James Axler – Parallax Red Parallax Red

To his surprise, he found himself able to keep up his end of the conversation on matters mundane. He realized a bit sourly that he and Baptiste almost never talked. They discussed, they frequently argued, but sitting down and conversing about the simple elements of life with each other never seemed to occur to them.

As they approached the dispensary, Rouch said, “I sort of wanted to study medicine, but my early placement tests showed I didn’t qualify. Just as well. The sight of blood makes me sick.”

The treatment room of the dispensary was deserted, all the beds empty. From the adjoining surgery came voices and the clink of metal. Kane caught a stinging whiff of chemicals, the tart smell of sterilizing fluids. When they reached the open doorway, Rouch stiffened and made a dry-heave gagging noise.

DeFore, her aide, Auerbach, and Brigid stood around a dissecting table. The bright overhead lights glittered on an array of scalpels, knives, tongs and a wet, blood-sheened mess. The three wore surgical gowns and masks. DeFore’s arms were crimson-soaked up to her elbows.

They all looked up curiously as Rouch and Kane appeared. Kane saw Brigid’s eyes narrowing, then widening in amusement as Rouch clapped a hand to her mouth, spun on her heel and fled from Kane’s side.

Brigid said, “We’re performing a little postmortem work on our troll.” Barely repressed laughter lurked in the back of her throat.

“You didn’t waste any time,” he said.

DeFore plunged her hands into the peeled-open chest cavity. “I wanted to get in and out before full rigor set in.”

Kane looked at the dissected corpse, at the various wet organs resting in assorted stainless-steel containers. A trick of the light made them look as if they were pulsing, and he felt just a little sick to his stomach. He had seenand madea number of corpses, but he had never grown accustomed to the clinical desecration of the dead.

“I’d say you’re doing more than a little postmortem,” he said quietly. “What discovery have you contributed to the field of pathology?”

“Very little,” responded DeFore tersely, “since we know exactly what killed him and approximately when.”

“But,” put in Brigid, her eyes emerald bright above her white mask, “our ongoing study of genetic nightmares may have been advanced a little.”

That captured Kane’s attention, made him ignore the pain in his knee as he walked into the room. “How so?”

Brigid waved a rubber-gloved hand over the gaping abdominal area. “See that?”

Kane saw only raw viscera with a few streaks of a leathery brown. “See what?”

“The major organs are enclosed in their own independent shielding of dense tissue,” answered DeFore, picking up a probe and inserting it into the fibrous mass. A few^semisolid yellow lumps oozed out around the sharp point.

“There’s an extra organ a few centimeters behind and below the stomach,” she said. “Food-reserve storage, in the form of adiposal deposits.”

Seeing Kane’s blank look, Brigid supplied helpfully, “Fat.”

She pointed to the juncture of the troll’s thighs. “See anything?”

Kane craned his head, squinting, seeing only a small, fleshy pouchlike bulge. “Like what?”

“Like genitalia. He has no external apparatus to speak of.”

Kane repressed a shudder. “You mean he doesn’t have a, uh, a penis?”

“Not a conventional one,” DeFore replied. “It’s more like a direct valve connection to the bladder rather than a reproductive organ. I might add that his bladder is twice the size it should be, even in an average human male.”

Kane flicked curious eyes from DeFore to Brigid. “Meaning?”

“Meaning,” spoke up Auerbach, “he could go days, maybe as long as a week, without having to take a leak.”

Kane grunted. “Handy.”

“Speaking of that” Brigid lifted the troll’s right foot by the ankle “not only has the form of the bones been modified, but their .structural properties, too.

They’re not as rigid as our ownthey’re far more elastic.”

Kane swallowed a sigh. “All right, time for the big revelation. Is he a mutie or hybrid or a what?”

“He’s a what,” Brigid answered confidently.

“What?”

“He appears to be human enough, but the end result of people adapted for life in a low-gravity environment.”

Pages: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99 100 101 102 103 104 105 106 107 108 109 110 111 112 113 114 115 116 117 118 119

Leave a Reply 0

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *