Chimera (53 page)

“And then you created two hundred embryos, which you implanted in the wombs of mentally ill women without their consent,” Chapel pointed out.

“Hmm. Yes. All right, we did,” Taggart admitted, waving his hands in front of him as if he'd like to argue the moral niceties but didn't have time. “We ended up with two hundred perfect little organisms.”

“Babies,” Chapel said.

“Hardly. These weren't like human infants. They could walk within weeks of being born—almost as fast as horses. They had teeth and they could eat solid food after a few months. No, these weren't babies. They were the children of a new race. A new species, almost.”

“You locked them up in a camp in the Catskills. You gave them basic medical care, a little education, and nothing else,” Chapel said. “You raised them like children, but then they started killing each other.” He looked over at Ian. The chimera's face was totally passive, unreadable. “They tore each other to pieces. They were too aggressive. Too violent. So you sealed up the camp and abandoned them.”

“Is that what you think we did?” Taggart asked, looking offended. “You think we made a
mistake
? That we were surprised and horrified that they were dangerous? Please. The world they were created for—the world under nuclear winter—was going to be a harsh and dangerous place. We made them aggressive so they could rule it. So they could own it. That was always part of the plan, Captain. They were always supposed to be that way.”

Chapel's blood went cold. He couldn't believe it.

“You wanted us to kill each other,” Ian said. It was the first time he'd spoken since Taggart began.

“We wanted you to be fighters. And when you fought each other—well.” Taggart made an expansive gesture. “That was just Darwinian selection. The strongest survive. The most fit. We needed you fit.”

“Not everyone agreed with you,” Chapel pointed out. “Dr. Bryant seems to have changed her mind about things. She left you and went on to spend the rest of her life trying to make amends for what she'd done.”

“She lost her detachment, yes,” Taggart agreed. “She started thinking of the chimeras as humans. As children. Well, she was a woman. She was genetically coded for that kind of sentimentality.”

Julia leaped up, her face red with anger. “Dad—” she began, but Chapel gestured for her to wait a moment.

“Not just Dr. Bryant. The CIA didn't like it, either. They decided at some point, maybe when Malcolm ran away, that the project was too dangerous. Especially since there was no more Soviet Union, and no real possibility of nuclear winter. They decided to shut you down. Kill everyone involved to keep it secret. They've spun a cover story, claiming the chimeras are infected with some kind of virus. They're killing anyone who might possibly be infected, even though we've figured out there is no virus.”

Taggart said nothing.

He didn't need to. His face went white. His hands stayed frozen in the air.

“There is no virus,” Chapel repeated.

“Dad,” Julia said. “Dad—answer him! Tell him there's no virus!”

Taggart slowly shook his head. “I can't do that,” he said.

DENALI NATIONAL PARK AND PRESERVE, ALASKA: APRIL 15, T+83:44

“There
is
a virus,” Chapel breathed.

He'd been so sure. He'd been certain it was a ruse. But they'd told him the truth all along. The chimeras were carrying a virus, a man-made pathogen, and they could infect anyone they came in contact with.

Laughing Boy wasn't using it as an excuse. He was cleaning up a very real mess.

Ian leaned forward against the cables that bound him. He looked very interested. On the other side of the room, Julia let out a little whimper.

“There had to be,” Taggart said, softly.

“What do you mean?” Chapel demanded.

“It's . . . it's how it's done. There was no other way. We wrote the code, the one percent of the genome that had to change to create a chimera from human gametes. We assembled the code in a virus. A virus doesn't reproduce on its own. It needs a host. It latches on to a cell and injects its DNA into the cell's nucleus. The cell has no defense against this; it can't tell one strand of DNA from another. So it replicates the viral DNA exactly. Over and over again. The virus we used to create the chimeras was designed to target egg and sperm cells only. It takes over the normal egg, say, and turns it into a chimera egg. When the egg is fertilized, it develops into something like Ian here, not a human embryo. Look, this is all very basic stuff, it's the foundation for gene therapy and—”

“Then skip to the part where the chimeras are still carrying the virus,” Chapel told him.

