Mira Grant - Symbiont

The false factory was located on the second floor, which had been divided into two levels by some cunning tricks of interior design and elevator programming. The first level was a walkway made of plastic-coated steel gridding surrounded by a clear, waist-high plastic guardrail. It was completely wheelchair accessible, all long, gentle turns and shallow ramps as it made its way around the room, taking the most circuitous path possible. The elevator always stopped there first no matter how the buttons were pushed, since that was where the tourists were supposed to get off, and then continued down to the actual work level.

Once, the view beneath the walkway would have been all colorful, impractical machinery being tended by men and women in neon scrubs, with perpetual smiles plastered across their faces. No facial hair, pregnancies, or visible tattoos were allowed in the tourist factory, although all three were tolerated and even encouraged in the real Captain Candy. The good Captain didn’t care what you looked like, as long as you came to work and did your job the way that you were told to. The Captain’s PR department was a little more fixated on appearances, and they insisted that he run a tight ship, if only to keep those birthday dollars rolling through the door.

I think I would have liked Captain Candy. You know. If he’d actually been a real person, and if he’d managed to survive the rise of the SymboGen implants with his mind and his humanity intact.

The view from above had changed considerably since the factory switched hands, even if it all still belonged to the corporation on paper. The colorful machines were still there, but most of them had been gutted for whatever useful parts they happened to contain, and then left open to the air as they were converted into planters or small habitats for the less free-range inhabitants of our private indoor farm and animal sanctuary. The neon uniforms were long gone, along with the people who used to wear them. Instead, an observer would find Dr. Cale’s assistants moving between the machines, most of them wearing T-shirts or tank tops and jeans, a few with dirty white lab coats thrown over the top, as if to say, “I’m working in an indoor farm, but I’m still a scientist; I will always be a scientist.” The number of lab coats had dwindled even in the weeks since I’d come to the factory, as people realized that maybe some trappings of the old world were less important to hang on to than others.

We were building a world, one piece at a time. It was a small world, and a strangely dysfunctional one, but it was one where we could be relatively safe, and relatively happy, and maybe find a way to save the human race. If we were lucky, and we worked hard enough—which meant science for most of the people around me, and farming and taking care of the animals for the people like me, who had connections to the science community without being part of it—there was still a chance that we could find a way for everyone to live in peace. All we had to do was stop the cousins from taking over their hosts, and stop the humans from killing all the sleepwalkers and chimera who had already resulted from those takeovers. The sleepwalkers were bitey, but maybe they could still be helped, if we could just keep them alive.

It didn’t even sound easy. I put my fork down and looked glumly at the smears of syrup and berry juice that remained on my plate. Across from me, Nathan kept eating. He knew that whatever was bothering me, I’d share it eventually, and he needed to pack in as many calories as possible before his shift in the lab started. There was no eating allowed near the active cultures, for fear of contamination.

Footsteps on the faux stone pathway behind us caught both of our attention. I turned in my seat while Nathan raised his head. Daisy was standing in the doorway to the area, eyes wide, a slightly poleaxed expression on her round, normally friendly face.

“You’re both needed downstairs,” she said without preamble.

“I’m not on duty for another thirty minutes,” said Nathan.

“I know.” Daisy sounded frustrated. “But like I said, we need you both , and right now there’s no such thing as being off duty, because we have a situation. Sal is required, and you’re not going to let her go out alone.”

“Why won’t he let me go alone?” I asked, bemused. “What kind of situation means I can’t go out alone?” The unconscious echo hit me an instant later, and a thin worm of panic writhed in my stomach. Everyone here at Dr. Cale’s lab was steeped in the mythology of an obscure, out of print children’s book, and from us, those words meant something very concrete.

Daisy looked at me solemnly, an uncharacteristic reserve in her mossy green eyes. “Dr. Banks is here,” she said. “He’s asking for you.”

The transfer of genetic materials was complete at 6:52 p.m. on October 18, 2027. The selected donor, a lab assistant originally attached to the tissue rejection research team, was put under twilight sedation but remained conscious and able to respond to stimulus. All remained normal within the subject area for approximately forty-five minutes, following which the donor began to experience confusion, disorientation, and some pain. This continued for approximately fifteen minutes. Pertinent parts of her final words have been captured and attached to this document.

The donor lost consciousness for the first time at 9:01 p.m. on October 18, 2027. She regained consciousness once, for approximately three minutes. Consciousness was lost for the final time at 11:57 p.m. The subject awoke the following morning at 5:13 a.m., seeming fully integrated with the nervous system and mind of its new host. All medical readings and records have been attached.

Things are going to be different now.

>> Yes, I can hear you, Dr. Banks. Thank you. I’m very comfortable. Thank you. I believe the drugs are working. I feel… light. Like there’s nothing holding me down. Is something holding me down?

>> I can hear the bone saw. It’s very loud. Bone conduction is funny.

>> Did you put something inside the incision? I think you may have left something inside the incision. It feels like something is pushing on me. Like there’s pressure where pressure isn’t supposed to… isn’t supposed to… oh.

>> My mother took me to the carnival once. It was in a field. Just a field. Most of the time it was full of cows and grass and now it was full of magic. Everything was magic. I said I wanted to be a carnival girl. She said no, be a scientist, make something of yourself… I’m cold. I’m cold.

>> It hurts.

>> It hurts.

>> [screaming]

>> [screams continue]

>> I don’t… I don’t… I can’t… I’m not…

>> Where am I let me out I want to go home I can’t—

>> [barely audible] I’m still in here. Let me out. I’m still here.

Daisy fidgeted as the elevator slid down into the bowels of the factory, plucking at the hems on her sleeves and casting sidelong glances at me and at Nathan, like she thought we had somehow been struck blind by the discovery that Dr. Banks had managed to find us. It wasn’t like Captain Candy’s was a natural place to conceal an underground biotech lab. If he’d located us here, he must have spent quite a lot of time and effort on looking. He had to have a reason.

I leaned against Nathan’s side, trying to calm my breathing, or at least get the frantic pounding of my heart under control. In that moment, I would almost have welcomed Sherman and his weird biomechanical control. At least then I wouldn’t have felt so much like I was on the verge of losing consciousness.