Light Plays











Book Two of The Light Play Trilogy





by N. D. Hansen-Hill





Dedication









To Jeanne and Byron

***
Light Plays


A life-dance rotates on Earth's thin crust,
Sun's rich reign 'tween conception and dust
Which has more force in the overall plan?
The endurance of plants or the ego of man?
*
When light waves beckon 'neath Sol's hot light
When man must answer to radiant might,
Is it really a gift to produce such wealth,
So physically binding, so surrounded by stealth?
*
If the method employed is a harmful vector,
And the end product ope to abuse and hector,
What point, what cost, what debt the change,
How harmful the product, how inhuman and strange?
*
Would the victim ever accept his loss,
Turn sorrow to hope, coat anguish with gloss?
What of uncertain side-effects,
The type that the human mind rejects?
*
To be cast out of body, in a form much stranger,
Perceived as a demon, a potential danger,
With life force held but by silver thread,
Does one live like this, or prefer to be dead?
*


by N. D. Hansen-Hill
***

Foreword - Light Play

Book One


        Dr. Caroline Denaro is the woman of Rick Lockmann's dreams - his most macabre nightmares. When she touches him, she gets under his skin - literally. Within days he realises his life will never be the same.
        Her spectral appearance belies the potency of her touch. A touch that carries both viral and plant gene sequences. Rick doesn't realise it - at first - but his body is changing. As the days go by, Rick seeks the source of his infection: the remnants of Caroline Denaro's genetic research. Only by understanding what she has enacted, can he have any hope of changing the outcome for himself - or her.
        Rick is sick - nearly unto death. His contact with Denaro has infected him with Wound Tumour Virus (WTV), a plant virus that has never before attacked humans.
        Rick's illness has not gone unnoticed. Genetechnic, Denaro's employer, removes him from the hospital and sequesters him within their complex. His mutation is both a subject for study, and a source of potential social backlash.
It doesn't take long for Genetechnic to realise, however, that his antibodies are the most valuable resource of all. Rick may have recovered from the virus, but Denaro has not. She has begun to act as a viral vector, and is spreading a deadly form of the virus throughout the complex. Psychopathic and vengeful, she destroys everyone she can touch, from her own doctor, to Genetechnic's most hardened defenders.
        It's up to Rick to stand against her, but he doesn't do it alone. The Defensive Security Office (DSO) has been called in to challenge Genetechnic's questionable research. Rick's closest friends - horrified by what has been done to him - have also contrived a rescue mission of their own.
        Denaro's reign of terror is complicated by an unexpected byproduct of the plant and virus genes circulating through her system. Her body has succumbed to the foreign proteins - but has rejected part of her own mortality as a result. Caroline Denaro's spirit is repeatedly shunted from her ailing body. As time goes on, and her body deteriorates, her out-of-body self learns to manipulate her environment, in order to gain some degree of physical presence. It was this extra-corporeal being which infected Rick initially - and it is this Denaro he must also challenge.
Rick defeats her, using the strength, speed, and healing ability that are products of his mutation. Denaro dies, and eventually, Rick recovers fully.
His problems are not over, however. His life can never be the same as it was. Rick Lockmann is now photosynthetic. Not only are his physical needs different, but he has to come to terms with his mutant status - and the knowledge that he harbours the world's most valuable DNA within his cells.
***

Prologue
        

        Rick stood under the moonlight and stared at the brilliant skies. He was enjoying a sensation of peace, while watching the almost frenetic activity taking place overhead.
        His eyes picked up the changes in the light waves as they were jettisoned across the heavens, to finally impact on the rod and cone cells of his vision. Unlike other people - who saw only velvet skies with pinpoint stars and the occasional cloud - Rick saw layers, arcs, and angles of light, that blended and glitzed the skies. Overlapping streams of multi-coloured radiance: cooler, but every bit as potent, as the lights of day.
        It was the wildness of the shifting wavelengths that stirred him - the ever-moving restlessness that appealed to his own energy surges. The heavens were never still, and he knew his keepers couldn't understand why he derived so much pleasure from looking at what was, to them, a dark sky. It was the price of his mutation, that even though he'd been given new depths of perception, it was something he couldn't share - something he alone could appreciate. Other people didn't possess the equipment to see things as he did.
        Rick suddenly realised how lonely he was. Despite the almost continuous inquiries about his health and well-being, the weight of his bodyguards' eyes on his back, and the visits from his well-meaning friends, he stood separate - and alone. No more casual invitations, no more dropping by to watch or do things, no more fun. He didn't know whether it was because they were afraid of overrunning his metabolic imbalances, or the size of the retinue that lagged behind him wherever he went - or maybe, it was just that, somehow, in the making of this new Rick, they'd forgotten him as a person. Maybe now they saw him as something else.
        Hell, the last time he'd had any fun, it'd been to shoot a dawn game of basketball with Cole, and even that had been orchestrated to try to find out what he had planned for his future. Well-meaning of course, but the outing had lost something after that. If anything, it had made him feel more isolated, because up until then he'd been hoping he might make his future at least partly match his past. A month ago he never would have guessed that the sound of a basketball thudding in his hall might be the most welcome reprieve in the world. A reprieve from his thoughts, from his separateness, from what he'd become.
        So, he stood alone in his yard, seeing what only he could see, and forcing himself to focus on the way the light waves rode the skies. Even when the stars appeared as shards of glitter, and the moon was fatly placid, breathy gusts would stir the tranquil image, and turbulence would lie waiting on the next spin of the orbiting globe.
        So much movement. Of clouds and moon, wind and light. Each star glinting through its ever-changing dance of colour. And, through it all, the earth swirled, even as the moon rolled across the heavens. The kinetics of the scene grounded him - somehow helping him to take his own frantic energy bursts in stride.
        Here, he was just one more piece of the turmoil. Of the eternally energetic litter cluttering the night.
He smiled.
When he was underneath the stars, it wasn't so hard to admit what he'd been lacking for the past month. Something that everyone's keen observation and concern had stolen from him - simply because it had made him feel less than human. Being out here, he was made to feel that he had a place in the universe. He began to feel that once more, he belonged.
***

Chapter One


The freezer units were unguarded. During the day, this area was well-patrolled, but at this time of night, the only eyes were at the end of electronic tethers. There were electronic surveillance units everywhere.
        He'd been assured that the situation was controlled - that the surveillance cameras would be watching him with blind eyes. They'd thought it would be a matter of great importance to him. The truth was, he felt no qualms about dismantling the cameras, any more than he'd feel qualms about murdering any human opposition that came his way. He was going about the devil's work anyway, so if the price was worth your damnation, there was no point in half measures.
        Her remains had been sequestered: her parts savaged and scattered throughout the freezer units in the name of science. He'd already been warned about the damage her body had undergone - the multiple gunshot wounds that had changed her from monster to corpse.
        It didn't matter. They'd warned him so he wouldn't be shocked by the condition of her remains - so that he'd recognise her when he'd found her. How could they think he'd ever be able to forget the way she'd looked? The distortions that would be easily recognisable as long as there was a centimetre of skin left. As long as there was a gram of tumorous tissue to pass as flesh.
        Fools! This was nothing. He'd already endured the worst, and chopping her up further would only give him pleasure. Mutilation would act as a form of vengeance.
        He found her. The chills from the deep freeze were no worse than the chills she'd given him in life. The thought gave him pause. Should he do this? Should he take the chance on re-creating something that should never have existed in the first place?
        It was as deep as his thinking went. There was nothing for him without his work - without the thrills and edginess that kept him honed. It nurtured the evil that lurked within - the crimes against humankind that others were willing to commit, so long as only their minds, but never their hands, wreaked the damage. It justified his existence, somehow. As their tool, he was useful - and well paid.
        Tazo Raeiti performed his first surgery for pay. It was a messy job, but at least there was no bloodshed. He double-wrapped his trophies, and prepared to go. But first, he took a look around, to ensure that he'd left no traces of his work. He hadn't needed to take out the surveillance units after all.
        They'd discover what he'd done, but only when they came to do the devil's work themselves - and it might take them a while longer yet to get up the courage.
        With a dark smile, Raeiti placed his burden within the ice-pack, and crept back the way he'd come.
*
        Cole turned the key in the ignition, and listened, with a Cheshire cat grin, to the throaty response. The Rumbler was ready for action, and so was he. All action, and nowhere to spend it.
        What he really wanted to do was visit Rick. Dr. Dung was supposed to be returning to his lab on Monday, to ferret through his plant fungus. Cole shook his head. Whatever it was Rick saw in all that plant stuff was beyond him. Though now - Cole's face sobered at the thought - he knew Rick had more of an interest in it than ever. Cole just hoped that, given his new genetic make-up, Rick wasn't going to pick anything up from his sick plants.
        About three blocks from Rick's, Cole pulled the Rumbler over to the curb, and sat for a minute, drumming his hands on the steering wheel. He wasn't so sure Rick was going to welcome his visit. The last time he'd shown up on his doorstep, Rick had glowered at him.
        He'd mentioned it to Simon, and Simon had looked pensive for a minute, then frowned almost as darkly as Rick had. "We're pushing him, Cole," he'd said.
        "Pushing him?" Cole had asked incredulously. "How can a little concern for his well-being be 'pushing him'?"
        "Because, you ass, he doesn't get any time to himself. And he never gets any quality time with any of us."
        At the phrase "quality time", Cole had tuned out. He would have snorted with derision if he wasn't already thinking about Simon's other comment - regarding "time to himself". Hell, what did Rick need more time for? He wasn't doing anything right now. Or, he wouldn't be, until he went back to work.
        Cole thought of the endless stream of people - predominantly female - who poured through his own life. He told Simon, "Bullshit. Rick doesn't even have a girlfriend." Cole saw the look in Simon's eyes, and quickly added, "He didn't have a girlfriend before this happened, Simon. You know he's saving himself for 'Daphne'. What I'm saying is: Rick has more time alone than I do, and I manage all right."
        Simon lifted an eyebrow. "You think so?"
        "Sure. I manage just fine -"
        Simon gritted his teeth. "I was referring to Rick. Between his little trips to the hospital, visits from the three of us, calling cards from Hylton, phone calls about his health, and agents watching him -"
        "He has agents watching him? Why haven't I seen them?"
        Simon looked at him pityingly. "You weren't supposed to see them." He gave a wry smile. "But Rick knows they're there."
        Cole looked disgruntled. "So come to the point, Spy-man. Or is there one to all this?"
        "The point is: Rick's so stressed that he's about to run. And I don't know what they'll do to him if he does."
        Cole hadn't slept well after that. Here it was - Saturday - the day when (until a month ago) he usually went over and bugged Rick. The day he dragged him away from all his science crap and made him do something a little more healthy. Only, now he didn't feel comfortable doing it. Because he might be driving Rick away. Literally.
        And that's what Cole was afraid Rick would do. Run. Simon was right. Between Cole's phone calls, and Jason's "visits" - that were really more medical assessments - and Simon's casual inquiries about his health, Rick looked ready to bail.
        Cole couldn't say exactly what time of the night he'd decided Simon-the-Spy knew what he was talking about. Cole had thought he knew Rick better than any of them, but he had to admit Simon probably knew more about people living on the edge. If anyone had an edge to his existence, it was Dr. Richard Lockmann.
        That edginess was part of the reason Cole had taken to hovering around Rick's place on his off hours. Now, he had to admit, he'd probably been bugging the shit out of Rick just to keep track of him. Cole tried to tell himself he was doing it for Rick, but sometime during the night he acknowledged the truth: the thing with Denaro had just been so goddamned scary. And - Cole grinned - so goddamned heroic. Not only was he drawn to Rick because of their old friendship, and a brotherly need to protect him from the side-effects of the world's strangest metabolism, but there was an element of danger surrounding Rick that Cole couldn't resist. Everyone wanted Richard Lockmann - from the Defensive Security Office (DSO) to the Genetechnic leftovers to God-knows-who-else. Hell, half the genetics labs in the world would probably love to spend a week with him - or his bodily parts. Cole wanted to be involved in some way - to be one of the people to act if someone tried to trespass on Rick's DNA.
        Cole climbed out of the Rumbler and began to jog. This way, if he doesn't want to see me, I can always pretend I was just passing by. He knew Rick wouldn't be fooled for an instant, but he hoped it might make him feel less pressured.
        He'd come Rick's way this morning determined to put things back the way they'd been. Or, at least, as close to the way they'd been as Rick's weird genes would allow. He had this idea that Rick would appreciate his attempt to bring things back to normal - and quit all this namby-pamby coddling shit about his health.
        Cole grinned. If he handled this right, Rick would not only be glad to see him, but excited about what he had in mind. He'd get Simon and Jace involved again, too. Hell - despite his calm exterior, Jace was a maniac when it came to this stuff - the damned storm chaser. Give the man a CG (cloud-to-ground strike) or a CC (cloud-to-cloud) to photograph, and sane Jace went off his nut.
        Cole was still a few driveways away when he changed his mind. All this would probably seem dull to Rick now. He saw things differently through those crystalline eyes of his. And, hell, he'd been through so much, everything else would seem tame. Cole made a few more excuses, but what he was really worried about was that he'd be the trigger - the one to set Rick off, so he couldn't stand it any more. Cole knew he wasn't always the most tactful person, and he was afraid - after Simon's warning - that he'd push Rick just enough to lose it. And, if Rick were to run, nobody would find him.
        Cole knew the DSO were confident they wouldn't have any trouble - that they'd be able to find Rick, wherever he went. Which was the only reason they let him stay free - because they were sure they could get him back. That's if he took himself off, of course. If someone else took him, then it'd be a different story.
        Cole had thought it through as he tossed and turned the night before. That was the main reason the DSO was watching Rick. To keep someone else from getting him. Until they could think of a use for his so-called "skills".
        Cole was just as sure that - if Rick wanted to disappear - the DSO wouldn't stand a chance. Rick was too smart and too fast. The only time they'd have an opportunity to nab him was at night, when Rick dropped into that semi-comatose sleep of his.
        Cole sighed. Sometime during his sleepless night, he'd made it his mission to make Rick realise he really didn't want to run. If Rick took off - and Cole knew this as strongly as he knew Rick could evade the DSO if he chose - he'd die. Because Rick had never paid attention to things like eating and sleeping when he was engrossed in a project. Sooner or later, Dr. Richard Lockmann's curiosity would get the better of him. He'd become focused on something, and forget who and what he'd become. Then, he'd drop over in a coma and die. End of story.
        Now, in the daylight, Cole felt like a fool. The best way to deter Rick from going away wasn't to get him involved in an "outing", but to avoid him so he wouldn't feel trapped. Cole turned around and jogged back the way he'd come.
*
        He didn't get very far before he heard running footsteps behind him. Rick fell into step with him, and they jogged companionably for a few minutes. "What's up?" Rick asked him. "Where're you going?"
        "Just out for a jog. I got tired so I decided to head home," Cole puffed out.
        Rick grabbed his arm and pulled him to a halt. "Spill it, Cole."
        Cole was silent for a moment, which alarmed Rick. Cole was never silent. Rick had opened his mouth to demand an explanation, when Cole blurted, "Dammit! I don't know what I was thinking about! This is you - not some stranger I need to psyche out or anything."
        Rick lifted the dark glasses that covered his crystalline eyes. "Stranger is right. I've never met anyone stranger than you -" He grinned, but there was still a trace of confusion in his eyes. "What's wrong, Cole?"
        "You shouldn't even be thinking about it, Rick!" Cole suddenly realised how much time and effort the rest of them had invested in Richard Lockmann's well-being over the last five weeks, and his temper rose. "You damned ingrate! I've got better things to do with my day than worry about -"
        Rick sobered. "Than worry about what?" he asked quietly.
        Rick's concern tamped Cole's anger like cold water on a hot grill. "- you running off," he finished lamely.
        "Is that why you didn't come by?" Rick asked. In some circuitous way - knowing Cole as he did - it made sense.
        Cole nodded, and booted a large tree root to vent his anger.
        Rick hid his smile. "Who said I was going to run?"
        "Simon. I told him how aggro you looked yesterday, and he said we were probably driving you crazy - away - out of here."
        Rick plopped down on the grass verge, and lay back, with his hands behind his head. He lay there contentedly, enjoying the sun on his face and arms. "Truth, Cole?" he asked.
        Cole nodded. "I need to know if I'm wasting my time. Trying to keep you alive and all that," he said, a trace of anger in his voice.
        "Sometimes I feel like I'm choking," Rick admitted. "As much as I enjoy using a microscope, I can't stand living under one - if you know what I mean." He added, "And that's not what I want from my friends."
        "Yeah," Cole said, a little bitterly.
        "Hey, Cole - I'm not suicidal. I know better, after this past month, than to try to take off for the hills." It was his turn to sound bitter. "At least, not until I learn how to control my metabolism a little better." Cole glanced at him quickly. "No, Cole - if I'm going to take off - and you can tell Mr. Big-Mouth Simon this - my friends'll know it. At least, I'll tell you where I'm going. Maybe even invite the more decent of you along." He smiled.
        Cole grinned. "But we're still driving you crazy."
        "If you could just lay off the phone calls, and we could do some stuff instead -" he hinted.
        Cole didn't hear anything after "lay off the phone calls". He was too busy remembering how many times he'd punched the speed-dial for Rick on his phone. Now, he looked a little sheepish, and made a big point of looking at his watch. "I gotta go, Rick." He forced a smile. "See ya."
        He'd jogged for a few minutes more when he heard steps behind him again.
        "So that's it, huh? No 'let's go watch the game', or 'I have an idea'?"
        Cole shook his head. "Nope. I'm just out for my health."
        "Too bad," Rick said. "See ya." He turned around and started walking back toward his house. His keen eyes picked up all the activity his sudden disappearance had caused. He gave a casual wave to his keepers.
        There was something in Rick's tone that made Cole pause. A note he'd never heard before. Something almost like depression. It suddenly occurred to him how few of Rick's moods he'd seen over the past month - how Rick had tried to hide all behind an almost frantic cheerfulness. How he'd tried to keep anyone from knowing how he was really feeling.
        Cole suddenly realised how easily he and the others had accepted it. Because it was easier to believe that Rick was satisfied with the way things had turned out, than to admit that he might be scared, or depressed, or hopeless. Cole wondered if this was what Simon had really been trying to tell him - that Rick needed more than what they were giving him. That maybe they were pushing him in the wrong direction. That what he really needed was for everyone to stop thinking so much about the changes in him, and more about the person he still was.
        Cole saw Rick issue an almost weary wave to the men milling around his house. It told him a lot about Rick's state of mind - if there was one thing Rick could never be in the sunlight now, it was weary. "Hey - don't you think that should go more like this?" Cole asked, lifting his finger to the distant watchers, while offering them an obnoxious smile.
        Rick grinned, and this time, Cole knew it was genuine. "Show some respect, Calloway. What made you come back?"
        "You." He frowned. "Seriously, Rick - I thought you might need some time to yourself."
        Rick's smile widened. "So did I. Until I saw you jogging away from my house. Then I realised how dull my Saturday was going to be."
        Cole's eyes brightened, and he gave Rick a friendly shove. "Did you watch the weather?" he asked.
        "Oh, no," Rick groaned. He shielded his eyes and looked for thunderheads in the distance.
        "Oh, yes," Cole grinned. "Wait'll we tell that maniac Jace."
        "Simon's gotta come."
        "Hey, I'll tell him you called him a 'big-mouth'. That'll do it."
        "I said I wanted him to come, not kill me."
        "No problem. All I have to do is whisper the word 'lightning' in Simon's ear, and he'll be there like a shot."
        "No kidding. He's nearly as bad as Jace."
        "I have a basketball in my car," Cole said casually, changing the subject.
        "I didn't think you ever took it out," Rick replied sarcastically, but he was grinning widely. "I suppose you want me to rub your face in the dirt again -"
        "Shit, no. I came prepared." Cole boasted. "Energy drinks. Two of those things and you'd need a day standing naked in the sun to keep up with me -"
        "Don't take me wrong, but isn't that health-food stuff?" "Health food" and "Cole" had always been opposites.
        "Hey, you're not the only one who can change his body image. I eat almost all healthy shit now. I just eat lots of it."
        "Carob bars?" Rick asked.
        "Truckloads." He rummaged in his pocket. "Want one?" Then he remembered who he was talking to, and quickly yanked it back.
        But Rick was already shaking his head. "Too sweet. What else have you got?" He had a sudden longing to taste solid food again.
        "There must be something you can eat." Cole thought about it for a minute. In his mind, one of the worst things about Rick's condition was his inability to enjoy food. "We'll check in the Rumbler. I've got all kinds of shit lying around in there."
        "That sounds appetising," Rick said sarcastically.
        They'd turned around and were jogging back toward Cole's car. Cole glanced over his shoulder, and saw the commotion building down the block. "What about all those guys?" he asked. He hadn't realised Rick had any custodians until Simon had told him, and now he was a little shocked at the crowd milling around on Rick's driveway.
        "They'll catch up," Rick said casually. "Maybe." He smiled, and began to jog a little faster.
        Cole kept pace. "If they do, we'll make 'em play for their money. Almost enough of them for a team. How do you stand it?" he asked Rick curiously.
        "I don't know. Most of the time I sit down, I guess."
        "I'm serious -"
        "Well, I'm not. Shut up and jog, Fatso."
        "I'm not fat."
        "That's not what Sterner said. I called him the other day -"
        "You must've been desperate -"
        "- the 'fat' was referring to your head, anyway," Rick reassured him.
        Cole, panting now, muttered, "My health food energy is running out. You're just trying to wear me down so you can beat me," he complained. "Hey - if I win, I'll buy you a three-course breakfast," he said hopefully.
        Rick slowed down. "Let me guess: water, water, and water."
        "Hell, no. We'll order up the works, and then I'll eat anything you can't." He snickered.
        A car raced past them and Rick gave it an irreverent salute.
        "DSO?" Cole asked.
        "Yeah." Rick grinned, then suddenly started laughing out loud. "I was just thinking," he said. "Wait till my 'guards' see where we're taking 'em tonight."
*
        Jessamyn Lomax looked at the video tape again. The computer had picked up a lag time in surveillance, and she was trying to figure out what it meant. She'd run the programme twice, but both times, the result had been the same: for seventeen-point-five minutes, the cameras in Freezer Unit Y-4 had been non-operational.
        Could it have been the cold? They'd had a similar problem last year, in K block, and this was the way it had started - temporary black-outs, getting longer and longer, until the camera had given up completely. But that camera had been mounted directly in one of the walk-in freezers. She checked the records again - no, the cameras in Y were outside the freezer units.
        Maybe the camera's too close to one of the freezers, she thought. She checked the log to see when the freezer was last opened. Not for two weeks. She made a note to have maintenance check for a coolant leak. And for Security to check for any signs of an intruder.
        With a sigh, Lomax shook her head and typed in the recommendations on the file.
*
        "What's that smell?" Simon wrinkled his nose in distaste. "No, don't tell me - it's your cat."
        "Yeah. For better or worse, good ol' Stench has decided he likes my place. Now, he just goes around and stakes his claim."
        "Don't flatter yourself," Cole grumbled. "He did the same when he stayed at my house. I won't even tell you what he did in my car. Let's just say the Rumbler ain't the same on hot days any more."
        Stench took that moment to come in and rub against Simon's leg. Simon discreetly tried to boot the cat away. Stench retaliated by digging his claws into Simon's calf, then trying to bite off the top of his foot.
        "He thinks you're attacking him, Simon," Rick tried to explain.
        "He thinks right -" Simon grumbled. "I just wish I had my gun."
        "Lock him in the bedroom before Jace gets here," Cole warned.
        Rick looked slightly taken aback.
        "You think I'm kidding?" Cole asked. "Jace hates him." He grinned. "He spent the night on my couch that time we got shot. When he woke up, Stench was getting pretty personal with his family jewels. When Jace objected, Stench meted out the same kind of treatment he just gave Simon's leg."
        "Oww-w." Simon grimaced at the thought.
        "Yeah. Jace didn't know if he'd ever be the same again."
        "When Jace comes in, get him a knife. He can return the favour, and nip off the little bastard's balls. That'll teach him." Simon forcibly detached the cat's claws from his pants leg.
        "Stench. Here, Stench," Stench detached himself from Simon's skin, sat on his haunches and looked vaguely at Rick, then jumped into his lap. Rick stroked his silky back. "These two jokers just have no appreciation or taste," Rick remarked, scritching the cat's back.
        "Taste. Do you know anyone who eats cat?" Simon asked Cole.
        Cole shook his head. "Not one that smells like that. Why is he so skinny, anyway? Don't you worm him?"
        "He's fussy about his food. He doesn't like my cooking. He's a -"
        "You cook for the cat?" Cole asked incredulously.
        "Like I was saying, he's secretly a hunter."
        "I bet he makes a lovely souffle out of mouse guts and lizard skins," Cole remarked. He looked with distaste at the feline, who was now stretched lazily across Rick's lap. He was purring erratically, and drool dripped from one side of his mouth. "How grotesque," he muttered. "Remember how I said you two look alike? Well, I was wrong. You drool out of both sides."
***

