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.”
22
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.
F. Paul Wilson, Meerm
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