Lightning Play
Book Three of the Light Play Trilogy
by N. D. Hansen-Hill
Dedication
To Sharon and Peter, Matthew, Lyndelle, and Laura
***
Lightning Play
Flickers of flame,
Flashes of light,
Eye-searing ions
Slicing the night.
*
Quickening blasts
From ground to cloud,
Ionised light stream
Ear blastingly loud.
*
Billowing anvil,
Explosive thunder,
Electrical charges
To tear all asunder.
*
When the spirit flees,
And the body dies,
When devils dance
Through another's eyes -
*
Light strikes the land,
Recharging the Earth,
Smiting the wicked
To salvage great worth.
*
by N. D. Hansen-Hill
***
Foreword - Light Play & Light Plays
Books One & Two
Rick Lockmann's encounter with Caroline Denaro changed his life forever. Her touch poisoned him - carrying with it a potentially lethal virus, and gene segments that mutated his body.
Denaro had been working with plant genes, but she'd made a deadly error. Now, her error - and her successes - are compounded in Rick, who must learn to deal with both the changes to his human form, and the reactions of the people around him.
Rick is nearly fully autotrophic: he is able to generate enough nutrients from a light source to sustain himself. This offers him a freedom few humans can match - but also ensures his incarceration. He has the answer to world hunger, and one of the few sources of antibodies against what could be the next plague, nestled under his skin.
The Defensive Security Office (DSO) has taken on the sometimes onerous task of keeping Rick alive. Not only is his metabolism unstable, but his genome is so valuable that many procurers are ready to settle for a piecemeal approach, if necessary. Rick may be worth more alive, but he'll go further dead.
The day of reckoning is coming soon. The virus (Wound Tumour Virus) is aggressive, and there are, as yet, no cures. Rick realises he's going to have to act, or he could end up, literally, being the last man on Earth.
***
Prologue
Cole Calloway let a piece of meat from his sandwich "accidentally" drop on to the floor. "Oops," he said loudly.
Stench strolled over, sniffed it, and batted it with his claws. Then, when it didn't move, he put his nose in the air and walked away.
"That cat's a snot," Cole complained. "I offer him haute cuisine, and he just walks away. Doesn't he ever eat?"
Rick had been watching the cat's retreating back. Cole's words sent a chill down his back. No, Stench didn't eat. Rick dutifully put the cat's meals out on the porch, and although the food disappeared, he'd never actually seen Stench take a bite - of anything he was supposed to, that is. Rick had thought of Stench as his own for so many weeks now, that he'd forgotten where the cat had originally come from. Forgotten that Stench had once been Caroline Denaro's cat.
Stench chose that moment to turn around and look at him. For the first time, Rick noticed the crystalline green pattern to the cat's irises. Save for the weird shape of the pupil, the eyes might well have been his own.
***
Chapter One
Mark Chesner had been anticipating the arrival of the DSO for several days now. He had no confidence that Samuelson would keep his mouth shut, and he was sure his company would be implicated.
He had no idea how far Rob Samuelson had taken it before he'd been picked up - only that he'd entered the hospital safely enough, but had left escorted. Chesner had been through this before. He already knew that without physical evidence, his best defence lay in denial.
But, he still wanted Lockmann. Besides the gene issue, there was now some problem developing with the plant virus that had initially infected the man. He might not only have the world's answer to hunger lodged in his body - he might have the only answers to the next plague. Chesner would personally feel a lot safer if he had Lockmann stowed away somewhere.
Lockmann's antibodies could only offer short-term protection. In Chesner's mind, that made his antibodies a consumable, that could be offered to the highest bidders. However, his moral side made him couch his thoughts in the pristine process of offering the world a chance at deliverance. Chesner had discovered a long time ago that you could do almost anything, as long as you could designate it a "just cause".
According to his sources, Richard Lockmann had an even stronger conscience. And, he was feeling guilt over the damages that had been inflicted on the DSO people who were trying to protect him. That made him susceptible to influence - and vulnerable.
Samuelson had gone out of here like some avenging crusader, out to justify his actions in saving the starving world. If he'd managed to convey even a small amount of that fervour to Lockmann, the man would be having an overdose of guilt right now.
Whatever the DSO had planned, Chesner's experience told him he couldn't afford to wait. Guilty consciences had a regrettable habit of hardening and crusting over, given the smallest excuse. He wanted to take advantage of Lockmann's while it was still fresh. Tapping his pencil on the desk in the way that had so annoyed Samuelson, Chesner reached over and picked up the phone.
*
"Since you don't have your computer, I did you a favour," Cole told Rick. "Be grateful."
"If you want me to be grateful now, that means I probably won't like it," Rick replied.
"Oh - you'll like it all right. I downloaded your e-mail. You've got over a thousand messages on there."
Rick's eyes lit up.
"How many lists do you belong to, anyway?"
Rick gripped the computer chair that Cole was sitting on and sent it rolling across the room. "My turn," he said, grinning. He squatted down in front of the computer, and started scanning down the list.
"The most interesting ones are near the bottom," Cole hinted.
"You read them?!"
"It was an accident. I accidentally let the cursor stay on them long enough to read Daphne's messages."
Rick glanced at him. His eyes were sparkling. "Daphne started writing again?"
"Yeah. Her computer was down for a long time, and she couldn't afford to have it fixed. She didn't have your address to contact you."
Rick's hands were shaking a little now, as he scrolled down to the latest messages.
"She's coming to town, Rick," Cole told him.
"She doesn't have my address," Rick said, with something like relief.
Cole took a big bite out of his sandwich. "She does now," he said.
*
"What's she going to say when she sees me?" Rick asked, upset.
"Hello?"
"How about - why didn't you bother to tell me you were a freak?"
"How's she going to know?"
"Look at me!"
"Wear the contact lenses. Then you're just a bright-eyed man with a great tan."
"That's like wearing a toupee."
"The tan?"
"No, you idiot - the contacts."
"What are you so worried about, anyway?" Cole asked, grinning. "I bring lots of girls through here."
"This - is - Daphne." Rick said it slowly, enunciating each word.
"Ooh, Daphne!" Cole twittered. "Was ever there a flower so sweet?" He grinned. "She probably looks more like a succulent nettle."
"Actually, she looks more like a lily." Simon had come silently into the room.
Rick bristled. "How do you know?"
"Yeah," Cole repeated, "how do you know? And why didn't you tell me?"
Simon looked at Rick. "You mean - have I been snooping?" He crossed his arms negligently, and yawned. "No. I've met her."
Simon could swear he hadn't even blinked, yet Rick was suddenly there, in front of him. "Where?"
"At the Cliatso Project," he replied.
"What was she doing there?" Rick asked, in something close to dismay. Cole had bragged to everyone who'd listen how he'd "bailed Simon out of Cliatso". Rick didn't know what had been going on there - any more than Cole did - but whatever it was, it wasn't good.
"Working on a project - actually, it was the one I went there to check out." At Rick's crestfallen expression, Simon took pity on him. "She wasn't doing anything wrong, Rick. She didn't know what she was part of." He grinned. "In fact, she was the one who helped me out."
Rick visibly relaxed. Until Cole said, "She helped you, Spy-man? That's one lady I've just got to meet."
Rick glared at him. "Get within an arm's length, Calloway, and you better make sure you've been studying your kung fu."
*
At ten o'clock, Rick was still pacing. It wasn't only Daphne's impending arrival - it was Stench. He didn't know whether to inform Steven Hylton or not.
At that moment, the cat strolled leisurely across Cole's lounge, and plopped down in front of the heater. That's it, Rick thought, yawning. He won't move now until morning.
Rick was afraid they'd dissect him. They couldn't justify dissecting a Lockmann, but a cat was another matter. And most of his DSO friends had already made it clear that they hated his cat. That they only tolerated it because it was his.
But, I can't let him go around spreading his gene pool. Rick hadn't talked to Jason or his other doctors about whether he'd "breed true", but he knew it could be an issue. There was a chance, because his mutation had occurred in adulthood, that it may not have involved his reproductive organs. He hoped. But, he didn't know when Stench had mutated. Hell, he didn't even know how old he was.
Stench chose that moment to look at him, and Rick felt guilty as hell. Especially when the cat closed his eyes and lapsed into the coma-like slumber that affected him, too. Rick suddenly realised just how much trust the animal had in him. House cats were still at least partly wild, no matter how much "domestication" had taken place. When they were injured, they tended to hide themselves away, until they recovered.
That must be why, when I first got him, he used to disappear every night. I just didn't notice very much, because I "disappear" too. Now, though, Stench did all his sleeping in full view. Stench had been so asleep the other night, in fact, that Cole had thought he was dead.
All of a sudden, despite the fatigue - or, maybe, because of it - the four walls were driving him crazy. I need a walk. He glanced at his watch. Cole wouldn't be back for hours yet. Plenty of time for a discreet exit and return. Rick carefully took one of his grow-light bulbs out of his backpack, and put it into the lamp. Then, he took off his shirt, and sunned himself under the light.
*
He was about to sneak out the window, between the light sensors, when he realised what he was doing. If something happened to him, Dave Geraldo and Gabe Finlay would be blamed. Rick sighed, and headed for the front door. He poked out his head and Gabe looked at him with surprise, then glanced at his watch. "What's up?" he asked.
"Me," Rick replied, grinning. "Let's go for a jog."
"It's eleven o'clock at night!"
"Yeah - the four walls are getting to me."
Gabe nodded. "That, I can understand. Just a jog, right? We're not hitting any night spots or anything -?"
Rick grinned. "Not tonight."
Dave came around the corner. He sighed. "I'll have to call in someone to watch the house." He picked up his phone. "Can it wait a few minutes?"
Trouble. More trouble. "That's okay," Rick told them. He faked a yawn. "Maybe I'll skip it."
Gabe looked at him warily. "Are you sure?"
Rick yawned again. "Yeah. Stench and I'll call it a night."
"Next time, let's plan it ahead of time," Dave told him.
"Not a problem." Rick grinned. "You guys take it easy." He waved and disappeared back inside.
*
"I don't trust him," Gabe said. He grinned. "He probably didn't want to ask us in the first place. He just did it to soothe his conscience." He chuckled. "He had a choice between causing us trouble, and getting us into trouble."
"He's up to something," Dave agreed. "He doesn't do 'sneaky' real well, does he?"
"Not well enough. Do you want to follow him, or should I?"
"Both of us. Get Johnson on the phone and ask him to come over to watch the house. Tell him not to notify Hylton. If Steven knew Rick was sneaking out at night, he'd cream him."
*
Rick tried to talk himself out of going for another five minutes, then realised he was pacing so loudly they'd know he wasn't asleep. He even flopped on the couch, but the restlessness was like an itch.
He turned off the lights, then glanced out the window at the stars.
It was his undoing.
Waves and swirls of multi-coloured light coated the heavens. As he watched, a shooting star arced a glowing trail in a moment of sudden splendour.
That was it.
Rick hit himself with the light once again, just to make sure.
I should call Simon, his conscience said.
No. Simon has a date, too, his conscience replied.
Rick tiptoed to the front door, and listened. Gabe and Dave were still out front chatting. He undid the window latch so he could get back in, then de-activated the alarm on the back door. He manoeuvred past the laser sensors, then, grinning, tiptoed away into the night.
*
"He's away."
"You go after him," Dave said. "I'll wait for Johnson."
Gabe was glad when Rick stopped tiptoeing. His night vision wasn't on a par with Rick's, and he didn't want to give himself away with his accidental thuds and crunches. He wasn't so glad when Rick - free - began to sprint happily down the road. "Jesus, that guy is fast," he grumbled.
All of a sudden, Rick disappeared. Gabe froze, and reached for his gun. Where'd he gone?
In the next moment, the gun was out of his hand, and Lockmann was standing by his side, grinning. He handed him back his weapon. "Sorry to drag you out, Gabe. How'd you know?"
Gabe grinned back. "Trade secret." He looked at his gun then stuck it back in its holster. "Glad to see you noticed you were being followed." He nodded. "You could probably out-manoeuvre anybody, if you knew how." He grew serious. "Hylton should get you trained -"
Rick's expression sobered. "No. With my speed, I'd be too dangerous."
"What about self-defence, then?"
"Why don't I just play it my way?" He handed Gabe back his gun - again. "That's as lethal as I need to get."
*
They were nearly across Hoagus Park when a helicopter appeared overhead. Gabe threw Rick to the ground and shielded him.
"It's one of yours," Rick told him - his night vision easily detecting the insignia on the side. He looked confused. "How'd they find us?" he asked.
"Maybe they used infrared?" Finlay sounded doubtful.
"Did you call Hylton?" Rick asked.
"No." He saw Rick's expression in the lights from the helicopter. "I swear, Rick - I didn't call him. Dave wasn't going to, either."
"Maybe he didn't need to," Rick said angrily. He'd been reading about something recently - inserting a chip or something into kids, because so many disappeared. It was a hot subject for debate. For just a moment, he wondered if he was having an attack of paranoia. A tracking device?
He remembered Gabe Finlay's confusion at Hylton's arrival. At least there were a few innocents among the fold.
Then he recalled how Gabe had followed him - had known he was gone. And his comment, about "trade secrets".
Rick sighed, turned around, and trudged toward the helicopter.
*
"He thinks I knew about it!" Gabe Finlay was upset. "He's not even speaking to me! Oh, he's polite all right, but he's withdrawn into his Dr. Dung stuff."
Dave couldn't suppress a grin. Calloway's "Dr. Dung" nickname had really caught on. "I should have warned you about it," he said regretfully. "Or at least remembered it when he went out for his little stroll."
"You knew about it?"
"Hylton brought in some guy a couple of weeks ago. About the time he put that 'kill-on-sight' order on Rick. They told me and Denis to take a break, while Rick was sleeping. Afterwards, Denis found a small incision under Rick's arm. I guessed it might be some kind of transponder."
"It makes sense," Gabe admitted reluctantly. "Rick sort of brought it on himself with his disappearing act."
"Yeah. But he'd be a lot better off if Hylton had asked him first."
*
Rick heard Cole's alarm go off. It was followed by a thud and muffled swearing. Cole stomped into the living room and plopped down into a chair. Rick grinned. He didn't know how Cole was navigating. His eyes were still closed.
Rick handed him a cup of coffee dosed liberally with cocoa. Cole took a couple of sips, then gradually his eyelids opened. One seemed to pop up right away, but the other one took a determined effort. In between sips, Cole told him, "Gabe says he didn't do it. Dave says he didn't, either, but he knew about it. Or thought he knew about it." Cole drained his mocho, smacked his lips, and gave a contented sigh. "What the hell are they talking about, Rickardo?"
"Tracking devices - transmitters. Last night, I went for a jog -"
Cole looked at him with raised eyebrows.
"Yeah - a jog. Because of Daphne - and - and Stench."
Cole glanced at the cat with distaste. "At least you put Daphne first. What about Stench? He looks as ugly as ever to me." He scritched his fingers. Stench came over, put up with his rough patting for a moment, then turned on him and bit him. "Lousy animal. Tell me he's on his way out. I'll pay for his funeral."
"Not a chance."
"All right - Daphne got you so hot you had to go for a jog, to cool down -"
"Something like that -"
"So what's that got to do with you being mad at Gabe? Did he try to stop you or something?"
"Hylton picked us up on the other side of town. In the middle of Hoagus Park."
"So?"
"So nobody'd called him. He found us, in the middle of the night, in the middle of nowhere."
"So you think he planted a transmitter on you?"
Rick frowned. "Not on me - in me. Somewhere."
"That's sick!"
"It may be sick, but you'll notice my two bodyguards aren't arguing with my supposition - merely with their involvement in it. According to you, Dave's even gone so far as to admit he knew about it."
"Hit me again!" Cole demanded, handing Rick the cup. "Only put more cocoa in it this time. This demands some heavy thinking."
"It's already almost more cocoa than coffee -"
"Make it a coffee-flavoured cocoa then. I can't think on an empty stomach. Toss me some of those crackers, too -"
Rick threw the box at him. It hit him on the side of his head.
"Hey! That hurt! My bravery doesn't wake up until later. I could use some dip out of the fridge, to go with the crackers and chocolate -"
Rick brought him his coffee-flavoured cocoa. A large dollop of onion dip floated in the centre. "Just to save you time," Rick told him pleasantly. "The next load goes on your head."
Cole grinned. "That's disgusting," he remarked. Rick grimaced when Cole sipped at it anyway, then proceeded to drink it down. "The dip made it just the right temperature for a quick caffeine fix."
"The thing with Stench kind of ties into this." Rick stood up and began to pace. "The point is, I know now I can't trust Hylton."
"You're sure about this, Rick?"
"No - but the fact Finlay and Geraldo aren't disagreeing with me certainly makes it more likely."
"Before you go accusing Steh-fawn of anything, maybe we ought to test it out."
"Test it?"
"Yeah - double check to make sure you're right. I mean, what if it was in your shoes or something instead?"
"So what should I do? Go for a jog stark-naked?" Rick shook his head. "I'd rather have this out with Hylton now -"
"What if he admits to it? What then?"
Rick frowned. "Then I have Jace or Sheryl remove it."
"Did you ever think you might be safer leaving it in?" Cole was remembering the time Rick had taken off, and Hylton had everyone tearing around looking for him. "I mean, it's not a bad idea. Could even save your life -"
He looked up, but Rick was already gone.
"Me and my big mouth," he muttered. He picked up the phone and punched in Simon's number. "Simon - I just blew it with Rick -"
"Again?"
Just then, Johnson came into the house. "Calloway? Do you know where Rick's heading? He took off so fast we couldn't even get the car out of the driveway."
Cole shook his head. "Try the lab."
Johnson argued, "Wherever it was, he had his cat -" He ran back out of the room.
Cole looked slightly stunned. Simon was saying something on the other end of the line, but Cole interrupted him. "It's serious, Simon," he said quietly. "He took Stench along when he left."
*
It's not a bad idea. Rick went over it again and again. If Steven had come to him, and asked him to wear some kind of tracking device, he would have complied. It made sense, and it was for his own safety, and his bodyguards' peace of mind. But this - this intrusion under his skin -
What more do they want?! he asked angrily. I give them skin and blood - hell, they have more of my blood now in vials than I have in my body - but they want more. Next, they'll be monitoring everything I do: from the books I read to the television I watch.
The night before, he'd been thinking about how vulnerable Stench was, and how much trust he must have in Rick to succumb to that comatose sleep in his presence. All his instincts must argue against it.
Rick knew, because about now, all his instincts felt the same way. Recently, he'd begun to think of some of the DSO people as friends - even Steven Hylton. There were some things about the man that he didn't particularly admire, but he realised his coldness and objectivity made him perfect for his job. In the same vein, Rick didn't really blame Finlay or Geraldo or any of them for their easy acceptance of the transmitting device. But, it made it a whole lot more difficult to trust anyone. Rick was just tired of the entire thing - of being under a microscope in every facet of his life. He'd never opted for a public existence.
I need time to think. But he wasn't going to get it. Rick knew he'd finished himself with his angry exit. It had just been so hard to accept Cole's comment - as though he, too, was having trouble seeing past the public Lockmann, to the person who craved occasional solitude - and privacy. Rick smirked as he tried to picture Cole in his shoes - his every movement being monitored. Cole would go ape-shit.
Hylton would be after him by now. The only way Rick could halfway cover his ass would be to go to the lab. Otherwise, Hylton would lock him up and throw away the key.
"You should go for the Olympics," he heard someone yell. Rick suddenly realised he was jogging along fast - way too fast for someone merely out for his health.
The Devil made me do it. Rick grinned at the man, and upped his speed. He watched over his shoulder as the guy's jaw dropped. Stench, racing along behind, struggled to keep up.
I've never run this fast in my life. The exhilaration of the speed his legs were pumping did a lot to eradicate the anger he'd been feeling. Rick was actually smiling when he turned his head.
And heard the car.
*
Steven Hylton was angry. His opinion of Richard Lockmann had changed a lot during the past two weeks. And it was because of that - because he'd personally decided to give the guy the benefit of the doubt - that he was so irate right now. At this moment he was feeling like he'd been suckered - along with the majority of his operatives - into respecting, and even liking, the man.
But Richard Lockmann was a person with above-average intelligence. The "jog" last night - and this stunt today - made Steven suspect he was toying with them. That was something Steven was accustomed to - that he'd come to expect from the type of people they usually investigated. His "clients" weren't usually innocent, or even well-meaning, bystanders who'd accidentally got involved. If they were involved it was because they frequented the side of society most people scorned. Usually, by the time events necessitated their protection, his "clients" were entangled up to their armpits. If Steven Hylton was honest with himself, he was probably a lot more comfortable with this other group than with one Richard Lockmann. At least he knew what to expect, and didn't have to deal with displaced loyalties from his operatives, or the kind of emotional confusion this case had generated.
If Finlay had levelled with him he probably would have understood Lockmann's exodus today. But all Steven knew was what he could see, and what he deduced from the rest. Procedure demanded that Lockmann's outings be monitored by more than a single operative. Last night it had been obvious that Rick had taken off, and by virtue of skill or luck, Finlay had caught up with him. Today's stunt just confirmed Steven's suspicions: despite the innocent Lockmann seemed, he would never have been involved with Denaro unless there was something in it for him. That "something" had backfired in his face, but he was going to take advantage of his position now, to get back some of the advantages he'd lost.
