Chapter 170. A Laboratory of My Own

I leaned back in the director’s chair, savoring the feeling of shrimp in sauce, onion rings, Buffalo wings, and heavy German beer settling into my stomach like a lead weight. Physically, I felt great. And at that very moment, the curly-haired redhead sitting across from me had the nerve to suggest, with a conspiratorial air, that I participate in his amateur biological experiments. It was probably the best joke I’d heard all week.

Memories of my former life as a desk jockey immediately surfaced. I remembered the guys from Sales and their regular boasts around the coffee machine. They often talked about their most primitive but remarkably effective sales tactic: intercepting potential clients as they walked out of an expensive steakhouse. The customer had just enjoyed a hearty, delicious meal, his frontal lobes swimming in endorphins and the hormones associated with post-meal contentment. His guard was down, his judgment impaired, and that was precisely when the sales rep would launch an aggressive pitch, shouting, “Exclusive contract! Discount available only here and now! Sign up for at least two units!” Back then, as an accountant, I’d merely nodded along without giving these psychological tricks much thought. Sales didn’t interest me, and I always calculated my own expenses with a clear head.

Imagine my surprise at encountering this bargain-basement manipulation firsthand. And where, of all places? Not on the street or in a restaurant, but inside a restricted United States Department of Defense facility. In a department where dry logic, the highest levels of expertise, and sterile scientific precision were supposed to reign supreme.

If I’d still been the old Tom Ross, the Buffalo wings might have given this trick a fighting chance. Hormones had an enormous influence on the decisions of ordinary Homo sapiens. But my evolution had radically upgraded my biological systems. The dopamine rush from consuming premium calories had been immediately filtered out by my brain’s biochemical safeguards. My mind regarded this unexpected feast as nothing more than a refueling stop, a way to supply my body with the energy it needed to maintain peak performance. That was all. I remained in a state of absolute combat readiness, with no unnecessary emotions or physiological triggers clouding my judgment.

“Director Castro, I want a complete technical briefing on your project.” I spoke in the dry, uncompromising language of official Pentagon protocols. Not a muscle moved in my face, and my gaze remained steady and cold. “What exactly do you intend for me to do? And has Corps High Command been informed of your current initiatives?”

Richie’s ingratiating grin vanished instantly. His crude little scheme had clearly failed. He’d expected a hearty meal and a little flattery to loosen me up, lower my guard, and get me to sign the departmental paperwork without reading it.

“Tom, listen, everything here is completely legal. There’s nothing shady going on.” Castro sounded more composed now, but nervousness crept into his voice, and his shoulders tensed. “All the project documentation is complete and entered into the system. All we need is your signature, and we can send the whole package straight to the Pentagon. You’ll be listed as my principal research assistant on the project.”

“Explain the experiment and its ultimate objective.”

“We’re developing a universal antidote to the combat toxins and xenogenic pathogens the invaders use.” Richie dropped his clownish act, his expression turning focused and serious. “You have to understand, Tom, those things constantly use nerve agents and corrosive aerosols against our assault teams inside the Portals. They’re lethal to human beings. They destroy lung tissue and dissolve red blood cells in seconds, contaminating virtually every cubic foot of air inside a Portal. Right now, our guys have to go in wearing heavy, self-contained breathing apparatus with closed-circuit systems. Those tanks are a huge burden, though, and they seriously limit an assault trooper’s mobility in close-quarters combat. And if even a small piece of shrapnel punctures a hose or damages a mask, the soldier dies an agonizing death right in front of his squad. If the Corps had a vaccine that could make our people resistant to alien chemical agents at the cellular level, we could clear Portals three times faster. We could also push our personnel survival rate close to one hundred percent.”

“I understand the strategic importance of the project, and I agree that it’s worth pursuing.” I nodded, acknowledging the scale of what he was proposing. An antidote to xenotoxins would be an enormous advantage in this war. “What exactly would I have to do in the lab?”

“Well... basically, you’d serve as a living bioreactor to produce antibodies.” Richie’s voice dropped, and his confidence began to falter again under my unwavering stare. “Your personnel file says your ability lets you control your own metabolism and cellular structure down to the molecular level. So I worked out a procedure. We’d expose you to a series of controlled, localized infections using concentrated xenopathogens, and you’d use your ability to force your body to mount a complete immune response. Then we’d collect your modified plasma and use it to synthesize a stable serum for the entire Corps.”

“In other words, Director Castro, you’re planning to put me through the same procedure Selina used to develop universal vaccines against every known disease on Earth.”

“That witch had no business sticking her nose into research like that! Her job is hardware and software. I’m the one in charge of every xenogenic strain, bacterium, and virus in this entire organization!” Richie finally lost his temper and slammed his palm against the edge of the table.

Once again, I’d hit his biggest interdepartmental sore spot with sniper precision, and the doctor’s emotions immediately got the better of him.

“She brazenly, shamelessly barged into my territory! And she did it for one reason: to score extra points with the department and secure her promotion while raking in millions from exclusive government patents! That hypocritical she-devil!”

“Actually, I was the one who came up with the idea for that medical experiment. I was the one who proposed it to Selina,” I said calmly.

