Chapter 4
The snow had stopped, for the moment, and Erikson could see buds emerging on the trees as he trudged through the snow on campus. It was slow going–he hadn’t had time to work on miniaturization, so his radiation gun was so heavy he had to hold it with both hands, and that wasn’t even counting the generator strapped to his back, but still, a man of his stature had no trouble carrying it across campus. It was time–the research was done, the testing over–it was time to act. It was time to put the homo ursa in a cage, where it belonged.
He’d never seen the campus this quiet, in all the years he’d taught there. If he thought hard, he could still remember his old self, the weak, mousy man he’d been, his high minded principles of ethics, his pledge to never tamper with the human mind. What a crock he’d been. He knew better now, he could see–actually see–the possibilities. They floated around him, like motes before his eyes. Hallucination? The stimpatches? He’d put on three, the chance of side effects were increased, but he stopped and help one in his hands, cradling it, staring at it, it’s brief luminescence, before he crushed it. Why had he done that? It didn’t matter, he was becoming less certain of things as he walked.
He’d read studies, of men who had been kept awake for extended periods of time, of the lucid hallucinations, the paranoia, the anger, the suicide rate. He’d been awake for months now–he’d gone through all of it, and pushed through into a new mental state. His thoughts sluggish, and yet pristine, as though everything he thought bore the mark of absolute truth, truth weighing them down so they could only move slowly. He looked around, and the motes were gone, but the sense of purpose drove him onwards, shuffling through the waist deep snow. He’d forgotten what sleep was like, now. In fact, he decided that it was unnecessary–he had gone this long without it–he could go longer. He had so much work to do, he didn’t have time to waste sleeping ever again. Humanity had been sleeping for millennia, and it was about to lurch awake. Erikson would be the needle of science, sinking into the flesh, propelling it forward into the future. It was in sight now, the President’s Residence, glowing faintly. Erikson would extinguish that light–he would be the one glowing by the end of the day–he would be the mote of destiny, only his would never be crushed out–it would burn–burn across the earth, and never be extinguished–and he would rule…oh, would he rule the world, the throne of science placed high over all mankind, with Erikson upon it.
***
It was the thick of winter, now, and Erikson hadn’t dared sleep in weeks, not even a nap, knowing that if hibernation gripped him, all of what he’d worked for these long months, alone in his lab, would be ruined. It was all so close to coming together, he could feel it, but still the secret of it all eluded him. The pendant, the boutique, Scuzz, Tristan, the changes, this inexplicable magic, all of it was connected, the lines coming clearer by the hour as he poured over his research, but still…something was missing, but he was close, so goddamn close, he could taste it, and it was all coming down to this sample he’d taken from Scuzz–all of the secrets were bound up in the genetic code there, but there was just one problem–it was perfectly human, when Erikson very well knew it shouldn’t be, that it couldn’t be. Every single theory required Scuzz and Tristan to share be of some alien origin, how could he be human? It fact, he knew it wasn’t human, but it wasn’t any of the data which told him that, or rather, it was how the data told him this, that he found suspect.
To be more specific, the data he got from Scuzz’s sample was always human–but in all of his multiple analyses, he had never gotten back the same human–the genetic code always carried with it small variations, generally meaningless, but something that simply couldn’t happen if he was actually human. To Erikson, looking at the genetic data, it felt like these outliers, these anomalies, were remainders of a division problem which kept coming up different every time he processed it. The big picture was right, but the little bits left over could never quite match up. Unfortunately, he had no way of figuring out why the sample acted this way, well, no other explanation other than magic, but he was a scientist–magic, if such a thing did exist, could still be quantified. Granted, he didn’t have much reason to doubt its existence now, but without studying it, he couldn’t know it’s place in the equation, and he certainly couldn’t just wave away the anomalies with it–he had to figure out what made all of this work.
In the end, he was glad to have acquired such a large sample–it left him plenty oto test and experiment on, but he was reaching the end of even the massive jar he’d collected at the boutique after Christmas. If he couldn’t get to the bottom of this, well, then he was left with conjecture and estimation, but that was unacceptable. Still, he was getting closer and closer. Just the day before, he had discovered that certain levels of radiation could cause the variations in the genetic structure to become exacerbated–though whether that was simply mutation or an interference with the magical field, he didn’t know. Still, adjusting the magnitude and frequency was yielding the best leads he’d found all these past months, so he would pursue it to the end.
