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More from fwbrown61-work
WORLD PEACE NOW!!! -- Enhanced text
PAGE 2 OF 2
.
.
© 2004 Fred Brown
.
.
.
...................................................................................................................................
...................................................................................................................................
❱❱❱❱ NOTA BENE: This story is in an enhanced, better-readable font. It's designed to be read on
dark background screens. Only. There's a second version that's readable
on cyan screens.
It's here: WORLD PEACE NOW!!! -- Enhanced Text
...................................................................................................................................
...................................................................................................................................
<<< PREV Pg 1
...................................................................................................................................
...................................................................................................................................
There was one upside to being CEO of ViroTech: The Porsche dealer in
Fredericton was a good buddy. One phone call later, a polite request, and the
chap had no qualms about tapping into the satcomm-based locator/security
system that was a standard feature on all Porsches.
Murchison was at the Baghdad Cafe, a tony little nosh spot that specialized
in Arabic haute-cuisine. A five-minute drive. Rogers set a land speed record and
narrowly missed an RCMP cruiser and a ticket by about two seconds as he
screeched into the driveway.
The Baghdad had a sun-patio/coffee bar, up a spiral staircase over the edge
of the parking lot. A pair of pretty feet, attached to exquisite legs, dangled over
the railing. Murchison.
Rogers took the spiral staircase at a fast climb, but almost lost his footing as
he happened to glance up at just the right point on the stairs.
Oh jeeze...
There was an older couple on the deck ordering an afternoon snack from the
waiter. Puffing: "Murchison, not only are you not wearing panties but now the
Board thinks we're screwing, and..."
The veteran businessman, building up to a thundering volley of angry-CEO
verbal artillery fire, got no further.
Murschison put her coffee down beside the glass of water on the table. A
pack of cigarettes and a lighter sat beside that. She flashed Rogers a dazzling
smile that could have stiffened a eunuch (dammit, without even trying she looked
like a supermodel), then flipped a DVD case at him. Two more lay on the table
beside the smokes.
Surprised, Rogers plucked the DVD out of mid-air as Murchison spoke:
"There's your cure for cancer, boss. Enjoy it in good health. By definition. By the
way, do you like foxes and wolves?"
Rogers' vision went grey for a second.
Another DVD was airborne. "And the cure for Alzheimers."
Only luck caught that one. "And last but not least, a workable immortality
treatment."
That DVD went right past the dumbfounded Rogers and out over the railing.
A plastic <Tinkling!> was heard a second later.
"Oh well. Two out of three isn't bad," Murchison shrugged. "There's more
DVDs where that came from. All the virus sequences are all on my computer back
at work."
"Oh jeeze!" Rogers wheezed, his chest tight. This... was not good. Or was it?
How the hell did he know right now? Foxes and wolves?
Murchison frowned, and brought her trim legs off the railing. "Hey boss,
have a seat will you? You're not going to live forever if you have a coronary on
me. Relax."
The ravishing biologist sipped her coffee as Rogers fumbled for the seat
beside her. The waiter approached.
"Good afternoon, sir. How can I serve...?"
But Rogers cut the young man off with a wave, pulled out his wallet, and
then a hundred dollar bill. "Liquor store. Across the street. A bottle of Glenlivet.
Run, don't walk," Rogers managed to croak.
"Sir, we don't serve alcohol..."
Another hundred dollar bill appeared.
"But we do now. I'll be right back."
"Good man, you'll go far," Rogers sighed. "And some ice if you'd be so kind."
The waiter turned and all but fell down the staircase. Murchison and Rogers
watched the fellow sprint across the street.
"You know, I think you honestly believe that money can solve all the world's
problems," Murchison mused. "Not a good attitude, you know. World's more
complicated than that."
"Agreement in principle, but try money first I always say, and can I have
that glass of water?" Rogers pointed at the place setting in front of her.
"How much will you pay for it?"
