The Fifth Element

8

“AN ARM?”

General Munro followed the surgical cart down the hallway of the Neurological Center.

He was struggling to keep up with Dr. Mactilburgh, the white-coated scientist who was pushing the cart.

On the surgical cart was an arm, still in its long metal glove. The hand was holding a broken handle.

“That’s all that survived?” Munro asked.

“A few cells are still alive,” said Dr. Mactilburgh. “It’s more than I need.”

General Munro studied the glove with its long tapering fingers. It looked almost human. It was certainly not as gross as he had expected it to be.

“It doesn’t exactly look Mondoshawan,” he said. “Have you identified it?”

“We tried,” said Mactilburgh, pushing the cart through one set of swinging doors, then another,

then another. “But the computer went off the charts.”

“Charts?” asked Munro, struggling to keep up. “You see―” explained Mactilburgh, lowering his voice but not slowing “―Normal human beings have forty DNA memo groups, which is more than enough for any species to perpetuate itself. But this…”

He burst through yet another door, and Munro scurried to keep up.

“…this has two hundred thousand DNA memo groups!”

“Sounds like―a freak—of nature—to me”” panted Munro, out of breath.

“Yes,” said Mactilburgh. He stopped in front of the last barrier, a frosted glass sliding door marked CENTRAL LAB NEUROLOGICAL CENTER —and flashed the general a thin smile. “I can’t wait to meet him.”

The Central Lab looked more like an engine room than a laboratory. It was a place for achievements, not experiments—a monument to practical rather than visionary science.

In the center of the room, a huge glass turbine hummed softly. It was filled with a clear liquid which boiled and bubbled. Floating in the liquid was the arm, still in its metallic glove.

The fingers were curved slightly. It looked like the last gesture of a drowning race—or the first hello of a race being bom.

(Both of which it was, as Munro and Mactilburgh were about to discover.)

Mactilburgh was studying the read-out on a computer terminal. To Munro, who stood at his side, it was just a long list of numbers. To Mactilburgh it was a window into a genetic code.

A genetic code unlike any he had ever seen,

“The compositional elements of his DNA chain are the same as ours. There are simply more of them—tightly packed with infinite genetic knowledge. Almost as if this being were— engineered.”

General Munro, the warrior, took the warrior’s view. “Is there any danger?”

Mactilburgh, the scientist, interpreted it as a health question. “We put it through the cellular hygiene detector. The cell is, for lack of a better word, perfect.”

“Okay,” said Munro. He had been sent by the President to monitor this experiment, and he knew his duty.

Using the key that had been provided to him by the Academy of Military and Cultural Sciences, he opened the self-destruct box.

“Go ahead,” he said. He put his finger over the flashing red button. “But Mr. Perfect had better be polite. Otherwise, I turn him into cat food.”

Mactilburgh nodded and pulled the switch that began the DNA reconstruction.

As the two men watched, the liquid in the circular center generator began to swirl. It began to boil. It began to bubble.

The meter on the side of the turbine showed 7, then 8, as the turbine’s hum built to a high whine, then passed out of the range of human hearing. But the steady vibration of the floor and the walls continued to increase.

“Look!” said Mactilburgh excitedly.

The meter was at 9.

Tiny specks were appearing in the swiftly moving fluid. They came seemingly out of nowhere, like snowflakes in headlights; they danced and spun like sparks from an unseen fire; they glittered and glowed like stars, forming a new universe and gathering into galaxies.

The shower of sparks flowed downward in spiral like a galaxy; then, as the two men watched, amazed, the spiral began to form into the outline of a human body.

The meter hit 10

What had been all light and motion began to collect into form and substance. First the white of bone, and then the red of blood and flesh wrapping itself around the bone. Veins drew themselves in, and nerves snapped into place. Sinews criss-crossed the form, pulling and tugging it into a the familiar shape of a human body.

It was like watching the opposite of decay―the composition of corporeal life.

“I had no idea the process was so―beautiful!” said Mactilburgh as he stood transfixed in front of the glass.

General Munro held back, one hand hovering over the destruct button.

The meter was bouncing off the peg at 11.

“Three seconds to ultraviolet protection,” said Mactilburgh’s white-coated assistant from a control station across the lab.

A semi-opaque shield dropped down inside the chamber, hiding the reconstructing body from view.

“What’s happening?” asked Munro.

“This is the crucial phase,” said Mactilburgh. “The cells are bombarded with slightly greasy solar atoms, which force the body to react.”

“React?”

“Protect itself,” said Mactilburgh. “That means growing skin! Clever huh?”

“Wonderful,” said Munro. But he kept his hand poised, just in case.

The meter began to drop.

10.

9.

The process was slowing.

Dr. Mactilburgh looked at his assistant across the lab and nodded.

The young man in the white coat spoke softly into his voice-activated terminal.

“Reconstruction complete. Engage reanimation.”

There was a WHHOOOOSSHHH! of air from the turbine chamber.

