Free The Life of the World to Come by Kage Baker Page A

will be given ordinary human life spans. No immortality process for them. That way if there’s a flaw in the design, we can dispose of the mistake. Nothing that might come back to haunt us later.”
    “I’d better go back to the old Homo crewkernensis stuff, then, if you want it engineered. Lots more material to work with.” Ellsworth-Howard kneaded the buttonball and the image of a four-stranded DNA helix appeared on the screen. He began moving its segments about, doodling as it were with the material of life.
    “Remember that now you’ll need something with a human face,” Chatterji told him. “No Neanderthal, obviously. And, er, see if you can eliminate that berserker tendency the Enforcers had. We want a man who can kill, but not somebody who enjoys it quite as much. Program in a bit of compassion. Of course,” Chatterji glanced at Rutherford, “that’ll be your job.”
    “The Once and Future King, born of a vanished race,” chanted Rutherford. “The Messiah. The Superman. The Peaceful Warrior. The Hero with a Thousand Faces!”
    “Don’t talk such rubbish.” Ellsworth-Howard squeezed in a formula and tilted his head, considering the results.
    “It’s not rubbish. This is what I’m paid to do, remember? You develop his body, I’ll develop a psychological formula he can be programmed with, and we’ll produce something wonderful.” Rutherford seized up the jug and poured out a second round. They were raising their tankards for a toast when there came a horrifyingly loud commotion at the door. Chatterji and Rutherford turned, half expecting to see a mob of furious Enforcers brandishing stone axes. They beheld instead a trio of municipal firemen in yellow slickers.
    “ Get it out ,” said the tallest, striding toward them with an air of command. The other firemen were carrying silver canisters, with which they proceeded to extinguish the fire.
    “Right,” snarled the tall fireman. “You’re all under arrest for violation of municipal fire code three-seventeen subset five, paragraph one. And I’ve a special treat for the idiot who set the blaze in the first place. Got a jolly straitjacket warmed up just for you! Right, then, which of you did it?”
    “This—this is bloody outrageous,” said Rutherford. “I have a permit for this fire, sir!”
    “Oh, have we now?” The fireman thrust his face down close to Rutherford’s own.
    “I do so!” Rutherford backed away slightly but did not quail. “This is a historical building and we are licensed re-creators.”
    “Are you indeed? Where’s your tourists, then?” the fireman sneered. Chatterji put a hand on the fireman’s shoulder and pushed him back. The fireman grinned like a shark, preparing to roar the command that would have clapped Chatterji in restraints; but something about Chatterji’s expression stopped him cold.
    “I don’t think you know who we are,” said Chatterji. “This is a professional matter.” He pulled out a little silver case and extracted an identification disc, which he held out for the fireman to see. The fireman blinked twice and stared at it. His face went rather pale.
    “You should have said something!” he said. “Sorry—sorry, sir! Never happen again, sir. I’m a stockholder of yours, actually, sir, we’d have never in a million years thought of interrupting your work. Now we know you’re doing this sort of thing on the premises … just get their fire going again, lads, and least said soonest mended, eh?”
    “Fair enough,” said Chatterji. Rutherford collapsed into his chair, blinking away angry tears. Ellsworth-Howard continued to frown at his screen, kneading the buttonball distractedly, ignoring the firemen as they hurriedly cleaned out the grate and relit the fire. Once the flame had leaped up again they vanished as quickly as they’d arrived.
    “I hate this bloody century,” quavered Rutherford.
    “Oh, you don’t really,” Chatterji told him brightly. “Did
you see the way that fellow