The Cygnus Virus

by Terry Zakreski

  Juliette looks at him. Into his eyes. He feels the scarf around his neck that isn’t there. Only it feels like a noose.

  “I’m fine.”

  Me too, Joe sits down.

  Thomas clears his throat and tugs his tie looser.

  “Well, good. Then I guess we can-uh get down to it. I sent you consent forms and-uh Technology User Agreement that we talked about so we can-uh allow the implantation to take place as soon as possible. Have you had time to-uh read them?”

  Thomas pushes the forms across the meeting table. Joe picks one up and appears to study it.

  “Yes, we read them. So this will be our child to raise, we’ll be its, his, legal guardians and parents?”

  “Of course. Absolutely. The form makes that-uh clear. There’s only an obligation on you to keep your appointments for your-uh son to monitor, to make sure he stays-uh healthy.”

  “That’s what we really wanted to talk to you about, Mr. O’Brian.”

  “Please, call me Thomas.”

  “Okay, Thomas. Well, my doctor and I had a long talk about this this morning on the telephone and she thinks it’s a bad idea. She doesn’t think it would be safe for me.”

  Joe pauses reading to look at Thomas, too.

  “I see. Who is-uh your doctor? I mean is she a geneticist or-uh obstetrician?”

  “No she’s my family doctor, Dr. Evan. She’s known us for years and always knows what she’s talking about. Anyway, she said that there have been no published human trials for this sort of implantation and that there are huge risks of the baby getting some kind of genetic-based disease. I know what Dr. Frick and Dr. Van de Whey said, but I am still worried.”

  “I think that it’s important that you-uh talk about this to all the important people in your life. But our geneticists and obstetricians who have-uh reviewed everything have signed off on its safety. There are-uh risks, and that’s why the forms we’ve-uh prepared warn of them, but there are certain, certain-uh benefits too that are worth considering along with the-uh risks.”

  “I know. We’re really excited about having a baby.”

  This wasn’t the benefit Thomas was thinking of.

  “I guess Thomas, what we really want to know is whether you think this is a good idea?”

  She looks at him with her big brown eyes.

  “I mean is this a good thing for us?”

  “Well I think anyone who has had children would-uh answer that children can be a handful and cause a great deal of-uh change. As a parent myself, I can-uh attest to that.”

  He pauses to look at the photographs of his sons on his desk, as do Juliette and Joe.

  “But the way they change your life is-uh rather unexpected. At least it was for me. While they share your genetics and-uh resemble you, have some of your-uh characteristics, it is amazing that they are instead separate individuals that come up with things you have-uh no idea where they got them from. So you go at it with these-uh big plans on how you are going to teach them, about everything, and they-uh end up teaching you.”

  Juliette smiles.

  “I know, however, that you weren’t-uh looking for my advice about parenting, you want to know if this is safe and that you-uh will be carrying a child sharing none of your genetics. From what I know of you both, you are-uh up to the challenge and will give that child what it needs nonetheless.

  “I guess what I am saying is-uh that having children is always a risk. There is always a risk of the most-uh dreadful things happening but it usually works itself out and life proves its-uh resilience time and time again. I can’t say anything more that, after all the-uh science and medical equipment, it still is a miracle and in this case, perhaps the-uh greatest of them all.”

  ~ A Change of Heart ~

  Thomas is starring at fully signed documents. Implantation will take place within months. Victory is at hand, only it didn’t feel like it.

  Juliette’s eyes are burning in him. The marks from the scarf are strangling him. He sees the tortured serene face of Yeshua on the Cloth. He thinks of his sins, and sobs. He runs his fingers through his hair. His scalp burns with sin.

  Thomas knows that Juliette’s doctor is right. This is far too dangerous. Experts concluded that there wouldn’t be a viable embryo to implant. Even if some genetic freak of an embryo could survive long enough to be implanted, the mother would spontaneously abort it.

