Protean
Although
their prize subject had proved mostly cooperative
for many months now, the desperate fox could reemerge at
any time, Daniel had cautioned them, prepared to turn teeth to
its own bone and sinew to limp away from a trap. So they
paid particular attention to see that straps around Kensei's
wrists and ankles were well-padded.
"You," the soft, alien voice, weak from long disuse, accused Bob when he entered. "You and your special" - the nostrils twitched in a sudden flare of emotion - "friends. You can't keep me here forever."
"We'll jump that hurdle when we come to it, Mr. Kensei. You needn't worry about us."
"Oh, I'm not worried," the blond replied easily. Bob resisted turning toward the one-way mirrors behind which the others were observing. This was his experiment, and he would carry it through.
He wrapped his hand around Kensei's bare forearm. The temperature in the room was near to freezing, but Kensei's skin was dangerously feverish beneath Bob's palm. He's stocking up, preparing himself, Daniel said when they had first discovered this.
Flesh resisted transmogrification, especially when it was alive.
Living cells were unruly and forever in flux, following their own genetic blueprint, differentiating themselves even as he ordered them to conform to his design; and Kensei's cells, even more so than that of the rats and apes Bob had tested on, had a mind of their own. It was, Bob imagined, rather like orchestrating an undisciplined marching band.
You have your orders, he told them. Now march.
It started in the arm directly in contact with his hand: the solid flesh became transparent, cool, and liquid. Kensei shuddered and began to scream. The sound was quickly choked off when his throat filled with water, and then his body spilled apart, breaking the forces that were struggling to hold it together - a rupturing dam. You can't keep me here forever.
Even now, filters in the floor of the lab were draining the molecularly transformed Kensei into three separate chambers. Maury had laughed when he heard about it: If it turns into three people, we can call them Tom, Dick, and Harry.
No one had suggested aloud that the subject might not survive; they all knew better than that.
Bob sprang back, almost slipping on the now-wet floor. He had the terrifying image of himself falling, of the immortal absorbing into his suit, his shirt, and slowly squeezing the life out of him.
He opened the door, rejoining the others behind the safety of plastic and steel.
24 October 2007