Rogers glared. Murchison giggled, and nudged the glass towards him. She lit
up a cigarette as he drank.
"Cure for cancer means I can smoke all I want now," Murchison said, blowing
out a lungful past ruby lips. She pointed at Rogers with the lit fag. "So Monday
morning, 9 AM sharp, I want the no-smoking-office thing lifted, y'hear?"
"You mean you're actually going to be at work on Monday? Will wonders
never cease. We all thought for sure you were going to vanish on us and tear
down another hotel."
"The Board, you mean? What, and miss the biggest press conference the
planet has ever seen? I don't think so. Better book the Civic Centre arena. You'll
need the room."
Sourly, Rogers could believe that. Moments later, the waiter reappeared,
panting, holding a familiar angular green bottle, two glasses, and a small ice
bucket.
Out of breath: "Your Glenlivet, sir, and is there anything else I can do for
you? Anything at all?"
Hold her down while I spank her silly. Paddle that pretty scientist tush so
red they'll see it glow from the Space Station.
Nononono...
"Leave the bottle, I'll serve myself, and that's fine for now. Thank you."
The waiter went away. Rogers popped the cork, iced and poured, and
downed an inch of whiskey in one gulp. He shuddered, then poured again.
"Wow," Murchison whistled. "I have rattled you, haven't I? Can't have you
drinking alone." She poured a second glass for herself, then took a dainty sip.
The Scottish brew took effect. Rogers felt a little better. "All right, you
blonde maniac, so let me guess: Your AIDS work has paid off, with dividends. The
counter-virus approach has much broader application than to just AIDS, right?"
Murchison nodded. "Mucho grande dividends. Cracked AIDS three days ago.
Cancer, Alzheimers, and immortality took mere hours."
"Oh. My. God," Rogers breathed.
Murchison took another drag. A serious tone entered her voice "No, I think
we're going to have to change our opinions on viruses. Viruses are our friends.
We can make them sit up and beg like little microscopic puppies now."
"You should have told me all this three days ago."
"Sorry. I was having too much fun. Simple idea, tough to do. If you can
defeat the virus's natural habit of taking over a cell and destroying it, you can
make the cell do some neat things. For instance, if there's HIV present in the cell,
you send in a virus that detects this. It plants a marker on the cell. Then you
send in a second virus that spots the marker and tweaks the cell to block the
production of more HIV. Presto: No more HIV."
"And cancer?"
Murshison shrugged. "Get a biopsy sample, tailor the virus to go looking for
and tag all the species of that cancer cell. Send in a second virus on a
search-and-kill mission. Presto: No more cancer. And we hold the patent on the
tailoring method, the specific cellular tag proteins, and on the kill virus. Neat,
huh?"
Rogers shook his head. "She changes the world inside of a week and she
calls it neat. Murchison, you're insane. Knew that when I hired you, but insane.
Just nuts." Rogers took another large gulp of whiskey and emptied his glass.
"More insane than you know, my darling," Murchison murmured cryptically
under her breath. There was an odd gleam in her eye that really was madness.
She stared carefully at Rogers, as though looking for something.
The clue went right by him. Rogers had focused on the task of pouring a
fresh drink. "The three greatest disease scourges of our time," he muttered.
"'Neat,' she calls it."
Murchison shrugged again. "Call it as I see it. 'S just I'm the only one who
can see it. Science!! Bwahahaha!! Everybody says that when you crack Momma
Nature's secrets, you know. Remind me not to do that at the press conference."
Rogers corked the bottle and swirled his drink a bit in thought; ice and
whiskey clinkled. Then: "This is sounding almost like a roll-your-own immune
system, only with viruses instead of macrophages and antibodies. Am I right?
What about Alzheimers?"
