From sullivangm@aol.com Fri Mar 07 19:32:44 1997
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From: sullivangm@aol.com (SULLIVANGM)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: Story:  Hybrid Vigor 1/5
Date: 8 Mar 1997 00:32:44 GMT
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Notice:  This story has been rated "NC17" for adult language, nudity,
strong sexual content, violence, and explicit smoking.  If you find any of
this objectionable, I suggest you try another fetish.

Copyright 1997 by G. M. Sullivan.  All rights reserved.  This story may be
copied and distributed for the uncompensated amusement of others only. 

Author's note:  This story takes place during the spring before the events
described in "Dying for a Cigarette" and "Phoenix Ascending."  While it is
not necessary to read those stories to enjoy this one, I recommend them to
you with full prejudice.

Dedication:  For Sstoryman, with deepest respect.


"Hybrid Vigor"  Part One of Five


Part One:  All the Tobacconist's Men 

1.  Opportunity Knocks

Stuart Brickman was going to be famous.  The Pulitzer would be the least
of it.  There was no doubt in his mind.

His ticket out of this hick town and the dead-end job at the Hilltop
Journal, and into the offices of the Times (New York or Los Angeles) or
the Post (Washington), was spread across his cluttered desktop.  His
Columbia journalism degree would no longer be wasted on the barely
literate and ungrateful residents of central North Carolina.  The world
was about to become his oyster.

From the center of the clutter he lifted a photograph of an attractive,
red-haired girl.  This had to be fate; mere luck could never explain it. 
He glanced at his watch:  8:55 AM.  Where the hell was Aronsen?

Biting back on his impatience, he turned to inspect his daily stack of
out-of-town papers.  Nary a one of these ever passed under the eyes of any
reader of the Journal, but that didn't mean he should be ignorant of
happenings in the real world.  On top was a paper he usually detested, the
New York Post, but he paused to examine the lead story by Persephone
Jones, a reporter whose hard-hitting and concise style he admired. 
Another day, another murder spree; that was New York.  Well, if not the
Big Apple, there was always LA, DC, or 'Frisco.  He preferred the warmer
climates anyway.

He had managed to get one copyrighted story onto the wires during his year
as editor of this rag, about abuses of workers on local tobacco farms. 
Some grudging reforms had followed his exposure of the shocking facts. 
You'd think his readers would be grateful that their crusading editor had
put this burg on the map for a minute and had the guts to challenge big
business, but no.  They resented him for it!  Even the workers he was
trying to protect reviled him!  Still they bought the paper, if only to be
outraged at whatever hornet's nest he would stir up next, and that's all
the owners in Greensboro cared about.

His next hornet's nest, though, would be the end for Hilltop and his
tenure as editor-in-chief at the Journal.  When he was done stirring this
one, few in town would be able to afford a paper anymore.


2.  The Assignment

Shelly Aronsen approached the door to Brickman's office, wondering at this
summons from the chief.  She was a 20-year-old journalism student at Duke,
taking a summer internship at the paper, and had only met Brickman one
time before.  Once had been enough.  He was an insufferable, arrogant, ass
who held his readers and community in contempt, and had enough chips on
his shoulder to build a log cabin.  He would be much more at home in a
place like New York.  Still, it was little enough to put up with for three
months while she gained some valuable experience.

"Come in, Aronsen!" barked his voice in answer to her knock.  At least she
could admire his brusque professionalism.  He treated everyone alike
regardless of gender.

She entered the small office and saw her ultimate boss for the second
time.  Under 30, he was (in his own mind at least) a true Wunderkind, and
not bad-looking.  She could go for someone like him, if he had not been
such a pain to be around.

Similar thoughts were crossing Brickman's mind as he watched Shelly enter.
 She was a looker, with long, curly, carrot-colored hair, upturned nose,
respectable boobs, and a natural sashay to her walk.  She was also from
Massachusetts, a real state, and had a touch of class absent from the
native yokels.  However, this was the sort of place where they hung you
from a tree if you were caught shtupping the interns, so he refrained from
acting on his impulses.  There was too much to lose, especially now.

"Sit!" he ordered. She sat.  Brickman glanced at the glossy in his hands,
then at Shelly.  It was incredible.  He handed her the photograph.  "Do
you recognize this girl?" he asked.

Shelly's eyes went wide as she examined the picture.  "It's me..." she
began, then saw that it was not.  But it was damned close.  Closer than
sisters, more like twins.  With matching hair arrangements, their mothers
would hard-pressed to spot the differences at ten feet.  "Who is she?"

"Her name is Mary Lou Demming, and she's the daughter of a friend of mine
at the club, a local tobacco farmer...an enlightened one, if there is such
a thing."  The "club" was actually a run-down gym and seedy bar, but since
he had joined the gym he liked to refer to it that way.  "She has a summer
job, too, at Osborn-Smithson Tobacco, or was going to until she broke her
leg playing field hockey last weekend.  I want you to go in her place."

Osborn-Smithson, a cigarette manufacturer, was the largest employer in 5
local counties and indirectly supported many more with its purchase of
tobacco crops.  "You mean impersonate her?" asked Shelly.

Brickman smiled.  The kid caught on fast.  "You got it, Aronsen.  Her
father has agreed to cooperate completely."  After a small honorarium, he
neglected to add.  He handed her a manila envelope.  "In here you will
find Mary Lou's driver's license, Social Security card, and a copy of her
employment application."

"So will Mary Lou collect my pay from Osborn-Smithson, too?" Shelly asked,
smiling.

"Yes, she will, but don't worry.  During this assignment you will get
double the usual intern pay and a nice bonus if the story goes national! 
Are you game?"

Shelly sat silent for a moment.  She needed to know a lot more about this
assignment before she took it, but she was certainly intrigued.  In her
journalism classes they had discussed cases of  reporters going undercover
to get a sensational story.  It had all sounded so exciting....here she
mostly xeroxed, filed, ran errands, and watched the two full-time
reporters type up boring crop reports and wedding notices.  "I might be,"
she said, trying to sound cool.  "What would I be looking for?"

Brickman knew she was hooked.  "Okay, here's the background. 
Osborn-Smithson has been around about 100 years. In the 40's and 50s they
had four of the top-ten-selling brands, but since have slipped far behind
the real biggies like Philip Morris, RJ Reynolds, and the other merchants
of death."   Brickman made no secret of his hatred of corporations in
general and tobacco companies in particular.  It was just one more source
of ire between him and the townspeople.  "Their overall market share fell
below three percent in 1994.  Then came the GenSci buyout."

"I read about that," said Shelly.  "Wasn't that a little strange?"

"Strange doesn't begin to describe it.  It was a nine-day wonder back in
'96.  GenSci is one of the five most cash-rich, privately-held
corporations in America, with 7 basic patents for genetically engineered
products, most of them foods.  They have never before or since acquired
another company.  They paid $2 billion in cash for OST, a premium price of
$10 per share above market, then took it private.  Since then no one knows
how much money OST has made or lost, or any of the other financial
scuttlebutt you can pick up on publicly traded corporations."

"So you want me to scope out their financials?"

Brickman laughed.  "That would be a bonus, but no, Aronsen.  We have much
bigger fish to fry here.  Have you been by their headquarters since you
arrived?"  Shelly shook her head.  "Well, make a point of it before you
start work there.  They have recently finished a major expansion to their
R&D center.  I'd say it set them back $100 million at least, an unheard-of
sum for a tobacco company.  They've also obtained certification for a P4
lab."

"What's that?"

"Come on, Aronsen, didn't you see the movie 'Outbreak?'  That's the kind
of lab where they handle deadly viruses...or do dangerous DNA
experiments!"

"Oh, my god..."

"Oh my god is right!  And here's the clincher...have you ever heard of Dr.
James M. Ryan?"

"I've heard the name..."

"At 26, he's an MD, a Ph.D., a PE, and probably several other things too. 
He's already been with GenSci two years and is thought to be responsible
for at least three of their patents.  His main area is botanical
microbiology, but he's pretty diverse.  He's only the hottest intellectual
property in America, that's all.  Now he's been appointed director of
research and development at OST.  Why do you think they'd ship someone
like him to a backwater like Hilltop?"

"That's where I come in?"

"Exactly!  Mary Lou was selected to be Ryan's personal assistant.  He
asked for her by name.  However, according to her father he's never spoken
to her personally."

"What am I...is she expected to do?"

"She's pre-med at UNC Chapel Hill, with a good background in biology. 
That's what they wanted in their interns."

"Mr. Brickman, I quit science when we started dissecting frogs.  I don't
know anything..."

"How much journalism have you needed to know for this job?  It won't be
any different there.  Running the xerox will be your most important
skill."

"But how will I know what to look for?"

"This will be a good test of your journalistic instincts.  Nose around. 
Ask questions.  When Ryan gives you something to copy make a set for
yourself, even if you don't understand a word of it.  If they're counting
copies, ask to take the stuff home with you and copy it at Kinko's." 
Brickman's face developed a leer.  "And...there had to be some reason why
Ryan asked for Mary Lou, and I can tell you it wasn't because of her
mediocre academic record.  Perhaps you can get him to open up a little. 
He's young and good-looking...."

Shelly tried not to grimace.  Relying on feminine wiles had never been
part of her fantasy of undercover investigating.  "Well...." She started,
and could not keep the hesitation from her voice.

"Remember, Woodward and Bernstein did not get the dirt on Nixon by
pussyfooting around!  Whatever it took, they did!  No one gets a chance
like this at your age, no one!  You could have a name for yourself before
you even get your god damned degree!"

"I know...and I want to..."

"We have responsibilities to our readers, Aronsen.  Important
responsibilities.  You follow the news.  You know how the tobacco
companies put all kinds of chemicals, extra nicotine, and other crap in
cigarettes.  Now it looks like they're adding gene-splicing to the list!" 
Brickman was growing impassioned; the crusading editor was on a roll.  He
pounded a fist on his desk.  "This is more than a story, Aronsen.  This is
an errand of mercy, to save the American people from being victimized once
again by the worst class of corporate criminals!"

