Race and Helen were slow dancing, wet cheek to wet cheek.
Father Thrist was on his knees, hands clasped in prayer.
Dr. Harker had her nail clippers out.
Bub was staring at Sun through the Plexiglas, the expression on his face unpleasant.
Sun shivered. “I liked him better before he could talk,” she said. “Let's get started.”
She left Red 14, feeling the demon’s eyes on her the entire time.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Pathetic, Dr. Julie Harker thought.
Race had kissed so much demon ass his face was turning brown. The All Important Roosevelt Book had been left on his chair, forgotten. Race and Helen had danced out of Red 14 an hour ago, giggling like teenagers. Probably going to have sex, Harker guessed. The thought sickened her.
Just as sickening was Father Thrist, sucking up to Bub with sycophantic relish. He'd given Bub his precious bible, preaching endlessly about the wonders of Jesus and the Holy Spirit. Harker had been a Christian, once. Her parish priest offered no explanation for her daughter’s death, other than the lame “The Lord works in mysterious ways.”
A child’s death wasn’t mysterious. It was reprehensible. Harker wanted no part of any religion that allowed such a thing to happen.
Harker sat patiently outside of the habitat, waiting. She had a question to ask Bub, but she wanted to be alone when she did. It was admittedly a long shot, but it kept Harker rooted to her chair, watching Father Thrist grovel and gesture. Harker passed the time by picking at her cuticles, a habit from her youth. A day didn't go by where she didn't draw some blood from one or two fingers, cutting down too deep.
After an interminable wait, the priest left. Running off to call the Pope, Harker guessed. The only two remaining in Red 14 were herself and that flake Dr. Belgium. Belgium was busy at the computer, engrossed in some gene program. Harker decided to chance being overheard, and she approached the habitat slowly.
“Dr. Haaaaarker. Are you maaaaaaaad?”
“Mad? Why?”
“I heeeeeeealed Helen. You could noooooot.”
“I haven't examined her yet, so I can't be sure the Huntington's is actually gone.”
“You have dooooooubt.”
“No. I just prefer facts to faith.”
The demon nodded. Harker eyed him, hoof to horn. He was certainly formidable. But supernatural? Harker decided she didn’t care, one way or the other.
“So you can raise the dead?” she asked.
“Yesssssssss.”
“How long can they be dead before you can raise them? Minutes, hours... years?”
“Houuuuuurs.”
Harker frowned. She'd been harboring a minor fantasy of digging up her beloved Shirley and bringing her to Bub. It was ridiculous, she knew. But better to ask than always wonder.
“Who diiiiiied?”
“Excuse me?”
“You want me to bring someone baaaaaaaack.”
Harker's eyes began to glaze and her lower lip quivered. She couldn’t help it. The pain never went away.
“I lost a child,” Harker said.
Bub grinned. His grin was like opening a drawer full of steak knives.
“I can maaaaaaake a child.”
Harker blinked. “What?”
“A chiiiiild. I can maaaaaaaake one.”
“A newborn?”
“Any aaaaaaaaage.”
That would be perfect! All these years, without hope of ever holding a baby again...
“How?” Harker asked.
“A sheeeeeeeeeep.”
Harker frowned.
“You can make a baby out of a sheep?”
“I can change the geeeeeeeeenes. Make it huuuuuman.”
“I'd like to see,” Harker said.
“I neeeeed your help.”
“How?”
The demon leaned closer to the Plexiglas and lowered his voice.
“We shouldn’t beeeeeeee here,” Bub said.
Harker furrowed her brow. “What do you mean?”
“In Samhaaaaaaain. You and I are trapped heeeeeere.”
No kidding, Harker thought.
“So what do you want?”
“To get oooooooout.”
Harker shook her head. “Impossible. I couldn't help you. The President would have me killed, plain and simple. He'd send me back to prison for even thinking about it. No way.”
“Booooooy or giiiiiiirl?”
“There's too much security.”
“Booooooy or giiiiiiirl?”
Harker could picture Shirley’s face.
“A girl. A little girl.”
“I can maaaaake a beautiful giiiiiirl.”
“I can't. There's the door here, plus the two coded gates in the Red Arm. There's also a camera right over my shoulder.”
“Give meeee the cooooooodes.”
Harker thought it over. That couldn't be traced back to her. And if Bub got out, so what? The demon had a right to be free. He didn't deserve to be locked up here any more than Harker did. In fact, if Bub escaped, Harker might even be allowed to leave. No more Bub, no more Project Samhain.
But even more important than that was the thought of having a child. If just for a few stolen hours. It had been so long. The feedings, the diapers, those little fingers and toes...
“I give you the door code, you make me a child,” Harker confirmed.
Bub nodded.
“The child first,” Harker said.
“I neeeeeeeed proof.”
“How?”
“You’ll think of soooooomething.”
Harker would think of something. Suddenly nothing else mattered to her. During her trial she'd been evaluated by a court-appointed shrink who did a thoroughly incompetent job, but who had managed to say something interesting. Harker had shown no remorse. And why should she have? She loved Shirley more than her birth parents ever could have. But because Harker never felt bad for her actions, the judge decided she could never be rehabilitated.
And never was a very long time.
“Everything you told the priest,” Harker said, “that was all bullshit, wasn't it?”
“Whyyyyyyyyyy?”
“I need to know if I can trust you. Maybe if I let you escape you'll try to murder us all.”
Bub laughed, a giant frog croaking.
“Truuuuuust meeeeee.”
Harker decided that she didn't care what Bub's plans were. She was going to help him no matter what.
“Okay. I'll need some time to think of something. We'll also need some way to turn off the video camera. I don't want to get caught.”
“I’ll take caaaaare of that. Tell Sun I want two sheeeeeeeeep.”
“Fine.”
Harker checked her watch. She had about an hour. How could she somehow prove to Bub that she was giving him the real code, other than taking him out of his habitat and showing him?
Showing him.
“I'll see you at lunch time,” Harker said. She left Red 14, hoping she'd be able to make her plan work.
*
Dr. Frank Belgium was oblivious to the exchange. He was busy multi-tasking on the Cray. Switching focus from nuclear to mitochondrial DNA, Belgium used restriction enzymes to cut some specific sequences, then used a PCR—polymerase chain reaction—machine to amplify the sample for an STR test. The DNA molecules actually went through channels in a microchip and then passed through a laser beam, getting 'fingerprinted' in the process. This would give him a tagged sequence that could be checked against samples from other life forms in the database.