by Greg Cox
Darn, Roberta thought, unable to hear what was being said. Lozinak’s successful attempt to protect his privacy made her nervous, mostly because it implied that the old scientist didn’t yet trust her entirely. Had she blown her cover somehow? She crossed her fingers instinctively, praying that she could still count on the welcome wagon instead of the third degree.
After a brief, frustratingly inaudible discussion, Lozinak hung up the phone. “Excellent,” he announced jovially, his warm tone going a long way toward allaying Roberta’s paranoid fears. “It seems we’re just in time to have lunch with the director.” He smiled in her direction. “No doubt you could eat a house after our long journey.”
“I think you mean ‘horse,’ ” she corrected Lozinak mildly. To be honest, she was more exhausted than hungry, but she wasn’t about to pass up a chance to meet Chrysalis’s fabled director face-to-face. Besides, it was almost noon anyway, so lunch was not a bad idea; several hours, and a couple of hundred miles, had passed since she’d eaten [120] breakfast in the back of the limo. “Lunch sounds great to me,” she agreed cheerfully. Isis meowed loudly, to remind all concerned that she required sustenance as well.
“Very good then,” Lozinak declared. Glass doors slid open automatically to admit the party into the central tunnel. A moving conveyor belt ran along the left side of the enclosed corridor, and Lozinak stepped carefully onto the mechanized walkway, which carried him down the length of the tunnel, while Roberta and the others promptly followed his lead. Peering past Lozinak, she could not see any end to the tunnel, although they soon passed several intersections and diverging corridors. How big is this place anyway? she wondered, experiencing an irrational urge to leave a trail of bread crumbs behind her. Hooking up with Seven down here is going to be like searching the Smithsonian on a crowded Sunday afternoon.
She gave her arm a rest by placing Isis’s carrier down on the conveyor belt in front of her. With nothing better to do than play tourist for the time being, she scoped out her surroundings as the moving sidewalk carried her deeper into Chrysalis’s underground extremities.
For the secret headquarters of a bunch of card-carrying Mad Scientists, the installation around her was a lot less sterile and utilitarian than she might have expected. The walls of the tunnel were a bright turquoise, while regional artwork and tapestries adorned the corridor at regular intervals, providing a treat for Roberta’s tired eyes. She particularly admired a robustly colored mural in which stylized peacocks, elephants, and camels gamboled throughout an ornately painted jungle of vines and blooming flowers. Chrysalis could teach your average evil underground organization a thing or two about interior decoration, she thought approvingly. Maybe this whole operation wasn’t as much of a Bad Thing as Seven kept assuming? The more she saw of Chrysalis and the people behind it, the less certain she was that they needed to be stopped. Aside from a slight mania for secrecy, as embodied by the ever-present Carlos, everyone involved seemed to be motivated by only the best and most humanistic impulses. I definitely need to have a long talk with Seven, she decided, before I start actively trying to sabotage the proceedings.
[121] Fluorescent lights in the ceiling, running parallel to the track below, provided plenty of illumination, making it easy to forget that they were actually hundreds of feet beneath the desert. “Where do you get the power to keep this whole place running?” she asked Takagi. “I thought there was an energy crisis going on.”
“We have our own nuclear power plant,” he explained, “located one level down.” He pointed out a map of the entire base that was mounted on the wall just before the next approaching intersection. Roberta noted a glossy red You Are Here arrow indicating her current location, plus another level marked by the universal symbol for atomic energy. Well, this accounts for that uranium Seven told me about, if not for all the germ-warfare equipment.
“Fission or fusion?” she asked with a touch of trepidation in her voice. Gary Seven had frequently expressed his low opinion of humanity’s present generation of fission reactors, which he considered dangerously crude and unreliable. He’s going to want to know about this reactor, she realized, if he hasn’t discovered it already.
“Just fission, I’m afraid.” Takagi grinned at her sheepishly. “After all, we can’t be trailblazers in every field, especially since we’ve sunk all our time and resources into zooming past the boundaries of modern genetic research.”
