The Soulless (I accept your Challenge, SpikeGoddess) (1028 hits)
Category: NoneRating: 2 on 21 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Anthony Locascio (View user info) at 2005-03-23 00:21:49 EST
Welcome to the Soulless. It's the first full-length novel I've ever really tried my hand at. I posted some pieces of it earlier. I present it here, from the very beginning.
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For most people, a bad day at work doesn't involve blood, broken glass, and dead people. For Dr. Siegfried Bosell, this was the third such day in as many months. When he had finally emerged from the hermetically sealed steel partition that housed his inner office, the scene of carnage that greeted him was matched only by his sheer horror at the prospect of explaining the deaths to the funding committee.
The doctor moved closer to the door, unable to get a good view through the criss-cross spider web of cracks in his window onto the incubation chamber. The glass was reinforced, certified as bulletproof with wire mesh, yet the specimen had nearly broken through it, seemingly uncaring about the horrible gouging and tearing the shards had left on its flesh. Two of his more experienced phlebotomists had been killed, their throats ripped out and their bodies hurled at Dr. Bosell's window in a vain effort to break through and get at him. Only when the heavily armed security Alpha team (Bosell enjoyed referring to them as the "goon squad") burst into the chamber, guns blazing, had the creature turned its attention from him to them.
The doctor took mental notes on what he had just witnessed, noting the endurance of the specimen, which even now was being dragged away from the ever-widening pool of blood gathering in the center of the sloped chamber. It had taken more than forty hits at close range before expiring. Only the last shot, a bullet through the eye, brought it crashing finally to the ground. Even in his wildest dreams, he would never have guessed at such resiliency. Its speed was even more surprising, the creature having caught two of the highly trained security forces unawares. Yet another throat had been torn out and a second guard had his chest ripped open to the bone before his compatriots opened fire, obliterating them both.
Bosell quickly went back to his desk and started scribbling notes on what he'd scene. Before the blood in the test chamber had even been mopped up, he had sent emails to the security staff to copy the day's tapes and leave them in his mailbox. He was still typing at a frenetic pace when Liam Kerr, his chief of security, kicked in his door and strode into the room, his heavy boots leaving bloody footprints on the slate gray carpet. At six foot five and nearly two hundred and seventy pounds, Kerr was one man who Dr. Bosell had a healthy respect for. Liam Kerr was likewise the only man on Bosell's staff who wasn't afraid of him.
The two stared at each other for several seconds, both listening to the ticks of the brass desk clock, each daring the other to make the first accusation, the first insult, the first threat. As the seconds went by, Kerr finally brought an end to the annoying game.
"You stupid son of a bitch," was all he had to say. Bosell leaned back in his leather desk chair, a look of annoyance replacing the expectation on his face.
"Really, Liam, I expected something more. Get that unpleasantness cleaned up. We're starting series six tomorrow, prototype two weeks later."
Kerr seemed not to hear him. "You know Kensington is dead in there. How the hell will you explain to the appropriations committee that you need a new protein coat researcher because your last experiment gutted him?" Bosell winced. Up until this moment, he hadn't even bothered to look at the faces of the dead researchers - the list of the initial specimen contact team was made up by one of his subordinates, Peter Macnamara. The all-important doctor rarely bothered with such details, but now he was absolutely livid to find that the only member of his staff with experience in protein coat research was dead. Replacing him would take months, as well as explanations to the appropriations committee. He seized the brass desk clock in one white-knuckled fist and hurled it against the battered window, breaking it apart into so many springs and gears. Kerr looked on with a self-satisfied smile.
"I see you're starting to get a grasp on what a royal ass-pounding today was," he said smugly. "That's why when you go to the committee, you'll submit a request for room-burning facilities and that new titanium laminate body armor I requested six months ago."