"Get a virus into the spinal fluid that looks for the broken genes and
epigenes that code for amyloid plaque overproduction. Do the tag thing. Second
virus goes in and uses the cell's own machinery to splice in a corrective sequence
of DNA. That was tricky. Then a third virus to trigger enzymatic activity to
dissolve existing plaque, then a fourth to stop virus number three. Virus three
and four could be taken separately as a maintenance therapy. Clean out the gunk
in your head every so often."
"Oh boy", Rogers sighed, running a hand through his hair. "A cure and a
repetitive treatment. The marketing folks are going to kiss you right on the puss,
and with tongue. What about the brain damage done by all the plaque?"
Murchison scowled. "Not reversible. What's lost, in terms of cognitive
function, is lost. To get Grandma back into the real world we need a way to
selectively regenerate brain tissue and neural network structures."
"Next week, perhaps?"
Murchison put a hand to her forehead in mock anguish. "Slavedriver!! What
do you want from me? The pressure, the pressure is killing me! What am I, a
miracle worker?"
"Close enough for jazz from what you're telling me. Last but not least,
immortality. What's this about?"
Rogers straightened up in alarm as a thought occurred to him. "Wait a
second!" he hissed. "Have you just put us out of business? Nobody's going to get
sick anymore?!"
"Silly boy. I knew you were going to say that," Murchison giggled musically.
"Of course people are going to get sick. They just won't die of old age anymore.
It's a perpetual youth thing, timed to stop the body's chronologically-driven
decay processes around about thirty when the collective cell telomere count gets
short enough. A virus checks for that, then plants a tag in cells that need
attention. That attracts a suite of repair viruses. Presto: No aging."
Rogers could say absolutely nothing for a moment or so. "That simple?" he
finally said weakly. "It's that easy?"
"Neat, isn't it?"
"Will you stop saying that word?"
"Sorry."
"Side effects?"
"Just one."
"Which is?"
Now Rogers could see a hint of the crazy in her eyes. But that was hardly an
issue because Murchison had pushed her chair back. Then she stood up, reached
up behind her shoulders, and pulled.
The sexy miniskirt fluttered to the ground. A sunny burst of delectable
female nudity whacked Rogers in the eyeballs. There was a lot of it.
"Gleep!" was all Rogers could say. He'd been mistaken. From the angle he'd
seen, the petite, sheer G-string had seemed like nothing. There was a sharp
<Smash!> behind them as the waiter, bringing food out, dropped it all. The
couple at the other table gawped.
The waiter hurried over, red-faced. "Let's see if your money thing works this
time, my darling," Murchison cooed. "That's my price for telling you the
side-effect."
Oh God, the woman had flipped. Like, totally.
On autopilot, the CEO in him taking over, Rogers handed his whole wallet to
the waiter. "Take what you want," he said, as firmly an order as he could make it.
"Give some to those folks..." He gestured to the older couple--the woman gave
out a nervous laugh--"...with my apologies for the trouble. Ask them to leave.
Mental illness. I can handle it. We'll be leaving shortly."
To Murchison: "So as a side-effect it turns you into a stripper, what's this
'my darling' crap, and would you please put your dress back on?"
Murchison watched, bemused, as the two elderly customers sidled past
without a glance, then hastened down the stairs and considerably wealthier for it.
The waiter returned and handed Rogers his depleted wallet. He went inside. Not a
word had been said.
They were alone. "You may have a point about money," Murchison said
absently.
"Your dress, please?"
"No. I have a serious point to make. You want to see what your money has
bought, don't you? Check out the Murchison Merchandise?"
"What the hell do you mean by that?" Rogers exclaimed. "I see two points,
nice and perky they are too, sitting on top of a pair of quite luscious boobs, but
they sure don't belong to me and will you please put...?"
Murchison went into a graceful pirouette twirl that ended in a sort of
showman's 'Ta-Da' pose, one hand out, knees bent. She held it for a second,
grinning. The mad gleam in her eyes was clearly visible now.
This time he got it. Suddenly, Rogers was very, very scared.