“What? You mean you aren’t an all-purpose scientific renaissance?” She feigned an exaggerated look of horrified disappointment. “I’m crushed!”
“Well, don’t give up on us just yet,” Takagi teased her back. “Wait until you get the full guided tour, not to mention meet the director.” He looked ahead to orient himself. “Ah, here we are.”
The moving track terminated in front of a pair of large glass doors inscribed with the image of an ascending double helix. Roberta flinched involuntarily, the etched symbol raising unwanted memories of her nightmare en route to the hidden base. In her mind she could still see the coiled chromosomes striking out at her like a cobra, infecting her own DNA with its mutating venom. You don’t need to be Sigmund Freud to interpret that particular picture show, she reflected as the party approached the end of the conveyor belt; obviously, her [122] unconscious still had problems with Chrysalis’s whole Brave New World agenda, despite her hosts’ persuasive sales pitches.
“Umm, I didn’t talk in my sleep, did I?” she asked abruptly, suddenly afraid that she might have given herself away while dozing. “On the trip here, I mean.”
“Not that I remember,” Takagi assured her, “although I was pretty wiped out myself.” He nodded at Isis’s pet carrier, presently resting on the belt between him and Roberta. “You’d better pick that up, and watch your step.”
Oh yeah, right, she thought, not feeling terribly guilty about letting the miserable cat slip her mind for a few minutes. She scooped up the handle of the plastic case just in time to step off the automated walkway right after Takagi and Lozinak. She was glad to see that, cane or no cane, the older scientist managed the transition onto stationary flooring without too much difficulty. Carlos followed after Roberta, shadowing her so closely with his intimidating bulk that she was tempted to ticket him for tailgating. Will I be glad to give this bruiser the slip, she thought impatiently. When the time comes, that is.
The double doors slid open, bisecting the decorative double helix, and the spicy, mouthwatering smell of Indian food reached Roberta even before she stepped inside. Mmmm, she thought, surprised at how hungry she felt all of a sudden. Maybe she wasn’t too tired to eat after all.
The chamber she entered was a treat for the eyes as well. Cool, vanilla-colored walls enclosed a cozy living area furnished Indian-style. Instead of sofas or chairs, large mattresslike cushions rested upon the floor, along with an assortment of smaller pillows, all colorfully embroidered or encrusted with sparkling sequins. Lunch was laid out upon a low, beaten brass table that shone with a rich metallic luster. The floor upon which the table rested was marble inlaid with polished chips of turquoise and jade. Wow, Roberta thought, impressed by the elegant and exotic decor. Not too shabby. ...
The only ominous touch—namely the presence of two looming bodyguards—was partially concealed by a set of upright wicker screens stretched across the far end of the room, behind one of the [123] neatly upholstered cushions that surrounded the brass table on three sides. Through the pierced cane lattices, Roberta could glimpse only two tall, turbaned figures standing at attention. She couldn’t help wondering if these new guards were any friendlier than Carlos. Probably not, she guessed. In her experience, security forces were paid to be uptight and suspicious. Just look what happened at Kent State.
The guards were presumably there to guarantee the safety of the room’s only other occupant: a handsome Indian woman seated comfortably on the rear cushion. She was surprisingly light-skinned, making her large black eyes all the more striking. Roberta recognized her at once as the woman fro
m the videophone, but was startled to see that the presumed director of Chrysalis was also several months pregnant. A voluminous white lab coat failed to conceal the telltale bulge below her waist. First the kindergarten troupe, now this, Roberta observed, slightly taken aback by the rampant fertility on display. Nobody told me that this place was ground zero for the population explosion.
“Welcome,” the expectant woman said in lightly accented English, while gesturing toward the cushions waiting at opposite ends of the brass table. “I am delighted that you could join me for lunch.”
Takagi and Lozinak removed their shoes before seating themselves upon the floor cushions, so Roberta did likewise. “Thank you,” she said sincerely, more than a little overwhelmed by Chrysalis’s nonstop hospitality. A twinge of guilt pricked her conscience when she considered how thoroughly she appeared to have deceived these relentlessly accommodating and generous people. It’s not fair, she thought grumpily, as she squatted down on the left-hand cushion. Why do they have to be so darn likable?
