Chapter Text
A flashing light at the corner of the screen caught Dr. Levitsky's eye. He looked at the name and sighed, but why evade the inevitable. "Accept call".
"80,000 IUCs, that’s what your little whim has cost us, and all before it’s even out of the developmental chamber.”
"Nice to see you too."
"I don't think you fully comprehend the seriousness of the situation. Our entire financial cycle will be thrown out of balance if this continues."
“Genius doesn’t come cheap. You’ve said it a thousand times.”
“But there’s been no indication so far that this is a genius, and frankly we can’t afford to find out.”
“You mean, I presume, to say that there’s no evidence it will be any more of a genius than the others; they’re all brilliant, you know.”
“Stop trying to distract me. It won’t work.”
“It was a legitimate point. Even if my experiment doesn’t work it should be just as good as any of them.”
“Mentally, yes, but to get it to the same physical level its going to need at least one more fetal surgery and probably growth stimulation for its legs. Where do you propose we get the money for that?”
“Just think of all the money you’ve spent already. All wasted if you get rid of it now.”
“And what about all the money I’ll have to waste to keep the damn thing alive?”
“But—”
“When an experiment costs more than we can afford, we get rid of it. I thought I’d made that clear.”
“How can you expect success if you’re not willing to make sacrifices for it, if you’re too close-minded to try anything new?”
“So maybe I am close-minded, but at least I stop us from going bankrupt. Your sentimentality is costing us thousands. You want to keep it alive? Fine. But I’m not spending another unit on its behalf."
The screen went dark. Levitsky ran a weary hand through his hair. As much as he wanted to believe the experiment would succeed, science, fact, and years of experience told him the chances were slim. Yet he couldn’t just watch the boy die.
Levitsky's feet carried him down the long, bare hallways to the developmental sector. His fingers flew over the keypad by the department gate. He could've simply checked the health records of the developmental sector, but Levitsky was almost certain his computer was being monitored for any questionable activity. There was no explicit rule against checking an experiment of course, but it implied a personal attachment. That was completely out of the question.
The security cameras swiveled their black, reflective eyes towards him. Despite the apparent emptiness of the room, dozens of tiny embryos lay within the darkened chambers that lined the walls, each carefully monitored by the hundreds of sensors. Only if sensors reported a disturbance of one of the fetuses would the general security recordings be checked—the recordings that showed Levitsky. He was, in effect, invisible.
His eyes scanned the numbers next to each chamber. 945, 946, 947. With the press of a button the chamber's circular window lit up to show experiment 947. Legs twisted and shrunken. A tiny smudged face peeking out from its oversized head. He would be frail, most likely unable to walk without aid if he could walk at all. The others would prey on him, without a doubt, make his life as miserable as it would be brief. He should kill it. Enter his code and give the command. It would be painless, the prick of a needle, then nothing. A strong man would do it. A merciful man would do it. Levitsky took a last look at the fetus and strode out.
* * *
The air was filled with piercing sounds, coming from all around. But one little boy remained silent. He had done it for a while, though, opening his mouth and screeching like the others, but nothing happened so he had stopped. The sounds must help them, must give them something. Why else would they make them?
So much noise. His ears began to hurt. He wished they would stop and somehow they did. All was quiet in his mind, peaceful, like sleep only he could see around him. The padded walls of his compartment on all sides and up above a soft bluish light. Suddenly a shadow passed over the light. Looming over him was a bristled shaggy head, not at all like his own smooth one. He wanted to see what it would feel like, to run his hand through the shagginess, but his arm wasn't long enough to span the distance and so chose not to expend the energy. The mouth of the strange head began to move. He wanted to hear, so he did. The sounds were nice. Soft and subtle, with intricacies beyond his comprehension. They told of a world beyond the screeching sounds and the simple chamber that was his world. He moved his own mouth, mimicking the movements of the face above him.
