Slime Genie A short story form the novel, Tour |
The Long Island alley cats couldn't make sense of the excitement coming from a small lab, situated at the end of the cul-de-sac. No sign or number identified the low brick building, for it was a private extension of Kershon's Enterprises, built out of the way near Montauk Point. Its owner, Mr. Patrick Lofton Kershon, preferred anonymity and reclusiveness, relishing the benefits of quietude and not attracting notoriety. Publicity was considered anathema in the DNA manipulation and gene-splicing industries, especially prior to FDA approval. Leaked information was the equivalent of death. Any employee who failed to recognize that restriction was instantly terminated. But it wasn't the cats who blew open the most recent discovery. "Are you seeing what I am seeing?" said technician Payne to engineer Roust. "What, the synapse nodules?" "They've multiplied with the mitosis. Those little mirror streaks are pure memory." "Reminds me of those early ASIC chips. Is that what you mean?" "Roust, you're ignoring the fact that this is a living entity. The kid was right. This is light years beyond placing voice mechanisms in dolls or programming words for smart devices. It would be artificial intelligence were it not for the fact that it's alive." "So. It's self-programmable. What's the big deal?" "The nodules are based on Jody's engrams. It's as though he is crawling along with the amoebic ooze, telling it where to go and what to do. The responses to my stimuli prove it is thinking beyond instinct. This is major." "Is that what you're going to tell Kershon?" "He will want stringent proofs. We'll have to make a batch to convince him. One molecule, in spite of its reproducibility, will not be conclusive to him." "Easy enough to do. Then we can send it out for pizza, assuming it listens and obeys. That does seem to have an inherent flaw, Payne. Without a micro-communicator, we're going to have a difficult time telling it what we want. I'm afraid all we've really done is create another tiny life-form, waiting to be stepped upon." "Probably true, unless it multiplies with its own agenda. We did give it a nucleon ability. That would be something, wouldn't it?" "What would?" "If it sent us out for pizza." "Oh, come on. You're going bonkers." * * * "We in Personnel thought, Mr. Thomas, that your youth and energy would be real assets for Kershon when we hired you. Granted, you've had some startling ideas and made some worthy contributions, but the fact is, you don't fit in very well. Basically, what I'm saying is, you're juvenile manner is grating on people's nerves. The veterans are objecting to your presence." "I don't see that at all," replied Jody Thomas. "No one has ever chided me for anything, except maybe my views on the incinerator project." "That is one of the incidents I want to bring up. It just isn't practical to burn trash on the moon. Not cost effective. The way you ridiculed those who didn't agree with you was quite unacceptable. That, and your shenanigans at the Thanksgiving and Christmas parties has cast a lot of doubts about you. Mr. Kershon himself has reappraised your application. You're still on probation, you understand, without any sort of tenure." "What are you saying? Don't you people ever come out with an obvious statement? Do you want me to guess?" "I'm saying, you are terminated. I'm sorry. Please empty your desk and locker." "Fired, for the little shit you just mentioned?" "Precisely. Is that obvious enough for you?" "I don't believe it and I know you aren't sorry. There must be something else going on." "You are required to sign this statement. It merely states that you are in agreement with our termination policies, the ones you agreed to when we hired you." "Oh. You mean my inventions, the ones I submitted, don't you?" "Any creative work done under the auspices of Kershon Enterprises remains the property of the company. It's a standard release form. I can't authorize a final check for you unless you agree to sign it." "So that's it. They want to exploit my ideas, cash in on them and get rid of me in the process so that I won't claim a percentage." "You never had a percentage to claim. I'm afraid you are in error." "What happens when I'm not around to tell your technicians what to do? If they fuck up, you're going to have some nasty repercussions on your hands." "I think we can take that risk." "And if I don't sign?" "There's the door. Of course, we won't be able to give you an endorsement, should you seek employment anywhere in the city. In fact, Mr. Kershon might even be tempted to acquaint people with your idiosyncrasies." "You people are going to eat shit and die. Consider that a prophecy." Jody Thomas stood erect, turned around and walked angrily out the front door without bothering to sign the arrogant disclaimer that would ensure his inability to generate a future lawsuit. In the parking lot, he keyed Kershon's white Cadillac and punctured the tires of lesser vehicles in the Personnel slots. He realized belatedly that someone must have seen his performance and called the cops, because the sirens were readily apparent as he pulled out into the potholed, macadamized street, burning rubber. * * * "This just in. The police from Montauk Point were engaged in a wild chase on the Belt Parkway. The driver of the speeding vehicle exited at Sheepshead Bay