Gynomorphs Page 14
Suddenly Neville looked up from his work. “You should congratulate me, Gilmour,” he said, with a slightly sarcastic smile. “Since you were here last I have completed the work of a lifetime and made one of the greatest discoveries ever granted to science.”
He seemed to be in a confidential and talkative humor. He rose from his seat and walked around his desk. “I intend to publish it shortly,” he continued, “but as you are one of our most intimate friends, I think it is only fair that you should be amongst the first to know about the discovery, which will alter the destiny of mankind. Sit down for a minute.”
Arnold sat down and tried to look interested. Inwardly he cursed himself for his lack of courage; he should have stated his business right away, but now his resolution had ebbed and he had let himself in for a lecture on biology.
Anyway, he reflected philosophically, Neville would be easier to deal with after he had had the pleasure of unloading a pile of his pet theories. Nothing could put him in better humor, so Gilmour curbed his impatience, and as he resigned himself to the inevitable, he pondered upon all the things men will do for love.
Chapter III: The Sex Gland
“I think I have told you before of the work and the experiments I have been making in that fascinating study, sexology,” said Professor Neville amiably. Arnold nodded, with a lack of interest quite unnoticed by Neville who was sealing down to his subject.
“Well now, my boy,” continued the older man enthusiastically, “I have brought my experiments to a conclusion, with results such as were beyond my wildest dreams. I will tell you of this shortly, but first, so that you will appreciate my discovery, I must give you a brief idea of the workings of the sex machine.”
Without realizing it, Neville relapsed into his lecture room style and addressed Gilmour as though he were a roomful of students.
“You may be aware,” he said, “that the reproductive organs of both human sexes are built upon a common type. Take an obvious example: the male has rudimentary nipples although he will never suckle his young. It is possible to go through the whole system, part by part, and show how the male and female correspond. Now the early embryo has a generalized system, one that is of neither sex, but containing rudiments capable of developing into either male or female form.”
The Professor paused thoughtfully; he had to choose his words and avoid becoming too technical. “It would take too long for me to tell you what determines sex,” he continued, “so I will be content with saying that it is the appearance of a tissue which injects certain secretions into the blood of the embryo, These substances affect the body, and by enlarging some of the parts and retarding the growth of others, makes them develop into the characteristic type of one sex or the other. But, and this point is most important, just because the subdued organs are not encouraged in their growth, we must not lose sight of the fact that they are still there. Lying dormant, they are never called upon, except in one case in many million, while the whole cycle of life is completed.”
“However, to return to this secretion. It now logically follows that its sex determining powers not only affect the body physically, but mentally. For instance, we have the more gentle and motherly instincts of the female as against the way of the male. Differences of instinct are too obvious to point out. Do you follow?”
“Perfectly, but I don’t see your point,” answered Arnold, now thoroughly bored; physiology was not his hobby.
For a moment Neville’s eyes gleamed. “To some very strange and wonderful facts, my boy,” he said impressively, “I have shown you that before the accident of sex occurs, for accident it is, Nature lays down the physical and mental parts of both sexes. The scales are evenly balanced. It is like a two-way switch; it needs but the injection of a minute quantity of fluid and we have either male or female.
“Now, during experiments, other scientists have found that by grafting certain organs of a chicken to a rooster, the results have been surprising. After a short time, a cock has ceased to crow, its comb and spurs have fallen away, and it has acted in every way like a normal chicken.
“This threw new light upon my inquiries and led me to think that there is still some secretion at work, perhaps, having to preserve the permanence of one sex. I worked upon this for a long time and met many problems. As the embryo reaches maturity, does Nature still have to dominate the latent organs it formerly rejected? Suppose, and I have found that this is what does actually sometimes happen, she should lose control of these organs? The switch would then be thrown over to the other side, and it would not be long before the sex of the person would change completely, and quite naturally, without pain or consciousness!”
The Professor paused, and with a look of quiet pleasure upon his face, he relapsed into profound thought. Gilmour shifted uneasily and brought him back to earth. “But enough of this,” he said apologetically. “I am sometimes apt to forget that I am not holding a scientific discourse. Let me tell you of the results of my work. You know, perhaps, that the study of ductless glands and internal secretions is one of the youngest, and at the present time, one of the most fruitful branches of physiological research—most fruitful, for it was here that I found the answer to my questions.”
Neville’s voice dropped abruptly and his eyes gleamed with a strange light. No longer was he calmly discussing an abstruse scientific question. Almost trembling with excitement, he came up to Gilmour and bent over his chair, speaking quickly right into his face.
“The key to the problem was found in a hitherto unsuspected ductless gland! I found it ceaselessly discharging into the blood a secretion to control the sex. There it is, a thing like thyroxine pituitrin, adrenalin; and without it our sex could change with the seasons. Yes, young man, after years of exhausting research I found it—the sex gland, a gland of my discovery. The Neville gland, I’ve named it. But wait—I’ve done much more than discuss the gland—look at this!”
