Deadly Genes td-117

  Deadly Genes

  ( The Destroyer - 117 )

  Warren Murphy

  Richard Sapir

  HOLD THE PICKLE

  Meet the Boss Camelus-Whitus, affectionately known as BBQ to the genetic engineers at Boston Bio, Brainchild of the beautiful but sociopathic Dr. Judith White, this homely, sad-eyed creature is a bio-masterpiece of gene splicing, and billed as the world's most promising new food source.

  A bungled kidnapping of the BBQ by animal rights activists results in the unfortunate discovery that these slow, silly-looking creatures might actually be bloodthirsty killers.

  Vicious man-eaters or docile darlings? Chiun wants one for a pet and Remo's getting real bad vibes about the sinister secrets behind the whole BBQ thing, especially he's been selected as the prime stud material in a madwoman's brilliant plot to send the human race out to lunch...permanently.

  Destroyer 117: Deadly Genes

  By Warren Murphy and Richard Sapir

  Chapter 1

  They held a press conference to introduce it to the world.

  It was smaller than the crowd expected, tipping the scales at just over 120 pounds. It was compact, but not in a menacing way. Its designers hadn't been worried about style; they were more concerned with practicality. And of its practicality, all were certain. Their success offered hope, so they said, of feeding all who were hungry in the world. There was only one real question that vexed the assembled press corps.

  "Can we pet it?"

  Dr. Judith White of BostonBio, Incorporated, smiled. "Of course you can. She's quite docile."

  "She?" the Boston television reporter asked.

  Dr. White nodded. "This one is female. We have four more like her and three males. Enough for a limited, controlled-breeding population."

  The reporter worked for one of the three major Boston stations as the entertainment and human-interest correspondent, which meant that-unlike an anchorwoman-she could afford the extra forty pounds that cushioned her midriff and backside. The added weight had the effect of making her appear both nonthreatening to viewers when she was reviewing movies and hysterically funny any time she went white-water rafting or tried to saddle a horse.

  The entertainment correspondent reached out and touched the creature on its broad nose. It blinked. She jumped back, startled.

  "It's perfectly harmless," Dr. White assured her. For the brilliant Judith White-the star of BostonBio's genetic-engineering department-affability was a supreme effort. She did not suffer fools gladly.

  With the blessing of the higher-ups at BostonBio, Dr. White had called the local TV stations and newspapers in order to introduce what she called a "significant scientific achievement" to the world. She was surprised that of the few TV reporters who showed up to cover the great unveiling at BostonBio, all were human-interest correspondents. The greatest breakthrough in the history of science was being given the same treatment as a boat show or Star Trek convention. The only way it could have been worse was if the stations had sent the Boston weathermen, a collection of freaks so bizarre P. T. Barnum would have balked at exhibiting them.

  "Oh, my. It has the saddest eyes I've ever seen," the female reporter said over her shoulder, smiling into her station's camera. She stroked the creature's nose.

  "Yes," Dr. White agreed, without emotion. "Remember that its eyes are really irrelevant. Bos camelus-whitus is a laboratory specimen. It is no more a real living thing than any other human creation."

  "Bos what?" asked the reporter.

  "Camelus-whitus. That's its name."

  The animal was in a low, straw-filled pen. Its head jutted out through a wide space in the metal bars. "Someone around here called it a BBQ earlier." The reporter pointed over her shoulder to where a group of white-coated technicians stood.

  The name made Dr. White stiffen. She wanted to glare at the men in the lab coats but kept her anger in check.

  "An earlier incarnation of the animal was part horse," she admitted through clenched teeth. "That would make it a member of the Equus genus. BostonBio Equus. BBQ. I never much liked that appellation, however. Particularly since it has no relation to the animal standing before you."

  The creature let out a low, mournful moan. The reporter moved her hand away in surprise. Hesitantly, she returned to stroking the animal's nose.

  "It sounds like it's alive to me." The reporter smiled.

