‘Hello?’ called Mercy, not knowing what else to do.
The child-like Chimera responded with a melodic whistle, not the song that had woken Mercy from the dream, but equally pleasant and friendly.
Mercy’s guard lowered. ‘What do you need?’
Whoosh. A sudden wind blew directly at Mercy as the bird-girl’s wings stretched wide, fluttering slowly at first, then faster, lighter, lifting her back away from the window.
‘Wait!’ Mercy begged as the creature disappeared into the night sky.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
All seemed usual in the Department of Population Research and Development when Mercy entered. Up and down the vast laboratory, doctors and scientists sat studiously before streams of data and holographic projections; decoding, encoding and virtually splicing their way to a better version of themselves, blissfully unaware of the new viral threat.
Mercy hurried down the lab corridor, avoiding eye contact. Placing a hand on the security panel, she looked back over her shoulder nervously. The screen and her bracelet glowed green. Through the secured entrance where only those with high-level clearance were allowed, Mercy nervously dashed past Chase’s office. The room was empty. Relieved, she hurried into the office set up for her and closed the door.
Pulling out the chip, she directed Hope to activate the lab PVA. A beam of light shot up from the centre of her desk.
‘Hope, create and time stamp a personal log. This report is for my records, not for publishing.’
‘Complete and ready for recording,’ Hope confirmed.
Mercy nervously placed the chip in the holographic beam. ‘Read chip,’ she directed the lab PVA. Nanoseconds later, reams of ghostly data rolled down the virtual column. Mercy’s eyes rapidly shifted left to right as she dissected and consumed the information, hunting for something – anything – unusual.
‘It’s just research on Mutation FFv1 antibody tests. The goat-boy already touched on this yesterday,’ she thought out loud. There is nothing new here. Why did he give this to me? What does it have to do with being in danger?
A sudden noise from behind the door startled her.
‘Close report,’ Mercy whispered urgently, grabbing the chip and slipping it into her pocket at the exact moment Chase opened the door.
‘Excuse me. I didn’t know you were in here,’ he said apologetically.
‘Yes, sorry, I thought I would get an early start this morning. I had a few ideas last night.’
‘I know the feeling,’ he continued, unaware of anything out of the usual. ‘Listen, Doctor Mercy…’
‘Please call me Mercy,’ she interrupted, hoping the personal invitation would deflect more serious questions about her morning activities.
‘Very well, if you agree to call me Chase,’ he smiled.
Mercy nodded.
‘Listen about last night. I want you to know I understand how strange and overwhelming all this must be. The Ambassador explained that you weren’t briefed on hybrids until you arrived. Just before you met me.’
‘Yes, but that’s no excuse. I wasn’t thinking about you as a…’ she stopped herself short.
‘What? You didn’t think of me as a person?’ he finished her thought.
Mercy stumbled through an apology. ‘Well, yes. But I didn’t mean it that way,’ she countered, sounding frustrated. ‘I meant, I was only thinking of you as a scientist, instead of your feelings as a person.’ Her face bled bright red.
‘Please, Mercy, it’s expected,’ he continued with some disdain. ‘Every new variant hybrid has a barrier of acceptance. Some adjust easily. Most Low-Cs, like me, are only ever tolerated. Even among other Chimeras.’
‘Unfortunately, that trait sounds all too human,’ Mercy acknowledged. ‘You and I are not that different, Chase. I was conceived in a lab, carried by a surrogate and then raised in a government program. There are thousands like me back home. You and I, we are both parts of the next chapter in the human race. And we’ve both dedicated our lives to helping humankind in all its new possible forms be the best it can be.’
‘I hear you,’ Chase sighed sincerely. ‘Shall we start again?’
‘Yes,’ she replied, thankful.
‘I’ve scheduled you on a tour of the reprogramming and fertilisation facilities this morning. I hope that’s alright. It will help with your Chimera research.’
‘Thank you. I’d like that.’
Chase continued, ‘I also understand from Joan that you’d like to visit the Belt?’
‘Please, that would be incredible,’ replied Mercy with excitement.
