DNA Prospector Š 1997 by Jerry J. Davis James Gregson passed the last of the carnivorous trees and was halfway through the clearing before he realized there were two men in his camp. One sat on a log and the other on his chair, relaxing, making themselves right at home. Not far away was a black and red jeep, and on the jeep’s door was the Bankrightk company logo.
One of the men looked up as Gregson approached. Gregson didn’t seem much of a threat; he was tall but good-natured looking, with curly black hair and brown eyes. In his arms, however, was a long, elegantly crafted electronic rifle.
“Look at the size of that stunner!” The man exclaimed, laughing. He was thin, small, and had a pinched-looking face. He wore an gray-green jumpsuit with what looked like 50
randomly-placed pockets, and had a name-tag that read, JACKO. “What is it, a hundred years old?”
The other man, who was taller, rounder of features, wore all black and was carrying a 10mm projectile pistol. His shirt bore the Bankrightk logo and underneath was the stitched-in name RUDD. “We hear you’re really onto something, Gregson,” he said.
“I don’t appreciate you coming into my camp like this,”
Gregson said. “This area is staked and registered to me, and you’re trespassing.”
“Hey, you don’t have to go all huffy with us,” said Jacko.
“We’re here to offer you a position with Bankrightk.”
“A job?”
Jacko nodded.
“Prospecting?” Gregson asked.
“DNA prospecting.”
“For what? A salary?”
“Salary, expenses, and a cut. More than you’re getting right now–”
“Which is nothing,” Rudd said. “We ran a check on your account. You’re broke.”
Gregson powered up his rifle. The indicator lights flashed on, startling the two men, who stood suddenly and backed off a few meters. “I didn’t spend my life’s savings to get all the way out to this hairball of a planet, live in a tent in a field of mud, and eat gristle worms and drink peat water for a year and a half, just so I could have a cut of what I discover.”
“They’re making you a generous offer,” Jacko said. “It’s not going to be repeated.”
“You can repeat it until doomsday. I’m here as an independent, and whatever I discover is mine. A hundred-percent mine.”
“I don’t think he’s interested,” Jacko said to Rudd.
“Your alternative is no employment at all,” Rudd told Gregson.
“It’s hard to go prospecting when you’re laid up in a med center.”
“Accidents happen so suddenly,” Jacko said. “You never know when to expect them.”
“That’s true,” Gregson said. He slung the stun rifle over his shoulder. “You want to make an accident happen, do it now.”
Jacko and Rudd glanced nervously at each other.
“If you threaten me, you’d better be ready to back it up,”
Gregson told them. “I’ve killed deadlier creatures than you on five different worlds, and I wasn’t using an old stun gun, either.”
Rudd sneered. “Gregson, you’re way over your head.” He and Jacko turned and walked off toward their jeep. Gregson let out his breath and relaxed. He watched as they started the jeep’s engine and rumbled off over the uneven ground. When it was out of sight he leaned his rifle against the log and collapsed in his folding chair with a sigh.
#
The main difference between civilized worlds and new colonies, Gregson noticed, was that one had paved walkways and the other had dirt paths. This planet, Aeolus, didn’t even have dirt paths. He made his way through the broken foliage, following the trail that the Bankrightk jeep had plowed back toward “town.” His stun rifle, which was an antique his father once used, was slung casually over his shoulder.
Gregson knew the moment he heard Bankrightk had established an office on this planet he was going to have trouble. He, like his father before him, had wandered to the farthest reaches of human space to get away from the corporations. It was no use, though —
wherever he went they would sooner or later show up. It stood to reason that if there was a huge profit to be made, that is where the corporations would go. It was like that throughout history. A few brave souls would strike out into the unknown, searching for that one big discovery, but the moment anything valuable was found the corporations would step in and take it over.