Bosell might have respected Kerr, but he had never in his life allowed a subordinate to dictate to him. In his past, two researchers who had gotten it in their heads to speak a little too frankly to him had been severely reprimanded and marked as troublemakers. Both had been killed by an earlier specimen over a year ago when Bosell had instructed MacNamara to put them on the initial specimen contact list.
"You're fired, you kraut bastard. Turn in your gear and stop by Quadias' office for debriefing, then get out." He clenched the edge of his desk, his wrists smarting from the grip. Kerr's sarcastic grin didn't so much as twitch.
"I'd be careful there, doctor. You wouldn't want the committee to find out where all your manpower's been going. They wonder sometimes why you 'fire' so many of the people you spend hundreds of thousands of dollars recruiting. " What little color was in Bosell's face drained away. A full report from Kerr, rather than one filtered through Bosell, could spell the end of his tenure as head of the project. " But more importantly, you little shit, who's going to protect you the next time one of your freakshow experiments goes ballistic? How long can you survive in that little closet of yours? How'll you explain it to the committee when they have to send a BioTerm team down here and find you cowering in there while one of your creations tears up the place?"
Bosell tensed for a moment, and then relaxed. Past his initial anger, he realized what was going on - Kerr was an opportunist, seizing the moment to get a few of the concessions he'd been initially denied. He'd pushed for heavy body armor and the installation of flare jets to burn unmanageable specimens since they'd constructed the facility. Bosell hadn't thought it a necessary expense - 2800 dollar suits of body armor might raise a red flag in an appropriations request as well. As long as he stayed within his own sphere and didn't intrude into the research, he would be tolerated.
"Room-burning is a tall order. I need three weeks. I'll put the papers through to Joshua. By the time it's done, we'll be ready to prototype."
"I also want seven more men for Beta Team," Kerr added without missing a beat. Bosell blanched at the affront to his already uncommon generosity, and paled even more as the big security officer crossed his arms and continued. "We don't have the manpower for the HC series, not enough by far, but I can get by with seven."
"Who told you that!" Bosell literally spat out the words as a command more than a question, infuriated even more by Kerr's continuing smirk. He was undoubtedly pleased to have turned the tables so thoroughly on the doctor, who had a wholly-deserved reputation for browbeating and criticizing even the most competent of the research staff. He was also completely autocratic with his testing schedule, so much so that most of the chemists and biologists on staff never knew when their deadlines were.
"I keep an ear to the ground," he replied. "I know you're implementing the HC4744 and HC3135 series in the next prototype. You'll tell me those sort of things from now on, or I'll just shoot the damn thing before it gets out of cryostasis."
"You listen to me, you bastard. Who do you think you are to tell me what I tell to who?" Bosell was almost shaking with rage.
"Nobody else dies on this friggin' roller coaster. Period. Today makes eight. I'm taking step to see that there is no number nine. You'll keep me informed of every new series and when you implement it. I don't know everything, but you'll never know for sure what I know and what I don't. The first time I find out something you haven't told me, I go to the committee. Straight to Joshua. No stops. Do not pass Go, do not collect two hundred dollars, do prepare to grease up while the committee financially puts a flashlight up your old dirt road. And while they're looking, the research, the money, the progress, everything stops. And the committee does not have a reputation for speediness, Ziggy. You, above all people, should know that."
Bosell recoiled internally. The supremely confident security head had even used the nickname, Ziggy, that the master geneticist despised. He had broken through Bosell's patina of irritability, and the mind that analyzed the facts that Kerr had laid out was the cool, objective mind of a world-class scientist.
"I can have three additional units for you in a week, four more after the meeting at the end of this month. You know I can't get them any faster than that." Liam Kerr smirked again in self-satisfaction, but his half-smile disappeared when he noticed that the doctor was no longer gripping the edge of the desk in anger. The telltale lines on his face, worn deep from many years of frowning, were also relaxed. Satisfied but somewhat unnerved, he turned on his heel and headed for the door, stopping as he was halfway out.
