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Part 1
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
Part 8
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Part 2
Mason
Safely behind steel doors, I felt free to hold nothing back. Even the brisk stroll around the outer perimeter of Genomex had not calmed my nerves. I leaned against the interior door, closed my eyes, and groaned.
“Oh Dear God!”
“The Turnip impressed you?”
Rebecca did have a way with words. I followed her to the sofa. She wrapped herself in a blanket kept folded on the arm, and sat down at one end. She keyed in Walton’s Variation on a Theme of Hindemith, convoluted music at the end of a convoluted evening. I stretch out the length of the sofa, head in her lap. I removed my glasses and rubbed my eyes.
“Turnip. I like that. He must go through a lot of shoes. Did you notice the way he drags his feet? Why doesn’t he pick up his feet?”
“Because he doesn’t care about much besides toads. He’s never had to be in a hurry to do anything. He can take his time. He thinks life will wait for him. So far, it has.”
“What is Catherine thinking? You were a girl once.”
Rebecca tilted her head, and narrowed her eyes. “Careful.” She was being playful, but she wasn’t pleased. It wouldn’t have bothered me had someone said, ‘You were a boy once…’ but the matter did not merit exploration.
“You know what I meant. The turnip…”
“I thought about that all through dinner, and I think I know. You will not like it.”
“Please. Share your insights. I am vexed and perplexed.”
“Mentally subtract the shuffling feet, toss in greater intelligence, keep in mind the fervent beliefs, however misguided, the rampant ego, and who do you have as an undergraduate?”
“Adam.”
“Correct. Imagine Adam at Stanford, nearly ten years younger than most classmates, and not letting any of them forget it for a moment. Stir in that special spicy blend of sanctimonious arrogance, and you’ve got the young Adam.”
“Why Adam?”
“She grew up wanting Adam to be her father. Everything she heard about him, she used to construct an ideal. What she thinks of Adam now does not matter. The ideal she built in her mind remained lodged there.”
Rebecca was right.
“Do you think this could be worse than having Mulwray as a son-in-law?”
“I think it’s about even. With Patrick, you have to listen to concerns about the emotional well-being of poultry. With Mulwray, you’d always wonder if your Christmas present was hot.”
“True. When you took your DVD player in for service, the serial number would betray its origins in the Midnight Market. What am I going to do, Rebecca?”
“To begin with, back off a bit with the sarcasm. For one thing, it’s completely wasted on Patrick. He just doesn’t get it. It’s not that he’s stupid, he just cannot imagine anyone poking fun at him. He’s been sheltered and always taken seriously by adults, most of whom were themselves sheltered and removed from the rough and tumble of real life.”
“You are asking a great deal of me.”
Rebecca smiled. “He makes such an irresistible target, as if he had a bull’s eye on his forehead.”
“Saviors of the Beasts…” I lingered over each word.
Rebecca giggled. “He has no idea how silly he sounds. There’s another reason not to undermine him too aggressively. Catherine will feel compelled to defend him if you’re too obvious or thorough. Patrick may not understand your sarcasm, but she does.”
“She will, won’t she?” I should have realized that.
“She will, and you don’t want to drive her towards him. Allow Patrick to twist his own rope and hang himself with it. With any luck, he’ll even build his own gallows.”
Rebecca smiled. What she said made perfect sense.
“Oppressed workers…he sounds like a throwback to the 1960s or 1930s. He probably has a portrait of Chef Guevara in his room. I wonder if he whistles the ‘Internationale’ to himself?”
“Mason, why do well-off families frequently breed leftist loons?”
“It’s complicated. I never understood such people until I read Sowell’s classic Vision of the Anointed. It comes down to thinking well of oneself for believing so many presumably noble, lofty ideas.”
“ ‘I feel badly about the Oppressed and I am Concerned about Obscure Toads, while you, Miserable Insensitive, are not, so I am Vastly Superior.’ These people often live incredible contradictions.”