Three years later
947 watched through the glass window in front of him as 946 stood facing a bulb set in the wall. Suddenly it flashed with blue light. It seemed rather anticlimactic to 947 who had been expecting a procedure of some sort. However, it's effects on 946 were evident. His face froze in a distorted mask, fists clenching at his sides. 947 noted the rapid rise and fall of his chest. No doubt his pulse was racing.
Yet 947 felt nothing. Could there be a variable present which could only be observed from inside the room? Perhaps a sound combined with the light could cause the reaction he had observed. He had no choice but to wait and see.
A buzzer sounded and 947 positioned his crutches underneath his armpits and hobbled into the room. He stood facing the light fixture waiting when the thought crossed his mind. What if nothing happens? What if there is no additional stimulus? The light began to flash. 947 felt nothing. Why isn't it working? No. No time for that. But I can't just sit here. Not after seeing how it affected 946. He wasn't able to pin down the logic that was telling him to imitate what 946 did, but somehow he knew it was what he needed to do. He elevated his heart and respiratory rates. Mimicked 946's facial and bodily responses as best he could. The light turned off and the buzzer sounded. He exited the room. Whatever the test was, he hoped he passed.
* * *
"Well, would you believe it Payne, a perfectly normal response."
"Facts cannot be ignored, surprising as they may be. Though your statement was not precisely correct. There was an unusual delay in the response, however small."
"I can't imagine it would cause any problems."
"Probably not, but I'm sure you wouldn't object to a backup plan."
"No. Though I cannot see why it's necessary."
"If you object to the additional attention, we can eliminate the experiment altogether."
"Four years of data, and still you refuse to accept success."
“Success? From a scientific perspective, perhaps so. But we can’t fully succeed until we understand everything, until we know how it works and how to keep it under control.”
“So what do you suggest? We can’t just train it using pain like a dog.”
“Of course not. But what if we could develop a drug that would ensure we could control it.”
“And do what? Torture it?”
“If necessary. But I would be surprised if it was. After living all its life with the abilities you engineered, the sudden loss might be disorienting enough on its own.”
“Have you ever considered that this is all just in your own head?”
“What?”
“Your obsessive need to control the experiments on every level.”
“Psychoanalyze me to your heart’s content, Levitsky, but it won’t keep 947 alive.”
The screen went dark. On Levitsky’s monitor an alert blinked. Termination of experiment #947 — 30 days. Levitsky stiffened. Payne wasn’t bluffing. 947 was scheduled for termination and only Payne’s override could stop it.
Levitsky sat before his monitor, torn. It would be easier to hand the project over to someone else. But he knew the only way to ensure 947’s safety was to develop the drug himself, to minimize the risks 947 was exposed to. Plus, as much as he disliked the thought of doing the testing himself, the thought of someone else doing it was worse.
Levitsky turned to his files on 947’s genetic design. Within a few hours he had a rough foundation to build on, the basics of how the drug would function. But already he could see how long the process of development would be. There were so many factors, so many things that could go wrong and no real way to anticipate them. It would take testing, repetition, a process of trial and error.
When the tests began a few weeks later, Levitsky conducted them remotely, maintaining contact with the subordinates conducting the trials. He would make adjustments and send the formulas back, waiting as they collected the results. It wasn't until a week into the testing that Levitsky visited the room himself.
He made his way through the halls, a strange uneasiness in his stomach. When he reached the medical sector, he was met with a small group of lab technicians and nurses, all full of questions. What was the drug for? Was it having the intended effect? How closely was Payne monitoring the procedures? Levitsky brushed them off with hurried assurances and opened the door to 947’s room.
