Chapter Seven: Perfect Killing Machines

“[G]raves at my command

Have wak’d their sleepers, od’d, and let them forth

By my so potent art.”

-Prospero, The Tempest

            After they had seen Python, Prosser led them back to the villa for dinner, which turned out to be lobster served by what Hendricks suspected were more on-loan drug-dealers. While they ate, Charles played some opera on the grand piano, singing along in a powerful baritone:

            “Gorjues vse? Tebe pristali slezy.

            Poplac, poplac! Ljublju na nich smotret’

            i device pogladit’ po golovke.

            Che, che, che!”

            “I take it,” said Prosser. “That you were impressed by my research?”

            Hendricks, Helen, and Ralph looked at each other.

            “It’s impressive, I’ll give you that,” admitted Hendricks.

            “But I think I missed the part where giant killer animals will help you save the world,” said Helen boldly.

            Prosser smiled.

            “A fair point,” he said. “It seems the time has come to explain my intentions more fully, now that you have so idea of my resources.”

            Charles stopped singing, but kept playing along in the background.

            “The great flaw with all social programs,” Prosser began. “Is that they are working with bad material. No matter how well-intentioned or rationally designed a society is, it will still be dependent upon weak, greedy, selfish human beings. My intention, therefore, is to revolutionize mankind itself.”

            Hendricks and Helen looked over at Charles.

            “No,” said Prosser, who had evidently noticed. “The technique used on Charles is merely a tool. I am not talking about a ‘master race’ or any other such nonsense. I am concerned, not with man’s body, but with what might, for lack of a better word, be called his soul.”

            “Why for lack of a better word?” asked Ralph. “I think that’s a fine word.”

            Prosser ignored him.

            “By ‘soul’ I mean his character, his intellect, his morality and so forth. As you are all well aware, at present these are all highly defective in man. Now, why is that?”

            “Original Sin,” said Ralph cheerfully.

            “It is because man’s environment is toxic,” said Prosser, a little more forcefully than before. “He is surrounded by greed, bigotry, cruelty, and ignorance from the moment he leaves his mother’s womb. So, as all creatures do, he naturally adapts to his environment. He learns to be jealous, selfish, and wasteful. It is like when a bone is set improperly and heals in the wrong shape.

            “So what do we do? We cannot remove man from his environment; it is omnipresent. Therefore, we must alter the environment. Improve the environment, and you will improve man. The bone must be broken again so that it may truly heal. Remove the cancerous tumors of society, and mankind will be able to develop correctly.”

            “And what are these tumors?” Helen asked.

            “Religion,” said Prosser. “Money. The artificial distinctions of nation and class. So-called private property. These are the seeds of conflict and cruelty.”

            “You mean all this is…just Communism?” Helen said.

            “Not exactly,” said Prosser. “The communist world has a fair view of the problem, but it is utterly unequipped for the solution.”

            “Which is?”

            “As I say; to change the environment. To remove these tumors.”

            “Okay,” said Hendricks. “Now, without the analogies that means…?"

            “To put it in frank terms, we will inaugurate the greatest war the world has ever seen; a war that will reach every corner of the globe and tear up these corrupt social structures by their roots. Then, when the dust settles, mankind will be free. There will be no more wars. No nations, no religions, no possessions. Nothing for men to kill or to die for.”

            “That would seem to give them nothing to live for either,” said Ralph quietly.

            “Life is a good in itself,” said Prosser. “It doesn’t require such ornamentation.”

            “If life’s a good in itself,” said Ralph. “Then why are you willing to kill so many people?”

            Prosser was silent for a moment, and Hendricks thought that, for a moment, Ralph had scored a point.

            “I don’t relish the prospect,” Prosser said. “Were it for any other cause, I would refuse to raise a hand against my fellow man. I did not go to war when I was a young man, and would not today. Save for this. This is a new and nobler cause than any that has come before. At their best the earlier wars were but a seizure of temporary goods for a small segment of humanity. Take the Second World War, for instance: it bought a kind of freedom for part of the world, but left the rest in squalor and injustice. And in its wake it sowed the seeds of another and worse conflict, just as the previous had done, and the war before that. History is nothing but the story of endless, futile battle.

            “And here, on this island, I have the chance to end all that. I have the chance to bring perpetual peace, and health, and happiness to everyone in the world. So, yes; I will kill many, many millions of people. The vast majority of the human race currently alive will perish at my hands. That is the burden that my conscience must bear. The war that I will begin will be the worst war the Earth has ever seen. But it will be the last. And untold billions will live in peace because of me.”

            Silence fell in the wake of this speech. Hendricks thought that Prosser was insane…and yet, his vision was strangely compelling. The force of the man’s belief was evident in every syllable he spoke, and Hendricks found himself wondering whether there might be something to what he said.

            Then Helen broke the silence.

            “So why do you want to kill me?” she asked bluntly.

            “Kill you?” said Prosser, looking a little startled. “Whoever said I wanted to kill you? Helen, I don’t want to kill anyone, you least of all. I want you to help me.”

            “Help you?!”

            “Naturally. You don’t really think I hired you for light filing, do you? I learned of your gift and knew that it would be an inestimable asset to me. And I knew of your good heart, and how much you cared for the poor and downtrodden.”

            “So you had him feed me a load of bull to lure me out here?” she said furiously, pointing at Charles.

            “More or less,” said Prosser complacently. “But only to offer you a chance to do even more. You care for these people; the ones who have been trampled on and cast out by a cruel world, don’t you? I do too. And I am trying to find a way to ensure that sort of thing stops. I am asking you to help me end poverty forever.”

            Helen stared at him, her mouth hanging open slightly. She didn’t say anything.

            “I don’t want you to give me your answer now,” said Prosser. “I want you to consider it very carefully over the next few hours.”

            Helen closed her mouth and looked away from him.

            “Uh, I have a question,” said Hendricks, partly in order to break the grim silence that had ensued. “Maybe I missed something, but I still don’t see how giant killer animals figure into all this.”

            Prosser gave him a wearily contemptuous look.

            “I should have thought that was obvious by now,” he said with a hint of impatience. “To wage the last war with any hope of success, I need warriors and weapons the likes of which the world has never known. I cannot merely have more or better weapons of the same kind that every nation on Earth possesses; I need a new kind of weapon, and a new kind of soldier; one which the armies of the present order will be utterly unequipped to face.

            “The creatures on this island are essays in craft. We keep them alive to study the long-term effects of our processes, but they in themselves are, mostly, not part of the plan. What we learn from them is to be applied to other, more viable subjects. Charles here is one of the first of that generation.”

            Charles gave a modest wave in acknowledgment and resumed his playing

            “So, you’re looking to create an army of…people like him?” Helen asked.

            “More or less,” said Prosser. “Of course, some soldiers will receive different enhancements, but the principle shall remain roughly the same. Meanwhile, creatures like Python will supplement the soldiers: be our armor and artillery. And we are attempting to acquire other weapons of an even greater power. What you have seen today is but the very first seeds of our army.”

            There was silence as Prosser’s words seemed to hang in the air like smoke.

            “Well, I’m sure you can see the problem with all that,” said Ralph after a few moments.

            Prosser direct his contemptuous gaze on him.

            “And what is that?”

            “What happens if some of your army has an attack of conscience? What if some of them decide they don’t want to rebuild the world, but would rather just use their ‘enhancements,’ as you call them, for personal gain? In short, how would you control your army of gods and monsters?”

            Prosser gazed steadily at Ralph, who gazed politely back. Then, to Hendricks’s slight surprise, Prosser smiled.

            “As a matter of fact, I have foreseen that very problem,” he said. “And one of my colleagues is currently perfecting a solution. Once you have all finished your dinner, I will show you the fruits of his research.”

            They went back into the facility, down an elevator, and on and on down the long corridors until Hendricks was no longer sure how they could get back out again. Finally, they came to a hallway with many doors. Prosser opened the nearest one and ushered them into the lab on the other side.

            There were two men inside. One of them was huge, thick, and at least six-and-a-half-feet tall, with a lumpy, misshapen face that made it impossible to guess at his age. Indeed, his face was so grotesque that Hendricks wondered whether he had some sort of bone disease. He was dressed, rather unexpectedly, in a rough brown suit and tie, with a matching flat-cap hung on a peg by the door. The other man, who was writing feverishly on a blackboard, was very thin and almost as tall as his companion. He had dark, slicked-back hair and mustache, a long, aristocratic face, and wide blue eyes. He too wore a suit, though in his case he covered it with a white lab-coat, and took no notice of the group as they came in.  The larger man, however, looked at them and grunted in a vaguely threatening manner.

            “Dr. Nelson,” said Prosser.

            The thin man ignored him, muttering under his breath as he worked.

            “Dr. Nelson!” Prosser repeated, raising his voice.

            “Shh!” Dr. Nelson snapped, waving a hand impatiently over his shoulder as he continued to write. Prosser sighed.

            “You’ll have to excuse Dr. Nelson,” he said. “It is very difficult to interrupt him once he starts working.”

            “What about him?” Helen asked, nodding at the big man.

            “Oh, you don’t have to worry about Fritz,” said Charles. “He’s as gentle as puppy. Well, a particularly large and strong puppy who likes to strangle young women, that is.”

            He gave her a nasty grin and Helen edged a little closer to Hendricks.

            It took Nelson about five minutes before he finally seemed to have reached whatever conclusion he had been aiming for and turned to greet the group.

            “Good evening, Dr. Prosser.” He had a very smooth, clear, and elegant voice. “Have you brought me more test subjects?”

            “Test subjects?!” Helen exclaimed.

            “No,” said Prosser. “I merely wished to show them the fruits of your labor.”

            “How delightful! Dr. Ted Nelson, at your service,” he said, striding across the room and shaking hands with each in turn. “May I present my indispensible assistant, Fritz?”

            Fritz grunted.

            “A mute, I am afraid,” Nelson explained. “That is what happens when the East German authorities fail at an execution. He was a little too tough for them. But their loss is my gain, isn’t it Fritz?”

            “Rrrnn,” said Fritz.

            “Quite so. Now, you wish to see my amazing creations? Right this way, if you please!”

            He swept from the room like an opera singer exiting the stage, Fritz stomping along in his wake. Mildly alarmed by this display, Hendricks and the others followed.

            “Of course,” said Nelson. “Dr. Prosser will have shown you some of his work already. And it is quite…remarkable in its own way.”

            His tone indicated that Dr. Nelson considered Prosser’s creations to be roughly what he’d expect from a precocious kindergartener.

            “But I, on the other hand, have truly pushed the boundaries of Science in ways that he has never even imagined…”

            “Just so we’re clear,” Hendricks interrupted, unable to contain himself. “You do know that, uh, Dr. Prosser is right behind you, right?”

            “Don’t interrupt me!” Nelson snapped. “As I was saying, I have truly taken his work to what might call the next level. You undoubtedly are familiar with his Python, yes? Well, then, brace yourselves and behold!”

            He threw open the door, revealing yet-another observation room, much like the one they had viewed Python from. The cage contained another giant snake, this one a dull brick-red in color and which, unlike Python, seemed largely uninterested in the people watching it.

            “Boa!” said Nelson proudly. “My…greatest creation. Her scales are twice as strong as Python’s, she’s a full five-feet longer, and in terms of offensive weapons, allow me to direct your attention to her tail.”

            Hendricks looked and saw that Boa’s body ended not in a simple, scaly point, but in what looked like a huge, shiny kitchen knife that apparently grew right out of her body.

            “That blade is pure Calvanite,” said Nelson. “The strongest alloy in the world; virtually unbreakable, non-conductive, and unaffected by magnetism…”

            “It took me a bit of doing to get my hands on it,” said Charles proudly. “And Xander Calvan still doesn’t know that we have his formula.”

            “Don’t interrupt!” Nelson snapped. “As I was saying, it is a far deadlier and more efficient weapon than Python’s clumsy acid.”

            He gazed upon the snake as though she were a beloved child.

            “She is sheer perfection!” he whispered, pressing his hand against the plastic. “The Perfect Killing Machine!”     

            He stood like for several seconds until Charles cleared his throat loudly.

            “Uh, moving on, doctor?”

            “Yes, yes, of course,” said Nelson, jerking out of his reverie.

            “I believe,” said Prosser. “We particularly were interested in seeing your work on behavior controls.”      

            “Ah, yes!” said Nelson, a grin spreading across his face. “Surely my most spectacular contribution to Science! Right this way, ladies and gentlemen…”

            “Of course, the tricky part of controlling living things is that you don’t want to control them too closely,” Nelson said as they proceeded once more down the hall to yet another lab. “They must be able to fend for themselves, to react to changing stimuli, and so forth. The solution I have come up with is, if I say so myself, brilliant in its simplicity. Rather than directing the subject’s actions, it merely creates a goal or set of conditions with its mind. I could, for instance, order it to kill you,” he pointed at Hendricks, “and it would do everything within its power to accomplish that, while also being able to deal with the everyday concerns of self-preservation, navigating obstacles, and so forth. Ah, here we are!”

            They entered a large circular room with a separate chamber standing in the middle made out of metal and clear plastic. An extraordinary figure stood in the middle of this chamber. It was a man: not tall, but thickly built, dressed in worn fatigues and combat boots. His head was completely covered with a jointed metal helmet, the only openings of which were three square holes for his eyes and mouth. His right hand had been replaced with a long, slightly curved blade that hung down almost to his feet. The man’s dark eyes – which were just visible behind his helmet – followed them as they entered the room.

            “Permit me to introduce Hank Voyeur,” said Nelson proudly. “He is my very own Slasher…”           

            “Sorry,” said Helen. “’Slasher’?”

            “Yes,” said Nelson, looking highly annoyed at the interruption. “A creature like Charles here: a man who was killed and, short hours later, returned to life inhumanly strong and nearly invulnerable. You must have heard of such cases: Franklin Van Hausen of Emerald Lake Camp in New Jersey, Dan Uniconmin of the Hanniger Mine in Pennsylvania, Anton LeBret of Ridgemont High School in California, why, we even have Andrew Wainwright, the so-called ‘Killer Cop’ on our island as we speak. It was from him that we were able to isolate the gene for study. It is a fascinating phenomenon, one I look forward to studying more deeply in the future…”

            Helen and Hendricks stared at Prosser and Charles, who both looked highly annoyed that Nelson had shared this information.

            “You were…killed?” Hendricks asked.       

            “Part of the process,” said Charles shortly. “The heart has to stop for a period for the genes to take effect.”

            “Which is one of the more interesting aspects of the phenomenon,” Nelson went on. “Why should death be a necessary condition? How do the genes even function in the face of death? Not only that, but it seems that only death under certain emotional states is likely to induce the mutation. The revived subject then retains none but the most immediate memories, and unless he receives treatment soon, the amnesia becomes permanent…”

            “Dr. Nelson, I thought you were explaining the control device,” Prosser put in.

            “Yes, and as a matter of fact,” said Nelson. “The point is highly relevant. You see, in some cases the amnesia is so severe that it shuts down the higher brain functions, leaving nothing but malice and uncontrollable rage. Now, the cessation of the higher brain functions allowed me to substitute them with a small, radio-operated device.

“At the moment I am keeping Hank in a state of semi-consciousness. As I say, his neutral state is one of simply attempting to attack anyone in sight. But if I were to wake him, I could this machine,” he gestured at the control panel against the wall, “to order him to attack any one of you I liked, or even to pass among you without harm…”       

            “Who was he?” Ralph asked suddenly.

            “Don’t! INTERRUPT!” Nelson shrieked.

            “So sorry,” said Ralph mildly, as though Nelson had merely given him an annoyed glance instead an insane screech. “I was merely curious as to who ‘Hank Voyeur’ was before the…process.”

            Nelson glared at him furiously.      