Munro’s hand moved back into place above the flashing red self-destruct button. One push and the lab would no longer exist.

A form was barely visible through the shield. The bubbling liquid was turning to smoke, as it sublimated from a liquid into a gas.

“Activate life-support system,” said Mactilburgh.

His assistant pushed a button.

CRACKKK! CRACKKK!

Lightning strikes formed in and around the chamber, causing the few strands of hair on Mactilburgh’s head to dance, like wallflowers hoping to be invited onto the floor.

“Life-support system activated,” said the assistant.

A sound like giant footsteps came over the loud-speaker:

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

“The heartbeat, amplified!” said Mactilburgh, turning down the volume.

boom pitpat boom pitpat boom

The form inside the chamber jerked.

Once, twice.

It could barely be seen through the semi-opaque shield, but it was moving as it emerged from the darkness of non-existence, into the light of creation. It was beginning to twist and writhe (or was it a dance?) in a sinuous and graceful movement.

“He’s alive!” said Mactilburgh. “Remove the shield.”

The aide pushed another button, and the shield slowly rose out of the way.

The chamber was empty both of liquid and gas. Only a few wisps of smoke remained. The laboratory was filled with a smell at once sweet and strange, like the soul-satisfying scent of a far field filled with flowers.

Mactilburgh, his assistant, and General Munro all stood transfixed, watching in silent wonder.

Someone was in the chamber.

A woman; a girl, really. No more than eighteen or nineteen.

She had bright red hair and huge green eyes. She was holding the same broken handle the arm had held. It appeared to be tom off a briefcase.

Her body was perfectly formed and perfectly beautiful… and she was nude except for a few strategically placed strips of surgical tape.

“I told you… perfect!” said Mactilburgh, turning to Munro.

The General seemed hypnotized.

Mactilburgh gently pushed Munro’s hand away from the flashing red self-destruct button.

Munro couldn’t take his eyes off the almost nude vision inside the chamber. “I’d like to get a few pictures,” he said. “For the, uh, archives.”

Smiling, Mactilburgh pressed a button and a camera swiveled toward the chamber. A flash went off and the girl jumped backward, startled.

Her green eyes edged in black darted around the tab. She looked at the broken handle clutched in her fingers.

“Oucra cocha o dayodomo binay ouacra mo cocha ferji akba ligounai makta keratapla,” she said. “Tokemata tokemata! Seno santonoiaypa! Monoi ay Cheba! Givamana seno!”

“What’s she saying?” asked Munro, his hand once again hovering over the self-destruct button.

Mactilburgh edged Munro’s hand away. “Activate the phonic detector,” he said to his assistant.

The girl was kicking the glass side of the chamber.

Mactilburgh’s assistant rolled out a speaker assembly festooned with more lights than a Russian has medals.

The girl was still kicking the glass.

“Give her a light sedative.”

The assistant threw a switch. A hissing sound was heard, and a mist swirled through the chamber.

“And give her something to wear…”

Another switch—and a pile of bright clothing fell into the chamber from above.

The girl snatched the clothes up and looked at them, frowning.

“Teno akta chtaman aasi n ometka!” she said as she began to put the clothes on, unhurriedly and without embarrassment.

Munro moved closer. Some how the sight of the beautiful girl slipping into a knit-and-plastic skintight tunic was even more exciting than seeing her nude, or almost nude.

“This thing solid?” he asked Mactilburgh.

“Unbreakable,” said the scientist.

Munro smiled at the girl, who frowned back at him while she struggled with her clothes.

“If you want to get out, you’re going to have to develop those communication skills,” Munro taunted.

He was answered by a fist—the girl’s, rammed straight through the glass.

She leaned out of the chamber, still only half dressed, and grabbed Munro by the front of his military tunic, picking him up so that his medals rattled.

AaaoooGGGGaaa! An alarm went off.

The girl banged Munro against the side of the chamber and then dropped him onto the floor.

She reached around the side of the chamber and unlocked it, then stepped out, still slightly wobbly on her long and shapely legs.

AaaoooGGGGaaa!

Two burly security guards burst into the lab.

The girl sent them flying, each toward an opposite wail.

Mactilburgh and his assistant backed into the corner. Mactilburgh’s face showed terror mixed with admiration. His assistant’s, terror only.

A phalanx of ten security guards with plastic shields and stun guns rushed into the lab.

They surrounded the girl. She studied them for a moment, then backed up.

One step, two.

The guards moved forward. The girl was trapped in the far comer of the lab.

Then she turned and jumped through the wall, as if it were made of paper.

“Perfect!” breathed Mactilburgh, undismayed by the near total destruction of his laboratory.

It was public money, after all.

“Do we have Deadly Force Authorization?” one of the security guards asked as he sprinted down a corridor.

His partner laughed. It was a joke. DFA was standard operating procedure for any unauthorized activity in the Central Laboratories. Or anywhere in Manhattan, for that matter.

Which was why, when the girl burst into view at