Longer

–SIX–

They watched the screen in silence.

“If he crashes, it’s on him,” she said.

“The shuttle’s on autopilot.”

“He might decide to disable it. He’s just the type.”

“Give it a rest,” said Cav.

More silence. The shuttle glinted sunlight and steadily grew in size.

“So he juved.”

Cav nodded.

“A bit on the early side, wasn’t it?”

“Didn’t want to wait.”

“That I get.” Ruby, his mother, had juved at the age of seventy both times. Early for some, not for her. Her health demanded it.

“Go easy on him,” Cav pleaded.

“I intend to be very nice. After all, he’s my husband’s guest. In this, our very own house. Our hideaway. Our nest.”

“Very good,” said Cav. “Very droll.”

“I haven’t forgiven you.”

He hadn’t expected her to. He hadn’t quite forgiven himself.

“Maybe with time,” he said. “Meanwhile, twist the knife all you like.”

“Oh, boo-hoo. Mr. Melodramatic.” She punched him on the shoulder. “Get a grip on yourself. Your best friend’s about to show up.”

Sage advice. He didn’t have to be told twice.

“My best friend’s been enhanced.”

“You said. How’s he look?”

“He looks good.”

“Different?”

“Younger.”

Obviously. “Happy?”

“Sure.”

“Eager?”

“Raring to go.” This was Dash in a nutshell.

“No change there.”

“That’s right. Not there.”

“Handsome, I assume.”

“They’re all handsome at that age.”

“You know what I mean.”

He did. It went without saying. Dashaud Mikelson. A unique and uniquely striking man. “I was handsome once, so I’ve been told.”

“I never noticed.”

“You loved me for my brain.”

“The same way you loved me.”

An old joke.

The ice was melting. He could feel it. Had never wanted anything more.

He hated the thought of pushing her away. Hated the idea of losing her love. This thaw—implicit, unspoken—filled him with hope. He felt himself falling for her just as he had the very first time. And repeatedly since then. Felt the world disappear, his heart expand.

“I love you, Gunjita.”

She smiled, without taking her eyes from the screen. “Love you, too, baby.”

He felt a stirring. A rare occurrence. Not to be lightly dismissed, or squandered.

He pressed against her hip. Slid his arm around her neck. Then under her shirt.

“Not now,” she said.

“We have time.”

She didn’t argue. Let him have his way, but eventually lifted his hand from her breast, pressed it to her lips, then returned it to him. “Later, okay?”

She had other things on her mind. He understood this. He had other things on his, too. Things that he’d set in motion. When those things took on a life of their own, there were bound to be disappointments. People couldn’t help but get their feelings hurt.

He kissed the top of her head. Their future was approaching. He watched the screen with her, but after a while got tired of it, kissed her again, then left to take a nap.

Three hours later he was shaking Dash’s hand. Then hugging him, which was like hugging a god. They separated, and Dash faced Gunjita.

“Hello,” he said.

“Hello, Dashaud.”

“Long time.”

“Ages.”

“It’s good to see you.”

“Good to see you.” He had a smile that lit the room. That part of him hadn’t changed.

“How was your flight?” she asked.

“Uneventful.”

Tiptoeing around, and why not?

“First time?”

“In space? No.”

“Dash did an internship,” said Cav.

“I didn’t know.”

“Muscle research,” said Dash. “Low-grav effects. Early stuff. I was up for a month.”

“Before my time.”

“It was in my résumé.”

“Must have slipped my mind. Can’t imagine why.”

Dash let it slide. “Cav says you’re working on it now.”

“Muscles? We’re not.”

“Actomyosin,” said Cav.

“Not by design. But it’s there. Can’t get away from it.”

Dash nodded. “That’s how it was with us.”

“Pain in the ass getting our cells to divide. Getting consistent motion of any kind.”

“Weak signal,” he commiserated.

“Creature of Earth. Or was. Now it doesn’t know what it’s supposed to do. How to behave. A very confused molecule.”

“I’d be confused, too,” said Dash. “Torn from my momma.”