Chapter Two


        "Did you tell them where we're going?"
        The anticipation in Simon's smile made Rick grin. "I thought we'd let it be a surprise," he said.
        "You should've told them, so they could bring their cameras, too," Jace said.
        Simon shook his head. "Reality check. This is not a normal thing to do, Dr. Stratton. If they knew what we had planned, they'd probably call in the troops to stop us."
        "Or, me, anyway," Rick added. "The rest of you can fry."
        The "normal" aspect was still bothering Jace. "Of course, this is normal," he insisted. "It's just like any other sport."
        "Sure, Jace," Simon said, grinning. "It's just that the playing field is really small."
        "Car racing's a sport," Rick argued.
        "That's true," Cole agreed. He jammed on the accelerator, then grinned, as he heard the Rumbler's throaty response.
        "Why'd you have to mention car racing?" Jace complained.
        Simon gripped the seat back with white knuckles. "If this is your idea of a work-out, you'd better stick to those stretches you do in the back seat," he said sarcastically.
        "Shut up, you guys. I'm trying to work out my strategy." They tore around a curve, and nearly side slid off the road.
        "Try working out how to drive, instead," Simon told him.
        "Everyone's a whinger," Cole said loudly. "I'm offering the guys in back a challenge."
        "You're offering my friends in back a load of gravel on their windshield," Simon told him.
        "They're spies," Cole reminded him, a little disparagingly. "Don't they have super-strength wipers or bullet-proof glass?"
        "They left those at home with their neoprene pants, masks, and capes," Simon replied.
*
        The Rumbler sat at the top of the hill. There'd been a few arguments over that one - but the final consensus was that some trees and a nearby tower would take any lightning strikes that came their way. In fact, as Cole put it, encourage some lightning strikes to come their way. The storm was building up to a frenzy. Wind-whipped rain pounded the car, but the darkness was cut by flashes of lightning in the distance.
        Simon peered through the rear window, at Geraldo's car. He could just imagine what Finlay and Geraldo were thinking about this whole thing. Other than telling them they were going out to do some special photography, no one had forewarned them. They'd had no idea what Simon and the others were taking photographs of. I bet they can guess now, Simon thought, grinning.
        "Just keep your feet off the transmission and there's no way you can get electrocuted, Simon," Jace said, then waited to see how Cole would react.
        "Does he have his stinking feet on her tranny again? Get 'em back there, where they belong!" He punctuated it with his fist.
        "Oww-w!"
        Cole thought about it, then added, "And keep 'em off the upholstery."
        "I knew we should have brought my car," Simon said loudly.
        "Despite her drawbacks, the Rumbler has better windows," Jace said. He grinned when Cole turned on him.
        "'Drawbacks?'" he repeated, frowning.
        "You misheard him," Rick said. "He really said, 'seat backs'."
        "You're an asshole, Jace," Cole told him. "First, he runs around breaking my crowbar, then he loses my keys - what was I thinking of, letting you use her? It's a wonder she goes at all -" He rubbed the dashboard. "It's all right, Girl. Just ignore him."
        "If that's how he treats his women I'm surprised he gets to first base," Simon told Jace.
        "He just likes to think he does," Jace replied. "He barely gets out of the dugout and he claims he's scored."
        "Did you get that last shot?" Rick asked excitedly. "Can you guys see the sprites, or is it just me?"
        "Missed," Jace admitted. "How the hell can you see sprites?" he asked, a little enviously.
        "Over there - wow! That CG was enormous."
        "Cole, did you get it!?" Jace asked. "That one was great!"
        "Hey, I'm saving myself for ball lightning."
        "You would," Simon said sarcastically. "But - since you've got my camera - I'd like some of the CC ones -"
        "I'm letting you use my video camera -"
        "But it's digital! I don't want to fake these - I want real ones."
        "I don't fake my shots - I just highlight them where they need it -" Cole argued.
        "Shut up and shoot! Or give me back my camera -"
        "'Shut up and shoot'. Sounds about right coming from a Spy-man -"
        "Hell's Bell's!" Jason yelled, as the rumble of thunder shook the ground. "Yee-hah!"
        "That's it! I'm taking my camera back!" Simon grabbed it out of Cole's hands.
        "Hey - give the digital to me!" Rick said excitedly. "That way, I can edit it so you can see it the way I do -"
        "Shut up!" Jason yelled. "I want to hear the thunder!" They were still bickering, so Jason said, "That's it! I'm going out!"
        "Shit, Jace!" Rick said anxiously. "That last one was close -" He could see the excited look in Jason's eyes. Cole was right: for all his caution during the day, Jace was a maniac when it came to a thunderstorm.
        "You know what they say - you're more likely to get eaten by a shark than hit by lightning -"
        Before they could stop him, Jason had exited the car and was standing out in the rain, face turned toward the roiling clouds. Almost like it had been a signal, the light rain became a drenching downpour. The heavy droplets drummed on the roof, and the windows started fogging up.
        "Shut up, Cole! Your hot air's wrecking my view."
        "What's that smell?"
        "More of Cole's hot air. He's been eating too much of that health food -"
        "Put a cork in it, Calloway!"
        They couldn't see Jason any more. The splatting drops overlapped each other, then runnelled down the windscreen. Not even the windshield wipers could cope with the deluge.
        They might not be able to see Jace, but they could hear him. "This is so fuckin' great!" he was yelling, at the top of his lungs.
        "Jace is enjoying himself," Rick said. It was punctuated with a big yawn.
        "Uh-oh. Rick's about to go bye-bye," Cole said. He pulled a lamp out of the glove box and plugged it into the cigarette lighter. "Here, Rick," he said. "Catch a few rays." He shone it in Rick's face.
        "Not in my eyes, you idiot."
        "I thought you weren't supposed to do that," said Simon. "Doesn't it interrupt your cycle or something?"
        Rick shrugged. "Not any more than this little party interrupts your sleep."
        Simon looked doubtful, but he didn't say anything.
        Rick decided it was time to be blunt. "It's my life, Simon," he said forcefully. "If you don't want me to run - the way you told Cole -"
        Simon gave Cole a dirty look.
        "- then you'd better lay off." Very deliberately, he pulled a cigarette out of his pocket, along with a lighter. He'd brought it along intentionally, so he could give them a little demo if they needed it. This had been going on too many weeks, and he couldn't take it any more.
        Still, he thought sheepishly, I'm glad Jace is outside. He could just imagine what Dr. Jason Stratton would say if he saw him with a cigarette, considering how damaged his lungs were. "If I want to do this -" Rick lit the cigarette and stuck it in his mouth, "- or this -" he unbuttoned his shirt and grabbed the light from Cole, then made a point of playing the light over his exposed skin, "- then I'll do it. And no one is going to fuckin' well stop me," he said aggressively. He spoiled it by accidentally inhaling, and going into a coughing fit. It went on for several minutes, by which time the cigarette had exited the window, and Rick's eyes were streaming. "Ouch," he said, when he was able to talk again.
        Simon was smiling. "I didn't get what you were saying. Do you want to show me again?"
        Rick wiped his face on his shirtsleeve. "Very funny."
        "Do you want to explain it to Jace the same way, or do you want me to have a talk with him?"
        "I'll explain it if you want," Cole offered. "If he saw you smoking, he'd boot your butt - and I don't mean the cigarette." He sniggered.
        "We all know how tactful you are, Cole," Simon said sarcastically. "I'll talk to Jace, Rick."
        Rick nodded. "Thanks. Sometimes, I wish he wasn't my doctor, but - for crissake! " he said, looking directly at Cole, "- don't tell him that. He'd take it the wrong way."
        The rain had lessened slightly, so that they could almost see out the windows again. Suddenly, the sky lit up, in a series of blue-white flashes - reflecting off the droplets that ran down the windows.
        "Beautiful!" Rick muttered.
        Cole wiped a window with the back of his sleeve. "I missed the shot!" he said morosely.
        The lightning was closer now. The rumble of the thunder vibrated the car.
        "Jesus!" exclaimed Simon. "Jace must've liked that one."
        Rick peered out the spot he'd wiped in the windscreen. "Where is Jace, anyway?"
        Simon wiped his window some more, and Cole wound his down. "Yoo hoo!" Cole bellowed. "Mr. Lighting Man!"
        Simon jiggled one finger in his ear. "You're deafening me, you asshole!"
        Rick wound down his window, too. He poked his head out, and looked out across the grass. Suddenly, his keen eyesight picked up what the others had not: someone lying on the ground, some distance away. He jerked the door handle and yelled to the others, "He's down!" He was out of the car, and loping across the grass before Simon could even open the door.
        Jason was lying on his side. When Rick turned him over, to search for injuries, he was completely limp, and Rick began to panic.
        Simon reached them first, followed by Cole.
        "He's breathing," Rick assured them.
        In the light from the headlamps, Simon took over. "Do you think he got hit?" he asked tersely.
        "No way," Cole said firmly, as much to reassure himself as any of them. "Unless it travelled," he amended, gulping.
        "Ground charge?" Simon put his ear against Jason's chest and listened to his heart. "He may have taken a jolt, but his heart's okay." He glanced at Rick. "See any bleeding?" If it was there, Rick would be able to see it.
        Rick shook his head. He was shaking in his efforts to remain still. The adrenaline rush, combined with the time under the lamp, had sent his energy levels soaring.
        Cole looked at him. "Pace, Rick," he urged. To Simon, he asked, "What should we do? Call an ambulance?" He heard the sound of running footsteps, and saw David Geraldo and Gabe Finlay coming their way, guns drawn.
        Simon was still checking Jace over - looking for signs of bullet wounds or other injuries that might not be bleeding through his clothes.
        "Is he hit?" Geraldo asked.
        Simon shook his head. In spite of the time Jason had spent in the rain, he still felt hot. "Rick?" Rick was at his side in a second. Despite the fact Simon had had a month to come to terms with the changes in his friend, Rick's speed still took him by surprise. "Does he feel hot to you?"
        Rick felt Simon's arm, and then Jason's. He nodded. "He's running one helluva fever." He sounded almost relieved. Better a fever, than electrocution.
        "I still think we should get an ambulance," Cole said. "Just in case."
        "No ambulance," Jason muttered.
        "Jace - do you hurt anywhere?" Simon asked.
        Jason was shivering. "Nowhere and everywhere," he said. "I think I've picked up a flu bug." He tried to sit up. Simon helped him. "Sorry, Guys -"
        "In that case -" Rick bent down, tugged Jason up, and threw him over his shoulder. He started at a trot toward the car.
        Jason felt embarrassed. "R-Rick-k -" His voice wobbled as Rick's gait jiggled him up and down.
        "Don't try to stop him, Jace. He's having a sugar buzz," Cole said.
        Finlay just shook his head. "I still don't see how you can do that, Lockmann. He weighs more than you do."
        Cole ran ahead and opened the back door, so Jace could stretch out on the back seat. "Lay his wet body on my flash upholstery, Rick. I don't mind."
        "Give me a minute, and I'll drum up some vomit, to add to the water, Cole," Jace told him.
        "Did I ever tell you I planned on installing an ejection seat?" Cole replied.
        Jace sniffed the air. "What's that?" he asked in concern. "Smells like smoke."
        "Must be ozone from a lightning strike," Rick said quickly.
        Jace met his eyes. "Then you must have taken a hit in the mouth," he said drily. "Remind me to schedule you for a rectal exam - so I can shove my boot up your ass."
        Rick grinned. "Just pretend you're delirious. None of this happened."
        Simon nodded to Geraldo and Finlay. "Everything under control."
        "Sure," Finlay said to Geraldo. "An everyday occurrence for these clowns."
        Rick smiled at them. "Thanks - for being there just in case." He threw a jacket over Jace, then turned to watch as another bolt of lighting shattered the night sky. "Did we convert you?"
        Geraldo nodded. "Yeah. The next time there's a thunderstorm, I'm going to shut the windows, pull the drapes, and hide myself under the bed."
*
        "What about Lockmann?"
        Chesner shuffled through the photos littering his desk. "We've got reconnaissance shots - even satellite recon. Finding him isn't the problem." He looked up, a wry smile curving his lips. "Nor is keeping track of him."
        "What's the problem, then?"
        "Justifying it. Genetechnic's already got a federal inquiry on their hands. No one can suspect we're involved in this."
        "Got it covered." Samuelson flung a file down on his desk. "There's a splinter religious group that's gone terrorist in the last couple of years. Some of them are already under observation. Brentworth, who works in Security at Genetechnic, is a member."
        "So, if we take Lockmann, Brentworth gets the blame."
        "That's the idea. It shouldn't be too hard to pull off. Throw around a few religious icons, a few questionable memos -"
        "Plus Brentworth disappears."
        "Of course. He's susceptible to influence. The five-figure kind."
        "Cheap date. What if they find him?"
        "He'll have no idea who we are, or where we've hidden him." Samuelson asked, a little hesitantly, "What are you going to do with Lockmann when you get him? Clone him?"
        Chesner grinned. "Not 'in house'. As much as cloning might increase our product range, I'd rather leave that to someone else. A lot depends on the market. I'd prefer not to 'slice and dice' him."
        Samuelson's sigh of relief was audible. "Good. I like the role of procurer a lot better than 'butcher'."
        Chesner grew serious. "Remember, Rob - Lockmann's not wholly human any more. That gives us a little more leeway in how we treat this."
        "You know that - and I know that - but does Lockmann?"
        Chesner shrugged. "It doesn't matter what he does or doesn't know. My point is that his value far exceeds what any 'human' has a right to expect. And most of the changes in him seem to be advantageous."
        Samuelson still looked doubtful.
        Chesner's eyes met his. "Look at it this way: if a new surgical technique is developed, that can save lives, it should be shared, right? Or when a compound like insulin can be mass produced, it should be readily available to everyone. It's the same with new pharmaceuticals - everyone should have a shot at them. Well, so should the traits Lockmann now has in his gene pool. For crissake, Rob, the guy now has the answer to world hunger running around in his cells. You can't keep that kind of thing a secret, or isolated. It's got to be available to the masses."
        "Or at least to those willing to pay for it."
        "So - to make it more available - the more people who get something for their money, the better."
*
        Rick stood outside Entadyne for a minute, staring at the building with new eyes. This was the way it always was now: the stuff he'd grown so accustomed to in his past life that he'd never really noticed any more would take on a whole new complexion.
        Like the skin on my face. He put off entering the building for a few minutes more, while he considered every excuse he could come up with for opting out of the next quarter hour. The quarter hour when everyone would inquire about his health, talk about how skinny he'd become but what a great tan he'd acquired, and either ask bluntly about his eyes, or turn away quickly in deference to his sudden handicap. Then, if things went true to form, some people would want to know whether he'd suffered some kind of vision loss. They'd only belatedly realise that he wouldn't be here unless he could see what he was doing. Then, they'd be embarrassed, and so would he. Their humiliation, his humiliation. Humiliation was like anger - it took some people a while to get over it, especially if their embarrassment had been a product of concern. They would try to act like everything was fine, and so would he. All of which made it harder to just act normal.
        Steven Hylton had warned him about his files. Genetechnic had been behind a break-in at Entadyne and had confiscated most of his background information, plus a large number of his notes on current projects. There was no proof it had been Genetechnic, of course, and any damage had been random enough to be thought of as vandalism, but Rick knew his work-station had been a write-off. His supervisor at Entadyne had called him about it at home, when Rick was still too sick to care. At that point, he'd been too focused on Denaro, and his research on her, to even fully comprehend what was going on at Entadyne. Now, he wondered what he was going back to.
        The silent weight of his keepers' eyes told him he'd better get a move on. Many of his "keepers" were quickly becoming friends, but the pressure of being watched still bothered him. And any inquisition would be better than the frustrating circumstances that sometimes made him feel like he was chained to his house. He'd finally recognised - about a week ago - that his mind was at least as impatient as his body. He needed the discipline and focus of his work. He was just afraid that the sugar rushes through his body would keep him from having either. Can I hold still long enough to make slides and gels? he asked himself. Can I tolerate long hours of painstaking research on my computer? Part of him was terrified that his body wouldn't allow his mind the concentrated effort it craved.
        To lack that ability to focus - the chance to lose himself in his work - could be the final frustration. The thing that could take him down, and plunge him into despair. He'd accepted just about everything else - even enjoyed the energy surges and the speed he'd acquired - but he didn't know if he could tolerate the loss of that ability to tune out the world. After the last month, with the world on his doorstep, he was craving oblivion. Hell, he didn't even have his computer any more. Jace had pulled it out of his house, along with the virus samples, and Denaro's notes. Rick knew why, and he knew better than to ask Jace about it with all these observers around. He was fairly certain that Simon could have told him, but he was also confident that Simon would handle things appropriately. In the meanwhile, though, Rick was going stir-crazy. Every part of him was allowed to roam these days - within reason, of course - but his mind.
        The DSO knew he wasn't about to traipse about in large crowds because he was feeling too insecure. It wasn't only his eyes. It was the speed which drove him, and the way his metabolism had been so quirky at first. Rick had often pictured it in his head: he'd be there, walking down the street, and no one would notice him. He'd be wearing dark glasses, and no one would even know that something about him was "different". Then, all of a sudden, his metabolism would go wild. And good ol' Rick would be passed out on the ground, and the place would be crawling with DSO and ambulances, helicopters, and police. Anonymity? There was no such thing any more.
        He'd only recently begun to feel confident again. His metabolism was manageable as long as he kept water on hand, and avoided downing anything else. The artificial lighting at work might be a problem, but he'd brought along a grow light bulb, just in case. He didn't plan on taking any chances.
        Patting the bulb gingerly where it was nestled in the rucksack, he pulled open the door. Then, before he could change his mind, he donned a pair of slightly shaded fake glasses, gritted his teeth, and bounded up the stairs.
*
        Tazo Raeiti repeated what was, for him, quickly becoming a religious ritual. Donning isolation gear, he walked over to the freezer and opened it. The other people in the room looked at him sceptically, but nobody dared to argue.
        He reached down and gripped one of Denaro's bagged ovaries in his fist. Then, he squeezed. The frozen chunk of meat wouldn't give, of course, but it was the act of encircling it - using his force on it - that empowered him. Some part of his conscience was still smouldering over allowing her to rise from her frozen grave. He needed to feel that - if she should suddenly appear here - he would have some control.
        It was all foolishness. Obsessive behaviour, like someone clinging to a rabbit's foot, or stroking a lucky stone. Something to make him feel, that if the virus got loose, it wouldn't touch him. He knew it was superstitious nonsense, but Denaro had taught him respect for those things beyond the natural.
        As he returned the meaty chunks to their frozen resting place, he closed and locked the lid with the finality of sealing her casket. One more spadeful of soil on her resting place. Each time, the repetition and sense of control helped to diminish his fears a little more, so that he was able to function almost normally - without Denaro's shadowy presence lurking in the periphery of his vision. The doctor had told him it was a remnant of the bullet wound in his head, but Tazo Raeiti knew otherwise.
        The sceptics were waiting again - pretending to go about their business while they watched him warily. They were afraid of him, but they should have been more afraid of what lingered in the box. If they knew what she was capable of, they would never have allowed her remains to sit in their midst.
        Tazo turned away from their hidden stares, after offering them all a grim smile. Just as their faces were slightly contorted behind the visors that protected them, so was his smile distorted. The whiteness of his face with the slash of a smile gave his visage a macabre quality, which focused their eyes.
        The stares were now on his back. "Don't worry," Raeiti assured them. "Continue as you are, and you'll meet her - soon enough." He chuckled and vanished out the door.
*
        Jamaal stopped Cole outside Rick's front door. "You can't go in there," he said.
        "What's wrong?" Cole frowned and tried to push Jamaal aside. It was like pushing a rock. "Is he sick or something?"
        Simon's car came tearing round the corner. His parking job was nearly a side-slide, and a tyre squealed as it scraped the curb. "Uh-oh," he muttered under his breath when he saw the altercation brewing on Rick's doorstep. Cole looked ready to punch something. If it turned out to be Jamaal, Cole could end up with a broken arm - or worse. Simon jumped out of the car and ran up to the house.
        "This clown won't let me in," Cole told him angrily.
        Jamaal ignored him. He said hurriedly to Simon, "I don't know what's wrong with him." He flicked his head toward the door as another loud thud sounded through the wood. "He's gone nuts or something."
        "Cole's always nuts," Simon retorted coolly, deliberately diffusing the tension. "Right, Cole?"
        But Cole was listening to the ruckus going on inside. "Are you sure he's alone?"
        Jamaal nodded. "Johnson looked in the window when it first started."
        Cole thought of something else. Something that might just be enough to send Rick over the edge. "Didn't you let him go back to work today?" he asked angrily. It was the reason Cole had come by - to see how things had gone.
        "Sure, he went to work. But, he's been like this since he got back." Jamaal fumbled with his cellphone. "I think I should call Hylton," he said worriedly.
        "Wait," Simon said. "I'll talk to him. Give me five minutes."
        Jamaal nodded and stepped to one side. But before Simon could move, Cole had already pushed open the door, and was thundering down the hall. Jamaal sighed and shook his head, but Simon just grinned.
        Simon caught up with Cole in the doorway to the lounge. Rick was alternating between jogging around on his furniture - bouncing from sofa to chair and back again - and shuffling around the room in an impromptu cha-cha. Ever once in a while, he'd run halfway up a wall, push off, and swing from one of the overhead beams before dropping to the ground. His crystalline eyes were sparkling so much that the emerald lights in them almost seemed to be glowing.
        "Ho, ho, ho, ho, ho - ho! Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha - ha!" Rick sang off-key in time to his cha-cha. As he went past Cole and Simon, his grin, if anything, grew wider. He gave Cole a shove, chuckled, and continued on his cha-cha around the room.
        "Cut it out!" Cole grumbled. "What's with you?"
        Rick stopped cha-cha-ing, and began to pace excitedly instead. "You won't believe it! Not only can I still do my work, but I'm going to be the best fuckin' scientist they have in that place!"
        "Big deal," Cole said. His temper was still running hot.
        Rick stopped and looked at him incredulously. He flung his hands in the air, in a gesture of exasperation. "Don't you know what this means?! I've been worried about this for weeks."
        Simon chuckled. "I know you have. Take away your fungus and viruses and what's left? One boring -"
        "- and bored," Rick interrupted.
        "- and bored - son-of-a-bitch."
        "Damn straight."
        "So you're back to rescuing radishes," Cole commented. "I think you should do something worthwhile - like corn that jumps off the cob, or sugar-coated lima beans."
        "Did I ever tell you you're sick?" Simon asked Cole.
        "Not as sick as whoever invented lima beans."
        "Chocolate-flavoured okra?" Rick ventured.
        "Dressed in its own brown mucous," Cole snorted. "That's so disgusting it makes my lima beans sound good."
        "Hey - you're the one who said chocolate could make even dirt edible." Rick grinned. "My life's finally going somewhere! Or, to make it easier for you to understand, Cole -" he gave Cole a slap on the back, "- my choo-choo's back on the track." He snatched some paper off the table, crumpled it, and tossed it at the rubbish bin.
        "I phoned Jace," he said to no one in particular. "This morning. While I was putting off facing my co-workers."
        "I phoned him this morning, too. I woke him up," Cole admitted.
        "Why am I not surprised?" Simon muttered. Cole stared at him expectantly. "All right - I phoned him, too. Just after Cole did. He seems to be okay."
        Cole grinned. "I was going to tell him he had the dubious honour of being the first of us to get struck by lightning. But, he was too grumpy to appreciate the joke."
        For want of any other outlet to dispel his nervous energy, Rick was still wadding up paper and tossing it at the bin. After a couple of minutes, and a pad's worth of crumpled paper, he was still itching with impatience. He admitted, "I just can't sit still." Rick looked almost pleadingly at his friends. "I know it sounds lame, but I'm so jazzed I'm almost out of control."
        "Give the man some fungus and a microscope and he loses his mind," Simon commented. "And I accuse Cole of being crazy."
        "Let's go for a jog, and then shoot some basketball." Rick didn't give them a chance to say no. Humming the cha-cha under his breath, he gave Cole and Simon a push toward the door.
***

