STAR TREK - TOS (30 page)

Dhasal ignored the specimen’s superstitious rantings. Satisfied that Arcturus was adequately restrained, she gave the assistants permission to leave the test chamber via the attached airlock, leaving her[267]and Williams alone with the subject. Sterile white walls cut them off from the rest of Chrysalis’s advanced biomedical research facility. She sealed the hood of her Neoprene hazmat suit and activated its self-contained breathing apparatus, while directing Williams to do the same.

Of course, she could have observed the experiment from behind the transparent glass window of the observation gallery overlooking the test chamber, but she preferred a more hands-on approach. She wanted to examine at close range the effects of the flesh-eating bacteria on a specimen of genetically engineered humanity.

Following the mass suicide of his followers, Brother Arcturus had conveniently fallen into the hands of Khan’s agents, who arranged to have the disgraced cult leader secretly transported to Muroroa. Dhasal was grateful for the opportunity to study a genuine product of the first Chrysalis Project without having to sacrifice one of her own people.

“Are you ready, Doctor?” she asked Williams. A microphone in her hood allowed her to address the other scientist, despite the multiple layers of rubber and plastic separating them.

Williams nodded hesitantly. Seen through the clear plastic faceplate of his hood, the Englishman’s ruddy face was nervous and slick with perspiration. His bloodshot eyes gazed uncertainly at the subject on the gurney. “All right,” he muttered finally. “Let’s get this over with.”

Dhasal chose to overlook his lack of scientific enthusiasm and objectivity; the man was merely human, after all. She was slightly more embarrassed by the[268]subject’s undignified behavior; a biologically superior being should have met his fate with more equanimity.

Raising her hand, she signaled the technicians on the other side of the glass window to release the bacteria into the closed environment of the test chamber. A low hissing sound, coming from vents in the ceiling, confirmed that the experiment had commenced.

She and Williams had labored strenuously over the last several months, to the regrettable neglect of Dhasal’s other projects, to improve and refine the genetically engineered strain of strep-A developed by Sarina Kaur many years ago. Producing an airborne version of the bacteria had been particularly challenging, but preliminary tests on a wide variety of nonhuman test animals had been extremely encouraging, yielding an over eighty-five percent mortality rate.

The sudden hissing alarmed the test subject, who struggled fruitlessly against his bonds with renewed fervor. “What is that?” he demanded anxiously. “What’s happening?”

“Quiet,” she instructed, using the excruciator to discipline the specimen. The ingenious device, invented by Khan himself, punished the nervous system without inflicting any lasting damage. “Don’t force me to have your larynx removed.”

The excruciator caught the subject’s attention. He shrieked once, his agonized cry echoing off the stark white wall, before falling silent as requested. Dhasal glanced at the gauges monitoring his vital signs; his heart rate and respiration were still faster than normal, but perhaps that wasn’t entirely a bad thing if it meant that the specimen would absorb the bacteria into his system even more quickly.

[269]Her eyes narrowing, so that only the opaque band across her cornea was visible, she examined Arcturus for any sign of the carnivorous microorganism taking effect. According to Williams, all of the children conceived at the original Chrysalis had been expressly endowed with a genetic immunity to all forms of streptococcus, including this particularly virulent strain, but Dhasal did not intend to accept that premise as a given until tested. With luck, Arcturus would settle the matter—one way or another.

Half an hour passed, then a full hour. Ninety minutes after the bacteria was introduced into the chamber, the specimen continued to display no obvious signs of infection. “Shouldn’t he have reacted by now?”

Williams asked hopefully, refilling his oxygen tank from a nozzle built into the wall. His face showed the strain of their unbroken vigil over the specimen.

“Perhaps,” she admitted. All of their earlier test subjects had succumbed to the bacteria’s ravages within minutes of inhalation. “Are you experiencing any discomfort?” she asked Arcturus, who rested pale-faced and trembling upon the angled gurney. “Nausea? Fever? Muscular aches?”

“Of course,” the specimen whimpered. “I’m cold and hungry.” His hairless body shivered pitifully. “My mortal receptacle requires rest.”

