Light Play 

Book One of

The Light Play Trilogy 

Prologue 
 

      _The woman stood quietly at the window, gazing unseeing at the day’s yellow glare. A sudden jolt stirred her from an unnatural stillness, and she turned away with a swift gasp of fear. “What next?” she wondered aloud.

      Her dash from the room was halted by the recoiling of the cat, which cowered, hissing, near her feet.

      The woman’s lips creased in a self-deprecating smile. “Damned cat,” she whispered, recalling yesterday’s words. “Which of us is damned now?”

      The feline slunk away—hiding its tomcat’s boldness beneath spiky hair and flattened ears.

      Angry with the cat’s reaction, the woman moved swiftly toward the far wall.

      The cat—hidden now beneath a chair—dared a backwards glance, just in time to see the human figure drift through the solid plastered wood partition. He chased her departure with a bold yowl.

      The walls echoed his cry, seeming to hold it for just a second too long. When it came back to his ears, the distorted wailing was no longer alone, but held the lonely misery of a human’s despairing sigh. 

 
Chapter One 
 

      _“Ho, Rick!”

      Rick could hear Cole’s footsteps thudding up the hall.

      “Wanna shoot a few?” Cole’s shouts were interspersed with the pounding rhythm of a basketball.

      Rick grinned, glanced at the pile of papers he had yet to read, and shook his head. “Go away. I’m busy,” he yelled back.

      Cole, certain now that Rick was home, jogged into the room. Rick was determinedly reading through some article—highlighting what must have been—for him—particularly edifying passages. “That’s not busy—” Cole argued. He threw the ball at Rick’s chair. It missed, rebounding instead off Rick’s arm, and onto his Coke can. “Now, you’ll be busy,” Cole muttered, as he watched the sticky liquid flow towards Rick’s stack of journals.

      “Dammit, Cole!” Rick looked around for something to mop up the spill.

      Cole pulled his handkerchief out of his pocket and threw it to his friend.

      Rick looked at it dubiously. ”Got any forceps?” He took the cloth by the corner, and dropped it in the path of the runaway Coke.

      Cole laughed. “If it sticks, it won’t be because of the Coke—”

      “If it sticks, I’ll use your face to scrape it off.”

       “If you had more dirty clothes laying around, I wouldn’t have to donate my stuff to the cause.”

      “Go away. I’m trying to concentrate.”

      “Why? Because you’re on some fool fungus hunt?” Cole reached over, and flipped through the pages of the article Rick was trying to read. “What is this, anyway? ‘Protein synthesis during spore formation in Aspergillus’? I hate to tell you this, Rick, but I think your brain is warped.”

      Rick gave him a shove. “At least with me, it stops at my brain.”

      “You should get a burglar alarm—”

      Rick interrupted him. “To keep out unwelcome guests?”

      Cole grinned, then grew serious. “I mean it, Rick. Half the time, you don’t even remember to lock your door.”

      Rick shrugged. “Then, what’s the point? I’d probably forget to set the alarm, too.” He gestured at the stacks of books and journals. “What are they going to steal? My computer?” he asked seriously. “I’m insured, and all my files are backed up at the lab.”

      “What about your TV?” Rick shook his head. Cole tried again. “Your stereo?”

      “Old. They wouldn’t be able to unload it.”

      Cole grinned. “What about you? Isn’t any of that so-called science worth something?”

      “Only if you’re in horticulture.” Rick jumped up and plopped his journal on to the floor. Creeping to the window, he took a quick, guarded look outside, then flattened himself against the wall. “My God, you’re right!” he whispered loudly, infusing horror into his voice. “The farmers—they’re massing!” He fumbled with the cord to the drapes, as though his fingers were slippery with sweat. With a grand gesture, he yanked it, while the rod squeaked in protest. Dropping to his knees, he wiped his brow, and said dramatically, “I think we’re safe now!”

      Cole threw the basketball at him, and missed again—this time knocking over a stack of photocopied articles.

      Rick looked at the mess and sighed. “I give up,” he said. He swooped up the basketball, and shoved Cole ahead of him out of the room. “Someone’s got to teach you some basketball, and it might as well be me.”

*

      I’m too damn tired for this. Dark spots in the room shivered and writhed, under the doubly potent assault of fatigue and nerves. Daniel Vizar found his eyes shifting again and again to those elusive centres of activity. Beneath his brooding self-derision, there lay a very real fear. Relax, Danny Boy, he told himself. Aberrant genes don’t lurk.

      Justin Sacchara’s entry was noisy. Shaking hands restlessly jiggled his keys, and he slammed the door unnecessarily loudly in his efforts to ensure it was fully closed.

      Daniel didn’t know whether to be relieved by Sacchara’s company, or annoyed by the man’s irritating nervousness that rubbed so gratingly against his own.

      It didn’t take him long to decide. Go to hell, Justin, Daniel thought. He sensed the slight, but unquestionably envious, resentment that was always part of Justin Sacchara’s personality in this office. The resentment that always triggered Vizar’s own feelings of guilt at the plushness of his surroundings. The reaction bothered him—especially now, when he had so many other things to worry about. His claims to all this re-emphasised just how much responsibility sat on his shoulders. Daniel Vizar would have relinquished the lot right now for just one moment of unburdened peace.

      He was over-reacting, and it didn’t take him long to realise it. Sacchara didn’t give a damn about their surroundings—his quick glance around the room was merely to reassure himself that they were alone.

      Guilt and fear were obviously weighing heavily on Sacchara’s shoulders as well, and Daniel guessed the other man was fighting a losing battle against his doubts regarding their work. Vizar thought back to the days when his own personal convictions had raised havoc with his work habits. It had taken years before the guilt associated with his job had faded—carefully suppressed by the firm conviction that he was actively moulding the future.

      “What the hell are we going to do?” When Justin Sacchara finally spoke, his voice was almost strident. Vizar could see the panic in his dilated eyes; in the sweat glistening on the other man’s brow.

      “Calm down, for crissakes! You look like you need a fix!”

      “You familiar with junkies, Vizar?” Sacchara retorted nastily. “Should we add them to your list of would-be consumers?”

      Vizar sat down behind the desk, and dropped his face into his hands. “There’s got to be a way out of this, Justin. None of this should have happened.” His words were earnest. “Caroline just—” He left it hanging.

      “Caroline just opted for a little self-experimentation.”

      “Not exactly,” Daniel muttered.

      Sacchara stopped his pacing and whirled to face the other man. “What do you mean?” he asked incredulously. “What’s this ‘not exactly’?”

      “It got away from her.” Vizar’s eyes were grim as he corrected himself. “Into her.”

      “Jesus Christ!” There was whispered horror in the words. “How?”

      Daniel Vizar shrugged. “I don’t know. I tried to decipher her notes, but they’re encoded.” He gave a grim smile. “I don’t think Caro trusted us.”

      Sacchara started to pace again. “So you’re saying there might be some of these rogue genes running around her lab? Waiting to do this to someone else?” He glanced at Vizar. “Do we even know the method of acquisition? What vectors she was using?”

      Vizar shook his head. “We can establish some parameters, and we’ve locked down the lab against contamination.”

      “Not good enough—” Sacchara began.

      “You’re right,” Vizar agreed. “If it’s airborne, we might still be in trouble.”

      Something in the other man’s tone made Sacchara look at him hopefully. “But you don’t think so—” Vizar’s smile was strained, but Sacchara read what he wanted to see. “So it’s a one-off. A singular event.” Sacchara rubbed tense fingers across his unshaven chin. “Unless Caro dies.” He dropped into a chair, and looked at Vizar with tense eyes. “Are we going to be able to put this behind us?”

      Vizar met his inquiry squarely. “No,” he replied firmly.

      “Why the hell not? Are you worried about the doctor? The technicians?”

      Vizar shook his head. “Nobody knows enough to put it all together, Justin.”

      “Then why?” The strain was back in Sacchara’s voice.

      Daniel Vizar shook his head in disbelief. There were times when Sacchara could be really obtuse. “Because, Justin—for better or worse—Caroline’s damned procedure worked.”

*

      Cole did a body builder’s flex, showing off the line of sweat staining his T-shirt. “It all goes to show you,” he began. He tried to spin the ball on the tip of his finger—only to have it wobble off  and bounce on to Rick’s foot.

      “What?” Rick grunted, trying to rub his big toe through the fabric of his shoe. “That the hoop’s only slightly bigger than the hole in your head?”

      “You’re just hacked off because you were going to refine my game, and I beat your tail off—”

      “Just because you can push someone around on the court, doesn’t mean you win—”

      “Sure it does,” Cole replied casually. “I didn’t score, but I didn’t let you score either—”

      “What about that one I sank at the beginning?”

      “When we were warming up? Doesn’t count.”