Chapter Three


        "They transfused her - with Lockmann's blood. It's how they got control, but it may mean we've lost any advantages. That's why we've grabbed the ovaries. The virus can persist up to seven generations in the ovaries of WTV's insect vectors. If we had to settle for partial measures, they're our best bet for live virus. If that doesn't work, we also have some skin samples with chloroplasts - another storage area, in the membrane."
        "I'd've thought any antibodies from Lockmann would hit the skin a lot faster than her internal organs."
        "You saw what happened when his blood made its presence felt. What I'm worried about is the chemistry - the balance that gave the effect. I don't know if we can re-create it."
        "Aren't there any other records, besides the video? What about the doctor? Where are his files?"
        "Gone. Undoubtedly confiscated by the DSO. They're running their own little research project, you know - using computer simulations to try to map Lockmann's mutation. Everything else is locked down tight at Genetechnic."
        Shires looked confused. "Can't we get in?"
        Diaslio shook his head. "The facility's still open, but just barely. And everything's being monitored so closely that you couldn't slip a gnat's ass in or out of there." He gave a wry grin. "That's why Hylton was playing it smart, when he did his little hit-grab-and-run. He took as much as he could, then notified the Disease Centre. Now there's going to be a federal inquiry, but nobody knows when. The Genetechnic staff are bailing in droves - trying to get at least a subpoena-length away."
        "Can any of them help us with this?"
        "Denaro didn't share her research with anyone - not even Vizar knew the whole story. We still can't figure out how Lockmann got involved, except for the fact he moved into her old house. It's the one thing that didn't make sense - and it triggered the research we're doing now. We actually think Lockmann was brought into this by Caroline herself."
        "But the time frame -" Shires argued. He'd been over it again and again, trying to make sense of Lockmann's role in this whole thing. They hadn't found anything to suggest Lockmann had corresponded with Denaro - by e-mail or otherwise. But his occupation was too much of a coincidence, as was his timing. It was possible he'd picked up the virus at the house, by touching something infected with virus, but all Denaro's furnishings had been removed by Genetechnic. "How long can the virus live on a wall, or a doorknob?" he asked.
        Diaslio shook his head. "We considered that, but it's more likely he found something Denaro had hidden on-site." He paused. "There's another possibility, which I, personally, consider the most likely."
        Shires met his eyes. "What?"
        "I think Caroline Denaro paid him a visit."
        Shires looked sceptical. "Outside the facility? Not likely."
        "Expand your mind, Shires. We're talking extra-corporeal existence here. What's going to stop her? Not walls, and probably not distance." There was still doubt on Shires' face. Diaslio was getting used to this. Nobody questioned the validity of his research; they all just had a hard time accepting it. "She was brilliant, Dan - a genius. She figured out Lockmann could help her, and used it."
        "Then repaid the favour by infecting him with virus and mutating his body."
*
        Rick turned off the lights in the bedroom, then moved toward the bed. He forced himself to lie there for as long as he could stand it. Then he paced silently, on tiptoe, as he waited for enough time to pass to take Jamaal, or Henderson, or Stipley - or whoever was monitoring him - off guard.
        He couldn't will away the restlessness, any more than he could will away the lure of the out-of-doors. Some part of him was longing for the sweet scent of the damp soil, while another part was responding to the heady brilliance of the moonlight beaming through his window, and the sound of the wind buffeting the house.
        He knew he was taking a chance, but he needed this to stay sane. Needed a night prowl away from his keepers. An outing without the guilt that would chase him if they knew he'd disappeared. After all, they were only doing their jobs. It was just that their jobs infringed so much on his freedom.
        He realised Hylton was being as reasonable as he dared. After all, if I end up as mincemeat in somebody's lab, Hylton will have to pay the price. Rick knew without being told that Steven had stuck his neck out in order to make Rick's life at least somewhat "normal". It hadn't been hard to figure out: Hylton couldn't have mustered up this much equipment and manpower without justifying it somehow. "Justifying it" must have included some damned good excuses as to why it was more sensible for Richard Lockmann to stay in his former abode, than move into one arranged by the DSO.
        What he was about to do made no sense, and he knew there was no excuse. But, he also knew he had to do it. The night outings had always filled a void in his orderly existence. When the sanity of work and research had made his life too tame, these little night jaunts had made him feel like he was living. He needed to live a little now.
        Cole found his release in wild nights on the town, and Simon tamed his devils with action. Jace confronted too many wild nights in the emergency ward to worry about having to look for excitement. But, nobody knew about Rick's secret side - the nights when the whistle of the wind and the shredded clouds and the glowing moon on the horizon lured him outside. He'd walk until he was exhausted; until he'd stomped away the last of his frustrations; until he'd moved like a wraith through dark alleys, enjoying the feeling of being the last person alive on the streets. There was a darkness about the entire exercise that thrilled him - gave him goosebumps. A tremor of evil about being abroad in the blackness, with only the moon for company, that reminded him of vampires, and phantoms, and things that went bump in the night.
        Denaro had knocked a lot of it out of him. For weeks now, he hadn't dreamed of going abroad in the dark. But, the events of his time at Genetechnic were fading some - or, at least, the dread of them was. What Denaro had become wasn't a ghost or a phantom. She'd been a human being who'd tried to play God. None of his horror had gone, but some of his reluctance had faded.
        Now, the only thing that held him back was the fear of himself - and his limitations. If he had some problem with his metabolism out there in the dark, he'd have nobody to rely on but himself. It wasn't even that which bothered him - he might fall into one of his deep sleeps, but he should be okay once the sun came out again. What worried him was getting caught. If they realised he'd escaped, after hours of not knowing he'd been gone, they might take it as a sign to curtail his freedom. And if daylight hit his house before he did, he didn't know how the hell he'd re-enter without them knowing it. If I'm not up with the sun, they'll come rushing in to see what's wrong, he thought. That was one of the problems with being a creature of habit - and having a weird physiology. Get enough courage to break out of one, and try to ignore the other, and all hell could break loose.
        He knew this was stupid, and he knew it was juvenile, and he knew there were a dozen reasons why he shouldn't go out, and no really good reasons why he should. But, some part of him needed this. It was the last step in a life that was gradually returning to normal - the last stage to feeling that he was a whole person once again. He'd spent day-after-day being cheerful, and pretending that nothing about his mutated body bothered him. Now, he needed this dark side - this pretence to being just a little bit mysterious and unfathomable - more than he ever had before. Needed it to face the daily grind with the bracing knowledge that there was more to him than the people around him would ever suspect.
        He tiptoed to the window and looked out, seeing clearly the laser sensors they'd set. Supposedly, they were to monitor anyone approaching his doors or windows, but Rick knew they were also to monitor him. After all, he reasoned, they're all so sneaky. How can they help but suspect everyone else is the same? He grinned, as he considered how much he was about to live up to their expectations. The only difference was, they wouldn't know he was doing it. The idea gave him a thrill, as he considered out-spying the spies.
        They didn't know he could see their light traps as clearly as flashlight beams slicing the night. His only fear was that one of them might have night vision lenses, and see him moving around in the dark.
        But, if I can't see any of them, he reasoned, then they won't be able to see me. He guessed that his night vision was at least as good as any lenses on the market. And I've been such a good boy, he thought, his eyes gleaming wickedly, that they won't suspect I'm up to no good. The thought filled him with anticipation.
        The wind chuffed past, and Rick used the sound to cover the noise of his leap over some of the light-beam barricades. Then, after making certain he hadn't stirred any action, he crawled between the next set. He felt a momentary pity as he visually mapped the locations of the four silent observers. What a boring job! Some small part of him was tempted to reveal his presence, just to liven up their evening, but he quickly suppressed it. With a smile and a quiver of gooseflesh, Rick shouldered his backpack, scaled the fence and disappeared into the night.
*
        "It has to be the strain of virus that's responsible," Diaslio argued. "Lockmann brought her down with his blood - blood containing antibodies -"
        "Maybe that's part of the 'chemical balance' you keep talking about. The way I see it, it has to be a combination of virus and plant genes."
        "Then why didn't it happen to Lockmann? The only difference I see is that he recovered from the virus. Denaro didn't, and it wasn't because they blew her away. She was dying long before they filled her with lead."
        "Here's one for you: how do we know it hasn't happened to Lockmann? They're keeping him under pretty tight security. It's probably for his health, but it may be for everyone else's as well."
        "Security that doesn't prohibit observation. If he has the same extra-corporeal abilities Denaro had, we've yet to catch them on video. No one's talked about it, either."
        Shires nodded his agreement. "If Lockmann was running around outside his body, someone would have mentioned it."
        "My guess is that it was the strain of virus that triggered it. Lockmann somehow got a mutated version - some strain that didn't have the same effects. Look at the differences in their appearance - either that, or Denaro got some extra gene sequences in her mutagen. That's one of the things we need to look at."
        "What about the insanity? Can we afford to generate something that has that kind of result?"
        "But, was it insanity? It's not that atypical for people to report trouble finding their way back from 'out-of-body' experiences. In Denaro's case, the 'out-of-body' seemed to be a physiological response to what was happening in her cells. If her body was ejecting her, it must have been a pretty terrifying situation. Not living, not dead. She was helpless."
        Shires grinned. "Until she got mad, anyway. And it was just too damn easy to vent her temper on inferior beings."
        "She acquired a physical presence, distinct from her body. A fortunate accident. World hunger and world control resolved in a single line of research."
        "I wonder if Lockmann's got it, but just doesn't realise it."
        "The ECP?"
        Shires looked blank.
        "ECP: extra-corporeal presence. It may just be that he hasn't encountered the right set of circumstances or stimuli to trigger it," Diaslio suggested. "Or maybe his body chemistry's off, or those particular genes aren't being expressed."
        "Or maybe - like you were saying - he got the wrong strain of the virus."
        Diaslio shrugged. He was beginning to like the idea of triggering Richard Lockmann into revealing what he knew - or didn't know. He turned to his computer, typed in a few commands, then pushed Print. "I'm printing a list of all known stimuli - hypotheses, folk tales, meditation foci - commonly used to stimulate 'out-of-body' experiences. Lockmann's case is different, of course, because it's a physiological response, rather than a mind-set, but he may still react to the stimuli, if he has it in him. Find a way to introduce some of these things, without his being aware of it."
        "Hypnosis?" Shires asked, looking at the printout.
        "I never said it'd be easy."
        Shires looked disgusted. "You never said it'd be impossible, either."
*
        Rick had been walking for two hours when the first of the yawns hit him, along with an almost overwhelming longing for a drink. He fumbled in his backpack with shaking fingers, as he began to realise just what a chance he'd taken. He pulled out the third water bottle - slightly shocked to find that he'd already downed most of it. What am I going to do now? He realised he'd been totally absorbed with the weird lights in the sky, and the way they reflected on to the land - to the exclusion of all else. It was the thing he hadn't counted on - his susceptibility to distraction; the way his concentration made him lose track of time. I'm lucky I even know where I am.
        It was worth it. As much as he felt like panicking, he knew he wouldn't have traded the absolute freedom of this time for anything. Or almost anything. He yawned again. He'd give a lot right now for a drink of water.
        The way he figured it, he had about ten minutes of reserve. He didn't know which would get to him first: the lack of water, or the lack of light. Without the daylight to overload his sugar reserves, the water thing might well be manageable - at least until he could visit somebody's hose tap. But the overwhelming desire to sleep, as his body did its nightly shutdown, wasn't going to be stayed by anything but a strong dose of lumens. Rick yawned again, and this time, when he opened his eyes, he was on his knees.
        Only he wasn't alone. Someone shoved a bottle of water into his fist. Rick didn't even question it: he gave a bleary-eyed "thanks", and downed a large portion before he handed it back.
        He pried open his eyes enough to see Simon's smile. "Oh, it's you," he muttered. "Wasn't I sneaky enough?"
        "Very. I'm the only one who knows about your weird proclivities." He put Rick's arm over his shoulder and hauled him down toward his car. "Walk a little, will ya? My shoulder's still not that strong."
        The next time Rick opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was a crushed velvet sofa. Simon's. "Simon?" he asked, squinting his eyes away from the light. "How'd you know?"
        "One time, when you were drunk, you told me all about your version of 'prowling the town'. You said it usually happened on windy nights, when the moon was nearly full."
        Rick looked shocked. He didn't know what to say. Finally he managed, "That must have been a year ago. How could you remember that? You were drunk, too."
        Simon shrugged. "Don't ask me. Maybe all that training Hylton's given me has paid off," he said, a little self-derisively.
        "As much as you obviously admire the man, I'd rather he didn't find out about my little jaunt," Rick said. He frowned as he remembered how fast Simon had responded to his problem. "I'm surprised I didn't see you."
        "So am I." Simon didn't elaborate, but Rick knew he was disturbed. As good as Rick's night vision was, he should have detected someone following him.
        "I have this tendency to get absorbed in things -" Rick offered, a little lamely.
        "That's an understatement." Simon added seriously, "You're entitled to time alone, Rick. There's no way I'm going to tell anyone about this. Not a word to Hylton - or Jason."
        Rick grimaced as he considered what Jace would have to say to his little daredevil antics.
        Simon studied Rick for a minute before smiling, a little regretfully. "But you have to admit we've got a problem here."
        Rick nodded. "Me. Again."
        "The only reason I intruded was because you needed help. Otherwise, you would never have known I was there." He glanced at his watch. "We've got to get you back." His eyes met Rick's. "The way I see it - if I tell you to call me when the urge comes on you again, you won't do it, right? Either that or you won't go out at all. Because that's at least half the problem - you take off when you need to get away." He sighed. "I'd just like to keep you alive, Rick. Any way I can."
        "It's the Big Brother Syndrome. I'm getting paranoid. Starting to feel like there're eyes watching me everywhere."
        Simon dropped Rick a block from his house. "Can you get back in the way you left? Or do you need a distraction?"
        Rick shook his head. "No problem. Thanks." He hesitated, then poked his head back in the window and whispered, "Next time, do you want me to warn you?"
        Simon didn't try to hide the way he was feeling. As much as he wanted to tell Rick "yes", he couldn't do that to him. It was such a small thing - these occasional "jaunts". He forced a smile. "No, Rick. Just be careful, okay?"
        Rick realised how much it went against Simon's instincts to say that "no". He also knew that - of all his friends - Simon was the one who'd understand best his need to have a trace of the "dark" side - and his need to harbour a few secrets. If someone had to accompany him on this kind of outing, he'd prefer it to be Simon.
        Besides, if Simon was so determined to keep him alive, the least he could do was oblige him a little. "I won't have to be too careful if you're there to watch my back," Rick told him with a smile. "Or, better still, if you're close enough so I can ramble on about lights on the water, and the fascinating photoluminescence of some fungi."
        "Oh, no," Simon groaned softly. But Rick could see the relief in his face.
        Rick offered him a sickeningly sweet smile. "Oh, yes. Don't worry - I'll give you enough warning so you can bring a jacket next time. And maybe some paper, to take notes on my fascinating discourse."
        "Like hell. Bye, Rick. See you tomorrow."
        Rick grinned and disappeared through the shrubbery.
*
        "Lockmann was out last night."
        "What d'you mean?"
        "Out. Wandering around town."
        Chesner looked at him blankly. There must be a point to all this, but he just couldn't figure out what it was. "They don't seem to restrict his movements -" he began.
        "Even though Lockmann left, his guards stayed behind."
        Chesner's gaze sharpened. "Are they getting lax?" It would make his job a lot easier if the DSO had let down their guard a little.
        "I don't think so." Rob Samuelson handed Chesner some photos. "They've lost something from distance, but that's Lockmann."
        "His heat signature's quite distinctive, isn't it?"
        Samuelson nodded. "It looks like he evaded the DSO. One of their men managed to pick up on it here -" He pointed to a second heat signature, somewhat darker than the first. "He tailed him for nearly two hours before Lockmann stopped."
        "Why is Lockmann's signature duller here?"
        Samuelson shrugged. "Carlson thinks he was having some kind of metabolic crisis. His temperature dropped."
        Chesner nodded. "Our reports say he's subject to crashes, where his whole system goes down. This overlap might mean the other man had to help him down to a car."
        Samuelson nodded. "That's what Carlson thought, too. Here's the weird part, though." He took another photo and laid it over the others. "Lockmann exited a vehicle here, and made his way back to his house alone."
        Chesner frowned thoughtfully. "Are you sure the one who was tailing him was DSO? Could Lockmann have made a deal with someone else?"
        "We'll see if a close-up can give us the licence plate. That'll give us more information."
        "Then find a way to set up some kind of early-warning signal - so we're alerted the next time Dr. Lockmann decides to take himself out for a stroll."
*
        Jason smiled at Rick. "I don't know why Hylton insisted on this. He must've thought being back at work would drain your reserves."
        Rick grinned. "I think he received some erroneous report about my first day back on the job." He added wryly, "He probably wants you to do a mental evaluation while you're at it."
        "I did hear something about 'bouncing off the walls'." Jason grinned. "But that was from Cole, not Hylton. He also said something about chocolate-flavoured okra. I didn't listen to him after that. Any problems to report?"
        "Only one." Rick's eyes were twinkling.
        "What's that?" Jace asked seriously.
        "How the hell did I end up with you as my doctor? Do they really expect me to take anything you say seriously?"
        "Very funny. What about me? Don't you think I get sick of seeing your face?"
        "Hey - don't knock it. This tan of mine has the ladies falling in droves. I was with Cole a couple of days ago, and one of his dates actually looked at me."
        "I hope you made sure Cole knew it," Jason replied, grinning.
        "What d'you think?" Rick asked sarcastically.
        "Don't you have anything I can report to Hylton? No anomalies at all?" Jason smiled. "I want to make sure I can keep collecting my handsome bonus from him. Did you know I actually have some food in my house now?"
        "I'm just thinking about all the nice stuff I can buy now that I don't have to buy food." Rick grew serious. "Isn't there anything I can eat, Jace? Sometimes I think my jaw muscles are going to atrophy from being out of action so long."
        "Like some of those potato chips you ate with Cole?"
        "How did you know about that?"
        "Cole called me when you started throwing up. I told him to leave you to it."
        "Experience is the best teacher?"
        Jason nodded. "Something like that."
        Rick's eyes darkened with disappointment, but his smile never wavered.
        It suddenly made Jace angry that his friend had to be disappointed in even these little things, like sharing a meal with friends. Rick had already been through so much. "Why don't I check with Rodrigal, and see if he has any ideas? Hell, there's enough food out there with no nutrient value whatsoever. Maybe we can find something for you." He smiled. "If all else fails I'll ask Cole. If anyone's an expert on junk food, it's him."
        "Hey, watch you don't insult him. He's gone big on health food now."
        "Health food? Cole?" Jason sounded slightly shocked. "That's like saying the Pope's gone non-Catholic."
        "Or Khadafy's embraced Judaism?"
        Jace nodded, smiling. "When I picture Cole and food, I always think in ecclesiastical terms. I used to say 'chocolate' was his favourite religion."
        "You know Cole. It's not really quality - it's quantity. He should buy carob stock. He eats enough carob bars to boost the market all by himself." Rick added, "By the way, those were health-food potato chips I ate. Otherwise, I wouldn't have touched 'em."
        "How reassuring. Maybe I should equip you with a stomach pump. Forced bulimia."
        "Very funny." Rick looked at him, noticing the fatigue rings under his eyes. Jason's hands were shaking slightly, and where they'd come in contact with his skin, they'd felt hot. "How are you doing, Jace? That flu bug still got you down?"
        Jason shrugged. "I've felt better." He forced a smile. "Seeing how energetic you are sometimes makes me feel like a wet rag." He rubbed the back of his neck and grimaced slightly.
        "Are we through?"
        Jason nodded. "Done."
        "Good. 'Cause I'm taking you to dinner."
        "You have money?" Jason sounded only slightly less shocked than he had when he'd heard about Cole's health-food addiction.
        "Hey - I'm a working man again. I don't have any money yet, but I've got a credit card - that actually has some credit on it. If you're through with all this doctor stuff, lose the white coat and let's go."
        Jason smiled tiredly. "On one condition."
        Rick lifted an inquiring eyebrow.
        "One word about dung fungus passes your lips at dinner, and I'll rub your face in all the stuff you can't eat." He shed his jacket and followed Rick out the door.
*
        "Someone named Lomax reported a malfunction in the video about a week ago. Their Security people checked it, but all Denaro's remains appeared to be accounted for. It wasn't until the coolant levels on the freezers were found to be functioning normally that someone noticed the high security tag. So they notified FOCUS."
        "It's theirs now. Why the fall-out?" Hylton asked.
        "Because we're listed as accessories. After FOCUS chewed out the Security people, they ran the video themselves. Along with internal and external temperature readings. The temperature in the room dropped, while the freezer temp rose."
        "Somebody had the freezer open, and didn't want anyone to see what he was doing." Steven Hylton thought about Caroline Denaro and swore. "Fuck it all to hell! What'd they do - replace her parts with substitutes?"
        Jamaal sounded like he was choking. "It was more selective than that, Steven. FOCUS thinks they only took what they needed."
        "Her head?" Steven asked in a whisper. He'd never forget that distorted visage if he lived to be a hundred.
        "Worse - her ovaries," Jamaal replied.
***