“I’ve noticed. That’s why they’re so baffling.”
“Saviors of the Beasts…Catherine deserves so much better.”
“Of course she does. I saw you picking at whole food.”
Rebecca did not miss much, even with an entertaining spectacle like Patrick in the same room.
“I’m having problems with real food. Not every day, just more often.”
“Does Dr Prodana know about this?”
“Not yet.”
She said no more. She had no need.
“I hope I can sleep tonight. Care for an expedition down to Tunnel Twelve later? There are still crates and crates of Breedlove’s old equipment to inspect.”
“Only if you cannot sleep. You ought to have that junk dragged up to the surface, and donated to a museum. The rest of it should be broken up, burned, or otherwise destroyed. With no left to prosecute, it would be a good idea to preserve nothing that might give anyone else ideas.”
“Sometimes…seeing the way Breedlove left things tells me something about his intent.”
“Perhaps. But even in the 1960s he knew his work would not bear public scrutiny. That’s why the worst of it was sealed behind concrete several levels down.”
“I wonder sometimes why he did not obliterate all the evidence, especially that involving Ashlocke and the animal work beforehand. He must have hoped the day would dawn when his work would be acceptable.”
“Perhaps he was too arrogant or too proud of his work. Or he hoped to sell it to old friends we think he had in more southerly locales. Mason, can such enclaves really exist or are they the stuff of movies and novels?”
“Breedlove was in regular contact with individuals bearing Germanic names. Remember carbon paper? I found carbon copies of correspondence going back to the 1950s. The content was unremarkable, but I’ve used the technique myself of writing in metaphors and symbols. Breedlove had a lot of secrets. Why would he file personal correspondence among technical papers unless they had some relation?”
“In other words, we don’t know and probably never will know.”
“Exactly.”
Rebecca
Reading the notes, chiefly handwritten, gave them an urgency recapturing every medical complication besetting Mason in 1991 and 1992.
Fresh crises arose daily. His grasp upon life was tenuous; routinely his doctors thought he would die. I found something else in those notes as well: Jackie had been summoned and appeared eight different times when the doctors were convinced Mason was near death.
I had not read of this before. Mason had related only a single visit of Jackie’s. They were divorced by then, but in denial, Mason never updated his personnel records until 1994. The doctors referred to them when looking for next-of-kin.
So, why did Miss Vermont show up eight times? Guilt? Regret? Morbid curiosity?
I looked up at Mason to gauge the tale his face would tell.
He was surprised. “I have no memory of that. It could have happened, but my recollection of those months is confused and disjointed. It’s possible. Maybe she wanted the insurance money and wanted to see if I really was dying.”
“She was that cold?”
“She could be.”
Mason slipped over the edge several times, but he always clawed his way back. I admired this aspect of his character. That fierce will remained apparent. I was not sure what would be required to completely dishearten him. In everything he deemed important, he was dead game and fiercely persistent.
More than three years ago, Jackie had died in an automobile accident on Mason’s birthday.
Michele and Deidre were no longer children, and no longer required the protection of children. When Michele first asked Mason to attend the funeral, flatly told her he would not.
“Jackie abandoned me while I was still alive, and left me for a man who tried to kill me. I’ve never allowed that miserable circumstance to affect my care or concern for you. But do not ask me to feign grief for someone who behaved badly towards me. Ask Grey. He has a handful of memories of those days.”
Michele was so angry and upset she hung up. Deidre then called.
At that point, I became annoyed.
Deidre went on about how devastated they were and how they needed their father to help them take care of things.
“Where’s Peter Winsor? He married her. Why is he so helpless?”
“It’s complicated. His daughter Griselda just moved back in with her new baby and her two sons.”
“Her name is really Griselda?”
“Yes.”
“I’m still not showing up for this funeral Deidre. I will answer questions by phone, but your mother betrayed you, too, when she betrayed my trust. I am not showing up for this.”