      “’Warming up’ my ass—”

      “I don’t give a damn about your ass, but mine’s getting cold.” Cole grinned. “Want to come over to watch the game?”

      “What game?”

      “Typical. Don’t you ever keep on top of anything?”

      Rick grinned. “Not recently. Or a-breast of it either—”

      It was an old joke. “There’s this girl—”

      “No, and no, and no.”

      “But—”

      “No,” Rick said firmly. “If you like her so much, you take her out.”

      “I tried,” Cole said mournfully. “She turned me down.”

      Rick grinned. “In that case, maybe I would like to meet her. At least she’s selective.”

*

      It was happening again, and Caroline Denaro had no way of stopping it. Vaguely, in her somnolent state, she was aware of her existence, in some subconscious world far from the tubes and respirator that were keeping her alive. In that dim world she was at least able to find peace.

      It was now—at times like this—when the separation was about to happen—that Caroline felt the agony. Screams that never brought help. Torture that went on and on and on.

      None of it was physical. She could have borne it better if she could have rid herself of it by chopping off a leg, or surrendering an organ. No, it was the uncertainty of eternity that ripped at her. The knowledge that she wasn’t dead, yet had no prayer for living. The ever-present danger that her body wouldn’t accept her back.

      She’d tried to puzzle it out—to determine where the gene had come from that could make the transition from body to out-of-body so easy to accomplish. The one that could turn a normal existence into a dual one. The one that could forever lay to rest any doubts about the human soul.

      “It must have been the meristematic genes,” she whispered, wondering by what means she could hear her own voice—all accomplished without the aid of a larynx, or those lovely, tiny bones of the inner ear. “Something about my body chemistry changed them. Gave them a purpose they were never meant to have. God!” she cried out, all the while wondering how a concerned deity could allow someone to suffer like this, “Please, God! Find a way to get me back! To make me whole again!”

*

      They were tearing through the quiet streets at Cole’s customary gravel-spinning speed before Cole spoke again. “Hey, Rick,” he said, a little too casually. “While we’re out, what d’you say we go by the house I want to rent?”

      “I knew it!”

      “Knew what?”

      “That once I left the house I’d never get back to work. I need to finish that report by Monday, Cole.”

      “That’s almost forty hours away. Plenty of time.” He added reasonably, “You said you’d help me move in. How’re you going to do that if you don’t know where it is? Don’t you even want to see what you’re letting yourself in for?”

      Rick replied, just as reasonably, “Sure, I want to see it. I just don’t want to see it right now—”

      “Great!” Cole replied, turning into the driveway of a newer stucco Spanish-style residence. “This is it!”

      I should’ve known I was wasting my breath. But, in spite of his irritation, Rick couldn’t help being impressed. “Nice place!” Then he remembered what Cole had said about the rent. “Why is it so cheap?” he asked curiously.

      “It’s owned by some corporation. They usually house their own people here, but for some reason, it’s come up empty.” Cole grinned. “I guess they’re worried about vandalism. They think I’ll keep out ‘undesirable elements’.”

      “They figured once you were in, there wouldn’t be room for any more?” Rick asked innocently. “What corporation did you manage to mislead?”

      Cole pulled a tattered business card out of his ashtray. Everything in Cole’s car tended to get tattered. “Genetechnic Industries—”

      Rick snatched the card out of his hand. “Genetechnic! They’re headliners in the gene machine market.”

      “Didn’t I tell you you’d like this place?” Cole pulled a tagged key out of his pocket.

      Rick looked at it. “You had this all planned, didn’t you?”

      Cole shrugged. “Sure.” He pushed open the door, and gestured at the interior. “This place is me—”

      “Vacant?” Rick interrupted, grinning.

      “No—great looks, flash exterior—”

      Rick poked his head into the stark entryway. “Any piles of bullshit in there?”

*

      It was no good. God wasn’t listening. Caro fled, unable to endure the sight of her empty body poised on the edge of non-existence.

      She drifted through the halls of the facility, searching for Tom or Sutte, the only people who understood her research enough to do something to correct it. If she could locate one of them, she’d find a way to make them acknowledge her—just as she had with the cat. She’d fought hard to develop some physical presence—so that she could access her lab book and research notes, still hidden in her former residence. Without them, no one would have a hope of deciphering the route her research had taken.

      When she’d hidden her lab notes, she’d felt slightly paranoid, but she had to admit that the fear of industrial theft wasn’t her real motivation. Caro knew her successes were big, and probably worth a helluva lot more than she was being paid. Encryption was a small effort for what could have eventuated into a large reward.

      Caro thought of the greed and recognition that were so important to her then. It took an incorporeal existence to put me in my place, she thought. Religious fervour arriving on the tail of desperation. Some things about her hadn’t changed, however. I’d do anything—say anything—to get myself out of this non-living hell—

*

      The thud was muffled, but it still sounded loud in the empty room. “Shit! What was that?” Cole was feeling jumpy, and he couldn’t figure out why. Maybe it’s just because I want Rick to be as impressed with this place as I am. Impressing Rick—at least in this small respect—was important to him. And a little twinge of envy on his part wouldn’t hurt either.

      He knew that Rick had worked hard to become a scientist, but sometimes Cole got a little sick of it when Rick was introduced as Dr. Richard Lockmann. Somehow, he couldn’t equate his old friend with the fancy title. And, his work ain’t all that fancy either. Cole couldn’t imagine working with fungus and bacteria all day, any more than he guessed Rick could imagine doing marketing.

      Rick never expected to be called by his title, and he hated it when Cole ribbed him about it. Cole used to ridicule Rick’s use of dung as a model substrate for fungal growth, and had taken to calling him “Dr. Dung.” The name had stuck, and Cole still used it whenever he thought Rick was getting too aware of his title.

      “Well, what do you think, Dr. Dung?”

      “Unfair. I haven’t rubbed your nose in my Ph.D. for at least a week.” Rick squatted down and wriggled his fingers. “Here, Cat—” When the cat slunk across the floor to sit by his feet, Rick picked him up and rubbed the top of his head. “Here’s your intruder. There’s probably a window open.”

      Cole nodded, reached over and gave the cat a quick scritch on its belly. The cat promptly tried to bite his hand. Cole chuckled, and scritched its belly again, deftly avoiding the claws.

      “Quit bugging the cat. Are you going to show me this architect’s delusion, or do I have to show myself?”

      “I’ll give you the tour, as long as you remind me to lock that window before we leave. I don’t want any vandals ripping apart my little hi-tech lovenest.” He rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “Wait till I get my furniture in here.”

      Rick snorted with laughter. “By that do you mean your Sega Megadrive, or your model railroads? You’ve heard of ‘Babes in Toyland’? Wait till the ladies get a load of you: ‘Toys in Babeland’.”

      Cole grinned. “You wouldn’t believe how a hot arcade game can put ‘em in the mood.”

      Rick grabbed his shirt and gave him a shove. “Lead on, Don Juan. Next thing you’ll be telling me is how they toggle your joystick—”

* 

      On a previous expedition, she’d discovered that her lab was sealed—locked down against the possibility of her little toxin escaping into the environment.

      God damn it! she’d sworn at the time. How can they fix me if they’re not even trying to find out what went wrong?

      She’d been there when Vizar and Sacchara had had their little meeting. She knew that Vizar wanted someone to carry on where she’d left off—because, as little as they understood the mechanics of it, in Vizar’s estimation her procedure had worked. That means he must see some dollars and cents value to it, she reasoned. It didn’t matter to him what price she’d had to pay.

      She’d even tried to approach Vizar personally, to demand action. The most she’d been able to do was squawk out a raspy “Help me!”, which now seemed to her to have been overly melodramatic. Maybe a “Do it, or else” would have worked better with Vizar. He’d been so startled, all he’d been able to do was nod his head, which she’d optimistically taken for agreement.

      Why don’t they get on with it? she wondered. She was terrified that they’d decide to terminate her body instead: to destroy any incriminating evidence. Knowing Vizar and Sacchara as she did now—after seeing the way they conducted business when no one else was present—she had no false impressions any longer about the personalities that ran Genetechnic. Most people viewed the future with a hint of awe—Vizar viewed it with an eye to control, even ownership. Control what went into the genetic make-up of a being, and you also managed its strengths, and its limitations. Vizar was playing at some levels that not even his closest cohort, Sacchara, knew about. Levels Caro had never suspected her research could sink to.

      What if they were to destroy her body, during one of those times when her being was somewhere else? What would happen to me then? 

      At this point, she would welcome death, but she had the horrifying suspicion that, even if her inner self was in residence, the very act of her body dying would be enough to trigger another one of these little jaunts. Not in the normal fashion of the soul leaving the body, to travel away on those white lights death-freaks were always harping about, but on one of these empty wanderings, which would leave her without any hint of future: heaven, hell, purgatory—whatever was beyond.