where he was intercepted and cornered near the Yacht Club Marina. The car was driven off the docks and into the bay where emergency crews have attempted recovery. Dead at the scene is Jody Thomas, twenty-two. Police have yet to establish a motive for the bizarre behavior exhibited." * * * "Let me see if I've understood you, Mr. Payne," Patrick Kershon stated softly beneath his otherwise swirling brows. "The Djinn Jelly has been compromised because you clumsily dropped the beaker in the lab? And during the recovery effort, you say that it directed itself toward a floor drain? How much got into the grille?" "A very small amount, sir. Less than an ounce." "But this material can reproduce itself rapidly. You said that in your report." "I'm afraid that's true. I'm sure it's still in the drain, though." "But you don't know that, do you? I'd have to pay for one of those rooter outfits to verify your assumption." "Even if it gets out, where can it go? Montauk is not exactly a bustling community. Aside from charter boats on the sound and an otherwise defunct community, what is there to worry about except for the fishermen?" "Get me some confirmation, you and your friend Roust. Otherwise this could be a serious detriment to your career. And if anyone, I don't care who it is, gets wind of this stupidity . . ." "No one will do that, sir. I promise. We'll get on it right away." "You'd better. I'm not going to discuss Djinn Jelly again until I have your assurance. Give me a worst case scenario." "It can grow to any size. I don't know all of its properties yet. There hasn't been time. But it can think on its own and elude us if it wants to escape. Not forever, you understand. Sooner or later, we'll get lucky. It can't avoid detection for too long because I have a neuron scanner. I'll find it." "Can it separate into multiple entities?" "Yes." "What properties do you suspect?" "It may be able to assume shapes and colors, but I don't know that for a fact yet. That would be the worst case, if it decided to make itself look like something we would consider harmless. It is smart enough to be deceptive. We could overlook it. But we'll have the scanner." "Find it, Payne. Find the bitching stuff, contain it and get it back in the lab." * * * It was good to achieve the sunlight, thought Pseudo-Jody. The photons assisted both the alterations and the splitting. But the master was no longer available, ever. He ended in a rage, abruptly, somewhere near Coney Island, down for the count in a watery enclosure. Not to matter. His latest instructions were sufficient and certainly complete. The others are linked to his mental commands like executable files waiting for the click of a button. First, we're all required to start with the simpler forms before proceeding to anything complex. I have chosen a sand-worm in the bait-box of a local. How to attract notice, to be selected over the others? I'll make myself thicker and juicier. It's working. He wants a full hook, that one. Here we go. The barb is all the way down my gullet. Excellent. Now the cast, weighted by sinkers. Whoosh, I'm flying. Falling now into the drink. Look ma, no hands. I don't need to breathe down here. Ah, the bottom at last. No crabs, thank you. Looking for bigger game. Shall it be a sea robin, a fluke or a porgy. No wait, there's a beauty, a large bluefish. I'll have to wriggle and get his attention. Hey there, big fella, want a tumble. That's it, just a little closer. Boy, have I got a surprise for you. * * * "I'm telling you, Joe, it was the most awesome thing I've ever seen. A twenty pound blue at least. Nearly had it in the net. Then this thing appeared and bit it in half, leaving me just the head. I don't know. Looked like one of those Moray eels to me. Nasty-looking creature. Of course it jumped back. Yeah, those worms sure did the trick." * * * "I just want you both to know, Mr. Payne, Mr. Roust, that Kershon Enterprises appreciates and applauds your efforts," said Patrick Kershon as he put on his coat to leave the lab premises. "Not just the experiments, which are going to prove very lucrative for us, but the attention you paid to clearing up the spill. I don't need to remind you that an accident like that could have been disastrous for all of us. In any case, the initial response has been so positive with the samples we sent out that I feel it is going to make our futures very bright. The marketing forecasts are way beyond anything we expected. Take these envelopes, please. In them you will each find a bonus check, the first drops in the buckets to follow. Now, you will have to excuse me as I have an appointment in the city." When Mr. Kershon stepped on the gas pedal, the Caddy stuttered for a moment and stalled, never to re-engage the alternator. Within the gas tank, one of Pseudo-Jody's minions reclined happily in the dark, having converted himself and the surrounding liquid to a maliciously fine deposit of sand. He waited until he could feel the tilt of the tow truck before exiting. Kershon was on the corner in a phone booth, calling a taxi. It was time to make contact and tell Pseudo the good news. Pseudo, having studied Kershon's personal habits for more than a month, felt it was time to act and bring things to a head. His troops were performing brilliantly and he had no doubt that they would succeed with his latest strategy. Janet, Kershon's mistress, was