Richie stopped flaring his nostrils and snorting in outrage the very next second. He froze, staring at me in stunned disbelief through the round lenses of his glasses, looking utterly ridiculous.

“You? But why, Tom? What for?”

“I saw a real opportunity to monetize my own potential as profitably as possible, and I moved quickly to put the plan into action.”

“But why?! Why the hell did you take this to her instead of coming straight to my office?!” His strained voice betrayed the raw, unfiltered hurt of a manager who felt like a child whose favorite toy had been stolen.

“Because I only learned you even existed within the Corps hierarchy today, at fourteen hundred hours,” I replied honestly. I saw no reason to sugarcoat the facts. “I met Ms. Langstrom back at the training camp, where she taught a specialized course to our class. That's where we started the biological synthesis of the first antibodies, right there on the grounds.”

“So that bitch in silk stockings has already started using cadets as unpaid lab assistants...” Richie mused, rubbing his curly beard as he frantically rearranged his understanding of the world. “To hell with her. Forget it. You're here now, Tom. In my department. Tell me straight: are you willing to do something that will actually help our boys on the front lines? Will you help the Corps?”

“I'm always ready to work efficiently.” I tilted my head slightly, taking note of his posture. “But let's clear something else up, Richie. What's in this project for you personally? Are you trying to replicate Selina's success, rack up some quick career points, and squeeze a new rank out of Crowley?”

Richie's eyes darted around, his pupils constricted, and his body temperature, according to my sensory readings, rose by half a degree. Tiny beads of sweat appeared along his hairline. All these autonomic changes took place in a mere two seconds, but my accelerated processing system registered the biological malfunction in response to my direct question without error. The doctor frantically calculated his options, scrambling to come up with a convincing lie.

“I... You know, Tom, my first responsibility is the biological safety and well-being of our assault units.” He delivered the line with maximum patriotic fervor, making it as grandiose as possible and utterly failing to sound sincere. “So, what's your verdict? Are you willing to help your country, Lieutenant?”

“I am.”

It was the only rational, pragmatic decision under the circumstances. I had long intended to develop absolute immunity to every known extraterrestrial pathogen, poison, and gas within my upgraded body. Unfortunately, Selina was no longer in a position to help me with that. Her security clearance did not authorize her to work legally with the highest-classification xenogenic strains. Acquiring such material required Castro's approval at every stage, and as today's workday had demonstrated, he would never hand his greatest opportunity for a career triumph to a direct rival. For the time being, our interests aligned.

“Excellent, Tom! Absolutely outstanding! I never doubted your moral compass for a second. You're a true patriot and a model American.” Richie brightened immediately and hurriedly pulled the keyboard toward him. “I'm entering your personal information into the cover sheet of the government project right now so we can send it to the Pentagon.”

“Not so fast, Richie. Leave the keyboard alone.” I stopped him with a brief, cold gesture. “Let's get my share of the benefits from this collaboration down on paper first.”

“What?” Castro froze with his fingers hovering above the keys. His bewildered gaze darted between my face and the already signed order appointing me deputy director. Apparently, his logic had short-circuited. He genuinely believed that throwing me this little bureaucratic bone would be more than enough to buy my complete cooperation.

“But I already... I just gave you the highest position in the department...” he stammered, his confidence crumbling.

“That order remains in effect, as you put it, as a mark of respect for a combat officer and Corps veteran,” I continued calmly and firmly, dominating the room without raising my voice. “Your biological experiment will clearly require my presence at this facility far more often than the three hours a week stipulated in my contract. I'll have to invest my personal time off in your research. In exchange for that additional commitment, I want one exclusive favor.”

“What kind of favor, Tom?” The doctor immediately grew wary, his shoulders tensing again.

“I've developed a body of ideas for a scientific and practical research project. I need a fully isolated, unoccupied room on one of the lower levels, equipped with standard laboratory equipment. I also need unrestricted, round-the-clock access to any biological specimens and xenomorph corpses delivered to the morgue.”

“And... that's it?” Richie blinked in surprise, then broke into a broad, relieved smile. He nearly laughed with relief. “Jesus, Tom, that's no problem at all! Consider the magnetic key to a spare lab suite already in your pocket! I'll personally assign you a fully equipped, isolated lab that you can use whenever you want, day or night. What's more, as my official deputy, you'll have unrestricted administrative clearance to requisition and transfer any number of xenomorph bodies from the morgue storage units. Just submit the requisition forms through the terminal. The system will approve them automatically.”

I allowed myself the faintest, driest of smiles as I collected the countersigned forms from the desk.

The outcome of my first day at the Biological Center had exceeded even my most optimistic projections. I had not only secured a foothold in the scientific department's leadership and established an alibi with the Corps, but also gained exclusive control over my own territory and a legitimate supply channel for the highest-quality extraterrestrial biological material.

I no longer needed to push my synapses to their limits, calculate camera blind spots, or hide from the suspicious stares of the men in the morgue just to conduct a confidential experiment in cellular evolution. I could lock myself inside my own lab whenever I pleased and quietly consume Loz'an biomaterial, unlocking hidden branches of evolution. Perfect.