“Dr. Neary” Lozinak began, “it is my privilege to introduce you to Dr. Sarina Kaur, the director of Chrysalis.”
A surge of recognition rushed through Roberta, which she did her best to conceal. Of course, she realized. That’s where I’ve seen her before. Sarina Kaur, Ph.D., was one of the names on Gary Seven’s list of conspicuously missing scientists. Roberta remembered seeing a couple of old photos of Kaur, as well as skimming a brief biographical summary of the woman’s career. Kaur was some sort of prodigy, Roberta [124] recalled, who had burst on the scientific scene with a couple of remarkable genetic discoveries before dropping out of sight entirely. A real rising star, she reminded herself, deciding rapidly that “Ronnie Neary” would have heard of Kaur as well.
“The Sarina Kaur?” she asked, her voice full of professional admiration. “I always wondered whatever happened to you.”
“Dr. Kaur studied under Khorana himself,” Lozinak elaborated, while Kaur looked vaguely embarrassed by her colleague’s fulsome introduction, “before striking out on her own to lay the groundwork for Chrysalis. More than anything else, it was Dr. Kaur’s vision and determination, as well as her unique scientific genius, that made this project possible. As I believe you Americans say, she got the show on the ropes.”
Show on the road, Roberta translated, not bothering to correct him. “In other words,” she quipped, “yours is the mind that launched a thousand test tubes.” She glanced around the opulent chamber. “I have to admit, I’m really impressed by what I’ve seen of this place so far.”
“Thank you,” Kaur replied. Graceful hands indicated the enticing and aromatic feast spread out before them. “Please help yourself.”
Lunch was displayed on a large metal platter atop the low table, with each dish and condiment in its own porcelain bowl: lamb in a spicy yogurt sauce, hot tandoori chicken, rice, chickpeas, and several inviting pieces of hot, fluffy bread. Roberta dug into the meal with gusto, piling a little of everything onto her plate. She also prepared a small dish of fresh yogurt for Isis, whom, with Kaur’s permission, she released from the pet carrier. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Carlos tense visibly when the cat escaped its case, but, for once, Isis was on her best behavior and did not create a scene.
As Roberta and her hosts enjoyed their midday repast, Dr. Kaur expounded on the philosophy behind Chrysalis:
“Someone once asked Gandhi—Mohandas, not Indira—what he thought of Western civilization. He replied that he thought it would be a good idea.” She smiled sadly at the remark, which amused Roberta as well. “Like so many others of our generation, I nurtured dreams of making the world a better place. I soon realized, however, [125] that a better world was impossible without better people to live in it. Democracy, socialism, psychiatry, religion ... all these avenues to utopia inevitably run into the inherent limitations of human nature, at least as we presently know it. Only by improving the human species itself, through controlled genetic manipulation, can we ever hope to overcome the ills that have perpetually plagued the peoples of the world: poverty, war, disease, and so on.”
Roberta sipped from a cup of ice-cold water. “I’m not sure you’re giving ordinary human beings enough credit,” she commented. “We’ve made an awful lot of progress over the last couple of millennia.” And we might have a pretty rosy future ahead of us, she thought privately, if Captain Kirk and Mr. Spock are any indication. “Plain old folks can accomplish amazing things, even without having their DNA tweaked.”
Says the girl working for an alien-bred do-gooder from outer space! she thought, feeling a tad hypocritical. Was Gary Seven’s covert campaign to save mankind from itself any less radical or snobbishly elitist than Kaur’s?
The ambitious Indian scientist looked happy to have her assumptions challenged. “Indeed,” she agreed, “but how much of that is because of the impact of a few truly exceptional beings? An Einstein, or a Martin Luther King? How often can we depend on environment and heredity to produce such individuals at random?” She raised her open hands to indicate and encompass the vast facility surrounding them, and Roberta saw that Kaur had the butterfly logo of Chrysalis tattooed upon her palms. “Here at this state-of-the-art installation, we’re taking chance out of the equation, producing an entire generation of superior individuals, capable of completely transforming civilization as we know it.”
