Hybrid Vigor, Part 5

Notice:  This story has been rated "NC17" for adult language, nudity,
strong sexual content, violence, and explicit smoking.  If you find any
of this objectionable, I suggest you try another fetish.

Copyright 1997 by G. M. Sullivan.  All rights reserved.  This story may
be copied and distributed for the uncompensated amusement of others
only.

Author's note:  This story takes place during the spring before the
events described in "Dying for a Cigarette" and "Phoenix Ascending."
While it is not necessary to read those stories to enjoy this one, I
recommend them to you with full prejudice.

Dedication:  For Sstoryman, with deepest respect.


"Hybrid Vigor"  Part Five of Five


Part Five:  Apocalypse Soon

16.  The Miracle

Roger Demming greeted Brickman at the front door.

"Come on in Stu," he said, trying to sound happy to see him.  "Mary Lou
and the missus are still asleep, so let's keep it down."

Demming and Brickman sat in the darkened living room.  Brickman
fidgeted, trying to control his impatience to speak to Mary Lou.
"There was nothing mysterious about Shelly's visits," said Demming.
"The girl was just showin' initiative.  She came here mainly to learn
to smoke, which is what you wanted her to do, isn't that right?"

"Yeah, Roger, but something smell's wrong.  I'm worried about Shelly,
and now about Mary Lou, too.  I think there's some pretty wild stuff
going on at OST, which is why I sent Shelly there in the first place.
Maybe it's time I was a little more straight with you..."

Their conversation was interrupted by a thump from upstairs.  Demming
stood immediately, a look of concern on his face, and he started for
the stairs.  Brickman followed.

Demming came to Mary Lou's door, knocked lightly, then opened it
without waiting for an answer.  Brickman stayed outside but stood where
he could see into the room.  He was in no mood to observe the finer
proprieties.

Mary Lou was standing by her bed, crutches forgotten, her father
holding her shoulders.  "Look, papa," she said, "it doesn't hurt
anymore!  Ah can walk!"  To demonstrate the point she lifted her left
leg, allowing her whole weight to settle on the plaster-coated right
leg.

"But the doctor said it would be another week before..." started
Demming.

"Who cares what that old doctor said!  It doesn't hurt!"  She started
hopping up and down on her broken leg.  "Let's go see him today,
please, papa?  Maybe ah can get rid of this stupid cast!  Thank god for
Shelly and those cigarettes..."

"Cigarettes?  What cigarettes?" asked Brickman, entering the room. Mary
Lou noticed the stranger for the first time and went red.  "Did Shelly
bring you cigarettes from the lab?" he continued.

"Yes, but..." Mary Lou was concerned she had let a secret out.  Was
this man from the police?

"My god, Stu, what are you saying?" asked Demming.

"I'm saying that OST is conducting illegal drug experiments on humans,
and that Mary Lou, intentionally or not, has been exposed to some sort
of doctored tobacco.  I know it looks good now, Roger, but who knows
what the side effects might be?  I suggest you take Mary Lou to the
hospital, tell them she's taken some unknown drug, and have them run a
full series of tests."

"Papa, no!  Ah feel fine!  Shelly didn't do anything wrong..."

Ignoring her, Brickman pressed on.  "No offense, Roger, but tobacco
companies do not have a history of tender, loving, regard for their
customers.  You have legal rights in this matter, understand me?  To
preserve them, and your daughter's health, I suggest you get moving
right away.  In the meantime..."  Brickman paused, noticing for the
first time a small, white object partially concealed on the floor.  He
bent to pick it up while Demming and Mary Lou resumed their argument,
ignoring him.

It was "Mary Lou's"...Shelly's OST ID badge.  Look like the old luck is
in, thought Brickman.  "In the meantime, I'm going to pay Shelly and
Ryan both a visit and try to get to the bottom of this."  Without
paying the arguing pair any further heed, he let himself out.  He would
need to make a brief visit home first...


17.   Better Living Through Chemistry

Shelly and Dr. Ryan sat together in his quarters, both smoking RCJ
Premiums.  Shelly had learned to discipline herself not to consume the
entire cigarette in a single puff, and was contented with savoring one
small sip at a time.  It just gets better and better, she thought.

Allowing large volumes of smoke to seep out with her normal
breathing...her "new" normal breathing...she tried to digest what Dr.
Ryan...James...had told her.

"We are the Adam and Eve of a new subspecies," he had said.  "I don't
think titles and formalities are appropriate any longer."

And Lilith is on the way, she though, but said nothing.  She had
absorbed James's journal notes with a speed that rivaled his own,
intellectually.  Accepting it all emotionally was another matter.

"I'm sorry, Shelly," said Dr. Ryan.  "I realize now that I had no right
to do this to you..."