There were some things that had never been sufficiently explained, to Steven's way of thinking. Things like how Lockmann knew about the virus. Things like why he'd evaded them that day he'd escaped from the hospital - why he'd left at all. Kerrington's report had claimed that Lockmann was drawn into the Denaro case by the phantom herself.
Too easy to say. Less easy to believe. Why - or how - would Denaro, especially the Denaro Steven had met, who ripped people apart and left them for dead, entice someone like Richard Lockmann into trying to help her? No. There must have been something in it for him. Something he was still trying to get his hands on, maybe even in the lab the DSO was providing for him. In his anger, Steven dismissed Lockmann's work in the lab - more than likely, the mutant had plans for his results there, too. There was a lot of power in being one of the few people immune to a potentially lethal virus.
Steven was under a lot of pressure. Denaro's ovaries had been moved, and he was trying to confirm insider information that they were now in Canuga. He'd wanted to send in an operative, but FOCUS' involvement made it tricky. Anyone entering a new facility, with limited staff, would stand out. Their chances of walking out of there were nil. And any more comprehensive action involving explosives would necessitate too great a loss of life - besides proving futile unless they could confirm that Denaro's remains were on the site.
What bothered Steven, too, was the latest information about Lockmann's girlfriend. Kerrington had told him last night that she was coming to town - then dumped her involvement with FOCUS and the Cliatso Project right in his lap. In Steven's mind, it was just one more confirmation of his suspicions - that Richard Lockmann's reasons for being at Genetechnic were far from innocent.
Rick's unprotected forays were perfect opportunities for FOCUS or someone else to grab - or contact - him. More lives lost. It could make everything they'd done for the past seven weeks absolutely futile. Steven's anger escalated another notch.
When he'd had the implant done, it had been for safety reasons, at a time when Lockmann constituted a potential hazard to them all. When the potential of his becoming another Caroline Denaro had made his continued existence a nearly unacceptable risk. It had been both a reasonable, and a logical, move. It had been easy for Steven to believe that Lockmann couldn't be trusted, and that the implant would save lives.
What Steven wouldn't admit - but what was closest to his present anger - was the personal insult that Rick's behaviour had caused. Toying with them, playing games, causing trouble. Steven had begun to think of Rick as a friend, and he didn't have many friends, mostly because he couldn't afford to trust other people. But, he'd let his guard down, because Rick had been - for the most part - so open with him. And those times when he'd concealed stuff, it had generally been for a reason he'd construed as more important. Reasons that Steven might have privately agreed with.
But the shit Rick was giving them now, out of boredom or whatever it was that was driving him, made Steven see red. After all, I bent all the rules to give Lockmann as much freedom as I could. But what really irked him was the smell of disloyalty. Disloyalty to his protectors, but more importantly, disloyalty to friends. It was what Steven was accustomed to, but he had to admit it was the last thing he wanted, or expected, from Richard Lockmann.
Steven had the receiver sitting on his dashboard, but it was easy to spot Rick. He was running along in an almost carefree manner, and as Steven watched, he saw Lockmann smile at a bystander and pick up speed.
No discretion. If he doesn't give a damn for his own hide, he could at least respect that it's our necks on the block for the Fucker -
At that moment, Steven decided he was going to stop him - stop him hard if it that's what it took. He wrenched the wheel around and accelerated forward - on a direct intersect course with Richard Lockmann. As he slammed on the brakes he realised his mistake. Rick wasn't even looking his way. And Rick was moving too fast.
*
I'll never be able to stop in time. The thought never really even had time to form.
Considering how fast he was moving, it all seemed to happen in slow motion. The car was still moving, but so was he. Rick hit the car with an enormous thud, but the impetus of his forward speed kept him in motion. He flew halfway over the hood, then landed with a crunching thud, before rolling off on to the concrete sidewalk on the far side. After the noisiness of his bouncing contact with the car, his thunk on to the concrete seemed quiet by comparison.
"Rick!" Steven was at his side now. He'd meant to catch him, not kill him. "Rick! Are you okay?"
"What do you think?" Rick replied miserably. "Who taught you to drive?"
Steven gave a flicker of a smile at that one. If he could complain, chances were he'd live. "I've called an ambulance."
"Again?" Rick sighed. "Steven," he whispered. "You need to trust me -"
Steven was still irked that Lockmann had run. "That's why you took off?"
"Because of the implant -" Rick's voice faded.
"Rick - stay with me - Rick!"
"What?" he grumbled.
"You were talking about the implant," he said, willing to talk about anything to keep him from losing consciousness. "How'd you know?"
"Guessed it. I'm not stupid, you know."
Steven grinned at that. "Yeah - I know."
"Anyway - take out the implant. I trust you - you trust ..."
"Rick! Hear that - they're coming -"
"Yeah. To show I trust you -"
"What, Rick? What'll show you trust me?" Steven didn't really care - he just knew it'd be better if he could keep Lockmann awake.
"Stench."
"Stench?" Steven was so surprised he almost dropped Rick's head onto the concrete. At the sound of his name, Stench strolled over and sat on Rick's chest. When Steven tried to push him off, Stench clawed his hand.
"Keep him safe."
"Sure, Rick -" Did he think he was dying or something? Steven really started to worry. He hoped the ambulance would hurry.
"Figured it out. Denaro's cat," Rick said. "Look at his eyes -"
*
"What'd you do?" Jace asked Hylton angrily. "Run him down?"
"No, Jace," Rick said groggily. "I ran him down." He chuckled, then dropped off again.
"Rick! Hey, Rick!"
"Yeah?" His voice was slurred.
"Can you tell me where it hurts?"
"Steven's front fender," Rick replied, and chuckled again.
"I'm surrounded by comedians," Jace muttered. He turned to the orderly. "Take him up to X-ray - again." Then he got on the phone. "I'm sending up Rick Lockmann. If you laugh, Marla -" He left the threat hanging. "No - no scan this time. Keep it simple. Tell them to concentrate on his right side." He listened for a moment. "I don't know. Word is, he hit a car." More laughter. "Bump him up to priority."
"At this rate, he's going to be so irradiated he'll glow in the dark." He punched in another number on the phone. "John? It's Jace. I have a patient coming your way. Suspected broken clavicle, tibia, fibula. Maybe some ribs." He listened for a moment, then said, "He's going to X-ray now. The point is, he heals abnormally fast. You may have a lot of work ahead of you." Whatever the other man said, made Jason chuckle. "Yeah - same to you." He hung up.
"Will he be okay?"
"By tomorrow he'll think he's ready to tap dance." Jace looked at Stench, who was writhing, biting, and scratching in his effort to escape Steven's arms. "What're you doing with the beast?"
"Guarding him with my life," Steven muttered sourly.
"I'll look for a box to stick him in," Jace remarked. He grinned. "Do you want me to find some bricks, too, and the shortest path to the river?" Jace correctly interpreted Steven's expression. "No? Too bad. In that case, I'll just settle for helping you seal the box, and if you want, I'll even mop up the blood."
***
Chapter Two
"What do you mean, you hit his car? You mean he hit you -"
Rick grinned. "No, I hit him. I was showing off, and not looking where I was going. I ran right into him, crunched in his hood, and rolled off on the other side."
"Ow-w."
"Yeah," Rick said. "I felt bad for the car owner, until I realised it was Steven."
"John Chapman never wants to see your face again." Jace's voice preceded him.
"Who's John Chapman?"
"The guy who patched your bones back together. He had to re-break your tibia three times before he could get it straight. You kept healing too fast."
"It feels great now." Rick wriggled his toes at the end of the cast. "When do I get this off?"
"The cast'll only be on for a couple of days. Then we'll take a look at it. Rick," Jason warned, sticking his face in the other man's, "bones are not muscles or skin. They might just need a little more time. Got it?"
Rick frowned impatiently. "In my face already. Of course I've got it. Did anyone remove the transmitter yet?"
Jace looked puzzled. "What are you talking about?"
"Steh-fawn put a transmitter somewhere under Rick's skin. That's why he was so pissed off," Cole explained.
"Under your skin?"
"Is there an echo in here?" Cole asked. "Yeah - under his skin. Inside him. Gross, huh?"
"Damned intrusive."
"That's what I thought," Rick said. "Especially since I must've been asleep when it happened."
"Vulnerable," Jace said what Rick was thinking.
Cole snorted. "Rick's not vulnerable. He's just a sound sleeper."
"Don't worry, Rick. Vulnerable we can work on. Gullible's hopeless," Jace said, referring to Cole. Jace's eyes met Rick's. "As for this transmitter, it probably made logistical sense to Hylton, but what's easier isn't always what's right. I'll take it out, Rick, as soon as I can figure out where it is." He shook his head. "Stupid move, anyway. It's probably got some metal in it, and after your last little episode with a metal bullet, I would've thought he'd have more sense."
"He does." Steven came into the room. "Hockson, here, has come to remove it. Rick, will you consent to wearing some other kind of transmitter? Just in case?"
Rick nodded. "I would have done it in the first place if you'd asked me."
Steven gave a slight smile at that one. "I guess I'm accustomed to acting first, and asking later."
"Try never asking at all," Cole muttered.
"Where is this transmitter?" Jace asked.
"In his armpit."
"Good spot," Cole remarked. "Positively untouchable. Good thing you've got gloves," he told Hockson.
Hockson merely looked at him soberly.
Cole looked back and didn't like what he saw. He said loudly to Jace, "Maybe he needs some assistance, Dr. Stratton." Only slightly more quietly he added, "I don't trust him."
Hylton choked back a laugh.
Hockson was giving Rick a local anaesthetic now, and Cole paled slightly. When Hockson reached for a scalpel, his eyes widened.
Jace nudged him. "You'd better leave." Smiling, he pulled up a chair and sat down next to the bed, where he could see every detail. "Don't worry - I'm not going anywhere."
Cole opened his mouth to say something, and Rick interrupted him, a little impatiently. He was anxious to get this over with. "Yes - we'll save it and show it to you -"
Cole stopped just inside the door. "When -"
Rick interrupted him again. "I'm sure Steven'll be glad to show you how it works."
"I know how it works. I just want to try it out."
"Bye, Cole," Jace said. He placed his hands on either side of where Hockson was working, to hold Rick down.
"I've never seen one get this callused this fast," Hockson said a little apologetically as he dug around. "It's in there deep."
"There's some pus underneath." Jace looked angrily at Hylton. "Stupid move, Steh-fawn. You're lucky Rick figured it out before it got bad."
"Leave him alone, Jace," Rick grunted. The local anaesthetic was already beginning to wear off. He gritted his teeth.
"Give him another shot," Jace warned.
"That'll hold him for another fifteen minutes at least," Hockson said coolly. He dug a little deeper.
In the next moment, Hockson found himself on the ground, forceps in hand.
Rick was sitting up in the bed with his arm held closely against his side. Very carefully, he handed the scalpel to Jace. "Sorry, Hockson," he said.
"I thought you were going to keep him from moving!" Hockson told the other men angrily.
Rick looked a little embarrassed. "Keep me from moving? If it weren't for the cast, I'd've been out the door and halfway home by now."
*
"You mean, I've got a mutant cat living in my house?!" Cole asked in horror.
"Watch yourself, Calloway," Rick warned him. He glanced at Jace. "When it comes to mutants, you're outnumbered."
Cole looked from one to the other. "Jesus, that's right. Considering you don't have any of those chloroplasts, either, you seem to be a lot more buzzy than you used to, Jace."
Jace smiled. "I didn't know how much time I was spending fighting off all the colds and flus I was being exposed to. Not having to fend off disease means that I have more time for fending off disease, if you know what I mean."
Cole looked at him thoughtfully. "Rick, do you think -"
"No!" Rick interrupted him abruptly. "Not a chance on earth! How could you even ask me -" he said, and rolled over to face the far wall. Jace nearly snorted aloud at the dramatic note in Rick's voice.
Cole put a hand on Rick's shoulder. "I'm sorry, Rick. I forgot how much it messed you up when you mutated Jace -"
Rick rolled back over, a big grin on his face. "I was pretty messed up when I decided to do it - otherwise, I might've tried something else," he admitted. "I couldn't mutate you, even if I wanted to - which I'd never consider. You'd need the virus as a vector, and Jace is lucky he survived at all. He could have been brain-damaged - unable to talk, or walk, or -"
"Now that you've managed to make my day," Jace interrupted, "can we get back to the issue? Why'd you tell Steven about Stench, Rick? I would've thought, with the way you feel about that cat, you'd've done anything you could to hide it from him."
"I realised he'd given me the implant because he didn't trust me."
"It could've been because he thought someone would steal you -" Cole interrupted.
Rick shook his head. "Dave said Steven did it just after Sheryl was injured. When he was scared I might be turning into another Denaro. I think he did it to protect everyone from me," he said seriously. "From my genetic programming."
"You're not another Denaro," Cole said. "Your aura's wrong. No way."
This time, Jason did snort out loud. "Was that 'aura', or 'aroma'?"
Cole grinned at him. "I've been studying psychic shit all week," he explained. "If I can't jump out of my body, I'm at least going to read minds."
Jason shook his head, and turned back to Rick. "What were you saying?"
"Just that it was obvious Steven didn't trust me. That really got to me, because I've been pretty straightforward. I've even tried to help out, with the labwork."
"Steven still doesn't understand how you got involved in the first place," Simon said. He'd entered so quietly they hadn't even noticed him. "Since you're all so observant," he said sarcastically, "I'd watch what I was saying before someone else hears it."
"I knew you were there," Cole claimed.
"You smelled my aroma?"
"No, I read your mind. It said, 'Cole and Jace need food. My treat.'"
"You got it wrong. It went more like, 'Cole needs a thunk in the head. My treat.'" Simon turned to Rick, "I told Steven about Daphne, and her involvement with Cliatso. Sorry, Rick, but I had to."
Rick nodded unhappily. "I know. At least, you told me first."
"After I heard about the implant, I told Steven he should level with you. I'm just not so sure how much we should level back," Simon added in a whisper.
"Denaro's samples?" Rick asked, his voice equally low.
"Yeah. Steven doesn't work alone, but he doesn't know who he can trust right now. Since he found out FOCUS people were the ones who shot you, he's been in a bad spot. The less he knows about what Denaro left behind, the less vulnerable he'll be."
"He's about as vulnerable as a rhino," Cole snorted.
"Wrong. Stop thinking of him as merely your boss, Cole, and instead consider him as just a man, like the rest of us. Rick, with his brains and speed, is less vulnerable than Steven." He looked at Rick. "I think you should tell him most of it - maybe even show him a copy of the CD. Everything but Denaro's 'address book' and the serum. It would help to clear the air."
Rick smiled. "And put you in less of a weird position - holding back something from both of us."
Simon looked at him curiously. "How did you know?"
"The only time you get eager for someone else to be honest, is when you know something you want to tell them but you can't."
Simon frowned. "I'll have to work on that."
Rick grinned. He could tell Simon was irked by the ease with which Rick had figured him out. "Don't work too hard. Some secrets aren't meant to be kept."
Cole sat down in a chair, and tipped it back - so he could plunk his feet on Rick's bed. He sighed happily. "I love this shit! Working for the DSO - all these secrets and everybody with hidden agendas. All I need to make my life complete is a face-to-ion encounter with ball lightning."
Simon groaned.
"Did you hear the latest theory?" Rick said.
Cole's eyes lit up. "About ball lightning?" he asked eagerly.
"Ball lightning may be an example of LBH."
Cole frowned. "LBH? What does that mean?"
"Little Black Holes," Rick said triumphantly.
"Black holes?" Cole stood up and began to pace excitedly. "I knew it!"
"Sounds like a crock of bullshit to me," Jace said, grinning. "Where'd you read that, Rick? In the Sun Star Times or the Enquirer?" He watched Cole, waiting for his reaction.
"Dammit, Jace! Don't be such a goddamned sceptic -" Cole turned and saw the expressions on his friends' faces. He grinned. "Say what you will, you goddamned hyenas, but the next time a little black hole comes calling in my direction, I'm going to be the first to get a goddamned photo!"
*
"Kerrington said you needed to see me."
Rick nodded. "There're some things you should know. Things maybe I should've told you before." He limped over to the computer that had been set up in the corner. "Mine," he explained.
"I wondered about that. It didn't make sense that you wouldn't have one."
"But you didn't say anything." Rick highlighted the name on the bottom of the document. "Caroline Denaro, Ph.D.". "I didn't know who to trust either, Steven. Everywhere I turned there were guns." He gave a wry smile. "Not my field."
"What is this?"
"Denaro's research. Most of it, anyway."
Steven looked at him oddly at that, but remained silent.
Rick shook his head in frustration. "I'm going to level with you, but it's such a weird story -"
"- chances are I won't believe you?"
Rick grinned. "Yeah. I thought my involvement was an accident, but then I got to thinking about Denaro, and the way she homed in on me. Maybe it wasn't an accident at all."
Steven nodded. "Go on."
"I went with Cole to look at Denaro's house. He'd put a deposit on it -" He stopped, suddenly aware of how ridiculous the whole thing was going to sound, taken out of context. "Look, Steven - there's a better way. Feel like taking a ride?"
"Where are we going?"
"To visit Denaro's house. It's owned by Genetechnic. It'll be a lot easier to show you than try to tell you."
"Most of Genetechnic's property is sealed off until they've concluded their investigations," Steven said, a little impatiently. He had a feeling this was just a smokescreen, to cover what had really happened.
"I know how to turn off the alarms," Rick assured him.
Steven frowned. "You learned that on a real estate tour?"
"No - I found out after I moved in, Steven," Rick told him. He noted with satisfaction the flicker of quickly concealed surprise in Hylton's eyes. "I lived there, and -" he rummaged around in his backpack, "- I still have a key."
*
"What'd you do? Run into a tree?" Rick asked, as he looked at the damage to Steven's car.
"Close," Steven muttered. "Same phylum."
There was an appreciative glint in Rick's eyes, but any amusement faded as they neared Denaro's house. "It's around the corner. First house on the left." It came out in nearly a whisper.
They pulled up in front, and Rick stared through the gate, to the house beyond.
"Ready?" Steven asked, and noticed how Rick jumped.
Rick nodded. "Ready."
Steven helped him out of the car, and handed him the crutches. But, Rick had a hard time coordinating his movements. His responses were jerky with nerves, and Steven watched as he tried to negotiate the pathway.
Steven looked up and down the street, noticing the flicking of a curtain in one window, and the outline of a face in another. The longer they took at this, the more likely they were to draw some attention from FOCUS.
He had two teams stationed on the next street, but he wanted to avoid any action if possible. As Rick fumbled with the gate key, Steven took over. "Give me the keys," he ordered. He undid the lock, them grabbed Rick's arm and pulled it over his shoulder. "You hold these," he said, putting the crutches into Rick's other hand. "Let's go." He half-lifted the other man to the front door, while Rick tried to hop along at his side. "How're your ribs?" he asked matter-of-factly.
A measurement of my toughness. His ribs had been one of the first things to encounter Steven's fender. Two can play at this game, Rick thought. "Just fine," he replied, just as matter-of-factly.
He would have been amused, if he weren't so scared. He had to admit it - he was scared of re-entering Denaro's house. He was afraid of his memories - afraid of what had happened here.
But, Hylton had to see it. Had to see it through Rick's eyes. Rick gritted his teeth and nodded, as Steven prepared to unlock the door.
Steven unlocked the door, but it was Rick who pushed it open. His movements were still jerky, uncontrolled - and the door slammed back against the wall. Rick stood there, staring at the box of chocolates lying on the floor. Almost of their own accord, his eyes searched the distant reaches of the room, finally settling on the landing, where he'd seen her more than once. Where she'd coalesced, in that tattered, fleshless way she had.
"Snap out of it, Rick! The alarm -" Steven said tersely.
"There," Rick muttered, dragging his eyes from the stairs. "Two - three - seven - nine - one."
Steven punched in the numbers, then grunted in satisfaction as the light went out. "Nice furniture," he commented. "Is that a fountain?" He went over and turned the switch, and the water spouted up in its tiled pool.
"Justin Sacchara brought me the chocolates," Rick told him. "The welcoming committee."
Hylton didn't say anything. They both knew Sacchara had died that night at Genetechnic.
"I - I came here with Cole the first time. He wanted to show me around."
"He must have been pretty impressed with himself for renting it."
Rick gave a flicker of a smile at that one, but it didn't reach his eyes. "We went upstairs." Rick manoeuvred the crutches to the base of the stairs, then used the banister on one side, and the crutches on the other, to pull himself up. Steven had the feeling that although Rick was still speaking aloud, he was lost in his memories. He'd forgotten Steven was even there. His voice went on, and Steven got the impression he was talking to exorcise some private demon - an attempt to banish his own fear.
Steven followed behind. He didn't say anything; just let him talk.
"The room I liked the most - hell, I even envied him for it," Rick went on, incredulity sharpening his tones, "was the lab." He hobbled into the room, abandoning the crutches against the wall. "I knew it was a lab," he said earnestly. "It's dusty now, but I could see where she'd had a centrifuge. It was owned by Genetechnic, Cole said, and they usually housed their people here. Someone kept a PCR machine right here," he muttered, rubbing the spot. "Like mine at Entadyne." Rick stared at a place further along the bench, and Hylton wondered what he was seeing. "I was standing there," Rick whispered. He drew in a breath, and gulped, then slowly limped over to the spot. "The room got dark, and I thought some cloud had occluded the windows."
