and playing in the mud. Now you’ve got the bug, too, haven’t you? You helped because you enjoyed it. Admit it!”
He wasn't wrong, but he didn’t know the whole of it. If Felizian ever knew the level of sympathy he felt toward their subjects, he couldn’t help but be appalled. It was unprofessional. Career-endingly so, if word got out. Kantrobil would just have to push those feelings away and work through this problem on his own. For now, he needed to put on a good face.
“You’re right,” Kantrobil said. “I confess. I never should have picked on you for it, either. Can you forgive me?”
“Nothing to forgive, my friend. It is perfectly acceptable to take joy in all aspects of one’s work, and I’m glad you are growing more able to do so,” Felizian replied. “Now we get to proceed with the next phase! This will be an exciting few years, don’t you think?”
“I absolutely agree,” Kantrobil said. More than Felizian could possibly know. Seeing those two together, knowing that it had been partly his doing which brought them so, made Kantrobil feel warm inside. It was joy and pleasure. But it wasn’t just because of the work. It was because his subjects had won his respect, and if he was willing to admit it—at least to himself, in private—his admiration.
“Yes, this will be an interesting and enlightening time, indeed.”
Forty-Five
John leaned heavily on his crutch to help him stand, staring somewhat ruefully at the stick as he did. This wasn’t the first time he’d needed that tool to get around. It probably wouldn’t be the last, either. He was tired of breaking himself. It was time to ease back and work at securing what he had instead of reaching for what he didn't.
The day was bright, a cloudless blue overhead. Birds sang from branches nearby. There was plenty of food for both himself and Dana. The deer—odd that it had vanished and then returned—visited them often. John didn’t know where it went when it wandered away. It must have some secret spot he had never seen. Someday, he hoped to follow it and learn more, but not yet.
“You up already?” Dana asked him from the tree above.
“Already? It must be mid-day,” John replied, putting his hand up to screen out the sun. “What are you up to?”
“Setting up the basic frame for a tree-house,” Dana replied. “This tree is one of the stoutest in the area. It can support quite a lot of weight.”
“You planning to build a fortress up there?” John joked.
“Something like that. A safe place for us, anyway,” Dana said. She swung down from the branch she was on, dropping to a lower limb. Then she swung down one more time to touch down gently on the ground. John shook his head and flashed her an admiring smile. She was far more graceful in the trees than he thought he’d ever be. Dana assured him he’d get better with time and practice.
“Us?” John asked.
“Yes, if you want. I’d like it to be,” Dana said. She looked down at her feet. It was an odd contrast. The woman was at times incredibly sure of herself, ready to deal with any crisis. But when it came to people—to John, at least—she seemed fragile. He hoped that would fade in time.
“I would. I very much would,” John said.
And it was true. He had everything he needed now. They would build a safe home for themselves here. With two sets of hands, they could get the work done rapidly. They’d make sure it was secure from animals and natural disasters alike. They had each other for company, which was more than John could have asked for. He’d been so certain Dana would hate him. To have her look at him with care instead filled his heart with joy.
“I’m going to go get us some food for lunch,” Dana said.
“Want company?”
“Are you up to a long walk just yet?” she asked.
John chuckled. “No, maybe not just yet. I still can’t put weight on my leg.”
“Why don’t you build up the fire while I run this errand, then?” Dana asked. Her hand brushed his arm lightly as she walked past him, lighting his whole body on fire. She was having that effect on him more with each passing day.
“I’ll…do that,” John replied, unable to mask the catch in his voice. Dana’s face lit up with a smile. She was perfectly aware of the effect she had on him, and she was enjoying it!
The thing was, so was he. This wasn’t a bad life they were building together. He watched her walk away until she’d vanished into the trees, and then set about gathering wood to stoke the fire. It was slow work, because of his injury, but it gave John plenty of time to think. He’d had a lot of that, these past few days. Dana had done everything for him while he recovered, and she did it all without complaint.
John felt foolish for having taken the risks he did, but he couldn’t honestly say that he regretted any of his attempts. There was something even now that called to him every time he looked up at the wall. It towered overhead, a constant reminder of the limitations placed on his world.
He wandered over toward the cliff face to get a better look. It hadn’t changed. The thing cast long shadows. The rope he’d made to climb down the cliff was still in one piece. It was easily long enough to reach the top of the wall. With better tools, perhaps he could cut handholds into the stone and turn the climb from an impossible task into a merely improbable one.
The tunnel John had dug was nearby—what was left of it. But even that wasn’t a lost cause. If he could find a way to work up his courage, he could shore up the tunnel and build a house of timbers underground as he dug deeper. That might be enough to prevent another cave-in. Dana could pull him free if there was a collapse, too.
Or he could think of another plan entirely. John was sure of it. Maybe he hadn’t come up with the right idea, not yet anyway. His world was far nicer than it had been since his mother’s death, yes. But the thought of freedom never completely faded. It was always there, tugging away at a corner of his mind.
“John! I’m back with fruit, and I caught a bird!” Dana called from the camp.
Caught a bird? Could you cook and eat those, like the gator? John’s mouth was already watering at the thought. The lizard had been delicious. What would bird taste like?
“I’m on my way,” John called out. He began hobbling his way back to the fire, a smile dawning across his face. He still had so much to learn from her. Hopefully, he could add as much to her life as she did to his.
Yes, this was enough. At least for now, their simply being together, sharing their lives together, was more than he had hoped for and better than any life he could have imagined. John made a silent promise to savor the days and make each one count.
But he looked back over his shoulder one last time. He stared up at the wall, towering over him. There was a challenge in his eyes, a spark that had never been put out despite everything his world had thrown against him.
“Someday,” John told the wall.
Dedication
We can’t write without those who support us
On the home front, we thank you for being there for us
We wouldn’t be able to do this for a living if it weren’t for our readers
We thank you for reading our books
The Human Experiment
Team Includes
JIT Beta Readers—From both of us, our deepest gratitude!
Micky Cocker
James Caplan
Kelly O’Donnell
Diane Velasquez
Dorene Johnson
The Human Experiment is a work of fiction.
All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Sometimes both.
The Human Experiment is Copyright (c) 2018 by Kevin McLaughlin / Craig Martelle
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of Kevin McLaughlin and Craig Martelle.
Version 1.0
Cover by Victoria Cooper, creativeedgestudios.co.uk
Editing by Tim Marquitz
Author Notes—Kevin McLaughlin
Written April 14th, 2018
This novel was supposed to be a quick and easy assignment. Craig had a problem, you see. He had a great cover and a cool story idea, but the co-author he planned to use didn't work out. I volunteered to take the spot. I'd wanted to work with Craig on a project for a while, anyway! This would be a short break between books in my ongoing space science-fiction series. But "The Human Experiment" ended up being neither quick nor easy. It turned into the most challenging book I'd ever written, and one of the most interesting as well.
Craig wanted a book filled with deep themes. We both write action-adventure style books for the most part, so that was no small feat. We got right to it, though, and soon had the beginning of a great story.
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