Parasite World

by Trevor Williams

  ‘Those toffs’ houses down in Kensington,’ replied Aldhous.

  ‘Did they have advisors, you know, homunculi?’

  ‘I didn’t see ‘em did I? They were at work pulling in their millions. The butler didn’t have one though.’

  ‘What I don’t understand is how you got them on your chest and back. Weren’t you wearing your overalls?’

  ‘Took ‘em off didn’t I? It’s hot in them houses: they burn energy like it’s free. You wouldn’t believe the waste in those places.’

  Val smelt a lucrative story in the making. She was glad she’d taken photographs of his lumps as they’d grown. Also, she’d made a short vid when the homunculi had started to speak: it revolted her to watch it but the feeling was ameliorated by the idea of selling it.

  ****

  Pamela’s next foray into the world of alien replication technology was a more targeted affair. Beam had requested another meeting at the house in Chelsea and had been brusque to point of being almost insulting. Get me the real thing, he’d said. Pamela had almost told him to go to hell but still felt quite honoured that she’d been recruited for work of national importance. Beam had given her different equipment this time. No more earrings: she now had a dongle to plug into a computer. Once inserted, a program would run and extract the files Beam wanted.

  Once again, Pamela prevailed upon the alien to take her around the labs. Her charms worked as before and this time she found herself in the replication suite.

  ‘So, this is where you reproduce the members of your race,’ she stated. ‘Not exactly the most romantic of settings.’

  ‘You humans, always confusing reproduction with sexual enjoyment. We find it more convenient and reliable to keep them separate. You have already adopted some of our techniques, have you not?’

  ‘IVG, you mean? Some human women use it: not all though. Some of us prefer the messy old fashioned method: having a baby and all that nurturing stuff. With your replication system, can you really produce a fully functional adult in a matter of weeks?’

  ‘Yes. It is our normal procedure.’

  ‘How do you do it? Is it based on stem cells?’

  ‘We do not think that it would be wise to release details of this technology.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Humans have a way of misusing even the most innocent of scientific discoveries.’

  ‘That’s a very moralistic view of us. Not all humans are bad you know.’

  ‘I will show you round the lab as you requested and then we will adjourn to my private quarters. Does that meet with your approval? I cannot go into detail though.’

  Lzortm led the way, pointing to the relevant machines and explaining briefly what each one did. Pamela asked where the developing aliens were. She’d expected to see a production line of bodies of ever increasing size and maturity with adults coming off a conveyor belt at the end. Instead, there was just a series of blank faced machines humming gently, each digital display a mystery. The alien directed her to look at a small screen showing a few blobs of pulsating cells.

  ‘This is where we prepare the embryos,’ explained Lzortm. ‘The development chambers are at another establishment.’

  ‘And where is that?’ asked Pamela.

  His e-pad chimed and he glanced at the message.

  ‘I have to meet my superior for a few minutes. You can carry on looking around if you wish.’

  Pamela couldn’t believe her luck. She dug out Beam’s gizmo and looked for the nearest computer. From across the room, it beckoned to her and she found the appropriate slot at the front. She looked around to make sure nobody was watching her. There were no members of staff, nor could she see any cameras. In went the dongle. She waited for something to happen on the screen but it stayed exactly the same with a set of readouts from nearby machines changing occasionally. The gizmo bleeped a few minutes later and she got it back into her pocket just as her guide returned. She almost expected an alarm to sound as they left the building, signalling the theft of data. Nothing happened. It seemed all too easy. She switched from secret agent mode to seductress and concentrated on keeping her alien lover entertained, smiling a lot and laughing at his jokes. Back in his rooms, they enjoyed themselves in the traditional manner for several hours.

  ****

  Beam could hardly contain himself at the monthly ATAG meeting. Pamela had come through. She’d brought back the dongle and it was chock full of goodies, his tame IT bod had told him. The Home Secretary asked for progress reports on various mundane projects. The CIA man reported on a clandestine operation to infest aliens with a genetically modified parasitic worm that would make them more co-operative with humans. Unfortunately, infested subjects were immediately identifiable by a bright green band in their ruffs. The aliens had not only found a treatment but also tracked the genetic markers in the worms that pointed towards a particular US source. The operation had been abandoned. Beam sat through the recitations with a faint smile on his face, occasionally twisting his head round to wink at his homunculus whose idea it had been in the first place. Finally, it was Beam’s turn. He inflated his chest and looked around the room.

  ‘I have been running a small project of my own. If you remember, we discussed the concept of gaining access to the aliens’ rep tech. I know we didn’t agree on the way forward but I thought it was worth a punt anyway.’

  ‘You mean your homunculus thought that,’ interjected a CEO from a major oil company.

  ‘Well … yes, it did hold that view,’ responded Beam.

  ‘Have you noticed how gung ho your little parasite friends are getting?’ asked the CIA man. ‘You could have a problem there.’

  ‘May I continue?’ pleaded Beam. ‘I have important news relevant to our work here.’