She gazed into his bright eyes.  Why had she ever been intimidated by
this man?  He was so young, so unsure of himself...so vulnerable.

"I should be thanking you, James," she said.  "I have never seen things
so clearly before."  And he was, to her new eyes, very attractive...

Dr. Ryan was thinking along similar lines.  Here was a beautiful
woman...strong, like he was...mentally quick, perhaps quicker than
he...here was the companion he had given up hoping for, if she would
only forgive him.  He moved to sit beside her on the small couch.

She gave him a brilliant smile, showing white teeth newly aligned,
diamond hard, all fillings long since ejected.  Not waiting for further
overtures, she bent forward to kiss him.

"Human sexual response is enhanced by RCJ in two ways.  First, the
ingested or inhaled compound is a short-term libido stimulant.  Second,
modifications to the peripheral and central nervous systems, along with
conscious control of their functions, permit a range of sexual
expression and experience not seen before in humans.

"I hypothesize that two RCJ-enhanced lovers might share each other's
sensory feedback directly through galvanic skin conductivity, allowing
perfect synchrony of stimulation and a near-identical knowledge of each
other's pleasure.  'Transcendent' would not be too strong a word for
such an experience.  Sexual contact would not be recommended with a
non-enhanced partner, due to the likelihood of serious injury to the
'inferior' participant.

"Increased libido was observed in the subject mice, along with a severe
depression of fertility.  The latter certainly makes sense from an
evolutionary standpoint, since there is a lesser need for replacement
individuals.  However, can the fertility effects be attributed to RCJ
alone, or is some higher balancing factor at work?  It is possible that
in the human subjects conception might become a voluntary act.

"Which leads to another line of thought.  My listing of mutagenic
effects is now fairly complete, but what of the teratogenic?  RCJ
should be able to penetrate the placental barrier quite easily.  What
then would be the experience of the enhanced fetus?  Self-aware from
the first trimester, would it go mad in the stifling darkness of the
womb over endless months of waiting for birth?  Or would the gestation
period also be controllable?  And if so, by which party?  Obviously, I
will not be able to answer these questions from self-observation."

Under the blankets in Dr. Ryan's bed, two nude bodies came hungrily
together.  From the first moment of contact, they shared an almost
telepathic communion of desire.  Exquisite skin sensitivity rippled and
eddied along the path of each caress, vital signs synchronizing,
response frequencies matching to perfection.

They moved with careful slowness, as the lightest kick could tear
sheets and send them flying about the room.  They slowed their
reactions to the greatest degree possible, and yet the passion grew
between them, demanding mergence, completion, satisfaction.

When at last she climbed atop him, she reached for her nearby
cigarettes.  She wanted the moment to be perfect, and she knew well
what these would contribute, chemically for them both and
psychologically as well for James.

She took three cigarettes from the pack and placed then all in her
mouth even as she guided him inside her.  She was momentarily
distracted by her initial orgasm which followed immediately.  It was
everything she had hoped for and more, every nerve singing with
electrochemical bliss, all sensations passing through to James, though
he did not ejaculate.

As they shuddered together in ecstasy, she lit the cigarettes.  They
would have to make something larger, she thought, for "changed ones"
like us.  These were much too small and fragile.

As she began to move up and down atop him, savoring pleasure greater
than she ever imagined possible, she consumed all three cigarettes in a
few quick inhales.  Discarding the filters, she bent down to meet his
waiting lips.

The smoke was exchanged between them many times as they moved together,
bringing their mutual arousal to the point where pleasure and pain
meet, indistinguishable and unendurable, yet neither wanted the
experience to end.  As the smoke finally escaped their lips and
nostrils, filling the space between their faces, her contractions
began.

Her spasms forced her up straight, smoke spilling from her mouth and
nostrils as she voiced her glass-shattering pleasure.  Feeling her
orgasms as his own, Dr. Ryan's own climax was triggered, his penis
erupting multiple times with force sufficient to have thrown a normal
woman from the bed.  Multiple orgasms echoed and reechoed through both
lovers, magnified like thunder through their more than human neural
pathways, until the room seemed to dissolve around them, opening into
realms unglimpsed by mortal eyes.

Shelly answered "Yes..." to an unfamiliar question which came
voicelessly from deep within her.

With a loud report, the bed slats broke into splinters.


18.  The Politics of Confrontation

Back in his own apartment, Brickman considered the night's
revelations.

What the hell was Aronsen doing?  He wasn't sure, but he guessed that
Ryan or some other smooth-talking OST bigwig had won her over to their
cause.  Never send a kid to do a man's job, he thought.  Another
mistake he would avoid in the future.  Now he would have to complete
this investigation himself.  If he could pull Aronsen out and talk some
sense into her, he should have plenty to go to print with.

