"Ring ring ring, ring ring ring, phone call, phone call,"
Ashton had been focusing on the screen before him, speaking into the recorder- watching a turtle that was swimming through a deep pool, slowly turning blue. It could breath above and below water; and seafoam was building up within it's shell, from the waves it generated, small though they were, as it swam.
"Ring ring ring, ring ring ring," the phone repeated, the most annoying ring tone possible, "phone call, pho-"
"Hello?" he asked, seeing the blocked number on the ID.
"Ash?" The voice on the other end was familiar, "How is your mission going?"
"My schooling?" he asked, annoyed.
"Your mission," she repeated.
"My schooling is going great. How's your arms dealing, ma?" he spat into the phone.
"Paying for your bullshit science. Have you found anything out yet?" she seemed just as annoyed with him as he was with her.
"About the bio-weapons?"
"About the bio-weapons."
"No. I've read all his journals- looked through his sketchbooks- honestly, ma, I think the man is fucked-up. I think he's a mad scientist. Those sketches aren't the work of science, it all looks like a fairy-tale forest. And all these mumblings about time travelers... He keeps everything locked up in his house, like he doesn't want anyone to know. But he's been drawing them for years- some of the books I've found; the pages are yellowed and stuck together-"
"I read your reports," she cut him off.
"My letters?" he sighed.
"Yes. You said that he's mutating animals- reptiles and amphibians, giving them strange powers. What's happening with that?"
"I saw a salamander burst into flames today." he turned his attention to the tank with the little lizards, "And it didn't die. It isn't dead. It's tail's still on fire."
"How strange. What is he doing? Why do my men in the government say that everyone is talking about SIPH-CO? They have some major arms deals in the works- there are governments- plural- lined up to hand their cash over to this failed art student. What is getting the mutagen from?"
"I don't know. He won't let me see it. He keeps it on him- all the time." Ash rubbed his eyes, "Look, ma, I don't know what you want from me- this whole 'arms dealing' bullshit is your thing- why did you send me for this? Why couldn't you send one of your fucking grunts or some shit?"
"Listen you little brat;" her voice was hot with anger, her rage flowing through the phone, "Do you think I need you- do you want to disappear with that entire fucking lab? Do you know what I've done- what I've sacrificed to put up with your ass? Do you think it's easy running this entire fucking business with a goddamn rugrat under my feet? Now you are going to get that mutagen, or find out where I can get it- or you'll breath your last fucking breath. And so will the science papa you've gotten so attached to!"
click
"I love you to, mom," Ashton sighed into the empty phone.
He looked around for a few minutes, picked up the recorder, and continued, "Subjects 007-009; Blue Enviroment; subject is changing color, as noted in the other groups. Seems to be a camouflage reflex" he cursed himself- the professor warned him to never use the word, 'seem' or put his personal spin on anything- to rely only on facts, "Subjects all seem to be holding water between the shell and skin- as a result, buoyancy has increased, and land speed has faltered somewhat. Not that they seem interested in spending much time on land-" there was that fucking word again!
He sighed, put down the recorder, and rubbed his temples. The old man was obviously crazy- he had convinced himself that he had seen... something certainly. But the notes he had been pouring over, through the man's sketchbooks, diaries, anything he could pull off the shelves while he slept- seemed to suggest more insanity then logic. He seemed to think that he had been visited by time travelers when he was a child- when he still lived in New Bark- and he seemed to think that he had seen things there, things that, if they had been real, would certainly have been Earth-shattering.
His sketchbooks contained detailed anatomical drawings of creatures that could only be described as monsters. Fantasy and sci-fi serial book covers; giant robots that walked like spiders, ripping out entire sections of the forest. He sighed, got up, pressed the code to lock the lab, and wandered into the living space. A large television lined one wall- ridiculously huge for someone like the professor, who never used it- his mother had been right; he had to be getting grants from somewhere. His house was located on a hillside, but the land surrounding it all belonged to Sam- how did he come into that money? Was it funds from SIPH? They did seem to have a hand in everything. It seemed odd that he and his mother hadn't crossed paths before.