*

      Rick whistled. The cat, startled, jumped out of his arms. Rick let it go. “This place is incredible, Cole.” He was looking up at the high ceilings, and large windows. “With all this light, it’d be a great place to work—” Rick was thinking about the poor visibility in his own, artificially-lighted lab.

      “Uh-uh. No fungus is going to wriggle its slimy way in here.” Cole stepped over and fiddled with a switch on the wall. “Wait till you see this.” A fountain, in the middle of a tiled pool of water, began to spurt streams of water.

      Rick’s tone was sincere. “I’ve never seen anything like it—at least, outside of one of those architecture magazines. Congratulations, Cole.”

      Cole’s eyes were shining. “Yeah. Not too bad, is it?”

      Rick grinned. “Not too bad at all.”

*

      I’m back. Caro was filled with a nearly overwhelming sense of poignancy, as she stared at the tiles where her feet had so often tread. There was that one rough tile. She could remember the cool feel of it under her bare feet—the rippling unevenness that made it different from the others. Funny how important the little things can be.

      The one thing that had eluded her wayward senses was smell. Vision wasn’t a problem—only the overwhelming endlessness of it. At this point, she would have given a lot just to be able to close her eyelids, and shut out the world for a moment. It made those times of residence in her body seem almost restful.

      Tactilely, she found she was able to experience far more than she would have believed possible. The key seemed to be intense focus, in order to assume some semblance of her former being, and her hopes lay in eventually gaining some ability to manipulate. Intangible as she was, she didn’t know whether she really needed her previous form: whether her arms and fingers were essential to achieving her goals. But, the thought of using any other shape—of seeing herself as a formless blob—horrified her. Even at her most detached, she couldn’t concede that much of her identity.

      The soft swish and trickle of the fountain drew her attention. Someone must be here. The fountain was on a timer, and someone had activated it. She wondered who it was.

      They’d been quick enough to empty her house. It went along with the fiction they were spreading—the one about her sabbatical abroad. It had also given them an excuse to search the structure for her notes. She had no doubt that, wherever her furniture had ended up, it was getting the same treatment.

      If the intruder was that dipshit real estate agent, then Caro knew she was wasting her time. All she’d get out of it was the rumour that the house was occupied by something more than dust mites. Still, the idea gave her pleasure, and if they failed to rent it, it would give her the time she needed. Time to perfect her manipulation of the crude senses that were left to her. Time to learn how to regain her lab notes, and use them to her best advantage.

*

      Cole was practically jogging through the upstairs rooms, in his enthusiasm to show them off. “I could even take in boarders,” he said, “as long as I was discreet about it. There’s lots of extra room.”

      Rick tried to picture Cole being discreet, and failed. He asked, “Did you show this place to Jace yet? Or Simon?”

      “Are you out of your mind? I’m not going to let Simon know until the day I move in.”

      Rick looked at him curiously. “Why not? Mr. Hi-Tech would think this was great.”

      “That’s the point. He’ll want to be my first boarder. I just want to make sure he approaches me for lodging, and not Genetechnic. He’d probably want to interrogate them on everything from how cheap the rent is, to why they’d rent such a big place to one person.” He grinned.

      Rick smiled. Approaching Genetechnic would be Simon’s way of expediting matters—and of double-checking the landlord.

      Cole always told Simon he was a cross between a control freak, and a suspicious son-of-a-bitch. Rick agreed with Cole’s assessment, but he understood Simon’s reasons better than Cole did. Knowing what Rick did about Simon, however, it sometimes amazed him that the man put up with as much as he did from Cole. It said something for the depth of their friendship that Cole could call him names, and Simon would stand there, imperturbable as always, and take it.

      Still, Cole was right about this house. It would be just like Simon to want to ensure that everything was on the level—and Cole didn’t believe in delving too deeply into lucky opportunities that just happened to fall in your lap.

      “What about Jace?”

      Cole snorted in disgust. “Jace is as addicted to his work as you are.” He added obnoxiously, “I can almost understand it in his case. At least his patients are flesh-and-blood.”

      Rick ignored the jibe. “What’s that got to do with living here?”

      “Too far from his work. Besides, I don’t think he’s even noticed he lives in a rat-hole. He’s not there often enough to see the rats.”

      Rick looked intently around a small room on the second floor. For its size, the place had numerous counters and sinks. Superior lighting, and bench-high power points. He rubbed the marks on the bench, where it was obvious a moderately heavy piece of equipment had sat. He knew there’d be similar marks in his own lab, where a PCR machine had residence.

      Excited now, he inspected the rest of what he was certain had once been someone’s personal laboratory. Knowing what he was looking for helped. He found a spot that was perfect for a small autoclave, and a refrigerator-size space where a large, refrigerated, high-speed centrifuge would have been used in his own lab to isolate RNA from viruses in plant cells.

      It took Cole a minute to realise he was giving his tour to himself. Impatient, he ran back in search of Rick. “Wait’ll you see—”

      Rick interrupted him enthusiastically. “This was a lab, Cole! A fairly state-of-the-art one, too, for a small premises.”

      Cole shrugged, glanced briefly around at the counters and sinks, then up at the numerous windows. “If I can find a way to block out some of that light, it’ll make one hell of a good darkroom.” He grinned and dodged out of the room, as Rick threw a wadded-up rag in his direction. Cole poked his head round the corner. “Sucker!”

*

      Sacchara walked into Vizar’s office without knocking. “The real estate agent called. Some guy’s made a deposit on the house.”

      “In that case, I want to get a crew in there, to give it one last going-over, before he moves in. Arrange it.”

      Sacchara nodded. “Maybe if we’re lucky, we’ll get someone on the crew who knows what kind of stuff we’re looking for.”

      After he’d gone, Vizar walked over to the window, and stood there, lost in thought. He was recalling an uncomfortable encounter he’d had several days before. He muttered, “Maybe, if you’re lucky, Justin, Caroline herself will come along to show you right where she left it.”

*

      Someone’s in the lab. Caroline saw the stranger come running out of the room, but not before he called something to someone still within. Caroline moved intently in that direction, hopeful that one of her co-workers might finally have worked up enough enthusiasm to look for answers on his own.

*

      Cole, laughing, jogged back up the hall, oblivious to what lurked behind him. He walked into the master bedroom, and decided to make his mark, so to speak, by using the master bathroom. “I’m staking my claim!” he yelled loudly to Rick.

      Rick, still in the lab, heard him, grinned, and shook his head. The only part of this place he really envied Cole was this lab. The rest was modern, beautiful, but too big for his tastes. He was really happy for his friend, though. Cole had a knack of filling whatever space he went into. He’d have this one full of either people, or junk, or both, in no time at all.

      Rick became aware that the light in the lab had dimmed. He glanced up at the windows, to see if some clouds had rolled in. No, the sun was still shining brightly. Rick felt a shiver of uneasiness travel down his back.

      He was suddenly certain he was no longer alone in the lab. And this other presence had none of the charged momentum that he associated with Cole. Dimly, he registered the distant flush of the toilet. No, whoever was here, it wasn’t Cole.

      Rick turned slowly, hesitantly. Every hair on the back of his neck stood erect, and there was gooseflesh dancing down his arms. He’d felt like this before—late at night, on a dark street in a bad area of town. He knew he was being watched.

      What he saw was almost enough to make him choke. It was a woman—but not all of a woman. He’d almost made the mistake—at first—of thinking she was flesh and blood. It wasn’t until the light faded from her—in the most inconvenient places—leaving lurid visions of bone and flesh in her centre, that he realised how little she owed to the tangible. “Not much time—” she rasped. He found himself watching her lips with a kind of lurid fascination. They were so totally out of sync with her voice.

      He backed up against the lab bench. He wanted to say, “Get back,” but the words wouldn’t come. His throat was suddenly so terribly dry.

      She drifted toward him, and Rick wanted to run. He found he couldn’t, but it wasn’t only the hard bench at his back that held him. It was the agony in the woman’s eyes—the need.

      “Help me!” she begged. The effort was obviously draining her—in more ways than one. She was really beginning to lose it—her would-be flesh dissolving, in an array of exposed reddish gashes. “The meristematic genes,” she rasped, loudly, and it seemed to echo in his brain. “Indeterminate. No time. My notes—here—”

      One of her hands reached out toward him. Rick, his eyes wide and wild, arched away as far as he could.

*

      “Rick!” Cole’s voice broke through the trance that was holding him. Rick saw Cole standing in the doorway. His face was as white as Rick knew his own must be. “Rick!” Cole screamed. “Get the hell out of there!”