A harmless comment. Sweet even. She wondered what he meant. Realized how little she knew of him. How little she wanted to know. How determined she was, out of spite alone, to keep him at arm’s length.

“I’m its new mother,” she said. “I’m teaching it to toe the line.”

“She’s doing all the hard work,” said Cav.

“All the lifting.”

“Not all.”

“It’s fine, dear. Everyone needs a vacation.” She patted his cheek condescendingly, a public display of marital discord she would later apologize for. She was nervous, and not herself. A forgivable offense, given the circumstances.

“Cav says you’ve been enhanced.”

“It’s true,” said Dash.

“Your sense of touch.”

“True again.”

“Everywhere?”

“My fingertips mostly.”

“Where else?”

A moment’s hesitation, as if unsure what she was asking. “Mostly them.”

Now she had made him nervous, too. She felt both better and worse. Stifled the urge to ask for an on-the-spot demonstration. But didn’t skimp on the feigned enthusiasm.

“Wonderful. Magic fingers. You’ve come to us in the nick of time. Cav says you can feel everything now.”

“Not everything.”

“Life? Can you feel that?”

“Yes.”

“The difference between life and nonlife?”

“Yes. I believe so.”

“Perfect. You can weigh in. Give us your enhanced opinion.”

He gave her a look, as if to ask: Why are you doing this?

They locked eyes.

“I’ll do what I can,” he said quietly. “Cav?”

“Yes. By all means. May not have to cut. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

“Done any lately?” she asked.

He thought of the fulmar. “A little.”

“Still an ace with the knife? You and it still one?”

“I can find my way around.”

“Thin slice?”

“Sure. As thin as you need.” Puffing out his chest a little.

“What about fixing the specimen? Staining it? Prepping the slide? Can you do that?”

“Not my area of expertise. But I can follow the prompts. How hard can it be?”

“What about reading it?” she asked.

“What is this, a job interview?”

“The job’s yours. I’m finding out if you can do it.”

“I assume you have software.”

“This thing may not be in the database. Probably isn’t.”

“You’re throwing up roadblocks.”

“Not me,” she said.

“I’m not a pathologist.”

Cav had heard enough. “None of us is. But we all know something. Put our heads together, chances are we’ll be close to the mark. But first things first. You brought the HUBIES?”

“Brought everything.”

“They survived the flight? They’re functional?”

“Will be by tomorrow.”

“Are they awake?”

“They’re warming up.”

“I’d like to see.” He glanced at Gunjita. “Gunjita’s not pleased.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth. They exist. We might as well use them.”

“I agree,” he said. “Let them do what they were meant to do. Fulfill their purpose. Assuage our guilt.”

“I have no guilt,” said Dash. “We were responding to a need.”

“Supposed,” said Gunjita.

“Idealized,” said Cav. “No matter. We took liberties. It’s what we do. Latitude in all things, especially when we wear our research hats. Occupational hazard. Industry standard. You weren’t the only one feeding the machine.”

“You didn’t feel threatened? You weren’t afraid?” Dash couldn’t believe it. The Hoax was a nightmare that touched every corner or the globe.

Gunjita laughed. “Cav? You’re kidding, right? When they filled the skies, and the world was freaking out, he was rubbing his hands, and had a big fat grin on his face. It was a dream come true.”

“You exaggerate.”

“I was visiting my grandparents,” said Dash. “They were scared to death. Everyone was.”

“Not everyone.”

“It was a lesson,” said Cav. “What we will and won’t permit. Playing to our greatest fear.”

“Annihilation,” said Dash.

“Enslavement,” said Gunjita.

“Invasion,” said Cav. “Ironic, considering what we harbor in our own bodies. How many alien species at last count? How many alien cells? At least half of who we are is nonhuman.”

“Your point?” asked Gunjita, who feared a rambling speech.

“We wouldn’t be alive were it not for them. They wouldn’t be alive were it not for us. We should be more tolerant. We’re bigger than we behave. Harmony is woven into our DNA.”

“That’s very beautiful, Cav,” said Dash. “Very eloquent. But you know what they say about harmony.”