  Dr. Judith White closed her eyes. Her patience was wearing thin.

  "What you are touching is technically referred to as a transgenic nonhuman eukaryotic animal. Yes, it is alive. But it has been brought to life by artificial means."

  She went on to discuss the method by which BostonBio had isolated the DNA strands specific to certain traits in particular animals and piggybacked them on a simple bacteria. This bacteria-which, like all bacteria, furnished the raw material and chemical machinery for its own reproduction-was injected into the fertilized egg of an ordinary dairy cow. The result was a creature that was a combination of several animals.

  The reporters paid no attention to the technical lecture being given them by Dr. White. They were all too busy lining up to take turns petting the animal, which regarded each of them with the same dreary pair of wide brown eyes. Occasionally, it would let out another doleful groan. Those television reporters who were petting the creature at these moments nearly squealed in delight, thinking how it would look on the evening's newscast.

  One of the reporters turned to Dr. White. It was the same woman who had first touched the Bos camelus-whitus.

  "It's adorable," she gushed. "Are you going to market them as pets?"

  "I can't believe this." Dr. White exhaled, finally showing her exasperation. "I was careful to breed anything that could remotely be considered 'cute' out of them. The last thing I wanted was for people to think of these things as anything other than food"

  The reporter looked at the animal.

  It stood about three feet high on short, stumpy legs. The body appeared too long for a creature so low. It looked almost like a huge basset hound. It had a mild hump, somewhat like that of a camel. The coloring was that of a cow-white with patches of black. But the black seemed washed out, as if the animal had stood too long in the sun. Unlikely, for according to Dr. White this creature had never seen the outside of the BostonBio laboratory. The wide head was a cross between cow, camel and something else vaguely sinister.

  "It's so ugly it's cute." The reporter grinned.

  "It is not cute, you fat imbecile!" Dr. White snapped, finally unable to contain herself. "It is lunch."

  The vapid smile faded like burned-off mist. The reporter's change in attitude sent ripples through the crowd. At her cue, the others began consulting their notes.

  "BostonBio has had its problems with its genetic research in the past," the female reporter announced brusquely. "How do you respond to the allegations that your little experiment represents a danger to the human race?"

  "Does it look dangerous to you?" Dr. White asked, exasperation showing in her flushed cheeks.

  "My feelings are irrelevant. Please answer the question."

  Dr. White sighed. Taking a deep breath, she began, "There have been precedents established on how to conduct this sort of research. I assure you that everything is perfectly safe. The literature I've passed out to you shows the applications of similar technology. For instance, more than a decade ago, the Supreme Court of the United States permitted the U.S. Patent and Trademark Office to grant a patent to a nonnatural, man-made microorganism that eats oil. This bacterium is not unlike the kind we used to create the Bos camelus-whitus. And I am sure you all know of the famous patented lab mouse that is being used in cancer research."

  "That do
esn't answer my question," said the reporter, who was never this zealous when her station was cramming her puffy white body into a bathing suit for its annual winter "getaway to the Bahamas" segments. Dr. White's outburst had turned her briefly into a real reporter. "Does this have any connection to BostonBio's troubles of two decades ago?"

  Dr. White's mouth thinned. This was not the way she had wanted this press conference to go. "I know what you're talking about, and that was another corporate entity of BostonBio. No one even remembers what happened back then. We are talking about research that can save the human race, not harm it, and I am frankly more than a little annoyed that you would dredge up something from the past which could tarnish what we've achieved here. Now."

  She pointed past the gathered press to the Bos camelus-whitus. "That animal can go for long periods of time without water. We can thank the camel for that. Thanks to the cow, there is enough milk and meat to feed many. And we can be grateful to the snake for its slow digestive process."

  Some of the reporters recoiled, thinking that they might have been touching a relative of the snake. "Yes, the snake," Dr. White repeated, relishing perhaps a bit too much their discomfort. "It can go for as long without food as it can without water. And we can thank above all else the brilliant minds here at BostonBio for bringing everything together in that one, dumpy, pathetic, world-saving animal."