*

      Caroline knew she had only a moment more of tangibility. She’d watched Rick moving around the lab, with a sureness and pleasure that had mirrored her own in this place. He hadn’t shown any shock at her words—only at her delivery of them. Or, she conceded, maybe he was just so shocked by the sight of her that he didn’t even realise what she’d said. Still, he was the best hope she had. “Not dead,” she tried to tell him, uncertain whether he could still hear her. “The genes—”

      Frustrated at her fading being, she gathered herself together in one last frenzied burst. Focusing on her hand, she brought all her strength to that one spot—determined to let him know just how real she was.

*

      Cole moved. He saw Rick arch away as far as he could, but dammit, there was nowhere for him to go. Cole made a dive at the fading phantom.

*

      At the same moment, Caro lurched forward, to touch Rick’s chest. But her hand no longer had the structure of flesh and blood. In her panicky haste, she passed through Rick’s chest wall, directly into his lungs.

      With a hiss, she withdrew, horrified at herself for the intrusion into another’s body; seeing herself for the first time as these strangers must see her—as a ghastly spectre to be feared and hated. With a sob she dissipated, into her invisible, intangible, out-of-body nothingness—to flee through Rick’s stiffened form, and back to where she could mourn her lost mortality alone.

*

      Cole pushed himself off the floor. “Is it gone?”

      Rick was silent. Cole looked over at him in concern. Rick was on his knees—one hand hanging on to the lab bench for support, the other pressed against his chest. “You okay?” Cole grabbed his arm. “Rick—talk to me. Are you okay?”

      Rick nodded, and started to get up. Cole helped him. “Let’s get out of here.” Rick didn’t say anything, only nodded again.

      Rick’s legs were wobbly, but Cole didn’t say anything more. Rick noticed, though, that Cole walked ahead of him down the stairs, as though he thought maybe Rick might take the most direct way down—headfirst.

      Once they were outside, Rick tried to act normal. The only problem was, he felt like he was looking at normal from the outside—trying to figure out exactly what the real Rick would say and do. Apparently, it was enough to satisfy Cole. The tension lines began to ease out of his face. Cole didn’t want to talk about what had just happened. Cole wanted to believe everything was okay.

      Only it wasn’t. Rick’s brain was already puzzling over what the woman had said. “The meristematic genes.” Only plants had meristematic cells: cells that were indeterminate, with no other function than to produce more cells. The cells they produced could express their genetic heritage in a number of ways, according to the chemical environment in which they developed. In the case of the cambial meristem, for example, xylem, phloem—even other meristematic cells—were all somehow derived out of the same genetic pattern. 

      It meant that, whatever genetic cocktail the woman had been whipping up, it had at least partially contained plant DNA. Plants had been genetically altered to produce mass quantities of animal products. Could she have been working on a project to make animals express some qualities of plant DNA? Rick shook his head. Was it possible? Or even likely? The results of such a project could be disastrous.

      Genes can be inserted into tissues easily enough. Rick had done that kind of research himself, and successfully combined plant protoplasts with fungal cells. Was it likely that someone had gone a step further? With a single gene, or with an entire damned strand? Some life form caught between two worlds. The thought was nothing short of appalling.

      I’m extrapolating. Taking one line, and what I’ve heard about Genetechnic, and making far more of it than I should.

      But, the woman must have been a Genetechnic worker—she lived in a Genetechnic-owned building, and was obviously familiar with science. Particularly plant science, he thought, remembering her words.

      And, he recalled, she sought me out in the lab.

      Rick glanced over at Cole, just in time to catch Cole looking at him.

      Cole asked casually, “What do you say we go by Jason’s?” Cole might joke about his dedication, but he knew Jace was a damn good doctor.

      Do I look that bad? Rick, embarrassed, forced a smile, and tried to act casual about the whole thing. It wasn’t easy. “Can’t today, Cole. I have work to do,” he mumbled. He saw Cole glance at him again, then frown. Rick could guess the reason why. Cole had his colour back, but Rick had the feeling he was still looking pasty—right down to his lips.

      Rick had a strong feeling about something else. Cole was sure they’d seen a ghost, and any silence on his part was probably disappointment that his lovenest had come with a few rotten eggs. A ghost wasn’t exactly a welcome bedfellow—female or not.

      But, the lady hadn’t touched him. Cole hadn’t had the little pleasure of feeling his flesh probed by those icy hands. She also hadn’t asked Cole for help. Cole might be able to sleep tonight.

      But Rick knew he wouldn’t. Not a chance. Not when he was sure she’d worked for Genetechnic. Not when she’d asked him for help. Not when he was certain, as impossible as it seemed, that the lady was still alive. And that her time was running out.

*

      Cole picked up the phone. “Calloway domicile. Head domiciliac speaking.”

      Jason laughed. “I was wondering if you wanted to stop by tonight. We can watch the game at my place.”

      “Does this mean you’re actually taking a night off?”

      “Sure thing. Simon’s coming, too.”

      “What about Rick?”

      “I was going to ask you the same thing. Where is Rick, anyway?” Jason sounded puzzled. “I’ve been leaving messages for him all week. Simon said he hasn’t talked to him, either.”

      Cole was surprised. “Usually I see Rick on the weekends, but I’ve been kind of busy.”

      “Yeah,” Jace said. “Simon told me about Gena. Is this one serious?”

      “Not likely,” Cole replied, but his mind was still on Rick’s absence. If Cole didn’t go over to Rick’s, Rick usually made a point of stopping by. “It has been a while, hasn’t it?”

      It took Jason a second to realise they were talking about Rick again. “Maybe he’s found himself a ‘Gena’. Hey—you never know—Daphne might’ve turned up on his doorstep.”

      “Daphne only exists inside his computer,” Cole said, a little derisively. “His e-mail girlfriend’s probably fat and fifty. He should go for one he can get his hands on.”

      “Is that what you use?”

      Cole chuckled. “It’s not the part they like best, but it’s a start.” He was silent for a moment, then said abruptly, “I wonder what maggot he’s got in his brain this time.”

      “You know how he gets when he’s working on something—” 

      “Maybe,” Cole said, suddenly worried. “But remember how pissed off I was when Rick didn’t help me move? He didn’t bother to call, so I thought he’d just forgotten.”

      Cole could hear the smile in Jason’s voice. “Typical. Lost in his research, was he?”

      “Probably. But he’s still not picking up his messages. Are you sure that you and Simon haven’t heard from him?”

      “It’s only been a couple of weeks.”

      “Yeah, but it’s not like Rick. I tried his work—oh—over a week ago. He was off on sick leave that day. I never got around to ringing back.” Cole added regretfully, “I thought he was home with the flu. Maybe I should have checked.”

      “Maybe I should pay him a visit.”

      Cole didn’t like the professional tone to Jason’s voice. “No way, Jace. If you show up there, acting all doctor-like, you’ll make him feel like a fool.”

      “Thanks,” Jason replied sarcastically.

      “Think about it, Jace. Rick must have realised by now that I’ve already moved, and that he screwed up.” A new thought occurred to him. “Hell, I bet he doesn’t even know where to find me now. The last thing he knew I was moving into that mausoleum.” The architectural dream had lost its charm after Cole had discovered it was haunted. “Either that, or he’s too embarrassed to show his face. I think it’s about time I go bother him.”

      “Cole?” For the first time, Jason sounded worried. Richard Lockmann was his friend, too, and he had the feeling something was wrong.

      Cole put the phone back to his ear. “Speaking.”

      Jason felt a little foolish. “Let me know if he’s okay.”

      “Sure thing.” Cole slammed down the phone and loped out of the house. 

Chapter Two 
 

      _Cole stood for a moment in the doorway. He couldn’t believe his eyes.

      The place was a wreck, and for a moment he thought the worst: that someone had ransacked Rick’s house, and Rick along with it. Then, he spied a kind of order within the disorder. Books stacked, papers spread—not flung. “Rick?” he called out hesitantly.

      “Here,” Rick mumbled.

      It took Cole a moment to segregate Rick from the piles of junk around him, but when he finally did, his startled whistle was enough to alert Rick.

      You knew this wasn’t going to be easy, Rick told himself. You must be looking guilty as hell.

      But, Cole hadn’t even noticed the guilty look. He was too stunned by the change in Rick’s appearance. “Rick?” he repeated uncertainly.

      “Nice of you to visit, Cole. Now, go away. I’m busy,” Rick answered, opting for avoidance, rather than confrontation. He began to shuffle through some of the books on the sofa, and was quickly side-tracked into looking for a specific passage. If only I could sleep, he thought for the hundredth time. My brain would be a helluva lot clearer.

      Cole wasn’t sure what to do. Rick looked like hell: unshaven, haggard, exhausted. The dark circles under his eyes made his face look gaunt. Cole began to wish Jason had  come along.

      “Didn’t you pick up your messages?” Cole asked, frustrated, trying to hide his concern. I should’ve come by sooner—When Rick hadn’t come to help him move. When Rick didn’t return his calls. When Rick’s office said he was home sick—

      It had only been two weeks.

