by Amy Cross
She waited again, as Meg's eyes began to open, although thick gel was running down her skin and irritating her pupils. Finally, reaching into her pocket, the doctor took out a set of metal tongs and used them to force Meg's left eye open, and then she did the same to the other eye.
“Welcome,” Doctor Leach said with a broad smile, as she put the tongs back into her pocket. “Tell me something, do you know your name?”
Meg's eyes darted about, frantically looking around the room before fixing on the doctor.
“What's your name, my darling? Come on, the information is in there somewhere.”
Meg's mouth quivered slightly, as if she was on the verge of speaking, but no words emerged.
“You don't remember,” Doctor Leach continued, making a note on her clipboard. “The information is in your mind but you can't access it. That's good, it's what we were hoping for. Tell me something else, my dear, are you in pain? Do you even remember what pain is?”
Meg stared at her.
“You can speak,” the doctor added. “You just have to remember the words.”
She waited, as Meg seemed to be constantly on the verge of saying something, until finally the girl's lips opened wider and she let out a faint, gasping cry.
“I'll ask you again. Are you in pain?”
“What...” Meg whispered. “What is...”
“You're so lucky,” Doctor Leach continued. “I know you probably don't remember your old life, but trust me, it was one of misery and fear. Now you're something different, you've transcended your original form and you're at the beginning of a wonderful new journey. Can't you feel the strength in your soul?” She took a step forward, until she was on the very edge of the vat. “I envy you. One day, when the process is perfect, I might even want to follow in your footsteps. Not because of religion or any of that rubbish, but because of... Well, let's just call it scientific curiosity.”
“I... Megan...”
“I'm sorry?”
“Megan...”
“Oh,” the doctor replied, making another note on her clipboard. “Well, that's disappointing, isn't it? I was hoping those memories would stay buried.”
“Help me...”
“Not that rubbish again,” she continued. “There's really no need to make yourself sound so pathetic.”
“Hurts...”
Grabbing the side of the scaffold, Doctor Leach swung Meg around until she could see the two pieces of bone that had already begun to grow out from her back, with the faintest hint of fragile skin forming between sections of stronger, more pronounced cartilage. Reaching out, she ran a finger against one of those cartilage sections, pushing gently and feeling that although this part of Meg's body was new, it was also firm, as if the wings on her back were growing at a great pace.
“Can you try to flex these for me?” she asked after a moment.
She waited, but the sections of bone remained still.
“Okay,” she continued, “let me try to stimulate them a little.” She took hold of one of the large pieces of bone protruding from Meg's back and gently pulled it to one side, immediately bringing a groan of pain from the girl's lips. “That's fine,” she added with a faint smile, “you're developing nerve endings. Over time, you'll learn to control your body a little better.”
“Stop,” Meg whispered. “Please...”
“There's no need to be scared,” Doctor Leach continued, reaching over to the other section of bone and giving that, too, a tug. “We need to get the blood flowing, and we need to make you more aware of the changes that have taken place. Don't be shy, Meg. You're an extraordinary creature.”
“Please...”
“You need to see things differently,” she added, taking hold of the scaffold and swinging Meg back around until they were once again face to face. “You're out of the womb now, and you won't be going back down there.” She looked down into the vat for a moment. “I don't think you'll be the exemplar, but you won't be like the abominations either, and you'll be another useful stepping stone. I'm sure we'll learn a great deal from you. We just need to keep you under control, unlike the last specimen.”
“What do you want?” Meg whispered, her voice wracked with pain. “Just take it and kill me...”
“That's hardly the right attitude for someone who's on the cusp of becoming a completely new life-form. You should try to be a little more optimistic as the last of your human mind starts to fade away.” Glancing over her shoulder, she saw that the technicians were busy with the machines, which meant that no-one was watching her. Turning back to Meg, she pulled a scalpel from her pocket and pressed the blade against the girl's thigh. “The thing about perfection,” she whispered, “is that it's just begging to be cut in some way.”
With that, she pressed the tip of the blade through Meg's skin.
“What's wrong?” the doctor continued, watching Meg's face for any hint of pain. “Have you forgotten how to scream?”
Twisting the scalpel, she opened a small hole in the girl's flesh, allowing a trickle of blood to run down the leg.
“Oh dear,” she added, pulling the scalpel out and wiping the blade before slipping it back into her pocket, “looks like you're imperfect. Mr. Hanson will never accept you now, so it'll be back to the drawing board. Don't worry, though, we'll have plenty of time together.” She leaned closer. “By the time I'm done with you, you'll be begging for mercy.”
Chapter Nineteen
“Are you a man of faith?” Hanson asked as he led Robinson along the corridor, paying no attention whatsoever to the suspiciously inept cleaning woman who was making such a slow job of wiping hand-prints from a nearby door handle.
“Faith in what?” Robinson replied.
“God,” Hanson said, clearly a little surprised by the response. “What else could one possibly have faith in?”