  She gestured grandly to the BBQ. As if in response, the animal burped loudly. Eyes hooded morosely, it began languidly chewing its cud.

  "One of those brilliant minds being yours, no doubt," the female reporter snipped sarcastically.

  "Yes, actually," Dr. White admitted. "This is my project. From start to finish."

  The reporter smiled tautly. "Would it cripple your genius ego to learn that this is a nonstory?"

  Dr. White seemed stunned. "What?" she demanded.

  "Well, this is Boston after all," the reporter replied with confident pride. "We're pretty used to scientific breakthroughs around here. Maybe if you could slap a saddle on that thing and take some kids for BBQ rides around Boston Common, maybe then it'd get on the news. You know, human interest and all. As it is it's all kind of ho-hum."

  "Ho-hum?" Dr. White asked, stunned.

  "Sorry," the reporter said with a superior smirk. Turning, she began looping the cord from her microphone around her long slender hand.

  "You stupid, stupid bitch," Dr. White muttered, head bowed. She said it so softly few people heard the words.

  "What?" asked the reporter blandly. She was handing her mike off to her segment producer.

  "You stupid, fat, empty-headed, gluttonous cow!"

  She moved so quickly no one could stop her. In an instant, Dr. White had sprung across the brief space separating her from the reporter. The gathered press blinked at the image. It was as if she had gone from one spot to the next instantaneously.

  One strong hand grabbed the reporter by the throat. The other hand swung around and cuffed the reporter in the side of her softly bleached head.

  "Stupid, fat cow!" Dr. Judith White growled. The reporter blinked in uncomprehending pain. A glimmer of fear registered in the back of her eyes as she watched Dr. White bring her hand back once more. The scientist's teeth were bared maniacally. More hands suddenly reached around, grabbing Dr. White, holding her arms, preventing her from striking out again. Men in white lab coats tried to drag her away from the female reporter. Struggling in a blind rage, she seemed to hold them off for a moment. All at once, the fight seemed to drain from her, and she allowed herself to be pulled backward.

  The reporter staggered back, as well. She fell into the concerned arms of her segment producer. "You-you're insane!" she stammered, panting. She felt the side of her head where the blow had registered. Her fingers came back smeared red. A trickle of blood seeped from her thin blond hairdo. It rolled down one overly made-up cheek.

  "I'm bleeding!" the reporter shrieked. She wheeled on Dr. White. "You crazy animal, you mauled me!"

  Dr. White was amid a protective gaggle of her subordinates at BostonBio. Some had released their grip on her; others still held her arms. She took several deep, steadying breaths.

  "I'm fine," she assured her lab team. Hesitantly, the last few men let go of her arms.

  "You are not fine!" the reporter screamed. "You're a psycho! This is unbelievable!" Her cameraman had found a clean handkerchief. She pressed it to the wound above her left ear.

  Dr. White closed her eyes, patient once more. "This is all an unfortunate misunderstanding," she said slowly.

  "What, you didn't just attack me?" the reporter screeched. She waved the bloody handkerchief at the rest of the gathered reporters. "You're all witnesses! I'm suing this whack job's psycho ass! I'm suing BostonBio! I'm going to own you, lady!" she yelled at Judith White.

  Flinging the handkerchief at the feet of Dr. White, the reporter spun on her heel. She shoved her way past her producer and her cameraman, storming out into the hallway. She was followed by the rest of the Boston press corps.

  Dr. White was left alone with her staff. No one said a word for a long time. The men remained around her, seeming to not want to disturb a single molecule in the room lest they stoke the ire of their famously volatile boss. At long last, it was Judith White herself who broke the silence.

  "Well, that could have gone better," she commented softly. She pushed through the group of men, walking across the lab to her private office. She closed the door so gently it made the rest of the scientific team jump.