The Professor turned to his desk, and Gilmour could almost bear him purring with joy as he opened a drawer and produced a small phial, such as are used by chemists. It was corked and contained two or three drops of milky-white fluid. With a trembling hand, he held it out for the younger man’s inspection.
“Look at this,” he breathed reverently; “Six times I tried to isolate the secretion of the Neville gland. Each time I failed, but the seventh time I did it. Can you imagine what this drop of fluid will do, Gilmour?”
“No,” said Gilmour, visibly impressed by the old man’s emotions.
“No, you couldn’t, young man; it is beyond ordinary imagination. After isolating the secretion, it was easy for me to prepare this serum—a mixture that will neutralize it.”
Neville stopped and took a deep breath; his face shone with triumph and he seemed to grow three inches. “Inject this serum into a female and it will neutralize the secretion of the predominant sex. The switch is turned over. Freed from the tyrant, the seedlings of the dormant sex will quickly stir to life. Look at it, Gilmour!”
He put the phial on the desk, and stood looking at it in an attitude of worship. “The Seventh Serum,” he whispered. “A drop in the blood stream and in three or four days it will completely change a woman to a man—both physically and mentally.”
It was his last sentence that confirmed Arnold’s suspicions. At last Neville’s brilliant mind was beginning to fail!
“Good Lord, that’s rather hard to believe, Professor,” he said skeptically, and was immediately sorry that he had been so tactless.
“Hard to believe, but nevertheless quite true,” answered Neville coldly. He returned the phial to the drawer in silence, and Gilmour knew that his remark had finished the discussion. Neville was annoyed; he disliked unbelievers and men who questioned his learning. As Gilmour watched the professor fiddling huffily at his desk, he decided to get back to business. He had wasted enough time, and he had already upset the professor; to ruffle him a bit more would not do much harm.
So he screwed up his courage and with all th
e defiant aggressiveness of youth, he informed Neville of his altered position and his intention of marrying Jeanette as soon as possible. Then he stood back to await the outburst.
Chapter IV: A Change Of Sex
The effect was far from what Gilmour had anticipated. This time there was no smouldering fury, no crushing bitterness. Neville leaned back in his chair, smiled, and became friendly—almost benevolent again.
“Hm, hm, I see, Arnold,” he said thoughtfully, then in almost fatherly tone, “and though I quite understand your desires, I am afraid they are no longer possible.”
“No longer possible,” repeated Gilmour in a puzzled voice, then he became suddenly pale. “Why not? Has anything happened to her?” he cried, rising from his chair, alarmed at the hidden meaning of the words and stricken with all the grim forebodings of a man very much in love.
“Dear me, no,” chuckled Neville as though enjoying a private joke of his own. “Calm yourself. Have you ever thought, Gilmour, that Jean may no longer be in love with you?”
“Oh, that’s ridiculous,” said Arnold impatiently and very uneasily. He was tiring of the old man, and his hate for him was rapidly returning. Neville had disturbed him; his fortnight away from Jeanette seemed years. He wanted to find her and hear her whispered reassurances. “Ridiculous, and for Jeanette alone to decide,” he said, turning towards the door. “Please excuse me, Professor, as I would like to let Jeanette know that I have arrived.”
“Very well, my boy,” said Neville still in amiable tones, “you will find Jean in the laboratory. But remember, should my opinion be correct, I think that you will both be the best of friends, and nothing would please me more so, as I have the greatest respect and affection for you, Arnold,” and with a faint smile upon his face, he returned to his microscope.
The sun shone brilliantly on bottles and instruments when Arnold entered the laboratory. He went into the room quietly, intending to surprise his sweetheart, but his face fell when he saw no sign of her. There was only a young man, evidently an assistant of the professor’s, working at the end of the long room, and too occupied to notice Gilmour’s entrance.
Arnold’s temper rose as he left the laboratory and went over to the Mount House. He was annoyed to find the place quite devoid of servants or gardeners. It irritated him; it made the place feel like a huge deserted ship. He searched in every place where he expected to find Jeanette, and it was only when he reached their favorite spot—the rose garden—that he remembered that his glance around the laboratory had been so brief that Jeanette might have been bending behind a bench or in an alcove when he looked in.
He retraced his steps to the laboratory. This time he walked boldly in and disturbed the young man at his work.
He looked around at Gilmour with a shy smile upon his face, and with a slight shock Arnold saw that his features were so like Jeanette’s that he might have been her brother.
“Hello!” said the youth uncomfortably.
Gilmour greeted him with the impatient suspicion one always has for newly turned up and previously unmentioned relatives. Then he brusquely asked if he knew anything of Jeanette’s whereabouts.
For some reason this question seemed to unnerve the youth, and it had the effect of jerking Gilmour out of his temper. A slight wave of fear passed through his body, a vague hint as though his subconscious mind had already detected some unnamable tragedy.