He took the coffee from the burner and made himself a cup- glanced at the bookshelves, and sank to his haunches to skim along the bottom. He pulled out a particularly old and yellowed pad, and sat down at the bar between the kitchen and living-room. He flipped through it, looking in the corners, the margins, the drawings themselves, for any clue- anything to hold together the man's lunacy.
Monsters- all monsters drawn strait from a child's imagination with a fierce attention to technical detail that foretold of the skill of a biologist. Birds that were, surely exotic, but by no means impossible. Mice that had turned yellow with impossible tails; ducks that had turned blue, with claws the size of their hands; deer with odd branches where their horns should be; bears that shone like metal. None of it more then ideas; none of it meshing with reality. The sketchbook of an artist.
Then he turned a page; and had to choke back his coffee.
Sammy as a child- what had she called him- Flying Fingers Sammy; a self portrait- nothing special about that. He was cute, his hair a musky brown that fell to the sides of his face; an outfit fit for hiking through the rough woods; a backpack full of art supplies... with his arm around another kid. The other boy was roughly the same age- 10 or 11; he had black hair that stuck up in unusual angles- like it hadn't been brushed, and was shoved roughly under a hat that didn't quite hide it. His clothes were less suited for the hike then his friend- a shirt, a vest, a pair of jeans and sneakers- fingerless gloves for climbing- but...
It was his face. It was Ashton's face. He knew when he was looking at his own reflection, and he was looking into a mirror. When Sam had been 10- that had to be... 30? 40 years ago? There was no way- he would have been alive. But there he was- was it possible- did Sammy somehow know his father? Was the resemblance that striking? Ashton had never known his father- his mother was not the type of person to press, and she never wanted to speak on the subject. Down the side of the panel, in a perfect calligraphy were the words, "Me & Ash- Friends from the Future".
That motherfucker was crazy- crazy or psychic... but obviously crazy. For that to make any kind of sense, he would have had to already travel through time- would've had to have done it when he was a child. He flipped the pad over, looking at the graphite impression on the previous page. This drawing was old. He had thought that, since the professor knew he liked going through his old drawings, he might've drawn that recently to fuck with him- but it was there, aged, impressed into the paper- he had drawn it as a child.
What the fuck?
"Ashton," he jumped, the goosebumps on his skin sending his unkempt hair into directions he didn't know it could float- and turned to see the professor.
"I really wish you wouldn't go through these." The professor leaned over his shoulder, "They're like diaries, from my youth. Look at the more recent ones- the nature studies, the textbook illustrations that I did. These are horrible. Child's play."
"Who is this?" The youth asked, picking up the sketchbook and showing the page he was on.
"Friend of mine when I was younger," Sammy chuckled as he poured himself a cup of coffee, "We grew apart, lost touch. Did you know that when I was little, I wanted to write and illustrate sci-fi comics? That was before I got into real science, mind you, but I think that every man, every human for that matter- is a little bit scientist, and a little bit of an artist."
"Yeah," Ash flipped the book closed, "The good ones anyway." He paused, in thought, "You could have done it, to. Your monsters are imaginative, brilliant- they look like real animals with... an exotic element. These are beautiful."
"Oh," Sammy laughed, "I gave up on that long ago." He took a long sip.
"You should draw the specimens from the lab!" Ash spoke as if he had had an epiphany.
"Those creatures," Sammy stared hard at a photograph on the bar, of himself, when he was younger, Agatha, and his daughter Daisy, no more then 10 years old, "Are my life's work. They are very special to me... When do I have time to draw?"
Ashton kept his eyes down, staring at the worn cover of the sketchpad.
"Sir," he finally asked, and the professor arched his eyebrow, "Why won't you tell me the source of your RNA code?"
"Because if I did," Sammy smiled, leaned across the bar, and took another long sip, "You still wouldn't know, because you wouldn't believe me."
"You would be shocked, sir," Ashton stared into those deep, chestnut eyes that seemed to hide so many secrets, "What I would believe- what I would love to hear, coming from you."