Halfway to town Gregson made a detour, picking his way through the branches and undergrowth, following the smell of hot bacon and fried eggs, and — oh heaven! — freshly brewed coffee. The trees thinned and were replaced by Earth plants; rows of corn, potatoes, cabbage, carrots, tomatoes. There were pens with pigs, cows, and a few horses. Chickens roamed about, each with a silver inhibitor band around their necks to keep them from wandering too far. This was Vern Hudson’s farm, and the farm house ahead was a large cylindrical water storage tank off one of the first colony ships.
The crops and the animals were all Vern’s test subjects — he was a certified Ecesist, specially trained in adapting Earth life to alien environments. Vern was nowhere in sight, but his teenage kids, Bethany and Frank, were on the front porch with their dog.
“James!” Bethany called. “You’re just in time. I made an extra portion just in case you showed up.” Bethany, who Gregson had been courting for several months now, was 19 years standard, with olive-brown skin, brown eyes, and long straight brown-black hair.
The top of her head didn’t quite make it to Gregson’s shoulders, so she had to look up at him to show him her smile.
Her younger brother, Frank, wasn’t smiling. He was 17 and shared his sister’s hair and complexion. He was a head taller than her, however, and almost as tall as Gregson. He was huskier than Gregson, with square shoulders and a beefy chest. He reached down as Gregson approached and touched a button on the digital panel embedded in the dog’s head. The dog began to growl.
“Frank!” Bethany said. She touched the animal’s head, and the growling stopped.
Frank reached for the dog again and she slapped his hand. They glared at each other for a moment, and he turned and stomped off.
She turned and smiled at Gregson again, ushering him up to the house and inside.
The food tasted wonderful, and the coffee was nice and strong.
As he ate, Bethany walked lightly around the table, talking. “…
and since we haven’t seen any large tracks of any kind, we don’t think it’s really an animal at all. Dad thinks it’s spoor from one of the plants. And I was thinking, if we could find what the source is before my Dad does, you and I could share the title.”
Gregson sipped his coffee, watching her walk, admiring her soft curves and listening happily to her disarming voice. “If I agreed to something like that,” he told her, “your father would have your brother kill me.”
Bethany stopped, cocking her head to one side and looking at him through whisps of her hair. “I don’t think so.”
“Besides, if it’s a psycho-reactive agent then it’s probably useless to us. It can be reproduced artificially. The only thing that would be valuable is if it’s something that can only be produced by a living thing, and we get the rights to the DNA code.
That’s the key. If only the DNA can produce it, if the living thing in and of itself is of value, can we profit.”
“Like, if it’s a psychic effect.”
Gregson nodded. He stabbed the last bit of egg with a fork and put it in his mouth.
“Dad doesn’t believe in that sort of thing.”
“Where is your Dad now, anyway?”
“Out at the catfish farm.”
He paused in his chewing for a moment, looking into her eyes.
“Out there, huh?”
“Yeah.” Her eyes betrayed worry. “I hope he’s okay.”
“I’m sure he is. You said you never found tracks. It’s not an animal.”
“I said we never found large tracks.”
Gregson dropped the fork on the table and reached out for her.
“Come here.” She leaned into him, and he put his arms around her and gave her a long hug. “He’s going to be okay,” he said.
“I know,” Bethany said. She kissed him. They smiled at each other, and kissed again. Gregson pulled back, still smiling, but she wasn’t finished kissing yet. She leaned hard against him to the point where he almost lost his balance and fell out of the chair.
It was then that they noticed that her brother was yelling, and that something was happening outside.
They hadn’t made it to the door before it slammed open and Vern came stumbling in, looking deranged. Close on his heals was Frank, shouting, “What’s wrong? What is wrong?”
“Dad?” Bethany said.
He bumped against them, stumbling, shaking, mumbling something unintelligible. He got down on his hands and knees, crawling under the table. There he curled into a fetal position, his eyes rolled back so that they could only see the whites. He was panting and sweat soaked his clothes, beading his face and making his hair hang in wet, wiry strings. “It’s … a horrible, a demon … gonna get … everywhere … follows me. I think it’s a demon … can’t get away … can’t …” He shuddered, falling silent. His children joined him on the floor, hugging him, telling him that he was safe.