      Okay—three. But, Rick might have been busy. Cole looked at the room. Correction—he was busy. And I was too busy with Gena to realise how much time had gone by. Gena lived in the house next door. Cole’s affair with his new neighbour had been short, sweet, and time-consuming.

      Cole shrugged away the twinges of guilt and went right to the point. “What’s wrong with you, anyway?”

      “Nothing—” Rick began.

      But, by this time, Cole was already picking his way through the stacks of books, looking at the titles. “What is this shit? ‘Metaphysical Encounters’?” He picked up another one. “’The Conscious vs. the Unconscious Mind’?” He glanced over at his friend, who was still refusing to look at him. “Trying to find out if fungus have an afterlife?” he joked. At his own words, Cole paled. Rick wasn’t still thinking about that “close encounter”, was he?

      Rick didn’t even seem to hear him. Cole picked up a plate, that was piled high with cigarette butts. “And what the hell is this?” he asked incredulously. “You don’t smoke!”

      “Didn’t,” Rick corrected.

      At least he’s listening now. Cole took a look at the stubborn expression on Rick’s face, and decided to opt for a more subtle approach. He walked over to a chair, and tipped out its load of paper. Rick didn’t even flinch at his spilled research. Cole plopped down, stretched out his legs, and leaned back—striving for a relaxed pose.

      “Rick—you don’t need to worry. If you’ve listened to any of my messages, you know I didn’t rent that place.” Cole’s sigh of relief was gusty, as he admitted, “Believe it or not, they gave me my money back.” He chuckled. “Some fool came in and offered twice what they were asking. Being Genetechnic, they took it.”

      Rick had been avoiding Cole’s eyes—afraid that his friend, who knew him so well, would be shocked by the haunted look in his own. It scared me, the last time I looked in the mirror. Rick had flung a shirt over the mirror in the lounge—uncomfortable with his own fear. Now, he looked at Cole, knowing that he had to tell him the truth—or Cole might never forgive him. Cole’s last words had given him the opening he needed. All he had to do was take it.

      “Cole—”

      Cole glanced at him quickly, glad that Rick was finally going to talk to him. Maybe I can find out what’s bugging him—

      Rick’s small smile was as grim as the look in his eyes. His words were hesitant, uneasy. “Twice and a half.”

      Cole was startled. “What—?”

      “The fool offered two-and-a-half times what they were asking.”

      “How the hell do you know that?”

      “Because that fool you were talking about?” Cole nodded, and Rick could tell from his expression that he was already guessing the rest of it. “That fool was me.”

*

      Sacchara sat in Vizar’s office. He stubbed out yet another half-burnt cigarette. As a way of cutting down, it wasn’t all that successful, but this wasn’t exactly the time in his life for Sacchara to break a bad habit. He figured his bad habits were all that was holding him together.

      “I tell you,” he repeated insistently, “I’ve seen her.”

      “That’s impossible.” Daniel Vizar’s voice was husky. He wasn’t about to let Sacchara know it all, either—the “all” being that no less than five of his employees had been up here to report Caro’s presence. That Caro had popped in to visit him—or threaten him, depending on how you looked at it.

      It was easier with the others. All of them more or less believed Caroline Denaro was away on sabbatical. Her presence had been explained by variations on a theme: late departure, surprise visit, and anything else he could think of. What he couldn’t explain away had been why Denaro had chosen to visit in her birthday suit.

      Let them think she’s flipped. And the sabbatical is actually extended leave. It could actually work in their favour, when she eventually died. Or if we need to terminate her.

      Vizar decided to change the subject. “I’m still looking for a replacement.”

      “Hell! It’s been nearly a month, Daniel! How long are we going to let this go on?”

      “As long as it takes. I can’t afford to use anybody from inside the facility. It has to be someone who didn’t know her—and wouldn’t understand any messages that she might have left.”

      At that, Justin glanced at him sharply. “Do you think that’s a problem? How close are you to deciphering her notes?”

      “Deciphering is no longer the problem, Justin. We’ve got them translated, but at least half of her notations are missing.”

      “Smart.”

      “And greedy.” Daniel shook his head. “I knew Caro would give us problems. I just didn’t know how many.”

      “What do you think her chances are?”

      “Of recovery?” Vizar frowned. “Nil. We can’t afford to let her replacement know just how sensitive the situation is.”

      “In other words, you don’t intend to try to bring her back, do you?”

      “I don’t know how the hell we can. I just want to make sure that whatever happened to her will at least prove to be a learning experience.”

      “In that case, you damn well better keep her alive. We can learn a lot more from continued observation and testing, than we can from dissection.”

*

      Rick had been expecting Cole to stomp around, giving his “How the hell could you?!” tirade. It bothered him that Cole didn’t react the way he’d expected, and his tired brain couldn’t puzzle out the reason why.

      Instead, Cole quickly looked away, stood up, and began to pace back and forth. Rick didn’t know what to say. When Cole was agitated, he usually moved randomly; seeming to fill up the space around him with his unpredictable, hit-or-miss, movements. Never in this orderly, almost abrupt, manner. It made Rick wonder if maybe Cole was even angrier than he thought. He dropped his head briefly into his hands and sighed. Was it worth it? he asked himself. Nothing would be worth losing his best friend’s trust.

      Rick lifted his head to watch Cole’s feet—his eyes staring in zombie-like fashion at the repetitious back-and-forth action of Cole’s running shoes. I’m taking this too seriously, he finally decided, unaware that his thought processes weren’t functioning at their normal level. Of course he’s pacing. Rick looked around at his surroundings. In this mess, there’s no room to do anything else. And, being Cole, he could never just sit still.

      Cole turned in time to see Rick’s head drop into his hands once more. Rick had rented that place! It just didn’t make sense. He paused long enough to pick up one of the books on metaphysics. Or, maybe it does—

      “When was the last time you ate?” Cole asked abruptly.

      Rick was startled out of whatever reverie he’d fallen into. He turned vacant eyes on Cole. “Huh?”

      “Let’s go—”

      “Where?”

      “Not to play basketball—that’s for sure,” Cole muttered. He grabbed Rick’s arm, yanking him up roughly off the sofa.

      Rick gave a token objection, but Cole ignored him. Rick had always been on the lean side, but it had been balanced by a firm set of muscles. Now, he was so lean he was bordering on bony. The thought of leukaemia, or some other wasting disease, crossed Cole’s mind. “Have you been to a doctor?” he asked tersely.

      “Doctor? I’m not sick,” he argued.

      “That’s not what your office said,” Cole countered. Rick’s mouth snapped shut, and his gaze finally focused, becoming mutinous.

      “That was an excuse—”

      “Have you looked at yourself?” Cole glanced over at the mirror, and saw Rick’s shirt slung across it. “I can see you have. Let’s go,” he repeated.

      “Where?” Rick said. He gestured at the stacks of books littering the floor. “I have work to do—”

      “Like hell,” Cole said grimly, giving Rick a shove toward the door. “We’re going to my place—my new place, that you were supposed to help me move into—”

      Rick’s eyes widened. “I forgot, Cole—” His expression was genuinely apologetic.

      “I can see that,” Cole said calmly, and Rick was confused by the determined evenness of Cole’s tone. Either he’s planning to kill me, or I must look worse than I thought. When Cole put a hand in the middle of his back, propelling him toward the door, he decided it must be the latter. Cole muttered, “I should’ve known, when you didn’t turn up, that something was wrong.”

      This is ridiculous. “Nothing’s wrong!” Rick argued, in one last, angry burst of adrenaline. He side-stepped Cole, then turned to face him. “Get your hands off me.” Rick’s hands were clenched into fists. Some part of his brain told him he was being unreasonable, but the rest of his brain didn’t want to listen. Cole had no right to come in here and interrupt his research. It was too important.

      But, so is Cole’s friendship, his brain argued back. Rick strove for a calmness that would match the determined look on Cole’s face. The best he could do was a feeble, would-be explanation. “God damn it, Cole! I can’t leave. I have things to do—” Anger bested him once more when he realised Cole was intent on ignoring his arguments. Rick gave Cole a shove. “Get out!“

      Cole just stood there silently, watching him. Almost as if he were waiting. Waiting for what?

      Rick didn’t know what that last blast of anger had cost him. A vibrating column of black dots invaded his vision, and tried to fill it up. At first, still angry, he refused to yield. He staggered, and put out a hand to the wall for balance. Only it wasn’t the wall that gripped him and held him up.

      He shook his head, confused now. The vibrating dots had invaded his ears, and were buzzing there, filling his head with shifting blackness.

      For just a moment, he held on—fighting for consciousness, and trying to control what was happening to him. He shook his head to clear it, and the gesture finished him. The last thing he remembered was the startling recognition that he was upside down, and then someone was lowering him into a car. The next sounds he heard were the roar of an engine and the squealing of tyres. It’s got to be Cole, he thought. But, why’s Cole driving in my lounge? “Cole?” he mumbled, confused.

