Conception: A Post Apocalyptic Thriller (Perfectible Animals Book 1)

by Thomas Norwood

  “Let’s get started,” Klaus said, letting his hands drop loudly on the table like a judge’s gavel. Despite being almost eighty, Klaus looked twenty years younger, and his clear brown eyes stared around the room confidently. “I have some very bad news. Yesterday I received a call from Bill Hamilton, our man over at CryptoLabs, and they’re no longer able to provide us with the investment funding they’d promised. They’re going bankrupt, apparently, like everyone else in this God-forsaken world. Now, this immune-system project is taking far longer than we expected, and we’ve yet to see significant returns from it. At the current rate, without further investment, we’re not going to last until the end of the year. We need to make a decision, and we need to make it fast.”

  We all stared at one another, wondering who would speak first. My heart felt like it would swell so much it would block my wind passage and I loosened the tie I’d put on for the meeting and undid the top button of my shirt.

  Anthony, always eager to prove himself, took the lead. He stretched his arms forward so his muscular wrists extended out of his well-tailored sleeves. “As I’ve said before, I think it’s time to cut our losses. This project has sapped the company dry for years and it’s only going to get worse. Our custom facial-features line is turning a profit, and we could amp that up quickly if we stopped putting all our money into this immune system work.”

  “We can’t just throw it all away now,” John said. “We’ve spent hundreds of millions on it.”

  “We might have to,” Janet argued.

  “Can I report on this week’s findings?” I said.

  “Please do,” Klaus said, extending a hand impatiently in my direction.

  I cleared my throat. “Over the last few days we’ve been running tests on the latest batch of macaques. In nearly twenty percent of cases, we have managed to greatly improve their resistance to a large range of viruses, including HIV-4, AIDS, influenza and hepatitis. I’ve got videos here if you’d like to see them…”

  “No thanks, Michael. Just give us the low down,” Klaus said.

  “Well, that’s a forty percent improvement on last time. Forty percent, in just the last two months. I’d say another six to twelve months at the most and we’ll have a viable product.” With our funding on the rocks, I was desperate to convince them to keep going.

  “That sounds like great news,” Anthony said. “Only we’ve been hearing the same thing for the last eighteen months. “This is it, this is the one. The breakthrough we’ve been waiting for.” And, no offense, but so far it hasn’t been.”

  “You’re right, and believe me, I’m just as frustrated by this situation as anyone. I honestly believe this will be the last stage, though.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Without getting too technical, in this batch we finally managed to perfect the recognition of the histone modifications at each site, and it seems to have made all the difference.” Trying to explain genetics to Anthony was like trying to explain relativity to a macaque.

  “Is that all you’ve got to report?” Klaus said. “You mentioned something the other day about a new side effect?”

  “Yes, there is one other thing.”

  I told them about the cooperation trials and how our modifications to the genome had inadvertently created more cooperative, less xenophobic monkeys.

  “Nobody in their right mind is going to accept that kind of response,” John said.

  “Do you mean to say,” Masanori said, in his quiet but firm voice, “that you wouldn’t like your children to be more cooperative and friendly towards strangers?”

  John’s children, who had attended many company picnics and family days, were known for terrorizing the other children. Masanori suspected it was caused by a competition modification gone haywire, but I thought it was just bad parenting.

  “I don’t think anyone would,” Anthony said, racing to John’s aid. “What people want are kids who are going to compete, not kids who are going to be more cooperative.”

  “Cooperation has been proven to be one of the major factors in promoting not just evolutionary success but the success in daily life that leads to that,” I said. “Of course people are going to accept it.”

  Everyone stopped for a minute to think about this.

  A couple of people twisted their mouths and nodded but others just sat there. Anthony in particular was shaking his head and looking at the ceiling as if he thought I had gone completely crazy.

  “Rachel, what will the market say?” Klaus said. “Do you think we could sell cooperation?”

  Rachel had a confused look on her face and shook her head. “I really don’t know. I don’t think anyone’s ever tried it before.”

  “Well, get onto it, then.”

  “There is one other small detail,” I said.

  “What’s that?” Klaus leaned towards me.

  “It seems these new modifications, because they’re based on bonobo genes, also make the test subjects quite a bit friskier.”

  “Well, that sounds like something we probably could sell!”

  The meeting went on for another few hours, and in the end Klaus asked for a survey to be done on the acceptability of increased cooperation and sex-drive.

  “You’d better bloody well make something of this, Michael,” he said to me as we exited the board room, putting a firm hand on my shoulder. “I’ve put not only my own ass but the ass of the entire company on the line for you here, and we need to see some results. Soon.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THAT EVENING, ANNIE called and asked me to meet her at her doctor’s clinic. She said she was feeling better but wanted to get some tests run just in case.

  I could have taken one of the cable cars that hung throughout the city, crossing flooded streets where traditional vehicles were unable to pass, but I decided to walk, taking the higher streets and the bridges that had been put up after the flood.