Steven would have smiled at the "occluded" if it hadn't been for the haunted look on Lockmann's face. Either the guy was the greatest consummate actor he'd ever met, or he was reliving some horror that Steven didn't even want to imagine.
"I turned around -" Rick did it, and his eyes were terrified, almost as though he could see again what he'd seen that day - but with the knowledge of its consequences already written in his head. "- and she was there. Bits of muscle and bone, skin, and eyes, and parts of organs." Rick closed his eyes, but Steven could tell the vision was still there, in his head. "She begged me to help her." The last came out on a sob.
"Indeterminate genes. Meristematic." He was shaking now, and, as Steven watched, Rick slid down, his back against the drawers, until he was sitting on the lab floor. "Cole came in and saw her. He yelled, but it was too late." Rick's voice grew quiet, and Steven felt gooseflesh dance along his arms. "She coalesced, in that way she had. I think she only wanted to touch me - to show she was real." Rick opened his eyes, and stared blankly at the space in front of him. "She went too far. Into my chest. It felt - it felt like searing cold." He shrugged, unable to explain it better, and unwilling to try. "A few molecules is all it takes," he said softly.
"What happened then?" There was no answer. "Rick," Steven said more loudly, "what happened then?"
Rick blinked, and his eyes focused on Steven. He looked slightly surprised, and he shook his head to clear it.
"Let's get you out of here," Steven said, a little gruffly. Lockmann's words had affected him more than he wanted to admit. He grabbed Rick's arm and hefted him to his feet. Rick wobbled and grabbed on to the bench. "Give me your arm," Steven commanded.
"No," Rick said, and pulled away. "I have to do this. I need to know I survived intact," he tried to explain. He went back to his story. "Cole helped me downstairs." He shrugged. "By the next day I was sick, and as it got worse I knew."
"Knew what?"
"Knew she was alive. And that she'd done something to me," he muttered. He grabbed the crutches and headed for the stairs. "I needed to help her - I think some part of me knew it'd be the only way to help myself," he admitted, as though trying to absolve his conscience. He gave a grim smile. "I rented the house, to try to find her notes."
"How did you know about them?"
Rick turned to him a little sadly, as though disappointed that he hadn't figured it out. "She told me," he said simply.
Again, Steven felt the gooseflesh travel - this time, along his spine. "Why? Why'd you do it?"
"You mean - wasn't I afraid?" Rick shuddered. "I was terrified. But time was running out. For her. For me," he admitted. "After it happened, I just couldn't abandon her. It was worse than death -" He gulped and turned his head away, unable to speak.
"How'd you find her notes?" They were back downstairs, and Steven pulled up a chair, and forced Lockmann into it. His colour had faded to a sallow yellow.
"She showed me." Rick looked at the dusty box of chocolates. "Sacchara brought those, but he'd been doing something sneaky upstairs." He shook his head. "I don't know what it was." He gave a small smile. "I was too sick to go up there to find out." He leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes. "After he left, and I came back inside, I remember being really mad. Mad at everyone trying to screw me. Mad at being lied to, and mostly mad at being so damn sick." He looked at Hylton, and there was a glint of humour in his crystalline eyes. "I threw the chocolates on the floor, and told Caroline if she wanted me to find her notes, she'd better come out of hiding and show me where they were."
Steven was silent. He couldn't think of anything to say. He was too caught up in the horror of it all.
"She did." He didn't elaborate, and Steven was glad. He had his own memories of Denaro to contend with. "They were in that far column." Rick pushed himself to his feet. This time, he let Steven help him. "You'll need a chair."
He leaned against the column while Steven pulled over a chair. "Twist the middle ring."
Steven twisted it, and felt inside the hollow space. "What was in it?"
"A CD, plus a few other items."
Steven nodded, and gave the ghost of a smile. "Let me guess - your reticence is for my own protection?" He seemed to find it amusing.
"The CD will tell you most of what you need to know. When we get back, I'll translate it for you. It's a little complex."
"I'll bet." Steven sighed. "Is that it, or is there a dungeon you've kept for an extra treat?"
"No dungeon," Rick said wearily. "Can we go?"
Steven nodded. He pulled Rick's arm over his shoulder and they headed for the door.
"The crutches," Rick said, and turned back.
"Wait here," Steven said, and went over to get them.
"Steven -" Rick whispered. It came out in nearly a squeak. He was staring at the stairs, and Steven followed his gaze. There, in the centre of the landing, an irregular pattern of white smoke was forming. Just then, the fountain was suddenly activated, and the swoosh and trickle of water seemed abnormally loud, as it echoed into the silence.
Steven's eyes widened. Crutches in one hand, he grabbed Rick by one arm and practically flung him out the door.
"Fountain's on a timer," he said hurriedly, by way of explanation.
"Uh-huh," Rick said. Steven was heading toward the car at a run, dragging Rick along with him.
"What about the alarm?"
Steven waited until they were in the car, with all the doors locked. He revved the engine, and tore down the road, heater running full blast. He spared a glance at Rick, and a trace of humour showed in his eyes. "They don't sell - hell, they don't even make - the kind of alarm that place needs."
*
"What did you do to him?" Sheryl asked.
"Took him back to his old neighbourhood," Steven told her. "At his request."
"Why are you letting all those people in his room?" she asked, a little angrily. "He looks exhausted."
"Because he needs it."
"Are you actually afraid he'll run off again -"
"No - I said he needs it. He needs company right now. Something to make him forget about Denaro. He's had a rough day."
She looked surprised, but then she smiled. "Thanks for being so understanding," she told him, genuinely grateful that he was making such an effort.
"I have to go, Sheryl."
"Where are you going?" she asked, a trace of exasperation in her tones. She'd thought they were going home. "Oh - forgive me for asking," she said sarcastically. "There are probably a dozen dictators in jeopardy, or some small country that needs overthrowing before breakfast. Just file me between 'd' and 'o' on your secret agenda."
He grinned appreciatively. "No secret," he said, but didn't enlighten her.
She frowned. "You have to be the world's most irritating man. If you didn't have such a nice ass I'd dump you right now." She turned away. "I'll be in my office. It's time I did some paperwork."
He came up behind her and kissed the back of her neck. "You might find a few files on your desk."
"So now you're monitoring my work?" she asked angrily.
"Only till Stratton says you should be doing it," he said.
"Damned, arrogant bastard," she muttered, frowning. "I never used to swear," she complained. "See how low I've sunk -" She pulled him over and kissed him full on the lips, then pushed him away. "How long will I have to wait for you?"
"It might be a while," Steven told her with a grin. "I promised Lockmann a game of cards. It might even be a couple of games of cards. I thought I'd stay with him tonight until he goes to sleep." He looked a little embarrassed, but she didn't say anything. Her eyes twinkled as she leaned over and kissed him again.
"Doze off, if you want," he told her, a little gruffly. "I promise I'll find a way to wake you up." His smile widened. "You've got some places that work far better than an alarm."
*
He didn't even bother to write back.
Daphne opened her fridge, plucked a lettuce leaf off the head and stuffed it in her mouth. Maybe, if I pretend hard enough this is a nice, juicy steak, my head will convince my tastebuds. She crunched on it, and the tangy sourness of the ribbed part made her cringe. No money, no steak, not even any cheapie hamburger. She and Kefra had been living on rice and lettuce for three days now. Deliberately, she bit into the sour part again. The nasty taste in her mouth was a good match for the nasty state of her temper. Damn men! she thought.
Then, her other side - the part that desperately wanted to believe in fairy tale romances and happily-ever-afters - started babbling with excuses. She worked harder at convincing herself his e-mail was down than she'd worked at convincing herself she was a practicing carnivore, but it didn't work any better. It was his friend, Cole, who'd given out the address - it wasn't Rick. Rick hadn't even written to acknowledge her message.
I scared him, she thought. He doesn't want to meet me.
The four walls were driving her crazy. Kefra, her sister, was moping around like it was the end of the world, but refused to talk about what was really bothering her. You'd think the end of her job at Genetechnic was the end of her life.
Daphne wandered over to the bookshelves, and tried to absorb herself in a plant physiology journal. No go.
Sighing - reluctantly - feeling as though she were giving in to obsession - she trudged over to a half-painted portrait, balanced on two nails she'd tacked into the wall. It was one of a dozen oil paintings that cluttered the walls, all in various phases of completion. She'd finish one, every couple of weeks, and someone would come along and buy it.
It was her secret side. Kefra'd been urging her to finish one this week, so they could eat, but their desperation had ruined her inspiration. Besides, she couldn't finish the portrait because she didn't know what face it should wear. Didn't know what he looked like. If she gave him a face, then Richard Lockmann would have to live up to it. Live up to the man of her dreams that she'd made him out to be.
Kefra had painstakingly pointed out to her that there was no reason for them to starve, as long as she could paint. But then, Kefra didn't really understand. Painting took a while, but it was easy for her. Plant science was hard. If she did the painting thing, it wasn't scientific. It was too ethereal in a world where mathematics ruled. Daphne would have been embarrassed for her co-workers to know.
And now - that she didn't have any co-workers - it was too much like giving up her dream. Like forfeiting her future. Like playing instead of working. At the moment, Daphne couldn't paint any more than she could read plant physiology.
Part of it was her subject matter. Mythological themes, complete with heroes and dragons and fairies and happily-ever-afters. Totally irrelevant to what she was doing in the lab, and totally embarrassing. Sexist, or at least sensual, renderings were out of place in the asexual environment in which she worked. An asexual environment that she'd helped to cultivate because it put everyone on an equal footing. When everyone you knew - men and women - looked down at the top of your head, you had to work hard at being taken seriously. Daphne had worked hard at it.
But still, she did her closet art. Complete with lizards and butterflies, mushrooms and flowers. Soft, like the creamy centre of a chocolate truffle. And every bit as compulsive to her as that chocolaty first bite. Daphne knew her painting was one of those obsessive things that she'd some day have to overcome - like some people did smoking. In the meanwhile, she hid it, and threw finished pieces away.
It was Kefra who fished them out and sold them.
Daphne had never told Rick. She wanted him to take her seriously, and she hadn't seen any reason to confess all of her bad habits. There'd be time enough for those kinds of confessions later - she'd always thought.
Daphne dropped the brush back in the turpentine, and angrily stirred it around. She couldn't paint, couldn't read, couldn't do anything. She stared at the blank face of the portrait and felt like a fool.
I'm like that: blank. Saving myself for some jerk on the other end of my e-mail line.
It was a cop-out, but she'd found it a lot easier to have an e-mail relationship than one where she'd have to communicate face-to-face. She'd told Rick things she'd never told anyone else - theories and ideas, especially. Things that no one else she knew was interested in. Things that bored her sister, and all her sister's friends. Things that she'd learned not to mention in company; settling instead for platitudes and foolish chatter about nothing that mattered. The few times she'd gone out on a real date during the last year she'd been bored out of her mind. Plus, what was worse - she'd felt in some uncomfortable way that she was cheating on Rick.
How can you cheat on someone you've never made any kind of commitment to?
Other than spilling your guts and sharing some of your deepest, darkest secrets.
You can't cheat on someone you've never even met.
He's scared, she suddenly decided. Daphne stared at the paintbrush in her hand. Of course he's scared, she thought. So am I.
I can't spend the rest of my life mooning over him, like some teenager with a crush on a rock star.
She fished in her purse, and pulled out her last five dollars. It was emergency money - to make a downpayment on a doctor's visit, to buy another head of lettuce or some rice, to buy some coffee for instant caffeine-alertness for an impending job interview.
Or to buy gas, so I can visit my would-be lover. Daphne blushed and crumpled it into a wad.
He doesn't want me.
If he didn't want her, he should have told her, instead of leading her on like a cad. Not with romantic words, but with words that seduced her - like chlorophyll, and sucrose shunt, and pressure gradients - words that made her feel he respected her ideas, and wanted to hear more. Words that made her feel they could sit together for hours, talking, touching - she blushed again.
Daphne went into her room and pulled out her best outfit. Then, she changed her mind and went into Kefra's room and found something sexy. Not blatantly sexy, but something that would make even a short-sighted scientist see her as a woman. She showered and changed, but at the last minute grabbed a dark jacket, to impress him with her discretion.
Then, before she could change her mind, she took out the wadded five and gripped it in her fist. On her way to the door, she detoured by the fridge, grabbed half the lettuce that was left and shoved it in her purse. It wouldn't do to face him hungry.
Then, biting her lower lip, she turned around and charged out the door.
*
What if he's out of town? Out of the country? Daphne stopped at a phone and punched in the number Cole had given her.
"Calloway domicile. Head domiciliac speaking."
"Is - is Rick there?"
"No, he's not. Who's this?"
"My name's Daphne Morrison. I think you picked up my e-mail -"
On the other end of the phone Cole grinned. Lay it on thick, Cole. Make some points for your good buddy. "He's in the hospital," he told her, with just the right note of worry in his tones.
Daphne's hopes sank around her ankles. "What happened?" she asked miserably.
"Someone ran him down," Cole told her, grinning. He could almost hear her sympathy flowing.
"Will he be okay?"
"In time," he said dramatically. He needed to get her down here, quickly, while Rick was still laid up. Once the cast was off, Rick was so timid that he'd hightail it for the hills to try to avoid her. In deeply serious tones, he added, "We're worried someone may try again." He didn't say what, but he figured she'd fill in any gaps. I'm not really lying, he told himself. The DSO is scared someone will try - something. "If you have any free time you might be able to help. Look, I really can't talk about this any more," he finished in a whisper.
"What hospital?" she asked, only belatedly realising she was whispering, too. "Room number?" He gave it to her. "Thank you, Mr. Calloway," she said.
"Any time," Cole replied. He was still smiling about it forty-five minutes later when Simon walked in the room.
*
"Are you trying to get her killed?" Simon asked.
Cole frowned. "What do you mean?"
"She worked at Cliatso, Cole. I'd bet money she's an innocent, but we have no way of knowing that for sure. It turns out her sister worked video at Genetechnic. Daniel Vizar was the one who got her the job at Cliatso."
"Holy shit! I gave her Rick's room number!"
Simon didn't say anything. He just turned around and ran out of the house. Cole was right at his heels.
Danny Chan looked startled when he saw Simon running, and started to go for his gun. "Is this something I should follow-up on?" he asked worriedly.
"Don't ask!" Simon told him. "Believe me, you don't want to know!"
"Do you need an extra pair of hands?"
Simon shook his head. "No, but if you've got a spare brain," he said, looking pointedly at Cole, "I know someone who could use it." He flung the last over his shoulder as he unlocked the car.
Once they were inside, Simon asked, "Did she say where she was calling from?"
"Home, I think." Cole thought about it. "Hell, I don't know," he said miserably. "Aren't you going to call ahead?"
"No - it'd only make things worse if she's met by a group of armed thugs."
"Speak for yourself," Cole said, but he wasn't laughing. "I really blew it this time."
Simon glanced at him. It took a lot to bring Cole down. After all, most of the stuff Cole did was meant to bring other people up. "You didn't know, Cole," he said seriously.
"I knew she worked for Cliatso. You told Rick right in front of me. But, he's been writing her so long -"
"I'm not so worried about her - remember, I met her. I'm just afraid - given her background - Hylton's going to shoot first, and ask questions later."
***
Chapter Three
A month ago, I would've laughed in his face. Or, at least, hung up. Daphne thought seriously about it, wondering if there hadn't been a trace of humour in Calloway's voice. Some clue as to whether he was telling the truth. Daphne realised that, even a short time ago, she would have been hard put to believe someone was out to get Richard Lockmann.
After the spy-type - who'd ended her career at Cliatso - had disappeared, Daphne had made a point of returning the papers he'd scanned to the shelf in the prep room. In some way, by helping him, she'd felt she was making up for any of the wrong-doing she might have inadvertently perpetrated during her time there. It suddenly seemed that her eyes had been opened, and she'd realised that a certain desperation to hold on to her job had made her overlook a lot.
Things like Tazo Raeiti. She hadn't overlooked him, exactly - it'd been more like categorising him to some obscure subspecies reserved for psychopaths. Anyone who came around every day, just to stroke some dead woman's ovaries - who issued dire warnings and looked at the other people in the room like he wished they were all dead - wasn't normal. She'd admitted that much, but other than being annoyed, she'd accepted him as much as anyone else had.
Things like guns and lasers, and fortress-strong defence systems. What were they working on - herself included - that required such measures? What were they protecting themselves from? Industrial espionage? Foreign spies? When the man had talked about the virus being contagious, he'd been afraid. Plus, he'd already known about the virus, and he was a stranger. That meant her Cliatso bosses did, too.
Then, what were they doing with it? What was her work for? Why set up a state-of-the-art lab, to study a virus, unless you hoped to develop a cure?
Or find a way to use it? The last was the one that terrified Daphne.
Some of the tests she'd run had been confusing. The virus had been narrowed down to the Reovirus family, but some of the protein products she'd come across were wrong. Wrong molecular weight. In fact, some of them had resembled some work she'd once done on reoviruses in plant families. Daphne had always gratefully assumed that her plant background was being overlooked, in favour of Daniel Vizar's recommendation, and her molecular studies. Now, suddenly, after this stranger had appeared - seeming to question what they were doing, and even detest them for it - she'd wondered. Could it be they'd hired her because of her plant virology background, and that the recommendation by Vizar had been a happy coincidence? Some of the things other people in the lab were doing, and some of the tests she'd been assigned, suddenly took on new meaning. And made her even more certain she had to leave.
But, the stranger could have been some wacko - some radical who detested all things molecular. It would've been a lot more comfortable to her wallet, and Kefra's and her living styles, to believe that, if it hadn't been for the paper.
The one he'd considered important enough to scan. She'd looked at it after he'd left, wondering why it mattered. Unless he was just collecting everything he could get his hands on. Still, he'd seem to consider this one important. She'd looked at it carefully. The name "Denaro" had a vaguely familiar ring, but she didn't know why. The name "Lockmann" had jumped out at her. Lockmann. Rick. Her Rick.
Ridiculous.
Too much of a coincidence.
It was coincidence enough that she was uncomfortable. It sealed her decision. Still, she'd thought she'd left the worry aside when she'd left the building for the last time.
Now it was back. Rick was in trouble. Another plant person, like herself - an expert - of sorts, her disciplined mind insisted - in plant diseases - plant viruses. Maybe it wasn't a coincidence at all. Maybe they'd monitored her e-mail. She'd tried e-mailing him once or twice from work, since her own machine was down. Had she involved him, somehow? And, after they'd noticed him, his own expertise had captured their attention?
Did they think maybe she'd sent him some other stuff? Stuff about the project? He was one of the few people who would have understood it.
Daphne involuntarily took a look over her shoulder. Maybe they were following her right now. To run her down the way they'd run down Rick. Calloway hadn't said when it had happened. Only that he couldn't talk any more about it. They must be watching him, too.
She instantly thought of Kefra, and wondered if she should call and warn her.
No, Kefra wouldn't be home tonight. She'd be watching videos at Tanya's and Margo's place - fellow video addicts from her college days. Daphne was sure at least part of the attraction was the popcorn they always served with the movies. Kefra would probably linger as long as she could.
Daphne had no trouble visualising the name "Lockmann" she'd seen on the document. It had been such a shock to her, that she'd imprinted it on her memory. It was obvious that someone had come across Rick's name, then used the out-of-body article as scrap paper, to jot it down, along with a question mark. Maybe it wasn't the article that had been so important to the stranger - maybe it was the names on it.
What have I done? Daphne wondered. The Richard Lockmann she'd come to know through letters, and whose articles she'd devoured in the journals, wasn't the type to get himself in this kind of trouble. He was too busy with his work to venture into the kinds of dark alleys where people ran you down - deliberately.
Did I let him know too much? Accidentally? And they tolerated it from me, because I was an employee?
But they wouldn't tolerate inquiries from him.
It's my fault. It was too much of a coincidence to be anything else. The only connection was her - and the letters she'd written him - on Cliatso's e-mail. Daphne could have cried.
Instead, she made up her mind to protect him. If it was too late for that, she was damn well going to rescue him. After working at Cliatso, she knew she was a lot more conversant with the criminal mind than one absent-minded, but distinctly lovable, Dr. Richard Lockmann.
*
Tony Diaslio was smiling when Dan Shires walked into the room. "Damn good work, Dan."
"Great. Now, tell me what I did to eke some praise out of you."
"Grappelton was sent to bring in Sheryl Matthews. Did you hear about that?"
"I heard he was picked up. The DSO?"
Diaslio nodded. "Unfortunately, yes. If Hylton were smarter, he would've made Charlie disappear. Instead, he went through channels."
"Let me guess: Grappelton was supposedly working undercover, and was picked up by mistake. Everyone else took off, before the DSO could catch them."
Tony grinned. "Maybe we ought to test your ESP rating. You're getting to be a mind-reader." His smile faded slightly. "Actually, the DSO picked them all up. Grappelton was the only one they could readily trace to us. Apparently, he was also the only one who knew what really went on up in Matthews' apartment. But they couldn't interrogate him without causing some interdepartmental flack."
