Childriss’s apartment was a cramped hovel filled with stacks of books near empty shelves. Every grimy dish he owned was in circulation near chairs or his bed. He had never apologized for the filth to Didi, but any time Didi visited, Childriss would quickly shut the blinds and place a thin, brown scarf over a lamp near his desk.
“So,” said Didi, “if we’re going to test a genetic change within a living specimen, we’re going to have to start from the very beginning of its life.”
Childriss laughed and shook his head. “That’s the heart of the thing, then, isn’t it? The thing we’re not supposed to speak of, or even think.”
“Is it?”
“Come, Didi, don’t tell me you haven’t felt it. The guilty looks, the clinging remnant of a hands-off morality, the feeling that we played around with something taboo and got it properly classified - but conscience forbid we ever dive inside!”
“I’ve felt it. I just hadn’t considered it.”
“Well I have, and I’m sick of it. Only my psychological stranglehold on my team provided the impetus to complete the gene editor. Those fools literally sighed with relief when your team proved that a developed organism could not be changed from the inside-out. The head of my team penned off a neat little report that implied – but never said anything outright, mind you - that we tried our best and that the task proved impossible.”
“But, Childriss, we already suspected the limitations of the editor.”
“Ye-e-e-es... yes, we did. We knew this was only the beginning, not the end. Far from it. But if we’re going to continue modifying the gene editor, and eventually use it to create a modified organism, we’re going to have to do it outside of Haven. Outside of this stifling air.”
Didi sat in the darkness for a long time and fidgeted slowly. Childriss knew this habit. His friend was working through a train of thought, most likely shaping it properly for the listener’s benefit.
“Childriss, would you be willing to step outside of Haven?”
“In an official mode?”
“Yes.”
“Of course. I’ve always wanted to, since I was an adolescent. But, you see, I’m not so sure that we can.”
“Because of decreased resistance to diseases in the wasteland?”
“No, not that. It’s this theory of mine.” Childriss paused, smiled sharply, then said, “I suspect that there is no such thing as the wasteland. I suspect that Haven is the experimental grounds for a more advanced civilization. Either that, or its dumping grounds. Some civilization, I think, gathered up all its weakest, silliest, most trifling members together and, unwilling to incinerate them out of morbid curiosity, put them here to study the result.”
“Childriss, please...”
“And even gave us examples of their own heroes - our Founding Fathers - to see if their example would have any effect on us. And gave us the mythos of the flesh demons to see if we would ever brave the crossing back into the true world, the Overworld.”
“That’s ludicrous, my friend.”
Childriss laughed, then said, “Perhaps it is. Though I admit that I would be surprised if anyone allowed us to leave, even in the name of science.”
“Back to what I was saying-”
“Also, there is the matter of our supposedly advanced technology - quite capable of conquering the world, I should think, but instead we hide behind-”
“Which brings us back to my proposal.”
“Right. Of leaving Haven.”
“In an official capacity. We want to continue on as geneticists, do we not? Rather than librarians and record keepers?”
Childriss nodded coldly.
“Are you at all interested in the demonic genome?”
“Gods, yes,” said Childriss.
“Then let us try to hunt for it, friend.”
Childriss got up quickly and paced the cramped room in such a tight circle that it seemed he could only turn about on a single point. “To study the four-letter name of the gods of the world,” he spat out, grinding his teeth. He stopped suddenly. “How did you get the idea for this?”
Taken aback, Didi rubbed his chin, then leaned away. “I’ll tell you,” said Didi. “I knew that you would want to build a new kind of organism, from the ground up, just as I do. I am not completely immune to the apprehension of taboo; I knew it would be a dangerous venture. So, I began to wonder... if, perhaps, the Ancients had done the very same thing.”
Childriss stared down at Didi, then said, “You think the demons are such creatures? Unnatural? And... made by man? Hah! And you said my theory was crazy.” Childriss scratched at an ear as if to tear the thing off, then said, “Ah, but it is not completely implausible.”
“In any case, they would be worth studying.”
“I’ll talk to anyone strong enough to listen. Not many will. But if we pull this off, Didi, if we even set foot in the wasteland and run back home and in tears... we’ll still gain more influence than even we would know what to do with.”
“I’m sure one of us will find proper use for such influence.”
“I might even give the idea to someone else - a climber with some influence. Let them take the fall if things go bad.”
“You... well...”
“Oh, yes, Didi. Don’t look so confused. Just going there will make us heroes. But we’ll need someone ready to take a fall if the venture proves disastrous.”
“I... see,” said Didi, shaking his head slightly. He paused a moment, then said, “I will go back to work.”
“Yes, yes,” said Childriss, waving behind his back distractedly. He heard the creaking brace, the door opening and shutting, then stillness.
He pondered Didi’s naiveté. He had so much ability, such a mixture of intellect, creativity, and endurance. But what social retardation. Childriss wondered if Didi had ever truly left the dark little room in which he had spent all of his first twenty years. That was his portrait of Didi, and he very nearly had it all organized and filed away - except that something tickled in the back of his mind.