“Oh, I dabble,” Robinson muttered, glancing over his shoulder and briefly making eye contact with Katie before turning back to Hanson. “You know, some mornings I wake up and I truly think God is real, that he must be up there keeping an eye on us. And other days, I wake up and instead... No, it's gone. Strange, don't you think? I wish I could make my mind up. By the way, are you diabetic?”
“I'm sorry?”
“You have a lot of very thin needle-marks on your neck.”
Stopping at the door to the high-security area, Hanson reached up and adjusted his shirt collar.
“Just a small medical matter,” he explained cautiously. “It's nothing to worry about, and it certainly doesn't affect my work.”
“I figured as much,” Robinson replied. “As soon as I met you today, I had you down as the kind of man who'd let nothing get in the way of his duties. I've met a lot of bullshitters over the years, Mr. Hanson, but I can tell that you're no such thing. Tell me, are you an Oxbridge man?”
“Not exactly...”
“New blood, eh? That's good, I like someone who's come up via a different route. How did you get into this line of work?”
“It's a long story.”
“Wonderful. I love long stories.”
“I studied history and theology at university,” Hanson replied cautiously, “and in the course of my time there, I was fortunate to be granted access to some archives that were otherwise sealed.”
“Did any of those archives belong to anyone I might have heard of?”
Smiling politely, Hanson took a security pass from his pocket and swiped it in the sensor, before opening the door. “I'm sure I hardly need to impress upon you the importance of discretion,” he continued, clearly preferring to steer the conversation onto current events instead of dwelling on the past. “Everything you're going to see in here today is commercially sensitive, and you mustn't mention it to anyone.”
“Of course not,” Robinson replied, pushing past him and making his way through the door. “Mum's the word.”
“I'll show you our main laboratory,” Hanson explained, closing the door carefully before hurrying past Robinson and lead
ing him along the corridor. When they reached the first doorway, they looked into a large, high-ceilinged room, where the vat of gel was now empty, with the scaffold having been raised and Meg's body having been removed just a short time earlier. “It's where we conduct one of our most important projects.”
“Just one of them?”
“We have several strands of research,” Hanson continued, leading him over to the edge of the vat, “but they're all linked by certain common elements.”
“Such as my bone?” Robinson asked, holding the bone up.
“Precisely,” Hanson said with a frown.
“Don't worry,” Robinson continued, making his way over to the vat and peering down at the gel, “I know you'd never have let me in here if it wasn't for the bone. You want it, and you're willing to let me see what you're doing in order to persuade me. At the same time, I doubt you'll show me the full picture. Instead, you'll let me see the bare minimum, just enough to persuade me to leave this thing behind when I go. I know how such things work.” He dipped the end of the bone into the gel.
“No!” Hanson shouted, grabbing his arm and pulling it away.
“Something wrong?”
“Are you a maniac?”
“I can honestly say,” Robinson replied, “that no-one has ever questioned my sanity before.”
“I'm sorry,” Hanson continued, clearly uncomfortable, “it's just...” He stared at the bone, one end of which was now glistening as the gel soaked into its surface. “We have to be very careful to avoid contamination.”
“Do you? You know, that never would have occurred to me, I am so hopeless when it comes to science.” He frowned at the gel on the end of the bone, before opening his mouth and extending his tongue, ready to lick some off.
“No!” Hanson shouted again.
“What?”
“You can't do that?”
“Lick the bone, or lick the gel?”
“Both! They...” Pausing, as if he was completely lost for words, Hanson stared at him for a moment. “Mr. Robinson, I must ask that you approach this tour with a little more caution. No more dipping, no more poking, and definitely no more licking.”
“So what is this stuff?” Robinson asked, looking down at the gel in the vat. “It's not water, it's too thick and viscous, and it seems a little opaque.”
“It's a patented solution.”
“What's in it?”
“I'm afraid that's not for public knowledge.”
“Oh you can tell me,” Robinson continued. “Don't worry, I won't tweet it or write it up on a blog. I probably won't even understand anything you say!”
“Only a select few people are allowed to know the nature of our patents,” Hanson told him, heading over to the foot of the metal steps that led up to the observation gallery. “Myself and Doctor Leach are, in fact, the only people with access to our most sensitive files. Things are on a need-to-know basis here.”
“Doctor Leach? Not Alison Leach from Cambridge, by any chance?”
“No.”
“Or David Leach from Oxford?”
“No, the -”
“Or Max Leach from Durham?”
“Suzanne Leach,” Hanson replied, clearly exasperated, “but – Never mind.”
“Suzanne,” Robinson whispered. “Huh. That name rings a bell, actually.”
“I'm sorry I can't go into our processes in more detail,” Hanson continued, gesturing for him to head up the stairs. “We really do have to be very careful about these things.”
“Surely you can divulge a few more trade secrets,” Robinson muttered, hurrying past him and making his way up to the observation room. “After all, I'm not just any guy who wandered in off the street. I'm a man with a bone, and it's a bone that you seem very keen to get hold of. I mean, angel bones are so rare.”
“Aren't they?” Hanson replied drily, following him up.
“This looks complicated,” Robinson continued as he made his way across the control room. “I'm not really very good with computers, so I'm very easily impressed.”
