Puzzle Pieces III

Tremors: the Subtext #19

by Setcheti

 

Rating: FRT:MV,MP,SLC

Disclaimer:  I don’t own Tremors, because if I did the series would STILL BE ON THE AIR.

 

Cletus Poffenberger bent a little farther over the microscope he was using, giving himself a moment to hide the expression of shock he knew had just exploded all over his face.  The molecules on the slide before him, magnified several thousand times to make them visible, were arranged in a double helix pattern that at first glance did not look at all remarkable – they looked like a DNA sample, which they were.  To even the eyes of most geneticists, the DNA ‘ladder’ on view would seem normal, perfectly normal.

 

But Cletus Poffenberger wasn’t most geneticists.  And he had worked with several men who weren’t most geneticists either, including one whose pet theory revolved around the evolution of DNA over time – not human evolution, but rather a way to estimate the age of a DNA sample by measuring miniscule changes in the ladder’s ‘rungs’.  Cletus had helped check over the man’s data more than once, and had eventually gotten to the point where he could see the changes they were looking for where before he wouldn’t have seen anything at all.

 

And because of that, he was seeing some now.  In the sample on his current slide.

 

The sample taken from one Malcolm Reed.  A sample which was currently mocking Cletus by showing variations consistent with a few hundred years difference from the other samples he’d been studying.  Nancy’s.  Burt’s.  Larry’s.

 

Tyler’s.

 

Whoever Malcolm Reed was, no matter that they had the same last name, he wasn’t Tyler Reed’s cousin.  Cletus had already considered and discarded the idea that Malcolm might be a future descendant or past ancestor of Tyler’s; their DNA didn’t even have enough in common for that, there was no way in hell the two of them were actually blood related.

 

So who was Malcolm Reed?  Where had he come from?  And why had Tyler and Burt both lied for him?

 

First, Cletus decided to verify what he’d seen in the DNA – it had been a long time, he knew it was possible he was reading the sample wrong.  So he gathered up digital printouts of DNA taken from the dead Cyobactyl, ‘accidentally’ gathering up a picture of Reed’s at the same time, and then he picked up the phone and called his old acquaintance, Dr. Ronald Jeffa.  He’d called Jeffa a few times in the recent past to ask his opinion on the DNA structure of something Mixmaster had created, so he knew the contact wouldn’t arouse anyone’s suspicions.

 

Dr. Jeffa was glad to hear from him, as usual; very few people in the scientific community were privileged to be included in the research that was being done in Perfection Valley, and even though he couldn’t talk about it with his colleagues Jeffa knew that Cletus always saw to it that his contributions were properly footnoted in Dr. Matthews’ reports.  He suspected as soon as he saw the third page, however, that this time he wasn’t going to be getting a mention for today’s contribution.  And after taking a better look at it, he knew for sure that he wouldn’t be.

 

Cletus waited on hold while Jeffa went back to his desk – or at least while he said that was what he was doing.  When the music clicked off he said, “Well Ron?  Now that you’ve got your coffee, what do you think?”

 

There was a theatrically exaggerated slurp, and paper shuffled.  “I’m amazed this thing survived at all,”  Jeffa told him.  “Its DNA is a mess, even for Mixmaster.  Some of it’s showing recessive, some could be projecting a couple hundred years…oh, by the way, you’ve got a slide in here that doesn’t belong with the others.  Making a mess on your desk again, Clete?”

 

“You know me too well, Ron,” Cletus chuckled, playing along.  “I probably scooped up something from the resident profiles we’ve been doing, the allergy thing, remember?  Just shred it.”  He smiled, knowing that Jeffa would be doing no such thing.  “I tell you what, take a good look at those Cyobactyl slides and get back to me if anything leaps out at you, okay?  I want to finish up those allergy profiles, never know when we’ll get another run of mutated pollen blowing through.”

 

“And this is exactly why I never come to visit you,” Jeffa told him.  “I just don’t think my hay-fever meds are up to the task of counteracting two hundred year future-evolved pollen – not to mention that I’d probably get eaten by something genetically unsavory the minute I stepped out of my car.”

 

Cletus snorted.  “I wish I could say you’re being paranoid, but I guess it isn’t paranoia if the monsters really are waiting around to eat you.”  He made small talk for a few more minutes before ending the call, then sat at his desk and stared at the slide.  Two hundred years, future-evolved – his friend’s covert reference to the clandestinely sent DNA slide had corroborated his own conclusion.  Malcolm Reed was from somewhere around 200 years in the future.  Cletus had already considered and discarded the idea that the younger man was some sort of genetic experiment; his DNA showed natural and it just wasn’t scientifically possible to fake that.  Not to mention that the fancy ray gun he had with him was way beyond anything Cletus had ever heard of.  Probably because the technological breakthroughs that had led to its development hadn’t happened yet, and the man who was currently carrying it around wouldn’t be born for another century or two.

 

Did Burt and Tyler know?  Cletus had to wonder.  Burt loved the ray gun, it was the only weapon in the valley other than El Blanco that could take out a Cyobactyl with one shot.  Burt might have been willing to trade access to the gun for keeping silent about Malcolm Reed’s secret…but one, Burt wouldn’t be so relaxed around Reed if there was any kind of blackmail involved, and two,  Reed all-too-obviously was happy to be there so the idea that he’d been coerced into sticking around didn’t hold much water.  And the Englishman wasn’t nosy enough to be a spy, although the rumors going around town that he was some sort of ex-military special-ops agent might suggest otherwise.  Unless he’d ‘retired’ and left the game, which could explain why Burt might lie for him – Burt hated spooks and would be fully approving of one switching careers – but wouldn’t even begin to explain why Burt would trust him around Tyler – again because Burt hated spooks and would never in a million years trust one in his home or with his lover, retired or not.

 

Cletus thought about it for a moment more, then put Malcolm Reed’s sample back in with the other residents’ and finished filling out his part of the paperwork for the files.  No genetic abnormalities found, he scrawled in the appropriate box. It wasn’t a lie; Reed’s genetic profile was clean, no matter how far future-evolved his DNA happened to be.  Cletus thumbed back through the rest of the file idly.  Personal information recorded, check.  Biometric data collected, check.  Medical records obtained…hmm, no medical records available, although Roger had apparently done a few cursory tests there in the lab in order to get a baseline and had questioned Reed about his medical history.  There was a note in the file indicating that Roger planned to check with an allergist later to see what other sensitivities might go hand in hand with an allergy to pineapple, but other than that everything about Reed seemed to be boringly normal.

 

Human beings apparently wouldn’t be changing much over the next two hundred years.  Cletus didn’t know whether that made him happy or depressed, or maybe a little bit of both.  What he did know, however, was that he wanted to know more.  And that the only way to find out what he wanted to know, was to just come right out and ask.

 

So now he just had to decide who to ask first…