  They weren’t told about Christian’s advanced CRISPR techniques. Those techniques would put them on par with cloning a fresh human embryo.

  Still, there’s a reason why human cloning isn’t allowed. The chance of corruption is greatly increased and the poor human clone might be put through a lifetime of suffering. No compassionate human being would put a young couple through this, no matter how lofty the aim or how badly the couple wanted to have a child.

  It was arrogance and pride.

  Arrogance and pride.

  Thomas puts the forms in his desk. The drawer closes with a thunk. He was never able to understand the rush with which Christian was pushing this. True, he has incredible technical expertise in the field of cloning and repairing DNA strands — technical knowhow decades ahead of the times. And enough money to advance their timelines from decades down to months.

  Still, it all seems too rushed. Mankind has waited centuries for this moment — a few more months, even years, would not be unreasonable. The risk to Juliette, a good and honest person, was too great. And what about the child? What life would he have if constantly in the hospital due to genetic diseases?

  And what shame and embarrassment would they bring upon themselves if the experiment failed and instead of bringing about the second coming of Christos, they cruelly created a suffering freak?

  With a clean feeling in his heart, Thomas opens up the speech he was going to give that night and puts it through some major revisions.

  He thinks about Lilith, too. That the wages of sin are death.

  It must end.

  And this time he means it.

  Yeshua, forgive me.

  He’s typing a new speech and feeling better about himself than he has in years.

  Friends of the Cloth, it is difficult for me to speak to you tonight on a night that we all hoped to celebrate, but my conscience commands me. I have labored to find the right words, the right combination of words, in the hope you might see this the way I have come to see it.

  Even so, I must remain firm in my resolve even if it results in my dismissal. I have reviewed everything we have accomplished in this last year of amazing discovery and, though we have made tremendous strides, I feel as though we should take a few more before proceeding. It wounds my pride to think that after all our efforts that we are not quite there.

  Friends, my conscience commands me to say we are too early. I have reviewed the data again and again…

  The telephone rings. It is Christian.

  “Well, this is a rare surprise these days.”

  Indeed, it has become all too rare, my friend.

  “We had a very successful day today.”

  I heard.

  “Good news travels-uh quick, I guess.”

  Bad news even quicker.

  The tone sets Thomas back, it’s not the usual Mr. Calm and Friendly. Thomas hears his own breathing, the hum of his computer, the buzz of lights and the steady click of his wall clock.

  Christian is dead silent. It is as though he was never on the line.

  May I ask what you were working on?

  The words slice out of the void.

  “I, oh, I-um can’t say, really just-uh plotting out some thoughts for my speech tonight, I guess.”

  You’re not going to give that speech tonight, dude, I mean sport, so it’s back to the drawing board for you. The speech you are going to give tonight will be just like the one you gave today, where you are gung-ho behind this. There’s no backing out now.

  “I thought that some further-uh review would help. But, how…I mean, are you watching me or something?”r />
  Just keeping tabs on my investment, Thomas, that’s all. I put a lot of fucking money into this.

  The words make sense, but they come out all wrong. Thomas noticed this before but put it down to a slight foreign accent. Now Christian’s voice sounds automated.

  Say, Thomas, I’d-uhhhhhh I’d-uhhhhhh love to listen to you breathe into the phone all day, but I do have a schedule. I’ll call back in a few minutes. Meanwhile, I sent you something.

  The line goes dead. Thomas’s email alert chimes a new message. Odd, and getting odder, he’d turned off the chime when he worked on his new speech. He wakes up his computer and sees there’s an email from Christian.

  Re: The secret life of Thomas O’Brian.

  It has a mass mailing list.

  Shitfuckshitfuck

  Thomas sees that it has every person he knows, he might casually know, media outlets, and the like. His wife is the first one on the list. There are members of the Board, employees, contractors, government officials and the police.

  The first pictures and videos are of Lilith and him on the couch. He’s grunting like a dog in heat.