He had just finished the latest batch of tests using the radiation, and was waiting for the results to develop, applying another stimpatch to keep himself awake. Sure, there were some side effects–he’d had a few hallucinations, thrown and smashed some lab equipment against the wall, but for the most part, he was lucid–so incredibly lucid, it was almost terrifying. He could see all the flaws in everything, when he was this awake, all the flaws that he, and only he could fix. Oh the progress he’d made in the last few months, the technologies he’d developed! It was like the laws of reality were warping themselves to his desires–it was astounding. Genetic manipulation, neurochemistry, behavioral modification, it seemed that the horizon was limitless. There was no telling where science could take humankind were he untethered from Tristan’s leash–the fool, the usurper. An alien, something inhuman, meddling in the business of men–well Erikson would have the final say in that. It would be science, not magic, which guided this new world into the future, and with Erikson at the helm, there was no telling where the heights of power, glory and pleasure for man might reach.
Sure, there had been some necessary sacrifices–there always was, when it came to science, and when one was moving at Erikson’s hectic pace, some losses would be expected. A few minds and bodies destroyed though, was, in his opinion, fair, when it amounted to a glorious new era for humanity–or even beyond humanity. Tristan was only interested in power and control–he had no real vision. Erikson wanted progress. He should be leading, not that freak sleeping away in the President’s Residence.
The timer rang, and Erikson rushed over to the screen, checking the level of the anomalies from the batch of twenty tests he’d run. Most were useless–nothing more than the usual variation he’d always gotten. He was about to lose patience and hurl something at the wall when he saw it–a completely abnormal result. Jittery, though whether it was from the patch, or from excitement, he expanded the results of the sample–and found a completely new genome–nothing like anything which had ever walked the planet. Was this it? The truth? The result he’d been looking for all this time? He ran a scan, comparing it to all other genetic profiles on earth, and which it was closest to homo sapien, the next closest match down the evolutionary tree was the family Ursidae. It validated his hypothesis–Tristan and Scuzz weren’t human–he might call them Homo Ursa. But where had they come from? Why were they here? It didn’t seem reasonable that they could be actual aliens, it was more like they were an evolutionary branch which was never explored. An alternate dimension? Some different timeline? It seemed like the most plausible, but the amount of energy needed to cross dimensions, destroying the laws of physics and thermodynamics in the process–it would be astronomical. If he could find the source of that power, if he could harness it, who knew what he might be able to accomplish. The feats of the last month would appear as baby steps next to the strides he could make in the name of humanity. Still, he should test the sample again, just to make sure.
He located it, and also fetched a second, fresh sample to try replicating the experiment, but as he found the test tube–something assaulted his senses. It was the sample, the cum. It was different, visibly different, and even though it was corked, Erikson…he could smell it. And oh, did it smell amazing. He should drink it–he should see what would happen. It would be an experiment, nothing more, and then, he could find more, and drink that too, and find the cock that made it, and worship it, and serve it, and never leave it’s side, empty his mind of all this worthless knowledge and just serve the alpha, yes, that alpha, the tube was at his lips, he could already taste it–but no. He yanked it away, not daring a single taste, and rushed across the room, his resolve quivering, before hurling it into the furnace, the compulsion fading, but not before his mind screamed at him for destroying something that should he treasure and worshiped. Panting, he slumped against the wall, exhausted. Scuzz was an alpha–but none of the other cum had made him feel like that. Could…was he, the real Scuzz, the Homo Ursa that his radiation had unmasked…what was he?
Suddenly, Tristan didn’t seem like the worst of his problems–he may have just uncovered one more. Certainly Scuzz was within his grasp for the moment, but if the spell holding his true form back, if that was broken, what then? KIt was a terrifying thought, to imagine what sort of beast might produce such a concoction which would overwhelm even his own vast intellect. One thing was certain, he would make no other tests on the sample–even though his body was pleading with him to make more, just so he could taste it, just once–only he already knew, that if that passed his lips, there would never be ‘just once.’ No, this sample, this was not just Homo Ursa, he might as well call it Homo Ursa Major, he thought with a chuckle, a chuckle he couldn’t stop for a good ten minutes, the laughter infectious. The stimpatches did that–once he started, it was difficult to stop. Still, he had so much more work to do, he thought, struggling up, hunched over with a deep, belly laugh. He had to weaponize the radiation, he had to test its capabilities, and all before the spring came, less than a month away, but first–first, he needed a break. He had so much energy, so much pent up, he had to expel it, he had to focus, and he knew just how to do it.
The labs had grown in the past few months, Erikson had contracted scores of construction students to expand the basements under the science building, of course wiping their memories afterward, to ensure his secrets were safe with him. Not even his masters students had any clue about the scope of his projects. Sure, he did have some teacher’s assistants, but he could trust them–after all, the only thoughts any of them could have were those he allowed them to have. However, there was a new serum he’d been aching to test out, but he’d been saving it for a situation where he had a large amount to…vent, because he could tell it would be quite a show. He went to a terminal and ordered the transference of two prisoners to rooms adjacent to testing facility three, and then he stopped by the genetics lab where he picked up two vials of genetic therapy serum seven. Pity all of his TA’s were asleep, he would have to administer the serum himself. Still, he could take some pleasure in that, and he made his way to the cell of the first prisoner..well, this one was less of a prisoner, and more a guest. The admissions director had come to him, saying that two of the schools alumni wanted him fast tracked for pup training, and given the size of their prospective donation, Erikson hadn’t been able to say no. While the young man had taken quite well to his training for the last few months, the professor decided it might be fun to push it to some extremes.