Chapter Four


        It was in his house when he returned from his dinner with Jace. At first, Rick thought it had been left by one of the DSO people, who'd come through on a safety inspection. "Inspections" were among the things he'd come to expect, and he'd much rather they do their "inspecting" while he was out of the house, than in it. They checked for bugs and video equipment, booby traps and bombs. At least it left him feeling that his private time could really be private.
        There was no way he could miss it. On the table, dead centre, like it had been placed on display. Quite the flashest-looking object in his otherwise secondhand-looking house.
        It was a book. Old, leather-bound, with gilt-edged, aged brown pages, and the title in script. For some reason, Rick found it slightly repellent. The ancient, mouldy scent invaded his nostrils, and made him reluctant to touch it. Rick finally forced himself to open it - to turn the first few pages.
        The rasping of the ancient paper gave Rick goosebumps. The title - as scarred as the gilt, and unreadable on the cover - seemed to jump out at him now.
        Spiritual Journeys: Life Outside the Body.
        It was inscribed, but not by the author. More like one might do with a special gift. The words were scrawled, in a shaky hand:
        To Richard Lockmann - may he learn to break the bonds that trap his spirit...
        He jerked away in horror - everything in him revolted at the hideous insinuation in the words. The tightening of his chest and gut initiated a gag reflex, and he bent over, retching helplessly. The old wounds, that Denaro had sliced into him weeks before, began to ache with the phantom agony of a missing limb.
        It took him a few minutes to get control over the panic. But he couldn't stop his brain from conjuring up those dreadful memories - Denaro hovering on the stairs; her rasping voice that never matched the movement of her so-called lips; her hand reaching out to enter his flesh...
        He shuddered, and in sudden fury, threw the book across the room. It slammed into the far wall, in an explosion of old glue and paper. Almost immediately, he heard running footsteps, and Gabriel Finlay was in the room, gun drawn, Jamaal at his back.
        "I dropped my book," Rick said, feeling a little sheepish about the response he'd stirred. He didn't know how to explain the way he'd felt: the revulsion, the gagging. About the way he'd been startled by his own violent reaction.
        Finlay stared at him a moment longer, noting Lockmann's pallor, and the way he was shaking. Was this one of his sugar episodes about to happen? Finlay forced a smile, and shoved the gun back in its holster. Something was wrong here. He shot a quick look at Jamaal, who withdrew, phone in hand.
        "I drop books the same way," Finlay admitted, looking at the mess. "Boring, huh? Give me a video any day."
        Lockmann stood there silently, and Gabriel Finlay thought the best description for his state was numb - shocky. He resolved to stay with him until he found out what had gone wrong. "Rick? Is there anything -"
        Rick interrupted him. "Gabe?" he asked worriedly. "Did you put it there?"
        Finlay looked confused, and slightly startled. "What?"
        "That book."
        Finlay shook his head. "Where'd you find it?"
        "It was on the table when I got back."
        "It's not yours?"
        Rick shook his head. "It's about - out-of-body experiences. That's a subject I leave alone now," he said, with a wry smile. "It reminds me too much of Denaro."
        Finlay gave a theatrical shudder, then smirked at the ripped cover and scattered pages. "You didn't have to drop it so hard," he complained. "What if it'd been a bomb or something?"
        With a turn of speed so typical of him, Rick quickly gathered the papers and chucked them gingerly into the bag Gabe supplied. "Fingerprints," Gabe warned him. "Try not to add to the damage you've already done." He sealed the bag, then told Rick, "I'm calling Hylton to send over a couple of extra people. Just in case."
        Rick nodded, his gaze inadvertently lingering on the spot where the book had lain. "There's something else you should know," he said, and his voice sounded choked. "It has my name on it." His sharp crystalline eyes met Finlay's. "I don't think you'll be able to see it. It's in one of those shades only my vision can pick up. Could you have it checked?"
        Finlay nodded.
        "It's someone who knows a lot about me," Rick said grimly. He turned away and began to pace nervously, adrenaline pushing his steps.
        Finlay hesitated, then asked, "Do you want me to call Jace? Or Sheryl?"
        Rick gave him a pale smile. "Do I look that bad?"
        "Hey, look - green's one of my favourite colours." The ruddy tones in Rick's skin had vanished, so that only the greenish cast of the chloroplasts was left.
        "I'm okay. I was just taken by surprise. Too many memories."
        "Rick -"
        Rick stopped his pacing, and turned to look at him again.
        Finlay was as serious as Rick had ever seen him. "I'd never have done anything like that to you. None of us would."
        "I know. I was just hoping it was someone I knew," Rick told him earnestly, "and that maybe I'd taken the inscription wrong."
        "All I know, is if it'd been me, I'd have handled it the same way," Finlay assured him. "Only, I wouldn't have wasted the effort on the wall. I would've have chucked the damned thing right through the window."
*
        Jason rested his elbows on the sides of the sink and splashed water over his face and neck. He guessed from the chills that he was running a fever again, so he popped two aspirin in his mouth and gulped some water from the tap. Aspirin alternatives might work great in most cases, but there was nothing like the analgesic, fever-bashing properties of good 'ol aspirin.
        He knew he was a fool to be popping any kind of pills in here. Substance abuse was an all-too-real problem, and anyone with any brains wouldn't take a chance on being caught downing any-thing. What one person claimed to be aspirin, another man could name as Valium. Jason didn't believe in leaving himself open to accusations - false or otherwise.
        Only I'm too sick to care. That was the truth. He'd rather be caught popping a few pills than urping his guts out. Or passed out on the floor of the john.
        He rinsed his face one more time, then stumbled over and sat down on top of one of the toilets, to wait out the aspirin. He leaned his head against the cool metal of the stall, and tried to stop the refrain from pounding in his skull. It was a nasty little tune, and when it played, visions of Caroline Denaro would ripple across the inside of his eyelids. No! he told himself. It's just the flu. You've had the flu before -
        When his shivering had faded to an occasional quiver, he pushed himself up and went back over to the sink. He smoothed down his hair, straightened his collar, and checked his watch. He just hoped that when Sheryl Matthews saw him, she'd attribute the glassiness of his gaze to bright-eyed enthusiasm. Chances were, he thought, she wouldn't look closely enough to notice any changes. Matthews was a great supervisor, but she saved most of her compassion for her patients. With her staff, Sheryl was staunch, professional, and objective. She'd stand up for any of them against egotistical bullies like Herbert Blaisden, but she made them work for their money and education, figuring that sacrifice was the best way of appreciating the value of what you'd learned and earned. Jason could both understand and appreciate her attitude - with one exception. That exception was Rick.
        When Rick was first admitted to the hospital, Sheryl Matthews had been both sympathetic, and compassionate. Something had happened since then, and it bothered Jace a lot. Matthews had lost her compassion in Rick's case, to the extent that even Rick could tell she viewed him as a nuisance. Jason didn't know what her reasons were, but her dislike was apparent, and it was all Jace could do not to accuse her of being unprofessional.
        He didn't know if it was Rick's mutation, the fact that his metabolism sometimes faltered due to what might be interpreted as foolish mistakes, or that Rick managed to recover so quickly. Or maybe it was just that he took so much of her time. It was probably some weird combination of all those reasons, but that didn't make either Jace or Rick feel any better about it.
        Jason had tried to handle most of Rick's problems, to keep Sheryl away from him, so maybe - not knowing Sheryl the way Jace did - Rick might not guess that she acted differently around him than she did the rest of her patients. Jace knew he hadn't been totally successful. Rick was too smart to be fooled for long.
        And the last thing in the world Rick needed was to dwell on his mutation, and the effect it might have on others. Because of the changes to his form, Rick was susceptible to a whole new kind of prejudice, directed solely at him. Bigotry. Jason just found it a little hard to believe that one of its practitioners was Sheryl Matthews, a person he'd always taken to be rational, and empathetic to her patients' needs.
        The worst part of it was that Matthews had picked up on his - Jason's - resentment of her attitude. It would have made things damn near impossible if Sheryl hadn't reacted by overdoing the professionalism bit, so she was treating him nearly as coolly as she was Rick.
        It's a good thing. Her professionalism would work for him now. He guessed she'd only notice him if he were one of her patients - or if I made a mistake with one of her patients, he thought ruefully - and he had no intention of being or doing either. He shook his head to clear it, straightened up, and checked his watch again. Then, he moved hurriedly toward the door. He'd just remembered the other thing that would catch her attention and her wrath - if he were stupid enough to be late.
*
        "The only fingerprints on it are Lockmann's."
        "That doesn't mean he made it up," Finlay said, a little angrily. "You should have seen him - he was scared. Mostly because it reminded him of Denaro."
        What was it about Lockmann that made his staff so damned obstinate? It was the first time in Hylton's experience that the protection they afforded a "client" had extended all the way into his office. "I wasn't suggesting he 'made it up', Mr. Finlay," Hylton told him, with some asperity. "Merely that it's significant there were no other fingerprints. I'd expect a few smudged ones, at least. Instead, it's been wiped clean. A damned professional job, too," he added quietly. "Any ideas how?"
        "The window. The alarm can be circumvented, and no one was watching very closely because Lockmann wasn't there," he admitted. "Besides, we had the lasers activated."
        Hylton nodded. "That's the worst part. Whoever's decided to engage in a little psychological warfare is damned well-equipped - and knowledgeable. This was no 'gift'. Lockmann was right: the inscription's directed at him - in a wavelength only he can read. Have you seen it?"
        Finlay looked at the photocopy in Hylton's hand. "Jesus!" he exclaimed. "No wonder the guy looked sick. That spidery handwriting doesn't help, either."
        "Yeah," Steven said grimly. "The personal touch. Any ideas who might have done it?"
        Finlay shook his head. "What I'd really like to know is why."
*
        "Letter for you, Rick." Johnson tossed him the envelope. "It's from your mother."
        Rick smirked. "Thanks," he said, sarcastically. "Why don't you just tell me what's in it, so I don't have to strain my eyes?"
        Johnson laughed - one of his deep booming laughs that always brought a smile to Rick's face. "What d'you think I am - nosy? I just wanted to make sure your mom wasn't some terrorist bomber -"
        "The terror part's right. You wait - one day she's going to come up here, just to make sure I can still function after ten years on my own. I'll give you a personal introduction." He grinned. "She even scares Cole."
        Johnson laughed again. "A woman Calloway can't handle, huh? Now, that's someone I have to meet."
        Rick opened the flap. Inside was a length of shimmery silver thread. Rick pulled out the string to look at it. It was beautiful, of some shiny, almost holographic material. He'd never seen anything like it before. "Nice thread, Mom," he muttered, confused. He quickly scanned what his mother had said.
        "A letter came today, Rick. I think it's some kind of chain letter. Anyway - I hate to do this to you, and I'm normally not superstitious -"
        "Yeah, right, Mom." He grinned. As he read on, his smile faded.
        "It was really horrible. It referred to this string as the 'thread of life'. It said not to break the chain, because it would put my child at risk. That I had to send it to you, or risk the chance of the thread becoming detached from the body. Horrible stuff, and your dad is furious with me for wanting to send it to you. I know this is stupid, Son, but being your mother, I couldn't not do it, if you know what I mean. Just in case."
        "I'm sorry, Richard, but since you don't have any kids yet (that you'd have to send it on to), I let my superstition get the better of me."
        "The other thing I was supposed to tell you (according to the letter), is CHAKRAS. The 'Fated Ones' will supposedly know what that means. And one end of the silver thread had to be glued to the word."
        "You're probably laughing at my foolishness, and I know you think I'm gullible for going along with something like this. Who comes up with these things?
        I'll write you a decent letter tomorrow. I didn't want to include it with this one (I think you can guess why). As your mother, I'm ordering you to stick this in the rubbish ASAP. Or, even better - burn it. I've heard burning is the best way to get rid of stuff like this - that's not quite right.
        "Love, Mom
        PS If you're angry with me, call. If you're not, but just think I'm stupid, keep it to yourself."
        Rick stood there blankly, staring at the silver thread, which was hooked - by a big glob of shimmery glue - to a giant "CHAKRAS" written in bold across a sheet of plain white paper. His mom had done a thorough job, that was sure. Not taking any chances that her son's thread of life was going to be snuffed out.
        Well, the "Fated One" knew what it was, all right. Chakras, the Hindu wheel, that acts as the spiritual centre. The silver thread was that gossamer linkage between the living body, and the extant soul. The soul that was no longer trapped within the boundaries of flesh, but anchored to it by a silver cord.
        Like the nebulous umbilicus Caroline Denaro had used to snag her prey.
        Johnson was staring at him. All traces of laughter were gone, as he watched Rick run his fingers along the silver string. "What's wrong, Rick?" he asked seriously.
        Rick's eyes were dark and unreadable. "Someone got to my parents," he said. "This little package?" he said, looking at the envelope. "It was a bomb," he added grimly, "and I think it just went off in my face."
*
        "That's all he said," Johnson told Hylton. "Then he just dropped it on the floor, walked into his bedroom, and closed the door." He handed it to Hylton. "I took a look at it, but it just sounds like a bunch of gibberish to me. I think maybe it got to him, because it was from his mother."