‘Good. I’ve cleared my morning schedules today and tomorrow. I’ll be your guide through the facilities this morning. And if you don’t mind, the Ambassador asked me to join your first excursion to the Belt tomorrow morning. The Belt is a bit of a hobby of mine.’
Muddled feelings of flattery and susceptibility to his new charm left her wanting to get to know him better. Yet, she still felt obligated to relieve him of any duty he might be feeling to watch over her.
‘Thank you, but I know you must be extremely busy. I don’t want to be a burden.’
‘No, no. My pleasure. Best from the horse’s mouth, they say….’ Chase paused with a cheeky twinkle in his eyes, ‘Or, in this case, the dog’s.’
Mercy grinned slightly apprehensively, unsure if his comment was playful or this was another sarcastic jab.
‘I’ll come to pick you up in about an hour. I’ve got some work to clear through this morning. I authorised your access to all research on Mutation FFv1. Enjoy.’ Chase threw a hand into the air, waving goodbye, and turned to leave before she could thank him.
An idea had come to Mercy while talking with Chase. What if the data on the chip wasn’t the full report?
Once alone, Mercy requested the lab PVA to identify the author of the research. The response came back negative. The file had no indicated source or author. Unwilling to give up easily, she took a long shot and ordered the lab PVA to filter through all research on the new virus strain, looking for a match to the report on the disk.
Fifty minutes passed when the Lab PVA announced, ‘Doctor Mercy, I believe this is the full report you have requested.’
The title MUTATION FFv1 ANTI-SPARG3 materialised in the light shaft, and the conclusion, FAILED.
‘Well, let’s see what’s hiding in this file,’ Mercy said out loud. ‘Hope, send a full report to my files,’ she ordered. I’ll look through this after the tour.
Just as she closed the holographic display, Chase knocked at her door.
CHAPTER TWELVE
On floor minus twenty-one of the White Tower, over a heavily secured door, the words FERTILISATION AND INCUBATION CENTRE were etched onto a metal sign.
Shwoop – the hermetically sealed doorway automatically opened on Doctor Chase’s command. Inside was a second chamber with another sealed door. Packets containing a pale lavender liquid lined the shelf immediately to the left. A sign on a plaque read PLEASE WASH MOUTH THOROUGHLY AND SPIT IN SINK. Mercy followed Chase’s lead, unzipped a bag and delivered its contents into her mouth without question. Whoosh – the powerful vacuum sucked down their spit as fast as it hit the sink.
‘Please place safety goggles over your eyes and step into the Antiseptic Chamber, keeping your mouths closed,’ the room PVA instructed.
Goggles on, Mercy stepped into the double-glazed glass cube. A smoky iodine-based vapour filled the chamber, obscuring her vision. Seconds later, small portholes at the bottom sucked the gas back out. Stepping through to the other side of the glass cube, they found a bin full of sealed paper-like slippers and pale flesh-coloured rubber gloves. Mercy and Chase removed their shoes and goggles and slipped on the sleeves.
Shwoop – the second hermetically sealed door opened to the Materials Room. Cold air rushed out. Inside, placards hanging over the contain
ers displayed the names of mammals whose cells were stored inside: Loxodonta Africana, Pan troglodytes, Syncerus caffer, Felis concolor Linnaeus, Sylvilagus. On and on the names of animals stretched far to the left and right. Chase walked briskly ahead of her with disinterest in the room itself. Its contents being self-explanatory.
‘Do you only use mammalian DNA?’ Mercy called out, hoping Chase would slow down.
‘Yes, only mammalian,’ he responded plainly; the obviousness of the answer required no further explanation.
Chase’s certainty confused Mercy. If they only used mammal genes for hybrids, what was the bird-human who had visited her in the night?
As they neared the end of the storage room, Mercy noticed that the last twenty rows, some one hundred canisters deep each, were dedicated to a single species: Homo sapiens.
‘Variant donors?’ Mercy questioned.
‘Yes. Cell donation is required by law, ensuring there is a diverse supply of human DNA. It was also felt hybrids would be more acceptable to humans if Chimeras were considered descendants of the broader population.’
