The Geneticist

16-year old Conin Draconir brushed a stray lock of auburn hair behind his ear.  His emerald eyes flashed jovially as he sat in the leather seat in front of a desk.

         “You owe me big for this, Captain.  Those bandits were no easy task.”

         The man behind the desk shivered, shifting his bulk around in his seat.  “Just hearing you say that makes me wish I had sent someone else, Conin.  All right, so what do you want?”

         “You sure come right to the point,”  Conin responded with a smile.  “I’m looking for an expert of biological mutations.  Can you find me someone?”

         The immense man lifted himself from his chair, and sidled over to a bookshelf behind Conin.  “It’s been a while since we last saw each other.  What’s your rush?”

         “My arm isn’t just going to grow itself back.”  Conin reflexively curled the fingers of his mechanical left arm. Although his coat and glove covered it, his arm still gave a creak of protest.  He winced at the sound.

         Captain Thomas glanced at him.  “I see,”  That was all he said while he rifled through some file folders. “I know it’s here somewhere. Aha!”

         He pulled out a drab folder, and raised it triumphantly in the air. “Here you are!”  He waddled back to his chair, and then slid the finding to Conin.

         Conin leaned forward expectantly, opening it in barely controlled excitement.  “’Chimera,’” he read. “'An artificial fusion created by genetically ‘marrying’ two dissimilar life forms.’  What does this mean?”

         “It means that we found the person you’re looking for.  He spends enough time researching; he should have at least an inkling of how to solve your problem.  Also, he lives near here.  Oi!  Darren!”

         The door opened, and a youth not much older than Conin stepped in.  “Yes, sir?”

         “Conin Draconir, this is Second Lieutenant Darren Ilach.  Darren, this is Conin Draconir, an old friend of mine.  I need you to escort him to the residence of Ray Mustang, the Sewing-Life Geneticist.”

         “Ray Mustang, the chimera creator?  Didn’t he get his license by making one that could speak?”

         “It could speak?!”  Conin cried incredulously.  “You mean, with the same vocal capacity as a human?”

         “So I’ve heard,” interjected the Captain.  “But I was told that all it said was ‘I want to die.’  Not long after, it stopped eating and died.  But, you should get going.  Until we meet again, Conin.”

         Conin nodded dumbly, awestruck by this revelation.  He followed Darren along the cobblestone streets, and they soon arrive at the Mustang residence.  Darren rang the bell, and then stepped back to wait.  There was a hurried rushing from inside the house, and then the doors creaked ajar, with a balding head poking out.

         “Yes?  What can I help you with?”

         “Mr. Mustang, my name is Darren Ilach, and this is Conin Draconir.  He’s interested in biological mutation.”

         A look of pleased surprise crossed Ray Mustang’s face, and he opened the door wider.  “Come in, come in.  Sorry about the mess.  I haven’t had time to clean since my wife left, three years ago.  Anyway, if you’re interested in what’s up my sleeve, you’ll have to show me what’s up your sleeve.  I believe in equivalent exchange.”

         Conin hesitated a bit, then shrugged at started unbuttoning his overcoat.  “I guess you have a right to know.”  He slipped the coat first off his right arm, then the left.  The metal of his artificial arm caught the dim light and reflected it back.  He heard a sharp intake of breath from both Darren and the geneticist.

         “So that’s why you’re called the Irongrip Tactician.  It all makes sense now.  Follow me.”

         He led them both through the clutter to a pair of cold, metal doors.  He opened it, and they were all hit with a cacophony of sounds.  Exploring inside, Conin saw a multitude of strange animals.  A lion opened its mouth and the fluting melody of a cardinal came out while its small wings flapped uselessly.  A two-headed gorilla/alligator wrestled itself over a banana.

         The older man looked sheepishly around.  “I know I’m supposed to be the expert on chimeras, but it’s not easy.  Lots of false starts, lots of mistakes.  But through here is our destination.”

         He squeezed past some cages and opened a secluded door.  “This is my file room.  You can use it, but I don’t know if it can help you.”

         Conin stepped through the door, and felt his jaw drop.  Hundreds upon hundreds of books were crammed on dozens of shelves, packed to the brim.  “WOW!”

         “Feel free to look around.  I’ll be working in my lab.”

         Darren followed Ray out, stopping at the door to turn back.  “I’ll be back to get you before dark.”

         But Conin couldn’t hear him, so intently was he poring over the first book.

         Outside, Darren conversed lightly with Mr. Mustang before leaving.  “He has an amazing ability to focus when he studies.  I don’t think that he heard me.”

         “It’s not normal, you know, becoming a licensed battle coordinator so young.”

         Darren scratched his chin.  “I guess genius is a quality not yet lost upon our world.”

         For hours, the metal-armed teen browsed through hundreds of the documents in the room, gaining knowledge on biological mutations, but nothing to help his situation.  Reaching up to replace a volume, he yelped as a gold blur jumped from the top shelf.