Despite the subject’s childish complaints, Dhasal did not believe that Arcturus was exhibiting any of the early symptoms of necrotizing fasciitis. A glance at the vital signs monitors confirmed that he was neither feverish nor in shock. His blood pressure, although elevated, was well within normal parameters[270]for a genetically engineered superman.
Fascinating
she thought.
In theory, an ordinary human would
already be dead.

“Watch him,” she instructed Williams curtly, as she walked across the floor and keyed a top-secret security code into the touchpad of an inset videophone. A secure satellite link instantly connected her with Chandigarh, half a world away, where she knew Khan was eagerly awaiting the results of the test.

His noble visage appeared on the miniature video screen. “Well, Doctor,” he inquired courteously.

“How fares your experiment?”

She plugged her microphone into the console so that she could communicate with Khan in private. “The results exceed my expectations,” she reported. “Although I still wish to perform a few more tests, all evidence suggests that those of our elite genetic makeup are indeed immune to the carnivorous form of strep-A, along with all other strains of the bacteria.”

“Excellent!” Khan declared. “It seems the unsavory Dr. Williams did not mislead us after all; my mother’s brilliant creation truly provides a means of separating the wheat from the chaff, so to speak.”

“As you say, Lord Khan.” Dhasal did not concern herself with the practical implications of her discovery; she was happy simply to have pleased her leader. “The late Dr. Kaur was clearly an exceptional woman.”

A calculating look came over Khan’s face. “Speaking of Dr. Williams, would you say that his usefulness is at an end?”

Her gaze shifted from the video screen to the[271]imperfect human in his protective plastic suit. Williams paced nervously from one end of the chamber to another, while keeping an absurdly safe distance from the helpless superman strapped to the gurney. “Is that Khan?” he asked her fretfully, peering over her shoulder. His florid features and portly contours exemplified all that was weak and fallible in ordinary humanity. “What are you telling him?”

“Yes, my lord,” she answered, confident that Williams could not eavesdrop on their conversation. “He was initially helpful in reconstructing your mother’s bacteria from the original genetic sequence, but we have moved far beyond those early stages now. I do not believe that he has anything more to contribute.”

“I see,” Khan said, stroking his chin contemplatively. “I do not trust a man who would trade such a lethal secret for his own security, nor one who has already abandoned Chrysalis once.” A hard edge entered his voice. “You know what to do, Doctor.”

The dark streaks of Dhasal’s eyes focused on the unsuspecting Englishman, “Yes, Lord Khan. I understand.” Her cool, analytical gaze shifted from Williams to the nearby instrument tray before returning to the screen. “What of the bacteria?”

“I want more of it,” he declared without hesitation. “I want you to devote all your resources, every vat and test tube, to producing the bacteria in large quantities, enough to consume the world if necessary.”

Khan’s dark eyes were cold and implacable, “You should also continue your laudable efforts to improve the destructive capacity of the strain.”

She did not bother to wonder why Khan desired[272]carnivorous strep-A in such quantity; that did not fall under her purview. Yet she worried about the toll such an ambitious enterprise might take on other promising fields of research, such as her ongoing attempt to re-create Sarina Kaur’s unprecedented success at cloning genetically engineered human eggs. “Excuse me, my lord,” she said respectfully, “but our work with this particular organism, as remarkable as it is, has already delayed progress on various other fronts. What of, for example, our goal of surpassing the original Chrysalis Project by designing a new generation of superior beings?”

“That must wait,” Khan stated, unswayed by her concerns. “We are at war, Doctor, and war dictates its own priorities. For now, I want you and your able staff to concentrate entirely on the mass production and refinement of the flesh-eating bacteria.” His commanding tone brooked no further discussion. “I will also be in touch with Dr. MacPherson about installing sophisticated bio-warheads on his suborbital rockets.”

“As you command.” She would regret placing her other projects on the back burner, but trusted that Khan knew best. “I will instruct my staff accordingly.”

Khan nodded in approval. “One more thing, Doctor. As we have previously discussed, it is important that awareness of this bacteria remain on a strictly need-to-know basis. You and your people are not to discuss this topic with any unauthorized individuals, including certain members of my executive staff.”