  The Home Secretary jumped in. ‘Jim, are you telling us you’ve set up an operation on your own recognizance? That is highly unorthodox and if it goes wrong we could be in trouble. Just look at what happened with the CIA project. Please tell us the details now.’

  ‘OK,’ said Beam. ‘Here’s the short version. I have obtained the operating procedures for setting up the aliens’ rep tech. We could have it up and running in a matter of months.’

  Questions rained down on Beam. How did he get the information? Who got it? Will it work? Do the aliens know their technology has been stolen? What was the budget? Where did he get the money for the operation? So it went on. Beam tried to answer their queries but had to admit that he didn’t yet know all of the answers.

  ‘Let me just say this. I employed an agent, who is not a member of any of the usual organisations, to obtain the necessary computer files, and I didn’t have to pay her. She is a patriot. The encryption was rather primitive and easy to crack. We now have a complete set of instructions for setting up our own version of the aliens’ replication technology. The military applications are legion,’ Beam expounded. He stood up waiting for the inevitable applause. There was a brief silence and then the rest of the committee rose and clapped. Beam grinned like a schoolboy who had just won a year’s supply of chocolate.

  ****

  His homunculus looked sleepy: its eyes droopy and mouth slack. Beam asked it a question and it didn’t respond. He didn’t like the look of it. He’d seen a news report in an on-line newspaper about the homunculus epidemic. All sorts of riff-raff were growing the parasites for themselves, albeit unbidden. A young woman on U-bend had described making love to a man with three homunculi growing out of him. She’d taken great delight in telling the world about the contortions she and her man had adopted to accommodate an homunculus growing near his groin and the way the parasites had cheered them on. Imagine having an advisor down there, Beam thought. You’d have to take off your trousers to be able to hear the thing. Now his own little friend looked sick. It was time to see the doc.

  Later that day, the specialist examined Beam’s homunculus minutely. ‘Look at these lesions,’ he said, pointing to scaly patches on the parasite’s skin. ‘Have you seen th
ese before?’

  Beam shook his head. ‘Not seen anything like it before doc. Is it serious?’

  ‘You’ve heard about the wild ones, I expect. These little beasts aren’t designed to propagate but that’s what seems to be happening. These patches are the first sign of that phase. Might be better to remove it.’

  ****

  Beam looked at the embryos on the screen. This was his second visit to the rep tech project lab at the MOD. He was still basking in the glory of getting hold of the alien technology and anticipated even more adulation when the first batch of synthetic humans finally emerged.

  ‘How long till we get living breathing human beings out of this?’ he asked the scientist sitting alongside him.

  ‘At this rate about a fortnight,’ came the reply. ‘But they won’t be fully functional straight away. There’s the training phase to come after that and we haven’t got that worked out yet.’

  ‘Wasn’t that in the files?’

  ‘Sort of, but you have to realise their system was designed to produce people like them and they have equipment we don’t have yet.’

  ‘So, the humans we’re growing here could be half-wits, you mean?’

  ‘Don’t know yet. We’re still working on that angle.’

  Beam looked at his right hand shoulder out of habit, expecting a nugget of whispered advice. The homunculus wasn’t there any more. Having it removed had been like losing a close friend, and he’d been forced to buy a new suit. Beam switched his gaze back to the scientist.

  ‘Let me know when they hatch out or whatever you call it.’

  ****

  Pamela lay beside Lzortm in bed. Being in his quarters reminded her of her duplicity, so she’d insisted on going back to her place; for a change, she’d said. The industrial espionage she’d carried out hadn’t been of her own making, she insisted to herself but Beam had been very persuasive. He’d won her round with his talk of patriotism and the common good and sheer flattery. Now she wasn’t so sure about her own intentions. However, her qualms didn’t prevent her from stroking the alien’s chest and moving her hand down towards his scaly penis. His hand stopped further progress.

  ‘I have something to say to you, Pamela,’ he purred.

  She waited, wondering what he was about to say. A proposal of marriage perhaps? Not possible. Imagine what their kids would be like. What would her mother say? And then there was only having sex for half the year. That would be a real downer.

  The alien continued. ‘We know about your arrangement with Minister Beam. His rôle, other than with golf, is common knowledge amongst our security people.’

  Pamela sat up, pushing her hair out of her face. She stared at him. ‘You knew about me and what I was supposed to do for Beam but you still went to bed with me?’

  ‘Why not? I like you. You are a very attractive, sexy woman. Beam’s machinations were of little consequence.’

  ‘But he says he’s got everything he wanted from the stuff I downloaded. They’ve got a whole lab set up.’

  ‘So they have,’ laughed Lzortm. ‘I hope they can make it work. In the meantime, we can enjoy one another,’ he said caressing her back and drawing her towards him.

  ****

  Urgent Message flashed on Beam’s e-pad and the device beeped in a peevish manner as if disturbed from a deep sleep.

  Beam gestured at the screen: the message revealed itself and then dissolved.

  Come to lab ASAP.

  Good, thought Beam. They’ve hatched their first synth. He’d coined the term for a synthetic human at the last ATAG meeting. He liked its brevity and implications: synthetic humans made to order in a matter of days or perhaps weeks; utterly disposable and as dangerous as necessary.