Didi was fully prepared to break taboo and create life in his own image, and this venture with the demons fit his profile for bravery and hubris. Still, something did not quite fit.
This business about the demons... it only fit Didi’s “profile”. It did not fit anything else. Didi had never spoken of the flesh demons before today. He had mentioned creating a new life form outside of Haven; perhaps he assumed that studying the demonic genome would create further interest in the science of genetics, and would keep it alive.
Those were all things that Didi had mentioned. But it was what Didi had not mentioned that now struck Childriss.
Didi, you clever bastard! Childriss thought.
He went to his telephone and called Didi’s work room at the DoS. An assistant picked up; by the time Childriss had the proper invective ready to go, the whelp disappeared and put Didi on the line.
“Yes?” came the croak.
“Didi. May I see the model for the creature you already have worked up?”
Didi paused only for a moment, then said, “It is only a rough sketch so far.”
“Is it demonic in form?”
“I should hope not.”
That’s the only reason Didi should have had for keeping it from me, thought Childriss. That means he’s learning the instinct for cleverness in dealing with others. One never reveals one’s whole self within a bureaucracy. My protégé is learning the socially adaptive function of covering his ass.
* * *
The Khan ordered that a fort be made.
As the horde spread from the mountains into the densely-wooded valley, men passed out axes, shovels, heavy knives - anything that could fell or uproot or hack away. Dozens of loosely-formed bands whacked away at the sacred trunks and, theoretically, made more money with each swing than a week spent in gray Pontius. None were sure which way the massive trees would fall, though a few shouted out official-sounding rules of lumber physics. As the trees fell all aroun
d, men ran about to save their lives, swearing and cursing, falling and tripping over axes, and it was a wonder that none of them were brained by the falling trees or pinned underneath, crushed by wealth.
Arguments spread - who was doing more work, who was slacking? - and so Khan Wodan appointed “managers,” men who kept a tally of work done by whom. Word of his wisdom spread, but mostly the thing was a farce, an artifice of order agreed upon by men swarming in a whirlpool of chaos and destruction. Wodan was fully aware of this. In theory, the men would be paid later, later, always later, when some “real order” was carved out of the wild green world.
Wodan was surrounded by bickering managers when a Reaver ran up to him and said, “Sir, Yarek has found a place.” Wodan understood the signal, waved away the managers, and ran with the Reaver. They came to a rocky place not far from the river, a forested area where two great arms of black stone extended on either side. Deep between the arms of stone, the foothills of a mountain rose up in sharp ledges.
Wodan spotted Yarek atop the rocky ledges, stripped to the waist and swinging a massive flaming branch as a signal to the Khan.
“Yarek!” screamed Wodan.
“Khan!” echoed Yarek’s voice. “This is the place!”
“Is this the place!?”
“This is the place, Khan!”
Wodan turned to a gaggle of laborers fresh from the passes, peering through the green darkness with wide eyes. “We make our fort here,” said the Khan. “Let’s tear these trees down, gentlemen.”
Confused, one man said, “But how we gonna keep track of...”
Wodan cut the man off, saw another man who breathed with his mouth closed, then appointed him with the position of manager.
* * *
Teams of dogmen carried long, stripped trunks through the sunlit clearing, barking rhythmically as they went, and tossed them onto one of many great piles and leaped away when, invariably, the whole mass came tumbling down. Wodan sat with his draftsmen and pored over blueprints chalked out on strips of raw wood.
“The walls surrounding the fort – they can’t be straight like this,” said Wodan. “I like the spikes on top, that’s good, but if I ran at this thing as hard as I could, I could knock it over. There are some demons in this world built like bulls, gentlemen, and all your old ideas of conservation and economy don’t apply in the valley. We could cut for years without replanting and still not run out of wood, plus we’re going to need land cleared for farmland anyway. You’ve got to design the walls out of shorter, intersecting parts. That’ll give our archers more space to stand on, too. Make a few parts jutting out, see, like the points of a star. And remember, we’ve got to fit a lot of people in here!”
The draftsmen nodded and returned to their work on the grassy floor, arguing quietly with one another.
Wodan rose and saw the dogmen piling dead trees ridiculously high and leaping away as they fell. He smiled, caught the eye of a shaggy fighter, and shouted, “Go ahead and throw some wood into the river. We’ll give the people of Pontius some work to do, and hopefully they’ll fly some booze over the mountains to us.” A team of dogmen smacked fists to chests and returned to work.
Wodan was on fire with electricity. Just as he cast off the wolfskin cloak, a dogman pup ran up and tugged on his arm.
“Yeah?” said Wodan.
“Great Khan, the black armors - they find something for you.”
* * *
Professor Childriss slammed a fist into the door to Didi’s apartment, then kicked, then leaned against the doorframe to balance himself for a few more kicks. When the lock slid and the door opened a tiny crack, Childriss rushed forward and pushed his friend out of the way.
