Lords of the Earth td-61

by Warren Murphy

  Beneath it was a Plexiglas cube. Inside the cube was a piece of rotting meat. Sitting on top of the meat, feeding and lazily twitching, were two red-winged flies.

  "A breeding pair?" Perriweather asked. "You got a breeding pair?"

  "Yes, Mr. Perriweather."

  Involuntarily, Perriweather gasped at the sight of the flies. He lifted the plastic cube with hands so gentle that the flies never moved from the piece of meat. He watched them from every angle, turning the cube this way and that, observing them from below and above and eye-to-eye, marveling at the stained-glass redness of their wings.

  "Their wings are exactly the color of fresh human blood," he whispered.

  As he watched, the two flies rose from the meat and briefly coupled in the air before settling back down. Almost to himself, Perriweather said, "If I could only find a woman who could do that."

  For some reason, Dr. Dexter Morley felt vaguely embarrassed, like a Peeping Tom caught in the act. He cleared his throat and said, "Actually, the two flies are exactly like ordinary houseflies, except for the color of the wings. Musca domestica of the order Diptera."

  "They're not exactly like houseflies," said Perriweather, casting a sharp glance at the scientist. "You didn't change that, did you?"

  "No. No, I didn't."

  "Then it's the ultimate life form," Perriweather said slowly, rotating the plastic cube as if it were a flawless blue-white diamond that he had just found in his backyard.

  "Well, I wouldn't go that far," Dr. Morley said, fluttering his eyelids and attempting a weak smile.

  "What would you know?" Perriweather hissed.

  "Uh. Yes, sir. What I was about to say was that in most respects the species is an ordinary housefly. Shape and structure. Its eating habits are the same, which unfortunately makes it a disease bearer, although I believe that in time we could eliminate-"

  "Why would you want to eliminate that?" Perriweather said.

  "What? Its disease-bearing properties?" Perriweather nodded.

  "Why . . ." The scientist shook his head. "Perhaps we are not communicating, Mr. Ferriweather. Flies do bear disease."

  "Of course. If they didn't, there would be even more humans on earth today than we've already got."

  "I ... er, I guess I see your point," Morley said. "I think. But still, Musca morleyalis is still a disease bearer and therefore dangerous."

  "Musca morteyalis?" Perriweather asked. His face was expressionless.

  Morley flushed. "Well, generally, discoveries such as these are attributed to the scientist who . . ."

  Perriweather's face still showed no expression as he said, "Try Musca Perriweatheralis." Finally his face broke into a small smile.

  The scientist cleared his throat. "Very well," he said softly.

  "Why are their wings red?" Perriweather asked.

  "Ah." The scientist flushed. He was more comfortable talking about biology than disputing names with his terrifying employer. "The amino acids developed in this species are, as I said, radically different from the ordinary housefly's. Not only in type, but in location. Apparently, that produced the genetic mutation that gave us the red wings. Naturally, when the experiments continue and we destroy these particular organisms, then we'll start to relocate the-"

  "Destroy? Destroy what?" Perriweather's eyes blazed.

  "Since we have all the paperwork, it really isn't necessary to keep the actual organisms, particularly since their respiratory systems are developed to a point that makes them incompatible with other forms of life."

  "Meaning?"

  "Meaning that these flies are immune to DDT, other pesticides and all poisons," Morley said.

  "That was the point, wasn't it?"

  "That was exactly the point," Perriweather said.

  His eyes sparkled. "All pesticides?"

  "All pesticides currently known. Allow me." He lifted the plastic cube from Perriweather's hands and placed it on the gleaming white lab table. Wearing rubber gloves, he inserted the gauze flycatcher into the box and withdrew one of the flies. Next he opened a small container from which a soft hiss issued. "Pure DDT," Morley said as he lowered the flycatcher into the container and closed the top.

  "What's going to happen?" Perriweather asked anxiously.

  "Absolutely nothing," Morley said. "There's enough pure pesticide in that-"

  "Please don't refer to them as pesticides," Perriweather said.

  "Sorry, there's enough DDT in there to kill a country full of flies. But notice the condition of Musca perriweatheralis." He pulled out the gauze flycatcher and covered the top of the box. Inside the gauze, the red-winged fly buzzed angrily. When he placed it back into the plastic cube, it darted straight for the piece of meat.

