Dumarest closed his eyes, wondering at his bafflement. Not at the inability to solve the problem but at the fog which seemed to cloud his memory. The word Myra had said she had heard while lying at her lover's side. Not Erce-of that he was certain. One which had sounded like it and which he'd taken for a distortion.
Opening his eyes, he looked at the beasts ornamenting the walls, the writhing depictions of life in many forms. Decoration inspired by the legend of Eden? The goddess which had ruled over a multitude of forms? What had Myra said?
Dumarest looked at his hands, the charts, the answer which had stared him in the face all along.
Circe-the woman who had turned men into beasts.
How better to describe a genetic engineer.
Kuldip was a small, dark world warmed by a distant sun; a smoldering furnace blotched with ebon, ringed by a scarlet corona. The mountains had weathered into hills, the seas dried into lakes dotted with islands and scummed with weed. From the hills men wrested ores, gems, precious metals. From the seas the product of massive bivalves. The main industry was the Chetame Laboratories.
"It's big." Dino Sayer lifted a hand, pointing. "The largest installation on the planet."
He was an old man, his body frail beneath his uniform of russet and emerald, his head bald, the skin seeming to bear a high polish. His face was seamed, lined and scored with the clawed feet of time, his eyes a pale azure, the whites flecked with yellow. A technician high in the hierarchy of the laboratory. The guide provided to show Dumarest around.
"It's grown," he said, his hand moving to point. "A century ago we only had that building, that space, those stockades. When Armand took over he engaged on a period of expansion and gained finance to put up the rest."
"Armand Chetame?"
"That's right. Charisse's father. A genius." Sayer shook his head in regret at the man's passing. "I came to him as a boy and he treated me like a son. Taught me, educated me, guided me every step of the way. Others, too, of course, but he was like that. He wanted to build the best team he could get and he set out to do it. I reckon he did it too."
Dumarest recognized the pride in the old man's voice, his proprietary tone. The laboratories had been his life and he would stay with them until he died. Dumarest looked over the edge of the raft at the long, barrack-like buildings, the warehouses, fences, towers, stockades. Animals grazed on lush vegetation, some looking up as the shadow of the raft darkened the ground before them.
"Prototypes?"
"Basic stock," explained his guide. "Ruminants, naturally, providing meat, hides, bone, horn-all the animal can be utilized. We adapt their germ plasm to various requirements as the need arises. Another of Armand's ideas-he figured it was better to have a selected basic than to develop from scratch at each order. For one thing we can fill a small demand and do it without waste of time."
"Yields?"
"That depends on the requirement." Sayer was pleased at the informed interest. "If you own ground on a rough, tough world you aren't interested in milk-yield as much as survival ability. You want your beasts to be able to live on local growths, withstand extremes of temperature, be aggressive enough to defend themselves against predators and breed fast enough to show a profit. From the basic stock we can provide all that. Gestation is four months and a calf is weaned in as many weeks. High metabolic factor for the initial period slows after maturity has been reached. A hide tough enough to withstand fire, thermal fat distribution to withstand cold, coat capable of rapid moult and regrowth and so adapted to short seasons. You can freeze those beasts in solid ice," he boasted. "Keep them frozen for a month and, as long as they can breath, they'll survive. They'll grow fat where other cattle will starve."
Dumarest said, "Adaptive triggers?"
"Naturally. When food is short a sterility factor operates to reduce fertility. Climatic change can slow gestation up to double the normal period or induce abortion if the foetus is newly established-these creatures have been designed to survive. You a stock farmer?"
"I've worked on such farms."
"Hunted, too, I guess." Sayer nodded his satisfaction. "You ask the right questions and I guess you know your business. Over there, now-" He pointed. "Behind that grove of trees. We're trying something new. Armand didn't bother with novelties," he explained. "He went for the basic needs; cattle for sustenance, beasts for riding, birds, fish, snakes, even. A snake can live in places a man can't and they make good, cheap eating. But Charisse wants to open new markets."
Dumarest remembered the creature he had fought. "For guards?"
"That and spectacle and for the hunting preserves. Take us down, Feld."
The driver of the raft turned in his seat. "You want to land?"
"No. Just take us down." Sayer pointed again as the man obeyed. "There! See?"
Beyond the trees rested long grass, an apparently lifeless swathe then, as Dumarest looked, he saw a long, loping shape, another, a dozen which reared to reflect the sunlight from pointed fangs. Dogs the size of ponies, their coats mottled in tawny camouflage.
"Guard dogs," explained Sayer. "A special order but we've found them useful for general patrol duties and are maintaining a stock pack. Their intelligence has been enhanced as has their group response. A pack will take orders and work in unison. Nothing really new in that, of course, dogs have been used to track and defend and hold and kill for millennia now, but we've increased their potential about as far as it will go. Want to take a closer look?"
The raft dropped as Dumarest nodded and he gripped the rail as, below, long bodies lifted to reveal the large, clawed feet, the well-muscled legs. The creatures sat after the initial leap, jaws gaping, eyes brightly watchful.
Dumarest said, "What if there were an accident and we crashed?"
"They won't kill," said the driver. "Not without a direct command. They'd just hold us until ordered to let us go by the captain. After dark it would be different." He lifted the raft a little as he spoke. "Then they have the kill command," he said. "No one can hope to break into the laboratory area."
"We guard our own," said the old man. "Vicious looking things, aren't they? Want to see something really unusual? Feld-take us to the teleths."
Another area, this time one set with circular huts, paths, small patches set with various crops. Dumarest looked for signs of human life and saw small figures standing in the shadow of trees. Pygmies? He narrowed his eyes as the raft dropped, lowering to come to a landing on a patch of grass.
"No dogs," said Sayer. "And don't worry about danger. I'll take care of it if anything should happen."
"With that?"
"A stunner." The guide hefted the thick-barreled weapon. "Throws the nervous system all to hell. They have a receptor engrafted in the skull and attached to the main ganglia. Not that we'll need it. The things are tranked all the time."
"Drugged?"
"An implant which affects the higher nerve centers. We maintain it unless special tests are needed. But for now I want to show you something." Sayer paused and looked toward the small figures. "Now."
For a long moment nothing happened then a group of the shapes came forward to stand at the edge of the patch of grass. Not human though they had a humanoid form-monkey-like things about four feet tall with large, staring eyes, crested skulls, a fine down covering hides of mousey gray. Their hands were slender each bearing three fingers and an opposed thumb. Their feet matched their hands. All appeared neuter.
"Sexual development has been arrested at the prepuberty stage," said the old man. "Physically they are large, undeveloped children, but can be adapted for breeding if the necessity should arise. At the moment we are checking out a new gene pattern aimed at achieving a rudimentary telepathic ability. Now watch. I'm going to have them split into two groups, one will pick up debris from the paths, the other from the grass."