        The last was said with a trace of sympathy, and Hylton hide to fight to suppress his amusement. Damn Lockmann's hide! He'd have Hylton's operatives working for him before he got through.
        Steven pulled out the thread and studied it, frowning now. It stirred a memory, and he tried to remember where he'd seen a reference to a silver cord, and the word Chakras. Suddenly, he had it - the book. The book that had been left on Lockmann's table.
        The book had held nearly as much aversion for him as it had for Richard Lockmann. Even the smell had reminded him of Denaro. The mouldiness had a "fleshy" aspect to it that was reminiscent of Denaro's scent, though he didn't know if he was making the leap because so much else in the book reminded him of Denaro, too. He'd forced himself to look through it, because someone had put it in Lockmann's house for a reason.
        Part of that reason was obviously psychological pressure. Hitting the mutant in some of his most vulnerable areas: his encounters with Denaro, his relationship with his parents. The last was particularly disturbing. Richard Lockmann had very little that was truly stable in his life. His parents had no idea what had happened to him, and Steven suspected that Rick kept the solidarity of their relationship at the back of his mind.
        Hell, I do it myself. My parents would be horrified if they knew what I really did for a living.
        By initiating this last "assault" in his mother's hand, their adversary was jiggling the cornerstones of Lockmann's stability. It as good as said there was no true security for him. Not in his own home, nor in the place he'd grown up. Steven was surprised at the pity he felt.
        Now, he's doing it to me. Steven frowned, and forced himself to concentrate on the letter and Lockmann's reaction. He'd be willing to bet a day's wages that Lockmann already knew what the word and thread meant.
        "Maybe Rick and I need to have a talk," he told Johnson. If the two events were related, something serious was going on.
        "Good luck," Johnson told him, amusement back in his voice. "I have a feeling you can talk to him all you want, Mr. Hylton, but I'd be willing to bet -" Steven looked slightly surprised as Johnson echoed his thoughts, "- he's not going to do much talking back. And if he brings it up, you can guess that it's not what's really bothering him."
        Steven leaned back in the chair and sighed. His eyes met Johnson's, and he gave a wry smile. "Then maybe I'd better use someone with a real grasp of subtlety. Someone with finesse, and a facile mind."
        Johnson chuckled. "Someone who'll grab Lockmann by the balls and squeeze the truth out of him, just because he figures it's what's best for the poor bastard."
        "You guessed it." He handed the plastic bag with the letter back to Johnson. "Have this analysed. That'll give me a few minutes to prepare myself. Then -" he shook his head in regret, "- send me Cole Calloway."
*
        Cole breezed into Rick's house. "Hey, Rick!" he yelled. He turned around, and saw Rick over by the bookshelves. Rick had his hands over his ears. "Oh, there you are!" Cole said cheerfully, and only slightly less loudly. "Heard you got some hate mail from your mom."
        "Word gets around."
        "Hey, better you than me. If it's any consolation, she doesn't write me any more. She asked me what I was doing, to keep busy, and I actually told her." He grinned widely. "I don't think she really wanted to know." He considered it for a moment.
        Rick smiled. "You're a bad influence. Fast cars, fast women, wine, and -"
        "Just don't say 'wine, women, and song'. I don't sing. Though, I will, the next time your mom comes visiting."
        "Spare her. She'll have enough to cope with when she sees me." Rick hid his nose back in a journal.
        "Tell Uncle Cole all about it. Hylton told me there was all kinds of metaphysical shit in the envelope, like it was airmail from Denaro."
        Rick frowned. "I don't want to talk about it."
        "So?" Cole put his feet up on the coffee table. "Stevie-boy wants me to find out how much it's bothering you. Bunch of bullshit, if you ask me. Why doesn't he just ask you himself?" He snorted. "He thinks he's so damn sly."
        Rick was grinning now. "He knows I won't tell him. So, he's using you instead - figuring you'll either get me to spill my guts, or nag me to death. Either way it'll save him a lot of trouble."
        Cole looked momentarily upset. "Is that how everyone thinks of me?" he asked, a little more quietly.
        Rick was instantly contrite. "Of course not, Cole. He just knows you're a friend of mine -"
        Cole was laughing now. "Gotcha. Now that you're feeling all sorry for me, go ahead and spill your guts. I promise I'll mop 'em up afterwards."
        "Did he tell you about the book?"
        Cole looked blank. "What book?"
        Rick stood up and began to pace erratically. "So, he sends you over here -"
        "Hey - I object to that, Dr. Dung. I came over because I wanted to. I wouldn't sell you out to Hylton."
        Rick flashed him a smile. "I know, Cole." His crystalline eyes were worried. "The letter had some references to out-of-body experiences - and - and paraphernalia." He hesitated. "I'm not really going over the edge," he said, grinning. "It just took me by surprise."
        "Uh-huh." Cole had known Rick too long to be fooled by a forced smile. His own expression sobered. "Thanks for the load of bullshit. What's this about a book?"
        "It came a couple of days ago. I got back, and it was sitting here. Same topic."
        Cole exploded. "They let someone get in here? What kind of goddamn bodyguards are they, anyway?!" He stood up. "Thanks, Rick - I'll take care of this now. I'm going to have a few choice words with Mr. Bullshit Crap Hylton!" He gave Rick a perfunctory pat on the back, that nearly toppled him on to the floor, then stomped angrily out of the house.
        Rick stood there staring at the doorway long after he'd gone. Leave it to Cole to focus on the part that should have been bothering him, instead of the part that actually was.
        He smiled. Cole was right. It was all a matter of focus. What he should have been worried about was the fact that someone was trying to get to him, instead of the means they were using. Because, by reacting the way he had been, he was doing just what they wanted.
        Rick closed the journal and glanced out at the afternoon sunlight. Grinning widely, he headed for the door. It was a great day, and he'd been letting too many shadows haunt his life lately. Humming off-key, he strolled outside to catch some rays.
*
        "Off to work, Doctor Dung?"
        Rick had opened his mouth to say, "Hi, Dave," and for a second, it just hung open. "Doctor Dung?" he repeated. "Where'd you hear that one?"
        "From Calloway. He said everyone calls you 'Rick', but 'Doctor Dung's' actually your nickname. The one you prefer." Geraldo said it seriously, but when Rick glanced at him, he was grinning.
        Rick burst out laughing. "I'm gonna kill him," he said. "Did he tell everyone?"
        "Let me put it this way," Dave said. "This morning, we all had e-mails - supposedly from Hylton - directing us to call you by your nickname. As a kind of morale booster for you."
        "What did he tell you to call Hylton?"
        "You know him pretty well, don't you?" Dave said. "We're to call him 'Stefan' - only pronounced steh - fawn. There was a big accent on the 'fawn' part. A few people fell for it, and Hylton's livid. He can't prove it was Calloway, either, or he'd dismantle him. He somehow found a way in around the system."
        Rick grinned. "It's Cole, all right. That kind of joke has his signature all over it. He probably stayed up half the night, cracking codes to weasel his way into your system."
        "Hylton can't accuse him outright, and I don't think he wants to believe Calloway is that smart. With a sense of humour like that, he feels safer thinking Calloway's not involved."
        When they got to Entadyne, Dave prepared to spend his time in the lobby.
        "Come on up, Dave," Rick suggested. "I don't know if I'm any less boring than the wallpaper down here, but at least I'm in motion."
        "Any dung up there?"
        Rick grinned. "Shovel loads. You can help me haul it."
        Dave was still smiling when they reached the lab. Usually the DSO people waited for Rick down in the vestibule, where they could watch all activity coming or going. It raised fewer questions, and it gave Lockmann some time to himself. Today, though, besides the usual two, there was a third person on watch. It made it not only appropriate, but advisable, to accompany Rick to his lab. Especially with the way so much of their security had been circumvented lately.
        Dave didn't say anything to Rick, but he knew the real reason Hylton was shitting bricks was the further breakdown of security - of someone getting into, and manipulating - their communications network. By itself it might have been a prank, but with the other incidents taking place in Lockmann's house it seemed to indicate that all of their security measures were in jeopardy. What Calloway may have intended as a morale-building joke might end up with his friend Lockmann incarcerated in some safe facility.
        Dave had been a little surprised when Rick invited him up to the lab. But, then he thought about it: if he were in Lockmann's shoes, he'd want a squad of armed defenders watching his back. And, he admitted, I'd raise hell if I didn't get it.
        He smiled. All Lockmann had requested was company - and it wasn't because he was stupidly naive, or unaware of the danger. No, Rick was nervous, and more than a little edgy. He did a good job of hiding it, but Geraldo had known him long enough to see beyond the eruptive speed that propelled him, to his almost jerky movements whenever a loud noise, or an unexpected movement, caught his attention.
        Either the guy had a lot of faith in himself, or he had more trust in his defenders than they deserved, if their recent performance was any example. Or, most likely, Lockmann just realised they were doing the best they could, while letting him retain some kind of a life.
        "You can relax, Doc," Dave assured him. "First thing that moves gets a one way ticket to the manure pile."
*
        "Hi, Jack." Rick took the package. "This for me?" he asked, looking at it.
        "Yeah. It came by courier." Jack caught Geraldo's look, and told him, "It's not metal or plastic, and it doesn't tick. Satisfied?"
        "Who's it from?"
        Rick stood there impatiently while Dave shoved in for a closer look.
        Jack peered at the address. "Ackbar Something-or-other's -"
        "Ag-bar Biologicals," Rick told him. "They send us stuff all the time."
        "Anyway, it matches the package label inside."
        "Did you order anything?"
        Rick shook his head. "But it might backdate from the time I was sick." He grinned. "Some fantastic fungus I couldn't live without."
        "You're still sick," Dave told him. "Okay - open it."
        Rick looked at the package inside, a little confused. It was larger than any he'd received before. Most of the specimens were in small plastic bags. Clear bags. This one was opaque. That bothered him, because he wanted to know what he was dealing with. He looked for the packing slip but it wasn't in the package. Should he open it under the vent?
        Stupid. Ag-bar sent out samples. For comparative research, anatomy, molecular testing. Things like that. Nothing dangerous. In fact, this was usually the high point of his day - to get one of their packages. It broke the routine, and gave him something concrete to play with rather than the little molecular messes he was always centrifuging or replicating or diluting.
        He tipped it out on to the counter, took his scalpel and broke the seal. Then, smiling, he peeled the back the plastic.
        And instantly got a leafhopper in his teeth. Startled - unable to react with his usual speed - Rick watched in shock as hundreds of leafhoppers hopped, pushed, and flew out of the bag. Within seconds, leafhoppers were exploding into his face, his hair. He wanted to warn the others, but he was afraid to get leafhoppers in his mouth.
        Jack was waving his gun, and Dave was trying to pick a leafhopper out of his nose. Rick stared as the bright insects fled the confinement of the bag, and spread out across his lab.
        Rick fumbled with the bag, determined to stop any more from sneaking out. For the most part, it was too late. The leafhopper army had made its escape. But, the bag wasn't empty. Whatever was left wasn't moving.
        Rick glanced around at his writhing workspace and sighed. It can't get any worse, he thought. Talk about your practical jokes.
        He tipped the last item out on to the bench. He fully expected a note or some gag, like a tube of insect repellent. Instead, he found a length of silver cord.
        He closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe slowly. Gooseflesh danced up and down his arms as he tugged the line, ever so slowly, out of its resting place. It snagged several times along the way, as whatever was on the other end brushed against the side of the bag.
        It was a lock of hair. Harsh, brittle, dried-out hair, that looked like it had been abused. Hair that was an improbable reddish shade, with half-inch roots of mouse brown and wiry grey.
        Rick's eyes dilated, and sweat coated his body. He'd seen hair like this once before. Close-up.
        Neglected hair, because its owner had been sick - too sick to tend to it. Hair had been the least of her worries.
        Dave reached for the hair, and Rick latched on to his hand. "Get out of here!" he ordered harshly.
        "What the -"
        "It's Denaro's hair!" Rick yelled at him. "Get out! Make sure you don't take the hoppers with you! Showers down the hall - use antibiotic!" He yelled the last to the thud of running feet.
        Rick stood there for a moment, uncertain where to start. Leafhoppers - the vector for WTV.
        Correction - one of the vectors. He glanced down at the hair on the bench, as he thought about the other. With a pair of forceps, Rick shoved the hair back in the bag.
        His eyes followed the swift green flight of a particularly large insect. It sailed halfway across the bench, then abruptly dropped to the surface, where it lay writhing - its six legs contorting in some kind of death agony. All around him, leafhoppers started dropping out of the air. He could hear the pflup of tiny bodies impacting on the counters and floor. Within five minutes, they were all dead. Someone had timed it perfectly - the package was opened, the delivery made, and the vectors killed - all within a space of fifteen minutes.
        Rick was still standing there a few minutes later when a team arrived, dressed in isolation suits.
        "Let's go, Rick," Hylton said. For once, there was no impatience in his voice.
        Rick didn't say anything. He trudged along at Hylton's side, all traces of his fluid movements gone. He was still thinking about the silver cord attached to the wiry veins of matching silver hair.
***