"So where are the others?"
Diaslio shrugged. "Unknown. But, Grappelton's loose again." Excitement brightened his eyes. "He's got an interesting story, Dan. One you won't believe."
"OBE?"
"ECP," Diaslio corrected. "Something came between Grappelton and Sheryl Matthews: a 'glowing ball of light', Charlie said. Shoved him backwards, then threw him down some stairs."
"Lockmann?"
"Who else? Unless poltergeist activity's a regular feature of Matthews' apartment. Nothing we've heard about."
Dan Shires still looked doubtful. "More likely Charlie's trying to cover up his failure." He added, a little sarcastically, "He probably figures you'd eat up any mention of something weird or unnatural."
Diaslio gave him a look that made Shires wish he'd kept his mouth shut. "What do you think? Grappelton babbled about this stuff openly? Spilled his guts about what happened just to get off the hook?"
Dan Shires swallowed hard.
"The DSO might have qualms about interrogation, Dan. I don't. Charlie was a little inconsistent in his report, so we had to pry out a few extra details."
"Will we be able to use him again?" Shires asked, a little reluctantly. "His calloused approach has some advantages."
"We're not inhuman, Dan," Diaslio said disgustedly. "The prod was chemical, not mechanical."
Shires thought it was a good time to change the subject. "Tell me more, about this 'ball of light'."
"We think it was Lockmann manifesting himself in some simple form. We fed Charlie's description into the computer, and cross-referenced it with Lockmann's preferences, habits, and so on. One of Lockmann's favourite hobbies is lightning photography. The computer linked the details with accepted descriptions of ball lightning."
Dan Shires smiled. "So it worked."
Diaslio grinned back. "Like a charm. It'll be a helluva lot cleaner to work with him than with Denaro's infected material. We should be able to induce the response easily enough. He's been primed for it now." Satisfaction glinted in his eyes. "We won't have to infect anyone with the virus to produce the effect."
Shires commented drily, "In that case, the 'effect' would be too short-lived to verify anything anyway." He added thoughtfully, "What's to stop Lockmann from attacking us, once we've induced this 'response'?"
"We'll find a way to exert some kind of pressure." It was obvious Diaslio didn't see it as a problem.
"Is Canuga on-line yet?"
"Nearly. Denaro's remains are already there."
"What next?"
"We go for Lockmann," Diaslio said.
*
She knew it wasn't going to be easy. Logic dictated that if Cliatso had been after him, he should already be dead.
Unless this was a warning. Stay out, or accept the consequences.
Or, maybe they were caught in the act. So they left him for dead. But once they find out they've failed, they'll be back to finish the job.
It'd be easy. A public hospital, with the infrequent checks on the patients. Go in, and if someone in a neighbouring bed sees the struggle take them out, too. Daphne could picture it - and it was so horrible she literally began to shudder in her shoes.
It seemed that once her eyes were opened to the possibility of evil, no sane denials would work for her any more. If someone was willing to use a virus against someone else, it meant the world she'd safely resided in no longer existed. The distant concerns of governments and rogue science that functioned outside the laws was no longer someone else's fiction - it had just become fact. She'd been made a part of it. If nothing else, saving Richard Lockmann was one thing she could do to try to make it right.
Some part of her still wanted to deny that things like this went on. It was a lot easier for her to accept a gang hit, or a lethal robbery, than this kind of organised crime. Organised crime that was, in part, government-funded. Though, with the set-up Cliatso had, governments didn't even really matter anyway. It was part of some huge corporation in which the government was a small investor. Corporations like that were multi-national. The only thing they really had to fear was the inconvenience of public outcry on their own turf. Public outcry might be what Rick represented.
I guess I needed to feel secure. To feel that my government, at least, was working in my favour. She remembered how secure her employment had made her feel. Being part of a multi-national company meant that she wouldn't have to worry about her job disappearing on the morrow. That there'd be some small slot they could fit her into, somewhere in the world, if her performance was good. For just a moment, Daphne wondered if she should have asked for a transfer, instead of just walking away. If she should have gone to some innocuous corner of the globe, and washed floors for them, just to stay employed...
She pushed the thought aside. It was so much easier to be unprincipled. But, she couldn't sit around, knowing they might well be generating ways to make people die. Only, in the weeks since she'd left Cliatso, she hadn't actively formulated any way to fight back. She'd been too busy wondering how she was going to survive on a lettuce diet, and mourning the loss of her dreams. Dreams that had included her own lab, and new discoveries, and hours lost in research.
Well, mourning had been displaced by anger. Daphne Morrison was now ready and willing to fight. But, for just a fraction of a second, doubt crept in again. Was Calloway lying? Pulling her leg?
You've worked at Cliatso. This stuff is real. You can't hide behind ignorance any more.
She stiffened her back, and held her head high. It was the pose she always assumed when going before a group to give a scientific paper. She had it all worked out: she'd go directly to Rick's room, and tell him what she suspected. Confess all, and tell him they needed to act. If Rick was ambulatory, they'd leave - right then, right there. Find some place to go, until they could get help.
Whatever else happened, Daphne Eugenia Morrison was damn well going to find a way to get him out.
*
"How is he?"
Finlay grinned. "Climbing the walls. I went to the university library, and picked up the journals he asked for, but he's itching for activity. At this rate, he'll wear out the cast before they take it off."
Hylton frowned. "He's walking around on it?" After their visit to Denaro's house, Lockmann had been warned not to put pressure on his leg.
Finlay snorted. "Every time I look in the room, he's lying on the bed reading. But, the last two times the book's been upside down. You know how damn fast he is."
"Does Stratton know?"
"Judging from the look of the cast, it'd take a blind man not to figure it out."
"I'll have a word with Stratton," Steven said. "If he wants him off the leg, then Lockmann's going to have to listen, even if it means putting someone in the room with him again."
*
It'd be stupid to go in without something up my sleeve. She sat in the car, staring at the phone booth. The only thing she had a lot of right now was lettuce.
There has to be something. Something I can use.
Back in her university days, she'd done a research year at Branwell. Two years ago, they'd had her back, as a guest lecturer. Nothing had changed, except her entry code. Daphne frowned as she tried to recall the so-called temporary numbers they'd given her. The students had said it was the key code they gave all visitors. Daphne hoped it had changed as little during the ensuing two years as the facilities had changed during the years before.
Security was slack. If you had your access code, and could get in, a lot of people didn't bother too much with lock up. Equipment and personal possessions, yes, but things like petri dishes, lab tools, micropipettes - they were left in racks, cupboards - sometimes even on the bench.
Daphne tried to remember the layout of the labs. The facilities. There were chemicals, but most of them were locked up, and she'd feel a certain resistance against using acid or a carcinogen against another human being anyway. I might work on lethal viruses, she thought disgustedly, but I'm not inhuman. There'd be scalpels, gloves, Petri dishes lying around, too. Nothing much - certainly not enough.
It was then she thought of the liquid air. They used it as a cheap and ready alternative to liquid nitrogen, for quick-freezing samples. And it wasn't explosive like liquid oxygen. Daphne's eyes lit up. As long as a container was loosely covered, the stuff would last in there for at least an hour. Some might bubble away, but there'd be something left - more than likely enough.
Daphne began to formulate a plan. There might never be a reason to use it, but on the other hand - you never knew. It all hinged on gloves, a healthy slathering of glycerine, some Petri dishes, and the deliquescence of liquid air.
*
Rick stood at the window, staring off at the tree-covered hills in the distance. Phil Rutgers had just phoned him about some of the plants in the lab. From his description, there wasn't much doubt in Rick's mind that the plants were displaying viral symptoms. Rick was so disturbed by the news that he didn't even notice someone opening the door. It took the sound of that someone loudly clearing his throat to bring Rick back to the present.
Jace was leaning against the closed door. His arms were crossed and he looked as angry as Rick had ever seen him.
Correction, Rick thought. This isn't Jace - this is Dr. Jason Stratton, M.D.
"I hope you like walking with a limp, Rick," Dr. Stratton said angrily. "Because you're probably going to be stuck with one."
Rick didn't say anything. He sat down in the chair and put his foot up on the window sill.
"I guess we can always re-break it," Jason continued sarcastically. "I'll have to find you another bone-man, though. John Chapman may be our best, but he won't want to look at you again. Not after what he already went through, trying to get the pieces lined up so they could heal."
Rick nodded, but his thoughts were elsewhere. WTV was usually difficult to transmit mechanically. Not so this genetically-modified strain. Rick felt a shiver go up his spine. He'd inoculated the plants with the same solution Denaro had claimed was used on her test rats.
She'd used some other vector - little realising that the monster she'd created didn't need one. It had its own built-in transmission system: a virus that could span phyla. Plants and animals.
If I'm right about the plants. He had no way of knowing until he could see them. Run some tests on them. Check their proteins. Rick frowned and booted angrily at the window sill.
Deadly. To everything in its reach. I should tell Steven I need to take a look at the plants. Right now. Before it's too late.
Rick had a dim memory of asking Steven to bring some of his flowers to Jason's room. Flowers that had now been tipped out into the trash. Had they been infected first? Mechanical transmission by a drop of saliva in a cough or a sneeze? Had there been a vector in the room, that might have moved from one host to the next?
It was beyond a nightmare. This virus meant nothing was safe. If the virus could span phyla, could it also find a host in the insect population? In vectors other than leafhoppers? Vectors that might not support reproduction of the virus, but might nevertheless carry it elsewhere before they died?
Rick suddenly realised Jace was still talking to him, and that he undoubtedly expected an answer. "Uh-huh," he said. "Jace, do you know what happened to the flowers in your room?"
"Did you hear anything I said?"
"Of course." Rick tried to remember what Jace had been so angry about. "Am I really going to have a limp?" he threw over his shoulder, as - making a conscious effort to please - he rolled himself in the office chair over to his computer. Then he worriedly began to scan through Denaro's file again.
"That was a threat." Jace leaned over the back of the chair. "What bug's in your brain this time? Whatever it is, I wish you'd get it exterminated."
"Phil called me. From his description, it's likely our test plants are infected with WTV," Rick said quietly.
Jace sucked in a quick breath. His own battle with the disease was less than three weeks old, and it would take a lot longer than that before he'd be able to forget the pain he'd endured. "Are you sure?"
"How can I be sure if I can't get there to check it out?" Rick asked angrily.
"After your little 'outing' with Steven you were incapacitated for hours. You're just lucky it wasn't days." This was Dr. Stratton again. "Rick - it's only three weeks since you were shot -"
"It's only three weeks since you had WTV, Dr. Stratton. I don't see you lying around, taking it easy."
"You still have a hole in your chest," Jace told him bluntly.
Rick glanced up sharply at that one. "Wouldn't I know it?" he argued. "When this happened -" he wriggled his leg, "- I was running like an Olympic sprinter. How could I do that with a hole in my chest?"
"It's the metal residue. What did you expect? That it'd disappear overnight?"
Rick, annoyed, turned back to the computer.
"If you'd kept sprinting, it would've eventually caught up with you. Then you would have been back here anyway, but in worse shape than you are now. Running into Steven may have saved your life, you pig-headed asshole."
Rick sighed. "I'm not trying to be a pain in anyone's ass, Jace. I'm just scared shitless. If this stuff gets away, nobody and nothing's going to be safe - except you, me, and Rutgers. And, as much as I like you, I think we'd find it damn hard to continue the species with just us - that's if we could determine what species we are. Plus, I'm not terribly partial to watching people drop like flies around me - especially people I care about."
"It's that bad?"
Rick nodded. "Maybe worse. No people. No plants. No insects." He looked soberly at Jason. "Level with me, Jace. Why didn't you tell me about the hole in my chest before? What else aren't you telling me?"
"About the hole in your head?"
Rick didn't laugh. Jason sighed. "You've had so many X-rays that we hesitated to give you any more, but John said he needed a look at your ribs. That's when we saw the hole. Superficially, it's closed, and it's much smaller than before. Denis and I decided there was no point in mentioning it to you. You weren't exactly in any position to do strenuous activity," he said pointedly, looking at the cast.
"I have to work."
"I understand that - now, better than ever," Jace told him. "But, I can't have you on the leg, Rick. That's final. One wrong twist and you could shatter all John's good intentions." He added seriously, "Think of it: all that energy and unable to use it because you can't walk."
"What about a walking cast?"
Jason snorted. "That's for people who walk - not race - through life, Rick. Look at the one you have on now. You've beaten the hell out of it."
"Get me some crutches." He saw the expression on Jason's face. "Please."
"A wheelchair."
Rick tried to imagine himself sitting all day in a wheelchair. Granted, it was only for a few days, but the confinement of his energies was going to drive him crazy.
Jace was watching the expressions travel across Rick's face. He shook his head in exasperation, and gave an unwilling grin. "Plus crutches. To be used as Phil - or I - see fit."
Rick looked up in surprise. "Are you going to work in the lab again?"
"Hell, yes. If what you think is true, this might be my big chance to save the world."
*
It was the chance he'd been waiting for. The beginning of the end. His obsession with her hadn't vanished with the removal of her bodily parts. All it had done was leave him without an outlet for the compulsions that were driving him. No means to appease his personal demons. No way to control the terror that made the bullet scar in his brain ache and throb.
They'd taken her to hell. That's what it would be. Bringing her to life again - whether by cloning her, or by instilling her mutated essence into someone else - would mean the end of everything. Hell on earth. What she had become was more than a natural consequence. It had the taint of the Devil upon it. Raeiti knew - he'd worked for the Devil often enough.
They said they needed him. To repeat the process he'd started at Genetechnic. To bring in Lockmann once again. As though his previous success somehow guaranteed that he could manage the feat, this time in full view of the DSO. Like a magician hiding an elephant - somehow, by sleight-of-hand - stealing the prize right before their eyes.
Like Satan's spawn, the mutant had somehow become the most privileged of all. Protected and catered to. Fought over. Ownership of his skin their only totem against Denaro's lurking shadow.
Only he wasn't Satan's spawn - he was Caroline Denaro's. In Raeiti's mind, Lockmann was like the distorted product of an inbred bloodline. He had all Denaro's questionable gifts, but none of her strengths. She'd demanded her pound of flesh, and made short work of their feeble defences. She'd struck terror into teams of hardened fighters, manipulating them all; luring them into traps she set, then sprung. As much as he'd hated her - and was terrified of her still, and the way she danced in the periphery of his vision - she'd earned Raeiti's respect.
Lockmann had the power, but he'd never use it. His best use was as source material, to produce creatures who would. Raeiti detested him. As the pawn in an unnatural wrestle between virus and food, incarnate power and superhuman healing, Lockmann had it all. The prize. Tazo Raeiti could kill for them, their scientists could risk their lives playing with virus, and their mercenaries could die trying to wrest the prize out of the DSO's hands, but none of them would ever come close to having Lockmann's value. A value he didn't even want. To Tazo, it was not only a sign of weakness - it was an indication of insanity. Perhaps Denaro had bred true, after all.
The DSO wouldn't have their mutant pet much longer. A transfer of ownership was in order, and they'd known it might be bloody, so they'd given it to Tazo Raeiti. If you worked for Satan, then you needed to be the most unscrupulous bastard of them all. The best - the one who could do the foulness that other consciences might baulk at. Give their dark sides a name, who could do their business for them without undo grievances from their rapidly shrivelling souls.
Tazo had his own motivation. When it came to doling out survival, one of the first to get his ration would be the man who enacted their worst nightmares. Did what none of them were capable of doing.
Tazo's face twisted as he considered Richard Lockmann. Denaro's child. Not a product of her empty womb - the child of her work, her dreams - just as she was the product of his sweat-soaked nightmares.
The DSO kept their pampered pet tightly constrained within a fence. He might think he was free to roam and wander, but they had him on an invisible leash. Well, money was no object, nor were lives. Life would be cheap enough soon, anyway, when FOCUS and Cliatso put their project in motion.
Raeiti picked up the phone. It was time to summon his demon horde. Like a tumour nestled within healthy skin, the mutant was sitting there in a false sense of security, feeding off the tissues around him.
Raeiti smiled, but it failed to reach the flat contours of his eyes. By cutting, or slicing, or burning away the healthy tissues, they were going in to wrest the mutant out.
*
She made only one more stop; telling herself it was necessary to improve her disguise. She stopped at Hoagus Park, and pillaged one of the flower beds for a bouquet - taking only the fattest and most vibrant blossoms. A bouquet fat enough to hide behind -
Now, I can add thief and vandal to my resume. Daphne Morrison, physiologist, thief, and lethal virus manipulator. She was beginning to feel uncomfortably like the people she was trying to save Rick from.
She walked steadily in through the main entrance of the hospital, not stopping at the information desk. Daphne was driven by a feeling of impending doom. It ran like an itch up through her middle, tightening her insides as she considered what she might be about to lose. If I hadn't been such a coward -
But, she hadn't been looking, and she didn't think he was, either. An accidental meeting of electrons on the Net. Now, it might be too late.
Dammit, it can't be too late!
But, does he know me well enough to forgive me, when he finds out it was my fault? That - through my carelessness - he had to experience this pain - this fear.
Fear - that's what it was. If Cole Calloway had been afraid for his friend, she couldn't imagine what Rick must feel. Lying helpless - in a hospital bed. She blinked hard, and took a deep breath. Helpless, but not for long. She was coming to help him.
*
Rick couldn't relax after Jason had left. Somehow, putting his fears into words had magnified them - or maybe it had just given them a sense of reality that he couldn't dismiss.
"Stratton told me we may have big problems," a voice said abruptly at his back.
Rick jumped. He'd been so absorbed in his thoughts that he didn't realise Hylton had come in. Bad habit, Rick, he chided himself. It'd be better for your survival if you stayed at least a little aware of what's happening around you.
"It sounds to me - from Phil's description - that the plants in the lab could be infected. I need to know."
"Can't Rutgers run the tests? He's a virus man. That's his job."
"A lot of the procedures are similar, but Phil doesn't feel comfortable with the results he's getting."
Hylton still didn't look convinced.
"Let me put it this way: Phil is as uncertain of his results working with plant sap and leaf lamellae as I'd be running tests on blood and tissue."
Steven frowned. "Did Stratton tell you there's still a hole in your chest? And - no matter what - you're off the leg?"
Rick was reminded of the times as a teenager when his mother put restrictions on what he was going to do. Hylton was going to say yes. He just wanted Rick to know how far he'd let him go. In spite of the seriousness of the situation, Rick was momentarily amused. He tried to cover it by clearing his throat and saying seriously, "He was pretty blunt about both."
"Good," Steven told him, but Rick's sharp eyes saw the glint of humour in the other man's. Rick wasn't the only one amused by the situation. "That way, I won't have to run you down again to stop you -"
"Jace told me your convenient appearance along my racing track may have saved my life. You'll excuse me," Rick added wryly, as Steven helped him into the wheelchair, "if I don't get effusive with my thanks."
*
The DSO were fools. Keeping Lockmann in a public venue made them vulnerable. They were not only displaying the mutant to the public - they'd placed themselves in a situation where they couldn't use force. When this was over, they'd not only be liable for Lockmann's loss - they'd be held accountable for lost lives, injuries, property damage. Bringing a war out of the battlefield, and into a place for nurturing the sick. At least it would be convenient when it came to patching up their wounded.
Except that Raeiti didn't believe in leaving wounded. If they'd seen his face, they needed to be dead or blind. Dead was a whole lot easier. No, the Defensive Security Office shouldn't be left with too much to patch up. There might well be a lot for the hospital to clean up, though.
Most battles went on undercover, away from the public eye. It was true that many of the groups who were after Lockmann would hesitate to risk a confrontation in a hospital, where they might be exposed. So, maybe Hylton had a point after all. The safest place might well be out in the open.
The strategy worked against people with scruples, or who needed their public image to remain unsullied. It wouldn't work at all against Tazo Raeiti. He considered a lack of scruples one of his strengths, and any bloodshed would reflect on the DSO, for putting the public at risk. He'd already given orders not to spare the ammo. Speed was what mattered here - in and out. He remembered how fast Richard Lockmann moved. It would take speed and surprise to catch him.
Raeiti smiled. The mutant had scruples, too. Maybe it wouldn't take such an effort after all.
*
Jason was upstairs with a patient, but his thoughts were on the plants in Rick's lab. He hadn't really taken it seriously when he'd ostensibly gone to "help" Rick and Phil. His real reason had been to have it out with Rick - force the confrontation they'd needed to clear the air. And it had been hard to consider those floppy leaves and droopy stems as a threat to anyone.
He'd just informed the hospital that, starting the next day, he'd been called away to work on another project. It had been so easy that it had come as something of a shock. Jace was surprised at how his status had changed. First, there was his role as Rick's doctor. Rick had been his friend for so long, and Rick's own view of his position was so far from self-important, that it had been difficult at first for Jace to believe that someone might envy him his role. Hell, he didn't like thinking of Rick as a patient - the only reason he'd taken on the job was because with the complexities of Rick's metabolism, he didn't feel anyone else would really give him the close observation and monitoring he required. Somehow, he'd managed to keep the two roles - friend versus physician - separate, but it hadn't been easy.