         Whatcha doin’?”  Said a voice from behind him.  “Are you helping my daddy?”

         Conin turned around, to see a small boy no more than 10 standing behind him.  Reckoning that this was Ray Mustang’s child, he kneeled down.  “No, actually, he’s helping me out.  I’m trying to solve a problem of my own.”

         “So you’re not helping my daddy?  My name’s Toby by the way, and this is Einstein.”  He gestured at the midsize golden retriever standing beside him.

         “Nice to meet you Toby.  My name is Conin, and I’m a tactician.  Is your dad working on another chimera?”

         “Oh, yes!  He even asks for my help sometimes.  He loves me a lot.  But lately he’s been locked in the lab, so it’s kind of lonely.  Do you need some help?  Einstein and I can help.”

         For the next three hours, Toby and Conin worked together, and soon Darren had picked Conin up, with a promise to return the next day.

         For three days, Conin and Toby worked together, developing a sort of friendship.  On the fifth day, when Darren was getting ready to leave Conin with the geneticist, no one answered the bell.  Confused, Darren opened the door, hand straying to his blaster.

         “Mr. Mustang?”  Conin called, heading towards the lab.  “Toby?  It’s me, Conin.  Is anyone here?”

         Opening the door to the lab, Conin saw a weary Ray Mustang sitting in front of a mangy animal.  Its fur came out in scarce patches, and it had an unkempt mane of dark hair down its back.  “Oh, it’s you.  This is my newest creation.  This person is Conin.  Do you understand?”

         The creature cocked its head.  A harsh grating sound, like rocks grinding together, came out of its mouth.  “Co…Nin.”

         “Yes. Very good.”  He rose to his feet as Conin leaned down.

         “Veh…Rey…Good?”

         “Amazing.”  Conin gaped.  “It actually speaks.”

         “Co..Nin..Co..Nin..Conin..Conin..Tac..Tih..Shun..”

         Conin tensed, eyes wide, but his voice was even.  “Mr. Mustang, when was it that you got your license?  By making the first chimera that could talk?”

         “Yes, that's right. That was three years ago.”

         “And when did your wife leave?”

         “That was three years ago too.”

         “May I ask you one more question?  What happened to Toby and Einstein?”

         Mustang frowned.  “I hate perceptive brats like you.”

         Conin smashed the geneticist against the wall.  “You scum!”  he screamed.  “How could you?  Three years ago, it was your wife.  This time you made a chimera out of your son and his dog!  Isn’t that right?  Because there’s only so much you can do with animals!  Humans are so much better!”

         Mustang grunted.  “Why are you so mad?  The progress of science is the result of experimenting on humans.  Someone has to do it.”

         “Shut up!”  Conin roared back.  “You think that you’re going to get away with this?  Messing around with people’s lives?”

         The geneticist’s eyes widened.  “People’s lives.  Ha ha ha!  Yes, People’s lives.  You’re the Irongrip Tactician!  The fire at the academy…and your arm!  Those are also the result of ‘messing around with people’s lives’, yes?”

         “Shut up!”  Conin’s metal fist flew out, snapping sharply across Mustang’s nose.  “Just shut up!”  Another hit.  “You have no idea!”  Another.  “I’d never!”  This time, Mustang’s nose broke.  “You heartless scum!”

         Before Conin could hit him again, Darren grabbed his wrist.  “Conin.  Any more and you will kill him.”

         Conin looked down at the bloodied face of the deranged man, letting blood drip slowly off of his glove.  Panting from anger, Conin let him slump to the floor.  He let Darren lead him out, burning tears flowing freely.

         “Ha ha.”  Gasped the broken man.  “Pretty words don’t get anything done.”

         Darren turned around, his gun coming out.  “If you say another word, Mr. Mustang, this time I’ll be the one to snap.”

         They left without further resistance.

         “If there truly is the work of a devil, then this is it.”  Captain Thomas turned his coat up against the rain, and descended the steps to where Conin was sitting, soaked through.  “’The devil’. Ha ha. To put it bluntly, all of us are the military’s human weapons.  We do what they say, and we don’t care about getting our hands dirty.  My point is, Mustang’s actions aren’t that different from ours.”

         “That’s the logic of an adult, sir.”  Darren replied.  “Conin is but still a child.”

         “But the path he’s chosen will lead to greater hardships.  Isn’t that right, Irongrip?  You may be labeled a ‘dog of the military’ or a ‘devil’, but it was you who chose this path.  Can you afford to be held back by something so small?”

         “’Something so small?’”  Conin asked, tears running down his face, mingling with the rain.  “You’re right.  People may call me a ‘dog’, but I will get my original body back.  But we’re not ‘devils’ or ‘gods’.  We’re only humans.  We can’t even save a single child.”  His voice fell to a whisper.  “We’re just pathetic human beings.”

         He sobbed uncontrollably then, his face in his hands.  The Captain and Darren looked sympathetically at him.  “Go home, get some rest.”  Whispered the Captain.  “You’ll catch a cold."