F Paul Wilson - Sims 03 (12 page)

 
          
He’s wrong! Mercer Sinclair thought,
fighting a vertiginous sense of unreality. Portero’s wrong! He has to be!

 
          
…the father of the sim’s baby is
human…

 
          
Those words hung in the air before
him, almost visible. He sensed that if he reached out his hand he might touch
them.

 
          
He looked at his security chief’s
smug expression and knew that Portero believed it, but that didn’t mean it was
true. Being a tough guy didn’t mean you couldn’t be scammed.

 
          
Mercer worked his lips, forcing out
the words. “A hoax!” he cried, but it sounded more like a bleat.

 
          
Portero shook his head. “I have it
from all three farmers: They all believed they were in possession of a pregnant
sim that was going to make them rich beyond their wildest dreams.”

 
          
“Then they believed wrong!”

 
          
“Wait a second,” Ellis said. “They
believed. That’s important. They may have been morally bankrupt, but they
weren’t ignorant. A globulin farm requires a fair amount of scientific
sophistication. And if they were convinced that one of their
sims
was pregnant…”

 
          
Mercer stared at his brother. Ellis
seemed to have shaken off the pain and humiliation of Portero’s gut punch. But
instead of feeling, as Mercer did, that his lips were encased in lead, Ellis
seemed almost…energized.

 
          
And he was thinking the unthinkable.

 
          
“Ellis…it can’t be. Read my lips:
Sims.
Are.
Sterile.
Want me
to write it out on a piece of paper for you?”

 
          
“But a sim gene can mutate,” Ellis
said. “Sims can’t evolve, but they’re as prone to mutations as any other
organism. Murphy’s Law, Merce: Shit happens, especially when it comes to
reproduction. Nature abhors a dead-end species nearly as much as a vacuum.”

 
          
“Don’t talk to me of ‘Nature’ and
what it abhors,” Mercer said. “I abhor teleological concepts. Life is
chemicals, pure and simple.”

 
          
Ellis went on as if Mercer hadn’t
spoken. “I remember reading years ago about a woman who’d lost her left ovary
due to a ruptured cyst and her right fallopian tube due to a tubal pregnancy.
She was told she’d never have to worry about birth control, but years later she
showed up in her doctor’s office with a positive pregnancy test. An ultrasound
showed that her left fallopian tube had migrated across her uterus to link up
with her right ovary.”

 
          
“Apocryphal garbage.”

 
          
Ellis looked at Portero. “This Bryce
woman who called, this microbiologist, did she tell you how she found out the
sim—what was her name again?”

 
          
“Meerm,” Portero gritted. The name
burned like acid on his tongue.

 
          
“Did she tell you how she discovered
Meerm was pregnant?”

 
          
Portero made a face. “What difference
does it make?”

 
          
“Humor me.”

 
          
A sigh, then, “When she first called
she told me she’d been working up a sick sim—vomiting, pain. Couldn’t find out
what was wrong so she sent blood out to a commercial lab and ordered a preset
battery of tests for abdominal pain. The battery was designed for humans, and
one of those tests was for pregnancy. It came back positive. She repeated it at
three different labs, and all came back positive. She rented an ultrasound rig
and that removed all doubt. She overnighted me copies of the blood work and the
ultrasound. I had our people go over them. They said it could easily be a hoax,
but there was enough there to be worried about.”

 
          
Mercer said, “So you made a
preemptive strike before the Japanese could get involved.”

 
          
Portero inclined his head a few
degrees.
“Exactly.”

 
          
Had to hand it to the man: His
methods might be loathsome, but he got things done.

 
          
“But why invent this SLA group?”

 
          
“For cover.
I didn’t want anyone to guess the real reason for the raid, and a bunch of
wacked-out sim huggers seemed perfect. The op would have gone down without a
hitch if their security guy hadn’t decided to take his job seriously. Four of
us went in and the jerk started shooting, so we had to take him out. The shots
must’ve spooked the pregnant sim who was being kept separate from the other
cows. When I couldn’t find her I figured she was hiding somewhere in the
building; since I didn’t have time to look for her, I fired the place.”

 
          
“But no sim remains were found,”
Ellis said. “
Which meant she escaped.
” He shook his
head. “I can see the logic, sick as it is, of killing the humans. But why the
sims
?
Even if they somehow knew about
Meerm’s pregnancy, who’d believe them?”

 
          
Portero’s eyes narrowed and his tone
skirted with a snarl. “First off, I wasn’t about to nursemaid a bunch of
monkeys. Second, they could identify us. And third, our people over in Basic
Research wanted to look at their gonads, just in case they’d undergone any
changes like the pregnant one. I covered that by taking hearts and kidneys and
livers too—made it look like a harvest.”

 
          
Mercer clenched his teeth and stared
at Portero. You shit!
he
thought. Just yesterday you
stood right there and played all innocent about organlegging and xenografts.

 
          
He wanted to throw something at him
but feared Portero might return it with interest. Or worse, shove it down his
throat.

 
          
“What ice-cold womb did you spring
from?” Ellis said, still shaking his head.

 
          
Mercer feared Portero might react
violently, but the insult seemed to roll off him. And Mercer realized that
neither of them could insult Luca Portero, because Portero didn’t care what
they thought.