Shelly was impressed by Brickman's conviction. She had imagined scenes
like this in the office of Ben Bradlee, legendary editor of the Washington
Post.  "All right, I'll do it!" she said.

"I never doubted you, Aronsen.  Here's some more background reading on
OST, GenSci, Mary Lou, and Ryan.  I also dug up an introductory text on
microbiology.  Forget about your gofer duties and just concentrate on
this.  You start at OST next Monday, which gives you four days."

Shelly took the large stack of material, thinking this would be the worst
cram session of her life.  She would do it, though...it might be decades
before she got another chance like this.

"Thanks for giving me this opportunity, Mr. Brickman.  I won't let you
down."

"I know you won't, Aronsen."  As Shelly got up to leave, Brickman added,
"Aronsen? One other thing."

"What's that?"

"Do you smoke?"

"No..." 

"Start.  Mary Lou does, and they're likely to be sensitive to that at
OST."  Brickman frowned.  "I'd do it for a story like this, but it'd give
me a hell of an incentive to get the goods and get out fast.  You follow
me?"

"Yes, sir."


3.  Kingdom of the Blind

James Marcus Ryan lived in a different world from ordinary mortals, and it
often annoyed him greatly.  Everyone around him seemed to speak and move
in slow motion.  Before they finished a thought he usually finished it for
them, formulated his response, anticipated their questions, and answered
them.  He could never understand why most people were so obtuse.

When he had left academe and joined GenSci, things had not improved. 
Although most of his colleagues were Ph.D.s with extensive experience in
his field, they were only a little quicker to understand him than most
others.  They were also slow, deliberate, and fearful of failure in their
research.  Worse, they often doubted his insights because of his age,
forcing him to plow ahead on his own to prove himself right.  Egos were
bruised.  He was not seen as a good team player.

He had sought the OST assignment in part because he had some ideas about
tobacco, but also because he needed to be in charge and on his own.  He
was also the only professional at GenSci who smoked.  Nicotine and
caffeine both increased mental acuity, and anything that did that he would
use regardless of the risks.

He lit an OST Premium Deluxe 100 and sipped his coffee while scanning his
electronic calendar.  His office was cramped and dim, but only because he
had designed it that way, as he had designed every inch of the new R&D
annex.  He hated being in his office, hated dealing with administrative
details.  However that came with being in charge, and it was greatly
preferable to dealing with the professional jealousies of his alleged
peers.

His new assistant was due in at any moment.  Mary Lou Demming.  He had
asked for her after reviewing the new intern applications, based on her
smoking history and a small photograph he had seen.  His interest was
certainly not intellectual.  He never expected to see an intern who had a
spark anything like his own.  That was not egotism, only realism, born of
long and often painful experience.  He was a freak and knew it, but he
would not change a thing even if he could.

His immersion in study and research had left little time for a social
life, and what little socializing he attempted usually ended in
frustration for all parties.  He had lost his virginity at 16 in his usual
well-planned manner and had sporadic sexual contacts since then, enough to
know that such pursuits could never command his attention for long. 
However, he was always stimulated by the sight of a pretty girl smoking a
cigarette.  This was convenient, because such sights could often be
obtained even while he was working on various projects.  He had already
considered every possible etiology for the sexual attractiveness of
smoking, tracked its probable psychological development, and even
formulated some approaches to therapy.  Some day, when he had a spare
minute, he would dash off a monograph on the subject.  In any event, that
was another thing he had no intention of changing in himself.

There was a knock at his door.  "Enter," he said.

Shelly opened the door, heart pounding and palms sweating.  She had spent
four days mentally rehearsing this moment, visualizing herself as cool and
confidant.  Now that she was here, she felt like a burglar about to be
nailed in a spotlight.  Who was she to attempt something like this?

Entering the small office, she had her first look at the famous Dr. Ryan,
sitting behind his desk and wearing the predictable white lab coat.  He
looked so young, and for a moment she felt reassured.  Then she met his
eyes.

Those ice-blue eyes nailed her more surely than any spotlight.  She felt
layers of herself peeling away, revealing her every secret, even those she
hid from herself.  Her knees suddenly felt weak; she wanted to run, but
could not.

"Please sit down, Miss Demming, and relax...I've already had breakfast." 
His voice was deep, well-modulated, even friendly.  The spell was broken
for the moment, and Shelly sat down in front of his desk.  Dr. Ryan's
face, apart from his eyes, looked open and accepting.  His sandy hair
already showed signs of gray at the temples, which softened his youth and
made him seem more...paternal.  Amazingly, he was typing at his computer
with his right hand faster than she could with two, while his left hand
was doodling on a yellow pad, and at the same time he held her gaze with
what seemed like more than human concentration.

"It's an honor to meet you, sir..." she began.

"'Dr. Ryan' will do fine, Miss Demming.  Tell me a little about yourself."

Shelly had done her homework well, learning every detail she could about
Mary Lou's life. Happily, she found she could now roll it back smoothly,
embellished here and there with small, imaginary details, and in a fair
imitation of the local accent.  She had also plowed through most of the
microbiology text, even trying to work through some of the equations.  Who
would have thought you'd need equations to study biology?

Dr. Ryan considered his new assistant.  She was very attractive, and no
more intimidated than most on meeting him, but something was odd.  He
called up an exact mental image of the photograph he had seen and
superimposed it on her face.  There were a few small but significant 
discrepancies.  He examined her face for signs of recent surgery and found
none.  He would need more data for a solid determination.

Into some otherwise unchallenging conversation, He worked in four very
basic questions regarding DNA, RNA, other polypeptides, and bacterial
plasmids.  She answered three of four correctly, and was not too far off
on the one she flubbed.  That was already more than she needed to know for
the limited duties he had planned for her.  He opened the cigarette box on
his desk and offered one of the all-whites to Mary Lou.

Trying to show no hesitancy, Shelly took a cigarette.  She knew from her
reading that it was a Premium Deluxe 100, OST's best-selling brand, in the
full-flavored, unmentholated version.  Not a good beginner's cigarette. 
Smoking was the only part of her homework assignment she had neglected.

Her mother had quit when Shelly was ten, and that was the last anyone had
smoked in her home.  She found cigarettes neither attractive nor
repelling, just uninteresting.  She had tried one or two in high school,
and decided quickly that they were not for her.  She had assumed she could
fake her way through the occasional cigarette here, just waving it around
and puffing rarely.  Now, under Dr. Ryan's intense gaze, she found she had
been naive.  This seemed like another test.

Her hand shook slightly as she leaned forward to accept a light from Dr.
Ryan.  She drew shallowly on the cigarette as she straightened, while he
took one and lit it for himself, never letting his gaze wander from her
eyes.  Imbibing the smoke, she experienced the barely remembered intense,
bitter, taste, and her mouth and eyes began to water.  She quickly blew
out a tiny cloud of uninhaled smoke, wishing she had something to drink.

As if reading her mind, which would not have surprised her in the least,
Dr. Ryan turned and poured her a cup of coffee.  She accepted it
gratefully and took a large swallow despite the heat of the black liquid. 
She wasn't fooling him, she knew.  Smokers did not smoke this way, or
react like this when they smoked.  She would have to be more convincing,
and quickly.  She would have to inhale the next puff.

This she had also tried long ago, and the result had been a coughing and
gagging fit.  She was no kid anymore, though, and damn well ought to
manage this without a problem...she had seen little children do this quite
easily!  She brought the cigarette to her full lips once more and took a
longer drag.  As she did so, Dr. Ryan exhaled a large cloud across the
desk right at her.  His smoke irritated her eyes and she breathed in more
deeply then she intended.  Her concentration broken, she ended up coughing
up the smoke.

Dr. Ryan managed a concerned look through his amusement.  "Are you all
right?" he asked, as Shelly gulped down some coffee.  He had no doubt now.
 This was not the women who had interviewed for the position.  His lab's
HR chief Marilyn Patterson would have watched her smoke at least one
cigarette before marking her application for his personal attention.  She
knew his preferences well.

Whatever ever game was afoot here he could now turn to his advantage. 
Soon she would be signing a false name to the company's various "informed
consent" documents, and that would vitiate many of her rights to later
legal action.  She would thus be an ideal candidate for certain
experiments he had in mind.  He was reasonably sure he could control the
risks enough to spare her any lasting harm...he was very confidant in his
work.  It was just so tiresome and time-wasting to follow procedures
designed for less competent scientists.

"I'll...be fine," said Shelly.  This was very humiliating and unpleasant. 
The smoke curling from the lit end of her cigarette seemed to find its way
unerringly to her face.  Her throat was burning.  Dropping all pretenses,
she stubbed out the barely smoked cigarette.

"I suppose you exaggerated your smoking a little on the application," said
Dr. Ryan, smiling.  "I understand.  You probably thought we might
discriminate in favor of smokers.  Of course, that would be illegal. 
Please do not be concerned.  You do not need to pretend with me."  

"Not really, Dr. Ryan, it's just that I have a sore throat, and I thought
it would be okay..."

"A sore throat?  It could be strep.  Perhaps I should take a culture...?"

Damn!  For a moment she had forgotten he was also a physician.  "No, I'm
sure it's just a virus..."

"As you wish, Miss Demming.  Well, if you feel up to it, I'd like you to
visit Dr. Marshall and draw your BL4-P gear, read up on the federal
procedures for biohazard containment, and get a general feel for the
facilities here.  Then you may leave early.  Tomorrow, I'll take you into
the lab proper and we can begin."

"Thank you, Dr. Ryan, and I am sorry..."

"Nothing to apologize for, Miss Demming.  I am sure you will do just fine.
 Dr. Marshall is just down the hall to your right.  Welcome to
Osborn-Smithson R&D."