“Tell me,” he said, gripping the boy’s arm. “What’s wrong with this damned house today? I’ve searched the whole place and there’s neither man nor beast about. Answer me, do you know where Jean is?”
There was silence for a moment; the youth was looking at the bench and Gilmour became suddenly sick when he felt the boy’s arm tremble in his grasp. He knew then that there was horror in this house, horror beyond all human understanding.
The youth turned and looked him full in the face,
“Arnold!” he whispered, and in the boy’s eyes Gilmour saw the vanishing of his dreams—the submerging of a soul, the last few ripples on the water, then a glassy calmness reflecting back his own features. The fight was won and lost.
Gilmour’s mind seemed to shake from its moorings. He was dimly conscious of the memory of Neville’s lecture and his serum, and he slowly released his grip and crumpled against the bench.
“Oh, God!” he groaned with a little sob, and all the age of his ancestors was upon his face. He looked up and down the long room and licked his lips.
“Jean, my darling,” he said simply. “Why did you do this?”
“Oh, Arnold,” cried the youth with pity. “My poor Arnold, I thought father had told you.” He raised his hand to caress Gilmour’s face and Arnold shuddered when he drew it back halfway with the shamed smile a man has at displaying affection for another of his sex.
“My God,” moaned Gilmour tragically; then in frenzy of agony he seized his former sweetheart. “Heaven help me, can’t you understand? This is horrible; have mercy on me. What has the swine done to you, my love? Tell me, Jean. Talk to me! Oh, God, I’m going mad,” he cried, for he was aware of conflict in the youth’s face. The last remnants of his former sweetheart fought to relieve him of his torture. But soon it passed and the stranger had conquered. There was no response to Gilmour’s pleas. There was no one but a youth who pitied him, but with all man’s lack of understanding for a friend in love, he only dimly knew the reason for his emotion.
Suddenly Gilmour stopped. “You are not Jean,” he said, and with a little grunt of hopelessness, he ceased his outburst. From out of his haggard face his eyes turned with the look of a dumb beast whose whereabouts are strange and terrifying. Then ignoring the other, he fell against the bench and sobbed like a child.
Jeanette, his sweetheart, who used to smile up at him with blue eyes full of love, sweet promise of heavenly days, she had gone, gone where no man could find her, wiped clean away into nothing, dissolved in the Seventh Serum!
He became as a child; his brain collapsed at the utter horror of it all. Death was natural; it could be understood in its frightful, final way. But this was like searching in infinity. He could not find her even in the deepest tombs of earth. She was no more. She had been swallowed in frightful inaccessible nothingness! He shuddered and sobbed while the creature who had been his sweetheart looked on with a piteous and puzzled expression upon his face.
After a while, Gilmour’s grief passed and his brain burned dully making him incapable of much thought. His body seemed as if part of it had been blown away. He almost felt as though he could reach down and feel the hole inside himself, He regained his composure and surveyed the young man with bitterness and hate upon his face.
“The Seventh Serum,” he said slowly. “So Neville knew what he was talking about, and he got a son after all. Tell me how he did it.”
The boy told him readily, and as Gilmour listened, he saw how true Neville’s theories were, Jeanette’s former girlish curves had gone; a young man just reaching maturity stood before him. The shoulders had broadened, the chest was flat. His voice was deeper, and Gilmour shivered, when he saw that the boy’s face had been shaved. But the change was not yet really complete, for he still had an air of femininity about him, little ways and habits that he would soon lose.
The professor had been very thorough with the excuse of being deeply engrossed in some experiment, and not wishing to be distracted, he had packed off all his servants. Then, without Jeanette’s consent or knowledge, he had given her the Seventh Serum. As Neville had said, the transformation had been quite painless. Jeanette had changed almost without being aware of it. She had awoken one day with the mind of a man, and then to him he never was a girl. The very idea was ridiculous; he could not even imagine the thoughts of the opposite sex!
“And now you’re a man; you can’t love me, not being a girl. Being a man you may not even like me. Hell, what nonsense it is!” muttered Gilmour, brooding with the blue flame of a Bunsen reflected in his eyes. Then he lost control of himself again.
“I know that it seems mad to you, changing yourself to a girl. But you can; you must! I will do it. The swine will not rob me of my sweetheart. Oh, Jeanette, Jeanette, my darling; please come back to me.”
He cried piteously, and with the look of a hungry animal, he made for the door, but he was stopped by the youth who was alarmed by the look upon his face.
“What are you going to do?” he asked.
Gilmour turned upon him with a snarl. “Stay here,” he said, “and don’t interfere. I’m going to try to bring you back. Do you think I can bear this? You are a man, and if you are one much longer, you unnatural thing. I’ll kill you!”
Chapter V: The Trial Subject
Neville was still at the microscope when Gilmour appeared at the study door, and he was too deeply occupied in his work to be aware of Arnold’s presence, until the latter walked up to the desk and stood looking down at him, cutting off the light. Then he glanced up and sat back as if he had been shot, for he looked into a face that almost froze the blood in his veins!