Chapter Five

        
        I promised Simon.
        The words from the inscription kept running through Rick's mind: "...may he learn to break the bonds that trap his spirit..."
        Right now, the words were attacking his nervous system, and sending it into overdrive. Rick couldn't sit still, couldn't lie down, couldn't relax. Every time he closed his eyes, a silvery cord would drift across his vision, followed by hordes of leafhoppers.
        He glanced at the clock. Hylton would still be up. And, if he wasn't, Rick didn't care. He picked up the phone.
        "Hylton."
        "How're Jack and Dave? Dave took one up his nose."
        "We gave them both some of your antibodies, but Denis doesn't think there's a problem. We found the one with Dave's name on it, so to speak, and tested it. No sign of virus. If any were infected, it wasn't from the hair."
        "It was Denaro's hair."
        There was silence on the other end.
        "Or a replica," Rick insisted.
        "We'll look into it," Hylton told him curtly.
        Rick wanted to slam down the phone. He fought against the impulse, and, instead, gave an equally curt "Good night". Then, he began to pace once more.
        He knew Hylton despised him. Hated what he was, and where he'd come from. Detested his accidental link with Denaro, and the trouble it caused. Hated the trouble it brought Steven Hylton and his team. Blamed one Richard Lockmann for the loss of life, that night when they'd stormed Genetechnic.
        My fault. Because Richard Lockmann had needed to help one person, he'd cost the lives of so many others.
        But I stopped the spread of a disease.
        Or, did I just ensure it was delivered into other hands, who could spread it equally well?
        A vision of that lock of hair flashed behind his eyes.
        He needed action. Usually, the only things that drove him into one of his mysterious nightly walks were the urge for a little self-identity, an outing from complacency, and the knowledge that he, too, needed to have some secrets lurking behind his smile.
        Not that his secretive side was all that mysterious.
        Not like Denaro, whose forays were more than physical.
        The lock of Denaro's hair, and the silver cord. The physical linked to the inescapable.
        Where had the thought come from? It gave Rick the jitters. Suddenly, the urgency to escape was greater than ever - and he had the feeling he was attempting to escape something far worse than the complacency of his everyday existence. Something far worse than annoyance at his caged state. Something far worse than the sickening weight of everyone's observation and concern.
        Unable to bear thinking of the first, Rick concentrated on the last. They'd never understand it - but their compassion was more painful than any objective observation. Mostly because it made him feel he had to measure up to their expectations. Because he sensed they'd instilled him with some kind of nobility or finer feelings that he didn't think he possessed - and measuring up to it - holding the smile and the display of geniality even though it killed him - made him feel like he was fighting against a never-ending wash of sand. Eventually, it would bury him, and the real Richard Lockmann - and he didn't really know who that was any more - would disappear.
        The urgency hit him again - like a riptide at the beach. It was tugging at him, and he knew he needed to flow with it. Otherwise, he'd be caught by the other thoughts that the damned book, and the letter, and a lock of hair - had inspired.
        Don't give yourself time to think -
        They'd tightened his guard, but it didn't matter. Rick's eyes were keener, and his movements faster. He'd be able to slip away.
        For just a moment, the promise to Simon hung around his neck like a slipknot that was slowly tightening. Then he realised he was the one making it that way. Simon was good company, and he wouldn't judge. And, if he'd heard about the book - and the rest - they could talk about it -
        He instantly felt foolish. The book hung heavily in his mind, with the weighty austerity of a massive bible, because of the fear it had triggered deep inside. To anyone else, it was just a book. An old, smelly book at that. Finlay's main concern hadn't been what was in it, but the fact that it was there at all. The other things: a chain letter, a bunch of insects and an old lock of hair - would be meaningless to someone else. A gag, like the fake e-mail. Something to laugh about.
        I can't go. As much as he needed release, he'd have to find it in the confines of his own rooms. If they found he was gone, he'd start a panic. More trouble.
        Rick had gone so far as to punch in Simon's number. Now he slammed down the phone, before it could ring.
        I don't need to talk. If I tell people what's scaring me, they'll think I've lost my mind.
        Or, worse - they'd be afraid he was contemplating leaving it.
        Rick had to admit it. He'd been the subject of the unwanted "gifts", and whoever had sent them knew he'd have no trouble understanding the message.
        Foolish to even contemplate going out. But was here any safer? Was anywhere safer? When the person you had most to fear - was yourself?
*
        Rick tried not to think about it, but he'd researched the topic too thoroughly. Little bits of knowledge, that he'd attempted to forget, kept popping up to plague him.
        The worst part of it was the attraction. Thousands - perhaps tens of thousands - of people played with astral projection - with out-of-body experiences. They'd even coined a term that adepts used: OBE. There was a whole range of jargon and slang that went with the territory.
        Something about it had drawn him. There'd been a promise of infinite knowledge in it that acted like bait. Of freedom from sickness and pain that had been nearly overwhelming. Somehow, he'd overcome the impulse, but now the struggle against it lingered in his memory. That Richard Lockmann had been sick - sick nearly to death. The lure of being away from it all - of being on some other astral plane - of being able to explore vast realms of knowledge - all without pain or weakness - had been almost irresistible.
        Yet he'd resisted.
        Because of her.
        Some eager, puppy-like part of him had panted to go. Wanted to believe that his experience would be different from hers. Wanted to feel that there'd be no trouble finding his way back.
        Wanted to discount the lack of credibility in that nebulous "science". Wanted to throw it all to fate - and just do it. To Rick, so accustomed to the accountable, it had seemed a lot like running naked through the streets: the freedom and thrill of the novel; the tantalising lure of the unknown; the promise of liberation. Liberation from a sick body, and from the fears that drove him. Fears of death. Fear of Denaro. That was one of the things it had promised - that he'd never fear death again.
        But, Denaro was gone. And I'm well and strong. There was no sickness of body or spirit to make the temptation of an ethereal existence attractive. But it was his memory - of that time of attraction - despite the fact that he'd seen her; despite the fact that - even then - he had her lingering in his mind - that terrified him.
        I'm too active. I couldn't astral project, even if I wanted to.
        For just a moment, he felt safe. Until some part of his mind finished the thought. Said the unspeakable, that bothered him because it was out of his control.
        With my metabolism, I could never astral project.
        Except in my dreams.
        He had no control over his sleep. When enough light had left the sky, his body shut down. There was a certain period, of course - several hours at best - in which he could maintain.
        A shiver went through him. Some other part of him had control when he was sleeping. It was the same part that could sometimes turn a sane existence into wild flights of fancy - to create those wild visions that sometimes rocked his sleep. He was just afraid it might be the part that could succumb to the spark of temptation - the lure of being on that other plane, where chloroplasts residing in your flesh didn't matter, because you didn't bring your flesh with you.
        Especially tempting, if something in your unwanted flesh contained the means to send you there. If something about you made it easy to turn flights of fancy into reality.
        Rick suddenly realised, that for all he'd feared Caroline Denaro, he now feared someone else more.
        Himself.
*
        "He's not sleeping." George Jackleby was insistent. Steven Hylton had told him he needed to report his observation to the doctor, and he was doing it.
        "What about his nightly shutdown?"
        "He's been keeping his special lights on. For several days now."
        So it's deliberate. What is this? A bid for attention? Is he trying to make himself sick? With Rick, every missed sleeping period meant a loss of body mass.
        She attempted to hide her annoyance. "Thanks for the report, George."
        She said it kindly enough, but Jackleby could tell she was irritated. He was silent, and she sighed. "Anything else?"
        "Look, Doc, I wouldn't have told you, but Hylton thought you needed to know."
        "Absolutely." She realised he'd picked up on some clue in her voice, and she knew she'd given herself away. Stiffening her back, she changed the subject. There was no excuse for unprofessional behaviour. "Are you my 'guard' this Thursday, George?" she inquired. "There's a thriller on TV -"
        "Say no more, Dr. Matthews," he replied, and she could hear the smile in his voice. "I'll bring the popcorn."
        She put down the phone and stood there for a moment, looking at it without seeing it - thinking about this latest development in the Richard Lockmann saga. What was the fool up to now? She'd never particularly liked the man, but at least she'd given him credit for his intelligence. Depriving himself of his sleep cycle was foolhardy.
        She wondered if she should speak with him - try to discover his reasons. Maybe they were plant-related. Something, as his doctor, that she should know about.
        For just a moment, it occurred to her how much Lockmann was under her control. I'm his doctor. It was one hell of a responsibility - and one she didn't particularly cherish - but it also put her in a position of control. What he was doing now was going to put him in jeopardy, and make more trouble for the rest of them.
        To ensure Lockmann got his sleep - all they needed to do was turn off the lights - or the power.
        It would save everyone a lot of trouble.
        I'm his doctor. It helped dispel the vaguely guilty feeling that assailed her. The feeling that would have gone from vague to violent if Jace had been here.
        She punched in Hylton's number, to tell him what he should do.
*
        From her office, Sheryl Matthews could hear the phone ringing down the hall. After the sixth ring, annoyance was percolating through her. Stratton should have transferred his phone if he was going to leave. She strode out the door, practically slamming it as she went. The operator would eventually pick up the call, but it might be twenty rings - if the caller held on that long. If this was some kind of emergency - with Richard Lockmann, for example - she'd have Steven Hylton breathing down her neck.
        She knocked perfunctorily on Jason's door, then pushed it open. Her anger died as soon as she saw him. Jace was leaning back in his chair, and he looked so bad that her first impulse was to check his vital signs. He was so pale that his skin nearly matched the off-white wallpaper at his back, and there were dark circles under his eyes.
        He'd taken a lot of time off lately with the "flu". Looking at him now, she wondered how she'd missed seeing what was right in front of her face. If this was flu, then it was serious enough to need monitoring. She cursed herself for her stupidity.
        She guessed he'd been trying to hide it from her, and that she'd caught him out. He resented the way she'd treated Lockmann - she knew it, and he didn't exactly try to hide it, but this went a long way to explain some lapses in his performance lately. He hadn't been working at the standard she'd come to expect, but she'd assumed it was because of his resentment. I should have known better. His laxness was so out of character. She made a mental note to amend some comments she'd written about him on his quarterly assessment.
        As the phone rang for the last time, Jason stirred. Sheryl quickly hid her concern behind a polite mask. Jason didn't need her guilt to stir him up right now. Any more than he needed to know how sick he looked.
        "Jason - what's wrong?"
*
        Jason opened his eyes to a squint, and saw Sheryl Matthews, his supervisor, standing in the doorway. Oh hell! he thought. "Nothing -" he started to say, but she'd already come into the room and was closing the door, "- but a headache," he finished lamely.
        "Must be some headache," she said, a little sarcastically. "I came in because your phone was ringing. Didn't you hear it?"
        Jace looked a little startled. No, he hadn't heard it, and he found the thought a little frightening. It showed on his face.
        She nodded. "That's what I thought." She glanced at her watch. It was already after five. For a moment she vacillated. Guilt and concern made her want to deal with this tonight. Instinct, and the look of irritation on Jason's face, made her decide on tomorrow. "Ten o'clock tomorrow, my office. Be prepared to stay awhile."
        "But, I -" he started to argue.
        Her voice was firm. "Consider it mandatory." Then, she smiled, which did a lot to set his mind at ease. "This is my payback for bailing you out of that dumpster." She went out the door, then poked her head back in to add, "This time, Dr. Stratton, bring a change of clothes."
*
        For the first time in days, things were starting to come back into perspective. Rick looked at his friends and grinned - glad to have them there. With Cole's arrival, especially, all the tension in the room seemed to evaporate.
        "What's her name, Cole?" Jace leaned back against the sofa cushions, and put a foot up on Rick's coffee table. "Haven't seen much of you the last few days."
        "What are you talking about, Jace? You saw me yesterday." Cole grinned. "People can never get enough of me," he told Rick. "It must be my effervescent personality."
        Jace forced a smile. "I guess I forgot."
        Cole smiled at the slur, and only Rick saw the trace of confusion in Jason's eyes. Jace really had forgotten, and even now, Rick knew he was struggling to remember. For a moment, Rick's crystalline eyes darkened in concern.
        Then, he decided he was making too much of his friend's forgetfulness. After all, when I'm busy, I forget everything from appointments, to where I put my car keys. Jace was probably not only busy, but overworked, as usual. Rick booted his leg. "Hey, show some respect for the furniture."
        Jace looked startled, and yanked his foot off the table. Rick plopped down in the chair opposite him and put both his feet in the spot Jason had just vacated. "It's two feet, or nothing. You'll knock it out of balance." He demonstrated by jiggling the table back and forth. Then he grinned. "Gotcha." Rick stared at Jace for a minute, noting how exhausted - and yeah, just plain sick - he looked. His unique colour vision picked up a weird flush to Jace's complexion. "You okay, Jace?" he asked quietly.
        "Yeah. Fine," Jason said. "Just a migraine."
        "No women this time. I'm conserving my energy," Cole told them.
        The "women" brought a smile to Rick's face. With Cole, the noun was usually plural.
        Cole was obviously waiting for one of them to ask him what he was saving his energy for. When they didn't, he said casually, "I've been working out."
        Rick's eyebrows shot up. "Working out?"
        "Yeah. I got to thinking about how easily Simon climbed those stairs the day we got shot - and how he's been working out now, to get the stiffness out of his shoulder." Cole grinned. "I've joined two gyms, and -" he leaned back in the chair, and laced his fingers behind his head, then said smugly, "- I'm learning karate and kung fu." After giving it a moment to sink in, he sat forward excitedly. "Remember that old TV show, where the monk goes all over the Old West with his kung fu -"
        A flicker of movement in the doorway caught his eye. Simon had joined them. He stood there with a pained expression on his face. "I suppose I should be glad you admire me so much, but somehow, all that comes to mind is, 'what the hell have I done?'"
        "Hi, Simon," Rick said, somewhat absently. He was still trying to work out the connection between the monk and Cole's kung fu lessons. "Are you going for the 'monk' bit, too?" Rick asked in disbelief.
        "Are you crazy? I gave myself three days off, to see if it'd enhance my strength. But my phone's already ringing off the wall. All the ladies want to see my bullet wound - or maybe it's just my pistol they admire." He grinned, a little smugly.
        Simon grunted. "More like they want to check if the hole's actually in your head. You haven't been telling them where you picked up your little injury, have you?"
        "Hey - discretion's my middle name. 'Simon the Spy' isn't the only one around here who can be sneaky." Cole gave him a dirty look. "As for that other thing -"
        Simon looked momentarily blank as he tried to figure out what the "other thing" was.
        "- I didn't say I admired you," Cole snorted disparagingly. "Only that it must have taken one hell of a good gym to get you into shape." He added, "Having such lousy material to start with."
        "Cole," Simon said, and the way he said it drew all eyes. For a moment there, Simon looked dangerous, and Cole flinched. "When you're ready to try out your 'kung fu', just let me know." He ruined it in the next second by grinning.
        Cole sighed. "For a moment there, Kerrington, I thought you meant it. I was ready to drape my black belt around your over-sized ego." He glanced at Jace. "You're quiet tonight. What d'you think? Want to join my karate class?"
        Jace's smile was strained. "I'll think about it." He stood up. "I've gotta go."
        "Think hard. With everyone and their mother interested in Rickardo here, I think a little 'hi-yuh' might come in handy." He turned to Simon. "What do you think my chances are of joining the DSO?"
        "I think Hylton said something about needing a janitor or an office-person. Want me to ask him?"
        "Very funny. Is the bastard on speaking terms with you again?"
        "Only because he can't help it. I'm the 'Rick' connection."
        "Spare me," Rick said dryly.
        "Gladly. By the way, he sent you these." Simon pulled a small box out of his pocket and chucked it to Rick.
        "Contact lenses?"
        "Steven Hylton sent them with an apology. He said they'd help you look more 'normal'."
        Rick unscrewed one side and peered at the lens closely. "Are they equipped with tracking devices or something?"
        "Not the lenses, but I'd lose the case if I were you," Simon told him seriously.
        "See! That's what I mean!" Cole jumped up and began to pace around Rick's furniture. "It's just so fuckin' cool!" He took the contact lens case out of Rick's hand and held it up to the light. "I mean - think about it! A 'tracking device' built into something like this - and you all just take it in your stride." He grinned. "I'm really beginning to think I've found my niche!"
*
        "What's wrong with Jace?" Rick looked expectantly at Simon.
        Simon shook his head. "He seemed a little tired."
        "So, he was a little quiet," Cole said, almost defensively. The last thing he wanted was for anything more to go wrong, now that their lives were starting to get back to normal. "Maybe he's been working a lot of late shifts."
        "It can't be work," Simon said thoughtfully. "He told me he wasn't getting much of a paycheque this time. He's missed a lot of days."
        Rick's crystalline eyes were worried. "How's Rutgers doing?"
        "The anti-serum from your blood seems to have worked. He has nearly full mobility back in his legs, too."
        Rick nodded, but his mind was still on Jace. "So the anti-serum works?"
        "Apparently." Simon said sharply, "Rick, you don't think Jace -"
        Rick refused to look at him. He didn't know whether the horrifying thought that had just sprung into his head was the result of his own fears, or whether he recognised something in Jace that he'd once seen in himself. He said quietly, "Jace was the only one with subcutaneous contact, at a time when I might have been contagious. He gave me mouth-to-mouth. Remember?"
        Cole looked ready to explode. "Are you saying what I think you are?! That Jace might have WTV?!"
        "He's sick, Cole," Rick said quickly. "If it's WTV, I damn well want to make sure we can do something about it." He stood up. "In the meantime, though, I'm going to make sure he gets home all right."
        Simon stopped him at the doorway. "Not you - me. If you go out right now, you'll pull a lot of people out of their beds."
        Rick nodded, but he was still worried. He said quietly to Simon, "I just don't want anybody telling Hylton yet. Not until we know."
        "Don't worry, Rick. I'll take care of it."
        Cole's agitated pacing was interspersed with angry kicks at Rick's already worn furniture. Rick looked pained, but said nothing. He knew how Cole felt - he wanted to boot something himself.
        Simon was also watching Cole. The firm kicks to Rick's sofa showed he'd learned something from his karate lessons. A few more blows and the couch would be as lopsided as the table. Simon cleared his throat. He wondered when Cole's pacing was going to take him right out the door. He decided to leave, before Cole beat him to it.
        Too late. "I'll go after him," Cole said firmly. "And if there's something wrong with him, he damn well better tell me."
        Rick grabbed his arm. "Wait, Cole!" He looked pointedly at Simon, his expression saying, Do something to stop him. It was obvious Jace was already worried. The last thing he needed was for Cole to descend on him, demanding explanations. "Is someone already tailing Jace?" he asked, a little desperately.
         Simon looked down at the floor, to hide the amusement in his eyes. His next words were calculated to distract. "Finlay." Simon glanced at Cole, and this time he made no effort to hide the trace of humour. "He had a choice between Jace or Cole, and he begged for Jace. Your stinky bedpan must have made quite an impression."
        The distraction worked. "You mean someone's following me, too?" Cole asked, pleased that he was considered important enough to merit a "shadow", but disgruntled because he'd failed to notice.
        "Geraldo has you." Simon pulled out his keys. He told them both, "Jace has an appointment with Sheryl Matthews tomorrow. Maybe it's not business."
        "Can you make sure he gets there?" Rick asked.
        Simon nodded, then smiled coolly. "I have my ways. He'll go - kicking and screaming, if that's what it takes." He added, "I'll call you if I need you, Cole." Simon explained to Rick, "Some of us have lots of experience dealing with people who don't know what's good for them."
        Cole rolled his eyes. "Tell me about it." Rick looked embarrassed, and Cole gave him a good-natured shove.
        After Simon had left, Cole asked in amazement, "How does he know all that shit? About people tailing us, and Jace's appointments and all?"
        "Your job involves a lot of computer work, Cole. Simon's involves knowing a helluva lot about a helluva lot of different people."
*
        Simon drove fast enough to beat Jace home. He stood there in the shadows, watching as Jason walked up the block toward the set of rundown apartments he called home. Spying Finlay across the street, Simon waved him away - letting him know he could take a break.
        Jason was wobbly on his feet, but when he stumbled, Simon was there to help him. "What are you doing here?" Jace asked in astonishment.
        "Helping out a friend," Simon said. "It's no more than you would have done," he admitted. "In fact, it's no more than you already have." He didn't say any more until Jason had opened the door. Then he asked, "Want to talk about it?"
        Jason shook his head. "I'd feel ridiculous right now, Simon. Wait till tomorrow."
        Simon nodded, but put an object into Jason's hand. "Keep it by your pillow. If you have a problem, push the button. It'll scream loud enough to wake the dead. I guarantee you'll get some help - in a hurry."
        Jason nodded, too sick and exhausted to argue about having someone keeping watch on him. "Thanks, Simon. G'night." He turned and went into the apartment, to stumble over and flop on the bed.
        Simon stood there a moment longer, a frown on his face. Rick had been right - Jason was sick. He hoped Rick wasn't right about the cause.
        Simon put his hands in his pockets, and went slowly down the steps. Then, he went over to Finlay, to warn him that tonight, it would be a lot better to be a pair of ears than an unseen pair of eyes.
*
        "Okay, Dr. Stratton. Tell me all about it."
        Jason nodded. He was quiet for a minute, then the words just tumbled out. "It's been six weeks since I tried to resuscitate Rick, and I've been feeling sick for the last two." He looked up and met her eyes. "At first I thought it was a cold, or maybe the flu, but now I'm not so sure."
        She was slightly shocked, but didn't let it show. Of all the revelations he could have made, this was the one she least wanted to hear. Despite their differences, she liked Jason Stratton. Sheryl's face reflected some of her concern. "You think he was contagious?"
        Jason shrugged. "I don't know. He wasn't a few days later, but -" He bent over and put his head in his hands. "It's why I've been taking so much time off. I don't want to infect anyone else." He added, "At the same time, I feel like a fool for even worrying about it."
        Sheryl felt a surge of affection and compassion run through her. He must have been through hell worrying about this, but his primary concern had still been his patients. "Jace, if there's even the smallest chance it could be related, then it's worth worrying about." She put a hand on his shoulder. "What are your symptoms?"
She was his supervisor, and it was her job to notice problems in her staff. He'd been sick for two weeks, and she'd barely given him a cursory glance. I've failed him, she thought.
"Fever, headache, sore throat, swollen glands," Jace told her. "Now you can add vomiting. That started a week ago." He sighed. "It could be any of a dozen things, from glandular fever to some form of leukaemia."
        She studied him for a minute, noting the way he refused to meet her eyes. "What else?"
        He was quiet for a minute, and she knew it went beyond embarrassment. Jace was afraid.
        Who can blame him? she thought. After what his friend went through? "Is there something else you're not telling me, Jason?" she prompted.
        He nodded. "I think I've been blacking out."
        "Passing out?" Jesus! Have I been blind?!
        He sighed, remembering the night of the lightning storm. "Sometimes it's that. The rest - it's more like I find myself somewhere, and I don't know how it happened - or I forget things I've done."
        "Any blows to the head? History of epilepsy?"
        "No, and no. The last time I hit my head was on the side of a dumpster." He gave her a trace of a smile.
        She could have cried. "But this just came on recently, you said."
        Jason nodded. "The last two weeks."
        "Did you run any blood tests?"
        Jace gave her a wry smile. "Are you kidding? That would be like admitting something was wrong."
        "Typical." She smiled, and forced herself to look calm. "Okay, Jace, get your clothes off and get into a gown."
        "I go on duty at eleven."
        She shook her head. "And have you keel over on to one of your patients?" She smiled. "Not a chance."
        Sheryl saw the look of relief on his face, and realised how hard it had been for him to keep up the charade. At this point, all Jason Stratton really wanted was his bed.
        "Sheryl?" he said.
        "What, Jace?"
        "Thanks - for noticing."
        She did something then that she rarely did with any of her staff. She put her arms around him and gave him a quick hug. As she pulled back, she saw his slightly shocked expression and grinned. She told him, "Thanks - for not saying the obvious: that if I hadn't been so goddamned blind, I might have noticed a whole helluva lot sooner."
***