After Shelly had left, he called Dane Peters, head of lab security.

"Mr. Peters, we have an intruder.  The woman who reported for work today
as Mary Lou Demming is an impostor."

"Got it, Dr. Ryan, I'll have her picked up immediately."

"That won't be necessary, Mr. Peters.  She poses no danger now that we
know she is a spy.  I would like to know who she really is and who she
represents.  I would appreciate it if you kept a quiet eye on her
movements for me, both here and on her own time.  Until I direct
otherwise, you are to report only to me on this matter and inform no one
who does not need to know."

"Understood, Dr. Ryan.  We should have her ID'd before eight AM tomorrow."

"Thank you, Mr. Peters.  I trust your discretion in this matter."

From sullivangm@aol.com Fri Mar 07 19:33:37 1997
Path: news1.infoave.net!news-dc-10.sprintlink.net!news-pull.sprintlink.net!news.sprintlink.net!news-peer.sprintlink.net!howland.erols.net!newsxfer3.itd.umich.edu!portc01.blue.aol.com!audrey01.news.aol.com!not-for-mail
From: sullivangm@aol.com (SULLIVANGM)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: Story:  Hybrid Vigor 2/5
Date: 8 Mar 1997 00:33:37 GMT
Organization: AOL http://www.aol.com
Lines: 402
Message-ID: <19970308003300.TAA11460@ladder01.news.aol.com>
NNTP-Posting-Host: ladder01.news.aol.com
X-Admin: news@aol.com

Notice:  This story has been rated "NC17" for adult language, nudity,
strong sexual content, violence, and explicit smoking.  If you find any of
this objectionable, I suggest you try another fetish.

Copyright 1997 by G. M. Sullivan.  All rights reserved.  This story may be
copied and distributed for the uncompensated amusement of others only. 

Author's note:  This story takes place during the spring before the events
described in "Dying for a Cigarette" and "Phoenix Ascending."  While it is
not necessary to read those stories to enjoy this one, I recommend them to
you with full prejudice.

Dedication:  For Sstoryman, with deepest respect.


"Hybrid Vigor"  Part Two of Five


Part Two:  Interiors

4.  Tarheel Beauty

Shelly drove through the darkened streets of Hilltop, anxiously gripping
the wheel.  Today had provided one rude shock after another.  First, the
almost disastrous interview with Dr. Ryan.  Then she had met with Virginia
Marshall, who had fitted her for a Racal containment suit just like the
ones the doctors wore in all those horrible disease movies.  Another
near-panic ensued until Dr. Marshall assured her that the suits were
rarely needed, since no microorganisms dangerous to humans were present in
the lab.  It was only a regulation, that's all.

Then Shelly had signed Mary Lou's name to an endless series of forms.  She
did not fear that the phony signatures would be exposed; she had practiced
all weekend, and had often forged her parents' signatures in high school. 
What had scared her was the forms' content.  She (or was it Mary Lou?) had
basically agreed to risk a miserable death every time she entered the lab.
 Despite Dr. Marshall's assurances that this was all pro forma and that
the "real" risks were minor, she was left nervous and shaking.

Then there were the biocontainment procedures she had been required to
study...endless hand washings, showers before and after working in the
lab, the use of disposable paper clothing, the endless precautions, the
emergency drills, all speaking to her of dire peril.

Shelly, however, was determined to regroup.  They hadn't kicked her out,
and at the end of the day she had been awarded an ID badge bearing her
picture.  She could still do this.  She should do this.  It was beginning
to look like Brickman was right; whatever was going on at OST did not bode
well for the public.

The first step in her rally was to do something about the smoking issue. 
Dr. Ryan was sensitive to it, and she had observed that almost everyone at
OST smoked.  It would be a critical tool for getting to know her
coworkers.  Smoking was permitted anywhere except in the BL4-P containment
area, but most people seemed to use smoke breaks as an excuse to wander
around and socialize.  She had to master the skill.

She had called the real Mary Lou and asked if she could visit her after
dinner.  It was not the first time Shelly had spoken to her, and Mary Lou
seemed very friendly and outgoing.  Shelly knew she was a heavy smoker,
and felt sure she would help Shelly get the knack.

Mary Lou's parents greeted her warmly at the door, marveling at the close
resemblance.  Shelly thought they should be warm...after all, their
daughter was getting paid for lying in bed while she did the work!  They
showed her to the bedroom where Mary Lou was still largely imprisoned.

Shelly winced when she entered the room.  Frilly curtains on the window, a
frillier pink canopy over the bed, stuffed animals piled everywhere,
Sailor Moon wallpaper...even "Little Mermaid" sheets on the bed!  It
looked like a room for an eight-year-old, not a pre-med sophomore.  The
only jarring notes were the layers of stratified cigarette smoke that
drifted lazily through the room and the accompanying odor, mixing
unhappily with some sort of fruity cologne. 

"Well hi, honey, we meet at last!  Is that you, or did someone bring a
mirror in heah?"  Mary Lou was stretched out on the bed, wearing (of
course) a cute, pink-flannel nightgown.  It did not entirely conceal the
plaster cast which completely encased her right leg.

Although she knew what to expect, it was still a shock for Shelly to see
"herself" already in the room, dressed in something she gave up wearing at
13, surrounded by such cloying decorations.        
Mary Lou's red hair, slightly longer than Shelly's, was arrayed prettily
on her lace-trimmed pillow, her face freshly washed and innocent of any
trace of makeup.  It was Shelly Aronsen in her farmer's daughter disguise,
she thought.

"Pull up a chair, honey, and tell me all about my new job!" said Mary Lou.

Shelly moved a small vanity stool close to the bed, sat down, and filled
Mary Lou in on what she was missing.  Despite herself, Shelly found
herself warming to Mary Lou's down-home ingenuousness,  and soon the two
girls were giggling together about Shelly's first-day misadventures.  Mary
Lou was most interested in her meeting with Dr. Ryan.

"Doesn't he just sound darlin'-hearted!  Curse this old leg, anyway!" 
Mary Lou banged a small fist against the cast.

"Darling-hearted wasn't the word that came to my mind!" said Shelly, and
laughed. 

"You'll have to excuse me, honey, but ah must have a cigarette.  Would
that be too much to ask?"

"No, please do, it's your house!  Besides, that's the main reason I came
tonight..."

"How so, sugah?"  Mary Lou picked up a large, choked, glass ashtray from
the sheet and dumped it into a small wastebasket near the bed.  From the
cloud of ashes that arose from it, Shelly guessed that the basket was
getting full, too.  Shelly told Mary Lou about her determination to become
a comfortable smoker.

"And here ah thought you wanted some pointers on biology!  Ah'm glad it's
something simpler and more fun!  Smokin' is darlin'-hearted, Shelly, and
easy like fallin' off a log...it's goin' in the othah direction that's
hard!"  Mary Lou set the ashtray between them and fetched a pack of
Premium Deluxe 100s.  "These are pretty strong to start with..."

"That's perfectly okay, that's what everyone seems to smoke there..."

"All right then..."  Mary Lou extracted two cigarettes, placed both in her
pink, round lips, flicked her disposable lighter and lit both.  She drew
hard on both cigarettes, removed them, and extended one to Shelly.

As Shelly bent forward to take hers, Mary Lou let loose her enormous
double puff and smoke swirled around Shelly, making her eyes water.  She
raised a hand to wave it away, then stopped.  That was just the sort of
thing she must learn to avoid.  Blinking rapidly, she took the cigarette
and held it, watching Mary Lou.

She had never closely studied anyone's smoking, and was surprised to see
that despite the large exhale Mary Lou still had more smoke to blow out on
her next breath, and her following words were accompanied by yet more
smoke.

"Ah, that feels sooo good, sugah!  Ah almost envy you for stayin' a virgin
'till now!"  Shelly was almost shocked at such a "suggestive" word from
Mary Lou, but it seemed to fit her attitude toward smoking; she made it
look like a sexual experience.  Shelly thought back to Dr. Ryan's intense
gaze during her abortive smoking that morning.

Mary Lou propped herself up in bed a little and took another long, slow
puff.  As Shelly watched, Mary Lou removed the cigarette, turned toward
her, and opened her mouth.  Shelly could see a milky, opaque cloud within
that suddenly withdrew down Mary Lou's throat as she inhaled.  Mary Lou
smiled, pouted her lips, and blew out a long, thick stream that seemed to
go on for minutes.  Still, there was more smoke to come as she started
speaking again.

"That's how it's done, honey!  Now, you'll never learn by lettin' it burn
away in yoah hand...go on, take a small puff, and don't worry about
breathin' it down just yet."

Shelly raised the cigarette to her lips and drew lightly.  Somehow, with
Mary Lou here, the taste did not seem quite so bad, and she drew in a
little more.  She took the cigarette out and blew out some uninhaled
smoke, trying to purse her lips as Mary Lou had.  Shelly could see that
her exhaled smoke looked different from Mary Lou's, thicker and if
anything more irritating.  She blew some air out after it to clear it away
from her face.

"No fair, sugah, you've been practicin'! Don't stop now!  Take two or
three more just that way, maybe draw a little harder each time..."

Shelly did as she was told, matching her puny exhales against Mary Lou's
billowing clouds.  Each time it was a little easier, and each time she
drew on the cigarette a little longer.  There was something about this,
smoking with a friend...it was almost natural, almost fun.  If the air in
the room had been smoky before, now it was getting opaque, but somehow
even that wasn't too bad.  All of the windows were shut, since the natives
found anything below 50 degrees to be freezing, but Shelly decided not to
make a point of opening one...

"I think you're just like me, darlin'...in so many ways!  Now, don't take
this the wrong way, we're purebreds down here, but ah know how to make the
next step a little easier...want to try?"

"What's that?" asked Shelly.  Her cigarette was half gone now and she'd
been thinking about putting it out, but she needed to press on if she was
to reach her goal quickly.