  Date and time stamped.

  There are pictures of Thomas with his family earlier, also date and time stamped. Snippets from emails, including sexts and cellphone selfies of his cock.

  There are other videos too, even more base and raw,of him and Lilith together, with her wearing a strap-on.

  There’s tape of Thomas ranting about the incompetence of various members on the Board, key donors and government officials.

  Thomas catches his face in his monitor.

  White.

  A face that wishes it had a gun.

  Christian’s video call comes through.

  “How?”

  His whole body is shaking.

  “How dare you. How dare you. This is-uh highly illegal. If you are going to bring me down with this, I am going to the-uh authorities with whatever I can fucking find against you, including-uh blackmail.”

  Uh uh uh uh…but that’s gonna be a problem, Thomas.

  “You bet it’s going to be a problem, you sick fuck.”

  I’m the sick fuck. Weren’t you-uh the one with a strap-on up his arshnick? Anyway, your problem is not just about finding stuff on me. It’s mainly about finding me.

  “Oh, I am sure you can-uh be found same as anyone.”

  Well then tell me, Thomas. Where am I? What do I look like?

  “I can see you right now. I know exactly what you look like.”

  Do you?

  Christian’s image pixilates and turns into a donkey.

  Say, Thomas, do you want to hear a joke?

  The donkey is speaking.

  Thomas can’t reply. He doesn’t understand what he is seeing.

  Two men walk into a bar. One orders drinks. A beer for me and one for Donkey, and leaves to use the bathroom.

  The bartender asks, so why does your friend call you Donkey?

  …hee-uhh

  …hee-uhh

  always calls me that.

  Cygnus laughs himself back into Christian again.

  Listen, Thomas. I don’t want to ruin your life. By the same token, you probably don’t realize that that little speech you are planning will hurt me. I am only acting in self-defense here.

  “What you’re saying makes-uh no sense. It’s not you being born. It’s just an experiment. A risky experiment where the heavy cost of its failure would-uh be borne by innocent people.”

  You’ll just have to trust me, Thomas, that innocent lives are as equally at risk by what you’re planning.

  “I still. I still. Look I mean you no harm, I just-uh don’t feel right about this and I can’t lend my name to it.”

  Thomas, I think you should have thought what you feel right about before sticking your dick in your secretary. And as for your name…I think you should give that email a once over again sport. Angelica will divorce you and take you for every cent. You can forget about seeing your sons, too. I wouldn’t blame her, either. You’re an asshole.

  Oops-uh.

  He turns back into the donkey.

  Too soon?

  “You can’t do this. Think of my wife, my children, they don’t deserve this. Even-uh Lilith doesn’t deserve this.”

  Are you sure about that, Thomas?

  “What do you mean?”

  Are you sure Lilith doesn’t deserve this?

  “What do you mean?”

  Who do you think helped set up the cameras?

  Thomas’ eyes roll cherries.

  I’m fucked.

  “What do you want?”

  Just a little enthusiasm that’s all. This has worked out well for you. Let’s just keep the party going and I’ll make sure it continues.

  Thomas doesn’t reply. He feels like a shaved rabbit in a dog park.

  “What’s this?”

  Oh, c’mon, Thomas, you don’t recognize your own yard?

  It’s a live video feed of his sons playing in his front yard. The video is from a camera, strapped to the man’s head. The man looks down at his gun and then up at the kids playing. He is stepping out of his car.

  “Oh, my God.

  …what”

  ……stop this.”

  Well, that’s up to you, Thomas. These guys are killers. They don’t give a fuck if it’s kids. As long as the price is right.

  “Stop…please…what do you want?”

  A little enthusiasm maybe.

  “Illdowhateveryouwant. Illdowhateveryouwant. God…please.”

  Now, that’s what I’m talking about, Thomas.

  And if I want the screws put to someone, who’s going to be my right hand man?

  “I am.”

  How tight?

