- Working at KSC
- NASA Old Headquarters building on KSC destroyed.
- Flintknapping points
- On going writing projects
- Vampires of Kennedy Space Center and the O&C
- Demons of Kennedy Space Center
- Demons of Kennedy Space Center, corpus callosotomy
- Ghosts of Kennedy Space Center, End of Spiders
- Dreams of Kennedy Space Center, lovers and pyramids.
- Witches of Kennedy Space Center
- Cave Bears of Kennedy Space Center
- Aliens of Kennedy Space Center, uninvited guests
- Remembering Kennedy Space Center
Gene Splicer of Kennedy Space Center
It is Love
This is another tale of the Kennedy Space Center's multiverses, both in the distant past and the far future.
Follow ghosts, demons, gods, AIs, tourists, DNA experiments, vamps, and witches as they travel the multiverse only to discover their interconnections as allies and enemies across an endless history or future.
Every story is the true story.
Gene Splicer of KSC
“So you and the clone Marc17 have been pulled off the Mars colonization project? The ship Halcyon, ahh, you youngsters called it Falcon Fire? Halcyon has just lost an excellent first mate in that clone 17. That is what the inter-planet net chatter gossip says.”
The gene-splicer stopped to inspect Ophelia as if Vamp hybrids were incapable of simple tasks.
“And you? “You have made a stir with your simple berry-pad getting near the size of the universe.”
No, not a ‘near’ measurement, she did not say aloud.
“It appears NASA has found some value in you two,” said the gene-splicer.
“We shall see. The Mars trip was one way for you two. You must be aware of simple gravitational effects. Once the colonists have become acclimated to the light Martian gravity, they can never return to the crushing blue skies of Earth.”
Ophelia knew the trip was one way; however, she was destined to go wherever the chip in her brain instructed. The Valles Marineris colonies were experimenting with the native algae living in the protected walls of the great canyon and possible thermal vent life.
“Hmmm,” said the Gene-Splicer, catching Ophelia daydreaming about her hours of training in spaceflight training and exobiology.
“Pay attention to surroundings when at NASA Center locations!”
The absurd little figure of the Gene-Splicer grimaced at the beaker bottle set over a blue flame and inspected a dusky liquid just coming to a boil.
“You are my new assistant; I will teach you to create glorious things.
Not many years back, we were stunned at the simplicity by which we could break and recombine the DNA of any two or a dozen creatures. The double helix is shattered forever. For example, the viable human-rat chimeras that NASA seems to love so much for their experiments. -Contravention of law whatever.”
The Gene-Splicer took the beaker off the flame and re-inspected his new assistant. She was pretty in that pasty vamp way with a hint of red hair. He licked his lips; his friends at NASA Headquarters would provide him access to her chip control.
“Vamps and human hybrids can often reproduce without the assistance of my science, indicating the two had a common ancestor or even possibly are the same species who took variable hunting evolutional paths. Whatever,” said the gene-splicer.
Ophelia, as a captive Vamp-Hybrid, had spent her life in training, and the information was not any revelation; in fact, it was considerably dumbed down to pup-level entry training.
“We breeders are taking the necessary precautions to follow state and federal guidelines to ensure escape-proof living quarters in the VAB.”
The Gene-Splicer stopped at the door with a rotating biohazard sign. The sign flashed, “Secure area,” and “Are you feeling well today?”
“Please read and acknowledge on your berry pad,” instructed her guide.
Kennedy will continue to monitor local conditions and implement mitigations as necessary. You can help keep Kennedy a safe place to work by frequently washing and sanitizing your hands, maintaining physical distance when possible, and staying in cells if you experience any illness or come into contact with anyone with these symptoms.
Ophelia signed the standard statement on her pad.
The unspoken acknowledgment across the space center was that the ill never returned from their cells.
The Gene-Splicer ran his card through the door scanner; the sign changed to “Electromagnetic Interference (EMI) emitting devices are Prohibited within secure areas.”
They walked into an immense room with glass walls, a large cage-no, a large aviary? No, they looked upon a giant prison.
The woman-thing in the aviary exchanged surreptitious glances with Ophelia before weeping copiously.
“Tears, so touching and warm, the poetry of life without any laborious exercise of the understanding or transcendental musings,” said the Gene-Splicer.
“Let me introduce you with peculiar pleasure to my wife.”
Ophelia was confused and disconnected with.....
The implication began to run through her, the implications; she did the mental calculations.
“I have been blind,” she wailed at below the human normal range of hearing.
She had been blind, yet it had been in front of her all along.
Marcus, the astronaut, and the clones Marc 2-Marc136, DNA experiments.
Ophelia, the vamp hybrid, stared into the bird cage at Ophelia, the something? An early test of Mars colonists?