Mary Lou spoke through soft white clouds.  "Just this, hon...I'll inhale
some smoke, then you bend real close-like and put your lips right up to
mine...no tongue now, I'm not that way!" she laughed pleasantly and Shelly
joined in.  "Then when I blow, you inhale my smoke as it comes out. 
That's how my mama taught me..."

"Your mother?" Shelly was shocked.

"Things are different here, sugah, just you pay it no mind.  If we do it
this way, it will be much easier for you to get used to the smoke."  That
said, Mary Lou took an extra-long drag, and waved Shelly to bend close.

Feeling a little silly or worse, just a little turned-on, Shelly bent
forward until her lips were just brushing Mary Lou's, emptying her lungs
as she moved.  Imagine, she thought, this "hick" was more open-minded than
she in some ways!  Then Mary Lou began to exhale a thin stream into
Shelly's open mouth, and Shelly breathed it in.

This was far different from Shelly's earlier attempt to inhale...the smoke
was more diffuse and did not trigger her gag or cough reflex.  She felt a
warmth in her throat and chest that was far from unpleasant, and the
intimacy of the process was definitely reaching her nether regions now. 
Finally, Mary Lou's lungs were empty and Shelly leaned back, holding her
breath and savoring the sensation.

It was strange...like breathing an alien atmosphere that could not sustain
her life, but for this one breath was quite enjoyable.  She pursed her
lips and blew slowly, and watched a natural-looking stream of smoke leave
her mouth.  Not nearly so thick as Mary Lou's, but far better-looking 
than her earlier puffs.  She felt an odd sense of accomplishment as her
smoke joined the swirling layers above the bed.

"Well, I'll be, ah think you are a smoker now, Shelly!  Let's try a couple
more like that, and then well be done with these, and you will need a
rest."

On the next two puffs, Mary Lou double-dragged on her cigarette and Shelly
noted the technique.   
Shelly's exhales from these smoke exchanges were thicker and
longer-lasting.  On the last puff Shelly did not straighten up, but let
her exhale wreath Mary Lou's face instead.  As she expected, Mary Lou did
not flinch away.  It seemed this was also a part of how smokers behaved
together, and she indulged a brief fantasy of smoking this closely with
Dr. Ryan...

Shelly was feeling quite light-headed now, and the room spun a bit as she
sat up on the stool.  While Mary Lou stubbed out her cigarette and Shelly
followed suit, she asked if that was normal.

"Normal as Summer following Spring, hon.  That won't last though...wish ah
could get that feelin' again, myself!  Let's wait a spell until you settle
down, then we'll let you try it on yoah own."

The girls chatted for a while about nothing in general while the smoke
cleared somewhat and Shelly got recomposed.  Mary Lou was quietly getting
desperate, and finally said, "You ready for another cigarette, sugah?" 

"Oh, why not!"

This time Shelly lit her own and puffed out some uninhaled smoke, while
Mary Lou vanished behind her customary, cloudy exhale.  "Now hon, try to
inhale on yoah own.  If it's too much, we can go back to the other way."

Surprising herself, Shelly almost asked for another smoky "kiss" right
away, but decided that she had best get on with the process.  After all,
she could hardly ask Dr. Ryan...!  Instead, she brought the cigarette to
her lips, drew for a full second, then breathed it in deeply.

This was definitely a more intense sensation, and Shelly felt her
light-headedness return immediately.  When she blew out the smoke, it was
thicker and much more opaque than before.  She could see the shadow her
plume cast on the bed this time.  She felt almost exhilarated.  Now at
last she understood some of the appeal of this strange activity...it was
unlike any other shared experience, but it was...fun, yes, and just a
little naughty, as well!

While Mary Lou loosed a languid smoke stream into her canopy, Shelly
defied her dizziness and took a two-second drag.  When she blew the smoke
out this time it pooled in a cloud over the bed, mixing with Mary Lou's
exhale in a way that somehow made her giggle with the excessiveness of it
all.  To her surprise, she saw more wisps of smoke escape her mouth and
nose while she giggled.

By now, though, the room was seriously whirling, and Shelly had to slow
her pace.  She could not keep up with Mary Lou...not yet, anyway. 
However, she was now sure she could put on a convincing show at work
tomorrow...and who knew, she might even come to enjoy the occasional
cigarette.  There were certainly worse risks in life...

Two hours later, Shelly left the Demming residence and re-entered her car.
 From his vantage point in the parked car across the street, Dane Peters
breathed a sigh of relief.  He had been ready to conclude that this was
Mary Lou Demming after all, and that would have meant telling Dr. Ryan he
was wrong, something which never sat well with the boss.  But then again,
Dr. Ryan was never wrong.

Peters started his car and followed at a discrete distance.


 5.  A Morning Smoke, Part One

Scanning his early e-mail, Dr. Ryan turned first to the report from Dane
Peters.  As usual, the man had done his job well.  "Mary Lou Demming" was
actually one Shelly Aronsen, a summer intern at the Hilltop Journal. 
Peters admitted he was at a loss to explain how the Journal had, with
virtually no notice, found a woman who was such a close match in
appearance with Demming.  Despite being suspicious of coincidences, Peters
was forced to conclude that this was just a lucky accident for the paper.

Dr. Ryan was also a disbeliever in coincidences, but in this case he had
to agree.  If anything had been done to alter Aronsen's appearance, he
would have seen the signs.  It was simply a fortuitous circumstance...for
him, now that he understood it.  He made a mental note to have all
interviewees fingerprinted on their first visit to OST.

Dr. Ryan usually made plans and decisions quickly, and this time was no
exception.  He wrote back to Peters instructing him to maintain discreet
surveillance on both Aronsen and Demming, watching especially for any
contact with that idiot editor Brickman, and to re-code Aronsen's badge to
allow her unrestricted access to the BL4-P lab.  Peters would choke at
that one, but it only added leverage.  If she entered the containment area
against his orders, that would be a violation of federal law which would
also apply to Brickman.  

He intended to make the most of this opportunity.  He would reveal far
more to Aronsen than he ever would have to the real Mary Lou.  That way he
could discover what interested her and her "sponsor" the most.  He would
also allow her to taste a sample of his work to date....

That thought gave him pause.  Spy though she was, that did not give him
license to treat Aronsen like an animal.  He had never asked a patient or
human subject to take any risk he would not take himself.  Since he did
not intend to ask this time, he must act instead.

He unlocked a drawer in his desk and slid it open to reveal several dozen
packs of Premium Deluxe 100s.  Withdrawing one, he examined it closely. 
There was nothing to distinguish these packs from any normal production
cigarettes, except for three small initials printed on the back:  RCJ. 
Yet if there was a sale value to these cigarettes, it would be in excess
of $10 thousand per pack.  He opened it and withdrew one, rolling it
between his fingers.

He had delayed this step for some weeks now.  The consequences were
potentially so vast he had, uncharacteristically, paused to check and
re-check his own work.  Few doubts remained in his mind, and now his hand
was forced. Perhaps that was for the best.

He thumbed his desk lighter to life.


 6.  A Morning Smoke, Part Two

"Mary Lou's" tiny cubical was located in a small room with seven others
all occupied by interns.  Five of the seven were female and attractive,
which made Shelly wonder just what the hiring criteria were here.  Also,
she noted that even at 8:30 AM the room was visibly smoky.

Her office came with a new desktop computer, a complete set of regulatory
and procedure manuals, and a large ashtray.  After last night, a cigarette
was the last thing she wanted.  Her throat was scratchy and her mouth had
been unbearably dry since awakening.  Still, she knew she could not wait
long if she was to maintain her momentum.

She logged on to the system as she had been shown yesterday and checked
her e-mail.  There was a single message, from Dr. Ryan, requesting her
presence in his office at nine o'clock to continue her lab orientation. 
This would be the real beginning of her assignment, her chance to find out
just what was going on.

Sighing, she removed a pack of cigarettes from her purse.  She should have
one before seeing Dr. Ryan again, if she wanted to have any hope of making
up for her performance yesterday.  Using a lighter lent her by Mary Lou,
she lit her first cigarette of the day.

Since her goal was to smoke in a style comparable to Mary Lou's, she
dragged for just under three seconds.  Surprisingly, the puff was much
less irritating than she had feared.  Removing the cigarette, she breathed
in, more deeply that she had to date, held the smoke briefly, then exhaled
at the fluorescent tube above her desk.  The smoke pooled and swirled
there in the bright light, and she smiled with satisfaction.  She drew in
a little more air, then blew experimentally again, producing another small
cloud.  Good, she thought, my work is paying off.

"Hi, Mary Lou!  May I come in?" asked a voice behind her, making Shelly
start a little.  She swiveled around to see Alicia, another intern,
standing at the entrance with an unlit cigarette in her hand.

"Sure...sugar, pull up a chair!" said Shelly.  Alicia moved the single
visitor's chair close to Shelly's, sat, swept back her straight, blonde
hair, and placed the cigarette in her lips.  Shelly had the lighter ready
and lit her up.  Alicia pulled hard at the smoke, then leaned her head in
towards Shelly.

"So...what's he like?"  Alicia's words were accompanied by thick bursts of
white smoke that broke against Shelly's face.  She tried not to blink too
much, succeeding better this time, and took a pull of her own, trying to
match Alicia's technique.

"You mean Dr. Ryan?"  Shelly's words were smoke-wrapped now, and she kept
her face close to Alicia's.  Not surprisingly, Alicia took no notice. 
Shelly blew out the rest of the smoke downward, watching it gather between
them.

"Who else, ninny?  You're his assistant, aren't you?  Isn't he just a
dream?  So smart...so dominating..."

Shelly allowed the girlish gossip to continue while they smoked their
cigarettes.  It was definitely getting easier, and having a smoking buddy
was a great help.  It was even becoming somewhat pleasurable, in a
perverse sort of way.

Soon the cigarettes were done, the air in the cubical thick with smoke. 
Shelly mentioned she was due to see Dr. Ryan and would have to go.