"By the way, doctor, my ancestry isn't German, it's Austrian. If you ever call me a kraut again, I'll shoot you dead." He had hoped that would generate some sort of further reaction from Bosell, but he simply sat passively at his desk, eyes looking at him expectantly to leave. The sudden silence that had overcome the doctor had unnerved him. When the door to his office closed, the click of the lock in the silence of the death-filled chamber beyond made him flinch.
Bosell sat quietly for some time, totally sessile. He had retreated wholly into his thoughts, picking apart the quandary of Liam Kerr like petals off a rose. Other members of the staff had threatened to go to the committee before Kerr. They were worth little in the way of actual threats. Blaine Joshua, the head of the appropriations committee, had a very long history with Siegfried Bosell, and the morality-laced whining of his lower staff members was not the sort of banter that would sway him. Joshua was a man hungry for what Bosell had promised to provide, hungry enough to sway the most powerful men in America to back him. Liam Kerr, however, was a different matter entirely. He was a man known to be fearlessly dedicated to his work. His background was military, a definite strike against him considering the sort of work he was involved in now, but his absolute dedication and competence had allowed the industry to see past what would otherwise be a very black mark on a sterling record. Military men had long ago been excluded as too rigid on a moral level. The zenith of this sort of venture could only be reached by those willing to do whatever was necessary to succeed and unwilling to consider the consequences of failure. Kerr was not only fearless and loyal, but totally willing to follow any orders as long as he felt he was doing his job. Likely he felt that the escalating numbers of the dead meant he wasn't performing his job properly, namely that of providing security, a euphemism for preventing the specimens from attacking and killing the staff. Steps could be taken to neutralize any threat from Kerr, but they would be drastic and would have to be accompanied by a lot of explaining. Bosell nodded to himself in approval. Kerr was asking relatively little.
A minor addition of two or three hundred thousand dollars to an appropriations package of over twelve million would be of little inconvenience. He'd keep Kerr in the loop about what he'd asked, no more and no less. If the troublesome head of security pressed matters even further, he would be removed. Even Kerr wouldn't survive a head on confrontation with one of the later prototypes. Bosell grinned. What a day that would be when the arrogant Austrian was dragged from the room, leaving a bloody trail behind his shattered corpse!
It didn't really matter to him. Dr. Siegfried Bosell, the greatest unmentioned mind in genetics. All that mattered was the chance to create, to improve. He flipped open the lid of his laptop computer, awakening it from sleep mode. Spinning serenely on the screen in full 3D was a model of the HC4744 gene, isolated and refined in over thirty years of hard work. It was only one of several dozen series, each an enhancement over the original, naturally occurring gene. Everything, from the HC series to the EL series to the CR series, had been painstakingly crafted by Dr. Bosell over the course of so many years. Everything up to this point was at last exactly as he had envisioned it so many years ago. He clenched his fist in anger when he thought of the simple minds that had sought to divert him, that had delayed the zenith of his greatness, his magnum opus.
How many years had it been? Seven? Ten? He wasn't even sure any more. The young man at UCAL Berkeley had been killed a hundred times since then, first in the press, then in academia. How many had twisted the knives in him, had ascended to levels of prominence by stepping on his name? He had lost count. The scars of their lies still lingered and ached, but he no longer had the energy to put the names with the wounds. He had aspired to greatness for others' sake - to help the sick and infirm. A master of genetics and human biology at only nineteen years of age, the awarding of his P.h. D seemed the most minor of his future accomplishments. His thesis, groomed and fattened like a prize show animal, was a map to a holy grail of science - gene replacement therapy. Aspired to by so many, he had solved the insoluble, mastered the art of taking faulty genes and replacing them with healthy ones. How many diseases could have been cured by his work? Enough to insure immortality, a placard etched in stone on science's walls. If not for that bitch....