  Very few people knew about Annie’s disease, and we wanted to keep it that way. If someone at Geneus found out about it they would assume my zeal for the immune system project was based on more than just my conviction that I could come up with a solution. With the project already tenuous, something like this would be enough to send it plunging into the ravine of scientific obscurity and me along with it. Which company would want to hire a scientist who had cost their previous employer hundreds of millions in research funds just to try to save his wife?

  I turned onto a street that had become an informal market.

  “Kebabs, kebabs kebabs… Baby chickens, ten dollars each, baby chickens… A necklace sir, perfect for the lady, only twenty dollars…” The calls from the vendors were a reminder of the beginning again, of our roots, of the importance of trade to human civilization. It felt more real than the sleek shopfronts that had once glazed this particular street with their promise of perfection in luxury cars, designer clothes and diamond necklaces. A few bars and restaurants still remained, as did the banks, now heavily guarded, but there wasn’t much of the old economy left. These days, almost everything was virtual.

  Annie’s doctor’s office was in a heritage building without an elevator. I climbed up the wooden stairs. The inside of each step was worn deep from years of passing feet and the boards creaked and wobbled from lack of maintenance. Light trickled through dusty opaque windows on the landings. On the third floor I walked over to a glass door with a small name tag next to it: Dr Graham Baxter.

  I went inside and was greeted by Dot, Baxter’s aging secretary. Annie was there already, sitting next to a plastic plant, awaiting her test results. She stood up and we hugged, her familiar presence engulfing me.

  “How are you feeling?” Doctor Baxter asked her when we went into his small consulting room a few minutes later.

  Graham Baxter had been our doctor for years and his calm, quiet manner was comforting to both of us.

  “I’m okay now. This morning I wasn’t so great. I was running a bit of a fever.” Annie glanced in my direction.
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  “Well, your viral load is up. Maybe that new medication you’re on isn’t helping. Any side effects?”

  “A bit of nausea. Headaches occasionally. Nothing I can’t live with, provided I’m alive.”

  “That’s good. There’s a new trial starting up of another drug, Exymorline, and the studies look promising. Would you be interested in being part of it?”

  “I don’t have time for trials, Graham, you know that.”

  “You’re not still working at that clinic are you?”

  “Of course I am. I’d be bored out of my mind otherwise.”

  “You need to take it easy, Annie.”

  “That’s the last thing I need – to sit around home feeling sorry for myself all day.”

  Baxter shook his head. “Why is it that doctors always make the worst patients?” He turned to me.

  “You should try living with her,” I said, smiling.

  Annie and I took a cable-car back home and greeted Henry, the gatekeeper. After the flooding, the residents of our area had taken it upon themselves to block off most of the streets leading into our suburb and had installed private security at the two entrances. In the early days, before the fence was put up around the whole perimeter of the regulated zone, hungry gangs roamed the streets at night and broke into houses. As much as I understood their plight, I felt a lot safer after we’d shut the gates.

  Our friends, Dylan and Sophie, were coming around that night, and when we got home I started preparing dinner. Annie, exhausted, slumped down onto the lounge.

  “How did you go with your meeting today?” Annie said.

  “Not very well.”

  “Why?”

  I hadn’t wanted to tell her about the results of the meeting, as I knew it would only worry her more, but she was going to find out sooner or later.

  “One of our investors pulled out. We’re going to have to find some more funding,” I said.

  “They’re not going to pull the plug on your project, are they?”

  “No. Not yet. They will if we don’t come up with something soon, though.”

  “How did the cooperation experiment go?”

  I told her about it.

  “Did you mention that to the board?”

  “Yes. Of course. They weren’t that interested. Klaus asked for some research to be done but nobody seemed to care. I get the feeling I’ve become like the boy who cried wolf.”

  “Come over here,” Annie said, patting the couch next to her.

  I went over and she put her hand around the back of my neck and hugged me to her. We cuddled together and I tried not to think about what it would be like to lose her.

  “You need to find yourself someone else, Michael.”

  “Don’t start that again.” Recently, she had been getting more and more despondent and she was convinced she was going to die. It was a topic I was unwilling to discuss, preferring instead to focus on finding a solution and trying to stay positive.

  “Look at me. I’m useless. We hardly even have sex any more.”

  We hadn’t had sex in over three months, although it had more to do with our stressful work schedules than her illness. When I met women at work or socially I did sometimes find myself wondering what it would be like to be with them. My guilt always got the better of me, though. How could I be thinking about sex when the woman I had loved since I was sixteen, who had loved me and given me the best years of my life, was dying?

  “I don’t need you to have sex me. I need you to concentrate on getting better.”

  Later that night, I stared back at myself from the mirror as I washed the shaving foam from my face and ran gel through my hair. My hair was starting to gray, the lines around my eyes were deepening, but in general I felt my features were balancing themselves out, finding an equilibrium which in my youth had eluded me. My strong nose and chin, once ungainly, now suited me.

  “Are you almost ready?” Annie called from our bedroom.

  “Almost,” I called back.

  Half an hour later, Dylan and Sophie arrived. Dylan and I hugged one another and I admired with a tinge of envy his long thick hair. Sophie came over and kissed me, a little closer to the lips than I was used to, and I couldn’t help being momentarily stunned by her beauty. She was tall and slender with a short blonde bob that framed her delicate features.