Jason grinned. The situation had just been reversed. Now he'd get a chance to see how Rick handled things, with him in charge, and Jace on the receiving end. Jace suddenly had another thought - that if anything ever came along to upset the plant genes linked into his body, the roles really would be reversed. Jace would need Rick's plant expertise then as much as Rick had ever needed his medical advice.
The prestige associated with being Rick's doctor had been dumped into his lap. Sheryl Matthews' injury, and the backing of the DSO, had greatly altered his humble position. Whereas two months ago, Dr. Jason Stratton would have had to manifest a testimonial from God to get a few days off, now he had merely to say, "The DSO needs me." Jace realised he was experiencing the thrill Cole was always going on about - the buzz of being able to say, "I'm DSO." Cole said it as frequently as anyone would listen. Jace merely grinned.
He was still grinning when the first of the helicopters went past the window. The loud whupp-whupp drew his attention, but he assumed it was the emergency helicopter coming in with a patient. It wasn't until a second one roared in that he took the stethoscope out of his ears to listen.
When the first blast came, three floors below him - Jason began to run.
***
Chapter Four
"They're coming in through the window!" Johnson yelled. "Get him out of here!"
They'd blasted out the wall in the room next to Lockmann's. The second helicopter fired cover shots while twenty armed invaders slid down a line and into the room.
At the same time, another group landed on the roof, and pounded down the stairs. Some got in to the elevator, while others stuck to the stairs.
*
Hylton unlocked the supply room and shoved Rick inside. "Stay there!" he ordered. "Finlay! Block the elevators! Stairs!"
Gabe Finlay pried open the elevator doors, shoving a fire extinguisher into each of the openings. Then he raced for the stairwell.
Rick stood up and shoved the wheelchair aside in frustration. He couldn't just sit here while bullets ripped his friends apart. But, he also knew Steven was guarding his door personally - and he'd picked a room without windows. If it meant saving his life, Steven Hylton would deck him - and Rick knew he could do it. He also knew Steven would sacrifice his own life for one Richard Lockmann - if that's what it took.
There must be something I can do. If he didn't, the battle would go on without him - his fate decided in a tragic melee of metal and blood. Rick began to shake uncontrollably - his adrenaline pushing him over the edge.
He looked around - and spotted the locked drug cabinet. In one jerky movement, he yanked it open, and searched for the name - what was it? The drug family he'd wanted to forget - the hallucinogen Phil said they'd given him - the name that Hylton didn't think he knew. He'd forgotten that Rick had excess time on his hands - plenty of time to access his own chart. Plenty of time to look at that name and memorise it, so that there was no accidental opportunity for coming into contact with it.
Or maybe I memorised it because I knew this day might come -
Rick swiftly read the recommendations - they weren't nearly enough, but he didn't have time to be picky. Quickly, before he could think too much about it, he peeled off the top and rapidly filled a syringe.
*
Daphne Morrison was on the stairs when an explosion rattled the floor above. Rick! This is it! Daphne dropped her flowers and began to run.
*
The door rattled with the force of some concussive blast, and somewhere - out in the corridor - a man screamed.
I have to do this. The fingers that held the syringe were shaking.
I could die - then all their efforts - all their lives - will be for nothing. My job is to stay alive.
Not at the cost of theirs.
It was too soon. Too close to the time when suicide had seemed like a tempting option. His brain rattled the expected "stay alive", but - in his heart - the cost was far too high. He thought of Steven, guarding the door with his life. Why, Steven? My life's worth no more than yours -
Value? Measured in human lives? Why was he worth so much, if the people who'd done the most for him would never be able to value from it?
I know how to do this. I can do this. Rick sat back against the shelves of paper goods, and tried to focus on the bedpan lying on the shelf across from him. He was so jittery that he could tell almost instantly when the drug began to take effect.
He had to overcome his resistance - fight against the horror and revulsion he was going to rouse in the others. "Others that are my friends," he slurred, then realised he was speaking aloud. He needed the revulsion of the unknown others - the ones who'd come to claim him. "They'll know about Her," he muttered, uncertain whether it was true. "They'll know enough to be afraid -"
Focus. Let yourself fall back. Your body, but not your spirit.
Yank it free.
Rick had the sudden impression he was blind.
It's natural. Give it a moment.
They don't have a moment.
I'm fluid, floating. His vision came back.
The drug had depressed his body, but the urgency of terror pulsed through the air like waves of simmering red - brighter than blood. He followed the taste of the terror out through the wall.
He took a flicker of time to see Steven Hylton. I always thought so, he smiled, as he saw the gilt of Steven's energies mixed with the darkness of his present focus. A good man.
But his role now wasn't to judge. Rick snapped himself away from his observation as another pang of someone's pain invaded his consciousness. He followed the impulse to the stairs - and found Gabe Finlay, writhing in agony. They were past him now, but they'd left him in his own blood. Left him for dead.
Finlay, my friend. The one who always had a ready joke, no matter how dire things seemed.
"Rick?" Gabe whispered.
He can see me -
Rick had no eyes to bleed tears, but from somewhere came a crystalline drop, to fall on Gabe's cheek.
"Tell Sarah -" Gabe began.
No, I won't tell her, he wanted to say. Because I'm not going to let you die.
Caroline Denaro infected me with a touch of her hand.
Substance. Find it -
They'll be terrified. Shun you forever.
You knew that when you made your decision. You can't go back on it now.
Rick focused his energy on Gabe's stomach - the place where blood was pumping out with every beat of the man's heart.
I did it once before - I can do it again. Rick released a small part of himself into a glittering orb of hot light. Gabe Finlay flinched as the heat entered his body and cauterised the leaky artery.
"Nice patch job," a shaky voice whispered from above.
Rick didn't have to turn. The eyes he was seeing with now could look in all directions at once. It was only his wretched concentration that had caught him out again.
Nothing I can do about it now. Though Rick wished it could have been almost anyone else. Anyone other than one of his closest friends. The one who'd only just managed to forgive him for his transgression. Damn it, he whispered silently, wondering if blasphemy was doubly potent in his present form.
Dammit if it wasn't Jace.
*
He's too quiet. Steven had expected a fight from both directions - the mercenaries at his front, and Lockmann at his back. The silence in the closet worried him. Did he take a bullet, before I pushed him in there? In the next second, Steven was tossed back through the glass at the nurses' station, as an explosion went off in the hall. Checking on Lockmann became secondary to trying to stay alive.
*
It was Raeiti. The shock of it was almost enough to shunt him back to his body. The connection linking body and spirit told him that his body was reacting to the news - his heart pumping wildly as it acted on his fear.
Raeiti. They'd all die then. No one would be left. Like the horror inflicted by the virus, except this time it was personal. All the ties - all the bonds of friendship would be severed in one fatal blow. Raeiti would kill them all.
Otherwise, he would have worn a mask.
No witnesses.
Raeiti's aura enshrouded him closely, like a newborn's caul. Dark and sombre. He was here on a mission, and most of it was death.
Rick's energies were starting to fade. He could feel it in the flicker of his vision - the pull of his body beginning like an ocean rip. He forced himself to focus.
There were three groups of mercenaries, and they were merging. Like an implosion of force that followed the rattling of a dozen guns. They were merging to find him. Rick was surprised that he cared so little about the body that lay hidden in the closet.
I don't want to be alone.
But he would be, soon.
Simon and Cole were downstairs, and Jace was in the stairwell. Johnson was wounded, and Steven Hylton was dazed or worse. Jamaal was unconscious. The list went on and on.
Then, Jason came through the door. Poor, naive Jason, who always looked for the good in humanity - who, when he found the bad, was convinced he'd find a way to heal it. Who'd seen what Rick could become, but had come after him anyway.
Because he's my friend.
Raeiti levelled his gun and shot him.
Jace was thrown back against the wall - his blood leaving a streaky trail along the paint. In seconds he was facedown in the corridor.
Rick felt like he was on fire. A blaze of heat started at his core, and he propelled himself at Raeiti. He hit the man with the force of a battering ram. Raeiti's body was flung against the wall, much as Jason's had been.
"Rick, don't!" came a yell. Jason's voice.
*
Steven's vision came back into focus just as Stratton came through the stairwell door. Hardened as he was, he still flinched when the man was flung back against the wall, spattering blood across the pale paint. Poor bastard! He was overwhelmed with a very real feeling of sorrow.
Not only for Stratton - at least he was out of his misery now. For all his people - his friends. Finlay would never have let them get this far unless he couldn't stop them. They'd cut him down. Johnson would be next. Sherise Johnson would never know how it happened - only that the fate she'd been dreading forever had finally taken place.
Jamaal was unconscious, maybe dead. Steven had no idea where the others were. That's as far as his thinking got. The air in front of him suddenly became hot, like the blast from a furnace. As he flinched away from the superheated blast, a glowing orb like a miniature sun appeared practically in his face.
Explosion! But only one person felt the concussion - Tazo Raeiti went flying like a dark angel on wings of fire. As he landed with a thud, the sound was echoed by the pounding rumble of a dozen feet. The paid mercenaries had converged.
For a flicker of time, it was silent, save for the hiss and pop of that restless ball of bright energy, than hovered above their downed leader.
Steven knew it might have ended then. If one of the paid hunters hadn't been slightly more intuitive than the others. At first, when Ferris had entered the corridor, he'd thought it was a fire - then the remnant of an explosion. But, there was something about it - some shade of activity - and then he remembered what Raeiti had said. "He's a mutant. Find him. Bring him back."
Well, it was too late to bring it back. There was no way they could carry this back to Canuga. "Kill it!" Ferris yelled, taking over from Raeiti. He opened fire at the giant flare. The light in the orb escalated to almost blinding brightness, like a miniature sun, and the flaming fury turned on its adversaries. Guns, ammo clips, knives and grenades went flying. Screams, expletives, and howls of pain rang through the smoky halls.
More feet pounded up the stairs behind him, and Steven saw Kerrington and Calloway run on to the ward. They stood there, staring in shock, at the searing ball that was singeing their adversaries. Then, Calloway turned and saw Jace.
Kerrington glanced at Jace, who - to Steven's astonishment - gave him a big thumbs up, then winked. Simon gave Cole a shove in that direction.
*
"Is that yours?" Cole asked Jason fearfully, as he looked at the blood on the wall at his back. He gulped and looked sick. "Tell me what to do." His lower lip was trembling as he put an arm around Jason and pulled his head into his lap.
"Nothing, you idiot," Jason told him.
Cole looked like he was going to cry. Jace was a doctor. He knew he was on his way out. "I don't think I ever told you -" he blubbered.
Jason lifted his shirt so Cole could see the scabs that were already forming. "I'm okay, Cole," he said. "I got shot, but I'm okay."
Cole lifted him up so fast that Jason's head thunked on the wall. He fumbled with his shirt and looked at his back. "Jesus, Jace!" he said. "What a hole!" He turned Jason around to look him in the face. "Don't you need it straightened out or something? What about the metal?"
"Passed through. I think I'm okay, Cole."
Cole gave him a hug that made Jason wish he'd kept his mouth shut. "Damn I'm glad you heal fast!" Cole said.
Jace, embarrassed, gave him a shove. "You're missing a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to see ball lightning," he said, grinning.
"Dammit, Jace!" Cole complained. "Why didn't you remind me before? They only last for -" He looked at Jace with wide eyes. "Is it -?" he asked in a whisper.
"Yeah," Jace said, his smile fading. "It's Rick."
*
The mercenaries were fleeing - howling in terror and pain as they leapt through the holes they'd made in the walls. As they tumbled to the ground, DSO forces and local police removed the last of their weapons and gathered them up.
Simon knelt at Steven's side. "You okay?" he asked.
"Yeah."
"I guess I don't need to ask where Rick is," Simon said, a little sarcastically.
"Yes you do," Jace said. "Where is he, Steven?"
Hylton looked up in consternation. "I saw you shot, Stratton. Get off your feet."
"You okay, Jace?" Simon asked, a hint of amusement in his eyes.
Jason nodded. "But I'll definitely need a new shirt." He sobered, and told Steven, "We need to find Rick."
Steven, for once, was at a loss for words. "He - well, his body -" He finally gave up trying to explain. "He's in the closet," he said, nodding toward the door. "Here's the key -"
"We've got to bring him back," Jace told Simon. "Before it's too late."
Johnson was now at Jamaal's side, and Cole forced his eyes away from the bright light long enough to ask, "You okay?"
Johnson saw his expression of yearning as he looked at the bright ball. "Yeah, fine," he said, grinning.
Cole looked doubtfully at Jamaal, who was beginning to stir.
"Both of us." Johnson gave him a shove. "Go -"
"Everyone's shoving me today," Cole grumbled. But he grinned, and moved slowly toward the glowing ball.
The ball of light was flickering now - fading in and out like a pulsing beacon. It flew in Cole's direction, then stopped, hovering, directly in front of his face. The light became cooler still. Cole reached out a hand, into the glittery mass. It felt warm and tingly against his skin. "Thanks, Rick," he whispered, awed.
Johnson was helping Jamaal to his feet now. He pointed at the fading light that still filled the corridor. "What is it?" Jamaal whispered, rubbing his head.
"Doctor Dung," Johnson replied, in equally hushed tones.
Simon opened the door to the supply closet, took one look at Rick, and yelled for Jace. He checked the carotid, and then listened at Rick's chest. "His heart's stopped!"
*
Tazo Raeiti lay there, abandoned, at Cole's back. He pushed himself to his feet, then pulled a small gun out of a holster strapped to his calf.
*
Rick saw it all. He wanted to warn Cole - to physically move him out of the way. But his energies were too spent. He didn't have enough left to retain form. With a pop like the sound of a silencer, the ball lightning he'd been emanating suddenly disappeared.
The tug from his body was getting stronger now, but Rick refused to yield. Not when Cole was in danger. Not when there was something he might be able to do to help. He hovered there - invisible, helpless - and watched Raeiti take aim.
*
"Tazo Raeiti," the woman's voice called.
Rick had been intensely concentrating on the terrible scenario forming before his eyes - so much so that he hadn't even noticed her. He watched her now, as she came slowly across the distance. Cole, suddenly aware that Raeiti was at his back, stood there frozen. The look on his face would have been funny if there hadn't been so much terror in it.
"It's me," she said quietly, and Rick knew how frightened she was. It showed in the waveriness of her aura, which appeared to him as a glistening white. "From Cliatso," she explained. All eyes were on her now. The gun muzzle was no longer aimed at Cole's back - it was pointing directly at her head. "I have the ovaries," she told Raeiti calmly. "I didn't send them to Canuga after all," she said.
Raeiti's eyes lit up, and a sense of sureness reappeared in his face.
*
Everyone else in the corridor was frozen - watching the tableau in horror. If Denaro's ovaries really were in that bag, they could all be dead within hours.
*
"I brought them for you," she went on, and her voice quavered only a little. Rick knew what a determined effort she was making. "You'd better have them - for safekeeping -" She tossed the bag into his hands.
At her gesture, the liquid air in the bag spilled out of its glove and Petri dish container. As Tazo Raeiti's eyes widened in terror, the liquid hissed out of the bag like an angry snake, popping and swirling in a miniature thundercloud as it returned to its gaseous state.
Tazo Raeiti screamed in horror. He dropped the bag and the cloud hissed up, coiling, around his feet. Wisps of it travelled upwards and into his mouth, his lungs.
*
Daphne wasn't sure what to do. She'd wanted to distract him - maybe even stop him if she could - not incite this horrifying display of an unhinged mind. He dropped to the ground in front of her, writhing and frothing at the mouth.
*
She backed away, then stood there uncertainly as Cole grabbed the gun. "You aren't really carrying around any ovaries, are you?" he asked, then realised what he'd said and grinned.
"No," she replied quietly. All traces of bravado were gone now.
"You were great," he told her.
*
Rick came up to her, briefly mingling his presence with hers. Liquid air, he realised, amazed. Great is an understatement, he thought, remembering how she'd faced Raeiti. She's magnificent.
It was the last thing he remembered for a while.
*
"Why can't I see him?" Cole asked impatiently.
"For the third time, Cole - you can see him. You just can't bug him. He's asleep, and we're going to keep him that way."
"How long?"
"Until he can play you a game of basketball," Simon told him. He turned to Jace. "How long is that?"
Not Simon, too. Jace was actually gritting his teeth in annoyance. Simon thought he looked ready to tear out his hair. Steven had been pressuring him about why he wasn't dead, Sheryl was nagging him to be X-rayed, Cole and the rest of the world wanted to know when Rick was going to be back among the living, and Phil Rutgers was about to go nuts because he didn't know where he was heading with his plant test results. Nobody knew anything and they all expected Jason to give them the answers. Or communicate with Rick, to find out the answers.
"Until - he - regains - some - body - mass," Jason said slowly and loudly.
"I'm not deaf," Cole told him.
"He doesn't think you're deaf. He thinks you're mentally impaired," Simon said, grinning. Then he saw Jace was looking at him. "Okay. We're both mentally impaired."
Jason frowned and continued, "Unlike Denaro, who somehow gathered substance out of the air, Rick must've used his connection with his own body. That's why he was so drained after the incident at Sheryl's. Only we didn't pick it up. We thought it was due to the bullet wound. Good old Rick lost about a tenth of his body weight in yesterday's battle."
Cole gave a low whistle. "And he was skinny to start out with."
Jason nodded. "Yeah. If I wake him up, it'll take twice as long for him to recover. He'll run everything off." He frowned. "I'm just worried about the lab work. Phil's not sure whether he's doing what Rick wants, or not."
"You could always ask Daphne," Simon said. "Steven doesn't trust her, but we're not going to be telling her much more than she already knows - or suspects."
"She can't go in the lab," Jace argued.
"She could tell you -"
Again, the look of irritation.
"Or Phil," Simon hastily corrected himself, "how to run the tests. She'd like to help Rick - this might be the best way."
"Does she know it was Rick?" Cole asked. They didn't have to ask what he meant.
"No - so why don't you just traipse out and tell her, Cole?" Jace said exasperatedly.
Jason usually didn't let his temper show like this. "Hey, Jace - I'm not insensitive!"
Simon snorted in disbelief.
"I wouldn't tell her. I'm trying to hook her up with Rick - not make her run the other way."
"Okay, Mr. Sensitive," Simon said. At the expression on Jason's face, Simon gave Cole a shove. "C'mon. We'll do some sympathetic eating on Rick's behalf."
"Jason needs to eat, too," Cole said in a half-whisper. "He's as grumpy as hell."
Simon raised his eyebrows and looked at Jace again. He was going to start throwing things in a minute. "Let's go," Simon said hurriedly. "It's a nice thought, but I think maybe we'll just bring him something back."
*
"They've all been picked up. It took us this long to get the details. The DSO's keeping a tight lid on it."
"Raeiti?" He didn't care for the man personally, but Diaslio had to admit he never failed to get the job done.
"Dead. They've got cause of death listed as a seizure. That may be the reason the rest of it went bad. Maybe he wasn't around to lead them."
Diaslio frowned. "What kind of man is Lockmann?"
"What do you mean?"
"Is he the kind who'd respond to motivation?"
"Money? I doubt it. He's turned down jobs that paid higher than his present one, simply because he likes his work. You'd need to find something stronger."
"Personal relationships? His parents?"
"All covered by the DSO. I don't think we can risk any more notoriety." Shires thought about it for a moment. "He'll respond if there's a good cause. If he thinks he can really help somebody." He immediately felt guilty. Lockmann was a good man. He felt like he was throwing him to the wolves.
Diaslio nodded. "I doubt we could get close enough right now to give him any causes to chase." He was silent for a moment, then said, almost musingly, "If we can get him away from Hylton's watchdogs, we can keep him." He gave a wry smile. "For the same reason we can't tear him out of Steven's hands, he won't be able to grab him out of ours."
*
"All right - here's the deal," a voice was saying. "You're not going to hear it if you don't wake up. C'mon, Sleeping Ugly. You've been asleep for days."
"Get away from him," someone else said, "or I'll kick you out of the room."
"You've been grouchy for days! What's eating you, anyway?"
"Nothing's 'eating me'. I'm just a little tired of a loud-mouthed, inconsiderate -"
"I'm not the one who's yelling -"
"Shut up, both of you!" That was Simon's voice. Simon, who almost never lost his cool, had just lost his temper. "If he needs to wake up naturally, then we'll do it that way. If he doesn't, then what difference does it make whether Cole does it his way?"
"Do you want me to have you thrown out of here, too?"
"I'd like to see you try," Simon said softly. "It's a good thing you heal fast, Doctor Stratton -"
Rick solved the problem by pulling loose the wire to the monitor. The machine screeched an alarm. All eyes immediately swivelled his way. He started to say, "What the hell is going on -" when the door was flung open, and the crash cart shoved inside. Steven Hylton was right behind it.
It took just a second for Steven to assess the situation. He cleared his throat. "It looks like everything's under control," he said casually. He stepped aside so the cart could be wheeled back out.
"Thanks, Steven," Rick told him. "For everything."
Steven glanced at him quickly, to see if he was being sarcastic. No, the man was in earnest. Hylton looked slightly uncomfortable. "Let me know when you're ready to talk," he said gruffly.
"I will," Rick assured him. Suddenly, the amount that wasn't being said became nearly intolerable. Rick needed to know how Hylton, among others, was reacting to his little "outing". His crystalline eyes were sparkling as he said, a little nervously, "By the way - Steven?"