“Well . . . they have to. To do what they're designed for. The chimera DNA has to be copied exactly, or the much more robust, more proven human DNA will take over. The chimera virus has to spread so that any normal human who reproduces with a chimera will bear a chimera child.”

“Wait—you wanted them to reproduce?”

“Yes, of course,” Taggart said, blinking. “Oh. I see. You thought our insurance policy was supposed to survive on its own. You thought our two hundred male specimens were supposed to be the entire batch, that they would survive when the rest of us died.” He seemed to find the idea amusing. “That wouldn't do us much good, would it? They're all male. They would only last one generation.”

“Wait,” Julia said. It looked like she'd figured this out. “Just wait.”

“In the event of a nuclear war, the chimeras would have been released into the survivor population,” Taggart explained. “They would have mated with female survivors—human female survivors—and produced chimera offspring, which would breed true. We couldn't afford to have their children be human. So the virus remains in their systems. It looks for other hosts, hosts that can allow it to reproduce. It looks for human sperm and egg cells.”

“And it spreads through any bodily fluid contact,” Chapel said.

“Well, yes. It would be nice if it only passed on through sexual contact, that would be more elegant, but—”

“Anyone who gets infected has chimera babies?” Julia demanded. “Anyone? And all their babies are chimeras like him?” She jabbed a finger toward Ian. “Dad—you fucked up. You really fucked up!”

“Julia, sit down and watch your language,” Taggart commanded.

“No. No, I will not,” she said, striding toward him.

Chapel grabbed her arm. “Dr. Taggart. You and your wife, and Ellie Pechowski, all had constant contact with the chimeras at Camp Putnam. How is it you were able to avoid becoming infected? Is there a vaccine against the virus?”

“Not exactly a vaccine,” Taggart said.

“Then—what? A cure? A treatment?”

“You could call it that. I had a vasectomy and Helen had her tubes tied. Ellie was already in menopause when she came to work at the camp.”

A chill ran down Chapel's spine. So that was the nature of the virus. Angel had been told it had a long incubation period and it was hard to detect. She couldn't have known the whole truth. The virus would sit dormant in the body of anyone it infected, lie there waiting for them to have children. Only then would it manifest itself. There would be no symptoms, no warning. Just, one day, a little baby would be born . . . and blink its nictitating membranes. That would be the only way to know you had it.

“Dad, I always knew you were an asshole, but—”

“What are you going on about, Julia? Why are you talking this way?”

“Because I probably have it, Dad. I probably have your fucking virus! Tell me, were you looking forward to having grandchildren? How about grandmonsters instead?”

“What? I . . . what?” Taggart said, his face as white as the snow outside.

DENALI NATIONAL PARK AND PRESERVE, ALASKA: APRIL 15, T+83:44

“Enough,” Chapel said.

They all turned to stare at him.

“This isn't getting us to where we need to be. So there is a virus. That's good to know, but it doesn't change anything. We still need to get you out of here, Dr. Taggart. I have no doubt the CIA is sending men here right now to kill you. They're trying to shut up anyone with knowledge about the chimeras or Camp Putnam or Project Darling Green. They're done trying to pay you off with grant money—the virus, and the escape of the chimeras, has given them the excuse they need to just kill you. Julia and I are in the same boat.”

“So you came here to protect me?” Taggart asked.

“I came here to extract you,” Chapel said. “We need to move you to a safe location. The problem is, we're still not sure exactly where that might be. The CIA has a long reach. Moving you to Canada won't be enough . . . I need to talk to somebody.”

“Angel?” Julia asked.

“Yeah,” Chapel said. “Excuse me.” He holstered his weapon and took out his phone. “Julia—you watch Ian. If he tries to get free, just shoot him.”

“I guess I don't get to be protected,” the chimera said. He didn't sound particularly offended.

Chapel ignored him and walked over to the door of the shack. He dialed Angel's number and put the phone to his ear. Waited for the cheap phone to find a signal.