"What... have you done?" Rogers asked slowly, clamping down on the pesky
bit of gibbering panic that had popped up in the back of his head. Not that he
knew what he should be panicking about, but the back part of everybody's head
always tends to get ahead of things in situations like this. This capability has kept
many people from being eaten by tigers.
But it wouldn't help much here.
"You're damn right I've changed the world," Murchison said in a high voice.
"Changed it for the better. In the world I've created if I want to walk around in
the buff, who's going to stop me? Might as well get used to it."
Murchison stepped towards Rogers. She slid into his lap with an easy
motion. Rogers' hands involuntarily found themselves around her waist. Certain
other parts of his head promptly went wubba fizzle ping, but he ignored that.
Murchison's face was very close to his ear. "Do you know how much chaos a
real immortality treatment would cause in this world?" she whispered. "The
science fiction writers have been warning us for years about the trouble ahead.
I've thought about it, thought very, very hard."
Tell me what you've done. Pleeaassse...
"So I decided to hell with trouble. I decided the only answer is to give it
away. The only good immortality treatment is a free immortality treatment. For
everyone. I released the virus complex before I got to work this morning.
Stopped off at Canada Post and mailed a batch of letters, all contaminated with
the six different viruses it takes, to allll four corners of the world!!"
This was delivered with a sweeping wave of one hand.
"Oh no. You didn't..."
"Oh yes. I did."
"You didn't!!"
"Did did did. It's loose. And I've made sure it's transmissable by every
possible vector, with viral reservoir potential in half a dozen species of insect and
animals, so it can't be knocked out. But there's a bonus."
Rogers was not able to think for a moment. There was a ringing in his ears.
Everybody accuses scientists of playing God.
Now that one of them had actually gone and done it...? But part of his mind
was still working.
"All right: I'll bite. What bonus?"
Murchison grinned and threw her arms around his neck.
"It's the way the repair viruses work, my darling," she whispered into his
ear, plus a giggle that had bonkers written all over it. "For one thing, anybody
over the age of 29 will find their DNA being reset to age 29. Worn-out and
damaged DNA replaced with fresh. It's a whole body transformation. Every cell in
the body. And it works fast."
"You kissed me. You gave it to me, didn't you?" Rogers blurted out.
"A big gloopy dose of it. I've been breathing it out too. The whole Board's
got a lesser dose but it'll do."
Murchison smiled brightly, as only the truly unhinged can. "The bonus is,
whose DNA did I use to replace the worn-out stuff, what else does it do, and did I
ever say if you were a woman I'd be rilly hot for you? That's the real reason I
kissed you. Oh, and just to give you a clue, I really like foxes and wolves. Well,
animals period."
After enough shocks, one more has no real effect, like a shell hitting ground
already chewed up down to the bedrock.
Rogers' scalp felt itchy. He reached up and touched. All his skin felt a little
itchy, actually.
His hair was longer than the usual short brush cut. Much longer. It was
growing quickly. He yanked out a strand and looked at it. Not hair. More like…?
"I've always wondered what it would be like to have a twin. Give or take
some differences," the nearly naked woman in his lap said happily (oh, but now
so obviously mad, mad, mad). "Now I'm gonna have seven billion of them. And
now we won't ever have to fight each other ever again, and now we can all make
love to each other, forever and ever, and that's the world peace part. Neat, huh?"
Rogers didn't hear. Murchison's nudity had begun to change. Faintly, a light
coating of red was starting to appear on her skin. Then more distinctly, as her
face slowly... shifted a little. And her ears. Then more.
Rogers looked dully at the hair--not hair--he held in his fingers. And why did
his suit jacket somehow feel a little snugger around the chest?
Silky. Thick. Grey. And now why did his ears and teeth itch even stronger?
Then that was forgotten.
On the back of his paw, the fur blossomed like it would never stop.