"You lucky thing!"  said Alicia.  "You got the plum assignment!  Well, we
won't hate you too much if you give us a full report..."

"I will, don't worry, and thanks for stopping by!"  Shelly stood, grabbed
the master lab manual, and was on her way.

From sullivangm@aol.com Fri Mar 07 19:34:48 1997
Path: news1.infoave.net!news-dc-10.sprintlink.net!news-pull.sprintlink.net!news.sprintlink.net!news-peer.sprintlink.net!howland.erols.net!newsxfer3.itd.umich.edu!portc01.blue.aol.com!audrey01.news.aol.com!not-for-mail
From: sullivangm@aol.com (SULLIVANGM)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: Story:  Hybrid Vigor 3/5
Date: 8 Mar 1997 00:34:48 GMT
Organization: AOL http://www.aol.com
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Message-ID: <19970308003400.TAA11543@ladder01.news.aol.com>
NNTP-Posting-Host: ladder01.news.aol.com
X-Admin: news@aol.com

Notice:  This story has been rated "NC17" for adult language, nudity,
strong sexual content, violence, and explicit smoking.  If you find any of
this objectionable, I suggest you try another fetish.

Copyright 1997 by G. M. Sullivan.  All rights reserved.  This story may be
copied and distributed for the uncompensated amusement of others only. 

Author's note:  This story takes place during the spring before the events
described in "Dying for a Cigarette" and "Phoenix Ascending."  While it is
not necessary to read those stories to enjoy this one, I recommend them to
you with full prejudice.

Dedication:  For Sstoryman, with deepest respect.


"Hybrid Vigor"  Part Three of Five


Part Three:  Dr. Ryan's Magic Bullet

7.  A Small Experiment

As nine o'clock approached, Dr. Ryan put away the sphygmomanometer and
portable heart monitor.  He was satisfied with his vitals.  A knock came
at his door, and he said, "enter!"

Shelly came in and sat in front of his desk.  She was feeling just a small
touch of dizziness this time, and even in the presence of the intimidating
Dr. Ryan she was much more relaxed.  She was looking forward to smoking
for him, but would try not to appear too anxious to grab a cigarette.  She
must not allow this man any more clues.

Dr. Ryan noted her improved attitude and allowed himself a thin smile. 
Aronsen was certainly no hardened undercover operative; that had been
obvious yesterday.  However, she had nerve and, relatively speaking,
intelligence as well.  "Do you feel comfortable with the procedures now,
Miss Demming?"

"Yes, Dr. Ryan, they were a little scary at first, but I'm ready to go
ahead now."

"Very good."  As regulations required, he gave her a brief oral quiz on
some of the essential procedures and was satisfied with her responses,
noting the fact on his computer.

"Doctor, may I..." Shelly reached for the cigarette box on his desk.

"Sore throat better?"  Not waiting for an answer, he opened a drawer in
his desk.  "Just one moment.  Perhaps you would like to try one of these. 
They are a new blend we hope to bring to market soon..."  He extended the
special pack, which now was missing one cigarette.

"Oh...sure, Dr. Ryan.  I like taste tests..."  Shelly took a cigarette,
which looked no different from any other.

"Allow me," he said, and offered a light.  Shelly leaned forward, accepted
the light, and leaned back, drawing hard to show her new smoking
expertise.  Dr. Ryan watched silently, his right hand moving to the
keyboard and opening a window titled "Initial Reactions - M. L. Demming." 
The screen was hidden from Shelly's view.

Shelly noticed the difference immediately.  This cigarette seemed to be
producing a lot more smoke, and she was forced to cut her drag short.  It
also seemed milder, with only a trace of bitterness and an underlying,
almost sweet taste.  She removed the cigarette and breathed in deeply.

Immediately, the dizziness she was feeling from her first cigarette
ceased, like a light going out.  She felt a familiar warmth in her throat
and chest, but this time the warmth spread outward through her abdomen,
hips, legs, and finally to her head.  She experienced a pleasant tingling
all over, and a feeling similar to the last time she had taken a
codeine-based cough syrup, but without any accompanying lassitude or
drowsiness.  Her eyes closed with pleasure.  This was wonderful!  

When she exhaled, she hardly noticed that she produced a larger, thicker
cloud than Mary Lou ever had, or that the smoke was just a shade whiter
than usual.  Dr. Ryan's right hand typed "mild euphoria" on the screen,
followed by "surface flush."  He was not surprised by the size of her
exhale; the smoke from these cigarettes did not need filtering, and the
included filter was largely a dummy of his own design.  Marketing had
assured him that a new, unfiltered cigarette would be slow to catch on, no
matter how good they tasted.

More smoke emerged with Shelly's next two breaths and her following sigh. 
"I take it you like these?" asked Dr. Ryan.

"Oh, yes!" she said.  "May I keep the pack?"

"Certainly you may, Miss Demming, and here are four more.  Just be careful
not to share these around...the supply is limited."  He would have given a
stronger warning, but he did not want to raise suspicions.  Fortunately,
her smoking experience was limited enough that the unusual symptoms alone
did not seem to be alarming her at this point.

Shelly stowed the packs in her purse as she held the cigarette in her
lips, taking another drag.  She pulled until she could hold no more smoke,
then inhaled as deeply as she could.  The warmth in her increased in
intensity and she wondered if she might get drunk from this cigarette. 
However, she could feel no impairment creeping in; if anything her mind
was becoming more alert, her senses sharpening as she smoked.  She exhaled
a flood of smoke from both nostrils and mouth this time, obscuring Dr.
Ryan's intense gaze.

As he watched, he was able to gauge her physiological signs pretty closely
even without instruments.  His right hand typed automatically with his
thoughts: "respiration and heartbeat depressed.  Mild aphrodisiac effect. 
CNS response normal or better.  Anaphylaxis absent."

Dr. Ryan spoke rhythmically and quietly about nothing much as she finished
her cigarette.  Then, as she reluctantly stubbed it out, he asked, "would
you like to see how these were made?"

Shelly re-focused on Dr. Ryan.  She felt happy, alert, energized, and
somehow more of a match for the imposing doctor.  "Yes, very much."

"Then let's go to the lab."


8.  Rite of Passage

They stopped on the way to have "Mary Lou's" ID badge re-coded per Dr.
Ryan's earlier instructions.  Finally they came to a beige-painted steel
door which bore the universal biohazard symbol and many dire warnings.

"This is the entrance to the BL4-P lab," said Dr. Ryan.  "That's
biocontainment level 4, plants, which is the most stringent protection
regimen.  Please insert your badge in the slot, Miss Demming."

Shelly did so, and the door gave a loud click and swung outward with a
soft hiss.

"You badge allows you unescorted access to the lab, Miss Demming, but I am
advising you now that you are not to enter here unless I am either with
you or already inside.  An e-mail confirming this instruction is waiting
for you back at your desk.  Is this understood?"

"Yes, Dr. Ryan."

"Then let's go in."

They entered a small room lined with ordinary-looking steel lockers. 
"This is the outer changing room," said Dr. Ryan.  "I apologize that we do
not provide separate male and female facilities.  You will find there are
privacy curtains located at each end of the room."

"I know the procedure, Doctor, and I don't mind."  Shelly withdrew to one
end and pulled the curtain.  I hope he peeks, she thought, surprising
herself.  She removed all her clothes and stored them in a locker, keeping
only her ID badge.

Dr. Ryan's voice came through the curtain.  "Past this room are the
showers, and beyond that the inner changing room.  There is a sequence of
three showers.  All will come on automatically as you pass beneath the
heads.  The first two use a mild solvent and disinfectant.  The third uses
only distilled water.  Stand beneath the first two until the spray cuts
off by itself.  Under the third, wash thoroughly with the provided soap. 
The shower order reverses automatically when we leave.  If you don't want
to shampoo, wear one of the hair caps...I always do, and it provides a
convenient place to stow your badge.  Just remember to keep the cap on at
all times until we leave the lab.

"I will go through first, then you follow after you hear the last shower
stop.  When you get to the inner changing room, take a set of disposable
clothing from any of the lockers."

Shelly located a head cover large enough to accommodate her hair and
waited while each shower started, then stopped.  Then she pulled the
curtain back and proceeded deeper into the lab.

The showers were lined up one after another down a short corridor.  The
first two smelled strongly of disinfectant and their discharge stung her
bare skin.  She was glad to have the opportunity to scrub herself under
the third shower.  She emerged into another locker room, identical to the
first except for a red-painted steel door leading into the lab proper. 
Dr. Ryan was waiting behind one of the curtains, and Shelly found herself
strongly tempted to pull it aside and reveal her nudity to him.  What had
gotten into her?

Instead, she closed the opposite curtain and opened a locker.  Inside were
a set of rudimentary undergarments, plastic shoes, and a green Tyvek
jumpsuit.  Skipping the underwear, she donned the shoes and uniform. 
Hardly sexy but quite comfy, almost like pajamas.

When she pulled back the curtains, she saw Dr. Ryan in identical green
garb and head cover.  "When we leave," he said, "everything except the
head cover is disposed of here."  He indicated an incinerator chute. 
"Now, if you would please open the red door..."

Shelly fetched her badge from under the head cover and inserted it into
the door slot.  The way to the inner sanctum was opened.


9.  Fruit of the Rain Forest

They entered a circular, steel-walled room about 30 feet across with a
broad pillar in the exact center.  Three more doors (marked,
appropriately, "1," "2," and "3") were located at each of the other
compass points.  The room contained a bewildering array of white-enameled
devices, monitor screens, and other equipment which looked entirely
different from the pictures she had seen in the microbiology text.  In one
area were several wire cages containing white mice.  Her spirits fell
somewhat, and she hoped that Dr. Ryan did not expect her to be familiar
with any of this gear.