      Cole’s voice sounded strained. “I’m here, Rick.”

      Rick had a flash of memory. “Sorry, Co—” he started to say, as he was struggling to sit up. The blackness came back with a vengeance, almost like it’d been waiting for him. Rick didn’t remember anything else.

*

      Sacchara decided to change the subject. The idea of an autopsy, or a dissection, didn’t equate well with his memories of Caroline Denaro. “Dr. Solomon tried to give me his resignation again.”

      Vizar gave a grim smile. “What did he think this was—a house call?”

      Sacchara chuckled. “Maybe he thought he could just write out a prescription.”

      Vizar thought about that for a moment, then leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head. “Wouldn’t it be great, Justin, if that were true?”

      Sacchara looked at him with surprise, then something akin to horror. “You’re referring to a cure—I hope.”

      Daniel looked at his expression and laughed aloud. “What did you think I meant?” he asked. A little more seriously he added, “Though, you have to admit, a few of our customers might prefer otherwise.”

*

      Cole went over and checked Rick for the tenth time. It seemed to be taking forever for Jason to get here.

      Should I have taken him to the hospital? Cole wondered. He put a hand briefly on Rick’s forehead. Maybe he had meningitis or something.

      “Get your hand off my face—” Rick murmured. His eyes opened a slit. “What the hell happened?” He started to sit up.

      Cole watched Rick’s eyes begin to lose focus and he hurriedly shoved him back down against the cushions. “Wait—”

      Rick laid an arm across his eyes. He felt like hell. Everything he owned ached—from the top of his head to the tips of his toenails. He hoped Cole couldn’t see how much his hand was shaking.

      Cole could, and he moved to the microwave. He pulled out the hot dog that he’d put in a few minutes before. It’ll do for a start, he thought. He shoved the bread-wrapped dog into Rick’s hand. “Eat,” he commanded.

      Rick took several ravenous bites before Cole snatched the hot dog away.

      “What’d you do that for?” Rick asked, still chewing. “Give it back—”

      “Uh-uh. When you haven’t eaten for a while, you have to take it slow—”

      “You don’t even take it slow after you’ve already eaten—” Rick argued. When Cole didn’t respond, Rick sank back against the pillows and closed his eyes.

      “Rick?” Cole asked in concern.

      Rick opened one eye, and quickly snatched the hot dog out of Cole’s hand. He shoved another bite into his mouth.

      Cole decided it was time for some explanations. “How’d you get so much time off work? Won’t you need a doctor’s certificate to go back?”

      Rick chewed while he talked. “Got one,” he admitted. Cole didn’t say anything. He was waiting for Rick to finish. “Anything more to eat?” Rick asked hopefully.

      “Heaps. After you tell me what’s wrong with you.”

      “Well—I’ve had a cold. Sort of a flu-cold, actually.”

      “A flu-cold?” Cole wasn’t buying it. “How bad a cold?”

      “Pneumonia-bad.”

      “Pneumonia?”

      “Just a slight case.” Rick coughed lightly, not letting it get to his lungs. “See?”

      “You must’ve needed help. Why didn’t you call me?” Cole was genuinely upset. “You could’ve stayed here while I was at work.” All Rick’s family lived at the other end of the country.

      “Did you forget that your ‘here’ was ‘there’? You were moving, remember?”

      “Bullshit.” Cole was angry now. “Are you better?”

      “Sure—”

      “Well, you look like hell. What does the doctor say?”

      “She put me on antibiotics. No big deal.”

      “When do you go back?”

      Rick shifted uncomfortably. “Just mind your own business, Cole.”

      Cole nodded. “That’s what I thought. You forgot, right? Or were you just too sick to get there, and decided to get better on your own?” He went over to the cupboard, grabbed out a bag of potato chips, then changed his mind and grabbed cheese crackers instead. Healthier, he decided. He shoved the box under Rick’s nose. “Eat. Then you’re going back to the doctor. But Jason’s going to take a look at you first.”

      Rick pushed the box away. “No, thanks,” he said firmly, and Cole didn’t know whether he was refusing the food, or his friends’ help. Rick added, “One of the reasons we stay friends is because we don’t stick our noses into each others’ business.”

      Cole put the crackers on Rick’s chest. Reading between the lines, he said, “You don’t have any money, right? What about your great insurance coverage?”

      “What are you—a mind reader?” Rick asked grouchily. But, he admitted, “It’s pay now, reimburse later.” Rick shoved the box of crackers back into Cole’s hand. “Keep your damn crackers,” he grumbled, and turned on his side. “Wake me up when you’re ready to talk sense.”

      But it wasn’t Cole who rolled him over on to his back, and put a stethoscope against his chest. “When did you get here?” Rick mumbled. “I already have a doctor.”

      “Who?” Jason asked, shooting a worried look at Cole.

      “Peasman—or Peasdale. Something like that.”

      “We’re going to pay her a visit,” Jason said. “Let’s go.”

      “Damn it, Jace!” Rick told him grumpily, “I don’t even have an appointment. I’ll see her tomorrow.”

      Cole saw the concern in Jason’s eyes. “No way, Rick,” Cole said. “Even if I have to carry you out of here, you’re going. Up.”

      Rick sighed, admitting defeat. He hated the idea of imposing on his friends, and he felt like a fool being sick in front of Jason. The only thing that irritated him more was the idea of borrowing money from Cole, but he was feeling so rotten he couldn’t even think. And I can’t afford to lose any more time.

      Cole gave him a hand up. Rick staggered and almost fell, but Jason was already on his other side, supporting him. Cole pulled Rick’s arm over his shoulder and half-carried him outside. Rick’s cheeks were flushed now, but Cole knew it wasn’t with good health. He could feel the heat emanating through the other man’s shirt. “I still can’t understand why the hell you didn’t call me,” Cole said. “Or Jason,” he amended, when he caught Jace’s look.

      Rick didn’t even hear the last. He needed to explain—to make Cole understand. “Because I’d rented your house,” Rick said.

      Jason looked confused. “I’ll explain later,” Cole told him.

      Rick went on as though Cole hadn’t spoken. “I needed to do it, Cole,” he said earnestly, and Cole wondered if his mind was starting to wander, from the fever. “She’s not dead, Cole,” Rick added. “And she needs to be one or the other. I think I can help her—”

      “It’s okay, Rick,” Cole said. His friend’s ramblings were scaring him, and he didn’t know what to say. “It’ll be okay—”

      “No, Cole!” Rick pulled away, with surprising strength. “It won’t be okay. Not until she’s alive again—or dead. It’s in the genes! Don’t you see it?”

      Jason had most of Rick’s weight now, but Rick had forgotten he was there. He was so agitated that Jason mouthed to Cole, “Say something.”

      “You can explain it to me later,” Cole said soothingly. “Right now, there’s no point—”

      Rick shivered, even though the day was hot. “You’re right, Cole,” he said, his teeth beginning to chatter. “There’s no point in both of us going crazy.” Jace caught him before he hit the ground.

*

      Daniel looked up when Justin Sacchara came hurriedly into his office. What now? he thought, momentarily worried that something else might be wrong. No, the man looked better than he had in days—and certainly better than he had the day before, when they’d talked about dissecting Denaro.

      “There’s something here you’ve got to see!” Justin was carrying a rental agreement, and he plopped it down on Vizar’s desk. “Look who’s rented Denaro’s house. Not only insisted on it, but has already moved in.”

      “Dr. Richard Lockmann.” Vizar looked momentarily confused. “So?”

      “Look at his occupation!”

      “Plant pathologist.” Vizar frowned. He pushed his chair away from the desk, leaned back, and read through Lockmann’s application. “It’s too much of a coincidence. Do you think our Dr. Lockmann might be looking for employment? If so, he’s certainly taken an innovative approach.” He handed the papers back to Sacchara. “See what you can find out. He’d need to have a shitload of molecular biology, and a strong grounding in genetics, to pick up where Denaro left off.” As Sacchara turned to go, Vizar called him back. “One more thing, Justin. If you can, discover whether this Dr. Lockmann ever met Caroline Denaro.”

*

      Jason’s voice, on Cole’s answering machine, was unmistakably angry. “Where the hell is Rick, Cole? The damn fool’s left the hospital!”

      Cole came in just in time to hear the last. He picked up the phone. “What did you say?” he asked, incredulous.

      “Rick’s left the hospital. Simon went to visit him, but apparently he’d just left. What the hell’s wrong with him, anyway?”

      “You heard him. He has some fixation about that house. If I get him back to the hospital, can you dope him up so he doesn’t leave again?”