Mar 16/2012
=============================================================================
Page 2
<<< PREV Pg 1
PAGE 2 OF 2
.
.
© 2004 Fred Brown
.
.
.
...................................................................................................................................
...................................................................................................................................
❱❱❱❱ NOTA BENE: This story is in an enhanced, better-readable font. It's designed to be read on
dark background screens. Only. There's a second version that's readable
on cyan screens.
It's here: WORLD PEACE NOW!!! -- Enhanced Text
...................................................................................................................................
...................................................................................................................................
<<< PREV Pg 1
...................................................................................................................................
...................................................................................................................................
There was one upside to being CEO of ViroTech: The Porsche dealer in
Fredericton was a good buddy. One phone call later, a polite request, and the
chap had no qualms about tapping into the satcomm-based locator/security
system that was a standard feature on all Porsches.
Murchison was at the Baghdad Cafe, a tony little nosh spot that specialized
in Arabic haute-cuisine. A five-minute drive. Rogers set a land speed record and
narrowly missed an RCMP cruiser and a ticket by about two seconds as he
screeched into the driveway.
The Baghdad had a sun-patio/coffee bar, up a spiral staircase over the edge
of the parking lot. A pair of pretty feet, attached to exquisite legs, dangled over
the railing. Murchison.
Rogers took the spiral staircase at a fast climb, but almost lost his footing as
he happened to glance up at just the right point on the stairs.
Oh jeeze...
There was an older couple on the deck ordering an afternoon snack from the
waiter. Puffing: "Murchison, not only are you not wearing panties but now the
Board thinks we're screwing, and..."
The veteran businessman, building up to a thundering volley of angry-CEO
verbal artillery fire, got no further.
Murschison put her coffee down beside the glass of water on the table. A
pack of cigarettes and a lighter sat beside that. She flashed Rogers a dazzling
smile that could have stiffened a eunuch (dammit, without even trying she looked
like a supermodel), then flipped a DVD case at him. Two more lay on the table
beside the smokes.
Surprised, Rogers plucked the DVD out of mid-air as Murchison spoke:
"There's your cure for cancer, boss. Enjoy it in good health. By definition. By the
way, do you like foxes and wolves?"
Rogers' vision went grey for a second.
Another DVD was airborne. "And the cure for Alzheimers."
Only luck caught that one. "And last but not least, a workable immortality
treatment."
That DVD went right past the dumbfounded Rogers and out over the railing.
A plastic <Tinkling!> was heard a second later.
"Oh well. Two out of three isn't bad," Murchison shrugged. "There's more
DVDs where that came from. All the virus sequences are all on my computer back
at work."
"Oh jeeze!" Rogers wheezed, his chest tight. This... was not good. Or was it?
How the hell did he know right now? Foxes and wolves?
Murchison frowned, and brought her trim legs off the railing. "Hey boss,
have a seat will you? You're not going to live forever if you have a coronary on
me. Relax."
The ravishing biologist sipped her coffee as Rogers fumbled for the seat
beside her. The waiter approached.
"Good afternoon, sir. How can I serve...?"
But Rogers cut the young man off with a wave, pulled out his wallet, and
then a hundred dollar bill. "Liquor store. Across the street. A bottle of Glenlivet.
Run, don't walk," Rogers managed to croak.
"Sir, we don't serve alcohol..."
Another hundred dollar bill appeared.
"But we do now. I'll be right back."
"Good man, you'll go far," Rogers sighed. "And some ice if you'd be so kind."
The waiter turned and all but fell down the staircase. Murchison and Rogers
watched the fellow sprint across the street.
"You know, I think you honestly believe that money can solve all the world's
problems," Murchison mused. "Not a good attitude, you know. World's more
complicated than that."
"Agreement in principle, but try money first I always say, and can I have
that glass of water?" Rogers pointed at the place setting in front of her.
"How much will you pay for it?"
Rogers glared. Murchison giggled, and nudged the glass towards him. She lit
up a cigarette as he drank.