  "He's still alive," Perriweather said.

  "And unharmed," Morley added. "It can survive in an atmosphere of pure methane," the scientist said proudly. "Or cyanide. Or any poison you can think of."

  "Then it's invincible."

  "That's why it has to be destroyed," Morley said. "I'm sure you wouldn't want to risk having a creature like this loose in our atmosphere," he said. "As it is, the precautions I've taken with it have been enormous. But the danger grows as the pair breeds. If even one such fly gets out of this lab alive, it could significantly jeopardize the ecological balance of the planet."

  "A fly that can't be poisoned," Perriweather said proudly.

  "As you know, Mr. Perriweather, it is much more than that. There are the other things it does. Its ability to bite, for instance, unlike Musca domestica. And the result of its bites. You know, Mr. Perriweather, when I first came here to work, you promised that one day you would tell me how you had developed those initial mutations."

  "Let's see the demonstration again," Perriweather said. Morley noticed that his employer was breathing hard.

  "Must we?"

  "We must," Perriweather said. His voice was a soft uninflected drone, almost like a buzz, but it chilled Morley more than shouting would have.

  "Very well."

  The scientist went to a far corner of the lab to a terrarium filled with salamanders. He took one out and brought it back to the plastic cube containing the flies.

  "You be careful. I don't want that lizard accidentally eating one of those flies."

  "It won't," Morley said. He covered the salamander's head and held it inside the container with the flies. One of the flies lighted on the salamander's tail for a second, then hopped back onto the lump of rancid meat.

  Morley tossed the salamander into another clear plastic container that already held a large wood frog. The frog was a dozen times larger than the lizard; its body weight must have been one hundred times as great. The frog looked at the salamander and flicked out a lazy tongue.

  Perriweather moved up next to the plastic cube; his face touched it as he watched to see what would happen next.

  The frog flicked out its tongue again and almost instantly its tongue had been severed and was lying on the bottom of the container, still twitching reflexively. The frog's eyes bulged in terror as the salamander attacked it, biting it fiercely, and ripped off large chunks of skin from its body. Then the lizard grabbed and ripped the limbs from the frog. The frog's eyes burst into blobs of jelly. Its clear-colored blood sprayed against the plastic sides of the container. It made a feeble sound; then its resonating cavities were filled with its own bodily fluids. The frog twitched, and then lay immobile on the floor of the cage, as the tiny salamander crawled atop it, still attacking.

  Another two more minutes, the interior of the plastic container was invisible from the outside. The frog's entrails and fluids had covered the sides. Silently Dr. Morley lifted the top of the box and inserted a long hypodermic needle and withdrew it with the dead salamander impaled on the tip.

  "Air injected right into the heart," he said, tossing the reptile into a plastic bag. "Only way I know to kill it."

  He looked at Perriweather. "Now you see why these two must be destroyed?"

  Perriwea
ther looked at the flies for a long time before looking back to the scientist.

  "I'll take care of it," Perriweather said. "For the time being, guard them with your life."

  The room upstairs was dark, as it always was, and hot, and smelled of sweetness and rot. VValdron Perriweather III entered quietly, as he always did, carefully replacing the key in his jacket pocket after unlocking the door. The dust in the room lay in sheets across the ancient velvet furniture with delicate crocheted doilies.

  Perriweather walked softly across the dusty threadbare rug to a high mantel covered with antique silk. On top of the silk was only one object, a tiny jeweled case thickly crusted with gold and precious stones.

  Lovingly he picked up the case and held it for several minutes in the palm of his hand. He stared at it, not speaking, not moving, except for the gentle strokes of his fingers upon its jeweled surface.

  Finally, taking a deep breath, he opened the case. Inside lay the tiny corpse of a fly.

  Perriweather's eyes softened with a film of tears. With a trembling finger, he touched the hairy, still little body.

  "Hello, Mother."

  Chapter 12

  Perriweather was back at the desk in his study when the telephone rang.

  "Mr. Perriweather," Gloria Muswasser said. "We're sorry but the bomb didn't go off."