“Childriss!”
“Where is it?!”
“What is the meaning of-”
“Where the hell is it, YOU?!”
“Calm down! William, calm down!”
“UrhaaAAAAAA!!!”
The realization that Didi could keep a secret from him had made some sense, at the time, only because Childriss had been taken unawares. He’d remained distant from his friend all afternoon at the DoS and, given the time to mull over the matter, his emotions had caught up with the understanding that his friend had, in a way, betrayed him. Not deceived him, not outright - but certainly kept a truth concealed. Now he realized that there was an entire shadow-Didi within Didi, and so Childriss made an unconscious decision that he would not stop until he himself was dead or had ripped Didi’s home apart to learn the extent of the thing.
Didi creaked and hobbled about Childriss. “I told you that I would show you the rough blueprint! Now, why carry on in this manner?”
“Blueprint?” shrieked Childriss, kicking open closet doors. “Blueprints?! Blue-priaaaaaants!?”
“Yes - look - over here,” said Didi, opening up a program on his computer.
Childriss yanked on the handle of a locked door.
“See?” said Didi. “Right over here! Over here!”
Childriss dove forward and the door flew from its hinges, spilling him into a darkened room. He was on his feet again before the door touched the floor.
Childriss stomped up to a large box covered by a black sheet.
A shadow pierced the dark room as Didi stood in the hallway.
Childriss whipped the black sheet away. A huddled form sat within a cage.
“I knew it,” said Childriss.
“Pick it up, if you like,” said Didi.
Childriss opened the small door, reached inside, wondered if the thing was poisonous, then grasped and pulled the thing near his face. It was a rabbit, of sorts. A creature with a rabbit as its template.
“As far as we know,” said Didi, “that is the first new species ever created by man.”
In heavy silence, Childriss glared at the thing. It was covered in purple fur, and had blue down on its belly. It had six ears trailing down its head to the back of its neck. Its teeth were like a dog’s, flat with long canines near the front. Its legs were extremely long, with fat paws tinged with scarlet-violet fur. It held its eyes clamped shut and Childriss forced one open, revealing a milky-turquoise iris with a slitted pupil. The thing cringed and forced its eye shut again.
“I made it sensitive to light,” Didi said quietly, “so that it would never try to escape from this room.”
“Congratulations,” Childriss sneered.
“You should be glad that this is possible.”
“It’s a freak.”
“It’s an experiment.”
“You took a bunch of random genetic samples and looped them and remixed them and made something hideous.”
“First attempts are just that. Patience, friend.”
“Friend?” Childriss threw the thing back in its cage and cringed at its sing-song chirp of alarm. He stomped out of the room, tears already burning on his face. Didi hurried to adjust the thing’s blanket so that it would not be uncomfortable.
By the time Didi returned, Childriss was a blubbering mess.
“Childriss, your gene-editing machine made this possible. I started with a few cells, a zygote. I was able to change them, then I let them incubate within the natural mother.”
“Didi... don’t understand...” said Childriss, sobbing fiercely as he ground his teeth. “Kept secrets... supposed to be... our work... alone, did it... betrayed...”
“Come now. Let’s not look at it like that.”
“No different... from anyone else...”
Childriss flopped down onto Didi’s couch. Didi sat down by his computer and watched as Childriss let loose a great sigh, his face red and worn, and seemed to pass out. Didi turned away and went back to his work on the computer.
Didi lost track of time as the sun slid down and cast the room into true darkness. Didi heard a chair creaking behind him, then felt eyes stabbing him. He continued working.
Suddenly Childriss jabbed his finger onto the blueprint on the monitor. “How do you know that this process will inhibit buildup of la
ctic acid, when you’ve already got this adrenal signal over here that’s increasing blood flow to and from the muscle tissue during peaks in cardiac activity? It could be redundant, at best.”
Didi looked, felt the little needles of disappointment, and said, “I... don’t.”
Childriss nodded quickly, then looked away.
“I was thinking,” said Didi, “of making a program that I could upload a genetic blueprint into, and the program would let the virtual organism “grow” so that we could test an outcome before creating it.”
“It would not work,” said Childriss.
“It would be difficult, but I could do it.”
“No. Don’t you see? It’s a program of a program. Any time a bug came up, you wouldn’t know whether the problem was in the genes or the computer program.”
“I... ah, Childriss, you’re right.”
“Let me see your notes. I want to take a look at problems you encountered while making the... while conducting the experiment.”
Didi rolled away and took his time in finding his notes, for he wanted to hide a slight smile from his friend.
* * *
Wodan jogged through the clearing behind the messenger dog. He saw a group of Hargis fighters sitting in the grass, whittling longbows and dark-wooded arrows as Zach tested the gut-strings of a new bow. Chris sat smoking with a circle of arrows sticking in the ground around him. Freyja sat near them, whittling with a heavy knife in one hand.
Demonworld Book 5: Lords of the Black Valley (Demonworld series) Page 7