"Would you, now?" The professor asked, his expression unchanged- cocky, charismatic, and confident. "Maybe, Ash," he paused, in thought, "Maybe you would."
He moved to slide on the couch facing the giant TV. "Did you finish up the reports on the specimens?"
"I got up to number 9, then my mom called, and you know how I hate talking to her, so I came to take a break- get some coffee." he stared down into his mug, "You didn't sleep very long."
"I can't sleep," the professor rubbed his temples, "I haven't slept well in weeks. The salamander today- it showed a physical adaptation that a single individual should not be able to show. Is it still burning?"
"Yes," Ash swerved the bar stool to look at his mentor, "Professor..." he trailed off, and picked back up, "Professor, thank you for letting me stay with you. After I... left my mom. I don't think that she's forgiven me."
"What did she say?" He asked.
"Same shit she always says," he looked down at the floor, "About how I should be training in business, about how I've got to go into 'the family business' because I'm her only kid. About how she's tired of paying for my bio degree- and about how you don't come cheap."
"Fuck her, tell her to keep her money." Sammy waved his hand dismissively.
"Wha- what?" Ash nearly fell out of his chair- was he being serious?
"You're a scientist. You might not be a biologist, but you're a born researcher- I can sense it in you. She doesn't want to pay for your schooling, fuck it; you just won the first annual Samuel Oak National Scholarship for Excellence in... um, I don't know, science or some-shit. Charisma. Fill in the blank. We'll do some paper-work on it here in a little bit." He took another long drink, "I wish I could fucking sleep. I feel like something is keeping me awake; giving me nightmares."
"Professor- I," he paused, "I don't know how to thank you! You're the top man in your field! The UN is fighting over who's going to be allowed to fund your research! You're brilliant! And you want me to stay with you? You're so generous!"
"What do you want?" Sammy turned his attention toward the youth.
"Excuse me?" Ash met his gaze with a look of stupidity.
"You're obviously buttering me up for something. What do you want?"
"No-nothing sir! I just... I didn't want to have to go back to my mother- saying that you would pay for me to stay here- it..."
"Cuts off my supply of free labor," Sammy sighed, "Give me another one of those beers. I don't have anything strong enough to Irish up this coffee, and it's not gonna be enough to buzz me beyond the ability to finish my research."
"Yes sir!" the kid actually saluted, then brought him his bottle.
Sammy stared after him- kid had to be trying to pull something; it wasn't that easy to have someone eating out of the palm of your hand. He wasn't blind. He saw the insignia on the kid's ring- knew that his mom was in "waste management" or whatever the hell she decided to call it- knew that the kid was probably used to an open floor-plan with a marble staircase. But, he had also heard him on the phone- arguing with his mother, had watched his enthusiasm in the laboratory. He was clumsy, spastic- but skilled, and that energy could be turned into work ethic- if he worked with him. He needed an assistant he could trust... Could he trust a mobster?
The kid handed him the bottle with eyes of adoration- then again, Ashton had an expert knowledge of every article Sammy had ever published; a genuine interest, and an encyclopedic knowledge of anything public the man had ever done. His obsession bordered on the creepy, the scientist reflected as the youth stood there, watching him drink his beer. What the fuck was up with that kid?
"Professor," Ashton began again, without averting his gaze, "Thank you so much! I want to learn everything I can from you- you know that I've always looked up to you, and your research designs- the creatures that you've created are amazing. You're right! If we can isolate the mutation from the frogs, we can solve world hunger."
"I was joking," Sammy rolled his eyes, "We're obviously not going to start shooting humans up with my mutagen- that's insane. The animal testing has reveled that there is so much to learn- it's not exactly predictive yet; we're talking years and years of trials before we can even start thinking about that. Would you sit down? Or blink? Blinking shows that you're human."
"I'm really sorry, Professor- I'm just still reeling-"
"Why does it surprise you that I want to keep the assistant that I've already trained? The one who knows my lab and my work?" Sammy asked as the youth sat down next to him, a beer in his hand as well.
"Don't you remember how many applications you went through from the university?" the youth asked.