Brickman harbored few illusions as to the calumny of large
corporations, especially these sellers of known poisons.  Those boys
were capable of playing rough when their vital interests were
threatened.  Well, he could play rough too.

Despite being a man of liberal sensibilities, he was no advocate of gun
control.  Unlocking a drawer, he removed his restored Colt .45
automatic pistol, which carried a full clip of armor-piercing shells he
had purchased back when such ammunition was legal.  "Man-stoppers," he
called them.  They would easily penetrate a Kevlar vest at 20 yards.

Concealing the weapon in the back of his pants, he pulled on a sports
jacket and left the apartment, taking "Mary Lou's" ID badge with him.
He would at least speak to Aronsen this morning, and perhaps Ryan as
well.  By god, he would.


19.  The Issue Decided

Shelly and Dr. Ryan entered the central room of the BL4-P lab.  They
were dressed in green jumpsuits only.  There was little point any
longer to wearing heavier protection.

He turned his gaze to Shelly, bright eyes meeting bright eyes with
perfect understanding.  "You agree?" he asked.

"I do."

"Please prepare a 20 percent agar solution for viral suspension,
Shelly. Use a 300 milliliter vial.  When the suspension is completed
and I have disconnected the HEPA filters, we will use the central
vacuum system to disseminate."

Ryan turned to the sealed drawer containing his viral cultures as
Shelly went to work.


20.  A Wrong Assumption

Brickman pulled up to the security gate and used the stolen ID badge to
gain entrance.  I just hope they haven't installed metal detectors, he
thought.

A highlighted line appeared on a monitor at the security desk.  The
guard noted the alert signal and saw that Mary Lou Demming had just
entered the secure parking lot.  The problem was that she was already
here, using a temporary pass.  The guard picked up a phone and called
Dane Peter's office.

Peters listened to the report and grimaced.  He knew full well that
there could be two "Mary Lous" on the premises.  He issued a quiet
alert for his men to sweep the building and arrest any and all women
answering to Mary Lou Demming's description, and to escort them at once
to his office.  After they were collected, he would notify Dr. Ryan.


21.  Containment Breach

Brickman walked quickly down the hall, resisting the urge to cover up
the ID badge pinned to his lapel.  Her certainly did not resemble
Aronsen, but the photograph was small and no one seemed to be paying
him any particular attention.

He had seen one or two guards about, and they did seem to be looking
for someone.  Oddly though, their eyes had passed over him without
registering any interest at all.  His luck was still in.

He had located the intern's area with the aid of wall maps, and had
seen that Aronsen was absent.  He hoped she was here somewhere, missing
ID badge or no, and not off to Mexico or some such place with Ryan.
The next best bet was the P4 lab itself, and he was almost there.

Brickman examined the forbidding, warning-plastered, steel door and
hesitated.  This looked awfully risky.  Was the story really worth it?
However, for all of Brickman's self-regard, he really saw himself as a
man of the people, with a responsibility to seek the truth wherever it
lay.  Checking to make sure there was no one watching, he tried the
badge in the door's slot.  It opened.


Dr. Ryan held the up the sealed vial containing the completed viral
suspension and gazed at it critically.  Viability was assured.  All
that remained now was to insert the needle-tipped hose through the
rubber stopper atop the vial, and the powerful air pumps in the central
pillar would do the rest.  The suspension would be evacuated
immediately and the two tailored viruses spread to the four winds;
unrecoverable, undetectable, unstoppable.

He walked over to where Shelly stood near the mouse cages and gazed at
her admiringly.  Goddess of a new world, she was radiant; hair thick,
shining, and alive, skin unmarked and smoothly reflective, eyes bright
with preternatural intelligence.  It would be difficult to leave her,
now.

The red door to the inner changing room hissed and swung inward,
revealing Stuart Brickman with pistol in hand.  Ryan raised a single
eyebrow, and gently urged Shelly away from his side, away from the
mouse cages.  She moved with reluctance.

Brickman stared at the pair he had sought.  My god, they looked
strange...almost inhuman!  What the hell was going on here?  Whatever
it was, it could not be allowed to continue in secret.  That's how
trouble usually started.

"Just stay where you are, Ryan.  The secret's out.  Mary Lou is at the
hospital right now, and pretty soon you'll be up to your ass in federal
inspectors.  Aronsen, come here.  We're leaving!"

Shelly stayed where she was.  Dr. Ryan took a very quick but small step
toward Brickman.

Startled at the speed of Ryan's movement, Brickman shouted, "I mean it
Ryan!"  He raised the gun and fired into the ceiling.

The report of the large pistol was deafening, and followed immediately
by a loud "ping!"  A quarter-sized hole appeared in roof of the lab,
and a faint hissing began.

