The Dragon Factory

“Well, Brother… that depends on what the gene therapy is intended to accomplish. If it’s just an addictive component, then we let it slide but ask for a bigger cut of the water market.”

“What if it’s something bad?”

“ ‘Bad’?” She smiled at that. “Like what?”

“Like something destructive. Something that will kill people.”

Hecate shrugged. “I don’t know. Why? Are you getting squeamish?”

“After what the Berserkers found in Denver? What if I am?”

“God! It’s a little late to start developing a conscience, Paris.”

His eyes met hers and then shifted away. “I’ve always had a conscience. Something like a poison or a plague… that would be different.”

She shrugged.

Paris said, “The stuff we recovered from Denver. That’s Nazi death camp stuff. That’s… that’s wrong on a whole different level from anything we’ve done.”

“It’s fascinating.”

“Christ! It’s gruesome. I can deal with some slap and tickle. And, yes, I can deal with a little snuff… but the systematic torture and extermination of millions of people?”

His sister gave another dismissive shrug.

“Why the hell does Dad want that crap?”

“Why would any geneticist?” she asked.

“I don’t want it.”

“I do. I wish we had the Guthrie cards. Hundreds of thousands of blood samples, all neatly indexed with demographics. They’d be useful for collecting genetic markers.”

He shook his head. “I don’t think I’d like to build our empire on those kinds of bones.”

“What… you don’t like being an evil mastermind?”

“This isn’t a joke, Heck.”

“I’m not joking. And don’t call me that.”

“Is this how you see us? I mean, really? Do you think we’re evil?”

“Aren’t we?”

“Are we?”

Hecate handed back the water bottle. “We’ve killed people, sweetie. A lot of people. You yourself have strangled two women while you were screwing them. Not to mention all the people the Berserkers have killed. I never saw you shed a tear. Evil? Yes, I think that pretty much covers it.”

“We’re corrupt,” Paris said, almost under his breath. “Corruption isn’t actually evil.”

“It’s certainly not a saintly virtue.”

He crossed to the other side of the balcony and stared out through a big domed window at the warehouse on the dock. The doors were open and he could see the pallets of cased water. “Is there a line? Between corruption and evil? If so… when did we cross it?”

Hecate studied her brother’s profile. She had suspected that this was coming, but she hadn’t expected to hear this much hurt in Paris’s voice. “What’s going on with you? You’ve been in a mood ever since we left Dad’s place.”

“Dad. Alpha.” Paris snorted. “If we’re evil, Hecate, it’s because he made us that way. He’s a monster. We’re… by-products.”

“The apple and the tree, Paris.”

Paris shook his head.

Hecate frowned. “What are you saying, that if you had a choice you’d have done things differently? That you would have chosen a different path than following in Dad’s footsteps?”

“I don’t know. And I don’t want to get into a whole nature-versus-nurture debate, either,” he snapped. When she said nothing he leaned on the rail and stared out over the water as if he could already see the freighter. “I enjoyed what we did. I know that about me, and in a way I’m comfortable with it because I know that it serves my appetites. So… maybe there’s a level of corruption-of evil-that I’m okay with. Maybe even a level I want to be part of what defines me.”

“But…?” she prompted.

“But I don’t know that I want to believe that I have no limits. That my darkness has no limits.”

“That’s a little grandiose, Brother.”

He turned and spread his arms. “Look at me, Hecate. Look at us. We’re grand. Everything about us is larger than life. None of it’s real, a lot of it’s not even supposed to be possible… but here we are, and we’ve begged, borrowed, and stolen so much science that we’ve made the impossible possible. There’s never been anything like us before in history. Dad calls us his young gods, and in ways he’s not far wrong. We bend nature to our will.” She opened her mouth to speak, but Paris gave a curt shake of his head. “No, let me finish. Let me say this. Hecate, we’ve always been the Jakoby Twins. People would actually kill to be with us. People would kill to be near us. You know that for a fact because men have killed each other over you on two continents. We’re legends. We also know we’re not normal. We’re not even true albinos. This skin color is too regular, too pure white. Our bodies are without a single genetic flaw. We have blue eyes and perfect eyesight. We’ve never even had cavities. We’re stronger than we should be; we’re faster. And we’re almost identical twins despite being of different genders.”

“Yes, we’re genetically designed. Big surprise, Paris… our father is probably the smartest geneticist on the planet. He wanted genetically perfect children, and that’s what he got. He also made sure that we’re gorgeous and really fucking smart. Smarter than anyone else except maybe the occasional freak. He tweaked our DNA to make us better, to try and create the ‘young gods’ that he’s always dreamed of. So what? This isn’t news.”

“There’s a fine line between genetic perfection and freakism,” Paris said. “And no matter what you or Dad says, we are definitely freaks. If we did nothing else, nothing new or innovative, people will write books about us and talk about us for the next century. Maybe for a thousand years. We broke through boundaries of science no one has dared push.”

Hecate folded her arms under her breasts and said nothing.

“So… what does that mean to us?” Paris continued. “We’ve been raised by Dad to believe that we are elevated beings. We’re gods or aliens or the next phase of evolution, depending on which of Dad’s personalities is doing the talking. Whether he’s right or wrong, the truth is we’re not normal. We’re like a separate species.”

“I know…”

“So, is that why we do what we do?” he demanded, his voice quick and urgent, almost pleading. “Is that why we can kill and steal and take without remorse? Are we above evil because evil is part of the human experience and we’re not quite human?”

“What do you want me to say?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know. I… don’t want to feel bad about what we’re doing, Hecate, and yet it’s tearing me up inside. It was bad before we saw Dad, and now it’s worse. Maybe because when I see him I think, There… that’s true evil in its purest form. Or maybe it’s that I think that all of this is bullshit rationalization and that we’re just a couple of psychotic mass murderers who have no right to live.”

“Jeez, Paris,” Hecate said with a crooked smile, “when you get a case of existential angst you don’t screw around.” She came over to him and took Paris in her arms. He returned the hug sluggishly and tried to pull away, but Hecate held him fast. For a moment it seemed to him that she was stronger than he was. Hecate leaned into him, her lips by his ear. “Listen to me, sweet brother. We are gods. Not because Dad says or the National-fucking-Enquirer says so. We’re gods because we say so. Because I say so. And, yes, we’re evil. Our souls are as black and twisted as the Grinch’s, but there’s no Cindy Lou Who in Whoville that’s going to turn us into good guys in the third act. We’re evil because evil is powerful. We’re evil because evil is delicious.”

Her arms constricted around him with crushing force, the pressure making him gasp.

“We’re evil because evil is strong and everything else is weak. Weak is ugly; weak is stupid. Evil is beautiful.”

She purred out that last word. Then she kissed Paris on the cheek and pushed him away. He staggered back and hit the rail. If he hadn’t grabbed the rail, he might have gone over. Paris stood there, his knees weak, gasping