Hylton turned back to look at him. "What?"
"Did I ever tell you you have a damn fine aura?" It was one of the few things he could remember clearly about the episode.
"Damned mutants," Hylton grunted, but he couldn't hide the glint of amusement in his eyes. He shook his head and strolled out of the room.
Rick breathed a sigh of relief.
*
After Steven had left, Rick remembered the argument that had woken him up. "What's going on?"
"Nothing -"
"Not a thing -"
"Can't think of any problems -"
Rick nodded wisely. "How's the research going?"
"Fine." Simon looked at the other two and they nodded in agreement.
"Then I guess I'll just go back to sleep for a while -"
"Dammit, Rick - you can't do that!" Cole complained. "Jace needs to talk to you. He's acting like a real ass and you know he won't tell me or Simon why."
"Shut up, Cole!"
"I've had enough from both of you!" Simon snapped.
"I'm just glad Jace is still here to argue with you two," Rick said soberly. That was the other thing that had stuck in his head. He gave Jason a lop-sided grin, then said, a little tentatively, "You heal even faster than I do, Jace."
Jason grinned. It was the first smile Simon had seen on his face in days. "I didn't even have time to think about it," he admitted. "But it hurt like hell."
"So it was real," Rick remarked.
Jason nodded. "Unfortunately."
"Is it okay now? Has anyone looked at you?"
"No." The frown was back.
"Steven knows. You might as well have Sheryl or someone look at it."
"He might wonder, but -"
"Jace - didn't you hear what he said? 'Damned mutants'. Emphasis on the nts." Rick looked sad. "I'm sorry, Jace."
"I guess I was feeling sorry for me, too. I'm just beginning to realise what it means being in your shoes. I don't like it."
"If it's any consolation, I don't think Steven's going to tell anyone. Hell, it'd give him two of us to guard with his life. Right now, you're not really a target. Does anyone else know?"
Jace shrugged. He looked to Simon.
"I'd say no," Simon told him. "If they do, no one's talking."
"Do you want me to talk to Steven? I'm the one he's going to look askance at - not you. It's going to start him worrying all over again."
"'Askance at'?" Simon said.
Cole snorted. "Worrying about what? You running around mutating people? Not a chance."
Rick looked surprised. This was the same Cole who'd called him a "Denaro", for mutating one of his best friends.
Cole went on, "Steh-fawn thinks you're a total wimp," he said confidently. "The only balls you have are lightning ones." He grinned.
"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Rick replied sarcastically. "I'll remember that the next time you turn your back. We wimps have to take every advantage we can."
*
"Get out, Cole. Go get me some food so you can sit here and eat it for me."
"I've been doing that for days." He grinned. "I never thought I'd be eating for two."
"You'll be eating for half if you don't leave," Simon told him. "Out. Rick wants you to go."
"Yeah, I know. He needs to talk to Jace - mutant to moron." On his way out the door he turned back. "Hey, Rick - remember what you told me about ball lightning? And little black holes?"
Rick frowned. "Yeah. What about it?"
"I thought you should know - I saw your little black hole." He snickered.
Rick sighed. "Just do me a favour, and don't describe it, Cole," Rick said. "That's one part of my anatomy I prefer to leave unseen."
"See ya, Rick."
Rick grinned. "See ya, Cole - Simon."
Jace merely grunted.
Rick stared at Jason's back for a minute, noting how tense he seemed. He didn't say anything - just went over to stand beside him and put a hand on his shoulder. After a few moments, the other man started to relax.
"It's me almost dying," Jace admitted. "And watching you do that to Gabe."
Rick frowned as he tried to remember. "What did I do?"
Jace looked at him in surprise. "You don't remember?"
Rick shook his head. "Should I?"
"I just thought, because you mentioned Steven's aura - and the gunshot wound - that -"
"That I'd remember the rest?" Rick interrupted. "Was there a lot more to remember?"
Jason nodded.
Rick looked uncomfortable. "I'm clueless," he admitted glumly. "I wasn't even sure if the things I did remember were real. I must've dosed myself pretty strongly."
"Overdosed. We had to -"
Rick flinched. "Don't, Jace. It was hard enough to do it. Don't make me re-live it." He couldn't resist asking, "What'd I do to Gabe?"
"Saved his life. He was bleeding to death and you cauterised the artery."
"Is he okay?"
Jason nodded. "He will be."
"Does he know?" The way he asked it, Jace knew what he was actually wondering was "Is he afraid of me?"
"Everyone in this hemisphere knows. Well - the DSO, anyway."
"Shit," Rick muttered. He remembered the way he'd commented on Hylton's aura, and wondered that the man hadn't punched him out. Maybe he's afraid to, he thought. He lifted his hand from Jason's shoulder. "Jace - are you afraid of me?"
"I don't know, Rick," Jace said honestly. "I mean, dammit - we all can do things when we're provoked. I know you wouldn't kill anyone - you could have done that a dozen times over already - but I think I'm afraid of the things we have in common."
"The plant genes."
"Yeah. When I healed so fast, I scared myself. If I'm ever in a situation where I get mangled, that's the way I'm going to end up."
"Like my leg."
"Yeah. It's fine now, but Chapman did have to re-break it again. By the way, the hole in your chest is gone now, too." Jace was silent for a moment, then he suddenly blurted out, "Was it easy to slip out of your body?"
Rick shook his head. "Are you kidding? It was damn hard, even though I'd done it before. All I kept thinking was how I'd be shunned if I went ahead, and how everyone would die for me if I didn't. If things hadn't been so urgent, not even the drugs would have done it for me."
Jason looked relieved. "That's one of the things that's been getting to me the most. I guess," he said, a little sheepishly, "I thought I'd accidentally lose track of myself."
"One sneeze and you're away?"
"Something like that. Jesus, I feel better." Jason's face lit up. "I've been so damn worried about it. Then, because I was worried, I figured that was a sign I had something to worry about."
"You fool, Jace."
Jason looked at Rick, noticing how he stood away from him now, so he wouldn't accidentally brush against him. Jason could have kicked himself. Dr. Richard Lockmann had taken his admission of fear too damn seriously - and with his own fears of being shunned, he'd decided Jace's reaction was just the beginning.
Jason lowered his head, so Rick couldn't read his eyes. "There's only one thing we can do about this, Rick," he said soberly.
"What's that?" Rick asked worriedly.
Jace tackled him, knocking him back onto the bed. "Pin the mutant," he puffed, laughing.
Rick, taken by surprise, tried to flip Jace back over. "Which one?" he got out.
Jason tugged his hair and pulled his arm up behind his back. "Take that -"
Jackleby poked his head inside the door, saw what was happening and retreated with a grin.
Rick rolled Jason over onto the floor, then beat on him with a pillow. "Damned, know-it-all -" he grunted.
"Thinks - he knows - every - thing -" Jason was laughing so hard he couldn't get a grip on Rick's arm - so he butted him with his head. Rick rolled over onto his back, but he still had a grip on Jason's shirt. It ripped with a loud tearing sound.
"That'll cost you -" Jason said, and tried to bury Rick in the blankets.
Outside, Cole chewed as he leaned against the jamb, ear to the door.
"Everything okay?" Simon asked casually. He took another bite of his sandwich.
Cole nodded. "All back to normal," he said.
***
Chapter Five
Steven Hylton met them when they arrived at emergency. He stood there while Sheryl Matthews lifted the cloth off Ponsbury's head. "At this rate," she told him angrily, "you aren't going to have any employees left."
Steven ignored the jibe. "How're you doing, Jack?" he asked.
Ponsbury nodded.
"Don't do that, please," Sheryl requested crisply, giving Steven a dirty look.
"I'll be okay. Just a headache."
"Just a concussion," Sheryl shot at Hylton.
"Call me when you're finished," Steven told her.
"If Mr. Ponsbury requests it," she replied firmly.
"Yes, Doctor." Steven gave her a quick rap across the rump on his way out.
Once outside, he signalled Chan to follow him into an empty room. "Report," he said.
"We were shanghaied."
"But you were in a helicopter -"
"They were waiting when we landed. They grabbed the stuff as soon as we hit the ground."
"FOCUS?"
Chan shook his head. "I don't think so. They didn't start swinging till we put up resistance."
"Are you okay?"
"Jack got the worst of it." Chan lifted up his shirt, to show where bruising was already starting on his side.
"Have Sheryl take a look at it when we're through."
Chan nodded.
"Did they get it all?"
"All of it. Every last one. I tried to hide the slides under the seat, but they found those, too." He hesitated, then asked, "It's the second time, isn't it?"
Hylton sighed. "Yeah. The last time we used a car. That's why we switched."
A flicker of fear entered Chan's eyes. "First FOCUS, now this. What's going on?"
"The buyers are getting eager for their products," Steven told him. "And we're holding the only source of supply." He sighed. "I'll phone Stratton and tell him Lockmann's tests have to be run - again."
Chan grimaced. "The guy must feel like a pincushion by now."
"He's given his pound of flesh. That's for sure."
*
"This is all you got?" Chesner looked at the small box of blood samples and slides.
Mackintosh nodded. "We went over everything. That's it."
"Any more word on Lockmann?"
"They're moving him - soon. After the damage to the hospital they don't want to risk any more civilians."
Chesner sighed. "It's escalating. At least, we've got these." He handed them over the desk. "Send them to the lab. Have them thinned, then spread 'em as far as they can go."
*
"I feel great," Rick said. "Let's go, Cole. Time to get out of here." He gave Cole a shove. "Rev up the Rumbler, and let's blow this dive."
"Rick -" Cole looked unhappy.
Rick frowned. "What?"
"We can't."
"Can't?" Rick practically yelled. "What d'you mean, 'can't'?!"
"He means - for your own safety - and ours," Simon emphasised, "you're being taken to another site."
Rick looked crushed. "Will I still be able to work in the lab?" he asked quietly.
"I can't stand it," Cole said. He turned around and stomped out of the room, slamming his fist on the wall in frustration.
"What's going on?"
"The whole thing's getting out of control, Rick. Jace says you can't remember much about the attack."
Rick shrugged.
"They blew out part of the west wing. Three patients were injured."
"What about you guys?" He'd been afraid to ask - dreading the reply.
"DSO?"
Rick nodded.
"We didn't lose anybody." He could have said, "thanks to you", but he figured Rick wasn't ready for that yet.
"Jace said Gabe got hurt. How's he doing now?"
"Recuperating even as we speak. Hylton's going to give him six weeks' paid leave. Gabe's taking his girlfriend to Hawaii."
"But that's not all."
"How do you do that? No one else knows when I'm being sneaky."
Rick wasn't in the mood to be side-tracked. "Quit it, Simon. It's time you told me what's going on."
Simon exhaled loudly. "I'll probably get fired for the tenth time."
"I promise - I'll take it to my grave."
"Considering the situation, that's not even funny." Simon lowered his voice. "Six weeks ago, someone stole Denaro's ovaries out of the freezer at the FOCUS facility. It turned out it was FOCUS themselves, but we didn't know that at the time."
Rick's face paled. His voice wasn't quite steady as he said, "It makes a horrible kind of sense. Leafhopper females pass the virus in their eggs for up to seven generations."
Simon looked at him in stunned surprise. "I told Steven he should have talked to you in the first place."
"Go on."
"Daphne Morrison -"
Rick looked up sharply at that one.
"That's right - your Daphne - told us she'd helped ship the ovaries to Canuga."
"The place Cole modelled?"
Simon grinned. Leave it to Rick to remember all the details. "Apparently so."
"Why?" Rick asked bluntly.
"That's what I went into Cliatso to find out. They'd been working on isolating the strain of virus, plus some auxiliary projects."
"Such as?" This was Richard Lockmann Ph.D. talking now.
"Working out the genetics. Trying to re-create Denaro's success story in vermin form. Stimulating out-of-body experiences in unwilling participants."
"They're the ones."
Simon nodded. "Yes. They need you, Rick. You're the only one they're sure has survived the virus. Plus they already know they can trigger you into OBEs with the right 'chemical inducement'. But all that's nothing to what they stand to gain if they can duplicate the way you photosynthesize."
"Is that all?" Rick asked him.
"Isn't it enough?"
Rick met his eyes.
"What are you - psychic?" Simon grumbled. "Okay - we've had two shipments of your blood and tissue samples go astray - both times with casualties."
"Serious?" Rick asked worriedly.
Simon shook his head. "It's not FOCUS, otherwise it would be. It's somebody else, probably some procurement firm - who wants to sell you piecemeal."
"It's not looking too good," Rick said.
Simon slapped him on the back in commiseration. "It's not looking too good at all."
*
"Are you going to let me back in the lab?"
"We've had it running for nearly three weeks without you."
Rick nodded. Neither needed nor wanted. Valued only for the price of his skin. "Great," he said, forcing a smile. "Are we going now?"
Hylton nodded. "I'll have these boxes of your things brought over afterwards."
"Thanks. Just a minute." Rick rummaged in one of the boxes and pulled out a copper ashtray. "The only thing of mine that Gabe admires. I want him to have it. Tell him I hope he gets better soon."
Steven nodded. His voice was slightly husky when he said, "You can count on it."
Rick had been halfway hoping Steven would say something like, "You can tell him yourself", but to stand there waiting for it would just make them both feel foolish. Rick started to leave the room, then, on second thought, quickly went back over and grabbed Joe Cherub.
Once outside the door, he was closely guarded on all sides by a group of strangers. What happened? Did I wear out my welcome with the others? He glanced up and down the hall, looking for some sign of a familiar face. Despite the reassurances from Jason, he suddenly had doubts.
All strangers. All people who don't know what you're capable of.
Hell, I don't even know what I'm capable of. For just a moment, he wished he'd asked Jace just what had happened while he'd been "out" - then was glad he hadn't. I don't really want to know.
He walked, equally silent, between his rows of silent watchers. So you're the only ones Hylton could find to "volunteer", he thought.
Don't, Rick. You knew this would happen. There's no point in feeling sorry for yourself. He remembered the times in the past when he'd wished for a little more time to himself, to get some work done. Well, it seemed he was going to have all that and more.
Hylton came along to see him off.
A good man, Rick thought, experiencing a feeling of deja vu. He's been through a lot for me. Rick stuck Joe Cherub on the seat, then put out a hand to Steven Hylton. When Steven took it, Rick quickly grasped it in both of his and gave the man a big smile. "Thanks, Steven. For everything."
Steven nodded. "Bye, Rick," he said.
Rick nodded, got into the helicopter, and closed the door firmly behind him.
*
"Rick's gone!"
"I know," Simon said calmly.
"Why wasn't I told they were taking him so soon?" When Simon didn't answer, Cole asked angrily, "What're you going to do about it?"
"Nothing."
Jason stormed into the empty room with Sheryl Matthews right behind him. "Cole told me Rick's gone!"
"Is there an echo in here?"
"I'm DSO!" Cole complained. "Why don't I know where he's going?"
"Because then someone would follow you when you made your inconspicuous way across town - engine revving and horn tooting at every girl that walks by."
"You're right," Cole said. "The Rumbler's too conspicuous. I'll have to get another car for when I'm spying."
"With a licence labelled 'Spyman'," Simon remarked sarcastically.
"I know how to be subtle when I have to."
"He'll settle for one of those dangly signs - 'Spy on Board'." Jason's temper had cooled considerably. "What next? I'm Rick's doctor. I need to know where he is."
"Do you think that gives you any special privileges?" Cole asked angrily. "He's not sick. Besides, he's probably got Denis or Phil. They're better than you are."
"He doesn't have anybody," Simon said regretfully. "At least, anybody he knows."
"What?" Sheryl asked, incredulous. "That poor man! He must be feeling like it's the end of the world." She turned around and headed for the door. "I'm going to have a talk with Steven. Rick's far better off with friends than he'd be -"
Simon grabbed her arm. "Don't, Sheryl." He went over and closed the door. "Steven doesn't like this any better than we do. He doesn't have a choice."
"What do you mean?"
"There's been a lot of flak because the hospital's involved. Complaints from other agencies that Steven's not handling things right."
"That's ridiculous."
"It's political. The people behind the attack knew they'd win either way: if they got Rick, then they'd have it all - if they didn't get Rick, they'd scream incompetence, poor judgement -"
"Poor Steven," Sheryl said. Her eyes were glistening.
"Yeah. Steven managed to manipulate it so Rick's a 'joint agency project'. That's not what the other group was pushing for, but they're willing to settle for it - for now. The problem is, if Steven doesn't play it their way from this point on, the DSO's out of it. The other agency will step in and take over."
"Oh, Jesus!" Jace exclaimed softly.
Cole booted a chair so hard it slid across the floor and rammed into the wall.
"You guessed it," Simon said, and the way he said it reminded Cole how dangerous Simon could seem at times. "They'll turn over management of his case to FOCUS."
*
"Wake up, Rick." The voice was the first thing that registered on his brain. The second was that feeling of well-being he always got from a quick light fix. He opened his eyes and turned his head.
"Steven?" he whispered back.
"Right, first time." The lamp was off now, but Rick could still see Hylton's smile clearly in the dim light. "Let's go."
Rick didn't ask where they were going. He was just glad to be leaving.
When they got to the laser sensors, Rick stopped Steven, before his pack accidentally triggered an alarm. Steven smiled again. "I always wondered about that," he whispered. "I figured you could see them, the first time you got out."
Rick's eyes widened. "You knew?" He'd never said a thing about it.
"I'm not stupid," Steven told him, repeating the words Rick had used on him.
Rick grinned back. "I never thought you were," he said.
*
Cole enfolded him in a huge hug. "Rick!" he exclaimed.
Rick, embarrassed, rolled his eyes at the others behind Cole's back. He grinned widely. "You jackass, Cole! Put me down! I've only been gone a day!"
He was surrounded. Jace clapped him on the shoulder and Sheryl gave him a kiss on the cheek.
Johnson chuckled. "The Lightning Boys together again. Life's about to get dangerous."
"I hope not," Rick said seriously. He spotted Gabe, sitting in a chair. "How are you, Gabe?" he asked, preparing himself for a rebuff. He squatted down next to the seat, prepared to retreat if Gabe looked uncomfortable.
"Ready to do the hula," he said. Then, he looked at Steven. "Except for this pain, in my shoulder -"
"You got shot in the stomach," Steven remarked drily.
"Oh, yeah. Except for this pain, in my stomach." He smiled, put an arm around Rick and pulled him over. "Any time you want to work for the DSO, Lockmann," he said, giving him a noogey on the head, "I'll be your partner."
"That's what you should do, Steven," Cole remarked. "Hire Rick. That way he can get paid to protect himself."
"Sounds good to me," Simon said, giving him a shove. "Then, maybe, he can fire you."
*
"Rick, my guess is you'll be safe for a while. They can get all the samples they want from you now, whether we're watching you or not - so it should relax their time frame. We need you in the lab."
Rick grinned. Until Steven had said the words he hadn't realised just how much he needed to be "needed". "Phil having problems?"
Steven nodded. "We're bogged down by the fact our adviser can't get near the virus."
"Who's your adviser?"
There was dead silence. More than one person was wondering how Steven was going to handle this one. "It's someone from out of the area. There's some doubt about the validity of the results Phil's getting."
"Do you have any of them here?"
Steven shook his head. "No. We'll have to wait a few days, until we see whether we've managed this little escapade - then, I'll bring you up to the lab." He turned to Sheryl. "How's it going to affect him - missing his sleep cycles like this?"
"I'll have to consult with my colleagues. Jace, Denis - what do you think?" she asked, smiling. Steven could be so overbearing at times.
Jace winked at her then turned to Steven. "How often is it going to happen?"
"How long will it take you to produce results?" Steven asked Rick.
Rick looked amused. "How long do I have?" He grinned. "I'll let you know as soon as I know myself. I should know a lot more after even one session."
"I'll keep an eye on him," Jason said.
Steven glanced at his watch. "Party's over."
"That was quick," Cole complained. "I was expecting cookies and coffee at least. Maybe the odd napoleon or three. The DSO is sure a cheap date."
"Remember what's at risk," Steven told them. "Leave discreetly. Sheryl - wait for me. I'll give you a ride home." There were a few snorts of laughter.
Cole gave Rick a slap on the back that knocked him over onto Simon. "Be careful, Rick - okay?"
"Or Cole'll kill you by mistake," Simon muttered.
Rick nodded. "See ya."
"See ya -"
Cole was almost out the door when Steven grabbed the back of his shirt and yanked him back. "Mr. Calloway - you and I are going to have a discussion."
Simon looked up sharply. He'd been joking about Cole being fired - he hadn't really meant it.
"You can relax, Kerrington. I'm not going to fire him." Seeing the expression on Cole's face Steven added, "Yet. Mr. Calloway is going to get some training. In discretion."
Again, there were a few snorts of laughter in the room.
"What happens if I don't pick it up right away?" Cole was really beginning to worry about being fired.
"Then I'll train you in the adipose arts. You ought to be a quick study in that."
"What's that?"
Finlay snickered. "Picking your face and butt up off the ground."
*
Rick paced restlessly. He wasn't feeling any deleterious effects from the night before. Lost sleep or not, he had to admit he was feeling great. The room they'd given him had lots of windows. They also had those solar curtains - the ones that were lined with plastic, to keep out the sunlight. Control. They wanted to be able to keep him asleep if they needed to.