“What do they say?”

“It’s like smoke.”

“Who says that?”

“Disharmony does. Second law of thermodynamics. You want it to last, you’ve got to tighten the screws. Recognize threats. Protect and defend. That’s also woven in. Bad things happen when we don’t.”

“A balance, of course. But how sad if we let ignorance and fear govern us. How counterproductive. We could miss the very things we’re looking for. Or could be looking for. Listen to this. Stop me if you’ve already heard.

“Our retrovirome is what? Eight percent of our genome? Sequences inserted randomly, or nonrandomly, as far back as fifty million years ago. A group has excised it in its entirety, piece by piece, and knitted the pieces together. And guess what? The chain is biologically active. It makes a virus of its own. Brand new, never before seen.”

“I don’t believe it,” said Gunjita. “What’s this virus do?”

“It reproduces.”

“That’s it?”

“They’re being very cautious. Very careful.”

“No doubt. Mice?”

He nodded.

“And?”

“The sample size is extremely small.”

“You’re stalling. What’s it do?” she asked.

“Hair on the tongue.”

“Say again?”

“Little tufts. Presumably because mice have little tongues.”

“Human hair?”

He hesitated. “Baboon.”

She was less than impressed. “You know these people?”

“I know the journal.”

“What’s it called?”

It had a long name, sprinkled with the words “Proceedings,” “Archive,” “Academy,” and “Experimental.”

“Never heard of it,” she said, who had heard of everything.

“Radical stuff,” said Cav.

She gave him a look. “Hair on the tongue? You think so? Maybe you want to join forces with them. Work on this radical project. Help them out. No. Wait. I’m sorry. We have our own work. How silly of me. You have a job to do here.”

“She means Gleem,” said Cav. “They’re expecting a miracle.”

“They’ve been more than generous. They deserve one.”

“What they’re doing is a crime. What they deserve is our contempt.”

“Really? In what sense is it a crime?” She hated him when he was like this. Sanctimonious. Naive.

“H82W8 is unnecessary. A waste of resources. In that sense. It’s redundant. Reiterative. What good will it do, and for whom?”

“Not for us to decide. Not as long as they’re paying the bills.”

“How is it redundant?” asked Dash. “You juved.”

“Once.”

“One time or a hundred. The principle’s the same.”

“I disagree.”

“Are you sorry? Do you regret it?”

“No. Not at all. I don’t.”

“Neither do I,” said Dash. “Some things are overrated. I think we’d all agree. Being young isn’t one of them. Look at me. What do you see? A black Viking god, I know. Apart from that.”

“What could we possibly see apart from that?” asked Gunjita, all innocence.

“My apologies. I’m blindingly bright, it’s true. Cover your eyes if you have to. Not you, Cav. Look at me. Look at Gunjita.”

“I know what youth looks like,” said Cav.

“Do you remember how it feels?”

“How can I forget, with the two of you to remind me? It’s a beautiful thing. Truly. I couldn’t be happier for you.”

“Then do it. Juve. What’s stopping you?”

Cav heaved a sigh. He had no ready reply. All he could think of was them—Gunjita, Dashaud—and the worry he was causing.

“I hate the thought of losing you,” he said. “I love you both so much.”

This stopped them in their tracks. Neither of them knew what to say.

Cav welcomed the silence. Then it got to be too much, their speechlessness and abashed, imploding faces yet another responsibility.

He had to distance himself. “You look different,” he told Dash.

Gunjita refused to be sidetracked. “You don’t have to.”

“You don’t,” said Dash.

“Paler. You look paler. Are you ill?”

“Not ill. Lighter-skinned. Just a shade or two.”

Gunjita had noticed at once. She shifted her attention. “Deliberately?”

“No. Why would I do that?”

Inevitably, she thought of his mother. No one prouder of her heritage than Ruby Kincaid, nor as outspoken against racism, which still festered in pockets around the globe, like untreated sewage. Not nearly as bad as it had been. The Hoax, ironically, had united people like never before.