Alarms warbled and lights flashed.  Smoke erupted from several of the
lab devices as small biological samples were automatically
incinerated.  An amber stream erupted from the sprinkler head above the
mouse cages, soaking the animals and Dr. Ryan.  The liquid burst into
intense flames on contact.

A small stream of the liquid splashed from Dr. Ryan's shoulder and
caught Brickman across the face.  Screaming, he flung the gun aside and
fell back into the inner changing room.

Wrapped in bright flames and grunting painfully, Dr. Ryan fell to the
floor.  With only a moment's pause, Shelly ran to his side and beat at
the flames with her bare hands.  Despite her enhancements, the
hot-burning sodium scorched them painfully.  Finally, only a small
smolder remained on Dr. Ryan's body.

Shelly bent to look into his face.  The skin was blackened and charred,
his pupils fixed and dilated. She could detect no breath, no pulse.
She knew what that meant.

She took his withered right hand in her own and said "Goodbye, James."
There were no tears.  She lacked the required moisture.

She stood, willing the pain in her burned hands to subside, and left
the flaming lab.  In the inner changing room, she paused to regard
Brickman, who was clutching his scarred face and moaning.

"Aronsen...is that you?  Help me...I'm blind..."

"Just wait here, asshole," she said.  "If you're lucky, someone might
offer you a cigarette."

Shelly walked through the erupting showers without pausing and saw
Peters and his guards enter the outer changing room at a dead run.
"There's a seriously injured man in there," she told him calmly.
"Better see to him."

Peters, who had been moving to detain her, stopped and waved his men
onward.  He could see someone lying in the inner changing room...and
beyond that...my god!

Shelly grabbed her street clothes and left the lab.  Making a quick
stop in Dr. Ryan's office, she yanked open the locked drawer and took
as many "special" packs as she could carry surreptitiously.  The
corridors were crowded with people quickly evacuating the R&D annex.
Joining the throng, Shelly slipped into anonymity and was gone.


22.  Dreaming Fields

Still, stifling, late May air lay heavily over the fields of recently
transplanted tobacco plants, grown to about six inches in height under
the relentless North Carolina sun.  A single car moved along the
shimmering country road that divided the closely-packed rows of
plants.

Shelly pulled over on the road's narrow shoulder and cut the engine.
Pulling down the sun visor, she examined her stranger's face in the
vanity mirror for any signs of slippage.

Her hair was now a dusky blonde and perfectly straight.  Her nose had
slightly lengthened and her lips were now more round and full.  She had
drained some of the pigment from her irises, giving them the same
ice-blue shade James's had had.  Her current fingerprints were not on
file in anyone's database.  She had, just for fun, shifted a few fatty
deposits to her breasts and thighs, enjoying the sex-kitten look it
lent her and the effect it had on the men who saw her.  Her skin was
lightly tanned and no longer looked strange to any casual observer.

Shelly lit one of her carefully hoarded supply of RCJ premiums and
thought back over the past two weeks months.  She blew white smoke
thoughtfully at the windshield, enjoying it's swirls and eddies in the
humid air.

Stuart Brickman had achieved his fame, but had also won an indictment
for murder and a life of perpetual darkness.  Dr. James M. Ryan had
been buried in a closed-casket funeral two days after the fire,
eulogized warmly by Horace Smithson, chairman of OST.

Mr. Smithson had lamented the loss of both the great scientist his
painstaking research.  All of the biological samples in the lab had
been destroyed, and Dr. Ryan's computer records were missing and
presumed erased.  There was no hope of anyone else reconstructing his
work.  The disaster had left Brickman's garbled accusations of illegal
drug testing both unprovable and moot.

Shelly Aronsen, wanted for questioning in the case, had not yet been
found.  Neither had Mary Lou Demming; she had slipped away from her
family after refusing all medical tests at a hospital in Henderson.
Shelly had no idea where Mary Lou was now.

Shelly reached into her purse and withdrew a perfume bottle about a
quarter-full of brown liquid.  Laying the cap on the seat, she opened
the car door and took a last puff on her RCJ Premium. Stepping forth,
she exhaled smoke into the warm, moist air.

Seeing that no field workers were in sight, she began walking between
the rows of small plants, pausing periodically to spray them from the
perfume bottle.  This was her third stop that day, and two more would
be sufficient to exhaust her supply of viral suspension, which she had
lifted from James's still hand in the midst of fire and confusion.  The
process was invisible, but already well begun.  Unrecoverable,
undetectable, unstoppable.

Finished here at last, she turned her eyes to her tummy, just beginning
to swell. "Jimmy, darling," she began, then looked upward, staring
straight into the sun with no discomfort.  "And James, dearest..."

"The world will never forget you."


The End

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