And I was about to go to an island in the middle of what I considered hostile territory for an indefinite amount of time, because Jaxx asked for me. And because if I did it meant six months here to research my little heart out.
I really needed to sit down and have a talk with my priorities.
Chapter Two
A thin, gangly woman preceded me as we stepped out of the chopper and into a windswept landscape. The thumping rotor wash of the chopper sounded deafening as I made my way out and away from the helicopter. We spent so many hours cooped up in that ridiculous contraption that my cramped muscles screamed in agony once we climbed out onto the unforgiving concrete. Miss Call-Me-Lily Preston spent a good two hours going over the non-disclosure agreement and promissory paperwork with me before attempting small talk. The problem with small talk is when I asked questions, she refused to answer them. It got boring real quick, and so I slept.
The classified island near the coast of “Need-To-Know-Basis” spanned enough miles from one edge to the next that I felt comfortable a high tide wouldn’t drown us. Lush foliage created thick barriers, making the landscape indiscernible from above. Now on the ground, I saw that the center of the island boasted several large buildings, one with a dome-shaped wired top. It reminded me of an aviary. A really, really big aviary. This too, remained classified, and I longed for conversation with someone who held a larger vocabulary than Miss Preston seemed to.
I glanced at my watch, but without knowing our location, I couldn’t gauge an accurate time. In Africa, it was almost ten in the morning. Here, the rising sun peeked over the horizon, causing the thick tree line to cast long, foreboding shadows across the compound. A couple of times, during the chopper’s course, we’d stopped at fueling stations on large ships, and I seriously wished I could Google time zones right this second to get a rough idea where we landed.
Fuck my life. What was I even doing here? I detested CGC and everything they stood for. Carborton Genetics Corporation willfully created, warped, and played with every facet of life known to man. At first, they stormed the world with modified seeds that grew with astonishing rates in any environment. After putting such a dent in the world’s starvation problem, they won the hearts and support of the world. Then they did what most companies do. They used their free pass for good citizenship to do whatever the hell they desired.
A man strode out of the nearest building, dressed in a casual pair of blue jeans and a t-shirt. I racked my brain trying to place the familiar face. When he spoke, a thick European accent colored his words.
“Welcome to CGC, Doctor Poole. Please come with me so we can get you settled and fill you in. Miss Preston, good to see you again. There’s fresh coffee in the mess hall, should you please.”
She arched an eyebrow at him. “Shouldn’t I be present during the initial disclosure to be sure—”
He waved her off mid-sentence. “That won’t be necessary. Doctor Poole has full clearance on the Ged Project, according to Carborton himself.” He said the foreign word with a hard G sound. Geds.
Miss Preston sniffed, and an air of indignation surrounded her as she eyed me. “Well, how fortunate. I’m sure the prevailing safety supervisor had a hand in that.”
“That she did,” he confirmed.
I watched the exchange silently, gathering information from the interaction. I couldn’t help it. Analyzing social behavior came as second nature, and the tension between these two seemed thick enough to cut with a knife. Clearly, Miss Preston thought it unwise to allow me access to whatever information I’d been granted, and the man before us didn’t give two shits about her concern.
“Phillip Evans,” I blurted out as my brain suddenly connected him with the PR agent I’d seen on TV a thousand times who served as CGC’s national spokesperson.
They turned to survey me at my sudden outburst.
“At your service. Shall we get inside and away from the racket of the chopper?” He held out an arm, indicating the door he appeared from.
Miss Preston turned away from us and started toward a different building. Judging by the conversation, I gathered it contained the mess hall. Possibly sleeping quarters as well.
I watched her take a few steps before following Phillip. The back of my neck prickled in the way it often does when a predator has me in its sights, and I chanced a glance over my shoulder. A large form, almost imperceptible from the shadows cast by the nearby trees, lurked within the building that reminded me of an aviary. If I didn’t spend so much of my life picking out creatures from the shadows, I might have missed it. But I could make out the darker parts of darkness—the subtle movements of an animal that watched without fearing being spotted. And nothing about this creature reminded me of a bird.
Even if the Ged Project Mr. Evans mentioned didn’t include what lurked in that enclosure, a burning curiosity within me insisted I find out. Oh, I planned to. It wouldn’t be the first time I traversed off-limit grounds to satisfy my inquisitive nature. I just planned to be sure the bars remained between whatever that thing was and myself. Better safe than sorry and all that.
I hurried across the way to enter the building along with my escort. Once the door closed behind us, the irritating mechanical sounds of the helicopter abated, and I let out a sigh of relief.
“Why didn’t they just turn it off?” I asked Phillip as I gestured toward outside.
He glanced at the door before shaking his head. “The chopper? He’s not staying.”
“How do you shuttle people and supplies on and off this island?” I asked, mind buzzing as I tried to click pieces of this operation together.
We continued down a short hallway as we spoke, and Mr. Evans stopped in front of an ordinary-looking gray door before he responded. “Most live here. Anyone who travels off site either leaves on the weekly supply ship, or in cases where we need quick transport, is flown in or out the way you arrived.”
“What are the procedures for inclement weather?”
