Side Story #2 Scripted Loss

“Where are we on obtaining specimens for Friday’s test?” Professor Cuinard’s fingers danced between the threads of light, teasing apart the small portion of the limb in front of him. Showing, without breaking, the myriad connections between each layer of skin, then the connections to the fascia, muscle, bone, sinew, veins, nerves, and marrow.

The seemingly infinite interrelations between each portion of a marvelous whole known simply, disparagingly, as a “leg.”

“The reagents have been ordered, the subjects… procured,”  Skunthorp spoke with polished ease.

“Mmm. Sophia, the state of the equipment?”

“All cleaned and prepared, per your instructions, Professor.”

“Well, Scunthorpe will give it a little looking-over before, just to check.”

“Yes, Professor.” She didn’t let her irritation show. That would simply be too foolish.

Sophia was a genius. She had a certificate saying so. “Winner, 68th Annual Jeon Beastcrafting Tournament: Young Genius Sophia Medici.” All the certificates for the participants called them geniuses. To be fair to the organizers, if you made it to Nationals, you really were smarter than most.

“Genius,” like “rich,” was a comparative term. She learned that quite quickly once she got to University.  When everyone around you is brilliant, the shine comes off the word. It didn’t take much longer after that to discover many people were merely much better educated than she was, as opposed to being brilliant. And everyone was richer.

Still, there were advantages of working while studying. Getting assistant positions, no matter how junior, were priceless networking opportunities. Professor Cuinoird was not conventional in dress, hygiene, or methodology, but his results were fascinating. His willingness to experiment boldly and freely spoke to Sophia. His willingness to pay her spoke even more. Lesser natural philosophers could grub around for grants. Professor Cuinoird had patrons.

Like Scunthorpe’s parents. People so rich, he just laughed when Sophia asked what they did for a living. He was a few years older than her, further along in his degree, and generally just…  settled. Scunthorpe was going to be fine. Just fine. You might not be, but he would be. That confidence just oozed through every facet of his personality.

“I will make the time, Professor.” Scunthorpe agreed as though any other possibility existed. While simultaneously implying that Sophia had somehow infringed on his precious work-life balance.

“Good. Now then, the rest of you…” Professor Cuinoird continued reviewing the labor of his assistants. There were five in total, including Sophia and Scunthorpe. A veritable Goeatia of lackeys, by academic standards. But then, “standard” was not something that interested the good professor.

The section of leg was, after all, a sort of “before” picture. Cuinoird was convinced he could do better. Sophia believed him. It was a fascinating concept.

The logic of the project was straightforward- This world, similar to most words inhabited by humans, represented the bottom of the material hierarchy. The lowest rung of existence. But that insignificance was not distributed uniformly across the beings of the planet. Spirits and demons (the ones native to this world, anyway) all tended to be slightly higher on the material hierarchy. Varying steps closer towards the perfect infinite of God.

And people had known that since they settled here. It was true everywhere, always had been.  And everywhere, people had the same idea- “What if I could make a human more real? Push a human further up the material hierarchy without the pesky need for cultivation?” Because cultivation was expensive, and the higher up you went, it became exponentially more difficult. Wouldn’t it be nice if you could just… mass produce enhancile humans?  Wouldn’t it be nice if some people were just born better?

You know. The right people. People like the patrons of Professor Cuinoird.

“Now then, everyone. I have good news and bad.  The good news is that I was able to secure the next round of funding for Project Goldenrod.”  There were muted cheers. Not that they weren’t happy, just that the laboratory did not reward extroverts. Nor did the Professor.

“The bad news is that the pressure is on to produce results. It always is, of course, but there is a new urgency. Why, I do not know. But there is. Results and fast. So we are going to dispense with the most long-term inquiries and focus instead on potential donor compatibility. We will begin with our relatively close cousins in the Nephilim genus. We know that interbreeding is possible here, so we should have relatively quick progress.”

A quick pass with a gem and up sprang a picture.  A rough sort of man with strongly defined features. Thickly muscled, with cunning eyes. A woman was quickly placed beside him- curvy but with a look to her that said she could take a punch as well as dish them out. And would. Fairly common examples of beings that, as far as Sophia knew, did not exist on this planet.

From the few brief references in her books, the Nephilim were rather large, extremely tough, long-lived, and basically not interested in humanity beyond the occasional raid for slaves. Humanity, of course, was quite happy to raid them right back, but it was generally seen as a losing proposition. The Nephilim were very tough, generally fought to the death, and had… basically nothing anybody wanted. The raw resources of their planets, perhaps. But generally, the Nephalim were indifferent to luxuries or technology. At least, that’s how Sophia interpreted their description as “Crude Savages” in the introduction to their section in her textbook. Savages who happened to be extraordinarily strong, resistant to magic, and capable of incredibly powerful spells when pressed.

“Right. That will be all. Sophia, Scunthorpe, my office, please.”

They retreated to the surprisingly dingy office- basically just a cubby with a desk, a single chair, and a window.  Professor Cuinoird was vocally of the opinion that anyone who could be impressed by an office was not someone he cared about impressing.

“I will cut right to the chase- Scunthorpe, I believe you will be leaving me in a few months once you graduate?”