"Your gratitude is bordering on creepy. Why are you going through my old sketches anyway?" Oak asked.
"I love your work!" The youth was enthusiastic, "You would have made a brilliant writer; an amazing artist!"
"God," Sammy sighed, "I remember when I had your youthful energy, your passion, your hopes and dreams..."
"What are your dreams now professor?" The youth asked, changing his stance to get a better view of his mentor, sliding to the side and putting his hands in front of him. One landed dangerously near the thigh of his idol; he thought for a second, and decided not to move it.
"To get my research underway- to see how far I can push this mutagen- to re-create... well, to re-create the dreams of my youth," he did have a far-away, dreamy look in his eyes.
Ashton had no desire to turn this man, the first person who had expressed any real interest in him, over to his overbearing mother. He knew that she would take his noble research- his desire to progress evolution, to spur humanity forward, and turn it into a weapon. But he had also grown up with a healthy dose of fear- he knew what happened if one opposed her- known to her underlings as "Madam" or the "Boss" many were to afraid to even enter her office. He had seen her kill the folks that were in her way- blood on her hands and a smile on her face. He shuddered.
"Something wrong?" Sammy asked.
"Thinking about my mom," Ashton saw no reason to lie.
Sammy didn't like getting in other people's business... But if someone so deeply seeded in organized crime wanted her child back- maybe it would be better to let him go. But to waste such a brilliant scientific mind- not to mention such a submissive and devoted student- would be a crime, whether organized or not.
Ashton's cat lept into his lap, purring and kneading. Sammy reached down to pet in, and felt the youth tense up. Fucking jumpy kids. There was silence for a few minutes, during which time Sam was able to finally hear himself think, to enjoy the purring of the cat and the slight buzz that hadn't quite faded the edge of his nerves- then the kid broke the silence.
"Is that... the assistant thing..." Ash trailed off.
"hm?" the professor asked.
"Professor- if... if I wasn't your lab assistant... would we, um... still be friends?" the youth held his head down and wouldn't meet Sammy's eye.
"What are you talking about?" Sam stared intently at him, barely more then a teenager, and moved his hand from the cat to the back of the couch, reclining.
"Um..." Ashton felt a flush as he blushed, "Nothing... it's just that- my mother has always been... well I don't think she actually wanted kids, and... you offering to let me stay here- for nothing... are we friends?"
"Well," Oak considered for a few minutes, "Yes. I suppose we are. You'll be safe here- I'm not going to throw you out; certainly not to some place you don't want to go."
"Thank you, professor! Thank you!" Ashton finally looked up- his eyes were misty as if he was holding back tears. Sam stared at him- beginning to get annoyed- it wasn't that big of a deal. Kid barely ate, and SIPH-CO could easily cover his tuition. He was staying there at the house already anyway. Why was he so enthusiastic?
"Sammy," the professor drained the last of his drink, "My friends call me 'Sammy' or 'Sam'. Call me professor at school, or on the tape in the lab, but- you can call me Sammy."
"You just don't look like a Sammy," his student teased, "You look like a Samuel."
"Are you trying to call me old?" Sammy laughed, "Get me another bear- maybe they'll cancel out the coffee and put me back to sleep."
"Yes sir!" the kid stood and walked to the fridge- they were almost out; he would have to go get some more.
"But no," he continued, "I meant that you look... well, you're more dignified then a Sammy."
"Ha," Sammy laughed, "Now you're backpedaling. It's fine for a 20-something to think I'm old. I am old enough to be your father."
"No, that isn't it," there was a genuine apologetic tone in the kids voice that was bordering on annoying as he sat back down and handed over the bottle.
"So." Ashton continued, "Why does Ivy- why does everyone at SIPH-CO- call you Fast Fingers Sammy?"
The professor arched an eyebrow, "When I was younger, I could draw like no one's business. I could fill a page like that," he snapped his fingers, "Though, between you and I," he smiled a devious smile, "Ivy might have her own reasons."
"You and Ivy?" Ash asked.
"Heh- I didn't say that. A gentlemen never... kisses and tells." The professor kept his cocky smile and took another drink.