But “not as bad” was not good enough, not by a long shot, not for people like Ruby Kincaid, a tolerant woman except when it came to bigotry and prejudice. Who could be tolerant, much less safe, when certain of humanity’s citizens “remained at war with themselves, drunk on some cockeyed, manufactured pecking order, clucking around like crazy chickens, lacking the decency to keep their mouths shut, and barring that, the common courtesy to have their heads cut off?”[2]

“The enhancement,” said Cav.

Dash nodded.

“Interfered with melaninization.”

Another nod. “More Meissner’s, Merkel’s, and Pacinian’s, less melanocytes. Crowded them out.”

“You took a risk,” said Cav.

“What are you talking about?” asked Gunjita.

Five minutes later, after a spirited lesson that began with mechanoreceptors—pressure and motion detectors—in the skin, and ended with one of them, the Meissner corpuscle, named for its discoverer, an accomplished researcher and illustrator, who studied electric fish, developed a technique to preserve organs for years without putrefaction (thereby advancing by leaps and bounds the science of antisepsis), and loved music, Dash returned to Cav’s comment about risk.

“A thousand to one.”

“Nonetheless,” Cav replied haughtily.

Dash was having none of it. “There’s a risk anytime you do anything. That includes doing nothing.”

“Words of wisdom,” said Gunjita. “Are you listening, sweetheart?”

He was, mostly to his own intuition. He sensed a subtle change in Dash, a shyness, a whisper of unhappiness and insecurity.

“Are you pleased with the outcome?” he asked, hoping the answer was yes.

Dash responded by studying his hand, front and back. He’d been so preoccupied with the change in sensation he hadn’t spent much time thinking about anything else. He was blessed with good looks and a strong sense of self. Too handsome by half. Mindful and proud of his roots. All this before juving. Now he looked like he’d been rinsed in skim milk.

A mild shock, like waking from a deep sleep. He felt exposed, defensive.

“I am,” he told Cav, puffing out his chest. “Completely satisfied. One hundred percent.”

“Then I’m glad. I have a question. Please don’t think me rude. You know me better than that.”

Dash did, and had no reservations about anything Cav might ask. Happy, even eager, to bare his soul.

Didn’t feel quite the same with Gunjita present.

His fingertips had started to throb, as though to remind him that his heart was beating rather hard and fast. At the same time the throb felt independent of his heart, his fingertips an entirely separate organ, restless, hungry for further stimulation and experience, desperate to touch something.

He glanced at Gunjita. Sensibly, kept his hands to himself, though not without an effort.

Focused on Cav.“Ninety percent,” he said, coming clean and braving embarrassment.

Cav, who had suspected as much, merely nodded. “My question is this: can you feel the difference?”

“What difference is that?”

“In color. Tint. Shade. Before and after.”

Leave it to Cav.

Who proceeded to elaborate. “Our visitor … sometimes it looks yellowish-green, sometimes greenish-yellow. I want to know how it’s doing that. If it’s doing that, if it’s truly changing.”

Whether he could or couldn’t differentiate wavelengths of light with his new biology had never entered Dash’s mind. Now, of course, he was curious.

He raised two fingers, and gently touched his cheek. Was halted by the bristle, which felt like a bed of nails. Pressed past it, onto his skin itself, which was warm, feathery, and giving. Pillow-soft, barely any resistance, as though it were backing away from his touch, receding. Was it lighter colored than before? Nothing to compare it to. But he felt something.

Amazing.

Also possible: he was making it up. Not his sense of touch at all, but his imagination.

How to distinguish between the two? Gunjita would run an experiment. Cav might run one, too, though just as likely take what he said at face value.

Nothing quite as good as working with Cav.

Who was watching him now. Thinking of the Ooi. Hoping for good news. “Yes? No?”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“Yes. Maybe.”

“Weak or solid?”

“Not weak.”

“Then solid.”

“Yes. Solid. Definitely. A solid maybe.”

Cav did not conceal his joy. He took Dash by the arm. “Maybe’s good enough for now. Come this way, you beautiful man. Let’s put your new talent to work.”