And waited. And waited. Eventually the phone beeped at him three times to say his call had failed.

“You won't get reception out here,” Taggart said, looking mildly amused. “The mountains are in the way of the nearest cell tower.”

“This is Angel we're talking about. She's very good at getting around obstacles.” Chapel tried the call again. “Huh,” he said, when the call failed again. The third time, he said “Damn,” instead.

It took him a while to realize that the phone in his hand was just a cheap disposable. He'd been working with Angel so long he'd come to think she was magic. That she could communicate with him anywhere. But that hadn't been the case, had it? In Atlanta, when he'd gone too far underground, she couldn't reach him. In Denver, her signal had been jammed.

Crap. He'd lost his arm. He'd lost the backing of the DIA. Now he'd lost his guardian angel. He'd been reduced to just his own, natural resources. He had to think this through. Pick his next step very carefully.

“Okay,” he said, walking back over to the others. “Okay. We just have to do this the old-fashioned way. I'm going to go outside and scout the road, make sure we have a clear route out of here. Then we're all going to get on the snowmachines and head for the nearest town.”

“That's Healy, back at the highway,” Taggart told him. “It's just a little tourist trap of a place, though. They sell things to the tourists who come to see Denali.”

“If we can just get to civilization, any kind of civilization, we can hide in the crowd there. That'll help,” Chapel told him. He looked at Julia—then at Ian. He didn't like the idea of leaving her in the shack with the chimera. The alternative wasn't great, but it would have to do. “You,” he said, pointing at Ian. “You're with me.”

“Okay,” the chimera told him.

“You try anything, I will have to kill you,” Chapel said.

“Understood. Just make sure
you
understand—that deal goes both ways. You try to execute me, and I'll twist your head off.”

“I don't doubt it,” Chapel told him.

Chapel untied the chimera and let him grab his parka. Then he went to the door and cracked it, peering out into the afternoon light. He saw nothing but snow out there—it had been falling the entire time they'd been inside talking. A thick layer of snow sat on top of the snowmachines, and more snow had fallen against the door so it tumbled inside around his shoes and started to melt instantly. The weather could be a problem, he thought. If they got back to Fairbanks only to find the airport shut down while it was snowing, they could be stuck, vulnerable and alone, waiting for the CIA to show up.

Nothing for it.

“Come on,” he said to Ian. The two of them pushed their way outside, shoving the door open against the new-fallen snow. Outside, visibility was cut down considerably by the snow in the air. Their feet made loud crunching noises with every step. If someone was out there, waiting to ambush them, they would never know it.

DENALI NATIONAL PARK AND PRESERVE, ALASKA: APRIL 15, T+83:55

Chapel's feet sank deep into the snow with every step, slowing him down to a crawl. If he'd had snowshoes, maybe it would have been different. “Why did it have to be Alaska?” he asked.

The question had been rhetorical, but Ian answered anyway. “For the grizzlies. If you're going to study hibernation, you need to understand why small animals do it so well but large animals have a hard time with it. And why grizzly bears, which are very large, can do it while primates can't. And if you want to study grizzlies in anything like their natural habitat, you need to be right here.”

“Taggart told you all that?” Chapel asked. He headed through the clearing, intending to make it as far as the road before he turned back. “You and he are getting along pretty well. Considering you were supposed to kill him.”

“The Voice wanted me to do lots of things,” Ian replied. “But I'm not a machine. I don't do things just because someone tells me to.”

“The Voice got you out of that camp,” Chapel pointed out. “Some people would think maybe you owed it.”

“People, maybe. Not chimeras. We know better than that.”

“How did you get here so fast?” Chapel asked. “You can't have come over land. You must have flown. The Voice must have arranged things for you.”

Ian stopped in place and seemed to have to think about it. “I stowed away in the cargo hold of a plane that brought me as far as Fairbanks. From there I walked. The Voice gave me directions. As long as it was helping me, sure. I did what it said. When it wasn't helping me any more, I stopped listening.”