“Understood,” she acknowledged. Khan had already made it clear to her that Ament, his chief[273]

domestic advisor, was not to be informed of Dhasal’s research into necrotizing fasciitis. Fortunately, Muroroa’s distance from Chandigarh made it easier to keep the secret away from Ament’s attention.
And
soon,
Dhasal thought,
there will be one less person familiar with what we have wrought here.

No doubt occupied with other pressing matters, Khan bid her farewell and ended the transmission.

Unhooking her mike from the communications console, she turned to confront an increasingly restive Dr.

Williams. “Well?” the flustered Englishman inquired anxiously. “What did he say?”

“He is satisfied with our results,” she told him honestly. Walking over to the equipment cart, she lifted a scalpel from the tray on top of the cart. Her thick butyl-rubber gloves made it difficult to handle the delicate instrument, but she succeeded in getting a firm grip on its handle.

“Thank God!” Williams exclaimed, his overheated breath momentarily fogging part of his faceplate.

“Does that mean this wretched experiment is over?”

“Almost,” she answered, crossing the floor toward Williams. Hanging on the gurney, Brother Arcturus stared bleakly into space, perhaps hoping to catch a glimpse of his imaginary alien forebears. Sensors continued to register his heartbeat, which had finally slowed to a less frenetic tempo. More and more, it appeared that the specimen had been completely unaffected by breathing in the airborne bacteria.
Most
intriguing,
she thought.

Williams fumed within his encapsulated yellow suit. “Well, it’s about bloody time!” He tapped an orange rubber boot against the floor restlessly. “I can’t[274]wait to get out of this miserable suit. I’m positively suffocating in here.”

“Permit me to assist you,” Dhasal said calmly. Her face devoid of emotion, she stepped forward and methodically slashed William’s hazmat suit with her scalpel. The razor-sharp blade sliced easily through the protective layers of Neoprene, carving out deep gashes across the front of the suit, breaking the skin beneath, so that tiny red droplets of blood flew from the edge of the blade as it came clear, sprinkling like rain upon the pristine linoleum floor.

“Oh my God!” Williams gasped, shocked and surprised by Dhasal’s Unexpected attack. His gloved fingers frantically probed the gaps in his suit, confirming the awful truth that his airtight protection had been compromised. “What have you done?”

“Finished the test.” Dhasal stepped backward, raising the scalpel defensively, in the event that Williams reacted violently. A rapid glance upward at the observation gallery revealed a row of startled faces staring down at the unforeseen drama playing out in the test chamber. “Do not be alarmed,” she informed her staff via microphone. “Everything is under control and proceeding as it should.”

“What!” Williams lunged toward her awkwardly, reaching out with his black rubber gloves, but, reacting with quantitatively faster reflexes, she retreated behind the equipment cart, keeping the stainless steel wagon safely between them. “You streak-eyed witch, you’ve killed me!”

Dhasal suspected that she could easily evade or overpower the decrepit old man even if she wasn’t blessed with superior DNA. As it was, his pathetic[275]lunge turned out to be the last gasp of his fading physical reserves. She watched with interest as the infection took hold.

Sweating profusely, Williams fumbled clumsily with the seal of his hood, finally succeeding in ripping the gear from his head. “It’s so hot!” he gasped, clutching his throat while reeling unsteadily. “I can’t breathe.” He staggered across the floor, grabbing onto the metal cart for support, but the wheeled conveyance slid out from beneath him, causing him to topple forward, almost losing his balance entirely.

His grasping fingers dislodged the instrument tray, causing it to tip over onto the floor, landing with an enormous clang. Scalpels, syringes, stethoscope, and excruciator spilled onto the blood-stained tiles, adding to the clatter. “Water!” he pleaded, doubled over in agony. His red-rimmed eyes bulged from their watery sockets. “I need water!”

Fever and dehydration,Dhasal noted with clinical dispassion.
Interesting.

His symptoms developed at a vastly accelerated rate, exceeding even the characteristically rapid progression of necrotizing fasciitis. He dropped to the floor, unable to stand, and rolled over onto his back. His black-gloved hands groped uselessly in the air above him. A purplish rash appeared on his face and throat, which also began to swell grotesquely.

Astounding,Dhasal thought, impressed with the speed of the attacking pathogen. Ordinarily, such advanced symptoms would take three to four days to develop.