BioShock Rapture

Tenenbaum smiled crookedly. “Meanwhile, Ryan pays for Suchong’s expensive lab, yes?”

“Why not let him pay for the big stuff?” Fontaine said, toying with his wineglass. “I’m doing good here—but Ryan controls more resources in Rapture. He’s got deeper pockets. For now.”

“Suchong needs more research money, yes!” said the Korean abruptly. “But also need something else.” He put his hands on his knees, leaned stiffly forward, his eyes washing out behind his glasses as they caught the sea lights from the window. “Yes. We both think of altering human genes. Difficult to do without humans! What Suchong really needs is—young humans! Their cells have very much more possibility. But—everyone crazy about children! Overprotect them!” He made a face. “Vile creatures, children—”

“Don’t much like kids, eh?”

“Suchong grow up in a household where my father is very poor servant, only children there the brats of rich man. They treat me like dog! Children are cruel. Must be trained like animals!”

“Children—all are lost creatures,” Brigid Tenenbaum said softly, her voice almost inaudible.

“You were pretty young when you started working as a scientist, Miss Tenenbaum,” Fontaine prompted. Understand what makes ’em tick, and you can wind up their clock. Set ’em for whatever time you want. “How’d that happen?”

She took a sip of wine, lit another cigarette, and seemed to gaze into another time. “I was at German prison camp, only sixteen years old. Important German doctor; he makes experiment. Sometime, he makes scientific error. I tell him of this error, and this makes him angry. But then he asks, ‘How can a child know such a thing?’ I tell him, ‘Sometimes, I just know.’ He screams at me, ‘Then why tell me?’” She smiled stiffly. “‘Well,’ I said, ‘if you’re going to do such things, at least you should do them properly!’” She took a drag on her cigarette and made a ghostly little smile—and a ghost of cigarette smoke rose from her parted lips as she let the smoke drift slowly out of her lungs.

Suchong rolled his eyes. “She tells that story many times.”

Fontaine cleared his throat. “I don’t know as I can get you the kind of experimental subjects you’re talking about right away, Doc,” Fontaine said. “Might draw too much attention. But what I can get you is some grown-up guys who’ve run afoul of the rules around here. Couple of guys disappear from Detention, who’s going to care? We’ll give out they escaped and got drowned trying to get out of the city.”

Suchong made a single brisk nod. “That can be useful.”

“So—supposing you could find a way to control genes,” Fontaine said, toying with his wineglass. “Is it true what I heard—that genes control how we age?”

Again Suchong said no and Tenenbaum said yes at the same moment.

Suchong grunted in irritation. “This is Tenenbaum theory. Genes only one factor!”

“Genes, they are almost everything,” Tenenbaum said, sniffing.

“But I mean—you could help a man stay young,” Fontaine persisted. “Maybe change his body in some way. Give him more hair, stronger arms, a longer … you know. If we could sell that … and give a guy, I don’t know, more talents … more … abilities.”

“Yes,” Tenenbaum said. “This is something my mentor talked about. To enhance a man’s powers—make him der Übermensch—the superman. A super man—or woman! Many risks in this. But yes. With time—and much experimentation.”

“When Suchong get money and experimental subjects, Mr. Fontaine?” Suchong asked.

Fontaine shrugged. “I’ll get you the first research payment tomorrow. We’ll work out a contract, just between us…”

Fontaine paused, reflecting that if he had to give them shares in the business, it might cost him a lot of money in the long run. But once he had the basic products started, the technology going, he could hire other researchers cheaper. And then he could get rid of Suchong and Tenenbaum. One way or another.

He smiled his best, most convincing, most openhearted smile at them. Never failed to lure the suckers in. “I’ll get you the contract and the money fast—but we’ve got to do it carefully. ‘Free’ enterprise or not—Ryan watches everything…”

9

Lower Wharf, Neptune’s Bounty

March 1953

Chief Sullivan didn’t like being out on the lower wharf when the lights had been dimmed this much. He could still see to get around, but the shadows around the pylons multiplied and seemed to squirm at the edge of his vision. This wasn’t a safe place even in broad “daylight.” A couple of guys had disappeared on this wharf over the past week. One of them had been found, or what was left of him, his body carved up pretty good. Seemed to Sullivan, when he’d examined the body, that those nice straight cuts had been made by scalpels …