  “However tight you want. However tight you want.”

  That’s better. Now…I want you to screw her again.

  “Wha…?

  “Whyyyy?”

  Because…I want to watch.

  ~ The Reformatted Thomas ~

  Thomas is on top of Lilith on the couch again. Sliding in her.

  She has tears rolling down her cheeks and is looking up at him.

  He wonders.

  Does Christian have something on her, too?

  He twists his face, and drives into her harder.

  Thomas’ speech is one of optimism. He tells the crowd that science would never have advanced if it were not for those brave souls willing to shoulder burdens and risks for the greater good.

  He tells them now is the time to push the hardest, since they are so close to the finish line. That history punishes those who lack the resolve to carry things through. He tells them that whatever calamity awaits them, and all signs are pointing to the opposite, it’ll be far better than any disaster that’ll befall them if they quit now.

  His wife tells him that it’s the best speech he’s ever given.

  She kisses him, with admiration.

  They are going on a trip to the tropics with the kids. On a private jet.

  Thomas is in the hospital administrator’s office in the Bethlehem Hospital in Bathsheba, Maryland.

  He puts a briefcase on the Administrator’s desk, clicks it open. It is full of ten-thousand dollar wraps.

  “We knew you’d-uh come around.”

  Thomas is there with Scott and Geoff. The man’s office is crowded and small. He has pictures of his family and his dog chasing a ball on his credenza. He’s overweight, wearing a white shirt and blue tie. The tie is stained. He has a coffee mug on his desk.

  It has a picture of his dog. It says Dog’s Best Friend.

  “It wasn’t easy getting the approvals through, but everything should be clear now.”

  “Well, that’s just great. My boss will be pleased.”

  The man’s sweaty hands are shaking as he closes the briefcase. He nearly dumps out its contents lifting it off his desk. His face is fat and red. He has a lock of hair falling down his forehead.

  “He said you’d bring a t
humb drive with everything on it?”

  The man’s voice quivers.

  “Yup, that was the-uh deal.”

  Thomas pulls out a red thumb drive.

  “It’s all-uh there.”

  He holds it up in his fingers for the man to see.

  He stands up. Scott and Geoff move forward.

  He grabs the man’s coffee mug and drops the thumb-drive in it, with a clink.

  He unzips his fly, takes out his cock and pisses into the coffee mug. It sounds like coffee pouring. He’s smiling. Scott and Geoff are laughing. The man pushes back his chair into his credenza in horror. The picture of his wife falls over.

  The smell of pee fills the room. The mug is nearly full. Thomas zips himself back up and puts the mug down. It spills some on the man’s desk.

  “You’ll get it when we say you get it…you stupid fat fuck. Now don’t ask-uh again or my boss will really be-uh…pissed.”

  Chapter 29:

  Analog High

  Andron makes New Lancashire in a fog of road signs. Semis on the road. Lights at night. He sees giant towers in the distance. There’s no Terra left. It’s all been paved.

  He leaves his chariot of soccer moms near the airport where the sharks will eat it. He leaves a twenty and the keys for extra bait.

  He has his backpack and he’s walking. It’s digging into his shoulders. He stops now and then and leans over to rest them with his hands on his knees. He’s hardly eaten or slept. Three days without a shower or shave. He has a red plaid jacket, black skull cap, old running shoes, and miles and miles to go.

  He doesn’t have a plan or destination. Find a shelter. There ought to be one, somewhere, in the next dozen or so miles. He has a utility knife in his pocket. He squeezes it in his hand.

  As if that’s going to help.

  He’s lost. He keeps walking to where there are more people. To where the city is waist deep in them.

  He’s punch-drunk with sleep deprivation and physical exhaustion. He asks a few other drifters about a mission and they point him to St. Luke’s.

  He suspects they’re looking for him on TV, but are likely saying that he’s a lawyer on the lam from Kanada, which would hold zero interest in this world, if it got any play at all.