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A löngu síðan á Íslandi ..... [11]

 
Silja Henningsdottir's picture
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“What do you suggest we do now the Mortensson woman is dead?”

Dr. Malansky shrugged in answer to the question from an agitated Dr. Phillips, her eyes showing the fury of the frustration she had about yet another failure in her research.

“You know I will have to report this to Our Benefactors. I have to make this call and you know precisely what they will ask me.”

“Such are the pressures of your exalted position, Doctor Phillips.”

Her reply came as a withering stare. Dr Phillips turned and plucked the telephone from its cradle and keyed in the digits. She turned her back on Malansky and waited for the other end to pick up.

The next ten minutes were highly uncomfortable for Dr. Phillips. Malansky watched her body language, the sighs. Any attempts to give reasons or expectations to the barely audible but certainly furious voice at the other end of the line always ended in falling shoulders and nervous shifting of feet by Dr. Phillips. By the end she just nodded in agreement to whatever statements she heard.

“ Yes...   Yes....  Yes of course. “ Phillips looked at the ceiling for some non-existent inspiration. “ Yes,,  as soon as we can. We may have an alternative donor.....   Yes.   Yes .”

The receiver replaced, Phillips clicked out of the office on her black heels, slammed the door behind herself then stomped away along the corridor. Malansky listened to the heels fading away then poured himself a fresh coffee. He considered the situation carefully, Phillips was an ambitious bitch, committed to the research, and she herself was a product of “the program.” He would have to watch her carefully, he knew she would stop at nothing to provide The Benefactors with the “perfect” human being. Although what the definition of “perfect” meant, he was not exactly sure, but he was beginning to realise. He sighed.

When he first arrived in Reykjavik he was assured that The Program, as it was referred to, was to make human beings more resilient as they passed through from normal human life to Alpha clone. Early experiments made with volunteers, usually from the military, had shown promise. But all too often the cloning had failed. The subjects had become unable to form a conversation, all too often their bodies would spasm, causing them to leap into the air for no reason, or they would walk sideways, crab like.

After the arrival of Dr. Phillips though, things had changed. Little by little, Malansky became aware of subtle changes in direction. He also aware of the existence of The Benefactors.  And that the research seemed more about “purity” than resilience.

Little by little, Dr, Malansky became more uneasy about his role, and some of the work he had been asked to do. His conscience had begun to reawaken. Bit by bit, his appetite to perform “certain” procedures faded. Now he avoided as best he could, work on “purity dynamics.”  He sighed and wondered if Phillips kept a copy of “Mein Kampf” under her pillow at night.

 

Now back at her desk. Dr, Helen Phillips stared in to her data screen at the rows of figures and representations of DNA strings. She was fuming. Malansky had become a liability, he had become lazy.

“Lazy oaf!”  She cursed and she scrolled down the rows of data. Six months it would take for some other woman than that Mortensson bitch to grow another six-month foetus from which to take the stem-cell material required for the final experiment. Even if they had such a subject to impregnate. They hadn’t!

There was no way on God’s green Earth The Benefactors would wait that long anyway. The list of Uber-wealthy clients wishing immortality in a perfect body, in the “Brave New World” that Life-Net was designing for them.... well, that list was growing exponentially as fears of some apocalyptical “end of the world” became more widespread.

“...Unless”  Phillips made a few mouse clicks and the medical records of Silja Henninsdottir appeared in the screen. Phillips sat back in her chair, a self-effacing smile appeared on her thin lips.

“Maybe.... just maybe her mother’s demise can be turned to our advantage....”

Phillips picked up the telephone and tapped in the same number as earlier. She was sure the authorisation would be granted.

 

“After all, the kid is an orphan now. Who cares about that hmm?, Nobody’s going to miss her, are they.”

Comments

Joe Spivey's picture

((Very good. Really. Even though they are minor characters Phillips and Malansky are real and threatening.

Stick with me kid and you'll be farting through silk.

Silja Henningsdottir's picture

(( Thanks for the support Joe. Huyyy, almost there.  I can see the end of the story in my imagination, tricky part is how to get thre from here Frown

Iss eggsackertly wot I said .....    Idd-eee- oot !

Allriae's picture

((*pats Silja's back*

And I thought Silja was just a brat. She's so complex. I gotta read a bunch of her history yet.

Joe Spivey's picture

She's a brat. You're a brat. Between the pair of you it's surprising i've got any hair left at all.

Stick with me kid and you'll be farting through silk.

Allriae's picture

You're a brat!

Tuki's picture

I'm norra brat am i uncle Joe?

Erm................ Oops?

Joe Spivey's picture

No, you're just a little smartarse, now bugger off.

Stick with me kid and you'll be farting through silk.

Allriae's picture

I am uncle Joe! My head is as bald as my a-

Joe Spivey's picture

Your a- will have my bootprint on it if you ain't carefull young lady.

Stick with me kid and you'll be farting through silk.

Allriae's picture

Your a- will have my bootprint on it if you ain't careful young lady

Allriae's picture

Your a- will have my bootprint on it if you ain't careful young lady

Silja Henningsdottir's picture

Bahh !!   Spiveyjoe iss callering me the "Bratta,"  puhh   I is  No Bratta! Allelerlie is rightly. I ISS comm-perlexical !  You iss just thinkerings I wossa juss sommer Idd-ee-oot  blonderkid woss just beings simmerperel froms the Lifey-Netter Clowner? 

I iss workerins all harderly and haffing the repper-roo-tasheron as fasterestest anna mostest real-librarial coo-rear  inna the Proffer-rinse. 

Iss eggsackertly wot I said .....    Idd-eee- oot !



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