Deidre did not hang up, but she wasn’t happy when the conversation ended, either.
“O Dear God.”
“Anything new and different from Deidre?”
“No, the same appeal. They ‘need’ me.”
“And you see no point to being there?”
“Just because Jackie has equilibrated to room temperature, I am supposed to Forgive All, and present a sad face?” he asked.
“I would not do it, in your position. She did a lot of damage, and based upon what I know, she never paid much of a price for her wrongdoing. She may not have become the princess of Genomex, but she did well for herself, by her measures. Stay home, if that is what you want to do.”
Lilith
Adam slept on and on through the morning and into the afternoon. Finally, I lost patience with him and woke him myself. I derived greater pleasure than my face revealed kicking the bed frame, jolting him to wakefulness.
“Life hurries on, Adam. Don’t you think it’s high time you fell out of bed and got something done before the sun goes down?”
“What does that matter down here? There is no sun.” He sounds like a petulant, whining child.
“Ah, but there is a sun out there through an eighth mile of rock. Like it or not, we are part of that world.”
He sat up in bed, sullen eyed. No wonder all of his technicians at Genomex transferred to another position after beginning work for the great Dr Kane with such high hopes. None of them lasted more than fourteen months. The revolving door on Adam’s lab was a great annoyance to Paul. On at least four occasions that I knew about, Paul went and chewed out Adam after a particularly good technician simply quit Genomex rather than work for Adam another hour. Not only was this a hemorrhaging of talent, but a security problem as well. Even Eckhart, who had a knack for knowing everything, knew nothing of these verbal brawls.
I was not Paul. I had no intention of arguing with Adam. I could use his talents, but if the cost became too high, Adam would one day go to sleep in Haven and wake up on a park bench half a continent away the next morning. Evading capture could occupy his overrated intellect should he prove unwilling or too lazy to contribute significantly to my projects. To free Adam from prison, I had become a prisoner myself, and done murder. I would not shelter a useless Adam.
“I’m exhausted. I never did get a good night’s sleep inside the cage.”
“I can believe that. Prison wasted your talents. Nevertheless, we have many things to do.”
He groaned.
I smiled, all too sweetly. “Where is your scientific curiosity? You don’t even know what I’m going to show you.”
Adam swung his feet onto the floor and began pulling on the same pair of socks I had given him to wear on the helicopter.
“By the way, I’m going need a few changes of clothes.”
“Naturally. I’ve ordered clothes for you. The initial delivery should arrive later today.” I did not expect him to wear the same clothing until it fell apart, but I certainly was not going to allow him to wander about public shopping malls. People would remember an arrogant, demanding customer like Adam, and that I could not have.
“How did you know what to order? He asked, vague suspicion in his voice.
“Paul’s notes, of course.” I smiled but I did not mean it.
He trailed behind me, a wrinkled, rumpled Adam.
I should have let you stay that way for a few days. Might even have been fun to watch. I can still have fun. Just because the package is delivered does not compel me to give it to you.
“So, what kind of Genomex mutants are you making, Lili?” His tone was patronizing. He deserved what followed.
I smiled and shook my head. “No kind of mutants at all. As Paul Breedlove finally admitted to me in 2006, the Genomex mutants represent a tragic mistake, painful for the individuals involved and likely disastrous for the whole of humanity.”
“You sound like Mason Eckhart.”
I laughed. “Eckhart is absolutely correct. Such a view is Paul’s own. Adam, you must not allow personal issues to cloud painful realities.”
I had always admired Eckhart’s ability to insist upon conclusions or attitudes absolutely rooted in linear, logical fact. No other factor explained his continuing ability to work with Adam for six years after Adam did his best to kill him. In the reverse circumstance, Adam could not have managed the same. His nature was far too volatile. He could not put work above his memories and emotions, which was one of Adam’s critical flaws.