"Cure for cancer means I can smoke all I want now," Murchison said, blowing
out a lungful past ruby lips. She pointed at Rogers with the lit fag. "So Monday
morning, 9 AM sharp, I want the no-smoking-office thing lifted, y'hear?"
"You mean you're actually going to be at work on Monday? Will wonders
never cease. We all thought for sure you were going to vanish on us and tear
down another hotel."
"The Board, you mean? What, and miss the biggest press conference the
planet has ever seen? I don't think so. Better book the Civic Centre arena. You'll
need the room."
Sourly, Rogers could believe that. Moments later, the waiter reappeared,
panting, holding a familiar angular green bottle, two glasses, and a small ice
bucket.
Out of breath: "Your Glenlivet, sir, and is there anything else I can do for
you? Anything at all?"
Hold her down while I spank her silly. Paddle that pretty scientist tush so
red they'll see it glow from the Space Station.
Nononono...
"Leave the bottle, I'll serve myself, and that's fine for now. Thank you."
The waiter went away. Rogers popped the cork, iced and poured, and
downed an inch of whiskey in one gulp. He shuddered, then poured again.
"Wow," Murchison whistled. "I have rattled you, haven't I? Can't have you
drinking alone." She poured a second glass for herself, then took a dainty sip.
The Scottish brew took effect. Rogers felt a little better. "All right, you
blonde maniac, so let me guess: Your AIDS work has paid off, with dividends. The
counter-virus approach has much broader application than to just AIDS, right?"
Murchison nodded. "Mucho grande dividends. Cracked AIDS three days ago.
Cancer, Alzheimers, and immortality took mere hours."
"Oh. My. God," Rogers breathed.
Murchison took another drag. A serious tone entered her voice "No, I think
we're going to have to change our opinions on viruses. Viruses are our friends.
We can make them sit up and beg like little microscopic puppies now."
"You should have told me all this three days ago."
"Sorry. I was having too much fun. Simple idea, tough to do. If you can
defeat the virus's natural habit of taking over a cell and destroying it, you can
make the cell do some neat things. For instance, if there's HIV present in the cell,
you send in a virus that detects this. It plants a marker on the cell. Then you
send in a second virus that spots the marker and tweaks the cell to block the
production of more HIV. Presto: No more HIV."
"And cancer?"
Murshison shrugged. "Get a biopsy sample, tailor the virus to go looking for
and tag all the species of that cancer cell. Send in a second virus on a
search-and-kill mission. Presto: No more cancer. And we hold the patent on the
tailoring method, the specific cellular tag proteins, and on the kill virus. Neat,
huh?"
Rogers shook his head. "She changes the world inside of a week and she
calls it neat. Murchison, you're insane. Knew that when I hired you, but insane.
Just nuts." Rogers took another large gulp of whiskey and emptied his glass.
"More insane than you know, my darling," Murchison murmured cryptically
under her breath. There was an odd gleam in her eye that really was madness.
She stared carefully at Rogers, as though looking for something.
The clue went right by him. Rogers had focused on the task of pouring a
fresh drink. "The three greatest disease scourges of our time," he muttered.
"'Neat,' she calls it."
Murchison shrugged again. "Call it as I see it. 'S just I'm the only one who
can see it. Science!! Bwahahaha!! Everybody says that when you crack Momma
Nature's secrets, you know. Remind me not to do that at the press conference."
Rogers corked the bottle and swirled his drink a bit in thought; ice and
whiskey clinkled. Then: "This is sounding almost like a roll-your-own immune
system, only with viruses instead of macrophages and antibodies. Am I right?
What about Alzheimers?"
