Species (20 page)

“And what if we don’t?” asked Press from the doorway. Fitch and Arden came over to listen. “Let’s not bullshit around. For all we know, she could be banging somebody right now. What if she
does
manage to mate?”

Laura lowered the bag. Her navy-blue eyes were troubled and faraway. When she spoke, her voice was barely audible.

“Then I guess we have no idea what we’re up against.”

23

A
new dream, bringing new sensations. Heat suffused her as something stroked her flesh, making her dizzy and breathless, teasing her until she strained in response. Something huge and indefinable, multilimbed and shimmering with translucence, encircled her, made her feel safe and desirable, and so very, very hot, as though every cell in her body was suffused with electricity. The other creature was like her but unlike her, a male counterpart tailored to fit her body in every respect, sliding inside her with a burst of exquisite sensation, spinning and spinning until she felt she would explode into the silky warmth of the endless amber atmosphere surrounding her—

“U
h!” Sil sat up with a twitch and tried to free her mind from the last of the dream’s arousing images, feeling too warm in the jacket she’d filched from Robbie’s closet on the way out of his house yesterday. She’d pulled the Puma into a space in this parking lot last night after staying on the freeway until it ended abruptly at Fourth Street. At Fourth, she’d continued to follow the “Ocean” signs, turning left on Colorado and staying on it until the signs and the street changed, evolving into something called the Municipal Pier and Santa Monica Beach. She’d wanted to explore last night and had actually gotten out of the car before feeling the full impact of fatigue. So much had happened yesterday—she’d needed rest, not confrontation with the subtle, roaring sound surrounding her in the darkness. With the stars and sliver of moon obscured by gauzy clouds, she’d climbed back into the Puma and surrendered to the need for slumber.

Now it was sunrise, and a painfully blue morning sky dotted with pink-splashed clouds stretched as far as Sil could see over the biggest body of water she had ever imagined. She could see the waves start, so far out, watch them sparkle in the sunlight as they swelled to a frothy white head then foamed away on the sand. The air was tinged with salt and still cool, but starting to bend toward the warmth that would come in a couple of hours. Surprisingly, this was the first time she’d ever smelled the ocean; up to now, the aromas in the air had ranged from diesel fuel to eucalyptus, and she had the idea that once the day and the traffic got going, the faint, clean smell of the Pacific would be overwhelmed even at its shoreline.

From her place in the parking lot, Sil saw a woman wearing a bulky T-shirt walking along the otherwise deserted beach at the edge of the water; a hundred yards from the pier, the woman stopped and began to pull things from an oversized tote bag. When she had set up a mini-lawn chair and draped it with a towel, the woman stretched her arms toward the sky and pulled off her shirt, revealing a sleek red-and-gold athletic swimsuit. After tucking her hair into a tight bathing cap, the woman waded into the water to thigh height, then dove under, reappearing ten feet away and working through the waves with strong, sure strokes. Entranced by the swimmer’s skill, Sil watched for a good ten minutes, feeling the warming air build beneath the rayon jacket and wishing she hadn’t left her blouse at the ID so she could be free of it. She watched the swimmer for a while longer, a wistful look on her face, then got back into the driver’s seat of the Puma. She’d wasted enough time; now she had to go and find the rest of her life.

T
he Puma quit running less than a half mile down the Pacific Coast Highway. Sil coasted to the side of the road and inspected the dashboard and its gauges, turned the ignition key a couple of times, tested all three foot pedals. Nothing happened; the only thing that continued to work properly seemed to be the optional items—the fan, windshield wipers, and the radio, which was like the televisions but without a picture. When the engine died, the needles on the gauges had dropped all the way to the left, except for the needle in the dial to the right of the steering wheel. That one stayed where it was, resting on a red
E.
Baffled, she climbed out and left the little orange convertible behind.

The car had made Sil feel secure and quick, and leaving it behind was unfortunate. She started walking in the direction she’d been driving and a sign informed her that in another mile she’d reach San Vincente Blvd. Suddenly it was all too strange, too
much,
and Sil did an about-face and strode back toward the pier and Santa Monica Boulevard, passing the disabled Puma on her way to territory that was at least somewhat familiar. It was a slight risk, but as long as she didn’t return to that motel or the Hollywood area, she figured she was safe. After all, there must be hundreds of thousands—a
million
—people within the limited areas she had crossed.

To find her, a lone woman amid the multitudes, would be a feat, indeed.

24

“O
kay,” Stephen said, “let’s see what we’ve got.” Gathered around him at the computer workstation one of Dr. Fitch’s aides had assembled in Stephen’s room, the rest of the group watched the monitor as he called up the security tape footage from the motel. McRamsey had turned it over to somebody else for enhancement, but the results were disappointing. “There she is,” Stephen said. “At least, as much as they could get of her.” He punched a few keys and the image on the screen froze; a few twists of his wrist and a double click on the computer mouse and he was able to zoom in on the facial area and blow it up to ten times its former size.