“The work we're doing here is beyond cutting-edge,” Hanson explained, pausing in the doorway as if he was already hoping to lure Robinson back down the steps. “Please don't take this the wrong way, but it would be absolutely impossible for a man to wander in off the street and make sense of what we're doing here. In fact, the very -”
“What's Subject A?” Robinson asked, staring at one of the screens.
“Excuse me?”
“Subject A,” Robinson said again, tapping the screen. “He, or it, seems to draw a lot of power into a relatively small room.”
“That's nothing,” Hanson replied quickly. “Would you like to come and -”
“Your electricity bill must be massive,” Robinson continued, reaching out and turning some dials on one of the machines. “This Subject A thing seems like a real monster, it's drawing an unusual charge combined with electrolyte-based positronic -”
“Please don't touch anything!” Hanson shouted, hurrying over and grabbing his arm. Clearly flustered, he began to lead Robinson back to the door. “The equipment in here is extremely sensitive, and it has all been calibrated by Doctor Leach to very exacting standards.”
“This Doctor Leach woman seems interesting,” Robinson replied. “Do you think I might meet her?”
“I'm afraid she's busy at the moment.”
“But she's the one who'd be playing with my bone, wouldn't she?” He paused, before smiling. “I'm sorry, that sounded awfully rude, didn't it?”
“Absolutely not.”
“It sounded like I was talking about my penis.”
“She...” Staring at the bone in Robinson's hands, Hanson seemed momentarily struck dumb, almost as if he was having to reset his thoughts in the face of Robinson's verbal onslaught. “She would be in charge of all experiments, that's true. However, I am very much the public face of the operation, so I think I'm best placed to answer your questions.”
“I get it,” Robinson replied. “She's one of those scientists who can do wonderful things with equipment, but can't talk to another human being to save her life. Am I right, or am I right?” He nudged Hanson with his elbow.
“You're absolutely right,” Hanson told him, ushering him out of the observation gallery and then closing the door. “I think I've shown you everything I can, Mr. Robinson. You'll appreciate, I'm sure, that other parts of the building are very much off-limits. There are contamination issues to think about, and there's also the question of letting corporate secrets fall into the wrong hands.”
“Really?” Robinson frowned, clearly a little disappointed. “Well, if I'm going to part with my bone, I'd really like to see a little more first. If feel as if I'm one big revelation short of hanging my bone over.”
“If we return to my office, we can begin to draw up paperwork governing the use and eventual return of your relic. I'm sure we can come to an understanding that will be mutually beneficial.”
“Paperwork?” Robinson turned and made his way down the steps. “I hate paperwork, Mr. Hanson, it drives me insane. Of course, I could pass it all on to my lawyers and get them to look at it, but I don't like talking to lawyers very much so I think we should make this a much less formal affair.” He paused for a moment and turned back to Hanson. “You're really not going to show me anything else, are you?”
“It would be very difficult.”
“I see.” Robinson paused again, before smiling. “Just take good care of it, okay? I want it back when you're done.”
“But -”
“Catch!” With no further warning, Robinson threw the bone up toward him.
Fumbling as he caught the bone, Hanson lost his footing and slipped, although he managed to hang onto the railing at the last moment, with the bone in his other hand. Shocked, he stared down at Robinson as if he'd never witnessed such a display of insanity.
“Have fun,” Robinson told him. “The damn thing has been locked away for a terribly long time, but a b
one deserves to be used properly, doesn't it? Why don't I pop into your office in a week or two for a status report? You can tell me all about the fun you've been having, and maybe you can even get the mysterious Doctor Leach to come and say a few words. I was thinking I'd invest some money in your company, but I can see that money is the least of your problems. Would I be right in thinking, Mr. Hanson, that by providing the bone to your company, I'm helping more than perhaps anyone else ever could?”
“You're most gracious,” Hanson replied, making his way down the steps with the bone in his hand. “I can assure you, we will put this priceless item to work and make great strides. I hope you understand that we must -”
“Call me!” Robinson shouted, already heading out of the laboratory.
***
“Thanks, Valerie,” Milhouse said as he took the file of old papers from the desk in the police archive's reading room. “I owe you one.”
“It's not often I get to go down into the storeroom,” she replied. “Everything from after 1910 is digitized, and you're the first person who's wanted to look back that far since... Well, since I came to work here, to be honest. I mean, it's not like something from the nineteenth century could really be considered a hot case, is it? What are you working on, anyway?”
“Nothing.”
“But if -”
“You're a real doll,” he added, keen to end the conversation before it could really begin.
Carrying the papers across the room, he set them down on a desk in the corner and then took a seat. Checking his watch, he saw that he still had another forty minutes left of his lunch break, so he opened the first file and got to work, scanning the page of a police report from 1889, looking for anything that might feed into his suspicions. For several minutes, he continued to check file after file, until finally he located one that grabbed his interest. With a strange, nervous sensation in the pit of his stomach, he read the case notes of a detective who'd been on the beat almost a century and a half earlier:
