Instinct (2010) Read online

  ‘Dr Trent,’ said Bishop in a small voice, ‘I suggest you take a look inside.’

  She picked the notebook up and opened it with a soft crack of hardening blood. The first thing she could see, to her relief, was that the pages were crammed with words and numbers and diagrams that seemed to reflect much of Heath’s thoughts and research.

  Bishop, Harry and Webster looked at her expectantly. Seeing this, she flicked through the pages to show them that there was plenty of information. Her action sent a spray of dried wasp over Bishop, who did his best to ignore it.

  ‘Can we use it?’ he asked.

  Laura looked through the pages. ‘Post-integration elimination of transposon sequences … phylogenetic distance … genome sequencing criteria … that’s all language I understand, but it’s the details, how he’s referring to genes and genetic integration and sequencing methods that I’m not familiar with. I think it’ll take a bit of deciphering. I mean, this is all as clear to me as English is to you but with the odd word that I’m going to have to work out through context, maybe with Harry’s help.’

  Bishop checked his watch. ‘It’s getting late. Let’s go to the cafeteria, then you can get stuck in after dinner.’

  This surprised Laura. ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Nine thirty,’ replied Webster.

  25

  The soldiers, scientists and those in charge were separated into their usual mealtime divisions. Garrett was already seated, picking over a bowl of food she was never going to eat. Jacobs heated up her meal and took the next seat along.

  ‘Fucking chili again,’ she said, resigned rather than pissed off.

  ‘Yeah, Jacobs, but this time it’s got a special ingredient. Say … where is Van Arenn?’ As George Estrada chuckled at his own joke, everyone on Bishop’s table went ghost-white. Did the scientists know already? Webster looked across to them for clues. From the continuing laughter, they were sure George had just stumbled upon his remark. However, when Garrett snapped loudly to her feet and left, the other soldiers knew something was up.

  The canteen returned to its usual calm, with gloomy silences punctuated by the occasional burst of conversation.

  ‘What happens to the poo all the way down here, you know, when you go to the rest room?’ Andrew loved using Americanisms; there was a coolness to doing it at school.

  ‘Sweetie, not while we’re eating.’

  ‘No, I just mean, like you know when you do it in a plane, it falls out in a frozen block that lands on people’s houses, here it must have to be shot up to the surface like in a cannon.’

  ‘That’s exactly what happens,’ confirmed Webster. ‘Then it fertilizes the jungle. Does it pretty good too. When we arrived there was only one tree, now look at it.’ Andrew smiled.

  Between mouthfuls, Laura flicked through the notebook. The early pages were full of Heath’s first stabs at isolating the aggression gene. She found it fascinating to discover how he had succeeded in replacing junk DNA strands with duplicates of the characteristics he wanted more of. The density of his thought slowed her, but she also had to contend with the density of Dr Heath’s incredibly ordered capital-letter handwriting. It was taking several minutes to get through each page.

  His advances made her own research feel archaic, like papyrus compared to a computer. He had isolated and adapted genes that were thought to be inextricable and applied thinking from remote areas of biochemistry which advanced the state of the art.

  And the creative thinking behind it was indeed an art: he had included perfectly proportioned diagrams of his findings, the work of a man who could have been incredibly successful in many different fields.

  For better or worse, however, he had chosen this one.

  26

  In the barracks, Garrett was sitting on her bed, unable to think straight. It had all happened so fast, and now she had to deal with varying measures of anger, grief, desperation, despondency and fear.

  She thought back to the conversation she had had with Van Arenn when they had returned from the mission. Had she tried hard enough to persuade him that this place was sliding into disaster? If she had been stronger, firmer, less of a pussy, would her friend be alive now?

  On the other side of the barracks, Van Arenn’s pine kitbox was jutting out from where he had left it in his capsule. Garrett walked over and shifted it out, sliding open the catches on the lid. As she looked through the photos and keepsakes, she felt an immense feeling of pity. The most recent picture he had was a two-year-old snap of Garrett posing on the chopper with the latest firearms consignment from the Pentagon. Beyond that, he had a beat-up black and white photo of a fat old man with glassy eyes and missing teeth whom Garrett assumed was Van Arenn senior.

  To anyone other than their owner, the rest of the objects were a collection of junk: a bullet, two bottle caps, a wooden beaded necklace, a Lincoln penny and a cat’s ID tag. In ten seconds, they had gone from meaningful to meaningless, and Garrett thought that was about as sad as it got.

  There was no one in the room, so she lifted the box up and heaved it across the barracks, sending Van Arenn’s clothes and trinkets flying. The wood was too dense to make much of a noise, but it left a wide triangular gash in the army-issue couch that took most of the impact. Bouncing off, it knocked quietly along the floor before coming to rest at the feet of Jacobs, who had just opened the door. She looked down at the box then up to Garrett, who was staring at the floor trying not to cry.

  ‘Everything OK?’ Jacobs said at last.

  ‘Nope. Wasps got David,’ Garrett replied, returning to her bunk. ‘Ate him all up.’

  ‘No shit,’ said Jacobs softly. ‘You need some company?’

  ‘Whatever,’ muttered Garrett.

  This was a deeply awkward moment. Despite the fact that Jacobs was the only other female soldier, she and Garrett had never been close. Van Arenn was all Garrett had needed, so she had kept the others at a distance, being civil but no more.

  Jacobs tried to ignore the silence by picking up Van Arenn’s clothes and putting them back into his kit box. Sliding it back into the bunk, she turned to Garrett, whose eyes narrowed with bitter force.

  ‘Sadie, if you need any help …’

  Garrett looked up at Jacobs. ‘I only need help with one thing, Mary, and that’s getting the fuck out of here.’

  27

  As the inhabitants of MEROS finished up their food and got ready to go to work or sleep, Bishop took Webster aside.

  ‘Carl, I suggest you get Garrett locked down. If she’s feeling spiky about what happened to Van Arenn, she’s liable to start turning the others against me. I don’t know if we can stop that happening, but every second you can buy me could be the difference between chaos and control.’

  ‘No problem,’ said Webster flatly. He had been placed in similar situations before, and duty had always defeated his humane instincts. That was why they had chosen him. They knew that a little thing like feelings would not get in the way of his defence of the greater good, and Bishop liked to put this to regular use. He had been through too many similar incidents and made too many similar requests to think that this one was going to be a stretch.

  As Webster headed off to the barracks, Bishop returned to the table.

  ‘Dr Trent, Andrew, we have excellent guest facilities here. We never know when someone of importance might visit and stay here long enough to get a feel for the place. Please, let me show you to your rooms.’

  He led Laura and Andrew to a small door just beyond the entrance to the barracks. Most people assumed that it was a storeroom of some sort, and none of the current staff, except Bishop, had ever seen the other side of it.

  ‘When was the last time anyone stayed here?’ asked Laura.

  Bishop thought for a moment, then a moment longer. ‘Do you know, I’m not sure anyone has ever stayed here. You might have the honour of being the first.’

  The suite of ro
oms contained furniture, books and magazines, all from a time before Andrew was born. The living room was decorated in a dull collection of the minimalist earth tones that would have suited a boutique hotel of the late nineties. Someone had thought to add a CD player and a collection of discs, including the Titanic soundtrack and Madonna’s Ray of Light. The walls were decorated with framed Damien Hirst knock-offs: a grid of coloured circles and a canvas of several butterflies trapped in pink paint.

  Bishop gestured Andrew and Laura through to the bedrooms, which would have been pleasant enough, were it not for the feeling that they were walking on the grave of someone not yet dead.

  ‘I guess I’ll just leave you to it. If there’s anything you need, please don’t hesitate to ask. My quarters are off the rec room next to my office. There’s a door at the back on the right. Major Webster sleeps in the barracks with his squad. Feel free to wake him if you need his help. I think we’re all aware of the …’ he noticed Andrew ‘… situation in which we now find ourselves, and its importance.’ He walked backwards to the door and left them to it.

  Andrew suddenly felt very tired, as if Bishop’s departure had unleashed the sleep in him. Without a word, he headed off to the bathroom, peed, brushed his teeth and kissed his mum goodnight.

  ‘I know you’re tired, sweetie. We’ll have a proper talk in the morning.’

  Laura prepared for bed, then set about the notebook as if it were a novel she could not put down. She knew she had to sleep, but the call of just one more chapter was too strong for her to ignore.

  28

  From a quick glance at Jacobs’ accusing face, Webster knew he was too late to hush Garrett up and that it was now only a matter of time before the rest of MEROS found out about Van Arenn.

  Webster was relieved. When he had a choice to make that he didn’t agree with, he preferred someone else to make it for him. Now he could do what he thought was right. Jacobs could see that this meant a quiet word with Garrett, so she took the hint and left them to it.

  ‘Are you OK, Garrett?’ Webster pulled up a chair and sat down opposite her, trying to catch her eye. She didn’t react.

  ‘I know you are a soldier and have been a soldier out there, but what you went through today … that was big, and I don’t want you to feel like you’ve got to keep it all in.’

  Garrett looked at Webster wearily. ‘I don’t feel like nothing, sir. I’m just trying to process a ton of stuff right now is all.’

  ‘Please try to sleep on it. I know it’s hard, but we’ll work out what to do in the morning. And it’s worth saying one more time that you did good out there. You gave us a shot and risked everything to do it. For a girl, your balls are big.’

  She did not smile at this. Instead she got into bed and shut her blind.

  29

  Nights were the strangest time in MEROS. Most of the staff slept, despite the illusion of twenty-four-hour days, but some, mainly the scientists, used the time to get work done with fewer distractions.

  In particular, Harry Merchant often ran the gene sequencers at night, setting them on the long series of calculations that might provide the next steps forward. It was not a task that required much thought or attention, so he usually spent the time working out how to process the next day’s experiments.

  Tonight, however, was different.

  Tonight, he felt the arrival of Laura Trent, the deaths of Heath, Roach, Martin and Van Arenn, and the desperation of Bishop as a rough hand shaking him from his sleep.

  Harry had been asked here personally by David Heath and had been so honoured to receive the invitation he had accepted without really enquiring into what it would entail. Ever since he had given up his post at the University of Kansas to ‘have a little go at playing God’, as Heath mischievously put it, he had been entranced by the opportunity to make unnatural history.

  But, however thrilling the early days had been, the grim and inconvenient reality of the situation had gradually made its presence felt, like floodwater seeping under a door. By the time it all got too much, he was practically institutionalized, and the only things that gave him the impetus to leave were the kind of seismic events that now seemed to be a weekly occurrence.

  The hum of the machines allowed him to tune out and focus on his thoughts. He started with Laura and her boy. He knew they would not be able to stay for any substantial length of time. Their arrival had been a last, desperate throw of the dice by Bishop, the move of a man who was clinging on to something by ever-slipping fingertips. Sure, she might get him out of this situation, but she and the boy would not, could not, remain here and, however they were going to leave, Harry wanted to join them.

  His clandestine meeting with Laura earlier in the day had, he hoped, planted the seed in her mind that he was a kindred spirit, but he felt the need to reinforce it. If she ever found herself with a way out, he did not want to be forgotten. Equally, if he could think of a plan that required her assistance, he wanted her to know he could be trusted.

  He checked the sequencers one last time, folded his glasses into his pocket and returned to his room. He had much to consider.

  30

  Sleep had overcome Laura like molasses. No matter how hard she had tried to continue reading, in the end it wasn’t her choice. She sank into the wide leather couch, turned her eyes from the light and promised herself it would be for no more than ten minutes. Five hours later, she was still snoring gently into the cushions.

  In his bed, Andrew blinked awake and tried to remember where he was. This pitch-black room was the sixth different place he’d woken up in over the last two days. Reaching for a light switch, he found one that instantly brought eight fluorescent bulbs to life and left his pupils aching.

  Oh yeah. Here.

  After a wash, he put on the same clothes he had worn since leaving England. Their clammy stiffness made him want to get moving, to think about something else. He ambled out into the living room, where it took him a moment to notice his mum tucked into the couch. He moved gently, turned off the light and slipped into the corridor.

  With no one else around, he wasn’t sure what to do, so he returned to the cafeteria for a bowl of cornflakes with longlife milk. He ate alone until Carter walked in.

  ‘Hey, little guy! What you doing here by your lonesome?’

  ‘Mum’s still asleep.’

  ‘Oh. You want to go outside for a while? I’m heading up there for a run before I go on detail. Maybe you could show me some more scout stuff.’

  ‘Thanks, Lieutenant Carter.’

  ‘OK, just hang on a minute till I get some chili down.’

  Carter scooped a ladle of corpse-grey meat-mush into a bowl. The sound, like muscle separating from bone, brought a look of amazed disgust to Andrew’s face. Carter saw this and smiled.

  ‘You should see what it looks like tomorrow,’ he said, digging in a spoon. Five bites and the contents of the bowl were gone. A pint of coffee later, Carter and Andrew were in the elevator, Andrew trying hard not to breathe in Carter’s stale breath.

  31

  Laura woke abruptly and eased her face off the sofa. Crease marks from the leather had left her cheek looking like a forgotten dishcloth.

  The sharp raps came again.

  ‘Hang on,’ she slurred, feeling the wall for a light switch. The room flashed white and she fumbled for the door handle.

  ‘Harry?’

  ‘Dr Trent. I … er … I’m sorry to … did I wake you?’

  ‘I’m not sure. I didn’t sleep too well. What time is it?’

  ‘A little after seven.’

  They stood there for a moment before Laura remembered her manners. ‘Come in, come in. I think there’s some ten-year-old coffee in that jar.’

  Harry looked around the room and sat on a black leather armchair. Laura returned to the couch.

  ‘How can I help?’ she smiled, suppressing a yawn.

  ‘Well, to put it b
luntly, I’m concerned.’

  ‘Aren’t we all?’

  ‘I’m sure, but as I said to you yesterday, I think the current situation may be coming to a head, and I’d like to help it do so.’

  ‘OK. Any ideas?’

  ‘A few. One in particular.’ He paused to give some room to what he was about to say.

  ‘I think I can release my wasps.’

  Laura waited for Harry to make clear whether or not he was joking. His expression did not alter.

  ‘How can you do that without making things worse?’

  ‘I could open the incubators at the back of my lab then lock the door. They are maintained electronically, so the possibility of a malfunction is always there. I simply set them to unlock, and thirty minutes later the wasps will be wakened by the heat and out in the lab. Because the same area stores the genetic-data records, the soldiers will not be able to use their weapons. Bishop will have to freeze it down, and we will have to leave the facility when he does so. Under those circumstances, I for one would not return.’

  ‘Is there a downside?’

  ‘Only minimal danger to myself and the slight chance of arousing suspicion. However, the incubators are in their own area right at the back of the lab, so if I do it by torchlight I can’t imagine anyone will even know I’m there.’

  ‘Do you have a time in mind?’

  ‘I could do it this morning. The earlier the better, really – less chance of prying eyes.’

  ‘Well, be sure and let me know when you’ve done it. If there’s a way Andrew and I can be on the surface when it happens, I’d prefer it.’