“So, what are you doing?” His tone was superior, condescending, with no expectation any researches of mine could eclipse those of the great Adam Kane. I wondered briefly how many enemies he must have in the scientific world, beginning with most of the people he knew from graduate school. There must be dozens of guys who cheered inwardly when Adam was sentenced to prison.
“The Genomex mutants represent a tragic error. But this does not mean humanity cannot benefit from genetic tampering.”
“How is this work different from what Paul and I did?”
“Listen carefully.” Adam’s indifferent air infuriated me. Did he honestly think Paul would deliberately create his second android to be inferior to the first? That would have been illogical and unlike Paul. “Unlike you, whom Paul made fully functional in every sense., he designed me without eggs or ovaries. Perhaps he was squeamish about female parts. Perhaps the technical problems of engineering ova reflecting my genotype exceeded his expertise in 1972. In any case, there is no way in which I can naturally be anyone’s mother, not as you could naturally father a child, even though such a child would in truth be Paul Breedlove’s.”
“Is this going somewhere or is it merely a lament for lost motherhood?”
Oh, Adam, you are going to pay for that.
“I have perfected the technique of taking ova from human female fetuses, removing the native mitochondria and replacing it with my own, which is actually Dr Eleanor Singer’s, as you might recall.”
“That seems like a lot of extra work if cloning yourself is your object.”
“Nothing so simple, Adam. Human evolution has not kept pace with human technology. Society requires –demands—elite individuals capable of managing current technology and developing I even further…and further, so that one day we will control and manipulate the energy of stars. Have you read Macho Kaki’s theory of the different levels of civilization?
“Never heard of him. Is he some kind of historian?”
“Theoretical physicist. You should get out more. There’s more to life, and science, than Paul’s brand of tormented genetics.”
“Go on. Lili.”
“I want to give evolution some encouragement. I have perfected the technique for making ova containing my mitochondria, containing my DNA. But they are haploid, and require fertilization by haploid sperm. In that way, every fertilization will be an independent roll of the dice, resulting in variable, but invariably intellectually superior individuals. This is not the Nazi nightmare of ‘the Master Race’, because these children will possess the attributes of most races, except for a few isolated peoples. Paul hired the best people he could recruit from all over the world. He also collected DNA from nearly all of them. My children will take humanity to the next technological stage.”
Adam looked amused, as if listening to a child’s dream of the adult world. “Who’s going to beget these uber-kiddies?”
Here comes reality, Adam. Let’s see how you handle this. “Isn’t it obvious? You are!”
“You brought me here for stud duty?” He looked half-amused. He did not understand, not yet.
“Nothing so primal or earthy. Your duty will be far more…clinical.” I laughed. “You won’t suffer.”
“I don’t want to be used.”
The fun was beginning. Adam looked deeply, profoundly offended, as if someone claimed his degrees were acquired via mail order, a comment made jokingly at Genomex with regularity. Paul knew about that, of course. Paul knew better what was done and said at Genomex than employees gave him credit for knowing.
“Adam, your dignity will remain intact.” I could not resist what followed. “As intact as you are.”
“That is not funny.”
“But it is. Adam, it won’t take long, and it’s just for the initial, umm, crop, to use the term from animal husbandry. I have other candidates in mind. Genetic variety is one of my goals.”
“Who are they?”
Adam sounded offended that anyone else on earth could possibly be as worthy as he was! What a moody, temperamental mess! Even among ordinary men and women, there were individuals, admittedly rare, fully as capable and accomplished as the great Adam Kane. A handful of those could beat him by daylight margins. He’d never admit it.
“Jealous? Feeling territorial, Adam?”
“No.”
Yes. You are not a subtle man, Adam.
“All of this will be a fascinating study. The obscene horrors of Nazism have blighted the name of eugenics for seventy years. We can change that. We can improve the future of the whole of humanity. Without any loss to your dignity!”
Adam scowled unpleasantly at the last line. I enjoyed his torment.