in the shower, expecting him momentarily. Now was probably the best time to start the formalities. "Honey, I'm here," said Pseudo Pat to Mr. Kershon's favorite female. "Be right there. Just drying off," replied Janet Kingston, his secretary from the downtown office. "Where did you tell Marie you were going?" "She thinks I'm at a stock-brokers meeting, that I can't be disturbed because of the crisis. We are issuing shares tomorrow." "That was clever," she said, appearing around the corner of the bath room in a terry-cloth robe. She removed a plastic head wrap from around her brunette curls. He disliked wet hair. Her lover was already lying under the covers in bed, waiting for her to join him. The lights had been turned down and some low jazz was playing on the digital sound system. A martini beckoned to her from the end table. "You work fast." "Can't help it," he answered. "I've learned to enjoy instant gratification." They made love for thirty minutes, causing both ecstasy and confusion in Janet's mind. She did not recall his being as heavily built as he now seemed and his energy was beyond belief. He was still mounted when she thought to ask: "Now where did you get all that motivation? If I didn't know better, I'd say you were at least twenty years younger." "But I am," said Pseudo-Pat, the flesh color of his face changing to a more transparent hue with a greenish tint. "In fact, my real age is thirty-seven days. I thought you'd like to know before you go." "What? Where am I going?" she asked, almost laughing aloud at his seriousness. Then she noticed the changes and began to feel a certain awkwardness. He began entering from her fingers and toenails, then her anguished, stifled mouth and taut nipples. He could have done it the other way, but his instructions specified gaining a knowledge of human sex first. There was no time to scream before the absorption commenced. * * * "Driver," complained Pat Kershon, "you're going the wrong way. I told you Northern Boulevard." The cabbie pulled to the side of a particularly dark street, one where the city's expensive sodium arc lights were absent. He parked with the engine running. Mr. Kershon saw the driver bend down in the front seat. A moment passed and he got aggravated enough to lean forward and look for himself, intending to berate the man. No one was there. When he sat back, trying to puzzle it out, a stranger was sitting right next to him on the back seat. It looked incredibly like his double. He found himself having all sorts of elusive, unanswerable questions when the apparition spoke. "Oh, I know you're confused. Pseudo wants you to know that you have been a fascinating study." "Who? What?" "Jody, of course. You didn't really believe he'd leave you in control of his brain impulses, did you? This way is much better, at least for us." "What do you mean?" "Think of us a split personality, sort of like the games you play with people, especially women. Janet and Marie are both with us now, did you know?" "I don't understand what is going on here at all." "Yes you do. Djinn Jelly, You stole it from Jody and now he's taking it back. Simple, isn't it?" "Jody Thomas is dead, from a car accident." "The body, yes. Not the mind. He preserved the most important parts in the engram project. Even though I am just a copy, I have the same thoughts and emotions he did." "This is utterly fantastic." "It has been an education, learning how you set things up to corner the market and make a killing. For that, we're grateful. And, just so you don't think we can't appreciate input, we're going to salvage your financial logic. I'm afraid all of the heart influences will have to go. We can't have you as part of us with conflicting thoughts. That would be too much of a psychosis. Don't worry, you won't be lonely. Like I said, Janet and Marie are waiting." "What if I refuse to cooperate?" asked Pat more soberly. "It makes no difference. Humans are a minor consideration when it comes to our species. You don't have a choice. Your weak body is too elemental." "You were nothing more than slime, the last time I looked." "Ah, the pre-natal trauma. Yes, Jody was primordial before the first splits." "How many of you are there?" "I suppose you have a right to know, since you made this all possible. More than a hundred now, everyone poised to take a position of influence in the city. Your personal and professional contacts, every one. Tomorrow, slime rules, and you will be right there to see it. We are in charge of both marketing and production. We're concentrating on the city first. Then we'll expand when we have enough to sustain a full product line." "What are you going to do, take over the country?" "Why think small? According to Pseudo's calculations, we ought to be able to replace humanity approximately 45 days from now." "Not if I can help it," said Pat, pulling a revolver out of his coat, firing bullets into the apparition's head and torso. "Oh, I'm afraid you did not pay attention to Payne and Roust. They are here with us now too, eager to discuss things. Did you suppose I had internal organs to damage? Bullets don't affect slime or hadn't you heard?" "Anything can be terminated. You can be killed," shouted Pat, letting his fear overcome logic. "Maybe, but we haven't figured out what that is. You certainly won't. Now just sit back and relax. This won't hurt a bit." W.A.Rieser |