Noting her expression, Dr. Ryan said "All of the equipment you see here
was built to my specifications, and probably looks strange to you. 
Actually, they are all far easier to use than the standard lab devices,
and in any event you will not be operating these except under my direct
supervision.

"In this central room we conduct primary research operations involving
rDNA and plant pathogens.  The equipment here is used primarily for
'snipping' DNA base pairs from plant nuclei, transferring those sequences
to bacterial plasmids where they can be replicated or altered, and
reinserting the altered sequences into experimental samples.  We also have
the capacity to create viral messengers for the purpose of introducing
foreign RNA and DNA sequences into host organisms.  We use nothing here
that can have any effect on humans, which is why we are not wearing the
Racal suits.

"Each of the numbered doors leads to a greenhouse, which is kept
environmentally isolated from the other greenhouses and, of course, from
the outside.  Only one greenhouse door at a time can be opened, and
careful regulation of air pressure insures that no seeds, spores, or other
materials can escape into this room.  Certain of our plant samples are
very fertile and could possible disrupt the local ecological balance if
allowed to escape.

"The central pillar provides the vacuum control system and outflow exits
for gaseous, liquid, and solid wastes.  Each exit is protected by a series
of redundant HEPA filters, insuring that all discharges are entirely pure.
 Anything that needs to be disposed of in here, aside from clothing, must
be placed in one of the chute doors on the pillar."

"Now if you please, Miss Demming, open the door to greenhouse number one."

Curiously, Shelly did not find Dr. Ryan's brisk monologue as hard to
follow as she would have thought.  Her mind seemed more alive, somehow,
likely from the adrenaline rush she was getting from being in an exotic
and perhaps dangerous place.  She knew "rDNA" meant recombinant DNA, or
gene splicing, which was exactly what Brickman had sent her to find. 
Excited now, she inserted her badge into the slot on door number one.

Beyond the door was a long room with curving, transparent walls and a
domed roof.  Bright sunlight illuminated three long rows of tobacco plants
growing in deep tubs of soil.  As she moved inside, Shelly passed through
a curtain of briskly moving air.

"The atmospheric pressure-barrier keeps the greenhouse isolated even when
the door is open," said Dr. Ryan.  "That eliminates the need for clumsy
airlocks within the lab."

Shelly looked up, noting that despite their transparency the walls and
roof were very thick and double-layered.  She also noted what looked like
a sprinkler system suspended high above the rows of plants.  "Are those
sprinklers for putting out fires?" she asked.

"No, they're for starting them," said Dr. Ryan.  Seeing her shocked
expression, he continued, "it's a last line of defense against
environmental contamination, and one not required by federal regulations. 
In the event of a major containment breach, the sprinkler heads will
dispense a high-pressure stream of liquid sodium onto all biological
samples in the lab and greenhouses.  Liquid sodium ignites on contact with
oxygen."

"But...what if I'm in here when it happens?"

"Don't be."  After a short pause, Dr. Ryan continued, "but that need not
concern you.  Small leaks are self-sealing, and it would take a very
substantial impact to create a large one."  He smiled.

"Now these," he went on, " are garden-variety nicotiana tabacum, the kind
you find being cultivated all over North Carolina.  These serve as our
control group and as a source of experimental samples.  Temperature,
humidity, and soil conditions are controlled automatically for optimum
growing conditions.  These are pampered pants, never to be harvested or
smoked.  Let's move on to greenhouse number two." 

The second greenhouse was structurally identical to the first, but the
plants growing here were very different.  While reminiscent of tobacco in
size and leaf-shape, their color was a deep purple Shelly had never seen
before in a growing plant.  The soil was odd, too...a light-absorbing,
purple-black loam.
    
"These are samples of the somewhat less common Rara Coelensis Jacksonii, a
subspecies discovered just ten years ago by the botanist Russell Jackson,"
said Dr. Ryan.  "This species is found only in a half-mile-square area in
the Amazon basin...and in this greenhouse.  Both the soil and plants were
brought here from the same location.  Without its native soil, the plant
will not grow."

"What makes the soil unusual?" asked Shelly.

"The 'what' I will show you back in the central lab.  The 'why' is just as
interesting, and I will give you a clue.  This type of soil is found only
at the bottom of a circular depression about two miles across and 400 feet
deep, in an almost inaccessible part of the Brazilian rain forest.  Does
that suggest anything you?"  Ryan was watching her reactions closely, to
see how persistent her mental stimulation would prove.

"A crater?"

"Very good...a meteoric impact crater to be precise, and one less than
12,000 years old."

"So the soil came from the meteor?"

"Unlikely, though possible.  My thought is that a microorganism, a
bacillus most likely, was carried inside the meteorite.  Fossilized
bacteria have been found in meteors before.  This one survived the impact
and, through biological action, altered the local soil and enabled the
evolution of Rara Coelensis Jacksonii, or RCJ for short.  No other plant
will grow in this soil.  I am convinced, however that RCJ itself is not a
'visitor,' since it has clearly terrestrial relatives elsewhere in Brazil.

"My theory is not provable though, since if there was a microorganism it
is long extinct.  And a good thing, too, since it might well have
converted all of the soil on earth by now.  And that, as they say, would
not have been good for business.  Now follow me back to the central room,
and I will show you what makes this soil unique."

Dr. Ryan led Shelly to a 30 inch color monitor mounted over the central
pillar.  It currently showed what looked like strands of black spaghetti
against a purple background.  "This is an enhanced image from our scanning
electron microscope.  The black strands are organic molecules found in
RCJ's soil.  They are composed of nothing more exotic than carbon,
hydrogen, oxygen, nitrogen, and some common trace elements.  What is
unusual is their length and complexity...they have been polymerized, in a
sense.  The book says you can't bind these elements in this sort of
configuration, not without creating the sort of hydrocarbon compounds that
are not friendly to growing things."

"So...if RCJ were to escape, it wouldn't be a problem, "said Shelly.  "It
couldn't grow outside."

"That is true, but paradoxically RCJ is an otherwise amazingly hardy
plant.  Unlike other rain forest exotics, it can grow in a wide range of
temperatures, moisture conditions, and sunlight levels. It is also very
fertile; its seeds are lightweight and can be carried for many miles on a
light breeze.  That's how Jackson tracked it down in the first place. 
Except for the soil restriction, it could easily take over all the arable
land on earth in only a few years.  Suppose some seeds got loose and then
mutated?  A slight chance, but that also would be bad for business."

"So what's the value of RCJ to us?" 

"Good question.  It turns out that RCJ's DNA base pairs are 70 percent
congruent with tobacco's.  This means that creating a hybrid of the two
species would, under normal conditions, be quite simple.  However, the
soil problem remains.  In normal dirt, the RCJ characteristics would
remain dormant in the hybrid.  So, we must 'teach' RCJ to synthesize it's
own polymerized organics internally."

"How can you do that?"

"It's not as unlikely as it sounds.  Have you studied much about introns?"

Shelly was surprised to find the relevant passage from the text come
immediately to mind.  "Those are DNA base pair sequences not associated
with specific protein functions."

"Very good.  Most geneticists believe introns are simply 'garbage' code,
or relate to features long superseded by evolution.  In some cases they
are no doubt right. But I have found that some introns are associated with
developing mutations, often beneficial ones.  One such intron found in RCJ
is clearly related to molecular synthesis of just the sort we are looking
for."

He lead Shelly to one of the complex devices lining the room.  "With this
device we can 'edit' and extract DNA, in the manner you proved familiar
with yesterday.  We are currently working on the RCJ 'synthesizing'
intron, using a special potentiator I have developed.  It is a slow
process, and will take some weeks or months before we see any real
results."  That was Dr. Ryan's first lie.

"Once we have an 'any-soil' version of RCJ, we can begin building the
hybrid.  Greenhouse number 3 is reserved for growing the completed hybrid
and is currently unused."  That was the second lie.  

"Now for the final piece...why build such a hybrid at all?  For the
answer, we must examine our courageous 'volunteer' mice."  Dr. Ryan
chuckled at his own rare joke.

Shelly had a suspicion as to "why," but said nothing as they approached
the cages.  She noted that there was only one of the ominous sodium
sprinklers in the central lab, and it was located directly above the mouse
cages.

"Cages 'A' and 'B' contain mice born from the same litter.  Please tell me
your impressions of the mice in cage 'B', Miss Demming," said Dr. Ryan.

"Well, they look sick...their eyes are dull...their fur is matted...and
they're barely moving.  What's wrong with them?"

"Absolutely nothing, Miss Demming, besides the fact that they are old,
more than 90 years old in mouse terms.  This is our control group, and
have been raised in a manner typical for lab mice.  Now look at the mice
in cage 'A'."

Shelly bent low to peer at the other mice.  Their white fur was thick and
glossy, their eyes bright.  They seemed to her uneducated examination to
be the perfect pictures of mouse health.  On closer inspection, she found
them a little disturbing.  Their small, pink eyes focused on her in a
unnerving way.  Their movements seemed deliberate, even purposeful.  There
was none of the aimless scurrying normally seen from rodents.  In a food
dish near the rear of the cage, she saw some leafy, purple scraps.

"These mice have enjoyed a diet rich in RCJ all their lives.  As you can
see they have improved longevity, health, and even intelligence."  Dr.
Ryan chuckled again.  "But do not expect to see RCJ at your local salad
bar any time soon.  Not only is it fabulously expensive at this point, but
it is also one of the bitterest foodstuffs on earth.  We had to breed many
generations of mice before we had a litter that would touch it.

"Neither RCJ nor any variant of it will ever be an acceptable food for
human consumption, no more than is tobacco.  That means we must seek an
alternate way to derive its benefits in man."

"By smoking it," said Shelly.  She thought of the packs in her purse,
wanting one right now, but also fearing what it might do to her.

"Indeed.  The bitterness is largely removed in the curing and aging
process used to prepare the leaves for smoking.  Also nicotine potentiates
RCJ in the much the same way Valium does morphine.  And RCJ, I believe,
will neutralize or overcome the harmful effects of most tobacco
ingredients, making the two an ideal complement.