Yesterday, he'd been depressed. As depressed as I can get, anyway, when the sun's shining. At first he'd wished Steven had confided in him, about his plan, but now he understood why. It would've been nearly impossible for him to fake being depressed and despondent over being ostracised, unless he really had been.
He had a TV, which he wasn't interested in watching, and a weird selection of magazines. Nothing that interested him. He noticed there were a couple of books there, too - one of them on extrasensory perception. Leading me into it gently, he thought. He wondered when the articles on astral projection were going to arrive.
The difference in his outlook had already engendered some comment from his keepers. But, he couldn't fake being depressed. It was a rare emotion for him anyway - one he'd always displaced by digging deeper into his work. Rick had always felt that time to be depressed meant too much time on his hands. Action - whether it was a heavier work load, a basketball game with Cole, or a night of lightning photography - had always worked for him. Now, with all that extra sugar giving his system a boost, it took a lot to get him down. With the reassurance that he wasn't alone, and the promise of work sometime in the next few days, Rick couldn't have been down if he tried.
It didn't take him long to realise his new guards preferred him cowed. Depressed. Easy to control. His intelligence and reasonable approach was at war with their need to dominate him. Seeing how these people operated gave him an appreciation for Steven Hylton's methods - for his management skills. It also said something about Hylton's selection process - the type of people he hired. Though Rick had sometimes tried to loosen any shackles Steven had placed on him, and had openly opposed the use of a transmitter, for the most part Rick had found the DSO's approach tolerable, even - he had to admit - enjoyable. He'd formed some good friendships among his "co-workers". That's the way Rick had come to think of most of them: as team-mates, and friends.
These guys were anything but. A transmitter would have been a kindness. They would have preferred him in an electronic dog collar, with studs facing the inside. It only took a few hours of FOCUS' mismanagement to make Rick feel ready to run. He knew he could probably out-manoeuvre them, but if they ever caught him, he'd be chained for life. Or dissected. Rick knew better than to even try. At least for now.
He also knew Steven was taking a big chance in taking him out of here, and the success of the venture depended on his guards' confidence that Richard Lockmann, mutant, was totally under their control. FOCUS would like nothing more than to have Hylton caught in the act or dead. "Caught" would discredit him entirely - the other would keep him from talking. Rick realised the two things were one and the same. If Hylton was caught, he would be dead. FOCUS would see to it. Rick decided to make sure that didn't happen. The least he could do to reward the chances Steven was taking, was to do his best to convince FOCUS that Richard Lockmann intended to co-operate.
*
Dangerous. It was the word that always popped into Daphne Morrison's head whenever she encountered Steven Hylton. He was dangerous, and she knew he could have her killed. He didn't trust her. She just couldn't figure out why she wasn't afraid of him.
Because you've experienced Tazo Raeiti, she told herself, remembering the flesh-crawling sensation the man had always inspired.
Or maybe it's the other things you've seen, she thought, remembering the incredible ball of light at the hospital. All she could figure was that it was a weapon of some kind. None of Hylton's people would talk to her about it.
She suddenly realised Hylton was still speaking to her and that she hadn't been listening. A frequent failing. Lost in her thoughts - or her work - she tended to tune out while she resolved problems.
"What?" she asked him now, trying to hide the paper she hadn't known she'd been doodling on. It held a detailed rendering of a satanic Steven Hylton, complete horns, hooves and pointy tail. "I'm sorry - I was thinking about something else."
A trace of amusement brightened Hylton's eyes. "I was asking if all plant scientists are the same." He went so far as to smile. "Rhetorical question."
Pleased at the slight sign of softening, and reassured that he must not have noticed her drawing, she smiled back. "Plant science is a lot more interesting than it looks. Do you realise how dependent we are on photosynthesis, for example?" she asked enthusiastically.
"Oh, God," he groaned. "Not another one."
She looked slightly miffed. "I haven't even spoken to you about my work before, Mr. Hylton." She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin.
Behind her back, Hylton caught Jamaal's look and almost started to laugh. She was just so damn small. Yet, here she was, taking on the DSO, and preparing to lecture them in her best college professor voice.
She'd taken on Raeiti the same way. Hylton was still having trouble believing that one. Raeiti could have crushed her like a gnat, but she hadn't let it stop her. She had guts, all right - he was just worried that she might have connections, too.
Calloway admitted he'd given her Rick's room number less than an hour before the attack. Granted, it wouldn't have taken much for FOCUS to figure out where Lockmann was being kept, but her presence was too big a coincidence.
It wouldn't have been unlike FOCUS to send in a back-up - someone unexpected to take out Raeiti if he got out of hand - or failed.
"What do you think of the work you're doing here?" Steven asked her abruptly.
She frowned. "I don't like it."
He looked slightly taken aback. "Why?"
"Because I prefer physically doing the work, and seeing what goes on, to trying to analyse the data afterwards. At least at Cliatso, I got my gloves dirty." She looked at him. "Frankly, I find this damn boring."
"Do you want to go back to Cliatso?"
She shrugged. "What's the point? I don't have a job any more. I could work as a janitor, but they probably wouldn't hire me for anything after I walked out that way."
"I wasn't thinking about Cliatso. There's another place -"
"Canuga?" She was sharp, all right.
Jamaal sucked in his breath and frowned at Steven's back. He didn't trust her either, but hell - this was Rick's Daphne. Everyone knew that.
"What do you want? For me to go in and bring that poor woman's ovaries out?" She met his eyes and her own narrowed. "How do I know you people are any better than Cliatso?" she asked. "All I have to base an opinion on is Raeiti's reaction to you." She lowered her voice, and Steven knew she felt badly about speaking ill of the dead. "Tazo seemed to hate everyone. His opinion isn't enough to make me trust you, Mr. Hylton." She shook her head. "Besides - you don't trust me either. I don't even know why you have me watching over your precious research unless you have someone lined up - to doublecheck my work behind my back."
"From Cliatso's point of view, you didn't just walk away."
She looked at him in surprise.
"You've been under a doctor's care, for Epstein Barr virus. It hit you hard, making you so ill that you needed to leave, before you jeopardised the work you were doing."
"You've set it up so I can go back."
"Or to Canuga."
"What about my sister? I've been writing her. What if they ask her where I am?"
"She knows the truth. How you met someone at work, and took off with him. That Epstein Barr is a cover for what you're really doing."
"You took my letters?" It wasn't the false information he'd given that was bothering her - it was the fact that he'd intercepted her mail. A sudden flash of intuition told Steven she was disgusted by what he'd done, but secretly pleased that if he'd lied to her sister, it was at least about something that would raise her standing in her sister's eyes, besides being something she could never have pulled off herself.
Correction. Would never have pulled off herself.
Daphne Morrison was furious. Steven could see it in the way her skin blanched, and small flush marks appeared in her cheeks. Her eyes narrowed, and she did that thing with her chin again - pulling herself erect, as tall as she could, then jutting her jaw slightly to let him know just how tough she was. Kerrington had facetiously described her both to him and Rick as a "lily" - now Hylton was reminded of an angry kitten, spitting and hissing - but a helluva lot more dignified.
"You rotten bastard!"
"I get that a lot," Steven said calmly.
Her eyes met his. "If I go into Canuga, I won't be bringing the ovaries out. I'll destroy them - incinerate them, laser blast them -" she said, remembering some of the weaponry at Cliatso, "whatever it takes. There's not a chance in hell I'll give them to you, or anyone else. So you might as well kill me now."
*
"Hey, Phil," Rick said. "I missed you the other night."
"Hylton's a slave driver," Phil remarked with a smile. "Actually, when Steven told me he was going to bring you down here, I decided to put in a little bit of overtime. We slackers have to play catch-up every once in a while."
"Is Jace coming, too? Since we're talking slackers, I mean."
Phil grinned. "He's been putting it off. He hates working with greenery. He says the floppy leaves make him feel like he's doing post-mortems. No life to 'em."
"Is someone slurring my name?" Jace came into the room.
"I was just telling Phil what a slacker you are," Rick told him. "He was trying to convince me how much you love plant science - you're even thinking of changing specialities."
"Yeah, right." Jace gave a snort of contempt.
Rick's expression sobered when he glanced at the clock. "Not much time. Show me what you've got, Phil."
Rick spent the next four hours going through Phil's carefully detailed notes, photos, and stored gels. He looked at infected tissues, slides, and live plants, and electron microscope photos. Every once in a while, he'd switch on the sunlamp, and absently lift his shirt to sun his skin.
"Giving yourself a rush, Rick?" Jace, bored, tried to start a conversation.
Rick turned his way, but it took another few seconds for him to come back from wherever he'd been, and for his eyes to focus. "What's that, Jace?" he asked absently.
Jace sighed. "Is there anything I should be doing?" he asked impatiently.
"Sure, there is," Rick replied, but didn't enlighten him. He went back to shuffling through the neatly-written results. "You did a good job on these tests, Phil. Whoever your tutor is, he knows what he's doing." There was a glimmer of curiosity now in his crystalline eyes. "What's his name?"
Jace suddenly got very busy wiping off a bench top. He knocked some of the papers off onto the floor.
"Cut it out, Jace," Rick complained.
"We were never formally introduced," Phil told Rick evasively.
Rick grinned. "Typical Steven. Not let one hand know what the other one's doing. The guy must have given you pretty detailed instructions, though," he probed a little more. Rick noticed the uncomfortable look on Phil's face, and thought Phil was disturbed because Rick was criticising the way he'd done the work before. "Sorry, Phil. Sometimes I forget you're already an expert on viruses. It must seem like you've really come down in the world, hanging out with us plant guys."
"'Plant' guys is the word," Phil replied. "Everywhere I look, there's a chloroplast -"
"Can't see the forest for the peas?" Jace remarked. "Get your butt in gear, Rick. I want to go home sometime this month."
Rick smiled, a little absently. He was at the computer screen now.
Phil watched for a while, then finally nudged Jace. "I know what you should be doing," he said. "Gin."
Jason looked slightly shocked. "Booze?"
"No - cards."
Jason's face lit up. "Any food?"
Phil looked at him sternly. "You know we shouldn't ingest anything on the premises."
"Hey, I didn't give you a hard time about the gin."
Phil grinned. "Go clean up. Hylton bought us pastries."
"Danish?" They were Jason's favourites.
Phil nodded.
"Danish?" The word had penetrated Rick's consciousness. "It's been so long since I've had one I've almost forgotten what they taste like." He was practically drooling.
"No and no and no." Jace looked at Phil. "He needs a better light fix. Lift your shirt, Rick - I'll do your back."
"Thanks," Rick muttered. "But - sugar rush or not - it can't replace the taste of Danish."
"Too bad," Jace remarked, with a patently fake smile. "If it helps, I'll be thinking of you with every bite."
"Great," Rick replied, with equal cheeriness. "The next time I defecate, I'll think of you with every wipe."
Jace grinned. "We'll leave you to it, Rick." He hesitated in the doorway, his smile fading as he considered what it would be like never to taste Danish again. "Rick, I didn't mean -"
Rick grinned at him and shook his head. "Get out and eat your Danish, you moron."
At four am, Phil's phone rang. "Is he still at it?" Steven asked. "I've got to get him back."
"I'll tell him."
Rick was sunning himself with a lamp in one hand, and reading through some test results with the other. "Hylton says it's time to go," Phil told him. "How does it look?"
"Not good. I need more serology. I also want to compare the molecular weights of Denaro's strain with a wild strain of the virus. Can you find time tomorrow -" he looked at the clock and smiled, "- correction - today - to test inoculate random plants? Have Steven go to a seedling nursery and pick up a healthy sampling. Maybe a hundred or so different types, with - say, five to ten of each kind. I want to see how specific this is." He added, "Hylton will have to make sure they're clean samples - no aphids, leafhoppers - nothing. I wish we could afford the time to grow them ourselves."
"I don't." Phil remarked sarcastically. He cringed as he thought about carrying five hundred to a thousand plants into the lab by himself - or even with Jason's help. He cringed more as he thought about running tests on that many specimens.
"Rick - that's a lot of plants -"
"Yeah, you're right. Keep it down to three of each. We're mainly checking for positive blot tests."
"The blot tests won't work. No antibodies. The rabbits and rats we injected died."
"Okay, let's do this: test each plant sample for WTV before inoculation, and afterwards. The only problem is that Denaro's strain probably won't respond to any of the standard tests. I did some work on a monoclonal antibody for the strain I think Denaro's virus evolved from. There's a chance it's similar enough to yield a positive result to this modified version of WTV."
"Where's the antibody?"
"Entadyne. Unless they got it, when they raided my lab. I think it probably ended up in the fridge. That means they may have missed it."
"I'll send Hylton to look for it. If he can't find it, I'll look for it myself."
"What's wrong, Phil? Don't fancy spending hours doing gels and slides of each sample?"
"God help me, no. After we get through here, I never want to look at a plant again."
*
Ever since he'd talked to her, she'd had trouble getting it out of her mind. She knew Hylton had done it as another one of his stupid tests - he seemed to have some kind of macho compulsion to question everything she did - it was one of those things that drove her crazy.
She wasn't accustomed to having her integrity questioned. Her intelligence, yes - males seemed to be compelled to doubt a female's mental acuity, and application of logic. But, even that hadn't come into question much since her grad school days. Everyone had assumed that a Ph.D. after her name indicated at least some degree of credibility.
The ovaries needed to be destroyed. The tests she'd been analysing lately had produced frightening results: an aggressive plant virus. She had no idea how broad the host range was, because everything placed in her hands was disguised as a sample number. That was what worried her so much: here she was, working on a plant virus, just like she was now certain she'd been doing at Cliatso. Only there it had been a plant virus drawn from a pair of human ovaries. The implications were terrifying.
They needed to test the host range. But, she wasn't comfortable with Hylton and his group - not certain that their tests wouldn't include human hosts. Her recent doubts about Cliatso left her wondering.
Someone had to go into Canuga and get rid of the source. There'd still be some of the virus floating around, stored in solution, and housed in gels and tissues, but there must be somebody trustworthy enough to round it all up.
Hell, she thought - if nobody else can or will - I'll do it myself.
A feeling of pride swelled in her breast and she quickly squelched it. Afterwards, she told herself. If you're still alive. She knew she might just get a bullet for her efforts - if not from Hylton, then from Security at Canuga.
In this instance, she'd decided, personal considerations didn't matter. Couldn't be allowed to matter. If this virus was the same one that had killed that woman, it was both aggressive, and fast-acting. Someone needed to act on it. Not just to find out what it could do - like Hylton was doing - but to put a stop to it.
Daphne Morrison's head lifted, and a glimmer of determination brightened her eyes. There were times in life when you had to make decisions. To put aside personal fears, and just do what needed to be done. Someone needed to get into Canuga and destroy the reservoir of virus.
It was all, suddenly, very clear. Whoever went in there was going to die. There was no way Raeiti's employers would condone what she intended to do.
So be it. If she couldn't save the world from them, she could at least save her small portion of it - so people like her sister - and Richard Lockmann - could have a chance.
Daphne smiled sweetly. It had always been her best cover, when she'd done something her parents or teachers didn't like. No one could believe that someone so small, who looked so harmless, could do anything sneaky or sly. She sat down on the couch, and started figuring out how she was going to outwit the spies.
***
Chapter Six
Jason yawned. He observed Rick's cheerful expression with disgust. "How come you enjoy this stuff so much? I'll tell you, Dr. Dung - being here tonight was a waste of my intelligence."
"So little to waste, too," Rick replied with a smile. "Seriously - I'm sorry, Jace. I shouldn't have insisted you come. I didn't know how well the tests had gone. I thought I might have to instruct you in some of the finer points of plant pathology."
"Spare me," Jason remarked. "I already know there are no finer points."
"Well, at least I've ensured you'll be gainfully employed."
"For the next year. Do you know how painful it'll be to inoculate all those limp leaves?" He noticed Rick was looking a little droopy himself. "Tired?" he asked.
"More discouraged than tired. I keep thinking of other things we should check out - vectors, for one. Don't worry, Jace. We'll save that one for another day."
"Oh, good. I'd really prefer to dedicate only one day a week to saving the world."
"Jace - I don't want to be pushy - but -"
"I know. I'll give it my full attention for the time being. Sheryl said she'd take over my cases for the next week." Jason saw the expression on Rick's face. Rick was really concerned he was forcing Jason into doing something he hated. "Don't worry so much about it, Rick. This makes an interesting change - maybe even gives me some insight into some of those lab tests I'm always ordering up for people. I might even learn to enjoy it, as long as Steven keeps me fortified with Danish." He grinned.
"Thanks, Jace." Rick yawned, and his eyes drooped slightly.
Jason turned Rick around and steered him for the door. "I know you hate to drag yourself away, but it's more than time. Steven just phoned Phil again. He's worried they'll do a bed check on you, and you won't be there."
"I'll see you tomorrow - tonight, Jace," Rick told him, yawning again.
"I told Steven no. At least one day in-between. Preferably two or three."
Rick opened his mouth to argue.
"You may be in charge on the plant thing, but Phil and I make the health decisions around here. Think of it this way: if you obviously start to lose weight again, they might haul you off to their lab."
Rick looked worried. "Can you two handle it?"
Phil came in in time to hear the last. "Can we handle it? We can not only handle, but mis-handle, things any time you want."
*
"Could I get some water?"
"Eventually."
Rick tried to control his anger. This was a game they'd started to play - cut his water supply and see how long he could hold out. The last time, he'd nearly passed out before his requested drink had arrived.
It was all part of the game. Intended to subdue him. Rick wondered if any of it had come from higher up - and decided the stakes were too high at the home office to risk losing him on a minor setback. Not when, as far as they knew, he was the only one with antibodies to the virus they were working with.
No, this game was local; a petty battle for control. Rick had guessed at the start that the water - when it came - would be neither pure nor sanitary, but by the time one of his two tormentors brought it, he didn't care. He just thanked the gods for the genes that made him impervious to most illnesses, and guzzled it down. What he dreaded was the thought that something else - a hallucinogen, for example - could so easily be put into it.
From the first he'd guessed that his lack of direct access to water had something to do with dependency, and finding out more about how he functioned. Not specifically for deprivation purposes - merely that they wanted both information about, and control over, his intake. When the time came for experimentation, it would be easy enough to slip him something in his daily water ration. The water thing had been planned - the higher echelon just hadn't intended that their underlings take advantage of it. Unfortunately, manipulation was one of those lessons taught by prejudice. Rick realised how lucky he'd been with the DSO - prejudice hadn't really been an issue. Now, he was beginning to discover that satisfaction for bigots was directly proportional to the degree of injury inflicted - mental or physical. The only problem was, things were getting more "physical" all the time.
*
Daphne knew there'd be problems. But, she'd been scheduled to work at Canuga, as soon as she'd finished at Cliatso. The entire team was to be moved down there. Would they still need her?
It all hinged on any authentication Hylton had arranged. Security was bound to be tight, but she'd already passed all their security checks when she'd gone to work at Cliatso. She hoped that any additional checks for Canuga would be perfunctory. That they'd assume nothing had happened to alter either her loyalty, or her eagerness to hold on to her job. Nothing other than a nasty bout of non-existent Epstein Barr.
Can I pull it off? The only way to know for sure was to make a phone call. The only way to do that was to "borrow" a phone from one of her guards - or from Steven Hylton himself. Borrow a phone, place a call, then arrange to escape.
She considered what she was about to do, and wondered whether she was acting stupidly. Going blithely to her death, and all that. It might be enough to determine her fate if she stole a phone - and Steven Hylton found out about it.
Well, you could only die once. There must be a special slot in heaven for heroes. Unless heaven didn't rate saving the human race as highly as humans do.
*
"Here's what we've got so far. Denaro's version of the virus has a much broader host range than the original. Out of three hundred plants tested, eighty-seven percent contracted the virus. That's spread over sixty-five different genera."
"Meaning?"
"Most of the plants the virus comes in contact with are susceptible. It's mechanically transmissible, indicating that people, machinery, equipment - can pass it on." Rick looked grim.
"Can the plants transmit it to humans?"
"Phil's going to check that over the next few days. He'll take sap from infected plants, and inject it into the test mice. We should know soon."
Hylton looked worried. "What about the infected plants?"
"We've already incinerated most of them. We're only keeping the sap for testing. Just to be safe, we've also re-fumigated the building." Rick looked worried. "How clean a site was Cliatso? Any chance of insects getting in? To transmit virus?"
"I'll get back to you," Steven told him tensely.
"If we find any clusters of infection, they'll have to be destroyed right away." Rick hesitated. "I think we should test for vectors as well - maybe even run it alongside the mice testing - to save time."
"Insects?"
Rick nodded.
Hylton shook his head. "You already know about the leafhoppers. It's unnecessarily risky. Even if only one gets away, it could be lethal to crops."
"I was thinking mosquitoes."
Steven looked at him sharply.
"Phil's really worried about it. If even one mosquito can transmit the virus, something's got to be done - right away."
*
It wasn't as hard as she thought it would be. The room they'd given her had a computer - with a modem. She had access - no phone, but access.
She typed in the e-mail of her supervisor at Cliatso. The doctor has given me the okay to return to work. I would like to re-join the team - to pursue any work in progress.