He shot me a grin before opening a door to reveal a room filled with various people. Some in lab coats, some in worker’s coveralls, some in jeans and shirts like himself. “You’re about to find out. We’re having a meeting with the department heads and maintenance team now.”
We entered the room, and he gestured at an empty seat. I scanned the small crowd for Jasmyne, but none of the twenty-some-odd people appeared to be her. Of course, if she entered this room, I’d know. Jasmyne Jaxx stood out. With a sigh, I flopped in my chair like an angsty teen on the first day of school and tried to ignore the ache in my ass cheeks.
“Hello, everyone. I’d introduce myself, but I think we all know who I am by now.”
A few chuckles filtered through the room at Mr. Evans’ start.
“In a moment, I’ll introduce the consultant I brought in with me. For now, I have an announcement. A tropical storm formed not far from our location. I need safety protocols for inclement weather put in place, just as we practiced. Unless the storm becomes upgraded to a mid-level hurricane—and I very much doubt it will in the time it will take to hit us—we will proceed as normal. Any questions?” He glanced around the room expectantly.
I debated raising my hand. The need to express my sarcastic sentiments burned with a physical ache in my chest and throat. I did not want my new—albeit temporary—colleagues to know me as the woman who asked, “Wasn’t there a movie that started with this scenario, and everyone became dino food?” They would never take me seriously. But it did beg the question: what kind of safety protocols did they perform that made this safe?
“What about the flooding in the enclosure?” someone finally asked.
Phillip nodded at the question. “I want maintenance to keep an eye out for that. If they feel there is a flood risk, we’ll move the geds to their internal cells.”
He used the same word as the project I’d been brought here for. Hearing him refer to what sounded like living creatures caused a zing of excitement. I wished for the meeting to be over so I cou
ld drill him on why I’d received a call to come.
“Any other questions?”
A few feet shuffled, but no one spoke. A glance at the faces around me showed little to no concern over the situation. No one seemed alarmed at moving said geds, nor the potential storm.
“Very well. Doctor Poole, if you would please join me.” He beckoned me, and I fought the urge to slouch further in my chair.
I hated being the center of attention. Give me the wilderness surrounded by animals any day. I never longed to be at a podium, lecturing others as I received recognition for my discoveries. Yet, the social gaffe of staying put spurred me to stand and walk over to him.
“May I have the pleasure of introducing Doctor Poole? She is a leading authority on canine behavioral science, and we brought her here as a consultant for the Ged Project. It’s Mister Carborton’s hopes that she can provide some insight into their behavior, as well as advise us on our interactions with them.”
Faces stared at me. Bored, intelligent faces of people who couldn’t give two shits about my contributions to this project. They either didn’t care about my inclusion, or they didn’t feel it necessary. But Jaxx had, and I trusted her instincts on bringing me here. So, apparently, had Mr. Carborton.
“As I fill her in on what we’re doing here, we may be stopping in at various places to answer her questions or garner information at her discretion. I know you will all welcome her and aid her to the best of your abilities.” With a clap of his hands, he said, “All right, folks. Let’s get those storm protocols in place. Contact me as you need.”
Within moments, people began filtering out, voices murmuring as they discussed things. I caught snippets of men in overalls talking about generator prepping. A pair of women in lab coats fretted over whether to set up cots in their labs to avoid traveling between buildings. The tone overall appeared one of focused dedication to their tasks, and of little to no concern.
But then, why had Mr. Carborton said my presence came with the need to handle an issue? Generally, if a facility faced an issue, the staff talked about it. Or concern etched their faces. Something about their language should clue me in on the severity of the situation. Here, things seemed to be…normal.
That, in itself, concerned me.
Either something happened that remained hidden from the majority of the staff, or Jaxx saw the potential for something to happen that alarmed her, and she’d convinced Mr. Carborton to listen. Regardless, an uneasy feeling swirled in the pit of my stomach. I felt like the mouse who walked into the lion’s den.
And I didn’t like it one bit.
Chapter Three
We entered a conference room, and Phillip turned to a coffee maker tucked in the corner. “Coffee?”
“Umm, probably not. I’m a huge fan of creamer.”
He shot me a grin before opening a minifridge tucked under the small table where the coffee maker rested. “What’s your poison? We keep all kinds stocked.”
Surprised, I joined him to take a peek at the options. Everything from peppermint to white chocolate to hazelnut and vanilla sat in the fridge. I pulled one out, popped the cap, and inhaled it.
“Holy shit, it’s been so long.”
Mr. Evans chuckled as he prepped the coffee maker then started it. “Been away from civilization for a few months, I hear.”
I arched an eyebrow at him. “Says the man on a classified island in the middle of classified.”
A short bark of laughter escaped him at my words. “Jaxx said you were intelligent. She never mentioned your other finer points.”
“Does that sidestep mean you aren’t going to fill me in on where we are?” I asked, placing the creamer down next to a stack of boring, white porcelain mugs.
“Indeed. That’s…classified. I am, however, allowed to give you any information you need pertinent to the Ged Project.” He pulled two mugs off the rack and placed them right-side-up, ready to be filled with the wonderful smell invading my senses. “You understand, I’m sure.”