“Let me introduce you to my wife, Opi,” said the gene-splicer. He was puffed up like a bantam rooster.
“Opi created the keenest sensation at NASA Headquarters when I showed her off for the first time. The directors were full of aches and wonder. I recognized it. Not the beauty of my art but something more primal-we will not go into that.”
Ophelia leaned against a computer monitor that was replaying science-wedding nuptials. Ophelia, her world spinning, flickered in and out of vamp hunting camouflage, matching the computer desk and monitor.
The Gene-Splicer took no notice.
“When I returned from NASA Headquarters with Opi, I knew what had to be done. I wooed her from her pleasant cell and to a net-based wedding altar; Opi, my fair young bride with curved and slender wings a span of from thirteen to fourteen feet, endowed with genetic control of enzymatic pathways to absorb Martian microorganisms so to when needed become a self-sustaining colonist of the red planet.
Heart of hearts, with the persuasion of the implant in Opi’s head, and with her wing affectionately wreathed about me, she said, “I do!”
The computer monitor played the events after the “I do,” and Ophelia turned away before she murdered her new instructor.
A growing rage that she had never before experienced.
“The chip in her head prevented any folly of engaging in sanguinary resistance to be my wife,” said the Gene-Splicer.
The lady with wings, who also Ophelia wept bitterly.
At length, Ophelia asked, “How do you feed your wife? Flight except when simply soaring on thermals requires a large caloric intake.”
“Of course, I feed her a large protein-rich, blood-rich diet. Often, we share our meal times, and I explain my next projects. Sharing our time together is called love, my dear,” said the Gene-Splicer.
“With her chip engaged in free-action mode?” asked Ophelia.
The Gene-Splicer chuckled, “Not exactly; I have programmed her, this button here, see? When entering or leaving her cage, ahh, our home, I have programmed her for Grand-Mal Seizures with lucid dreaming—the oddest things. I often had to ask her to explain some of those dreams. Using her brain implant, all the dream stories, as odd as they are, are recorded on this storage unit.”
The Gene-Splicer held up a thumb driver he wore around his neck, an Eye-of-Horus symbol embedded on the ceramic shell of the drive.
“Of course, I only cherish and comfort her with immobility locked, but the seizure control off. An expression of love,” said the Gene-Splicer.
Ophelia fumed and raged; carmine flashes rolled across her eyes.
The bird-bat-Ophelia slightly uncurled her wings; her eyes flashed carmine. The two Ophelias met each other’s eyes, a dawning comprehension of strangers who were not quite strangers.
Against all training, rules, and secret taboo, Ophelia, the vamp-human hybrid, used her voice, the secret, never to be used even on the point of death talent possessed by the hybrids, of which the very knowledge of the existence of the voice would cause panic in the world of humans and possible extermination of all hybrids; Ophelia said: “Give me the thumb drive and go inside the cage to comfort your wife.”
The Gene-Splicer handed over the Eye-of-Horus thumb drive and said, “Excuse me, but my wife needs me. It is love, you see?”
“I will leave now. Gene splicing is not for my tastes,” said Ophelia.
The Gene-Splicer said, “Please leave; gene splicing is not to your tastes,” said the splicer.
“Before entering the air shower, check the O2 monitor for acceptable O2 readings. Clean shoes using the tacky mats and shoe cleaners available in the change-out room. Both the high bay and low bay areas are maintained under positive pressure and rated as 100K and 300K Clean Work Areas, respectively,” said the Gene-Splicer.
His last words.
Ophelia closed the door before the crimson splashed on the transparent walls.
It was love, she knew.
Other tails of the Space Center:
Vampires of Kennedy Space Center
Demons of Kennedy Space Center
Demons of Kennedy Space Center, corpus callosotomy
Ghosts of Kennedy Space Center
Dreams of Kennedy Space Center
Aliens of Kennedy Space Center
Director of Kennedy Space Center
Hitchhikers of Kennedy Space Center
Witches of Kennedy Space Center
Cave Bears of Kennedy Space Center
Chimeras of Kennedy Space Center
Gods of Kennedy Space Center and the Nile
Dinosaurs of Kennedy Space Center
Kayakers of Kennedy Space Center
Remembering Kennedy Space Center
Shadows of Kennedy Space Center
Starman of Kennedy Space Center
Gate Jumpers of Kennedy Space Center
Allies of Kennedy Space Center (Pt 2 of Gate Jumpers
Savants of Kennedy Space Center
Gene Splicers of Kennedy Space Center
Ferals of Kennedy Space Center
Return HOME from Gene Splicers of Kennedy Space Center page
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Author Bruce Ryba at Kennedy Space Center Launch Pad 39B & Artemis 1. "We are going to the Moon!"
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