  When she got off the telephone, she would tell Nathan that Perriweather didn't seem to mind at all. He was cordial. More than cordial.

  "It wasn't our fault either," Gloria said. "The fuckup was due to the paranoid insensitivity of the unenlightened news media and-"

  "No matter, Mrs. Muswasser," Perriweather said. "I have contingency plans."

  "So do we," Gloria said, thinking of the children's ward at the hospital. "Nathan and I just came up with something so fantastic, so big, you're going to really love it."

  "I'm sure I will," Perriweather said. "Why don't you come out to the house and tell me about it?"

  "Really? Really? You're not mad?"

  "Do I seem angry?" Perriweather said.

  "Say, you're really a good sport," Gloria said. "We'll start right up there."

  "I'll be expecting you."

  "Mr. Perriweather, you won't be sorry. The new plan will get rid of all your problems."

  "Yes, it will," Perriweather said.

  "You haven't even heard it yet."

  "I'm sure it will. You and Nathan, I know, will get rid of all my problems," Perriweather said as he hung up.

  Gloria Muswasser said to Nathan, "He's a little on the weird side, but he's okay. He wants us to come up to Massachusetts and tell him about the new plan. He wants us to solve all his problems."

  "Bottom line. Really bottom line," Nathan said with authority.

  Chapter 13

  The Muswassers arrived six hours late. First, they had gotten lost and wound up in Pennsylvania instead of Massachusetts. Then they had seen a theater playing their all-time favorite movie, The China Syndrome, so they stopped to see it for the twenty-seventh time.

  When Perriweather met them at the door of his home, they offered him a flurry of secret handshakes. He politely refused them all so they shook each other's hands.

  Perriweather escorted them into a sparsely furnished room in a far wing of the mansion.

  "Wait till you hear our idea, Wally boy," said Gloria expansively.

  "I'm sure it will be wonderful."

  "We're sorry about the TNT and the atomic bomb. They just didn't work and we feel bad about it," Nathan said.

  "You mustn't feel bad. After all, look at all the chimpanzees you helped destroy by getting that package delivered to Uwenda," Perriweather said sarcastically.

  "Well, not as good as delegates directly," Gloria said. "But at least the chimps killed some of the delegates. That was good."

  "It certainly was," Perriweather said agreeably. "So good that I thought you ought to be rewarded."

  "That's real nice, Wally," Gloria said.

  "Would you two care for a glass of sherry?" Perriweather asked.

  "Got any weed?" Nathan said before his wife elbowed him in the ribs.

  "Sherry'd be fine," Gloria said.

  Perriweather nodded. "Good. I'll be right back. Wait here for me and then I'll show you how you're going to fit into our great new plan of attack." He closed the door to the room behind him as he went out.

  Gloria and Nathan roamed around the room with its two metal chairs and small plastic Parsons table. "Look at this," Nathan said. He picked up a framed object from the table and handed it to Gloria. It was a collection of little human-shaped dolls speared through their torsos with pins, their arms and legs splayed wide like the appendages of insects in a display cage. "He's buggy," Nathan whispered. "Don't tell me."

  "He's into bugs," Gloria said.

  "I thought the Species Liberation Alliance meant animals," Nathan said. "Like puppies and things. Harp seals. Endangered species. Who the hell ever endangered a bug species?"

  "That's because you're narrow-minded," Gloria said. "Bugs are animals. They sure aren't vegetable or mineral. And since Perriweather's been putting up all the money for the SLA, I guess he ought to have a say in what we try to liberate."

  "Yeah, but bugs aren't cute," Nathan said as he put the display case back on the table. "Ever try to snuggle up to a mosquito?"

  "That's your bourgeois unliberated upbringing," Gloria said. "You have to learn to accept bugs as your equals."

  The library door opened a crack and a tiny buzzing creature flew in. The door closed sharply behind it, and Gloria heard a sound like two heavy bolts sliding into place inside the door.

  "What's that?" Nathan said.

  "It's a fly," Gloria said. "It's got red wings."

  "Maybe it's a pet. Maybe it wants to be friends." The fly was circling around Nathan's head. "Go ahead, Nathan. Hold out your hand to it."

  "It wants to crap on my hand," Nathan said.

  "Nathan," Gloria said menacingly.