 
          
We’re of a different species, and our
opinions are irrelevant.

 
          
Mercer watched as his brother closed
his eyes a moment, took a breath,
then
said, “How did
the globulin farmers know the father was human?”

 
          
“They asked the sim and she fingered
Craig Strickland, the farm’s security guard—”

 
          
“The corpse that
was found in the fire?”

 
          
“Yeah, him.
Seemed he’d been spending some of his guard time diddling the livestock.
Before he ate a few bullets.”

 
          
Mercer slumped back in his chair,
rubbing his eyes. This can’t be happening.

 
          
“You realize what this means, don’t
you, Merce.”
His brother’s voice.

 
          
It wasn’t a question. Mercer lowered
his hands to find Ellis staring at him. Yes, he knew exactly what this meant:
the end of SimGen.

 
          
But only if somebody else found the
sim first.

 
          
“Five million dollars,” Mercer
blurted. “I’m raising the reward to five million for information leading to the
successful ‘rescue’—and I want that term emphasized—of the missing sim. We’ll
say the reason we’re willing to pay so much is that she can lead us to the
killers of the twelve dead
sims
, and that nobody
slaughters and mutilates our sims and gets away with it.”

 
          
“What if she’s dead?” Portero said.
“She can’t be ‘rescued’ then.”

 
          
Mercer thought about that a moment.
“I want her to be worth more alive than dead, so we’ll offer to pay just one
million for her remains. But I want her alive, get it?
Alive,
alive, alive!”

 
          
Yes. Get their hands on this sim
before anyone else. And once she’s safely tucked away, find out how she became
fertile. Then take steps to make sure it never happens again.

 
          
Somewhere, out there, walking around,
was
living,
breathing proof that humans and sims could
cross-fertilize…Mercer’s worst nightmares had never even come close to such an
apocalyptic scenario. If news of this ever got out,
sims
would have to be reclassified closer to human, too close to be property, too
close to be leased…

 
          
Imagine having to announce that at
the stockholders’ meeting next week. SimGen shares would crash and burn…they’d
be the Hindenberg of the NASDAQ. He’d lose everything. Everything!

 
          
And so would SIRG.

 
          
“Find her, Portero,” Mercer said.
“This is as important to your people as it is to me. All that SimGen stock they
hold will be toilet paper if someone beats us to her. If you do nothing else in
your life, you must find that sim. That is your number one priority.”

 
          
“Not quite,” Portero said softly.
“There’s another, equally pressing matter that requires my attention.”

 
          
Looking at the security chief’s dark
expression, and knowing his ruthlessness, Mercer was glad he was not that other
“equally pressing matter.” He wondered who might be involved,
then
decided he’d rather not know.

 
          
“But don’t worry about your pregnant
sim,” Portero went on. “I’ve got a good idea where she is and I’ll have men
watching the area twenty-four/ seven. You’ll have your sim.”

 
          
NEWARK
,
NJ

 
          
Mans go way. Meerm hide in wall. Too
fraid come out. Meerm feel something move inside. Not first time. Meerm feel
before but
nev
so much.
Move-move-move inside.
What do that? Is why
Meerm belly so big?

 
          
When sim come back work, Meerm climb
out wall. Not leave closet because hear other man come.
Yell-yell-yell.

 
          
“You, you lousy monkey bastard! You
made me look like a jerk!”

 
          
Meerm hear Beece say, “Please, sir,
Beece not understand.”

 
          
Meerm peek through crack. See big
red-hair man stand over Beece.

 
          
“Don’t give me that shit! You lied to
me!”

 
          
“Beece tell truth!”

 
          
“You said there was a sick female sim
here! Do you see her? Where is she? Show her to me, you lying monkey bastard!
Show me!”

 
          
Meerm see red-hair man raise fist.
Meerm close eye, turn away.
Hear hit sounds, hear Beece make
hurt sounds.

 
          
“Hey-hey-hey!”
Benny
say
. “You kill him, you replace him!”

 
          
Meerm hear other hit sound, hear more
hurt sound.

 
          
“I oughta drop-kick your sim ass
right out the window! All right, I’m outta here. If I have to look at another
monkey I’m gonna puke!”

 
          
Man and Benny leave. Meerm want hide
more but must see Beece. Beece friend, Beece hurt. Meerm leave closet. Find all
sim in circle round Beece bunk.
Beece eye swoll, nose bleed.
Hold side.
Poor Beece.
Hurt-hurt-hurt.

 
          
“Beece!
Meerm sorry!
Ver sorry.”

 
          
Beece say, “Not Meerm fault.
Beece fault.
Beece want help Meerm but Meerm right. Bad
mans.
Ver bad.”

 
          
“Poor Beece!”

 
          
“Beece not tell ever again.” Beece
look at other sim. “No sim tell mans bout Meerm. If tell mans come hurt Meerm
like hurt Beece.” Beece close good eye now. “Beece tired. Sleep now.”

 
          
Meerm stay by Beece.
Stroke arm.
Poor hurt Beece.
Meerm so sad.
Keep hand on Beece arm. Stay by Beece all night.