over to look at the cell. The girl was
lying down in a fetal position, her tail twitching slightly, and a
few incoherent sounds tumbled out of her mouth.
The sound of the door opening interrupted
him. The FBI agent returned with a file folder in one hand and a
cup of water and some aspirin in the other. Harry gratefully took
the medicine, and after choking the bitter aspirin down with the
water, he waited for the ache in his head to subside.
Farrell indicated the file in his hand. “We
called in one of our female doctors to examine the girl while you
were sleeping. I wouldn’t want to be accused of molesting a woman,
or whatever that thing is.”
He smiled, but somehow Harry failed to find
the humor in it. In fact, he found this whole experience a massive
fail, with the exception of the girl. Curiosity bit, though, and he
asked Farrell what information he’d found. Perhaps it would help
him in his tests, he reasoned.
The agent opened the file and read out,
“Subject, name and place of origin unknown, seems to be a recipient
of transgenic experimentation, a cross between a cat and a human.
Height, five-seven, weight approximately one-ten, has yellow eyes
and feminine features. Also has breasts and female genital organs,
the development of which indicates someone approximately twenty
years of age.”
He shut the file and tossed it on the table.
“Not much of an examination, I’ll agree, but there it is. The blood
sample shows mainly human blood, but the rest? The lab figured it
was cat’s blood. There were also traces of drugs in her system,
sodium pentothal for one.”
Harry knew what that drug was. “So who’s
giving her truth serum?” he asked.
“I have my suspicions,” the agent
answered.
“Do you feel like sharing, or do I have to
guess?”
Farrell stared at him and his voice got hard.
“Well, aren’t you the sarcastic nerd? Kid, I’m doing you a favor by
keeping your butt out of max lockup. You’re the hotshot researcher,
so you should be able to whip up an answer in no time.”
He really loves playing the hardass, Harry
thought . He wanted to respond, but his head still hurt, and
although the ache was fading, the agent started in on a rant about
his long years of service to his country and how he had to play
nursemaid to a cat-lady and a chemistry geek.
Rant over, Farrell rubbed his temples and
calmed down. “Look, we need your help. Can you do an analysis
first?”
Slowly and painfully getting off the cot,
Harry walked over to the machine, and a slow thrill spread through
his body. Farrell watched him examine the machine with interest.
“What does this thing do exactly?” he wanted to know.
Now Harry was in his element, and he put the
pain on the back burner. He’d always felt more at home in a lab and
was anxious to try out this faster-acting device. All the others
he’d used took up to a day. This one took considerably shorter time
and was just about as accurate.
“Well?” Farrell inquired with an impatient
tone in his voice.
Harry ran his fingers over the control panel
of the machine, getting the feel of it. “It analyzes STR’s, which
means Short Tandem Repeats.” He could barely keep the
excitement out of his voice.
Farrell gave him a blank look, which made
Harry feel somewhat superior in spite of his surroundings so he did
his best to explain. “Okay, in simple terms, STR’s are part of
everyone’s DNA structure. The variations in DNA are called polymorphisms. Everyone’s STR’s are different, and that’s
how the forensic guys figure out murder cases and paternity suits
and so on. This machine should tell us what her biometric profile
is. Do you have a swab from inside her mouth?”
Farrell shook his head no. He ran out of the
room and came back ten seconds later, entered the cell, Taser in
one hand and Q-tip in the other. He needn’t have bothered with the
weapon, though—the girl was still out cold.
After getting the sample, Harry put it on a
bio-chip cassette
lying down in a fetal position, her tail twitching slightly, and a
few incoherent sounds tumbled out of her mouth.
The sound of the door opening interrupted
him. The FBI agent returned with a file folder in one hand and a
cup of water and some aspirin in the other. Harry gratefully took
the medicine, and after choking the bitter aspirin down with the
water, he waited for the ache in his head to subside.
Farrell indicated the file in his hand. “We
called in one of our female doctors to examine the girl while you
were sleeping. I wouldn’t want to be accused of molesting a woman,
or whatever that thing is.”
He smiled, but somehow Harry failed to find
the humor in it. In fact, he found this whole experience a massive
fail, with the exception of the girl. Curiosity bit, though, and he
asked Farrell what information he’d found. Perhaps it would help
him in his tests, he reasoned.
The agent opened the file and read out,
“Subject, name and place of origin unknown, seems to be a recipient
of transgenic experimentation, a cross between a cat and a human.
Height, five-seven, weight approximately one-ten, has yellow eyes
and feminine features. Also has breasts and female genital organs,
the development of which indicates someone approximately twenty
years of age.”
He shut the file and tossed it on the table.
“Not much of an examination, I’ll agree, but there it is. The blood
sample shows mainly human blood, but the rest? The lab figured it
was cat’s blood. There were also traces of drugs in her system,
sodium pentothal for one.”
Harry knew what that drug was. “So who’s
giving her truth serum?” he asked.
“I have my suspicions,” the agent
answered.
“Do you feel like sharing, or do I have to
guess?”
Farrell stared at him and his voice got hard.
“Well, aren’t you the sarcastic nerd? Kid, I’m doing you a favor by
keeping your butt out of max lockup. You’re the hotshot researcher,
so you should be able to whip up an answer in no time.”
He really loves playing the hardass, Harry
thought . He wanted to respond, but his head still hurt, and
although the ache was fading, the agent started in on a rant about
his long years of service to his country and how he had to play
nursemaid to a cat-lady and a chemistry geek.
Rant over, Farrell rubbed his temples and
calmed down. “Look, we need your help. Can you do an analysis
first?”
Slowly and painfully getting off the cot,
Harry walked over to the machine, and a slow thrill spread through
his body. Farrell watched him examine the machine with interest.
“What does this thing do exactly?” he wanted to know.
Now Harry was in his element, and he put the
pain on the back burner. He’d always felt more at home in a lab and
was anxious to try out this faster-acting device. All the others
he’d used took up to a day. This one took considerably shorter time
and was just about as accurate.
“Well?” Farrell inquired with an impatient
tone in his voice.
Harry ran his fingers over the control panel
of the machine, getting the feel of it. “It analyzes STR’s, which
means Short Tandem Repeats.” He could barely keep the
excitement out of his voice.
Farrell gave him a blank look, which made
Harry feel somewhat superior in spite of his surroundings so he did
his best to explain. “Okay, in simple terms, STR’s are part of
everyone’s DNA structure. The variations in DNA are called polymorphisms. Everyone’s STR’s are different, and that’s
how the forensic guys figure out murder cases and paternity suits
and so on. This machine should tell us what her biometric profile
is. Do you have a swab from inside her mouth?”
Farrell shook his head no. He ran out of the
room and came back ten seconds later, entered the cell, Taser in
one hand and Q-tip in the other. He needn’t have bothered with the
weapon, though—the girl was still out cold.
After getting the sample, Harry put it on a
bio-chip cassette
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