  TEN HOURS LATER, Judith White quietly shut off the small television that rested on a shelf in her laboratory office. She tossed the remote control to her desktop, where it landed with a loud plastic clatter.

  They'd ripped her to shreds. One of the stations had even gotten the assault on video.

  She had not yet heard from her superiors at BostonBio, but it went without saying that they would not endorse her conduct. This was supposed to be the company's shining moment, and her temper had completely overshadowed the great press announcement. It was now unlikely that the networks would pick up the story. And even if they did, the story would feature a sensationalized look at Dr. Judith White herself and not her magnificent Bos camelus-whitus.

  "Stupid, stupid, stupid," Judith muttered. The lab beyond was dark and empty. No one heard her words of self-recrimination.

  Judith reached to her waist. She found a set of keys on a retractable cord. Pulling one free of the rest, she inserted it into the lock of a side desk drawer.

  "Stupid, stupid, stupid," she repeated as she pulled the drawer open. She let the keys jangle back up to her waist. They sounded like clattering dog tags.

  Reaching into the drawer, she pulled out a black plastic box with both hands, resting it reverently on her desk blotter.

  She lifted the lid, revealing a soft foam interior. It was a drab gray and fashioned in the uneven eggcarton design. A series of vials rested in the box.

  Judith removed one of the vials. It had a waxy corking substance in one end. The brown-tinged liquid in the vial appeared to be gelatinous.

  With her free hand, she found a plastic bag containing an ordinary syringe inside the same drawer the box had been stored in. Tearing open the plastic with her teeth, she thrust the business end of the needle through the cork on the vial. She drew the viscous substance into the syringe.

  Redepositing the half-empty vial inside the case, Judith rolled up the sleeve of her lab coat. She found a nice, fat blue vein at the crook of her arm and without a second's hesitation thrust the needle into it.

  She depressed the stopper and watched carefully as every last drop of the gelatin substance disappeared from the clear syringe.

  Quickly, Dr. White pulled the needle loose, dropping it inside the case. She flipped the lid closed and sat back in her chair, waiting for blissful nirvana.

  The rush hit more quickly this time than last. She shivered from the sudden cold. Her arms drew up tightly beside her body in spastic reaction. Everyth
ing-her eyes, her hair, her toenails--everything trembled wildly as the frigid sensation passed through her system like a melting glacier.

  She could feel it. Could feel the raw sensation of fresh, surging power. The special treatments she had been giving herself made her feel invincible.

  Judith White knew that she was almost there. She had more than touched the plain; she had crossed it. It was only a matter of stabilizing what she now felt. And she knew that moment was almost here.

  She never wanted to come down. A crash.

  Sudden. Shocking.

  Not from the euphoria she now felt. The noise was real. Out beyond the lab.

  Someone complaining. Softly. The sound of rapid footsteps on shattered glass.

  "Not now," Judith murmured to herself. She wasn't ready.

  More voices. Hushed, nervous.

  She got to her feet. She had to steady herself against her desk as she made her way around to the other side. It was a challenge to stay upright as she staggered across the space between desk and door.

  Her head was reeling. The voices seemed far away.

  No. Close up.

  She pulled open the door.

  There was a narrow room off the rear of the main laboratory. It was supposed to be an extrawide corridor and storage area, and connected to another laboratory. Dr. White's team had redesigned the long chamber to house the BBQs. In her hallucinatory haze, Judith could see a faint amber strip of light coming from beneath the closed door to this room. "Quiet, " a hushed voice insisted.

  "There's no one here," another rasped.

  "Just be quiet, anyway," ordered the first. "Here, start with the ones nearest the door."

  Dr. White heard the distinct, dejected lowing of the BBQs.

  Not now, she thought. I'm not ready for this. Holding on to metal lab stools and desks, she made her way across the laboratory to the closed door. The single BBQ that had been brought into the lab for the press was still in its pen. The animal blinked at Dr. White as the scientist passed by, crawling hand over hand along the small fence that held the sad-eyed creature in place.