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Sun read all of this with great interest, but the interest was slowly giving way to something else.
Paranoia.
Bub was resistant to all disease, fungal, viral and bacterial. His body attacked any invader, whether it be bubonic plague, herpes zoster, ringworm, or even Dutch elm disease, surrounded it with what were assumed to be antibodies, and expelled the intruder from his anus in a crystalline pellet. Meyer even went so far as to inject him with enough anthrax to wipe out a large city. Bub excreted it within twenty minutes.
He wasn't invulnerable to physical harm, but damn near close. Ever since the first doctor drew some of Bub's blood and watched in amazement as the needle mark repaired itself moments later, it had been known that the demon possessed rapidly accelerated healing ability. Meyer and Storky must have been amazed by this, because they spent no less than three years conducting experiments on the anomaly. They poked, gouged, sliced, burned, scraped, and subjected every part of Bub to chemical attack.
Bub could repair all harm, even plugs taken from flesh and bone, within seconds. It happened so fast that they brought in a 35mm film camera to shoot the miracle in slow motion.
Meyer theorized that Bub's endocrine system was extremely advanced. The endocrine system in humans was capable of instantaneous reaction, such as a burst of adrenaline in a dangerous situation. Bub's had developed to the point where it had taken over the healing functions, knitting wounds instantly. Nixon had given the go-ahead to fully amputate one of Bub's limbs, but Meyer and Storky only went as far as a finger tip.
It grew back, longer and sharper than before.
Sun thought of Hercules and the hydra. Every time he cut off a head, it grew two more.
Meyer and Storky also tried to accurately gauge Bub's age. They took a sample of Bub's horn and tried to carbon date it. All living things take in carbon-14, which is created in the earth's atmosphere when the sun's rays strike nitrogen gas. It combines with oxygen to form CO2. As long as the organism is alive, it has a constant new supply of C-14. But in dead tissue, the C-14 begins to decay into nitrogen-14, with a half life of about 5,730 years. Since Bub's horn—made of keratin like hair and feathers—was dead tissue, it seemed ideal for the task.
Something wasn't right, apparently, because the amount of N-14 found in the sample would have put Bub's age at over 200,000 years. Obviously impossible. Meyer hypothesized that since Bub breathed and was able to process nitrogen, that somehow accounted for the high N-14 count. Sun, who never excelled at chemistry, found that explanation suspicious, but easier to believe than the idea that Bub was older than mankind itself.
Along with a record of Bub's medical history, Sun was also sorting through the hundreds and thousands of pictures taken since the project's beginning. Everything and everyone involved in Samhain over the last century had been photographed, filmed, recorded, and videotaped, and more than half of the file cabinets in Red 3 were filled to the brim with visual media.
Somewhere, buried in all of this mess, was the answer she was looking for.
Sun didn't share Dr. Belgium's belief that Bub was some strange, prehistoric missing link. She also didn't share the view of the holies, who believed Bub was a true demon, a spawn of hell.
Sun had a different theory, one she wasn't willing to share yet. Not without proof. Given that the average tenure here was twenty-two years, Sun figured she'd find it eventually. In twenty-two years a person could find anything.
Maybe even peace.
She finished sorting the files in front of her, and then moved on to the next cabinet. It was crammed full of serum and tissue analyses. Sun picked up a thick folder containing an in-depth report on the physical properties of Bub's early stool samples. It didn't surprise her to find out that they contained ample amounts of radioactivity.
The demon was so damn tough, even his droppings were nuclear.
She gave it a cursory flip through and dropped it in the BUB pile.
“Attention, this is Race.”
Sun reflexively looked up at the intercom speaker near the door.
“We have a new arrival, Andrew Dennison, and I think it would be a good time to have a group powwow to get him up to speed on the project. The Mess Hall, in five. Refreshments will be served.”
Race chuckled and cut out.
Sun placed her hands on her lower back and stretched, the vertebrae crackling like a bag of chips. She left the lights on in Red 3 and headed for the Octopus. Her thoughts drifted to Andy Dennison, not for the first time.
Sun thought he was cute, in a non-threatening teddy bear kind of way. He was trying hard to be amusing. The complete opposite of Steven, who was so self-assured and serious. She compared all men to Steven, and they all came up lacking. That was one of the reasons she'd been celibate since his death. Everyone else seemed like a step down.
So what was it about this new guy that intrigued her? Must be hormonal, she decided. She had been completely alone in Africa. Andy was the first man her age she'd had a conversation with in close to a year.
Maybe she should let down her guard a notch, stop acting so hard-nosed. Would it kill her to be personable? He obviously found her attractive. She should be flattered rather than irritated.
But then, she should be a lot of things.
Sun walked through the Octopus and went down the Green Arm. Before entering the Mess Hall she absently reached for her purse to check her hair in her make-up compact. The gesture annoyed her; she hadn't carried a purse or a compact in a long time.
She settled for finger-combing her bangs back, and went into the cafeteria. The holies were already there, locked in their usual intense debate. Dr. Belgium was measuring coffee to put into the automatic maker, his actions as meticulous and precise as they were in the lab. Andy was leaning against the water cooler, hands in his pockets. Sun caught his eye and tried to look sympathetic. He gave her a shy smile back and walked over to her.
“Sorry about...”
“No need,” Sun interrupted. “We've all been there.”
“I haven't thrown up since doing keg stands in college.”
“Where did you go to school?”
“Oh. Harvard.”
He said it as if it embarrassed him. Sun had met plenty of Harvard men, and they usually wore it like a badge of honor. Interesting. 
“How about you?” Andy asked.
“Johns... uh Iowa State.”
“Were you going to say Johns Hopkins? I didn't know they offered veterinary medicine.”
Sun thought fast. “I lived in Maryland, took some undergrad classes there. Transferred to Iowa.”
If he'd caught her lie she couldn't tell.
“Is that what you always wanted to be? A vet?”
“Yeah.” Another lie. “Did you always want to be a linguist?”
“I never really thought about it. It's something I've always been good at.”
“Do you like it?”
“I don't know. I guess I do, or why would I do it, right? Do you like being a vet?”
“Yes,” Sun said, happy to say something honest. “I don't beat myself up if my patients die.”
Andy smiled. He had a pleasant smile, she thought. She smiled back, surprised at how good it felt.
“I'm still not sure if I want to stay,” Andy said. “This isn't a normal translating job for me. I don't know if I can do it.”
“It’s okay to be afraid.”
“I'd bet you've never been afraid of anything in your entire life.”
“Not true. When I was seven, a bat got in my bedroom. Harmless, couldn't have been bigger than a tennis ball. But the way it flew; in a figure eight, unbelievably fast, inches from my face on every pass—it terrified me. Then it landed on my head, got tangled up in my hair. I was so scared I couldn't move. Took about five minutes to get up the guts to scream. Seemed like an eternity.”