And just maybe counterbalance the negative effects of the Genomex mutants and spare humanity extinction. I wasn’t going to say that to Adam. He was not ready to admit, even to himself, the dark future implied by the Genomex mutants.
Rebecca
At the end of a work week I usually sleep well. This Friday evening had gone later than most because of the patience-trying dinner with Catherine and her very own Turnip, and that was followed by a post-dinner discussion and dissection of Patrick.
I was disappointed in Catherine’s judgment and I resolved to talk to her alone to better understand what she was thinking. She was old enough to be thinking with greater insight and clarity than evidence indicated.
In the middle of the night, I was surprised to awaken to Mason swearing at the television screen while watching no ordinary transmission.
“Savior of the Beasts!”
The room was dark save for the illumination from the screen. I didn’t have to ask to know Mason wasn’t watching an old movie.
“Mason?”
“Put your glasses on and look!”
I did that, and peered at the floor-plan image of the corridor where Catherine and Patrick’s rooms were located. Bright yellow numbers indicated that Patrick was not in his assigned room but in Catherine’s.
“What do you think they’re doing at school?” I asked.
“This is different.”
“O. Under Dad’s roof. Yes. Very bad judgment.”
Mason was furious. He threw on his quilted bathrobe.
“What are you going to do—throw cold water on them?” I made the remark as a joke, but I was unable to imagine exactly what he planned to do.
“I might. I would not tolerate this from my other children and I will not tolerate it from Catherine. This is her mother’s influence, the fickle witch. Coming with me?”
I didn’t really want to be part of the adventure, but I owed Mason moral support. “Okay, but I’m putting on a bit more than you’re wearing first.”
“Do that while I summon the troops.”
“You’re taking GS agents?” This was going to be an adventure.
“Of course.”
“You might frighten the tender Turnip to an early death.” I laughed.
“Good. I’d be skimming the scum from the gene pool.” Mason didn’t laugh.
“Some advice. Don’t make any reference to Danielle. Catherine knows about her mother better than you do. There is nothing for you to gain by comparing Catherine to Danielle.”
Raised by Danielle –and Mason correctly described the woman as fickle, a kind way of saying what kind of woman Danielle was—Catherine had never known a woman like me. I was touched and flattered by her determination to become more like me, getting serious about her studies. We had talked a lot and I had no doubt she was not proud of some aspects of her mother’s character. Knowing that, I said nothing about Danielle, and if Mason was as smart as I believed, he wouldn’t either.
“I won’t.”
“If you ever let your opinion of Danielle be known to Catherine, she might ask questions you don’t want to answer.”
“To protect Catherine. Some things she does not need to know.”
I nodded.
Four armed GS agents met us outside of Catherine’s door. Mason was prepared to swipe his keycard and go right in.
“No!”
“Why not?”
“Because Catherine might not speak to you for years if you embarrass her enough. Knock. Ask the Turnip to step outside. You don’t have to be polite to him.”
“You’re right.”
Patrick was the one Mason wanted to shame, but I doubt he had the capacity for the emotion. I expected him to be angry with Mason for interrupting his fun. Wouldn’t Patrick be surprised? Mason did enjoy surprising people.
Several minutes of knocking later, Catherine opened the door. Seeing us at this hour was unusual, but seeing us with armed agents was stunning.
“Send Patrick out here, Catherine. Immediately.” Mason did not need to say anything to Catherine for her to gauge the intensity of his anger. The tone of his voice was sufficient.
More minutes later, an annoyed Patrick emerged, half-dressed and predictably sullen-eyed.
“Escort my guest back to his room and see he stays there the balance of the night.”
“What?” Patrick was suddenly awake.
“There are some things not done under a father’s roof. No one taught you this basic principle, so I will assist your personal growth, and teach it to you now.”
Patrick was used to defying authority and if need be, buying his way out of the consequences. Genomex was not a student demonstration. Mason’s authority within these walls was nearly absolute.