  He didn’t use the official limo; far too slow. On the way there, driving his red LeccySport, he wondered what the synth would be like. Man or woman? Would it be able to talk? If so, would it use English or alien-speak? The main thing was that it was his project and it would give him a huge step up in his political career. He patted his shoulder where the homunculus had been. Pity it wasn’t around to enjoy the glory.

  He hurried through the security doors, waving his pass at the robotic sentinel that guarded the labs. It recognised him and slid aside, its laser rifle remaining across its chest. The scientist met Beam as soon as he stepped into the lab.

  ‘Best come and see for yourself, sir,’ he said, leading the way to a side room.

  Beam scuttled after him on his short fat legs. The scientist stopped and pointed to an enclosure. Beam skidded to a halt and looked inside, expecting to see a fully grown human being. A large tabby cat sidled up to the mesh and looked at him disdainfully. Behind it another three identical moggies sat staring at him.

  ‘Are you having me on? This is a serious government project, not an animal charity. Get them out of here!’ he screamed, waving his arms at the scientist.

  The other man stepped back. ‘I thought the embryos looked non-human a while ago but I wanted to make sure. They grew like crazy over the last couple of days. Rather nice cats. They’re really friendly. I have homes for them already.’

  Beam’s shoulders slumped, his dream of political ascendance in ruins.

  ****

  Lzortm sat at a table with four other aliens: two men and two women. He glanced at his colleagues, inspecting their ruffs. The colours told him that they were calm and quite pleased with themselves. They all wore simple clothing: tee shirts and grey trousers. Their only indication of rank was a green bangle on the left wrist. The woman with the broadest bangle spoke first.

  ‘Lzortm, your disinformation strategy seems to have done its work. Jim Beam’s reputation within ATAG is at an all time low. Is it possible for the humans to make any use of what we gave them?’

  ‘With another twenty years’ work, they could make something of it, perhaps. I gave them only what they already knew apart from accelerated growth factors. The genetic templates probably looked right superficially but they didn’t really know what to look for anyway. Hopefully, they will see the project for what it is now that Beam has been discredited.’

  ‘And what about your relationship with this human, Pamela? Is that at an end?’

  ‘I’ll be out of rut next month, so my interest will wane. However, she is perfectly harmless and gives me great pleasure for the moment.’

  The other man chimed in. ‘What about our other project, the homunculi?’

  Lzortm smiled. ‘The vile so-called advisors used by the human ruling class are disappearing from their shoulders daily. They have even produced a vaccine against them to prevent further spread to the lower orders.’

  ‘Do they know it was us?’ asked the first woman.

  ‘Not yet, but they soon will.’

  A Feast of Crows

  The truck bore down on him, horn blaring and air brakes screaming. Gerry could see the driver’s mouth working as he tried to stop the machine but it ploughed on. Welcome oblivion was imminent: the constant nagging voice in his head would be silenced in a split second. No more plumbing the depths of despair; no more feelings of impotence and helplessness. A wall of roaring metal hit him.

  Gerry came to. He could hear a heart monitor bleeping its monotonous song. His eyelids slid upwards and he found himself in bed in a small room.

  ‘Oh shit,’ he said out loud. ‘Am I still here?’

  He turned his head, peering around the room: a small window framing grey clouds in a monochrome sky, a drip going into his left arm, bits of equipment behind him just visible with screens showing squiggles corresponding to his vital signs. Not the afterlife then. His right arm felt heavy when he tried to move it. Craning his neck, he spotted a plaster cast. Broken arm presumably. What about the legs? He tentatively moved the left and then the right; not broken. Using his left arm, he tried to sit up. A searing pain shot through his chest and he slumped back. Ribs buggered, he thought. His throat was as dry as a brick. A drink would go down well.

  ‘Hello, anyone there,�
�� he tried to shout. All that came out was a faint croak bearing no resemblance to his normal robust tones. Once more, he tried to shout and this time was rewarded with a slightly louder gritty squeak. His throat hurt now. He’d have to go and find help if nobody came soon. Squirming on his back, he tried to manoeuvre his legs to the side of the bed without invoking the pain in his ribcage. He was about to slither out of the bed when the door opened. A nurse appeared.

  ‘You’re awake. Oh good! We were expecting something to happen. Your brain trace showed all the right signs. Now, don’t try to move for the moment: I’ll get some help,’ she said.

  ‘Dying of thirst here,’ Gerry said huskily.

  ‘No surprise there; you’ve been in a coma for the last two weeks. Your girlfriend has been here every day. She’s a lovely girl.’

  The nurse scuttled out and Gerry could hear her calling for help.

  The next few days passed in a blur. An army of people appeared in quick succession, taking blood samples, shining lights in his eyes, incessantly checking his blood pressure, scanning his brain and testing his reflexes. They pumped him full of pain killers and got him out of bed. And then there were the visitors. His parents appeared, all concern underneath their smiles of relief. Then there was Marcella, looking worried but beautiful in her homemade hand-dyed clothes. She wanted to know only one thing.