“Okay. How does the head of PR for CGC get stuck as the supervisor for this little endeavor? Aren’t you needed on the forefront, kissing babies and making nice with investors?”
His eyes lit up and a very real, full laugh resounded through the quiet room. “I am going to enjoy working with you. It’s refreshing to find someone who can talk without throwing out bullshit every two sentences.” Once he settled, he poured our coffee before indicating the conference table that filled the majority of the room. “To answer your question—because I’m good with people. I’m good at reading people. Let’s say, what you do for canines, I do for humans. It’s what makes me excel at PR.”
“Hmmm.” I tapped my chin. “There’s so much left unsaid in that eloquent statement you just gave me. For example, why do they need someone that can read people that well assigned to a project like this?”
“And here I thought you’d rather know why someone like you was asked to put their two cents in on a project like this.”
I grinned and added the creamer to my coffee before replacing the jug in the fridge. As I sat, the soft, cushy chair embraced me like an old friend. I relaxed into the chair, pleased to be in the company of someone who spoke as plainly as I.
“Fair. What does Ged stand for in relation to the project you keep mentioning?”
“Genetically Enhanced Dogs. We know canines is the better term, but it just doesn’t have the same ring to it. Sounds corny, like we’re dealing with geckos or something. I also know it should be pronounced Jed, with a J, but we kept it a G to be accurate to the true acronym.”
I mulled over his statement for a moment. My mind considered all the possible ways humans thought they could and would enhance dogs. Even then, while using the term dog, it didn’t necessarily mean we were dealing with domestic breeds. He could be referring to dingos, wolves, hell, even foxes. Either way, it didn’t bode well and left a sour taste in my mouth.
“How, exactly, are they enhanced?” I kept my tone neutral so he wouldn’t hear the disdain I felt.
“That’s—”
“Don’t you dare say classified. A good portion of canine behavior relies on the baseline of CGC’s meddling.” I placed my palm on the table as I leaned forward, glaring at him, daring him to withhold anything this simplistic. If he wouldn’t even give me what they’d done, then I couldn’t help them. Informational cockblocking killed people all the time.
He sat back, eyes narrowed, and I could see the wheels turning in his head. At long last, he finally saw my PhD and not just a line on my mental resume he’d compiled that said, Plays well with dogs.
“There are three different dogs, each with enhanced senses. We’re hoping to open a whole new world for the disabled with a specially designed assistance dog. Born and bred right here on these premises.” Phillip flashed a smile that I knew won him a million contracts over the years.
“Created, more like. What are the base species?” I asked.
A careful shrug of his shoulders meant to put me at ease set off alarm bells instead. “Oh, just your basic domestic dog. Nothing fancy. We certainly aren’t doling out enhancements to wolves if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“Nope, just one of the most adaptable canines on Earth. What breed are you using?” For the first time in my life, I prayed for goofy, silky, loyal golden retrievers. Intelligence mixed with an eager-to-please attitude. That couldn’t be too monstrous, right?
“We used a good old basic mutt.” He sipped his coffee. “Less worry for setting a stereotype. Don’t want people thinking every dog of a specific breed is our making. Bad for business. Bad for PR.”
I let out a heavy sigh. “There’s ups and downs to your choices. The good news is most crossbreeds don’t end up with a lot of the genetic issues their parents could develop. Hip dysplasia, for one. The bad news—that means the genetics are less predictable.”
“Don’t worry about that. Our lead geneticists have that part handled wonderfully. What I need
is someone who can explain what makes them tick. When young, they approached their handlers like any puppy. Playful, eager, friendly. But we’re hitting the one-year mark and they’re…not as willing to obey as they once were. We’re not sure how to handle them. Do we discipline? Do we allow for their intelligence to create situations invaluable as learning experiences or perform a study that might put people at risk? I’m in need of someone who can give advice.” Before I could respond, he added, “Without letting their bias of our company cloud their thoughts.”
When I said nothing, he nodded. “I’m aware you carry a certain prejudice toward what we do here. The idea of toying with nature, shaping it to our standards, doesn’t sit well with you. That’s fine. I respect your stance, as does Carborton. But if it makes you unable to help us, well, that’s unfortunate. Because the geds are already here. They are living, breathing creatures in need of an interpreter, as it were, and I would appreciate it if you could be their voice.”
His words hit that hidden, compassionate part of me I kept carefully tucked away. Few people knew that snarky, reclusive Dr. Poole actually harbored a very soft spot for animals in need. I became a zoologist to help the ones that few humans advocated for anymore. Hundreds of organizations invaded our living rooms to lecture people on the atrocities of animal abuse and neglect through our TVs. Over the years, though, the protests for wildlife faded from a roar to a whisper until it seemed no one cared beyond justifying overpriced merchandise at their local zoo.
I folded my hands in my lap and met his gaze. “I can provide that, but only if I’m given complete honesty to any questions I ask. I assure you that, though the questions might make no sense to you, they do fit into the puzzle that helps me help you.”
Silence ticked by as he seemed to mull over my words. Finally, he nodded. “Understandable. I do very much admire your work and wish to see a successful partnership in this project. Ask, and I’ll be an open book.”
Feral Page 2