"Get a virus into the spinal fluid that looks for the broken genes and
epigenes that code for amyloid plaque overproduction. Do the tag thing. Second
virus goes in and uses the cell's own machinery to splice in a corrective sequence
of DNA. That was tricky. Then a third virus to trigger enzymatic activity to
dissolve existing plaque, then a fourth to stop virus number three. Virus three
and four could be taken separately as a maintenance therapy. Clean out the gunk
in your head every so often."
"Oh boy", Rogers sighed, running a hand through his hair. "A cure and a
repetitive treatment. The marketing folks are going to kiss you right on the puss,
and with tongue. What about the brain damage done by all the plaque?"
Murchison scowled. "Not reversible. What's lost, in terms of cognitive
function, is lost. To get Grandma back into the real world we need a way to
selectively regenerate brain tissue and neural network structures."
"Next week, perhaps?"
Murchison put a hand to her forehead in mock anguish. "Slavedriver!! What
do you want from me? The pressure, the pressure is killing me! What am I, a
miracle worker?"
"Close enough for jazz from what you're telling me. Last but not least,
immortality. What's this about?"
Rogers straightened up in alarm as a thought occurred to him. "Wait a
second!" he hissed. "Have you just put us out of business? Nobody's going to get
sick anymore?!"
"Silly boy. I knew you were going to say that," Murchison giggled musically.
"Of course people are going to get sick. They just won't die of old age anymore.
It's a perpetual youth thing, timed to stop the body's chronologically-driven
decay processes around about thirty when the collective cell telomere count gets
short enough. A virus checks for that, then plants a tag in cells that need
attention. That attracts a suite of repair viruses. Presto: No aging."
Rogers could say absolutely nothing for a moment or so. "That simple?" he
finally said weakly. "It's that easy?"
"Neat, isn't it?"
"Will you stop saying that word?"
"Sorry."
"Side effects?"
"Just one."
"Which is?"
Now Rogers could see a hint of the crazy in her eyes. But that was hardly an
issue because Murchison had pushed her chair back. Then she stood up, reached
up behind her shoulders, and pulled.
The sexy miniskirt fluttered to the ground. A sunny burst of delectable
female nudity whacked Rogers in the eyeballs. There was a lot of it.
"Gleep!" was all Rogers could say. He'd been mistaken. From the angle he'd
seen, the petite, sheer G-string had seemed like nothing. There was a sharp
<Smash!> behind them as the waiter, bringing food out, dropped it all. The
couple at the other table gawped.
The waiter hurried over, red-faced. "Let's see if your money thing works this
time, my darling," Murchison cooed. "That's my price for telling you the
side-effect."
Oh God, the woman had flipped. Like, totally.
On autopilot, the CEO in him taking over, Rogers handed his whole wallet to
the waiter. "Take what you want," he said, as firmly an order as he could make it.
"Give some to those folks..." He gestured to the older couple--the woman gave
out a nervous laugh--"...with my apologies for the trouble. Ask them to leave.
Mental illness. I can handle it. We'll be leaving shortly."
To Murchison: "So as a side-effect it turns you into a stripper, what's this
'my darling' crap, and would you please put your dress back on?"
Murchison watched, bemused, as the two elderly customers sidled past
without a glance, then hastened down the stairs and considerably wealthier for it.
The waiter returned and handed Rogers his depleted wallet. He went inside. Not a
word had been said.
They were alone. "You may have a point about money," Murchison said
absently.
"Your dress, please?"
"No. I have a serious point to make. You want to see what your money has
bought, don't you? Check out the Murchison Merchandise?"
"What the hell do you mean by that?" Rogers exclaimed. "I see two points,
nice and perky they are too, sitting on top of a pair of quite luscious boobs, but
they sure don't belong to me and will you please put...?"
Murchison went into a graceful pirouette twirl that ended in a sort of
showman's 'Ta-Da' pose, one hand out, knees bent. She held it for a second,
grinning. The mad gleam in her eyes was clearly visible now.
This time he got it. Suddenly, Rogers was very, very scared.