“That’s helpful,” Press sneered. “Christ—she looks like a specter from a 1920s silent movie.”

Laura squinted at the screen. “You can’t even make out her face. Magnification just makes it worse.”

“No kidding,” Stephen said.

“The video enhancement didn’t come out that well,” Fitch agreed. “The boys at the photo lab did the best they could—”

“Geez,” Dan interrupted, “I saw a movie on television once where they got a full photograph of Kevin Costner from just the backing of a Polaroid picture.”

“—in the time they had,” Fitch continued, shooting a stern look at Dan. Stephen saw the younger man duck his head, but he could have sworn Dan had a mischievous glint in his eyes. He was glad to see the empath finally feeling more at ease with the rest of the team.

“Well, the features aren’t very clear,” Laura said, “but everything else we’ve got suggests she’s in her early twenties. Does that sound right?”

“Yes,” Stephen replied. He folded his hands and rested his chin on his fingers. “Which means her reproductive system should be fully activated.”

Laura reached over his shoulder and maneuvered the mouse for a few seconds, trying unsuccessfully to sharpen the image of Sil’s face. She gave up. “At the rate she’s grown, her biological clock must be on hyperdrive.”

Stephen looked troubled. “I think Laura’s correct. Despite her half-alien heritage, we’ve been on the right track—mostly—as far as projecting her motivation. Her sole objective seems to be to mate and reproduce. That’s what she was trying to do at the ID, and that’s what she’ll continue trying to accomplish until she succeeds. The girl she killed at the club was . . .” Stephen hesitated, trying to find the proper word. “A
deviation
on how we anticipated she would behave, but looking back, it was almost predictable.”

“But still unavoidable,” Press added.

“Exactly.”

Stephen turned back to the keyboard but stopped when Dan touched his shoulder. “Let me ask you this,” Dan said. “What if we aren’t ever
able
to catch her? I mean,” his gaze skipped to Fitch, then back to Stephen, “Dr. Fitch and his people made her, then let her get loose. Maybe if we stop chasing her, she’ll stop killing. Can’t we just learn to live with her?”

Stephen shook his head immediately. “I don’t think that’s the point, Dan. Everything we know about her indicates that
she
doesn’t want to live with
us.”
Stephen hit a few keys and Sil’s image disappeared, then he began typing rapidly on the keyboard. Data screens began to flash across the monitor as Stephen worked his way through programs. “I’m going to access Harvard’s system through Internet and show you a program I developed using existing ecological data, hypothetical situations, and a software package a lot like the Sim Earth program developed by Maxis.”

“Sim Earth? What’s that?” Dan’s gaze was riveted on the screen.

“It’s a software game that let’s you invent a world of your own,” Laura said. “You control the atmosphere, the ecology, the life-forms, everything.”

“You play God, in other words.” Press’s eyes were shadowed as he glanced at Fitch. “Sort of like the grand doctor here.”

“I resent that,” Fitch said hotly. “You don’t—”

“The program I’m calling up is a more serious version of that concept,” Stephen interjected, cutting off the quarrel. “We designed it three years ago to see what would happen if a new species was introduced into a closed ecological system.”

“Such as ours,” Laura said.

“Exactly.” Stephen didn’t look up. “It uses factual data which presently exists and mathematical statistics to accurately predict future situations. It can also recreate past occurrences. The factual data can be manipulated to project hypothetical futures.”

“What kind of futures?” Dan asked.

“The kind that we could be up against if this creature—Sil—were to reproduce,” Stephen explained somberly. He flicked his wrist and the pointer on the screen responded by expanding another window from the upper right until it filled the viewing area. “What I’m calling up is an existing model that was designed three years ago. It has some . . .
enlightening
descriptive examples.” In front of the team, the monitor dissolved into a detailed geography map.

“That’s a map of New Zealand,” Dan said.

“Yes, but on the screen is a model of how it existed a thousand years ago,” Stephen told them as the image on the monitor began to change. “Our base for the program is the Maori, a Polynesian people who migrated to New Zealand half a millennium ago, possibly earlier. What you’re seeing is a computer-generated time line of their migration starting at about the beginning of the eleventh century.” Stephen began to move the mouse again, flicking on boxes and instructions too fast for any of them to follow. “We could spend a lot of time exploring the negative and utterly shameful effects the British had on the Maori culture and social structure when they began arriving in the seventeen hundreds, but I don’t think that’s a good archetype. The Maori are still in the struggle, although they’re losing. Rather, let’s look at the impact the Maori people had on the moa.” He typed a final instruction, but didn’t hit the enter key. Instead, he swiveled on his chair so he could look at them and punctuate his narrative with gestures, the teacher in him coming to the forefront.