A Singular Witness

Enemy at the Gates

Everatt Neilson stood outside of an apartment in a non-descript complex that was indistinguishable from the extended stay hotels dotting the service road along the freeway.  He knocked, backing up a few steps as he heard someone approaching on the other side of the door.  A heavy man in rumpled khaki slacks and a sweater covered in cat hair, opened the door.  He waved Everatt in as he turned back around into the recesses of the dimly lit apartment. 

The man was unshaven, and emanated a peculiar scent that recalled odors of cough syrup, mouthwash, and hand sanitizer combined.  The smell in the apartment would have been almost geriatric, were it not for the equally cloying body odor that hung on the air.

In the corner of the living area, multiple large flat screens protruded from the wall opposite the room's one window on the outside world, the blinds of which were darkly colored, and drawn.  Black cords snaked down the wall, connecting each of the screens to the same computer tower, which was chrome with a black metal grid over its front. 

Neilson studied the indecipherable array of data changing from screen to screen as he cleared his voice.  "I am assuming you have something to share Joe, per our arrangement."

"What I dug up on your guy is interesting, if not very informative."  Joe grimaced, scratching his grisly chin.

Neilson frowned.  "I would not have contacted you if I had not already been interested," he seethed.  "I am paying you to garner information, not interest."

"Apparently your guy anticipated that you, or someone, would do something of the sort."  Joe grumbled.

Neilson felt his patience wearing thin.  "Which is why I contacted you, over a decade after one of the most powerful corporations in the world turned up nothing on the man, or his vanishing act."

"You asked me to pay particular attention to any kind of research related to genetics or Azoospermia."  Joe said.

Neilson nodded.  "Which would be a genetic condition precluding someone from passing on any of their own genetic material."  He said in a tired tone.  "Surely you have something more to offer than a rehash of why I believed that services might be of use to me."

"I could not find a single trace of this guy that was not over eighteen years old."  Joe said.

Neilson closed his eyes for a moment, feeling a slight tremor in the muscles in one of his eyelids.  "Nothing.  It is extraordinary that a person could seemingly dissipate, like a lightweight gas when it meets the air.  Most men end up little more than chemical dumps in the six feet of ground reserved for them, which for what it is worth, at least leaves them highly traceable."

"My Mom used to refer to it as 'being in the wind'."  Joe responded, looking at Neilson somewhat uncertainly.

Neilson opened his eyes, staring hard at Joe's heavy outline in the chair before him.  "An apt expression.  Please tell me, now that I know what you have not found, whether you found anything at all."

"This guy Harjo, he is all over a shit ton of research related to genetics.  He apparently pioneered most of the techniques currently in use in DNA origami.  From what I read, the man was actually able to successfully graft a human sperm tail to Nanobots that were capable of self-replicating."

Neilson could feel his breath, hot in his lungs.  "Thank you for summarizing the research Dr. Harjo published while he still worked for me, please tell me you can offer at least a sentence on the subject that I do not already know."

"You'd mentioned that he reassembled old daily logs in the lab, to mask that he stored most of his real research on his own personal tablet.  After eighteen years, it takes some digging to hack any account, but this guy did not have just any account."