Chapter Six


        When Sheryl Matthews came out of her office, Richard Lockmann and Simon Kerrington were waiting for her.
        "What is this?" Sheryl asked, somewhat irritably. "A convention?"
        Rick smiled at her. "Something like that. Is Jace okay?"
        She looked at him shrewdly. "So you've noticed, too." It was more of a statement than a question.
        "Only recently," he admitted.
        She nodded. "Tell me how you're doing first." She tried to invest some warmth into the question, but Rick wasn't fooled. It came out sounding like something between a perfunctory inquiry and an unpleasant social platitude. Whatever dislike she harboured for him, it had just been magnified by Jason's illness.
        Sheryl Matthews had seen a lot of Rick during the last six weeks. Somehow - and she still wasn't sure exactly how it had happened - she'd been designated his personal physician, with Jace as her assistant. Part of it had been due, she realised, to Jason's intense commitment to his friend's survival. She was Jason Stratton's supervisor, which brought her into this - whether she liked it or not. And even though Jace had spent more time with Lockmann than she had, it was her opinion and signature they wanted on the paperwork.
        It had bothered her to confine her skills to such a narrow field - and one which she'd believed was unlikely to be manifested in any other patients. It'd seemed like a waste of her training to "specialise" in something that was so singular, when she could help so many more people if she could expand her patient base more. Richard Lockmann might be a nice guy, but his case was demanding, and time-consuming. Her patient load had gradually decreased, as her contact time with Lockmann, and the paperwork his case necessitated, had increased. She'd never signed on to be a paper jockey. Sheryl tried not to let her resentment show, but sometimes she had trouble hiding it.
        Each time she was tempted to turn him over to someone else, though, she experienced a strong sense of guilt. Jason was good, but too inexperienced to handle something like this. And, she had a feeling that it was only her willingness - and expertise - that kept Lockmann out of more impersonal hands. She'd already been "informed" by Steven Hylton that if anything seemed beyond her capabilities, help would be only a phone call away. Sometimes she wondered if she'd even need the phone call. She shrugged the thought away. That way lay paranoia.
        At least, Lockmann was somewhat familiar with his own condition. A lot of his problems had to do with the integration of foreign proteins and enzymes into some kind of balance, to form a functioning whole. In this they could work as a team. Lockmann knew a lot about plant physiology, but not much about his own. Sheryl and Jace filled in the gaps.
        There were still a lot of unexpected problems, particularly with his sugar balance. During the last six weeks, he'd been re-admitted five times - three of them in a coma. Once, she'd jokingly said he should take a permanent room. The near-despair in Richard Lockmann's eyes had made her realise that - to him - incarceration was no joke.
        It also made her realise how close he was to undergoing just such a fate. Lockmann's "freedom" was on a tight lead. Hylton's job would be a lot easier if this mutant was under minute-to-minute observation, in a controlled environment. "Controlled" would mean both out of public view, and out of the reach of interested parties. In other words, Lockmann would no longer have a life, except the one they manufactured for him.
        If Lockmann's mutation had weakened him, distorted him, or limited his functioning, Sheryl suspected Hylton wouldn't have had nearly this much interest. Despite his metabolic ups-and-downs, the hybrid being that was Richard Lockmann also possessed a lot of pluses - and Sheryl was certain Hylton had already considered ways the DSO could take advantage of Lockmann's "talents".
        She'd been told that for the last six weeks DSO researchers had been trying to map the course of Lockmann's transition, by simulating the changes to his physiology with computer models. They'd barely scratched the surface. It was going to take years to figure out how he'd "evolved" into his present form.
        Hylton had additional concerns: Lockmann's evolution had been a little too successful for comfort. Not only had he survived the massive change, but he was now nearly fully autotrophic, yet still basically human. His existence might well be enough to encourage further experiments in a similar vein. Sheryl Matthews didn't know exactly what had transpired at Genetechnic, but whatever it was had been enough to instil horror in more than one visitor. Hylton would go a long way to prevent it from happening again.
        "Great."
        "What?"
        "You asked me how I was. I'm doing fine."
        "What happened to your eyes?"
        "Contact lenses. They make me look almost human." He gave a wry smile.
        "Do they affect your vision?"
        "They seem to filter some of the light. Who knows? It might even help my concentration." He grinned at her. "Nice try, Dr. Matthews," he said. "But my concentration doesn't want to be deflected from Jace at the moment. How is he?"
        "I'm hospitalising him. In Isolation."
        Simon's swift intake of breath didn't go unnoticed. She looked at him. "That's right, Mr. Kerrington. It might be something else entirely, but this is one time Hylton should be informed." She looked unhappy. "If this is WTV, I want some expert help."
        "You've got it." Simon punched in the "1" on his phone, and spoke quietly to someone on the other end.
        "I'm staying here, Sheryl," Rick told her. "You might need me. In the meantime, though, I'd like to keep Jace company."
        She nodded. "He's resting on the couch." She grabbed his arm. "Rick, I didn't tell him I was going to isolate him - only that I thought we should hospitalise him."
        Rick gave her a small smile. "I'll handle it," he said.
        She sighed, but this time there was warmth in her smile. "Thanks."
        Simon snapped the phone shut and headed for the elevator.
        "Where are you going?" she asked. She knew it was none of her business, but she'd assumed he'd want to stay.
        "There's a virologist who knows almost as much about this as Rick," he told her. "I'm going to get him." He glanced at his watch. "Tell them it'll take a couple of hours, but I'll be back."
        Sheryl looked doubtful. "Is this 'virologist' from Genetechnic?" she asked cautiously.
        "Only in a rudimentary capacity. But that's not why he knows so much about WTV," he admitted. "Phillip Rutgers came down with it. After that night at Genetechnic. With Rick's help, he survived." Simon hesitated, then asked her, "Could you ask Rick to ring Cole? You can tell both of them where I've gone." She could see the smile in his eyes as he added, "If Steven Hylton asks, though - I left, and you don't know where."
*
        Cole snorted. "'I've seen the disease manifestations'," he mimicked angrily. "You haven't seen anything!"
        Sheryl Matthews was angry, too. "Maybe I didn't see this man Rutgers' symptoms, but if they were anything like Dr. Lockmann's -"
        "Dr. Dung's symptoms were nothing!"
        Rick turned away to hide his amusement. Cole was riled up now, and throwing Rick's Ph.D. in his face hadn't helped.
        "I've arranged a special little showing for you," Cole went on. "I call it the 'Caroline Denaro Happy Hour'. That's because, after seeing her in action, I always feel like I need a drink. Watch this for a while, Doctor, and you'll know why we're so worried!"
        Rick asked him, "Did you hack into Genetechnic for this stuff?"
        Cole nodded. "Yeah. They're a mess over there."
        Sheryl picked up the phone, and Rick knew she was about to ring Security. In a blink of the eye, he had the phone out of her hand and back on the hook. She was stunned. She hadn't realised he - or anyone, for that matter - could move that fast. "It's best that you see this, Dr. Matthews," Rick said quietly. "Please."
        She nodded grudgingly. "All right." It wasn't his words that got to her - it was the pleading look in his eyes. She hadn't seen Jason's illness, even though it was right in front of her face. Her regret made her a lot more susceptible to the reactions of Jason's friends - even Richard Lockmann.
        She glanced at Cole. If he did "hack" into Genetechnic, he'd gone to a lot of trouble to get these pictures. He must have considered them pretty important. She sat down. "What? No popcorn?" she asked.
        The first of the pictures came up on the monitor. Rick took one look and turned away. He sank into a chair on the far side of the room, lost in the darkness of his memories. The next thing he knew, Simon's hand was on his shoulder. "Rick?" he asked, concerned.
        Rick forced a smile. He waved a shaky hand toward Cole and Sheryl. Cole looked as grim as Simon had ever seen him, and Sheryl Matthews was staring in horror at the computer screen, tears rolling unchecked down her face. "Denaro," Rick said simply, unable to suppress a shudder. "She needed to see it."
        Simon nodded. "Why don't you go out in the hall, Rick? There's someone who'd like to see you."
        "Rutgers?"
        "Yep."
        Simon went over to stand behind Sheryl's chair. The tension was so thick that it felt like one of Cole's lightning storms was brewing. As Simon saw Denaro flash across the screen, the thought was reinforced. Preceding a lightning strike, your hair often rose, too, to stand on end. With all the gooseflesh crawling on his skin, Simon felt like his hair was not only rising, but doing a dance.
        Time to break their concentration. Denaro had already gotten all the attention she deserved. "This come from Genetechnic?" Simon asked Cole.
        Cole nodded, but he was still staring at the screen. "Their Security's a little loose right now."
        Simon was genuinely surprised. "I knew you were good, Calloway," he said, a trace of admiration in his voice. "But not this good."
        Cole glanced at Simon, startled. "'Good'?" he repeated. "I don't get it."
        Hylton came in without knocking. "Kerrington!" he said angrily. "What do you think you're doing?! What's Rutgers doing here?"
        "Look at this," Simon said.
        Hylton took a look at the doctor's expression, and abandoned his argument. He came around the desk, and glanced at the monitor. His face tensed, and he asked hoarsely, "How did you get this, Kerrington?"
        Simon nodded at Cole. "Ask Mr. Super-Hacker here."
        "Calloway did this?" Hylton asked, in disbelief. It was obvious Hylton had thought of him as a buffoon.
        "Yeah," Cole said angrily. "Calloway did this." He pushed a few keys on the terminal and the image disappeared. Then, he stalked toward the door.
        "Oops!" Simon muttered. "You should learn to control your facial expressions, Steven," he remarked. It was one of the first things Hylton had taught him.
        "Shut up!" Hylton said with some asperity. "Calloway!" he called to the man, as he was about to close the door.
        Cole pulled it shut with a decisive click.
        Simon put a hand on Hylton's shoulder. "I'll talk with him, Hylton. I'm sure he'll come around." He was grinning as he followed Cole out the door.
        Cole was waiting for him. He was still smarting over Hylton's reaction. "I hate that guy," he told Simon.
        "Then why do you want to work for him?" Simon asked.
        Cole flashed an embarrassed grin. "I have been sort of pushing it, haven't I?"
        Simon smiled back. "Sort of." He sobered. "Seriously, Cole - think twice if Hylton approaches you with an offer."
        Cole looked doubtful. "Why the hell would he approach me? He hates my guts - besides thinking I'm some kind of half-wit."
        Simon shook his head. "Not after that little display you just gave."
        Cole snorted. "That? That was easy. We're talking games, here." He considered it for a moment, looking slightly disillusioned. "If that's all it takes to impress the guy, he doesn't have very high standards." He glanced at the closed door and shrugged. "I've got Denaro brain-drain," he complained. "Let's talk about something else. What d'ya say we grab Rick and go outside for a little sun-fix?" He glanced over at Rick, and suddenly regretted that Rick had been in the room when he'd done his little display. Rick still had that shivery look, and his complexion had paled. "After seeing her again, he needs it."
        Simon nodded. "Rutgers is going to be wondering what we've done to him."
        Cole remarked, a little dully, "I thought I saw a thunderhead in the distance. Rick oughta be able to spot it better than we can." Cole grinned. "It'll give Jace a reason to get well in a hurry."
        "'Get better, Jace, so we can fry your butt'." Simon clapped Cole across the shoulder. Both of them knew Jace was too sick to care about lightning or anything else right now, but for once Simon didn't disparage Cole's optimism. "So if we don't die of melanoma, from hanging out with Rick the Sun-Worshipper, we're bound to be electrocuted by lightning." He smiled wryly. "And I used to think guns were dangerous."
        "It's the excitement, Kerrington. You just can't live without it."
        Simon nodded, then sighed. "I hate to say this - and I know you'll make me regret it later - but, for the first time, you're probably right."
*
        Sheryl Matthews sat there, so lost in her misery that she didn't even realise she was crying out loud. Some basic tenets of her existence had just been shaken, shattered, and ground to dust, and now she was trying to rebuild enough of herself to cope. In a world where God ruled - deciding births and deaths, terminal diseases and second chances - "in-your-body" meant you were still alive, and "out-of-your-body" meant you were gone - dead - terminated. The dead weren't able to maim, and they never actively sought to kill you. She wanted to dismiss everything she'd seen as some kind of raunchy fiction, except she knew most of the actors.
        And they hadn't been acting. Sheryl had always thought that horror must be one of the hardest emotions to convey - simply because it carried with it an element of embarrassment, of humiliation - a betrayal of weakness in high-pitched screams, flying spit and tears, unleashed urine, and wide, white-rimmed eyes. Well, the people on the screen had shown no embarrassment - only abject terror. It had been bad enough at first, but the final scenes had shown people she knew, in moments of despair.
        Cole had condensed the footage to scenes of Caroline Denaro in action. A Denaro who was no longer even a parody of a human being: a gooey, bloated mass of distorted flesh, that could no longer even elicit pity - only revulsion. At first, the people she was killing appeared to be Genetechnic employees, and then some who looked like mercenaries or security guards. Then, there must have been some gap in time, because suddenly Denaro was lying on the floor in some hallway. She was surrounded. Jace was there, and Simon; Steven Hylton and some of his people; and Richard Lockmann. Sheryl thought back to how grievously injured Rick had been when they'd brought him in. Jason hadn't given her much of an explanation - he'd merely said that Rick had suffered internal damage. Now, Sheryl didn't need one.
        She watched as Denaro ripped into the people around her. Sheryl wanted to scream at her to stop, as blood and entrails went flying. Gashes and agonised screeches, groans and shrieks. Until Richard Lockmann pinned her down.
        Never again would Sheryl look at Richard Lockmann the same way. He'd held that grotesque distortion of a human being in place - using the last of his strength to deflect hers. Held her until the blackness of her goddamned soul passed through him, and back where it belonged. The first moments of Sheryl's viewing had brought aversion - the last few held nauseating, mind-crunching images that she knew she'd never forget. Nor would she forget what Rick Lockmann had done for these others - despite what some of them had done to him.
        Her tears went through a transition: horror, terror, confusion, remorse. It seemed like a long time before she could ground herself once more, and accept this new version of reality. Once accepted, it was just a small step to pity, to wonder what Jace must feel at facing this disease, knowing the grim spectre of Caroline Denaro that dwelt behind it. And to wonder how Richard Lockmann - with what he had seen - and felt - could still face her, and the others, with a smile. No wonder he'd withdrawn when Cole had rolled the tape: no one should have to live through that twice.
        She no longer had any regrets over the "specialty" that had somehow ended up in her lap. Were her patient base larger, she might be able to save a few more lives - but Richard Lockmann had already saved more than his share. If there was anything she could do to help him, she was damn well going to give it a try.
*