  "Ah, I never met a fly that wanted to shake hands before," Nathan said.

  "That was in the old days. Our whole way of thinking about our insect friends has to change," Gloria said.

  "All right, all right," Nathan said.

  "Go ahead. Give the fly your hand."

  "What if he bites it?"

  "Stupid. Little flies don't bite."

  "Some of them do," Nathan said.

  "What of it? Maybe he needs the nourishment. You wouldn't want it to starve, would you? For lack of a little blood when you've got so much of it?"

  "I guess not," Nathan said miserably and held out his arm.

  "That's better," Gloria said. "Come on, little fly. We'll call him Red. Come on, Red. Come say hello to Gloria and Daddy Nathan."

  The fly landed in the crook of Nathan's elbow. From outside the door to the room, Waldron Perriweather III heard a shriek, then a growl. And then another shriek as Gloria too was bitten.

  He slid shut yet a third steel bolt in the door, patted the door, and a thin smile creased his face.

  * * *

  Dr. Dexter Morley was frantic when he burst into Perriweather's study.

  "They're gone. Both of them. I just went to the bathroom for a moment and when I came back they were gone."

  "I have the flies," Perriweather said.

  "Oh. Thank heavens. I was so worried. Where are they?"

  "I told you I'd take care of them." Perriweather's eyes were like ice.

  "Yes, sir," Morley said. "But you've got to be really careful with them. The're very dangerous."

  Although the ice-blue eyes were still frozen, Perriweather's lips formed a tight smile. "You've achieved quite a milestone, Doctor," he said.

  Morley fidgeted. Praise seemed not to belong on Perriweather's lips. He nodded because he did not know what else to do.

  "You asked me, Doctor, how I had produced the other changes in that fly. The ability to bite and its effect on creatures that it did bite."

  "Yes. I am really interested
in that."

  "The truth is, Doctor . . ." Perriweather rose to his feet. "I've taken the liberty of inviting a few friends over to help us celebrate. I didn't think you'd mind."

  "Of course not."

  "They're waiting for us. Why don't we walk over there?" Perriweather said. He clapped a big hand on Dr. Morley's shoulder and steered the scientist toward the door. As they walked, he continued talking.

  "Actually, I had another scientist working earlier for me," Perriweather said. "Those two breakthroughs were his. But he could never come up with the big breakthrough. That honor was reserved for you."

  "Thank you. That's very kind. Who was the other scientist?" Morley asked.

  Perriweather paused with Morley outside a door. Quietly he began to slide back the bolts in the door. "Yes, it was a great achievement," Perriweather said. "You've made the new species unkillable and that should put your name in the honor rolls of science for all time. You made only one little mistake."

  "Oh, what was that?"

  "You said the flies should be ready to breed in a few weeks?"

  "Yes."

  "They already have and we've got pretty little maggots already growing on that piece of meat."

  "Oh my God. They've got to be destroyed. If one gets out ... they've got to be destroyed."

  "Wrong again, Dr. Morley. You've got to be destroyed."

  He pulled the door open, pushed the scientist inside, and slammed the door shut, pushing the bolts back in place.

  There were growls, no longer recognizable as the voices of Gloria and Nathan Muswasser. Then there was a scream, a thump and the sickening sound of flesh being torn from bone.

  Perriweather knew the sound. He pressed his ear to the door and reveled in it. As a child, he had once torn the flesh from a cat in the gardener's toolshed. He had found some carpenter's tools, a vise and a clamp, and had used them to dismember the animal. The cat had sounded like that too. And Perriweather had felt the same satisfaction then.

  He'd caught the cat playing with a spiderweb. The cat had trapped the spider and had been playing with it as if it were some kind of toy. He had taught the cat a lesson. And then, when the gardener had caught him with the bloody cat in his hands, he had taught the gardener a lesson too.

  The gardener had tried to untangle the dead cat from the clamps and while he was working and muttering that young Waldron was going to learn the difference between right and wrong, by God, the boy had calmly and silently moved a stool behind the old man, climbed on it, lifted a brick over his head and smashed it into the spotted, white-haired skull. Then he had set fire to the shed and that was the end of the gardener. Along with all his insecticides and poisons.