  “Wow, real mangoes,” Annie said, as Sophie handed a bag to her. “These must have cost a fortune.”

  “I’ve got a regular supplier and get them sent across from Argentina.” Sophie came from a wealthy family and even though she was a sculptor and made very little money herself, lived a very luxurious lifestyle.

  While we ate, Dylan told us about his work. A few years ago, he and Sophie had become involved with a cult called the New Church. Their leader predicted the end of the world as we knew it six-and-a-half years from now, and the group was making plans for the survival of its members by buying up taller islands in remote areas and building self-sufficient communes on them.

  It was Dylan’s job to coordinate construction on the islands. The group believed they could create a more harmonious society, riding out the end of the world and rekindling the old flame of humanity once everything had settled down again.

  “Are you going to invite us?” Annie said. Her black eyes surveyed Dylan cooly, as if she didn’t believe in his utopia any more than I did.

  “Of course,” Dylan said. “VIP passes to the apocalypse. Cheers, anyway.” He raised his glass to us. “Here’s to good friends.”

  I told them about the difficulties I was having keeping my own project alive.

  “Maybe we should ask Rowen if he’d be interested in investing in Michael’s project.” Sophie turned to Dylan. Rowen Boone was the leader of the New Church, and from what I gathered, probably thanks in part to the large donations Sophie made to his organization, he was a personal friend of theirs.

  “It might be worth a shot,” Dylan said.

  “Why would he be interested?” I said.

  “He invests in all sorts of crazy schemes.” Sophie smiled. “Anything which he thinks will help our members survive.”

  “Well, this would definitely do that.”

  “I’ll get in touch with him.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “How are things going with you, Annie?” Dylan said.

  “I’m fine. We got a new batch of meds in at the clinic this week, so hopefully that’ll be a few less people whom we have to euthanize.”

  Due to the lack of specialized drugs in the de-reg zone, whenever someone was really sick, beyond help, the clinics would put them to sleep if they asked for it. There wasn’t a law against euthanasia any more, and even if there had been – not many laws were adhered to in the de-reg zone. Annie often joked about putting herself down, which disturbed me but helped her to take her illness a little more lightly.

  “How’s the rebel situation?” Dylan asked. “Have you noticed any changes?”

  In the last few months there had been reports of rebel soldiers in the de-reg zone starting to band together and train in preparation for launching an attack on the main part of the city.

  “Who knows what’s going on? It’s all just media hype if you ask me.”

  “I’m not so sure about that,” I said. “It makes perfect sense. It’s happening in other parts of the world. And it’s what humans do when they get desperate. They try to kill one another.”

  “I think people there are too busy just trying to survive — to plan and train for a full scale attack,” Annie said. “And besides, where would they get the arms from?”

  “There are always unscrupulous assholes around ready to make a buck,” Dylan said.

  “Yes, but they don’t have the funds.”

  None of us said anything for a minute, a quiet tension settling over the room as we all thought about the possibility of an attack.

  “What I really want to know, is when science is going to come up with a permanent cure for aging,” said
Sophie, breaking the silence, “I mean, all this money they spend on other things, can’t they dedicate some of it to curing wrinkles?”

  We all laughed, and the mood was lifted.

  “There’s no point stopping aging if we still die of disease,” I said.

  “Yes, well, I say we just enjoy life while we’ve got it and be happy we’re even alive at all,” Dylan said, pouring more wine. “In fact, you know what I think you should concentrate your research on Michael?”

  “What’s that?”

  “Sexual jealousy.” He glanced briefly at Annie, relaxing back into his chair with his hands clasped behind his head.

  “Sexual jealousy?”

  “That’s right. Imagine if you removed sexual jealousy from the range of human experiences. We’d all be a lot better off.”

  “If you ask me,” I said, “we’d all be a lot better off without so much sex at all. Maybe we could come into heat once a year, just for reproductive purposes, and then spend the rest of the time not thinking about it.”

  We all laughed again, and my heart soared with the pleasure of friendship.

  As I was finishing the smoked trout on my plate I felt Sophie’s calf come to rest gently on my right leg. My whole consciousness was drawn to it, and to my surprise she didn’t move. I wasn’t sure if she’d done it on purpose. Maybe she thought it was the table leg. Or maybe she hadn’t noticed. Or maybe for her physical contact didn’t mean as much as it did to me. Dylan and Sophie were poly-amorists, as was everyone in the New Church. According to Dylan it helped bond the tribe, just as it had done in many primitive societies, and as it did in bonobos. I wondered what place polyamory, or polygamy, had played in original human evolution and if it might not be a more natural form of relating than our enforced monogamy.

  A week later, I hurried along the dimly lit corridor of the Geneus offices to catch up with Masanori, whom I could see up ahead. I’d been trying to contact everybody I knew who could possibly be interested in investing in our immune system research, but had gotten nowhere. I still hadn’t heard back from Sophie and was starting to doubt I would.