        Steven Hylton was left staring at the closed door - the doctor sobbing softly at his back. Grimacing, he turned to look in her direction. Of all the things he had to do right now, this was at the bottom of the list. Denaro's missing body parts, the attacks on Lockmann that were undermining his security, and now Stratton's illness - with its potentially lethal outcome - the last thing he needed was to scrounge up some comforting platitudes for someone else. Sighing, he assumed a coolly detached expression, and went back over to the desk.
        She wasn't looking for comfort. These were tears of regret. "I'm sorry -" Sheryl said. "I didn't know - and I was so goddamn self-righteous and sure of myself. I should have known there was more -"
        "Too goddamn much more," he muttered.
*
        She'd trained herself to pick up the subtle signs of desolation, of despair. The sigh that didn't belong, the unintentional grunt that revealed an unsuspected ache, the shaking voice that meant tears weren't far away. Signs of humanity, and weakness, that demanded a response. The response hadn't always been heartfelt, but she'd at least been a hand to cling to. Steven Hylton's comment only reminded her how much she'd failed Rick. The signs had all been there. Things that demanded a response. Only, in Richard Lockmann's case, she'd chosen not to give it.
        She wondered if it'd been something worse. If she'd been guilty of some form a prejudice. If Lockmann's "mutant" status - or maybe his weird form of healing - had made her feel less of a doctor, and more of a mechanic: tinkering with his sugar imbalances the way someone might play with an out-of-time machine. Maybe even resenting him because he'd somehow come to terms with the lessening of his "Homo sapiens" status - to the extent that he actually derived enjoyment from some of the benefits it brought him: the energy surges, the speedy healing, the strength. The only other people she knew who'd undergone "mutations" to their bodies had suffered by it. The cancer victims, whose tumours could be said to be alterations to their genetic codes - the cancers that took over to become life-threatening - they usually spelled death, instead of life. It wasn't until now, when Richard Lockmann had looked ready to die at the sight of Denaro's vivid image on the screen, that she realised how much he fought the effect of his memories. His occasional reference - that had seemed so flippant at the time: "there but for the grace of God go I -" The thought must riddle his dreams.
        The tears threatened to flow again. Only the reminder of Steven Hylton's weariness kept her from indulging in the weakness she usually didn't permit herself. What she could sympathise with in others, she couldn't tolerate in herself. "Can I help?" she asked quietly.
*
        Her voice was stronger now, and he looked at her in surprise. Since day one, when Simon Kerrington had been admitted, he'd hardly spoken to her, except to issue orders or demand information. Hardly the makings of friendly interaction. He'd guessed that she was irritated and infuriated by his arrogance, but he hadn't had time to establish a friendly rapport with her. The last thing he expected now was a voluntary offer of help or consolation from her.
        Maybe it's part of her training, he thought, and was instantly, and out-of-context resentful. If it was part, it had to be on the psychological side. He didn't like the thought of anyone trying to second-guess him or decipher his motives.
        Besides, her attitude didn't gel with what he'd seen of her relationship with Lockmann. Her medical response had been - essentially - correct. He knew that because he'd double-checked it with a virologist - Dennis Rodrigal. But, her overall attitude had been cool; distant. Steven had actually been relieved by her reticence - the last thing he needed was another bleeding heart leaking all over Richard Lockmann. If the man ever needed to be moved to another facility, at least he wouldn't have to worry that Matthews would put up a fuss.
        Until now.
        His sigh had been like the rupture of a pressure relief valve on an overloaded system. The last thing he'd needed right now were visions of Denaro to rob him of more sleep - and remind him of the potential hazard this latest patient posed to them all. Hylton had already decided to have Jason Stratton moved to another location, where his isolation could be ensured. Kerrington had interfered by bringing Rutgers here. Now, Sheryl Matthews had seen Denaro, and her sympathies were flowing. There was no way he'd be able to remove Stratton without a battle. Steven sighed again.
*
        "Hylton's ordered a code one conference in room 105," Johnson told Simon. "He told me to make sure you were there."
        Simon grinned. Johnson was built like a rhino. Johnson would see that he got there, all right. Even if he had to drag him in. Hylton was guessing that Simon would be too smart to need the latter.
        Johnson went on, "He says he needs your talents."
        "Bullshit and larceny? Or infiltration and insinuation?"
        Johnson smiled. "Damned if I know. It has something to do with Denaro." He hesitated, then asked quietly, "What I want to know is why he sent me. What's going on between you and Hylton?"
        "Let's just say there's been a little friction. Lockmann's been a friend of mine for years."
        "That's what I heard. Did he know what you did for a living?"
        "No. But he sure as hell does now."
        Johnson laughed, and his big guffaws echoed in the hallway. "Jesus! You sure got yourself in the middle of it. How does it feel to be walking on shit all the time?"
Simon was grinning. "It's messy. And it doesn't look like it's going to be cleaned up any time soon."
        "You coming?" Johnson asked. "Or do you need some persuasion?"
        "Wouldn't miss it for all the flames in Hades."
        Johnson laughed again.
        Some of the friction between Kerrington and Hylton was of long standing. Simon had discovered there were only two ways to work within the system and keep any semblance of a conscience: you could either blindly follow the orders of someone like Hylton, and let him do your thinking for you; or you could circumvent the system whenever your conscience required it. Simon did the latter, but he knew that most of the people he worked with leaned toward the former: let Hylton do their rationalising for them. It was easier, it was cleaner, and it was a whole lot less informed. Simon had tried it, when he first started at the DSO, but he'd had trouble sleeping nights. The ludicrous thing was, it had been Rick who'd helped him find a way around it.
        Simon wasn't lying when he'd said Rick hadn't known who employed him. What Rick had noticed, and what had surprised Simon at the time, was how worry was getting him down. Rick had always been like that: he'd lose himself in his research for days at a time, but he'd notice the little things that nobody else did. Maybe, Simon thought wryly, it's because Rick's used to working with the minute, so he notices what everyone else is trying to hide. Rick hadn't pried, but he'd wanted to help.
        Simon had told him that some of the things he was being asked to do were getting to him. For all Rick knew, Simon could have been dealing drugs, or stealing cars, or doing porn movies, but Rick didn't make any judgement calls or ask what the hell he'd gotten himself into. All he'd done was say with a smile, "Where the hell's your sense of humour, Simon? You've always been able to circumvent things you didn't want to do." The other thing he'd said was, "You're a damn sneaky bastard when you want to be. Use it, so you can sleep nights." It wasn't much, but it had been enough to put things back in perspective for him. It was also the first time he'd let on that his work might deal with the darker side of human nature, and yet Rick hadn't even suggested he try to do something else. Nor had he turned away, when Simon needed to talk.
        Most of Simon's problems had arisen out of his opposition to Hylton's policies on assassination. It was when those policies looked like they were going to include Richard Lockmann, that Simon had become openly hostile.
        Simon had brought the DSO into this, because duty told him it was a situation requiring their attention, and he knew they'd need the help of professionals to get Rick back. None of them had counted on Rick's own contributions to his rescue.
        The conflicts between Simon and Hylton had continued, even after any possibility of Rick's "termination" had been set aside. Prolonging Rick's existence wasn't the same as saving Rick's life. Simon had done everything in his power to ensure that Rick still had a life to go back to. "Everything" in one instance, had included a left hook to Hylton's jaw. Simon had thought he was terminating his own contract at the time; that his conflicts with Hylton had finally become insurmountable. Steven Hylton was unlikely to forget that one of his subordinates had used force against him.
        But, for some reason, Simon was still employed. It had made him wonder whether Hylton was secretly sympathetic to Rick's case, and had appreciated the opposition because it gave him an "out". Hell, Rick had saved Steven's life, too - even though he must have suspected that the cost of success might be his own incarceration. Whereas before, Richard Lockmann had been a case subject, in those minutes of blood, gore, and suffering at Genetechnic, he'd not only become very real to the people who now watched over him, but someone deserving of their respect.
        Simon thought back, and his fist tingled as he remembered the punch that had flattened Hylton. He'd been so weak from blood loss that he shouldn't have been able to lay out a kitten, let alone someone of Hylton's formidable abilities. At the time, Simon had thought he'd taken the man by surprise. Now, he thought, grinning wryly, he wasn't so sure. Maybe Hylton agreed with him more than he was willing to admit. It helped that neither of them had mentioned it since. In those tense moments of shock and terror, only Steven Hylton would have known that Simon was responsible for his short trip to the hard floor - other than Simon's friends. Not for the first time, Simon was relieved that Cole hadn't been there. Subtlety wasn't exactly Cole's specialty. He might feel he had to rub salt into Hylton's wounded pride.
        Simon wondered what his co-workers at the DSO made of his reaction to Hylton's methods where they concerned Rick. Certainly, since that time, Simon had resisted Hylton openly whenever his orders had conflicted with Rick's well-being and peace of mind. Simon hadn't made the judgement calls on his own, either - just in case some innate resentment of his employer's authority was directing his actions, he'd always made certain to check with Jace, or Sheryl Matthews, or Cole, for their opinions. On other matters he'd had Eric Sterner and Phillip Rutgers to back him up. It had irritated the hell out of Hylton, who wasn't accustomed to his operatives countermanding his orders, but Hylton hadn't reacted the way Simon expected. Simon had assumed it had been for logistical reasons: Kerrington's friendship with Lockmann gave the DSO an inside connection they otherwise wouldn't have had. Now, he wondered: was Steven relying on him to act as his conscience, where Rick was concerned? To let him know whether his charge was finding things too coercive? It put a new light on Hylton's personality, and explained a lot about his newfound patience where Simon was concerned.
        Right now, Simon felt that he owed Hylton one. Despite their disagreements, Hylton had managed to manipulate things so that Rick could remain in his own home. That kind of decision had taken guts - the powers-that-be could have come down hard on him for the expense and manpower of defending an essentially indefensible location. The only things standing between Richard Lockmann and capture or coercion were the agents Hylton had assigned to the job.
        For weeks now, Simon had looked at the situation askance - had considered Hylton's motives suspect. Until today, he hadn't been able to figure out a damn good reason for Hylton to allow Rick to return to his old life, unless it was some kind of personal gratitude thing, for saving their butts. Or maybe some form of reverse psychology: holding on to Rick by appearing to give him the freedom he craved.
        Simon wondered how much Hylton trusted him - Simon - now. Probably not at all, when it came to his personal loyalties to Rick Lockmann and his other friends. But, Simon had been pretty open in his resentment, in hopes that Hylton would appreciate his attempt to level with him. Despite his sarcasm and occasional belligerence, Simon enjoyed working for Hylton. But, in the same way that he sensed Hylton didn't trust him, Simon knew he couldn't totally trust Steven Hylton. Simon would trust the man with his own life - he just couldn't trust him with Rick's.
        Simon had a quip riding on the tip of his tongue, when he and Johnson walked into 105. He swallowed the nasty little remark when he saw the look of stress on Steven Hylton's face. Whatever had happened recently, Simon knew how much he owed Steven. Hell, the man had trained him and been his sponsor. When he'd run into trouble, Steven had always made sure he had back-up to bail him out. Well, it looked like Steven was the one who needed back-up now. Simon's muscles tensed.
        "We have a situation," Hylton began. "We received a report a few days ago that someone has stolen some of Caroline Denaro's remains from one of FOCUS' storage sites."
        There was a collective gasp, which was slightly shocking in itself. Most of the people in this room could be considered hardened professionals. Very little should have shocked them after what they'd seen.
        Simon asked bluntly, "Which parts?"
        "Her ovaries," Steven replied. "Nothing else seems to have been touched."
        "Who did it?"
        Steven shook his head. "We're not sure. The word's out that Tazo Raeiti may have been involved. For those of you unfamiliar with the name, access file Crng101. I want everyone to review Gsy649, along with the isolation manuals. Double check your procedures with Doctor Rodrigal." He looked directly at Simon. "Kerrington, I want to see you alone after this session." His view widened, to include them all. "See me for assignments after you've accessed the appropriate files. That will be all."
*
        "Rodrigal says your shoulder's still not a hundred percent. Matthews concurs."
        "Nice to know everyone's got my welfare in mind. It'll hold."
        "What about your weapons rating?"
        "Around seventy percent. Like the shoulder."
        Hylton's tones were clipped. "Raeiti's name turned up an hour ago, in one of the memos from the Cliatso Project. If they've got the ovaries, I want you to find out where they are - before they get broken up and dispersed. We also want to know why they were so specific."
        "I could make an educated guess."
        "Don't. Rodrigal claims there are other viruses just as lethal. He also tells me it actually would have been better to clone her from one of her somatic cells. He can't figure out why they bothered with her ovaries."
        "I'll need auxiliary computer access, for an information feed."
        "I'll have someone on line at Shatterly. I'm also sending a team to Rathmore, so you'll have back-up. Before you go, stop and see Rodrigal for a dose of antibodies. But, if you have to get close, get some gear on."
        Simon hesitated. "What about Jace?"
        Hylton knew what he was asking. "You think I might take advantage of your absence to terminate him?"
        "It crossed my mind. If this wasn't Denaro we were talking about -"
        "Your presence - or lack of it - doesn't alter the situation, Kerrington. For the moment, Stratton's a good test subject for the anti-serum."
        Simon looked unhappy, but he nodded. It was all Hylton was going to admit to, so it would have to be enough.
        "I need someone to infiltrate Cliatso, and you're the sneakiest bastard on my list, even though you have a real attitude problem."
        "I just don't like waste."
        Hylton nodded. "And I don't like arguments. If you want the truth, Kerrington, I'd like nothing more than to return your little jawbreaker, but I'd prefer to think you were delirious from pain, and didn't know who you were hitting." His raised one eyebrow and grinned. "Don't disillusion me. For your own sake."
        "I'll let you know if I feel any more delirium coming on."
        "Good idea. If it happens again, you'll have more than delirium to worry about." Hylton glanced at his watch. "There's a car waiting for you downstairs. Rodrigal first, then briefing, documentation, tags, bags, weapons. Watch your back."
        "What are you going to tell Rick?"
        "Nothing. Other than it was time you got your lazy ass back to work."
        "What about the security problems?"
        "Two out of three incidents involved deliveries. He's not taking any more. We are."
        Simon was still uncomfortable. He was adept at reading undercurrents, and something big was just beneath the surface here - something Hylton wasn't talking about. He stared at him for a moment longer, then realised there was no point: Steven had told him all he was going to. "I'll be back soon," he said.
        It came out like a warning.
***