      Jason sighed. It was obvious he was fighting an inner battle against what he wanted to do for a friend versus the limitations of his position. “I’m not his doctor, Cole,” he said. “And Rick wasn’t delirious when he left—”

      “He wasn’t in his right mind, either—” Cole argued.

      “Tell me about it,” Jason said. He thought about it for a moment. “If you or Simon can find him, try to talk some sense into him. If you can’t, ring me. I’ll see what I can do.”

*

      Rick groaned when he heard the roar of Cole’s racing engine. It didn’t take the unmistakable thunder of Cole’s footsteps in the hall for Rick to realise just how angry his friend was. He attempted to defuse the situation. “Hey, Cole!” he called out.

      “Hey, yourself,” Cole grumbled, as he came into the room. “What are you doing here?”

      “Recovering, in the comfort of my own home.” It sounded prim, even to his own ears.

      “Jason rang me,” Cole said grumpily. “He’s mad as hell. So’s Simon. He’s looking for you right now, over at the mausoleum.”

      Rick didn’t bother to ask. “Mausoleum” was an all-too-appropriate term for the other house he’d rented.

      “Simon’s right here.” Simon’s cool voice preceded him. He came into the lounge, and leaned nonchalantly against the door jamb. “Well, you look a helluva lot better than you did last night.”

      Rick didn’t say anything. He’d been unconscious the night before.

      Simon took an appraising look at the room. “If I were you, Rick, I’d definitely choose the hospital. Their interior decorating sure beats what you’ve done with this place.”

      “I came home because I have work to do,” Rick told them seriously.

      Cole began to pace. Simon warily watched the stacks of books, and shook his head. This was the wrong place for Cole to take out his frustrations.

      “What can you possibly have to do that’s so damned important?” Cole fumed. “You’re acting like a lunatic.”

      “Just because you don’t see it the way I do—”

      “Nobody sees it the way you do, Rick,” Simon interrupted.

      “This is the way I see it, Rick,” Cole said angrily. “Simon stopped by to visit you, only to be told that you’d left.”

      “‘On his own recognisance’.” Simon repeated the words the nurse had said.

      “In other words, against medical advice.” Cole was livid. “What’s your problem, anyway?”

      “No problem.” Rick picked up the bottle of pills off the table. “I’m covered.”

      “Dammit, Rick—” Cole started to say. “Look, I don’t know what game you’re playing, but I don’t want any part of it. If you’re going to act like an ass, you can do it alone.”

      Simon crossed his arms. “You won’t be able to do anything for anybody if you’re dead,” he said bluntly.

      Rick was silent.

      Cole noticed that the haunted look was still in his friend’s eyes, but he refused to let it sway him. There was no way he was going to let Rick kill himself out of stupidity.

      It still rankled that Rick hadn’t explained why he’d rented the house Cole had coveted. In fact, when Cole had visited him this morning, he wouldn’t explain any of what was bothering him, saying only that he’d talk about it when they were in a less public place than the four-bed hospital ward. Well, it was less public now. But Rick was still so sick Cole was reluctant to push him.

      He shook his head, refusing to let Rick’s weakness sway him. Rick obviously needed a boot in the butt, if that’s what it took to get some sense back into his head. Cole admitted it: if it had been Simon who’d rented the mausoleum behind his back, he would have understood, because that was the way Simon’s mind worked. But Rick—Cole couldn’t believe it—Rick and he had always been open with each other.

*

      Simon was at a loss to explain Rick’s behaviour. When he’d first heard what Rick had done—renting the house Cole had wanted—he’d been secretly amused by the previously unsuspected deviousness of Rick’s mind. But, when he’d thought it over, he’d quickly realised how out of character Rick’s actions had been. Rick had risked Cole’s friendship: something that Simon was sure meant more to him than any mere possession. No, there was something really wrong here, and it bothered him. Rick, along with Cole and Jace, had always been there for him, even when his sometimes irreverent attitude had irritated the hell out of them. No, something was eating at Rick—something serious. Simon couldn’t help but be concerned by the change in Rick over the last few weeks.

*

      Rick knew what they wanted, but was having trouble forming the words. How to spill your guts in one sentence or less, he thought. How to tell the truth without sounding like you’re still delirious—or worse.

      Especially not in front of Simon. Simon hadn’t been there. Simon didn’t have any idea what it had been like—

*

      Rick shifted uncomfortably, torn between gratitude that they’d come by to check on him, and embarrassment at all the attention. The strain was beginning to wear on him, though, and after a few minutes, he began to wish they’d just leave.

      Simon noticed, and decided Cole could probably handle this better alone. Cole knew Rick better than any of them. Simon glanced at his watch. “I have to go,” he said tactfully. “Give me a call later, Cole? Bye, Rick.”

      “Yeah. Sure,” Cole muttered.

      Rick nodded. “Bye, Simon. Thanks.”

      After Simon had left, Cole plopped down in the chair he’d occupied the day before, and idly booted some of Rick’s papers out of the way, hoping to stir some kind of reaction. “Rick—” he began, but it wasn’t any easier for him to talk about his concerns than it was for Rick. “This is all bullshit, you know,” he said, then realised that wasn’t exactly the best way to get Rick to talk about what was bothering him.

      Now that they were alone, Rick knew he should level with Cole. But, Cole’s vitality was at such odds with what Rick had to say, that he couldn’t think how to begin. The episodes of fever and weakness had confused what had once seemed alarmingly clear. He didn’t know if he could untangle his theories from what he thought were the facts.

      Rick was pretty certain Cole wouldn’t believe him, either. He had a dim memory of his rantings the day before. Anything he could say now would only add to Cole’s incredulity.

      Cole stood up abruptly. “Are you coming with me or not?”

      “Not,” Rick said quietly. “Sorry, Cole.”

      Cole fidgeted for a minute, uncertain what to do. Short of forcing Rick to come with him again, there wasn’t much he could do. He had the uncomfortable feeling that dragging Rick back to the hospital would be a fiasco. Rick, in his present state of mind, would only turn around at the first opportunity to come back here. It was obvious to Cole that Rick’s mindset was what needed changing. He had to be made to see that his goddamned work wasn’t worth the risk. Cole just didn’t know where to begin. He needed time to think about it; maybe to talk it over with Jace.

      It was Rick’s continued silence that finally decided him. He and Rick had always been able to talk, even if it had only been joking around. The silence unnerved him. He went over and picked up the phone, making a big point of listening to the dial tone. “Oh,” he said grimly, “it does work!”

      Rick smile was strained. “I’ll talk to you later.”

      “Yeah. Sure,” Cole muttered, much as he had to Simon. He waited for a moment more, hoping that Rick would say something—anything—to break the silence.

      He didn’t. After a final disgruntled thump on a stack of books, Cole decided to go. “See you, Rick,” he said. He turned around and stomped out of the room.

      Rick slouched back on the couch, sighed, and buried his face in his hands. 

Chapter Three 
 

      _Vizar had been at the glass for an hour, staring at what remained of Caroline Denaro and wondering just what he could do to defuse this situation. There was no question now about the nature of her accident, and someone would have to shoulder the blame. The female form lying so quietly in the next room was no longer specifically human, to the extent that “specific” referred to Homo sapiens. She looked to be another species altogether.

      He’d handled it wrong, but he could have handled it worse. There was a policy for incidents like this, but he’d almost overlooked it, to send Denaro to the local hospital. No one had recognised the nature of her illness, until she’d begun to manifest an alarming set of symptoms, that no medical texts would have been able to explain away.

      What had Caro put into her little genetic cocktail? They’d run gels and blot tests on her tissues, and come up with an alarming number of plant proteins. Daniel didn’t understand how she’d been able to mesh them so well with her normal complement of proteins and enzymes, or how she’d avoided a resistance reaction. According to Tom Denning, signal transduction should have been stopped at the cell membrane. The normal conduction—of substances across the plasmalemma—shouldn’t have been able to function.

      Denning had no idea, of course, that they were talking about Caroline Denaro. But, Denning had scoffed at the concept of incorporating large quantities of plant DNA into animal tissues. “It always results in resistance,” he’d said. “The plant guys use that resistance to selectively stimulate antigen production in rats and rabbits. Then they use the antigens to test for the original pathogen.”

      Denning was wrong. Not only had foreign transcripts made it across Denaro’s cellular membranes, but they’d managed to do their damage without any resistance from her immune system. And the process had functioned well enough to keep her body from shutting down completely, while it underwent massive changes. While she mutated.

*

      Aaron Solomon watched until Daniel Vizar’s face was no longer lingering in the glass, then walked into Denaro’s room. He had no desire for communication with his employer. To his way of thinking, the daily notations he submitted were all the contact necessary in this situation. The less said, the better.