            “An island employee,” he snapped. “He volunteered for the procedure. But it hardly matters now; he retains no memories whatsoever of his past life. He only knows the orders he is given. He is the Perfect Killing Machine!”

            “I thought Boa was the perfect killing machine?” Hendricks pointed out.        

            “Oh, yes,” said Nelson, nodding. “She is spectacular, but Hank here is truly my greatest creation. And to think, they called me mad…”

            His eyes narrowed and he muttered under his breath for a moment before apparently recalling himself.

“Now,” he continued. “Naturally the helmet and blade are pure Calvanite, and, to make him even more indestructible, I coated his major skeletal structure with the alloy. You might say he is wearing his armor under his skin.”

            Prosser started. “You what? How much did that take?”

            “I don’t know exactly,” Nelson said, sounding for all the world as though he though Prosser had asked out of idle curiosity. “A large amount, as I had to make sure his joints could still operate, necessitating a good deal of overlap…”

            “Dr. Nelson,” said Prosser. “I gave you a specific allotment of the metal and expected you to make do with it.”

            “Dr. Prosser, great scientists do not ‘make do.’ Progress can only be achieved by going beyond your limits.”

            “Exactly how much of our supply did you use?” Prosser asked sharply.

            “How should I know?” Nelson answered with a contemptuous shrug. “I used what I needed and nothing less. Check the supply yourself if you are interested; I have more important work to do.”

            “If you have the formula for it,” Ralph suggested. “Can’t you just make more of it?”

            “No,” said Prosser coldly. “With our limited facilities and resources, we can only manufacture so much on this island. And since I’m not stupid enough to give anyone else that formula, that’s the only way we can manufacture it!”

            “What’s the matter?” Ralph grinned. “Don’t trust your own organization?”

            “It is a simple matter of prudence,” said Prosser. “The fewer who know, the fewer can be careless, the less chance that we will lose that advantage.”

            There was a brief, uncomfortable silence, then Nelson started up again as though there had been no interruption.

            “Now, I think I know what you are all thinking…”

            “That this is an abomination before nature and nature’s God?” Ralph put in, eying Hank with disgust.

            “What if,” said Nelson, ignoring him (he seemed to have resigned himself to being interrupted) “the process used on him is too expensive or too complicated to use on the average soldier? Well, I have a solution! In this next room...”

             The moment they entered the next room they were greeted with a hideous noise; an insane shrieking and gibbering that went on and on without letup. The source, it turned out, was a scarred, scabby, mange-covered baboon in a plastic tank in the far corner. Its eyes were bulging and blood-shot, its mouth stretched wide revealing its long, yellow-teeth, and it was pounding on the plastic without cease.

            “This,” said Nelson, raising his voice over the baboon’s shrieks. “Is Daisy. Daisy is an Olive Baboon who has received a series of drugs, adrenaline supplements, and gene therapy, which has rendered her extremely aggressive. So aggressive, as a matter of fact, that she will attack and kill any living thing she sees. She will rage and storm and kill until she collapses from exhaustion. Then, when she has recovered, she’ll wake up to do it all over again! She is the Perfect Killing Machine!”

            Daisy gave a particularly loud howl and tried to bite her way through the plastic. One of her incisors shattered and she howled even louder, but didn’t stop.

            “Uh, okay,” said Hendricks nervously. “I…don’t really see the application…”

            “Just imagine,” said Nelson, as though he were describing a plan to end world hunger. “A whole army of soldiers given the same treatment. Why, they’d be unstoppable!”

            “Wouldn’t they just attack each other?” Ralph asked.

            The satisfied smile slid off of Nelson’s face.

            “Oh, well…yes, I suppose that is a possibility,” he said.

            Prosser sighed and shook his head in exasperation.

            “I believe that will do,” he said. “Thank you, Dr. Nelson.”

            “But I have other projects which…”

            “Thank you, I don’t think that will be necessary,” said Prosser firmly.

            Nelson looked very annoyed as Prosser led them out of the lab, and even more so when Prosser paused and said “And we will discuss your misappropriation of resources later, doctor.”           

Next Week:

Chapter Eight:  A Spanner in the Works