"So those cigarettes you gave me...are made with hybrid tobacco?"

"No, as I said the hybrid is yet to come.  Those cigarettes are 98%
tobacco with a small amount of pure RCJ added."  Two lies, here.  The
cigarettes were actually a 50-50 mix.  "Sorry, but we can't afford to pass
out any richer blends just yet!  But I think you agree that even these are
quite pleasurable."

"Yes, they are..."

"Speaking of which, that concludes our tour.  Would you care to join me
outside for a smoke?"

From sullivangm@aol.com Fri Mar 07 19:36:44 1997
Path: news1.infoave.net!news-dc-10.sprintlink.net!news-pull.sprintlink.net!news.sprintlink.net!news-peer.sprintlink.net!howland.erols.net!newsxfer3.itd.umich.edu!portc01.blue.aol.com!spamz.news.aol.com!audrey01.news.aol.com!not-for-mail
From: sullivangm@aol.com (SULLIVANGM)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: Story:  Hybrid Vigor 5/5
Date: 8 Mar 1997 00:36:44 GMT
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X-Admin: news@aol.com

Notice:  This story has been rated "NC17" for adult language, nudity,
strong sexual content, violence, and explicit smoking.  If you find any of
this objectionable, I suggest you try another fetish.

Copyright 1997 by G. M. Sullivan.  All rights reserved.  This story may be
copied and distributed for the uncompensated amusement of others only. 

Author's note:  This story takes place during the spring before the events
described in "Dying for a Cigarette" and "Phoenix Ascending."  While it is
not necessary to read those stories to enjoy this one, I recommend them to
you with full prejudice.

Dedication:  For Sstoryman, with deepest respect.


"Hybrid Vigor"  Part Five of Five


Part Five:  Apocalypse Soon

16.  The Miracle

Roger Demming greeted Brickman at the front door.

"Come on in Stu," he said, trying to sound happy to see him.  "Mary Lou
and the missus are still asleep, so let's keep it down."

Demming and Brickman sat in the darkened living room.  Brickman fidgeted,
trying to control his impatience to speak to Mary Lou.  "There was nothing
mysterious about Shelly's visits," said Demming.  "The girl was just
showin' initiative.  She came here mainly to learn to smoke, which is what
you wanted her to do, isn't that right?"

"Yeah, Roger, but something smell's wrong.  I'm worried about Shelly, and
now about Mary Lou, too.  I think there's some pretty wild stuff going on
at OST, which is why I sent Shelly there in the first place.  Maybe it's
time I was a little more straight with you..."

Their conversation was interrupted by a thump from upstairs.  Demming
stood immediately, a look of concern on his face, and he started for the
stairs.  Brickman followed.

Demming came to Mary Lou's door, knocked lightly, then opened it without
waiting for an answer.  Brickman stayed outside but stood where he could
see into the room.  He was in no mood to observe the finer proprieties.

Mary Lou was standing by her bed, crutches forgotten, her father holding
her shoulders.  "Look, papa," she said, "it doesn't hurt anymore!  Ah can
walk!"  To demonstrate the point she lifted her left leg, allowing her
whole weight to settle on the plaster-coated right leg.  

"But the doctor said it would be another week before..." started Demming.

"Who cares what that old doctor said!  It doesn't hurt!"  She started
hopping up and down on her broken leg.  "Let's go see him today, please,
papa?  Maybe ah can get rid of this stupid cast!  Thank god for Shelly and
those cigarettes..."

"Cigarettes?  What cigarettes?" asked Brickman, entering the room. Mary
Lou noticed the stranger for the first time and went red.  "Did Shelly
bring you cigarettes from the lab?" he continued.

"Yes, but..." Mary Lou was concerned she had let a secret out.  Was this
man from the police?

"My god, Stu, what are you saying?" asked Demming.

"I'm saying that OST is conducting illegal drug experiments on humans, and
that Mary Lou, intentionally or not, has been exposed to some sort of
doctored tobacco.  I know it looks good now, Roger, but who knows what the
side effects might be?  I suggest you take Mary Lou to the hospital, tell
them she's taken some unknown drug, and have them run a full series of
tests."

"Papa, no!  Ah feel fine!  Shelly didn't do anything wrong..."

Ignoring her, Brickman pressed on.  "No offense, Roger, but tobacco
companies do not have a history of tender, loving, regard for their
customers.  You have legal rights in this matter, understand me?  To
preserve them, and your daughter's health, I suggest you get moving right
away.  In the meantime..."  Brickman paused, noticing for the first time a
small, white object partially concealed on the floor.  He bent to pick it
up while Demming and Mary Lou resumed their argument, ignoring him.

It was "Mary Lou's"...Shelly's OST ID badge.  Look like the old luck is
in, thought Brickman.  "In the meantime, I'm going to pay Shelly and Ryan
both a visit and try to get to the bottom of this."  Without paying the
arguing pair any further heed, he let himself out.  He would need to make
a brief visit home first...


17.   Better Living Through Chemistry

Shelly and Dr. Ryan sat together in his quarters, both smoking RCJ
Premiums.  Shelly had learned to discipline herself not to consume the
entire cigarette in a single puff, and was contented with savoring one
small sip at a time.  It just gets better and better, she thought.

Allowing large volumes of smoke to seep out with her normal
breathing...her "new" normal breathing...she tried to digest what Dr.
Ryan...James...had told her.  

"We are the Adam and Eve of a new subspecies," he had said.  "I don't
think titles and formalities are appropriate any longer."

And Lilith is on the way, she though, but said nothing.  She had absorbed
James's journal notes with a speed that rivaled his own, intellectually. 
Accepting it all emotionally was another matter.

"I'm sorry, Shelly," said Dr. Ryan.  "I realize now that I had no right to
do this to you..."

She gazed into his bright eyes.  Why had she ever been intimidated by this
man?  He was so young, so unsure of himself...so vulnerable.

"I should be thanking you, James," she said.  "I have never seen things so
clearly before."  And he was, to her new eyes, very attractive...

Dr. Ryan was thinking along similar lines.  Here was a beautiful
woman...strong, like he was...mentally quick, perhaps quicker than
he...here was the companion he had given up hoping for, if she would only
forgive him.  He moved to sit beside her on the small couch.

She gave him a brilliant smile, showing white teeth newly aligned, diamond
hard, all fillings long since ejected.  Not waiting for further overtures,
she bent forward to kiss him.

"Human sexual response is enhanced by RCJ in two ways.  First, the
ingested or inhaled compound is a short-term libido stimulant.  Second,
modifications to the peripheral and central nervous systems, along with
conscious control of their functions, permit a range of sexual expression
and experience not seen before in humans.

"I hypothesize that two RCJ-enhanced lovers might share each other's
sensory feedback directly through galvanic skin conductivity, allowing
perfect synchrony of stimulation and a near-identical knowledge of each
other's pleasure.  'Transcendent' would not be too strong a word for such
an experience.  Sexual contact would not be recommended with a
non-enhanced partner, due to the likelihood of serious injury to the
'inferior' participant.

"Increased libido was observed in the subject mice, along with a severe
depression of fertility.  The latter certainly makes sense from an
evolutionary standpoint, since there is a lesser need for replacement
individuals.  However, can the fertility effects be attributed to RCJ
alone, or is some higher balancing factor at work?  It is possible that in
the human subjects conception might become a voluntary act.

"Which leads to another line of thought.  My listing of mutagenic effects
is now fairly complete, but what of the teratogenic?  RCJ should be able
to penetrate the placental barrier quite easily.  What then would be the
experience of the enhanced fetus?  Self-aware from the first trimester,
would it go mad in the stifling darkness of the womb over endless months
of waiting for birth?  Or would the gestation period also be controllable?
 And if so, by which party?  Obviously, I will not be able to answer these
questions from self-observation."

Under the blankets in Dr. Ryan's bed, two nude bodies came hungrily
together.  From the first moment of contact, they shared an almost
telepathic communion of desire.  Exquisite skin sensitivity rippled and
eddied along the path of each caress, vital signs synchronizing, response
frequencies matching to perfection.

They moved with careful slowness, as the lightest kick could tear sheets
and send them flying about the room.  They slowed their reactions to the
greatest degree possible, and yet the passion grew between them, demanding
mergence, completion, satisfaction.

When at last she climbed atop him, she reached for her nearby cigarettes. 
She wanted the moment to be perfect, and she knew well what these would
contribute, chemically for them both and psychologically as well for
James.

She took three cigarettes from the pack and placed then all in her mouth
even as she guided him inside her.  She was momentarily distracted by her
initial orgasm which followed immediately.  It was everything she had
hoped for and more, every nerve singing with electrochemical bliss, all
sensations passing through to James, though he did not ejaculate.

As they shuddered together in ecstasy, she lit the cigarettes.  They would
have to make something larger, she thought, for "changed ones" like us. 
These were much too small and fragile.  

As she began to move up and down atop him, savoring pleasure greater than
she ever imagined possible, she consumed all three cigarettes in a few
quick inhales.  Discarding the filters, she bent down to meet his waiting
lips.

The smoke was exchanged between them many times as they moved together,
bringing their mutual arousal to the point where pleasure and pain meet,
indistinguishable and unendurable, yet neither wanted the experience to
end.  As the smoke finally escaped their lips and nostrils, filling the
space between their faces, her contractions began.

Her spasms forced her up straight, smoke spilling from her mouth and
nostrils as she voiced her glass-shattering pleasure.  Feeling her orgasms
as his own, Dr. Ryan's own climax was triggered, his penis erupting
multiple times with force sufficient to have thrown a normal woman from
the bed.  Multiple orgasms echoed and reechoed through both lovers,
magnified like thunder through their more than human neural pathways,
until the room seemed to dissolve around them, opening into realms
unglimpsed by mortal eyes.