      He was worried he might inadvertently reveal his aversion to both the man and his company. The anonymity of the protective gear he was forced to don every time he went into the room was usually enough to conceal his misgivings, but for the last two weeks—since Denaro had mutated beyond all recognition—he’d studiously avoided any face-to-face confrontations. It was too difficult to hide what he knew, or at least suspected, about how Caroline Denaro had arrived at this state.

      How the hell did I get stuck with this? he wondered, for the hundredth time. The last thing he’d wanted, when they contacted him, was to be caught in some weird genetic mess.

      “I’m an oncologist,” he said aloud, but he didn’t know if he was saying it more for his own reassurance, or to dispel any spectres that might be lurking in the room. Of late he’d wished he were double-qualified in the metaphysical as well as the medical. Though, he thought, looking again at the weird texture of his patient’s skin, neither degree’s worth shit in this case.

      He’d seen Caroline’s spectre not once, but many times, over the past month. Even though she no longer looked the same as her extant image, the memory of the lady, as he’d first seen her, was still with him. Enough, anyway, to feel pretty confident with his ID of her restless spirit.

      All I want is out.

      It was obvious there was nothing he could do—nothing anyone could do. In his opinion, Caroline Denaro’s condition was terminal. The creature lying on the bed went far beyond his expertise. Even the rate of her cell growth was out of sync with what he knew of cancer cells.

      Vizar’s insistence—that he stay on—had begun to terrify him. Vizar might be doing it for appearance’s sake, so that he could offer proof regarding their management of what was obviously a serious mistake. But, Solomon was no fool. He had a good idea what Genetechnic was about. According to rumour, it was only surprising that “mistakes” like this one occurred so infrequently.

      In his mind, they should be closed down. Activity that could spontaneously alter the human form so completely must be subversive—an obvious hazard to other living things.

*

      For the second time that day, Cole heard Jason’s voice as he walked into his house. Jason sounded tired. “This is Jason, Cole. Simon rang me about—”

      “—that damned fool who’s determined to kill himself?” Cole interrupted Jason’s monologue.

      Cole could hear the smile in Jason’s voice. “Something like that. You didn’t have any luck, either?”

      “No. He’s huddled back in his stacks of books. Did Simon tell you about that?”

      “Yeah. He said Rick’s house had changed about as much as he had. Stacks of books and papers everywhere.”

      “And Rick’s taken up smoking. He’ll probably burn—”

      But Jason was thinking about Rick smoking. “Smoking? With pneumonia?” he asked incredulously. “What the hell’s he thinking of?”

      “Too much. Nothing he’ll talk about.”

      Jason was silent for a minute, then asked Cole, “That stuff he was saying last night—do you know what he meant?” Jason had just remembered Cole’s promise to explain it to him later.

      “Some of it. But it’s a weird story.” Cole fiddled with the phone, mistakenly pushing one of the buttons as he tried to decide where to start. He suddenly understood a little better why Rick might be having trouble talking about all this.

      “Quit hitting the buttons. You’re hurting my ears.”

      “Sorry. Look, Jace, why don’t you come over here?”

      “Okay. Simon was going to stop by, so I’ll just drag him along. Are you feeding us?” Jason was always looking for a free meal. He was still paying back his loans for med school.

      “Only if you want to be on the sick list with Rick,” Cole replied. “Of course, I’ll feed you, you dumbass.”

      “In that case, I’ll be there in ten minutes—as soon as I let Simon know.” Jace chuckled. “He can find his own way to your table.”

      “Glutton.”

      “Damn right. See you soon.” Jason put down the phone.

*

      Drenal Morris scanned the pink sheet, then sighed. She was behind already, and now this one was going to take a while. There was a sample of the guy’s blood-tinged sputum, but Peasdale had also sent down a scraping from the oesophageal wall.

      Morris looked at the list: Peasdale wanted her to test for everything from Pneumosystis to Aspergillus. Apparently, the good doctor was clueless. She needed to know if it was protozoans, fungi, or bacteria making a mess of her patient’s lungs. Morris wondered if Peasdale had any idea how long these tests took, or how much they cost.

      If it was either a protozoan or a fungus, it should be easy to see under a microscope. Drenal was no expert with either, but she figured she’d at least be able to ID one enough to tell if that’s was she was working with. She prepared a couple of slides—one from the sputum, and one from oesophageal tissue—and slid one under the lens. She couldn’t see anything as distinct as a protozoan or a fungus in the sputum, but there was a lot of bacterial growth. She smiled. That simplified things. Unless the bacteria were secondary to a viral infection, it should be fairly straightforward to plate out the bacteria and discover what it was.

      Almost as a second thought, she took a look at the slide made from oesophageal tissue. She stared at it for a long time, moving the slide to peer into different cells, and seeing the same pattern repeated over and over. Quickly, with shaking hands, she prepared another slide—hopeful that the intracellular crystals she’d seen had been artefacts of her slide preparation.

      The crystals were still there. They were unlike anything she’d ever seen before, and she wondered if it meant the patient had inhaled some kind of foreign substance.

      This was beyond her expertise. She tagged the samples and boxed them up—to be sent to the University laboratory via courier in the morning.

*

      “It was weird, all right,” Cole told Jason over his second beer. “The ghost lady seemed to home in on Rick—”

      Simon had been silent for a long time. Now he asked, “What about Rick? Why didn’t he run away?”

      “Couldn’t,” Cole said grimly, gesturing with his bottle. “She had him backed into a corner. There wasn’t anywhere he could go.”

      “What did you do?”

      Cole looked slightly embarrassed. “After I saw that Rick was stuck, I tried to grab her.” He grinned as he remembered. Then he sobered, as he recalled why it had seemed so urgent. “She was reaching out to touch him, and all these thoughts about possession and zombies started running through my head.”

      “What happened then?” Simon still couldn’t quite see the connection between the ghost lady and Rick’s weird behaviour today.

      “When I got back off the ground, Rick was real quiet,” Cole said, remembering how pale the other man had been.

      “Was he okay?” Jason wondered if maybe the experience had been enough to trigger some kind of breakdown.

      “No,” Cole said. “He wasn’t. He was down on his knees, like he couldn’t stand up.” Cole frowned. “He had one hand on his chest. I thought he was having a heart attack or something.” He looked at Jace. “I almost brought him over to see you then, but he refused.”

      “I wish you had,” Jason said.

      “Anyway,” Cole went on, “I didn’t see him after that. Not until yesterday, and we all know about that.” He added remorsefully, “I just always figured he’d ring me, if something was bothering him.”

      “What are we going to do about him now?” Simon asked. “It’s obvious he can’t stay there by himself.”

      “Maybe I can convince him to stay here,” Cole said.

      Jason grinned. “How are you going to ‘convince’ him? By slinging him over your shoulder and dumping him in your car again?”

      “Better than dragging him out feet-first,” Simon remarked. “I’ll help you do the ‘convincing’ if you want.”

      Cole relaxed for the first time in hours. “I think I’ll let him feel guilty for a while. Then, if a few hours, when he’s sleepy—”

      Simon interrupted, “—and suitably remorseful?”

      Cole grinned. “—and suitably remorseful, I’ll go get him and drag his ass back here.” He turned to Jason. “Will you come see him in the morning?”

      “Yeah. I’ll stop by before I go on duty. If you’ve managed to convince him to go back to the hospital, I’ll deliver him.” 

*

      Cole wasn’t able to sleep. It was while he was lying there, trying to get a few hours’ rest before wresting Rick away from his work, that he remembered their last basketball game. It’s only been a few weeks. It was just that, in terms of their friendship, it seemed like years had gone by—years in which they hadn’t seen each other.

      He thought about how sick Rick had been. So sick, in fact, that Jason hadn’t bothered with Rick’s own doctor, but had taken him straight to the hospital. Rick should still be there.

      The last thing Cole wanted to believe was that Rick had suffered a mental breakdown. Could there be another reason? Cole wondered. Like money?

      Cole knew that was part of it. Rick’s insurance only covered a portion of his hospitalisation, and he didn’t want to build up a big bill. And he’d already made it clear he didn’t want to rely on his friends. Cole tried to imagine what other things could be affecting Rick—putting him under such pressure. He hated to believe that Rick had gone off his rocker over the sight of some ghost.

      The Richard Lockmann he knew would be more likely to analyse how such an event was possible. Cole recalled some of the titles on the stacked-up books in Rick’s rooms, and smiled grimly. That was Rick, all right. Needing to figure out what made his ghost lady tick.

      That thought led to another, as Cole recalled another facet of Rick’s character: his friend was as patient as the devil when it came to one of his precious plants, or—Cole smiled—the foibles of his friends, but he had no patience whatsoever with people who played that game of neglecting themselves, only to get attention. Rick’d had a girlfriend like that once, and he’d hated it when she tried to play him for sympathy. No, Rick wasn’t doing this to focus their eyes on him. It was just that his own eyes were so focused on something else