The Splat is back!
I know it's been a looooooooooooooong time coming. Moving to and settling in at university have eaten up a lot of my time, plus a writer's block the size of Russia for the meeting in the middle of this chapter have slowed me down, but here it is at last!
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Sometimes infertile male-sized mudokon females are hatched. These are best suited to serving as attendants for the Mudokons Queen of the time. However, due to a genetic anomaly some fail to develop suitably for caring for mudokon young. These undeveloped 'worker class' females are sometimes sold as labour, but they develop into adulthood more slowly than males and are less suited for hard work, and are therefore sold cheaply.
Part 3
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Sadist’s Creation
Chapter 13
Two years before the destruction of Rupture Farms.
Dr Emlech stroked a hand down the warm glass of the tank. Inside, floating in the slightly yellow-tinged liquid was a living creature, a tiny mudokon embryo no longer than one of his fingers. A miniscule life, struggling for survival. It always amazed Emlech how something so tiny could contain so much potential, if only given the chance. If only he gave it the chance. He was fond that idea and toyed with it in his mind for a minute or two.
Strange how the creature seemed to stir as he touched the glass. At that age it would have no senses; it could not see or hear or feel. Was it merely in his head or was it real; did the embryo sense him in some way, as another life? As her creator?
Emlech let his hand slip off of the glass and moved a few feet to the second tank. There were four in total, each containing one tiny female mudokon embryo. In a few weeks they would be taken out of their tanks and placed in an artificial eggshell. Until then they needed to be under constant surveillance to make sure they were developing successfully. The tank contained all the nutrients and chemicals they required.
And he owed all this to his old friend Dr Krik, a friend he hadn’t spoken to in over a decade. He hadn’t heard much of Krik since his trial before the old Vykker’s Council. He was aware that the younger vykker was working for some small company, probably barely making enough moolah to keep living.
For the last ten years he’d happily forgotten about Krik, but since the mock-queen work had been drawing to a conclusion, his old friend and had been dwelling on his thoughts more.
He’d paid 17 million moolah for this research; he had earned it and shouldn’t be feeling guilty if the person he bought it off got himself in a world of trouble!
Squashing his feelings, he forced his attention on the embryo in this tank. It was smaller than the others, though that didn’t necessarily mean it would be any weaker. While the four embryos had begun as clones, each had been given a slight modification to its DNA to change the composition of its appearance and personality; a race could only thrive by individuality and if one of these creatures grew disabled or mentally deficient, he didn’t want it to affect them all. Since each of them was slightly different, he was just about safe from that little problem.
He was not, however, safe from other problems, like the fact that these four tanks were using up a great deal of electricity to keep running. This laboratory was, for obvious reasons, kept secret from the Magog Cartel. That meant all the power to this lab was coming through one of his legitimate laboratories first; if he simply tapped into the main electrical system wherever he felt like it, it was bound to attract attention. The problem Emlech faced was that this facility was currently using massive amounts of electricity, more than he could justify using for the lab that this place was dependant upon, and if anyone noticed just how much power he was using, they would certainly become suspicious. These tanks were the source of the problem, and to rectify it, he would have to switch one of them off.
This wouldn’t be good for its occupant.
Size didn’t definitely mean weakness, but it often did, and in this situation it was all Emlech had to go on. “This one,” He said, and rapped his knuckles against the glass. He heard the muffled response from the intern at the control terminal behind him and the liquid in the tank began to drain out of the bottom, taking the unborn mudokon with it. It disappeared into the bottom of the tank to be sprayed with DNAse before being flushed out into the sewers. Emlech strode out of the room without a second glance.
* * *
It was several weeks later, and the mudokon embryos had already been transferred to their artificial eggs, when Emlech met a pair of successful-looking vykkers in his office in one of his legal facilities. They had requested the meeting, ensuring him it would be of great financial benefit, though Emlech, who was not interested in money, had only accepted them grudgingly.
He was slightly more impressed when he actually met with them; they were dressed richly, but in an unobtrusive way. It suggested that, like Emlech, they did not want to be noticed. He invited them into his office and slid into his chair behind the desk. “And to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” He asked them, with the faintest hint of cautious sarcasm in his voice.
The two vykkers were not deterred by his unwelcoming air. The taller of the two answered, “We would like to know if you are interested in joining us on a very exciting project.”
Emlech looked sceptical but didn’t speak.
The vykker continued with slightly less confidence. “We have been employed by a glukkon for a project for which we believe someone of your considerable skill could be useful.”