His eyes flew over the scene, refusing to linger on any one thing. White-clad nurses and neurologists, a small body on a large bed, tubes trailing from its arms, strapped down at the wrists. It wasn’t crying or screaming, which didn’t make sense. Any child would be upset by the bright lights and sharp needles, the drug’s effects non-withstanding. Levitsky forced himself to concentrate, to focus his glances, and his gaze fell on 947’s face. At first it seemed no different, no particular signs of distress. If anything it seemed merely confused. But then Levitsky met 947’s eyes and he understood. 947 wasn’t calm, he was numb, past all forms of expression. His eyes weren’t worried, afraid, desperate. They were dead.
I should have killed him four years ago. I should have done it before it would hurt him.
One Year Later
"Today we are going to be solving systems of equations." 947 sat straight in his seat listening as the teacher explained today's mathematics lesson. She flipped a switch on her control board and the main screen of the classroom lit up.
5x + 3y = 11
6y - 4x = 15
"Now I could just tell you how to do this of course. But I would prefer to let you work it out yourselves. Does anyone have an idea on how to begin?"
947 pressed his response indicator immediately, and the class groaned. "Yes 947?"
"Isolate one variable in one of the equations and substitute the resulting expression for that variable in the second equation."
"Correct." She replied, a slight smile on her face. "Let's work this through now shall we?"
The teacher worked out the problem for them as the class took notes. 947 was uninterested. The idea was the exiting part. The rest, while necessary, was tedious.
Next, the teacher put a new problem on the board and told them to solve it as fast as they could and type in their responses when they were finished. 947 didn't want to hear. It was distracting. He didn't hear. No sounds, just his brain and the numbers. He typed in the answer and pressed submit. He watched the other experiments as they sat, fidgeting, scratching themselves, yawning. How hard it must be to concentrate with all of those distractions. Finally all the responses were in and the teacher read out their results. "First response in, 947 and... Correct." The class burst into sounds of frustration. 947 kept his face blank. Don't know what to do, so I won't do anything. "Second response, 926... Incorrect." A few boys snickered softly. "Third response, 933... Correct." 933 looked smug for a moment before scowling at the floor. "Fourth, 946... Correct." 947 looked to the desk next to him to see 946 smiling quietly. "And Fifth is 935... Correct." 935 looked around with a triumphant expression. When the lesson was over the class filed out. As 947 retrieved his crutches from the ground next to his desk, he watched the other boys, noticing as one, then two boys hurried to 935's side. Why did he attract them like that? He was clearly not the smartest of the group. There must be something helpful about it. Maybe I should just try. Can't be that difficult. He approached the nearest boy.
"Hello."
"What do you want?" 947 thought hard. The truth is I'm not sure what I want. I want whatever 935 is getting from those boys who are with him.
"I was wondering what you thought about today's lesson." What else could he talk about?
"Why would you care what I think? No. Never mind. What I really want to know is what you thought about the lesson."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that no one can ever tell what you're thinking. You never smile or frown or laugh or anything. It scares people, you know."
He can't control it like me? The sounds, the feelings? Oh. I knew more or less I suppose. When the blue light room didn't affect me I knew there was something different. But what happens if he knows. If the teachers know. The lab wouldn't keep me alive if they knew they couldn't control me.
"Smiling and laughing aren't very useful." The boy wasn't satisfied but 947 was afraid to say anything more. "Goodbye." He turned at the soonest opportunity, taking a different route back to the sleeping quarters.
When he arrived at the quarters, 947 found a group of about 5 boys sitting on and around 935's bed. They were all laughing at something 935 had said.
"That was a good one Clutch." One of the boys, 926, said between gasps. Clutch? Who was Clutch. He was number 935, not Clutch. 947 walked between the two rows of bunks on either side of the room. When he reached the clump of boys however, his supports came up against something. His inertia pushed him forwards and he found himself on the floor, his face smacking against the metal. He didn't want to feel the pain. He didn't feel it. Off. He heard the boys laughing.
"Wonder if we made him cry."
"No. Not him. He's got a face like stone."
"Come on Stoneface, just a little tear."
947 detangled his legs and pulled himself upright. He limped toward his bed as quickly as he could without once looking back.