He clenched his teeth for not the first time that day, his jaw aching. He remembered the woman clearly, Meredith. She was young, bright-eyed, at that age when a woman radiated something fresh and wholesome like perfume. Siegfried had entrusted her with so much of his work. He had no reason to distrust - his work would leave the sick and infirm healthy and hale. He had custom written the software and simulated it twelve times in his seven years. The computing power required to simulate the writing of millions of base pairs replicating was far beyond any available at the university. It was then that Blaine Joshua had contacted him.
At twenty-five, tall, slim and piercing of visage, he carried no aura of mendacity about him, only a cold and reptilian pragmatism that Bosell prized. Above even the wide-eyed sycophantic professors that crowded around his lab when he allowed, Joshua seemed to understand the far-reaching applications of gene therapy. He had discussed the subject at length with the doctor, impressing him with the depth and breadth of his layman's knowledge of genetics. There was almost no inflection in his voice, but Bosell knew instinctively that Joshua was wickedly interested in the project and was more than prepared to commit resources to assist him, starting with log time on a massive distributed supercomputer at his startup firm, GeneCys. Originally a software engineer who had put together and sold several successful internet startup firms, Joshua had parlayed a hundred thousand dollars of venture capital into a biomedical engineering firm of modest but solid proportions. GeneCys had already made great headway with the FDA in getting to market Cholburon, a cholesterol-lowering drug that was custom made to the genetic profile of the patient. Already dozens of pharmacies across the nation were retrofitting their businesses to take blood and submit them for genetic profiling to GeneCys. It was a matter of days before the company stock went from eight points to eighty, and already Joshua was looking for the next big breakthrough. Gene therapy had been a hot topic for years, but almost no company or government institution could match scientific talent with the proper resources to make headway against the barriers to success. Above all the traits that impressed Siegfried Bosell was Blaine Joshua's Machiavellian lack of moral compass.
In a controversial field like Bosell's, one that involved human testing and the use of so many animals as test subjects, a conscience was a lead weight. He had spent the better part of a year in committee trying to get primate trials before finally being approved. His lab had been picketed by animal rights activists, his car vandalized with red paint to symbolize the blood of the animals that died in his experiments. Even his successes had been derided and ridiculed. A brilliant achievement, he had written a new gene into a batch of forty smooth-haired guinea pigs, enabling them to produce vitamin C. After two months of supplement-free feeding, there was no denying his success. He submitted his paper, he was lauded by his colleagues, his house was burned to the ground by the Animal Liberation Front.
So close to his ultimate goal, he almost didn't care. He had spent twenty hours a day at the lab before his home was destroyed. Now he spent twenty-four, bathing in the emergency shower, sleeping under his desk. Not that he took much time with either. He submitted his last batch of data to Joshua for testing before primate trials began. Even with the teraflops of computing power available at GeneCys, it would take four days to compile his virtual experiment, four days that he did not sleep. He had spent the last of his stipend on a private security guard to stand watch at the doors of his lab until the primates were delivered. He had flatly refused entry to faculty and staff that had requested to observe his final experiment. He had no right to do so, but by the time the administration got involved and overruled him, the experiment would be conducted and his data locked in.
Sixteen chimpanzees arrived the morning after Joshua had returned to him, a DVD in his hand containing all of the compiled data. Bosell had reviewed it and found it absolutely flawless. His path was set. Each of the chimps had been bred with a form of anemia, similar to the human variety of sickle cell. Most were weak and moved little. Left untreated, they would eventually succumb to a massive stroke or heart failure. Bosell planned to alter that course of fate. He had injected an unflawed gene into a retrovirus. He would infect them, the virus would go through their bodies at the cellular level, rewriting defective DNA and leaving an unflawed gene in place of a diseased one. With only a four percent difference between humans and chimpanzees at the genetic level, extrapolating the process to the human genome would be relatively simple.
