for my age. Mentally and emotionally mature, I mean. But if I start telling wild
stories about . . . about monsters, they’re going to think I’m not so mature
after all, and maybe they’ll figure I’m not responsible enough to take care of
the horses, and so maybe they’ll slow down the breeding plans. I won’t risk
that, Mr. Johnson. No, sir. So as far as I’m concerned, it was a loco coyote.
But . .
“Yes?”
“Can you tell me . . . is there any chance it’ll come back?”
“I don’t think so. But it would be wise, for a while, not to go out to the
stable at night. All right?”
“All right,” she said. Judging by her haunted expression, she would remain
indoors after dusk for weeks to come.
They left the room, thanked Dr. Selbok for his cooperation, and went down to the
hospital’s parking garage. Dawn had not yet arrived, and the cavernous concrete
structure was empty, desolate. Their footsteps echoed hollowly off the wails.
Their cars were on the same floor, and Walt accompanied Lem to the green,
unmarked NSA sedan. As Lem put the key in the door to unlock it, Walt looked
around to be sure they were alone, then said, “Tell me.”
‘‘Can’t.”
‘‘I’ll find out.”
“You’re off the case.”
“So take me to court. Get a bench warrant.”
“I might.”
“For endangering the national security.”
“It would be a fair charge.”
“Throw my ass in jail.”
“I might,” Lem said, though he knew he would not.
Curiously, though Walt’s doggedness was frustrating and more than a little
irritating, it was also pleasing to Lem. He had few friends, of which Walt was
the most important, and he liked to think the reason he had few friends was
because he was selective, with high standards. If Walt had backed off entirely,
if he had been completely cowed by federal authority, if he’d been able to turn
off his Curiosity as easily as turning off a light switch, he would have been
slightly tarnished and diminished in Lein’s eyes.
“What reminds you of a dog and an ape and has yellow eyes?” Walt asked. “Aside
from your mama, that is.”
“You leave my mama out of this, honky,” Lem said. Smiling in spite of himself,
he got into the car.
Walt held the door open and leaned down to look in at him. “What in the name of
God escaped from Banodyne?”
“I told you this has nothing to do with Banodyne.”
“And the fire they had at the labs the next day . . . did they set it themselves
to destroy the evidence of what they’d been up to?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Lem said wearily, thrusting the key into the ignition.
“Evidence could be destroyed in a more efficient and less drastic manner. if
there was evidence to destroy. Which there isn’t. Because Banodyne has nothing
to do with this.”
Lem started the car, but Walt would not give up. He held the door open and
leaned in even closer to be heard above the rumble of the engine: “Genetic
engineering. That’s what they’re involved with at Banodyne. Tinkering with
bacteria and virus to make new bugs that do good deeds like manufacture insulin
or eat oil slicks. And they tinker with the genes of plants as well, I guess, to
produce corn that grows in acidic soil or wheat that thrives with half the usual
water. We always think of gene tinkering as being done on a small scale—plants
and germs. But could they screw around with an animal’s genes so it produced
bizarre offspring, a whole new species? Is that what they’ve done, and is that
what’s escaped from Banodyne?”
Lem shook his head exasperatedly. “Walt, I’m not an expert on recombinant DNA,
but I don’t think the science is nearly sophisticated enough to work with any
degree of confidence on that sort of thing. And what would be the point, anyway?
Okay, just supposing they could make a weird new animal by fiddling with the
genetic structure of an existing species—what use would there be for it? I mean,
aside from exhibition in a carnival freak show?”