“Nothing to fear, Mr. Cawdor.” The gray-eyed man’s quiet voice purred with amusement. “They can’t see you. They’re kept in a constant state of sedation.”
There were other figures in other vats, anthropomorphic, bloated bulks that bore no true resemblance to humanity. In one, a froglike head reared from the gelid contents. There were breathing slits at the sides of the head, and an inhumanly wide mouth was creased in a constant half-smile. Its round eyes were dull and fathomless.
Another gel-filled tank held a human figure, or the exact likeness of one. But the face was covered with coarsely matted hair, huge apish nostrils and snapping black eyes. It didn’t move, but gazed up at the ceiling, as though lost in thought. There were many more, some so nauseating he couldn’t bear to even glance at them.
“Genetic engineering is a program we began over a century ago,” the Commander said quietly. “Have you ever heard of pantropic science?”
Ryan shook his head, too sickened to speak.
“Pantropy is a form of bioengineering, primarily theoretical, to reproduce a strain of humanity designed to live in different environments. After the bombs fell, the science took on a new meaning. It was no longer theoretical or impractical. The challenge was to adapt and modify humanity to survive in the new environment shaped by the holocaust. We experimented with human and animal subjects to create entities that could thrive in any physical condition, immune to radiation and other adverse environmental factors.”
“You’re making muties.”
“Muties? You mean mutants, I take it. In a way you’re correct. The subjects you see below were born with mutated characteristics. They were brought here and exposed to a mutagenic biochemical process in an effort to direct and control their altered DNA. You see, it makes little difference whether we get good raw material to start with. Let them be mutants or normals, we’ll have our successes in the end.”
Not bothering to hide his disgust, Ryan turned to face the Commander. “Why show me this?”
The Commander fixed his icy gaze on Ryan. “To prove to you beyond a shadow of a doubt that your perverted, primitive kingdom of Helskel cannot hope to trick us, cannot hope to break our trade agreement and cannot hope to overcome us. We hold all of the power in this new world. Helskel exists only at our sufferance, at our whims. We can create new life. Helskel can only take lives.”
“Yet you rely on that perverted kingdom to supply you with human organs,” Ryan snapped. “Without Helskel, you probably would have died long ago, gone the way of all the other predark power-mad tyrants.”
Not responding to the comment, the Commander asked, “What is the population of Helskel?”
“I don’t know.”
“How high are you placed in its hierarchy?”
“I’m not placed at all. I’m here against my will. Hellstrom is holding friends of mine hostage. I don’t want to be here any more than you want me to be here.”
“I don’t mind your visit, Mr. Cawdor, despite the damage and disruption you have caused. A minor crisis, easily contained, can sometimes be stimulating. Did Lars Hellstrom send you to assassinate me?”
“Not exactly.” Ryan sighed. “Though after meeting you and seeing this place, I don’t find it such a bad idea. You’ve outlived your time.”
The Commander regarded him blankly, then shook his head. “How can I possibly make you understand? You, a landless, lawless renegade.”
Ryan looked at him keenly. “As far as I know, a renegade is someone who betrays a cause or a faith or a group of people who trusted him. From what I’ve been told, you held a high position of trust in the predark government. You and a few othersand not just your generation, eitherare responsible for a war that destroyed most of the world and most of its population. You prey on your people in this installation, refusing to grant them a dignified death. I don’t think I’m the renegade here.”
The Commander didn’t react, didn’t reply, didn’t respond. He pointed to a door at the end of the hexagonal room, and Ryan moved on. The door slid open on a gangway that bridged a twenty-foot gap of empty darkness. At the end of the gangway was a transverse corridor running to the left and right, as far as Ryan could see in both directions. Overhead lights shed a cold glare over the vanadium-sheathed flooring and walls.
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