A chill ran down Roberta’s spine at the future envisioned by Kaur. As much as Gary Seven meddled behind the scenes of current events, he had never actually tried to run the world. But imagine a whole army of Gary Sevens, each determined to make their mark on history ... The rest of us might just as well give up any hope of controlling our own destinies, she thought, which didn’t strike her as a terribly hopeful prospect.
[126] She knew better, though, than to express her doubts too openly, after all, she was supposed to be a gung-ho new recruit. “You’ve got a point,” she told Kaur and the others. “I guess I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t know in my heart that Chrysalis, or something like it, is what the world needs right now.”
“I’m glad you feel that way,” Kaur said, nodding in approval. Taking a sip of water, she peered at Roberta over the rim of a clear crystal goblet. “It looks as though Viktor and Walter have made an excellent choice in inviting you into our community.” She contemplated Roberta speculatively. “Perhaps you can tell me more about your own singular talents and specialties?”
“Not after a fourteen-hour trip and no sleep!” Roberta answered hastily, anxious to avoid exposure. She shook her head and yawned theatrically, stretching her arms overhead until the joints snapped, crackled, and popped like freshly doused Rice Krispies. “Can we put off the full job placement exam until later?” she pleaded. “I’m so jet-lagged right now that I couldn’t tell a peptide from a Pepsi.”
Time to change the subject ... fast! Roberta decided. “I can’t help noticing that you’re expecting a child, Dr. Kaur. If you don’t mind me asking, is that part of the project, too?”
The mother-to-be did not take offense at her guest’s query. Instead she gave Roberta a sly, Mona Lisa smile and placed a protective hand upon her bulging belly. “Of course,” she replied. “As the head of Chrysalis, I could hardly ask other women to assist in the creation of a new generation of enhanced human beings without volunteering to do so myself.” She dipped an air-puffed piece of bread into a bowl of mango chutney. “This is my second such pregnancy, in fact. You shall have to meet my first great triumph later.”
“I’d be delighted to,” Roberta said, although inwardly dismayed at the implications of what Kaur was saying. Did this mean that Chrysalis had already begotten some genetically engineered super-children? Seven’s not going to like that, she realized, wondering what in the world she and Seven could do now that the recombinant genie (no pun intended) was out of the bottle?
She suddenly remembered the party of toddlers she had glimpsed [127] earlier, and, in particular, the dark, soulful eyes of one small Indian boy.
Now that she thought of it, that boy bore a distinct resemblance to Sarina Kaur.
Equally dark eyes, possessed of the same fierce intelligence, appraised Roberta, taking obvious note of the American woman’s youth and apparent good health. “Perhaps you too will see fit to bear one of the products of our collective effort?” Kaur suggested.
Roberta nearly choked on her poori. “Whoa there,” she sputtered once she caught her breath. “I mean, I think what you people are doing here is great, and I can’t wait to be a part of it, but you’ve got to give me a little time to get used to that last part. Lab work is one thing, but this ... !” She shook her head doubtfully, looking to both Takagi and Lozinak for support. “I’m not sure I’m ready just yet to turn into a human incubator.”
Kaur appeared undeterred by Roberta’s horrified reaction. “We’ll see,” she said with unnerving confidence.
Neither of the other scientists contradicted her.
Where the hell are you, Seven? Roberta thought anxiously. Things are starting to get just a little too creepy. ...
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHRYSALIS BASE
INDIA
MAY 17, 1974
WHITE MICE SQUEAKED and monkeys jabbered as Gary Seven awaited his audience with Williams’s unnamed superiors. A menagerie of what he guessed were prospective lab subjects shared his captivity within a cramped storage area somewhere on one of the underground complex’s lower levels. He did not find it encouraging that the Chrysalis’s experiments had already extended to primates. That’s too close to human DNA for comfort, he thought, knowing that only a few minor chromosomal differences separated Homo sapiens from its nearest simian cousins.
