“We could move twenty mated pairs of these things by close of business,” he said. “One photo and some bare-bones specs in an e-mail and you could name your price.”
Cyrus shook his head. “I’ll sell pair-bonded brothers, but you can’t have any of the bitches.”
“That’ll drop the price.”
“It sustains the market,” Hecate corrected him, earning a nod from their father. “We want to sell fish, not teach our customers how to catch fish.”
Paris shrugged. This was one of the areas on which his father and sister always agreed. For his part, Paris preferred constantly bringing a series of new products to market rather than establishing ongoing markets. “Well, at least let me take orders on the males.”
“Talk to Otto,” Cyrus said, and dismissed the topic with a wave of his hand. “Now, what about the Berserkers?”
Hecate smoothed her skirt. “For reasons we can’t quite chart, the transgenic process has had several unexpected side effects. On the plus side, physical strength is about ten percent above expectations, but intelligence seems to be diminishing. They’re not idiots, but they seem to rely too much on instinct and too little on higher reasoning. But it’s their aggression level that has our clients concerned. If their aggression continues to escalate with each mission, then there is a very real concern that their behavior will deteriorate beyond a point of practical command control. That will shorten their duration of usefulness in the field.”
Cyrus opened his mouth to reply, but Paris jumped in. “We understand that planned obsolescence is part of any sensible manufacturing system, but this is way too fast. We’re expected to turn over comprehensive reports for six field tests, and just based on the preliminary reports we’ve shared with our clients the aggression factor has caused concern. We could bullshit our way through a three or four percent increase in violent behavior, throw in some mumbo jumbo about the natural variables of transgenics and so on, but we’re talking about a fifteen-point-seven increase in aggression between test one and test three.”
Cyrus pursed his lips. “Ah,” he said, “I see your point. That’s higher than our worst-case computer models.”
“By almost eight percent,” said Hecate. “With a comparable drop in higher reasoning. We can’t fudge the math on that kind of behavioral shift.”
“Is this just in the GMOs?”
Genetically modified organisms were the easiest to bring to market, but anomalous behavior and other gene- clash problems tended to come at them out of the blue. The much more stable genetically engineered organisms were ideal, but they had to be grown from embryos and raised to full maturity. For the Berserkers that was a fifteen- to twenty-year span. The Twins had chosen the faster route of making modifications through the introduction of viral vectors carrying exogenous pieces of DNA. It was quicker, but the likelihood of unexpected mutations was much higher.
“Of course,” she said, “but we don’t have GEOs mature enough for field-testing.”
Cyrus leaned back in his seat, chin on his breast, and pondered the problem. Hecate and Paris waited while Cyrus thought it through.
“I doubt you’ll see these problems in the genetically engineered animals. Different blueprint, different results. But in the modified animals… it’s difficult to control random gene incompatibility. Even if you suppress a gene, it doesn’t remove it and unwanted traits can emerge.”
The Twins waited. They knew this, but interrupting Cyrus was not a path toward obtaining his cooperation. Cyrus chewed on it for a while, his eyes narrowed and focused inward.
“What steps have you taken?” he asked.
“Nothing yet,” Hecate said. “The Somalia test was just last night completed and our people are still crunching the numbers.”
Paris nodded. “We’ve been playing with some ideas, though. A time-release dopamine dampener that would kick in just as the mission started. By the time the Berserkers were in full attack we’re hoping to cause a down- spike in the dopamine to start a cool-off.”
Cyrus made a face. “That’s a Band-Aid, not a cure. Besides, none of the dopamine dampeners we could use are reliable. Nothing has been field tested on anything remotely like a Berserker. Plus there’s adrenaline rush and other factors. You’d burn through six months of chemistry trying to get the dose right, and then another six working out how to make the dose appropriate to each individual Berserker.” He shook his head. “Nice theory, but impractical. Medication isn’t your answer.”
Paris made a disgusted face. “We know, Alpha… that’s why we’re here. We have fifty ideas, but none of them are practical in the time we have left. We have contracts with hard delivery dates. We burned through our swing time early this year when we had unexpected effects of cognitive dissonance. The buyers want their products now.”
“
“Our people can-”
“Your people are idiots, Paris!” When Cyrus was angry his carefully acquired American accent slipped and the more staccato German accent emerged. “Otto could sell that product for single use and get nearly the money you two are getting for extended use and ownership.” The Twins flinched and Paris looked away. “What’s your current guarantee?”
“Eighteen to twenty-four months at ninety percent operational efficiency,” Hecate said quietly.
Cyrus stared for a moment, then smiled. “You gave a two-year window on a transgenic soldier? I’m crazy, my young gods, but I think you two are crazier by an order of magnitude.”
Despite their best efforts, the Twins flushed with shame.
In a small voice Paris said, “We needed a buyer who could finance-”
“Don’t!” growled Cyrus. “Don’t embarrass yourselves with an excuse. You’re supposed to be above that sort of thing and you should at least
Isis let out a low growl that was eloquent in its meaning, but this time it was directed only at Paris. Hecate noted the shift.
Cyrus steepled his fingers. “When you made that deal you were cash poor. Is that still the case?”
“Well,” Hecate said, “… no. The hunting business alone has brought in over two hundred million and the-”
“Then, as I said, fuck the customers. You
“Yes, Alpha,” said Paris.
“Yes, Alpha,” said Hecate.
Cyrus gave them a broad fatherly smile. “Now, my young gods, let’s see what we can do to solve all your problems.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Over Denver airspace
Saturday, August 28, 10:55 A.M.
Time Remaining on Extinction Clock: 97 hours, 5 minutes E.S.T.
I leaned forward in my chair and watched as Hu pressed the play button and the forest came alive on the video screen.
“The sound cuts in and out-mostly out.”
“Can you clean it up? Run it through some filters or something?”
“This is the enhanced version,” Hu said. “From the angle and the image jump we figure it to be a cheap lapel camera. No lavaliere mike to extend the pickup. The rustle of clothes and the breathing of the cameraman kill most of the sound anyway.”
The camera image changed as the person with the lapel camera began to move forward through intensely dense tropical foliage. Occasionally we’d get snatches of sound, mostly of the cameraman’s labored breathing or the whisk of big leaves as they brushed across his chest. We heard a few muffled snatches of conversation. Not