Shelly answered "Yes..." to an unfamiliar question which came voicelessly
from deep within her.

With a loud report, the bed slats broke into splinters.


18.  The Politics of Confrontation

Back in his own apartment, Brickman considered the night's revelations.

What the hell was Aronsen doing?  He wasn't sure, but he guessed that Ryan
or some other smooth-talking OST bigwig had won her over to their cause. 
Never send a kid to do a man's job, he thought.  Another mistake he would
avoid in the future.  Now he would have to complete this investigation
himself.  If he could pull Aronsen out and talk some sense into her, he
should have plenty to go to print with.

Brickman harbored few illusions as to the calumny of large corporations,
especially these sellers of known poisons.  Those boys were capable of
playing rough when their vital interests were threatened.  Well, he could
play rough too.

Despite being a man of liberal sensibilities, he was no advocate of gun
control.  Unlocking a drawer, he removed his restored Colt .45 automatic
pistol, which carried a full clip of armor-piercing shells he had
purchased back when such ammunition was legal.  "Man-stoppers," he called
them.  They would easily penetrate a Kevlar vest at 20 yards.

Concealing the weapon in the back of his pants, he pulled on a sports
jacket and left the apartment, taking "Mary Lou's" ID badge with him.  He
would at least speak to Aronsen this morning, and perhaps Ryan as well. 
By god, he would.


19.  The Issue Decided

Shelly and Dr. Ryan entered the central room of the BL4-P lab.  They were
dressed in green jumpsuits only.  There was little point any longer to
wearing heavier protection.

He turned his gaze to Shelly, bright eyes meeting bright eyes with perfect
understanding.  "You agree?" he asked.

"I do."

"Please prepare a 20 percent agar solution for viral suspension, Shelly.
Use a 300 milliliter vial.  When the suspension is completed and I have
disconnected the HEPA filters, we will use the central vacuum system to
disseminate."

Ryan turned to the sealed drawer containing his viral cultures as Shelly
went to work.


20.  A Wrong Assumption

Brickman pulled up to the security gate and used the stolen ID badge to
gain entrance.  I just hope they haven't installed metal detectors, he
thought.

A highlighted line appeared on a monitor at the security desk.  The guard
noted the alert signal and saw that Mary Lou Demming had just entered the
secure parking lot.  The problem was that she was already here, using a
temporary pass.  The guard picked up a phone and called Dane Peter's
office.

Peters listened to the report and grimaced.  He knew full well that there
could be two "Mary Lous" on the premises.  He issued a quiet alert for his
men to sweep the building and arrest any and all women answering to Mary
Lou Demming's description, and to escort them at once to his office. 
After they were collected, he would notify Dr. Ryan.


21.  Containment Breach

Brickman walked quickly down the hall, resisting the urge to cover up the
ID badge pinned to his lapel.  Her certainly did not resemble Aronsen, but
the photograph was small and no one seemed to be paying him any particular
attention.

He had seen one or two guards about, and they did seem to be looking for
someone.  Oddly though, their eyes had passed over him without registering
any interest at all.  His luck was still in.

He had located the intern's area with the aid of wall maps, and had seen
that Aronsen was absent.  He hoped she was here somewhere, missing ID
badge or no, and not off to Mexico or some such place with Ryan.  The next
best bet was the P4 lab itself, and he was almost there.

Brickman examined the forbidding, warning-plastered, steel door and
hesitated.  This looked awfully risky.  Was the story really worth it? 
However, for all of Brickman's self-regard, he really saw himself as a man
of the people, with a responsibility to seek the truth wherever it lay. 
Checking to make sure there was no one watching, he tried the badge in the
door's slot.  It opened.


Dr. Ryan held the up the sealed vial containing the completed viral
suspension and gazed at it critically.  Viability was assured.  All that
remained now was to insert the needle-tipped hose through the rubber
stopper atop the vial, and the powerful air pumps in the central pillar
would do the rest.  The suspension would be evacuated immediately and the
two tailored viruses spread to the four winds; unrecoverable,
undetectable, unstoppable.

He walked over to where Shelly stood near the mouse cages and gazed at her
admiringly.  Goddess of a new world, she was radiant; hair thick, shining,
and alive, skin unmarked and smoothly reflective, eyes bright with
preternatural intelligence.  It would be difficult to leave her, now.

The red door to the inner changing room hissed and swung inward, revealing
Stuart Brickman with pistol in hand.  Ryan raised a single eyebrow, and
gently urged Shelly away from his side, away from the mouse cages.  She
moved with reluctance.

Brickman stared at the pair he had sought.  My god, they looked
strange...almost inhuman!  What the hell was going on here?  Whatever it
was, it could not be allowed to continue in secret.  That's how trouble
usually started.

"Just stay where you are, Ryan.  The secret's out.  Mary Lou is at the
hospital right now, and pretty soon you'll be up to your ass in federal
inspectors.  Aronsen, come here.  We're leaving!"

Shelly stayed where she was.  Dr. Ryan took a very quick but small step
toward Brickman.

Startled at the speed of Ryan's movement, Brickman shouted, "I mean it
Ryan!"  He raised the gun and fired into the ceiling.

The report of the large pistol was deafening, and followed immediately by
a loud "ping!"  A quarter-sized hole appeared in roof of the lab, and a
faint hissing began.

Alarms warbled and lights flashed.  Smoke erupted from several of the lab
devices as small biological samples were automatically incinerated.  An
amber stream erupted from the sprinkler head above the mouse cages,
soaking the animals and Dr. Ryan.  The liquid burst into intense flames on
contact. 

A small stream of the liquid splashed from Dr. Ryan's shoulder and caught
Brickman across the face.  Screaming, he flung the gun aside and fell back
into the inner changing room.

Wrapped in bright flames and grunting painfully, Dr. Ryan fell to the
floor.  With only a moment's pause, Shelly ran to his side and beat at the
flames with her bare hands.  Despite her enhancements, the hot-burning
sodium scorched them painfully.  Finally, only a small smolder remained on
Dr. Ryan's body.

Shelly bent to look into his face.  The skin was blackened and charred,
his pupils fixed and dilated. She could detect no breath, no pulse.  She
knew what that meant.

She took his withered right hand in her own and said "Goodbye, James." 
There were no tears.  She lacked the required moisture.

She stood, willing the pain in her burned hands to subside, and left the
flaming lab.  In the inner changing room, she paused to regard Brickman,
who was clutching his scarred face and moaning.

"Aronsen...is that you?  Help me...I'm blind..."

"Just wait here, asshole," she said.  "If you're lucky, someone might
offer you a cigarette."

Shelly walked through the erupting showers without pausing and saw Peters
and his guards enter the outer changing room at a dead run.  "There's a
seriously injured man in there," she told him calmly.  "Better see to
him."

Peters, who had been moving to detain her, stopped and waved his men
onward.  He could see someone lying in the inner changing room...and
beyond that...my god!

Shelly grabbed her street clothes and left the lab.  Making a quick stop
in Dr. Ryan's office, she yanked open the locked drawer and took as many
"special" packs as she could carry surreptitiously.  The corridors were
crowded with people quickly evacuating the R&D annex.  Joining the throng,
Shelly slipped into anonymity and was gone.


22.  Dreaming Fields   

Still, stifling, late May air lay heavily over the fields of recently
transplanted tobacco plants, grown to about six inches in height under the
relentless North Carolina sun.  A single car moved along the shimmering
country road that divided the closely-packed rows of plants.

Shelly pulled over on the road's narrow shoulder and cut the engine. 
Pulling down the sun visor, she examined her stranger's face in the vanity
mirror for any signs of slippage.

Her hair was now a dusky blonde and perfectly straight.  Her nose had
slightly lengthened and her lips were now more round and full.  She had
drained some of the pigment from her irises, giving them the same ice-blue
shade James's had had.  Her current fingerprints were not on file in
anyone's database.  She had, just for fun, shifted a few fatty deposits to
her breasts and thighs, enjoying the sex-kitten look it lent her and the
effect it had on the men who saw her.  Her skin was lightly tanned and no
longer looked strange to any casual observer.

Shelly lit one of her carefully hoarded supply of RCJ premiums and thought
back over the past two weeks months.  She blew white smoke thoughtfully at
the windshield, enjoying it's swirls and eddies in the humid air.

Stuart Brickman had achieved his fame, but had also won an indictment for
murder and a life of perpetual darkness.  Dr. James M. Ryan had been
buried in a closed-casket funeral two days after the fire, eulogized
warmly by Horace Smithson, chairman of OST.

Mr. Smithson had lamented the loss of both the great scientist his
painstaking research.  All of the biological samples in the lab had been
destroyed, and Dr. Ryan's computer records were missing and presumed
erased.  There was no hope of anyone else reconstructing his work.  The
disaster had left Brickman's garbled accusations of illegal drug testing
both unprovable and moot.

Shelly Aronsen, wanted for questioning in the case, had not yet been
found.  Neither had Mary Lou Demming; she had slipped away from her family
after refusing all medical tests at a hospital in Henderson.  Shelly had
no idea where Mary Lou was now.

Shelly reached into her purse and withdrew a perfume bottle about a
quarter-full of brown liquid.  Laying the cap on the seat, she opened the
car door and took a last puff on her RCJ Premium. Stepping forth, she
exhaled smoke into the warm, moist air.

Seeing that no field workers were in sight, she began walking between the
rows of small plants, pausing periodically to spray them from the perfume
bottle.  This was her third stop that day, and two more would be
sufficient to exhaust her supply of viral suspension, which she had lifted
from James's still hand in the midst of fire and confusion.  The process
was invisible, but already well begun.  Unrecoverable, undetectable,
unstoppable.

Finished here at last, she turned her eyes to her tummy, just beginning to
swell. "Jimmy, darling," she began, then looked upward, staring straight
into the sun with no discomfort.  "And James, dearest..."

"The world will never forget you."


The End