The answer came back within the hour: Join us at Canuga address. Check with Security on entry.
It was so easy - and Daphne Morrison was suddenly so nervous - she could have cried.
But she didn't. Instead, she tried to figure out why Steven Hylton was making it so easy to circumvent his Security. The way things were going, she wouldn't be surprised if he pulled off his watchers and held the door open for her to leave. Before she shut down the computer, she changed the marquee on the desktop.
Thanks for the help, Hylton. See you in Canuga.
*
"Want your water now?"
Rick knew from the smile on his face that it wasn't water. He'd put up with a lot, but there was no way he was going to ingest this moron's bodily fluids.
The problem was, he knew he needed a drink. If he hadn't recognised the signs before, he did now. His mouth and throat were dry, and a feeling of desperation was starting to rattle his thinking processes. He knew it was strictly physiological - triggered by the dehydration. Don't react, he tried to tell himself. He knew it was bad - whatever they'd given him last time must have contained some salt. The ache under his skin wasn't imagined.
Salts - more bodily fluids. Rick almost gagged then, but he knew it was what they were expecting. Signs of weakness, because he'd never fought back yet. Signs of subjugation - of yielding to their petty tyranny.
I'm faster - and stronger. He'd held off, because he couldn't afford to encourage them in the game - to turn it into the kind of vindictive battle where they'd try to roust him out of bed - and maybe find him missing.
They'd kept it minor out of fear - for their skins. Right now, it was their word against his, and the complaints were as petty as their small tortures. Nothing that would gain him satisfaction, if he laid it before their supervisors.
The hardest thing for Rick at this point was the ignorance he had to feign. Ignorance of FOCUS' intentions; ignorance of the damage they'd already inflicted on him. Don't let them know how much you know.
He could raise hell over the way they'd been treating him, but it was unlikely he'd like the results. Or have a chance to talk about any of it. If he drew the attention of the major players now, they'd keep it on him all the time. Under their eyes. Under their thumbs. In Canuga, or wherever they intended to dismantle him for his DNA. Wherever they were going to mine him for his antibodies. No, attention wasn't what he wanted right now.
He talked himself through it. Don't react. Don't let him get to you.
But when his really obnoxious guardian shoved the bottle under Rick's nose - that acrid, foul-smelling stench triggered his gag reflex. The other one tapped the bottle so it sloshed, pouring big drops of the yellowy urine down Rick's shirt.
Rick's temper - always slow to start - went to full boil.
They'd never known how fast he was, because Rick had never let them see it. In seconds, he'd dumped the contents of the container over the cropped heads of his tormentors. Allen Murphy spluttered in disgust, and Jack Jimenez shook his head like a wet dog.
"Muther Fucker!" Murphy yelled. He kicked out at the mutant, sending him slamming across the room, into an ornamental mirror.
Rick was unprepared for that kind of lashback - and, as he lay there in the shards of shattered glass, he admitted he'd been stupid. He'd counted on Murphy's and Jimenez' need of him to transcend their anger. He'd convinced himself that fear of their supervisors would keep them in line.
Jimenez grabbed Murphy's arm and held him back. "Diaslio," he reminded him in a whisper. "You've cut him."
Murphy paled. "Fuck it all," he said, breathing hard as he fought to control his rage. "Get some bandages."
The silvered glass reflected a dozen miniature pictures of deep red blood streaming down crystalline chips. Rick suddenly realised he didn't have a chance. Fear of retaliation kept them in line. Take away their fear, and there'd be nothing to stop them.
It was sunny still, and the late day sunshine poured through the glass. Heat, light, and energy. A healing light. Well - not quite. But it gave him the energy for his healing genes to do the trick.
By the time Jimenez came back into the room, the bleeding had stopped. By the time the sun went down, only thin scabs remained on the surface of his arms and side, to mark where the cuts had been.
Murphy glanced at Jimenez, and there was something in his expression that made Rick tense.
Rick remembered what Finlay had once said - about asking Hylton to train him in the martial arts - or, at least, in self-defence.
As Jimenez returned Murphy's look with a smile of his own, Rick began to wish he'd taken Finlay up on the offer.
*
Rick was unusually silent, but Jace thought it was because he'd just read through the test results.
Phil told Steven, "We took sap from infected plants, and injected it into our test mice. They all died."
"Jesus Fuckin' Christ!" Steven swore.
"If that's meant to be a prayer," Jace muttered, "say one for me, too."
"There's no doubt it's the virus?" The way Steven said it told Rick how much he was hoping for any alternative they could offer him.
Rick glanced at Phil, then shook his head. "Not really," he said soberly. "If this stuff gets out, we haven't got a hope in hell of stopping it. We went ahead and incinerated the rest of our test plants. We've also re-fumigated the lab building."
Steven nodded. "What can we do?"
"We've got the proof for you - maybe now someone else can take over. We'll continue seeking methods for control, but it's time to get the Disease Centres into this." Rick added. "Not just the local bodies, either."
Steven nodded. "They'll listen now."
"It won't do any good unless we can stop it at the source. We need to destroy what's left of her, Steven. Burn it."
"The ovaries are in Canuga," Steven admitted.
Rick nodded. "I know. Someone's got to go in there and get them out."
Steven turned to Jason. "Could we trigger another OBE? So Rick could destroy them for us?"
"Aren't we even going to ask the mutant whether he minds?" Rick interrupted. "Or how much control he has when he's doing it?" If he was going to donate his body to science, he'd rather at least be conscious when he was doing it.
Jason ignored him. Instead, he told Hylton, "No way. Do you know how close he came? I think it's a lousy idea."
"You'd lose him," Phil agreed. "You might as well be sending him in personally."
Jason noted a glint in Rick's eyes. Uh-uh. Not alone, Rick, he thought.
"I don't think we want to risk it," Phil continued. "We'd be losing one of our few sources of antibodies."
"And one heck of a nice guy," Rick added, a little put out that they were still discussing him as though he weren't there.
Steven gave a trace of a smile at Rick's comment, but then he grew serious. He had a hell of a decision to make. Sending any of his people in would more than likely get them killed. The way FOCUS liked to cover themselves, any more drastic action was going to be labelled as terrorist activity against another government agency. Murder. Callous disregard for innocent human beings. The only way to avoid it was to do what FOCUS had done: hire a Raeiti to do your dirty work for you.
Steven Hylton didn't work that way. He sighed. "That's it, then. We send in a team to search and destroy. If that doesn't work, we blow the fuckin' hell out of the place."
*
Jace guessed Rick was avoiding him. Rick was so damn fast, and so full of excuses that it took a while, but Jason was finally able to corner him in the prep room. "All right, spill it," he demanded.
"Spill what?" For a moment, Rick looked uncomfortable. He hadn't mentioned the beatings to anyone. Had Jason somehow guessed? Steven would feel it precipitated some action on his part, which might set everything else in motion. Rick had decided to hold out as long as he could. At least until he was ready for Canuga.
"No big plans for running into Canuga? No 'search-and-destroy' missions of your own?"
Rick remained silent, but Jace outlasted him. Rick finally cleared his throat and said, "I don't know what you're talking about. Must be your overactive imagination."
"That's what I thought," Jason told him. "Don't you think it complicates things - just a little -" he said sarcastically, "- that you're technically incarcerated right now?"
"Merely a formality."
"Yeah. While you're planning your latest duo with death, think about this one: it'd be a lot easier if there were two of us involved in this - and I, at least, am almost a free agent."
"So what are you saying?" Rick's eyes had brightened.
"That a certain facility in Canuga might be well overdue for its lightning protection systems inspection. Something that a certain computer genius just might be able to put on the schedule."
"That's brilliant!"
Jace grinned. "I do have the odd moment, don't I? It's a good thing, too. You're so lousy at subterfuge it's a wonder Steven hasn't figured out what you have in mind."
"And you're so much better," Rick said sarcastically.
"Hey - I'm trained to lie with an honest face. Ask any obese female who's ever graced the doors to my office."
"Sexist bastard." Rick grinned. "Between the two of us we might be able to muddle through. Short of a bullet in the backside, there's a chance we'll survive it, too."
"We'll have to be careful so Hylton doesn't find out. I've got both DSO and FOCUS watching me," Jace reminded him. "They're just not watching me as hard as they're watching you."
"I think he already knows," Rick replied.
"And he's not going to stop you?" Jason asked.
"Hell, no. He even thinks it was his idea. Why do you think he mentioned the 'team' right in front of us?"
Jason shook his head. "He's not that devious."
"You know Simon," Rick said patiently. "Remember - Steven trained him." Rick grinned. "That bit about OBE? That was his alternate plan. When he found out it wouldn't work, he must've decided he had to go with the other one. He's just scared he'll have to blow me up."
"Blow us up," Jason corrected.
Rick shook his head. "That's the one thing Steven wasn't counting on - that there'd be two of us. If he knew he was taking that big a risk, he'd change his mind and send in his own people - or go himself. The only reason he's willing to send me is he figures I stand a good chance to make it back."
*
"The problem is controlling it." Phillip Rutgers was visibly upset. He was the one pacing this time, not Rick. He'd seen too many cases of small populations decimated by virus. Rick and Jason may have had first-hand experience with Denaro, but they'd never had to watch the innocents succumb in the numbers Phil had. To watch small children screaming from pain and fever - and not a damn thing he could do. Even Jason's medical experience had been a one-on-one situation. He'd never had the horror of being helpless among the masses, in which each individual was shrieking for help - each set of eyes imploring you to delve into the shreds of your medical genius, to end the suffering. Phil felt a tight band building deep inside. It was his roughened core being abraded by memories - being assaulted by all the unshed tears that he couldn't let all those patients see. Because then they'd know he'd given up hope - and they could at least die with that.
"- dose of the plant virus?"
Phil's eyes focused away from the nightmare. The one he always carried with him, riding on his memories, and which had lately seemed to riddle his days as well. "What?" he asked. "I wasn't listening."
"Since there's no cure, we've got to look at prevention."
"We could bleed you out," Jason told him glumly - his mind lingering on the time at Genetechnic when he'd thought he'd done just that, "- we could even bleed the three of us out and it wouldn't touch it."
"I was thinking about our serology tests. They came out positive, when we used the parent strain for Denaro's virus."
"Uh-huh," Phil said. "That means the strains are similar." He suddenly realised what Rick was getting at. "Like cowpox and smallpox!" he said excitedly.
"Right. You guys know more about this kind of stuff than I do. In plants, though, if you give a lesser strain of the virus, it tends to lock up most of the sites where the virus would normally act. The plant might exhibit disease symptoms, but not to the extent if it had the necrotic strain."
"I get it. The serology results mean the rats - or rabbits -" Jace looked at Phil.
"Rabbits."
"Rabbits reacted to the plant virus with antibodies."
Phil looked like the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders. "It gives us a place to start. We may have to initiate one hell of an inoculation campaign." He gave Rick a push. "Go start growing a tonne of plant virus."
Rick still looked glum.
Jace booted him lightly in the shin. "What's the problem, Dr. Dung? You may just have saved the world." Jace was grinning.
"Saved the world for animals," Rick told him, looking pointedly at Jace to remind him he was one. "But remember, the reason I was looking at WTV in my lab was because this strain was severe - and necrotic. I might've had a great idea for you, but it's a lousy one for me. If we start propagating great gobs of WTV, we're not exactly going to help the plant kingdom. We're just going to make things a helluva lot worse."
"Some things have to be sacrificed," Jason said reasonably.
"Then remember where you're sitting, Jace."
Jace frowned. "So? What d'you think? That I'm going to start tossing viral particles around in the fields?"
Rick said impatiently, "Not that, Jace! You're at the top of the food chain. That means there needs to be something underneath, or everyone dies of starvation."
"Shit," Jason muttered, suddenly realising what Rick was getting at. "What's the good of saving the human race just so it can die from hunger?"
*
"Get up."
Rick looked wary. Dammit if things hadn't escalated. Once they'd found out how fast he healed, it seemed like all they did was take turns pounding on him. "Why?"
"We're supposed to make sure you get enough exercise. It's time for another one of our work-outs."
The creep must've run into a traffic jam on the way to work, Rick thought. He was wearing one of those smiles - the ones that Rick knew always boded ill for a certain mutant.
"You can't keep doing this," Rick said, more as a distraction than anything else. This time he was ready. He was no longer naive enough to think he could talk them out of beating him to a pulp - but he could get in a few blows first. After all, it wasn't going to make the beatings any worse - but it could give him the satisfaction of knowing that in some way, he'd been able to strike back.
It bothered him that he couldn't out-manoeuvre them. They were just too damn well-trained. Like Dobermans, he thought. Or Rottweilers. And there were two of them - in a confined space. He'd start off all right, but at the end they'd be bashing him back and forth, like some kind of flimsy punching bag.
They knew he could complain all he wanted, but there'd be no evidence for a medical crew to find. Not if they could delay long enough for him to heal up again. Nothing to substantiate any statement he could make.
That was the game now: see how far they could go - how much damage they could do - and still have him heal by the next day. What they didn't know was how little of the healing he really did at night - that most of the improvement came the next day, when he sunned himself. That he went through most of the night, and part of the day trying to keep himself from healing in whatever distorted position they'd left him. It was getting so bad recently that Rick wasn't even sure he was fully healing during the day.
The morning crew was starting to talk about it, but so far, no one had intervened. The bruises were damned obvious, but they faded readily in the sun, so no one seemed to be overly concerned. Or, maybe, nobody wanted to enlist the ire of Rick's nastier "guardians".
Hylton was coming tonight. At least, Rick thought it was tonight - the last few nights had been so long that Rick really wasn't sure. Normally, he would have been keen to see what progress had been made on a vaccine. Phil was linked into several other labs now, working on the plant strain of WTV. The products were being shipped to Rutgers, so he could inoculate rats and test the results. Rick knew it had only been a few days, but he was anxious to keep track of Phil's findings.
For the time being, Jace was back at work in the hospital, to alleviate suspicions.
Any suspicion of ulterior motives might send Rick on a swift trip to Canuga. As it was, Rick knew FOCUS would send for him as soon as they were ready to test-run Denaro's virus samples - when they needed him for back up. There was also the chance they'd call him in, to do a test run on the OBE - to check the results first-hand. Rick was also beginning to wonder how many miniature, cloned Richard Lockmanns were sitting around in test tubes about now.
The only way to avoid escalating the action was for Richard Lockmann to remain where he was. Once in Canuga, FOCUS could basically do whatever they wanted. Rick was sure it was only the dual guardianship - the requirement for FOCUS to show a willingness to co-operate with the DSO - that was keeping him intact. The last thing FOCUS wanted was for Hylton to have a legitimate reason for visiting Canuga.
Hylton was attempting to remove and destroy the last of Denaro's remaining body parts from the freezer at the FOCUS facility. That would leave just the ovaries - other than any bits and pieces that were floating around the lab benches. They could be dealt with later, after they'd eradicated the source.
Hylton had indicated it might take him a few days to set things up. Rick would have to put up with his incarceration at least that long - until the Canuga situation was handled. Or until Hylton was ready for Rick to handle it.
At this rate, though, Rick didn't know if he was going to be able to handle anything. At nights, he felt like he was crawling. During the day, he was stiff and sore till nearly the next night.
The interminable stretching of time during the last few days made him wonder how - once out of here - even for a few hours - he'd ever convince himself to go back. It was neither logical nor reasonable to deliberately leave yourself open for this kind of abuse. In Rick's mind, it was damn stupid.
Rick lay on the bed, eagerly watching for Hylton's arrival. Maybe the DSO could work something out for him. Anything would be better than this.
Except it wasn't going to happen. Rick knew he wasn't even going to ask. There was too much at stake. As yet, FOCUS was ignorant of his secret outings, but the only way to maintain the facade was to be here in the morning. At least until it was time to go to Canuga.
*
Steven noticed Rick's cringe as he climbed out of bed, and his movements were far from the fluid motions Steven had come to expect. Not only that, but he'd been awake when Steven arrived. Now, he was walking with a limp, and even in the dim light Steven could see he was favouring one side. He guessed Rick was trying to hide it from him - not wanting to complicate what was already a messy situation.
"What's wrong?"
Keep it simple. "A disagreement with my keepers. I'm faster, but they're meaner." He hesitated. "I think they're trying to convince me I'm tamed."
"Stupid of them. If someone catches them at it, there'll be payback."
"Not so stupid. They figure I'll be healed by morning."
Steven considered that. Superficially healed, maybe. His anger flared. Anger at FOCUS' stupidity, to risk Lockmann in the hands of such abusive idiots. Anger at himself, because he'd allowed this green-eyed mutant to come as close to being a friend as he'd let anyone, and now he'd let him down. Rick had trusted him - and what was he getting out of the deal? A beating, and a one-way ticket to Canuga. Steven's voice came out brusquer than he intended. "How'd they find out? That you heal so fast?"
Rick looked at him wryly. Leave it to Steven to read between the lines. "Experience. They just haven't figured out I don't heal as well in the dark - and I might not always heal right. All they know is that by the time they come in, everything seems back to normal."
"So this isn't the first time?"
Rick shook his head, then flinched. "Fourth or fifth - I've kind of lost track."
Rick dozed off once they got in the car, and Steven noticed the way he slumped over in the corner. He got on the phone. "Sheryl, can you and Stratton go out for coffee?"
"What's wrong?"
"Just do it. Meet me at the lab. Who's your tail?"
"George Jackleby."
"Have a word with him. Tell him I've sent for you and he's to distract any followers."
"All right. Is this about Rick?"
"Yeah. Bring your bag."
*
Rick didn't wake up when they reached the lab, and Steven let him sleep while he waited for the others.
"What's wrong?" Jason asked.
"He's been beaten." Steven nodded toward the car. "Rick says it's happened four, maybe five times now."
Jason looked furious. He went over to the car and opened the door. Rick slept on.
"He fell asleep again. I left him to it, until you got here."
Jace spent a few minutes examining him. "Let's bring him inside," he said. "Where I can take a better look at him."
"Do you want me to wake him up?"
Jace glanced at Sheryl. "What do you think?"
She looked at the discoloured skin on Rick's arm and flinched. "I say let him sleep. He'll probably wake up with the light anyway." Distressed, she added, "We've got to end this farce, Steven. He's going to develop scar tissue, like he has in his lungs. If this continues, they're going to kill him." She went over to her car and grabbed her bag, then started up the walkway, to make room for Rick when they brought him in.
"Sheryl, I don't think you should go in there."
"I'm not going into the lab, Steven," she argued. "I'm not even going into the anteroom."
"You're going into the building."
"Are you?" she asked.
"Yes -" he began.
"Then don't be ridiculous," she told him.
"You know you haven't been feel -"
She gave him a look that would freeze ice. "Will you please -"
"Sheryl?" Jason interrupted.
"What?" she snapped.
"He's right."
"I never thought I'd hear such a sexist statement from one of my staff," she said angrily.
"It's not sexist. It's practical." He sighed. "I'll talk to you about it tomorrow."
"That's it," Steven told her. "Your doctor said no."
"How dare you?"
"Sheryl -" Jace turned her around to face him. "Think about what's most important," he stressed. He glanced at Steven, and knew he was taking in every word. Well, it was up to Sheryl to talk to him. "If you don't know what matters, I do. And I'm not going to let you go into that building."
She thought about it, then nodded. "Right," she agreed, sighing. Jace must at least suspect what was bothering her recently, or he wouldn't have been so adamant. She couldn't afford to push too hard, or she might get caught out. That'd make twice, she thought, and smiled. She looked up just in time to see Steven glance at her strangely.
*
Daphne wondered just how easy they were going to make it for her. As she glanced around the room, she tried to guess how Hylton's mind would work. He already knew she wasn't a professional. He'd try to put the keys somewhere she could "accidentally" find them.
There were some coats hanging on the back of the door. They'd been there for days, and Daphne realised Hylton was taking a chance that she hadn't bothered to go through the pockets before. She did it now, already guessing at what she'd find.
Keys, and some loose change. Enough loose change to more than pay her gas to Canuga. She glanced at the keys and grinned. Hylton had arranged for key tags with Toyota printed right on them. Why didn't he just attach a tag with the model and licence number? she thought, grinning. Then she turned the tag over. Both model and licence number were neatly printed on the back.
Then, because she was acting so predictably, she got annoyed. He'd planned this, set it up, and she was doing exactly what he wanted. Plus, he obviously thought she was stupid. Too stupid, anyway, to plan her own escape.
Wrong. I'm doing exactly what he wants because - for now - it coincides with what I want. She wondered if a difference of opinion would arise when it came to destroying the ovaries.
Before she left the room, she turned on the computer so her personalised screen saver would be scrolling across the screen when Steven Hylton came calling.
It's not enough.
Daphne opened a drawer and pulled out the satanic drawing of Steven Hylton. She scanned it in and made it the background wallpaper for her message to Steven.
Grinning, she unlocked the door and stepped out into the empty hall. She didn't even bother with subterfuge - she was sure that Hylton's people had orders to avoid her at all costs. Holding her head high, she walked boldly out the door and into the lot. Once in the car she opened the glove box, and found a map. How contrived. She gave an unwilling grin. There, on the centre of the map, was a big red circle named "Canuga".
***
