TERRY LET us in, leading us through the dog pack. Simba was sitting by himself a few feet from the Mole's bunker. His eyes ignored me, tracking Max. Calm, inside himself. Max stepped to the side, hands flowing to a clasp just below his waist. He bowed to the beast. Not in deference- a warrior on another's ground. Simba flashed a lupine grin and strolled off into the darkness.
We went down into the bunker. The Mole was in his chair, lap covered by an artist's pad. The page was covered with sketches of machinery, formulas and equations scrawled from corner to corner. He grunted a greeting, not looking up.
"Would you like some tea?" Terry asked me, making the sign of a cup to the lips for Max. The warrior nodded his head gravely. "You got any ginger ale?" I asked. The kid gave me a look like the Mole does sometimes. Michelle would be proud of him.
We sipped our drinks. The Mole ignored us. Finally, he dumped his calculations on the floor. Terry was waiting with a cup of tea. The Mole nodded his head absently.
"What're you working on?" I asked.
"A computer retrovirus."
"What?"
"Computer virus…you reach a certain point and it eats the data, yes?"
"Okay." I knew what he meant. Pedophiles are really into computers, meticulously recording each victim. They have crash-codes built in. The cops try to access the disc and the whole thing goes down.
"There's a way to use the surge-suppressor…part of the line conditioner…what they plug in to hold the data if there's a power outage…you could use that to eat the virus instead of the data."
"I don't…"
"Another module. It goes in the line conditioner. Then you drop the power, just a little bit, and the suppressor kicks in, finds the virus, and eats it. And gets out without a trace."
"How long would it take?"
The Mole snapped his fingers. "A thousandth of that."
"Damn."
"I'm still working on it. It's not ready."
I lit a cigarette, leaving the pack on the table in case Terry wanted one. He took out his own- I guess they weren't expecting Michelle.
"Mole, you know anything about tumors?"
"What kind?"
"Brain tumors?"
"Yes."
"Could a tumor make a man kill?"
"It's not so simple," he said. Annoyed at having to explain. "It could make a man mad. Irrational. It couldn't make a man different from what he is… just what he does, you understand?"
He watched my face, got his answer. Went on. "Tumor, it's a growth. Different parts of the brain control different functions. A tumor gets in the way. Changes things. Behavior is one of those things."
"Mole, you know Wesley?"
"Only what people say."
"He kills people. That's what he does. I've known him since we were kids. He doesn't have…feelings. You understand? He told me once, you want to kill a man sleeping in a house, you don't go in after him, you set fire to the house. Everybody dies. Makes it hard on the cops. The more bodies, the more motives. You can't be born like that, right?"
"Everybody's born like that."
"What?"
"Everybody. Humans are born into the world screaming for what they want. They feel their own feelings. They have no pack instincts, like dogs. A baby is a monster."
"So a baby raised by wolves, it would be a wolf?"
"It would be a man who behaves like a wolf."
I dragged on my smoke. I could never keep the Mole talking for long. Terry was watching, focused. Maybe the Mole wasn't talking to me.
"Wesley was always like that," I told him. "He never cried, never laughed. He has no fear in him. Nothing in him at all."
"That's not what you said at first," the Mole replied, his eyes impossible to read through the thick smudged lenses of his glasses. "Babies have all those things. Babies learn to feel past their own feelings- that's what we teach them."
"Psychology…"
"This isn't psychology. Not a soft science. Animals adapt or they die. That is a biological law. Sometimes things are left over, vestiges. Like the appendix. We don't need it. Eventually, it will disappear from our bodies. Biology…it's like what Max does…we have to use power, not resist it. Things get left over…we are only here for a short time, so we adapt. Or we die."
"Left over…"
"Sex. That's left over." Terry shifted his posture, dragging on his smoke. "You know the orgasmic curve…different for men than women?"
"You mean it takes them longer to come?"
The Mole's lips tightened primly. "To reach orgasm, yes. Do you know why?"
"The way they're put together…I don't know."
"Herd animals, they mate serially, you understand? There's a fail-safe biological response to every genetic code or the organism dies."
"Come on, Mole. Talk English."
Another annoyed look. "A herd of elk. Mating season. The bucks fight it out. And the winner gets to mate with the entire crop of females, right? That's the genetic code. So the strongest, most powerful stud mates with the females and the babies have the best DNA."
"Yeah…"
"What if the strongest male is sterile? What if he has a low sperm count? What happens then?"
I glanced at Max. The Mole hadn't moved his hands once, but the warrior watched as intently as the kid.
The Mole answered his own questions. "The herd dies off. So the fail-safe kicks in. When the females are in season…when they are in heat…the bucks smell it and they start to fight. The winning buck mates with a female, he discharges his sperm, then he moves off to wait for his power to recharge. But the female, she is still in heat. While the winning buck mates with another, one of the other bucks, one of the losers in the fight, he mounts her too. They all do that. If the first discharge of sperm is potent, the genes from the strongest buck make a baby. But if it isn't, the next one…or the one after that…takes. And they have babies. The strongest babies survive, and the pack lives on. Understand?"
"Okay, but…"
"If the females reached orgasm faster than the males, they would pull away. Animals don't commit rape- the females must be willing. The mating wouldn't be completed. The orgasmic curve is longer. Much longer. Long enough for the first buck, long enough for the bucks to follow."
"That's why women take longer to…"
"Yes."
"So one day they'll get off as quick as we do?"
Something less than a smile ghosted on the Mole's lips. "Yes. In another half million years or so. You won't be around to see it."
I lit another smoke. Thinking about it. How Mercy said money was her lubricant. "Wesley…he adapted?"
"To something. I don't know what."
"How do you know…that he adapted?"
"He has many enemies. And he isn't dead."