‘How do you avoid inbreeding?’ asked Mercy.
‘Labels. Our DNA mix is coded into the ID we have tattooed under our skin. Of course, neither humans nor Chimeras have direct access to the data bank for privacy reasons. PVAs are allowed access to the information and can validate an incompatibility risk before mating.’
‘That must be a real mood killer,’ joked Mercy.
Chase simply grunted, leaving her attempt at friendly banter lying flat on the floor.
Shwoop – the next door on their tour opened to the Fertilisation Room. Warm bright lights bled through the doorway, consuming the pale light of the storage chamber. Inside, the temperature rose significantly. White robot arms precisely manipulating metal syringes over glass Petri dishes spliced, edited, and reprogrammed the building blocks of life. A constant whirr of moving mechanical parts ushered the dishes filled with fertilised embryos down a conveyor belt through a small opening into the next room.
‘This is where we construct hybrid embryos through interspecies somatic cell nuclear transfer using reprogrammed oocytes of varied species’ cells. Coding instructions come directly from the scientists up in my lab,’ Chase explained as they walked along the belt.
‘Amazing,’ Mercy answered with absorbed interest. ‘What’s the margin of error for interspecies breeding?’
‘On average, ninety-five percent of embryos are rejected during gestation. But we’ve achieved up to thirty-five percent success rate at the blastula stage, which helps us understand gene expression for further modifications and genetic reprogramming.’
‘Is there any fear the human donors will accidentally encounter a hybrid recognisable as themselves?’
‘The animal DNA should modify physical attributes sufficiently, even at C2 levels. But we also randomise human feature activation using recessive gene traits to generate variation as an extra precaution.’
Shwoop. Chase led Mercy through another sealed door.
The Incubation Room permanently sat at a perfect thirty-seven degrees Celsius. Petri dishes emerging through the opening in the wall funnelled down the belt to a hose hanging overhead. The microscopic eggs were sucked up and sent looping through transparent tubes into one of the thousands of oval glass containers hanging from a vast metal grid stretching over two thousand feet in all directions. A further series of tubes chasing the giant grid structure pulsated synthetic blood into the vases and further into thinner veins lining the pink, fleshy placenta suspended in an amniotic liquid.
Thump…thump…thump. The rhythm and sound replicating a human heart reverberated through the room. Chase came to a sudden stop, causing Mercy to almost bump into him.
‘Listen,’ he commanded.
The heartbeat accelerated; thump, thump, thump, thump. Moments later, it slowed to a steady thump…thump…thump.
‘The artificial heartbeat and blood flow replicate variations in speed experienced in humans during different emotional states from joy to fear to wake and sleep. We’ve found the embryos adjust better after birth when exposed to a similar gestation environment to human incubation, which is never consistent.’
The pods filled with foetuses in varying stages of gestation were organised by week. Week one – first five rows; week two – sixth, seventh and eighth rows; and on it went for nine months down the hall.
Chase walked Mercy past the various stages of life, explaining the criteria used to govern termination protocols.
‘Here, we monitor daily cell growth. Each week, those that pass move down the hall,’ he shared as busy white metal robot arms zipped along the grid scanning the tiny life forms. Iridescent green lasers rolled up and down the canisters.
They arrived at the five-week rows when the embryos still resembled the ancient fish body of our common ancestors. A light above a pod near Mercy blinked red. With a clank, the vessel released from the plastic lifeline and dropped through a perfectly shaped opening in the ground, disappearing.
‘What happened to that pod?’ Mercy asked, interrupting Chase while he explained the antiballistic humidification method that discouraged antibacterial growth.
‘Which pod?’ he asked, not having noticed the disposal.
‘That pod. It dropped down that hole.’
‘Terminated,’ Chase said casually. ‘Could be a host of reasons: malformed embryo, complete regression to recessive traits, or exhibiting features beyond C10 classification…’
The impersonal measure of death left Mercy cold. ‘Chase, where are the doctors?’
‘They’re upstairs, monitoring the system.’
