I am actually a virgin, not that I intend to tell him about that. I intend to keep my personal life very private from him. He has the air of a man who would be judgmental either way. It is hard to please him, I think. Plus, I don’t particularly like him. I’d understand the surliness if I had done anything to deserve it, but I am just doing my job. Or trying to get to the point where I have a job to do. I bet he has very little understanding of what that feels like.
* * *
Simon
I should be nicer. I am trying to be nicer.
This young woman is very pretty. Her sleek brown hair is tied back in an efficient ponytail, and her makeup is applied in a similar fashion. She’s dressed like her job. Brown cardigan. Skirt that hits just below her knees. Tall boots that come up underneath. They’re flat heels. Practical, but faintly stylish. I could say that about her in general, actually.
She’s making notes with a stylus on her pad. I think she’s got some kind of paper type covering on it to make it feel more like she’s writing with pen and paper. A Luddite, then. Interesting that she chooses to work as a technical writer.
I bet she’d love a journal as a present. I imagine she has several at home already, unused or barely used. Too good to make notes in. Some people make rough notes on pads like she has, or cheap paper, then make ornate spreads in their journals. I don’t think she has time for that.
I notice and catalog all these things while she stares at the Chimouse. It’s actually one of the less advanced successful experiments I’ve conducted, but it’s safe to show the general public and it’s the sort of nonsense that keeps shareholders happy.
“So this isn’t a blended creature, born from some kind of modified egg?”
“No. This is a mouse who became a chicken. Or part of one. Would you like to see the magic part?”
“Of course.”
I go ahead and reach for the antidote. The creature is trained to suckle at a dropper by instinct, so it takes the medicine withouthesitation. The small size means it saturates quickly; there’s only a pause of thirty seconds or so before the Chimouse starts to devolve back to its original form.
“Oh, my god!” Lydia squeaks. I like her excitement. It’s always gratifying to see people react to this technology. I have managed to blend magic and science and what is left behind is something that could appear in any fantasy novel. But this is real life. I have harnessed something that people have dreamed of for centuries. This is as close as anybody has ever gotten to a true incarnation of the philosopher’s stone. It’s almost more alchemical than scientific.
“It’s a mouse again!”
Lydia is blocking the cage with her head, but I know what she saw. The feathers shrivel and then drop. After that, the whole thing starts to assume something much closer to traditional mouse shape and continues to shrink even as it grows fur and a mouse tail and whiskers.
“It is,” I say.
“It’s almost unnatural, how fast the transformation takes place,” she says. “I feel like I’m watching something that can’t possibly be real—but it is. Isn’t it. You’ve really done this. You’re brilliant!”
“Thank you,” I say. It’s hard not to be gratified by her enthusiasm.
“How does it happen so quickly?”
“When the genes shift, so does the form,” I explain. “There’s an agent that speeds the phenotypical expression, but that’s proprietary.”
“Everything you do is proprietary,” she says. “I’m cleared to know everything.”
She might be cleared by Veronica, but she hasn’t been cleared by me. There are plenty of things about this tech that I am keeping to myself. The documentation is limited for a reason, and that is why I have been somewhat unpleasant to the girl. I have no intention of laying all my secrets bare to her, or to anyone.
“This is going to change the world,” she says. “I can’t imagine what you’re going to do with this. I can’t imagine what they will do. Making animals out of other animals! You could bring species back from the dead. De-extinction!”
“Sure,” I say, knowing full well that nothing so wholesome is planned. The ability to shift the flesh is going to have a great many applications, many of them terrible.
“Or…” She pauses. “Wow. The possibilities seem almost endless.”
“Indeed. Anyway. You can start writing. I will give you my notes and you can work on them here. It should be enough. If you need me, I will be working. So. Try not to ask me any questions.”
She gives me that slightly wounded look because she doesn’t understand why I am being this way to her. I am doing her a favor. The more I keep her at arm’s length, the safer she will be. I’ll let her write up just enough to keep the suits and the shareholders happy. Meanwhile, the only person who will ever be able to actually action these transformations will remain me.
“I have the job?” She looks up at me with big puppy eyes, and I have to resist the urge to pat her on the head and tell her that she’s a good girl. Something tells me she might enjoy that a littletoo much. This woman has a submissive streak in her, or maybe it’s just the effect seeking employment has on anybody.
“So far you do,” I tell her. “I’m willing to give you a trial.”
“Thank you!” She beams. “You won’t be disappointed, I promise.”
