Timecaster: Supersymmetry by J.A. Konrath, Joe Kimball Page B

their growth so they would die of old age before being able to reproduce.
    You can guess what happened next; it’s straight out of a cheap science fiction ebook.
    Those microscopic, bloodsucking parasites became giant, armored monsters. Some weighed as much as forty kilos, with carapaces so thick an ax couldn’t penetrate them. But even though they were formidable in battle, as evidenced on one of the top rated TV shows,
Man vs. Byter
, they retained the habits of their genetic forbearers and struck while people were asleep. Their razor-sharp suckers administered an anesthetic, so they could bleed a few pints from you without ever waking you up.
    Even worse, there was ample evidence that after human beings,
cimicidae giganticus
had become the second-most intelligent species on the planet. They could learn. They could communicate. Some byters in captivity could beat people at checkers, though admittedly these people were on the stupid side.
    Sata was a genius. But even geniuses had to sleep. If there was a byter in the house, it only had to stay hidden and wait until Sata was too exhausted to fight back.
    “How long has Alter-Sata kept you here?” I asked.
    “I can only estimate. I’ve been cut off from the outside world. But he stops by randomly, to bring food. Judging by the meals I’ve eaten, and how much weight I’ve lost, I’d say about two weeks.”
    “And the byter hasn’t killed you yet?”
    “This one is particularly clever. It doesn’t take enough of my blood to kill me. So it can continue to feed. Alter-Sata, as you call him, brought it here to keep me weak.”
    Nice. “And it’s in the lab?”
    “Yes.”
    Hypershit. Like everyone in the world, I’d seen episodes of
Man vs. Byter
. The gameshow was genius in its simplicity. A human being is locked into an apartment with a bed bug, and if the person can survive for thirty days, they win a hundred million credits. They’re allowed to bring three things with them, anything from flamethrowers to poison to traps to amphetamines to chainsaws—you name it, someone has thought of it. But nothing has ever worked. In the twenty year history of the show, only one man has ever won, and it is universally agreed upon that the guy got really, really, really, REALLY lucky.
    When the government or private sector exterminators were called in to rid an area of byters, they used a protocol called GAS. Grab And Soak. It involved catching the bug in a carbon nanotube net, and dropping it into a large body of water, letting it drown.
    “Do you have a carbon nanotube net?” I asked.
    “No.”
    “How about a large body of water?”
    He shook his pale, gaunt head. “All I applause.
    &en Satellite.
    ut the p have left are three sofa cushions, and half a loaf of bread.”
    Those probably wouldn’t help much. “How bad are these byters? Really?”
    Sata opened up his kimono, displaying his nude body. It was crisscrossed with so many scars, both new and old, there wasn’t more than a small patch of untouched flesh.
    “It has no vulnerabilities, Talon-kun. I have done all I can, and not made more than a scratch on it. It is incredibly strong and resilient.”
    My leg gave out and I fell to one knee. “I don’t have a choice. I need to try. Do you still have your bogu?”
    “I do, but my kendo armor isn’t strong enough to protect you from an attack.”
    “I’m not going to fight it. I’m going to try something else. Is it male or female?”
    “I didn’t check. But it is quite large, and the male of the species is the larger of the two.”
    “The armor. Please, Sata-san.”
    Sata went off to find his gear. I wiped some dead chickula babies off the DT and did a search for the mating habits of byters. I confirmed what I’d suspected, which didn’t make me happy, but at least reassured me that my insane plan could work.
    “When I distract it, get into the lab and find the antidote,” I told Sata when he returned with the bogu.
    “Talon-kun, even if you get