He had waited in silence, sitting and staring at the weak and listless animals in their stainless steel cages. They had acted much the same as before, moving little, eating little, returning his expectant stare with questioning eyes. It had been forty-three hours since their injections, and neither he nor the languid animals had moved much during that time. At a typical erythrocyte replacement rate, the animals should have begun to regain their vitality and move about their cages with a greater degree of vigor. He dozed lightly, the soft sounds of primate whimpering and the buzzing of the overhead fluorescent lights infecting his dreams with visions of sick children and giant bees. He awoke several times only to see that little had changed - the unhappy animals had not eaten, but had moved around their large enclosure somewhat. Bosell punched a few keys on his desktop computer, taking a snapshot of the data. Overhead thermal cameras recorded basal temperatures, while directional microphones took measurements of breathing and heart rates. The animals seemed slightly more alert, and one was drinking from its basin of cold water. Satisfied that the animals were improving, Bosell moved from the hard metal chair in front of the enclosure to his much more comfortable reclining leather desk chair. Once he put his feet up, exhaustion quickly wrapped black wings around him. When he awoke, he would be famous. He was right.
User Reviews
Submitted by BlazinBull (user info) at 2008-01-31 10:17:51 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Brdn_Nkd (user info) at 2005-11-08 16:45:00 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Viper_04 (user info) at 2005-11-08 06:21:23 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I'm with Jack....so muc talent, so little recognition.
I also agree with caes...it is a bit longish
Anyhoo off to part 2 tomorrow!
Submitted by MyNameIsTim (user info) at 2005-05-02 14:27:10 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
this rules. biomedical engineering woo woo!
Submitted by thecaes (user info) at 2005-04-12 10:09:28 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I've been meaning to get around to reading these for a while now. Glad that I did, it's awesome, though a little long.
You made me look up three words that I didn't know the meaning of. I find that insulting to my intelligence, jerky.
Submitted by nrduncan (user info) at 2005-04-06 13:24:08 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Dannie (user info) at 2005-04-04 13:45:05 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I finally have time to give these the attention they deserve.
On to Chapter II.
I am hooked.
Submitted by munkeypants (user info) at 2005-04-01 15:23:12 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by rad1101 (user info) at 2005-03-31 06:05:58 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
All the good stuff here is ignored.
Submitted by Val (user info) at 2005-03-25 23:44:22 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Intrigue rising...rising...
Submitted by Degreeless_Capibara (user info) at 2005-03-25 23:32:55 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
HITS
Submitted by Degreeless_Capibara (user info) at 2005-03-25 23:32:48 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Why does this not have a bajillion posts?
Submitted by TheSpook (user info) at 2005-03-24 15:31:17 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Is this about the Republican party?
No, seriously. I'll read it later.
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2005-03-24 11:20:40 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I still can't believe you are doing this... I'm tempted to, but I keep procrastinating and I'm just getting shithammered at work these days... ahhh, I long for the stress-free days of Ubermadness.
Submitted by LadyPlural (user info) at 2005-03-23 22:56:42 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Quite good. But chimpanzees are only 2.7 or 1.7% (can't remember which) different.
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2005-03-23 17:30:17 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Why is this good stuff being ignored?
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2005-03-23 11:24:43 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
4 reviews on 120 hits? What the fuck, uber? Looks like Domenad and I may be in competition for King of Most Hits/Least Reviews Per Fiction Post.
This is good shit, but I'm sure most 'I read a page and then got bored' uber readers won't get the concept... it is a novel draft. It is going to be long, and there has to be some foundation.
I am looking forward to installment 2.
Submitted by jumpinjellyfish (user info) at 2005-03-23 10:52:20 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
This is very good.
Submitted by darko (user info) at 2005-03-23 01:00:10 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Remember while the concept can be recycled all the words need to be from scratch. +2 for your courage, I wish you luck on this.
Submitted by Joemama (user info) at 2005-03-23 00:48:25 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Nice layout and good form.
It might be too long for the attention span here
at Uber,but I liked it.
Submitted by PoloboiGC (user info) at 2005-03-23 00:33:37 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I liked what I read. Keep it up fatboy.. and pull up your pants I can see your ass crack..