That was the problem with Emlech’s plan; he hid his intelligence so as to avoid the spotlight, but every so often some young idiot would get it into their head that they could take advantage of him. He knew immediately that he would not help, though he was interested to know what the project was, if only to see how good they thought he was. He was not vain, for vanity went hand in hand with idiocy, but still, he was curious. “Go on,” He replied smoothly.
His guests looked uncomfortable, evidently unwilling to explain their project to him before he agreed to join. “The project we’re working on requires extensive knowledge of genetics,” One said slowly. “And we are also aware of your longstanding interest in mudokons, and we believe that too may be of use in our work.”
Emlech smiled an oily smile, “There are a million vykkers with knowledge of mudokon genetics. Why do you want me?”
“Well, your interest in mudokons far outdates that of the average vykker, and you’ve certainly proven yourself to be near the top of your field.”
Ah, they were playing the flattery card. He arranged his expression into something polite but faintly cold.
The other vykker added, “It is not just mudokon genetics that the project entails. A general knowledge of the field is al important and we are certain you have the required knowledge.”
Emlech moved his chair back a few inches, preparing to rise to his feet and dismiss the pair from his office. His thoughts were already drifting to the three mudokon eggs, potential mudokon Queens, awaiting him in his secret laboratory. He was quite happy to be getting on with his own genetics project thank you very much. But then a thought struck him.
“Well, I must apologise and say I’m not interested in your generous offer,” He began.
One of the vykkers said quickly, “But wait! We must tell you that the pay for this project is more than-”
“Nor am I interested in
that generous offer,” Emlech said, interrupting, “But I do happen to know of a very intelligent vykker who might be interested in the job.”
The vykkers looked somewhat affronted. “I don’t think we would be interested,” One said with little pretence of politeness. They began to rise to their feet as Emlech watched with an amused expression on his face.
“I doubt you will have heard of him. His name is Doctor Krik, and his knowledge of genetics, for both of the working species, is very impressive.” ‘The working species’ meant ‘sligs and mudokons’. The two vykkers hesitated for the tiniest moment and Emlech went on, “He was rather famous for it before the Vykker’s Council disbanded, but he did significant work on mudokons, and worked for Queen Skillya for two years.” They wouldn’t know him as the inventor of DNAse and Emlech doubted they would believe him if he said he was, but he could push the point, kill two birds with one stone. Get these pair to leave him alone, and put his guilt about Krik to rest. “He worked for several years on a project to produce artificially hatched mudokon Queens to produce eggs before the Cartel caught their queen and shut his work down, and then later on did a great deal of work on behaviour modification drugs for sligs. I’m sure he would be a great asset to your work. Odd knows he’s a better geneticist than I’ll ever be.” That was true enough. It had taken Emlech’s team years to finish Krik’s work on the Mock Queen project. Several times he had been tempted to ask Krik for help, but he hadn’t wanted to raise suspicions as to what he was working on.
“If he’s so brilliant, why haven’t we heard of him?” One of his guests asked, a little suspiciously.
“He made an enemy of Skillya several years ago and was punished by the old Council. He was banned from being named for any project he worked on and so most people have forgotten all about him now.” He let that sink in. “Still, it was only a suggestion, but if you want a geneticist you won’t do much better. Now I’m afraid I have a great deal of work to be getting on with, so I must ask you to leave.”
* * *
Dr Emlech, promoter of Mudokon Labour, forgotten founder of the Vykker’s Conglomerate, and unknown creator of any number of Vykker products now bent over a trembling eggshell that contained nearly 30 years of research and development. One single, dark crack suddenly appeared about two thirds up the side, running diagonally. For a moment the egg stopped moving, but then the trembling began again, more vigorously than before, and the crack began to spread like a sickness down the side of the eggshell. He watched, not helping, letting it struggle. It rocked, it shook, more cracks former and grew, creating a complex network, and then it split. The egg fell open revealing a tiny, delicate, purple mudokon infant, sticky with fluids from the egg. He smiled at it, as a slig hunter may smile at live bait, and then slowly reached down and gently lifted it up. There was a faint cheer from the vykkers assembled behind him. “That’s the second,” He announced.
One of the team of vykkers came forward and gently lifted the infant from his hands. “Clean it up and put it in the incubator with the other,” Emlech ordered. “Is the third showing any signs of life yet?”
“Not yet sir,” One of his team answered. That was troubling.
“Keep your eyes on it. If there’s nothing by this time tomorrow let me know and we’ll take it out ourselves, with forceps if necessary.” There was a murmur of laughter from around the room.
The vykker who had taken the sticky newborn now held it aloft, “Do you have a name this one, sir?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” He answered, “Something beginning with ‘A’. Anni.”
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A star is born! That ending will probably mean more to people from W@RF, but fo everyone else, rest assured that Anni will be playing a rather significant role in upcoming events.