Randall, as he was called, was on all fours, sitting at attention, when Erikson came into the room, wearing his required gear–collar, knee pads, and fist mitts. He knew better than to speak, especially in Erikson’s presence, but the pup’s confusion was obvious as the professor removed the gear, extending and contracting his fingers, as though he’d forgotten he’d had them–and in fact, thanks to Erikson’s mental manipulations, he actually had. Still the serum was going to make the gear unnecessary, provided it worked as expected. If not–well, then the pup would probably die, but he wouldn’t be the first, nor the last. Science required sacrifice–and Erikson had no problem sacrificing anyone, if it was necessary for progress.
He made sure the cameras in the room were recording, before he quickly administered the serum in the pup’s arm, who gave a quiet yelp from the pain of the needle, and then Erikson beat a quick exit. He didn’t want to be around in person until he was certain his mental control would remain intact through the transformation, and assuming the pup even survived the transformation. The probability of survival was put around sixty percent, still, who could know? That’s why there were experiments, after all–to find these kinds of things out. Erikson rubbed the growing bulge in his crotch, waiting for the first signs that the serum was working, as the pup’s heart rate sped up a tick, indicating his system becoming stressed, and he knew the first outward sign would emerge soon.
Sure enough, it began at the injection site, the pup itching his skin absent mindedly, until he noticed that where he was scratching the skin was breaking out with short, coarse fur. This, of course, caused the pup to start panicking, but Erikson was happy to see that there was no break in his mental conditioning. The pup uttered not a single human word, just whining, before moving to the door and clawing at the reinforced steel, however, the pain was escalating quickly, along with the pups vitals, and he slumped down, likely because his muscles were spasming beyond his control, and his bones were reshaping themselves, rendering them unusable for the moment. Yes, the pain–the pain was likely excruciating–watching the pup suffer, Erikson was already hard, and this was just the prologue to the main event. The changes were accelerating now, just as the models had predicted. This was where the greatest stress would come–if the pup survived the next few minutes, the chance of survival rocketed up to a projected ninety-eight percent.
On the screen, Erikson zoomed in the camera, giving himself a better look at the pup’s changing form, his legs and arms being the most noticeable, slimming down, his joints shifting and lengthening, his hands and feet reforming into furry paws, though they retained their thumbs, he noticed. That was exciting actually–if they retained substantial mental capacities as well, he might have quite the clever, and useful beast on his hands. The legs were now shaped to encourage four legged movement–ideally they would be capable of standing on their hind legs as well, but their greatest speed would come from being four-footed. The changes started showing on the pup’s face as well, his skull shifting, a muzzle growing out, his mouth extending forward as his teeth reformed into fangs, bared in pain and confusion. He had close to ninety percent of his body covered in fur now, and Erikson was pleased to see that the pup’s vitals were holding steady–his fun wouldn’t be spoiled, then, by the pup dying prematurely.
The changes were slowing now, and Erikson was looking at a far better result that he could have every imagined, a beautiful, vicious, hybrid, capable of running speeds above forty miles per hour, jaws capable of snapping bones, and, hopefully, the fierce loyalty and obedience of an expertly trained dog. He saw the pup struggle onto all fours now, and Erikson was happy to see that his muscle memory had adapted well enough to enable movement, so hopefully, if any physical rehabilitation was needed at all, it would be minimal. Still, it would be best to try some simple commands. He activated the room’s speaker, and said, “Sit.” The response wasn’t quite immediate, but it was sufficient. Most likely it was still trying to grasp the changes to it’s body. The beast sat, and waited for the voice’s next command. “Stand,” Erikson said, wondering if it would be capable of walking on it’s hind legs. He wasn’t disappointed. While shakey, the beast was able to stand on it’s wide feet, though it’s body forced it to hunch over slightly. For the first time, Erikson was able to take in the pup’s physique. The therapy had been designed to encourage muscle growth, but these results far surpassed what he’d been expecting. The chest and torso were still largely human in appearance, aside from the superficial hair, and the pecs and abdominals of the beast were amazingly defined. Oh, what pain this beast could inflict! Those claws, those teeth…Erikson let out a moan, wishing he could test the capacities with one of his Pain TAs–he would love to know exactly how excruciating it would feel, having those scratch someone’s body. It was beautiful, the most beautiful thing he’d seen in weeks.
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