Rachel says, “It was my turn.”
Chameleon PerFormulae Trials
Graham&Swords R&D Laboratory
2008, USA
[9 minutes]
A pale, entirely depilated cure is sitting in an empty, cubical terrarium, playing with its toes. “Sub D18, PF Cham 4.7” is scrawled in black marker on the front of the terrarium’s lower-left corner.
A man, offscreen, is saying, “…and so, to review, what makes Chameleon PerFormula 4 so different from Chameleon PerFormulae 1 through 3 is that, owing to all the aforementioned problems 1 through 3 kept presenting, especially in terms of too-early or too-sudden-and-powerful onset-of-effect, we modified the original GameChanger-style PerFormula—rather radically I have to say—so that it needs to be administered in two parts, and thus it’s neither GameChanger nor PlayChanger, but some third kind of -Changer that I’m sure marketing will have a real blast coming up with a name for. Assuming it all works out that is, ha!
“So, more specifically: Whereas the administration of all other PerFormulae, including Chameleons 1 through 3, have heretofore been one-step processes (that is: either dose the Curio to affect its next clone in the case of GameChanger, or dose the Curio to affect the Curio itself in the case of PlayChanger), Chameleon 4’s administration is a two-step process. Step one is: dose the Curio with Chameleon 4A to prime its next clone to be affected when you dose that clone with Chameleon 4B. In layman’s terms—and I’m talking to you, you Marketing sharpies!—the clone of a 4A’d Curio is born with a kind of cellular-level switch in the OFF position, and it isn’t until you’ve flipped that switch to the ON position by administering the clone a dose of 4B that the Chameleon starts working.
“Which brings us at last to subject D18, here in our little terrarium here. D18 was cloned from a Curio dosed with Chameleon 4.7A, and six weeks later—which is to say sixty-odd minutes ago—D18 was fed a WorkPellet dosed with Chameleon 4.7B. The effects should be taking hold about now. We’ll have a look.”
A hand gloved in white latex reaches into the terrarium from above, deposits a concord grape on the floor, then quickly withdraws. The cure stands, looks up, presumably into the face of the person who set down the grape.
The offscreen man says, “D18, come on, now. Come on. Don’t you like the nice grape?” The cure sits back down, next to the grape, resumes playing with its toes.
“Does it know ‘pick it up’? Tell it, ‘Pick it up,’ ” says a woman, offscreen.
“Pick it up,” says the man.
The cure looks up.
“Pick it up,” repeats the man.
Still seated, the cure turns its body toward the grape, grabs hold of the grape on either side, and lifts it up, high over its head. Pink blotches rise on the cure’s pale skin, as well as in the (pale blue) irises and whites of its eyes. The blotches, spreading, touch and darken. Within ten seconds, the cure, with the exception of its pupils (dilated) and claws, has become the same deep purple as the grape.
“Yes!” exclaims the man.
The woman shouts, “Victory!”
“Looks like!” shouts the man. “Could be! It could!”
The cure, infected by the excitement of the scientists, drops the grape and somersaults from one end of the terrarium to the other and back. Throughout the course of this performance, its skin’s original pallor returns.
“…And so now…” the woman’s voice is saying, as the cure comes out of the final somersault. A hand, gloved in white latex, lowers a baby carrot into the terrarium, against the wall that is farthest from the cure. The cure, standing, looks over its shoulder, sees the baby carrot, and executes two-and-a-half consecutive backflips, landing in a handstand. It walks, on its hands, up to the carrot, then onto the carrot. Yellow blotches rise on the cure’s pale skin as well as in the irises and whites of its eyes. As the blotches touch, they darken. Inside ten seconds, the cure, with the exception of its pupils (dilated) and claws, is uniformly the same shade of orange as the carrot.
“Goodie,” says the female voice. “Great. Now the licorice.”
A hand, gloved in white latex, lowers an oily black nib of licorice into the terrarium, an inch or so away from, but parallel to, the baby carrot. The cure, still holding the handstand, removes one hand from the carrot and sets it on the licorice, then it moves the other and sets it on the licorice. Now it’s doing a handstand on the licorice…Inside fifteen seconds, the cure, with the exception of its claws, is the same color as the licorice.
CUT.
Three minutes later, D18, still black as the licorice, is sitting on the licorice, playing with its toes. The carrot is gone. A snapping sound is heard. The cure looks up, presumably at the source of the sound. A hand, gloved in white latex, lowers half a baby carrot into the terrarium, holds it out in front of D18. D18 takes the carrot in its hands. Threads of brown begin to show all over its skin and shoot through the licorice-black whites and irises of its eyes.
“Goddamnit!” the woman says, offscreen.
The brown threads join to form vascular webs. The cure shudders, its knees knock. It drops the carrot. Standing up, wobbly, the cure clutches at its eyes, collapses, drags itself away from the licorice and the carrot. The browns and blacks on its skin recede, and, inside fifteen seconds, the cure’s flesh has returned to its original pallor.
CUT.
Twenty seconds later. The cure, moaning, rises and opens its eyes. The previously black irises and whites are (as they were before the cure handstood on the licorice) blue and white, respectively, but they remain brownly threaded, around the black pupils. With its arms stretched in front of it, its hands grasping randomly, its eyes blinking as if to clear themselves of blockage, the cure stumbles forward blindly, singing its painsong. It trips on the licorice and falls, throat-first—a snapping sound is heard—on the baby carrot. Facedown, the cure bucks, blushes orange all over its body, stops bucking, goes still. Its skin reacquires its original pallor.
“Fucking goddamnit,” says the woman, offscreen.
* * *
—
A pale, entirely depilated cure is sleeping on its side, in the center of an empty, cubical terrarium. “Sub F19, Cham 6.3” is scrawled in black marker on the front of the terrarium’s lower-left corner. A man, offscreen says, “One of the side effects of Chameleon 6.3 is that, within a few minutes of consuming the B dosage, the Curio becomes drowsy and falls into a deep, however brief, sleep, like F19 here. I’ve heard marketing express the opinion that this side effect could render Chameleon a harder sell than previous lines of PerFormulae, which of course I understand, since consumers—all of us—are an impatient bunch. But at the same time—and Dr. Winston and I were discussing this just the other day—it seems to me that the drowsiness could just as easily be a marketing advantage. I mean, seeing as how other PerFormulae do not cause drowsiness in Curios, the drowsiness here is novel, right? And novelty, in many cases at least, is marketable—I don’t know. I guess I’m babbling a little. I’m a little bit anxious. It’s been an honor and a privilege to lead these trials while Dr. Mangan’s on vacation, especially because I think we’ve really nailed it this time with this 6.3. Preliminary tests would suggest that we have—okay, it’s…It’s waking up.”