"What... have you done?" Rogers asked slowly, clamping down on the pesky
bit of gibbering panic that had popped up in the back of his head. Not that he
knew what he should be panicking about, but the back part of everybody's head
always tends to get ahead of things in situations like this. This capability has kept
many people from being eaten by tigers.
But it wouldn't help much here.
"You're damn right I've changed the world," Murchison said in a high voice.
"Changed it for the better. In the world I've created if I want to walk around in
the buff, who's going to stop me? Might as well get used to it."
Murchison stepped towards Rogers. She slid into his lap with an easy
motion. Rogers' hands involuntarily found themselves around her waist. Certain
other parts of his head promptly went wubba fizzle ping, but he ignored that.
Murchison's face was very close to his ear. "Do you know how much chaos a
real immortality treatment would cause in this world?" she whispered. "The
science fiction writers have been warning us for years about the trouble ahead.
I've thought about it, thought very, very hard."
Tell me what you've done. Pleeaassse...
"So I decided to hell with trouble. I decided the only answer is to give it
away. The only good immortality treatment is a free immortality treatment. For
everyone. I released the virus complex before I got to work this morning.
Stopped off at Canada Post and mailed a batch of letters, all contaminated with
the six different viruses it takes, to allll four corners of the world!!"
This was delivered with a sweeping wave of one hand.
"Oh no. You didn't..."
"Oh yes. I did."
"You didn't!!"
"Did did did. It's loose. And I've made sure it's transmissable by every
possible vector, with viral reservoir potential in half a dozen species of insect and
animals, so it can't be knocked out. But there's a bonus."
Rogers was not able to think for a moment. There was a ringing in his ears.
Everybody accuses scientists of playing God.
Now that one of them had actually gone and done it...? But part of his mind
was still working.
"All right: I'll bite. What bonus?"
Murchison grinned and threw her arms around his neck.
"It's the way the repair viruses work, my darling," she whispered into his
ear, plus a giggle that had bonkers written all over it. "For one thing, anybody
over the age of 29 will find their DNA being reset to age 29. Worn-out and
damaged DNA replaced with fresh. It's a whole body transformation. Every cell in
the body. And it works fast."
"You kissed me. You gave it to me, didn't you?" Rogers blurted out.
"A big gloopy dose of it. I've been breathing it out too. The whole Board's
got a lesser dose but it'll do."
Murchison smiled brightly, as only the truly unhinged can. "The bonus is,
whose DNA did I use to replace the worn-out stuff, what else does it do, and did I
ever say if you were a woman I'd be rilly hot for you? That's the real reason I
kissed you. Oh, and just to give you a clue, I really like foxes and wolves. Well,
animals period."
After enough shocks, one more has no real effect, like a shell hitting ground
already chewed up down to the bedrock.
Rogers' scalp felt itchy. He reached up and touched. All his skin felt a little
itchy, actually.
His hair was longer than the usual short brush cut. Much longer. It was
growing quickly. He yanked out a strand and looked at it. Not hair. More like…?
"I've always wondered what it would be like to have a twin. Give or take
some differences," the nearly naked woman in his lap said happily (oh, but now
so obviously mad, mad, mad). "Now I'm gonna have seven billion of them. And
now we won't ever have to fight each other ever again, and now we can all make
love to each other, forever and ever, and that's the world peace part. Neat, huh?"
Rogers didn't hear. Murchison's nudity had begun to change. Faintly, a light
coating of red was starting to appear on her skin. Then more distinctly, as her
face slowly... shifted a little. And her ears. Then more.
Rogers looked dully at the hair--not hair--he held in his fingers. And why did
his suit jacket somehow feel a little snugger around the chest?
Silky. Thick. Grey. And now why did his ears and teeth itch even stronger?
Then that was forgotten.
On the back of his paw, the fur blossomed like it would never stop.
Mar 16/2012
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Category All / General Furry Art
Species Mammal (Other)
Size 150 x 150px
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