“I’m afraid so, Professor. An old roommate of my brothers is an up-and-comer in the advanced bioscience lab at Starbrite and has managed to secure me a position. Auxiliary, naturally.” The words “Auxiliary, naturally,” sounded awfully smug to Sophia. Surely it was better to be part of Starbrite’s core than an auxiliary? But Scunthorpe was a prick, not a moron. Something to pay attention to, then.

“Marvelous. They are doing exciting work over there- I know because they keep trying to hire me.” The Professor grinned.  “More selfishly, will your family continue to fund Project Goldenrod after you leave?”

“Who can say? I believe so. Like everyone else, they are considering an off-planet move.” Scunthorpe shrugged helplessly.  “However, my generation’s cultivation makes that… functionally impossible.”

Sophia did her best not to look over at Scunthorpe. What the hell was he talking about? Everybody was trying to get off the planet? Since when? Why?

“It would be prohibitively difficult for my parents as well. I believe, therefore, that securing alternate paths to… long-term security… would be considered a prudent investment.”

“Sound thinking. Superb. No wonder the Scunthorpes have endured as a leading family in Jeon.” The Professor smiled fondly. Scunthorpe made polite noises, then was gently shooed away to check up on Sophie’s work. The warm smile drained off the Professor’s face like piss down the drain, leaving only indifference.

“You, Sophia, on the other hand, only provide your limited labor to me. You are intelligent, yes, and capable, but these things are not hard to come by in a university. You are essentially dispensable, or at best, replaceable. I mention this not to intimidate you but to motivate you.”

Was he trying to pressure her into sex? It would hardly be unprecedented if disappointing. Still, if needs must-

“And Sophia, if you are wondering if this is some prelude to pressuring you into something… unhygienic- no. I have a team of specialist succubae for exactly that purpose, and you simply do not, cannot, compare.”

Amazing. She was both relieved and insulted at the same time. Impressive efficiency.

“No, I am telling you this because, as you should have deduced from both the earlier meeting and my conversation with Scunthorpe, funding is growing more precarious, and my patrons grow more demanding. Here- this is the background on the next series of experiments for project Goldenrod. Our Friday test will continue as scheduled. If by next Friday, you have not proposed a way for you to meaningfully contribute to the test beyond basic labor, then you may consider yourself dismissed. Under the circumstances, I don’t think I could manage a recommendation letter or a reference.”

Sophie took the etched crystal. It was the usual way documents were secured in the lab. “I understand, Professor.”

He looked at her dispassionately, much as he might a rack of test tubes. “Yes, I believe you do. A pragmatist to your core. Goodbye, Sophia.”

She made her way back to the lab proper. It was axiomatic that sensitive files never left the lab, and she had no intention of breaking the rules. She sat at a desk and firmly gripped the crystal. The embedded spell verified her identity, and the words began streaming past her eyes.

Project Goldenrod- Nephilim Research. Mmm. So far, it was all the things she had read in her textbook, just put in more exact terms. The real question, though, was how did they intend to test any of their theories? They had no Nephilim to test on. There was no hint of any relevant case studies in the materials. All there was, was a ritual for inviting a sort of spiritual invasion by a willing Nephilim into a compatible body. This was done for two purposes- either to strengthen a warrior (which essentially never happened, as no Nephilim could be bothered) or to impregnate a compatible woman.

This was also almost never done, as the child rarely survived gestation and almost always took the mother with it. Quite dramatically too. If the fetus determined that it was unlikely to survive, it exploded violently. This only happened with human women. The Nephilim were not a nice species.

Compatibility was not particularly rare, with rates being somewhere between one in a thousand and one in a hundred thousand. They did seem to be widely distributed throughout humanity. No rhyme or reason to it that anyone had yet determined. Presumably they shared some common ancestor in the impossibly distant past. There was a rather simple test for determining compatibility. Usually used to prioritize who was evactuated on planets near the Nephilim, in case of raids.

Sophia put down the crystal. The Professor was many things, but not subtle. An obvious ploy. She would test herself, of course, but there was simply no possibility that the test hadn’t already been performed without her knowledge. She was compatible. She would be able to carry the child. She was young, physically fit, and didn’t drink, smoke, or do drugs. She knew the experiments and the procedure, so she would be able to assist in conducting the tests. She had no family or friends to rely on, and the Professor could destroy her future with a word. With mere silence.

Certainly, volunteers could be recruited from the public. But that took time and money. Things the Professor was already short on. And Sophia (never Ms. Medici or even just Medici) Sophia was right here. A smart woman and ruthlessly pragmatic. She would endure whatever discomforts happened to befall her to secure her future.

She didn’t sigh, didn’t make the slightest outward sign of emotion. The laboratory was constantly surveilled, of course. She returned the crystal to its proper place and left for the dorms. It was Wednesday. That gave her nine days and a bit to escape this situation or kill the Professor.

Simply reduce herself to the status of a “breeder?” No, call it what it is- reducing herself to laboratory equipment and a sample. Reducing herself to a thing. She would not be doing that. Sophia was a certified genius, and that would be very stupid indeed. As she walked over the glass bridge between the floating buildings of the University of Jeon, she wondered how the Professor took his coffee. She had already determined who would take the blame.