Buy the print book
Buy the ebook - read it now!
Blurb
BOOK THREE OF THE LIGHT PLAY TRILOGY
In Lightning Play (book three), Rick realises that, whatever his genetic potential for feeding the world, it won’t matter if there’s no one left to feed. The virus (WTV) is aggressive, and may well be unstoppable. Rick knows he needs to act soon to avoid becoming - quite literally - the last man on Earth.
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?"
Buy the print book
Buy the ebook - read it now!
"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 def