‘But what if there is a mistake in the assessment? Or the foetuses could be saved?’
He answered with brutal honesty. ‘Exactly. What if? Would you want to carry the burden of knowing? We keep humans and Chimeras out of termination protocols. Better that way for all involved.
‘Our timing is good; there’s a birthing session about to happen,’ continued Chase, leading her through the next door.
A loud whoosh and then a splash announced the draining of the embryotic fluids from the glass wombs. Tiny wrinkled newborns coated in combinations of fur and pink flesh lay in pristine white medical carts as doctors moved methodically, lifting them upside down by the ankles and clearing their mouths of any restrictive fluids. Umbilical cords were cut, and the lab-grown placentas sent down blood-lined drains to be recycled.
Mercy stood behind the railing of the observation balcony listening to the cacophony of infant bawlings.
‘Their cries,’ she observed out loud, ‘They’re all different.’
‘Yes, it depends on the hybrid. It’s never the same. But all infants cry for their mothers.’
Mercy thought she detected a sadness in his voice.
The medical carts, now filled with the unusual creatures cleaned and calm, moved onto the transport belt to be escorted to the rearing barracks on floors above ground. From that point, life for the infants was regimented: intense physical and intellectual training, the finest foods, and top teachers. The Prime felt it was important that hybrids showed their best potential both in physical and mental abilities.
‘We can have lunch with the students if you’d like,’ Chase invited.
‘Very much,’ Mercy replied, genuinely awestruck by the enormity of the program.
The cafeteria on floor thirteen buzzed with children Chimeras sitting orderly at long refectory tables wearing black bodysuit uniforms. Unmoved by the visitors entering the room, they argued about genetic theory and mathematical equations where other children might discuss games and gossip as they ingested their plant-based meals. Animal food products were outlawed in the Sanctuary with the birth of hybrids.
Chase and Mercy sat at a small round table reserved for caregivers and instructors. It overlooked an outside balcony
where Chimera children were practising physical drills from gymnastics to martial arts to track and yoga.
‘Regiment Ten-Twenty entering,’ came a voice over the loudspeaker. The children in the cafeteria fell silent on command. A group of ten Chimeras around the age of fifteen marched in, stopping short of the food line. Everyone in the room put a hand to chest over heart as Regiment Ten-Twenty recited in unison: ‘For the miracle, we are blessed. For the future, we will not rest. We are grateful. We are strong. Mind and body, we belong. All hail the Prime!’
The newly arrived students broke formation and hurried to the buffet. The others launched back into a heated discussion.
Private Theo’s use of the words ‘Children of the Miracle’ popped into Mercy’s mind.
‘Today we have successfully birthed thousands of hybrids…’ Chase continued; unaware she wasn’t listening.
Mercy interrupted, ‘That pledge they recite, is it mandatory?’
‘In school, yes.’
‘Miracle?’ she questioned hesitantly. ‘What part does divinity play in the science of Chimeras?’
‘You mustn’t think of it in terms of ancient religions. The reference is more to remind Chimeras and humans alike of a time when they didn’t know how to stop the FossilFlu. Calling hybrid science a miracle brings a higher reverence to the remarkable scientific development that brought a solution to human extinction. I think that warrants a god-like reference, don’t you?’
‘Are you referring to the Chimeras or the Prime?’ Mercy smiled.
‘Maybe a little of both,’ quipped Chase, playing along.
Mercy was still thinking of the avian girl. ‘Chase, has there been any testing of non-mammalian hybrids?’
He lowered his voice. ‘Yes, in the beginning. A few foetuses were brought to term and even raised into young childhood. But brain development was an issue. They displayed highly aggressive behaviours with no ability to control primal instincts. Skeletal structure and reproductive organs were other issues. We couldn’t develop species with functioning legs, arms, thumbs and sex organs similar enough to human form, making it difficult for them to fit into society without significant modifications. But the major issue was communication: the ability to make human vocal sounds and use higher-level syntax in communication remained unresolved. Non-mammalian hybrid testing was outlawed, and the subjects terminated.’
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