“You’re going to have your goon squad manhandle me back to that room?”
“I suggest you comply quietly. Genomex in part is a federal facility harboring many secrets and I do have the authority to have you carried back to your room in restraints. You are not going to make that necessary, are you?
Mason sounded more casual than I knew he was. He was making a velvet-lined threat backed with steel and muscle.
Patrick scowled, and turned, shuffling back towards his room, muttering a barrage of obscenitites in ineffectual wrath and outrage. The agents followed him.
Mason knocked on Catherine’s door. She opened the door enough to show her face.
“Catherine, I do not spy on you at school because I want to treat you like an adult and not as a child. I never imagined I would need to tell you that some things ought not be done by an unmarried woman under her father’s roof. Good night.”
“Good night, Mason.” Her voice sounded small and far away.
He was still angry as we walked back to our quarters. He waited until the GS agents far down the corridor would hear none of it.
“You did well to keep that short. Catherine is well aware what she did.”
“I thought Catherine had more…class than that.”
“We’ve influenced her life for only a few years. From what you’ve told me about her mother, and what she’s told me about her life with Danielle, I’m just not as surprised as you are.”
“I don’t want to see her hurt, especially by someone so unworthy of her.”
“I know. I don’t think Patrick gives a damn about Catherine.”
“Neither do I,” he said softly.
Mason
Despite the overnight excitement, I awoke early Saturday morning, and dressed as I always do for work, and have dressed for twenty years. My approach does simplify life. I tried to be quiet and not disturb Rebecca, but the woman sleeps like a prey animal and awakes to almost anything.
“Mason, it’s Saturday, and it’s early. What are you doing?”
Fair question. I returned to our bedroom.
“I’m going to have a little chat with Catherine’s turnip. A kind of classic, what are your intentions, Young Turnip chat.” I smirked, anticipating the sport just ahead.
“O Dear God. How Victorian.”
“Do you disapprove?”
“Not at all. I think it will be good for Patrick’s development into a real human, if that is ever to happen.”
I smirked. Rebecca’s sense of humor meshed with my own.
“Care to come along and watch? This could be fun.”
“Thanks, but no thanks. I think this is a purely Father and Young Turnip event. Try not to become too frustrated. No matter what you say to him, I doubt he’ll listen or remember.”
“Probably he won’t.”
“He’ll require many collisions with reality before he questions his attitudes., but colliding with you may just be the most memorable.”
“I certainly hope that it is.”
“Give me a full report later.”
I had a pair of large GS agents wake Patrick and coax him into a pair of jeans. They then “accompanied” him to my office.
When they brought him through the door, I was looking down into Podding Operations, which saw little use these days. Most of the dangerous mutants who could not be medically helped or controlled with a governor were long since podded, awaiting more advanced treatment with new drugs or surgery or a combination of therapies.
The empty pods, clearly intended to contain people, possessed a sinister aspect even now. What had possessed Adam to design stasis units to resemble coffins? What had he been thinking? I had the area well-lit so Patrick would get a good look and I could make the best use of the setting.
The agents hauled Patrick to the edge of my desk, as instructed. I did not turn to face the turnip.
“Leave us.”
I doubted if anyone spoke to Patrick with their back turned towards him. I continued to feign absorption with Podding.
Too bad I cannot just drop you into a pod and store you in an out of the way location and forget about you. Someone would probably miss you. But I am tempted.
“Mr Guyton, I am curious to know what your intentions are regarding my daughter.”
Patrick wasn’t ready for that question. I watched his reflection in the glass and saw him cast a wary glance down into Podding. Good! He then sagged down into a chair.
“Are you for real?”
The fool was amused? “Am I laughing?”
“You sound like something out of an old novel.”
I turned about slowly, in no hurry, and fussed with my gloves. This tended to distract and even disturb some people. “I’m an old-fashioned man. Catherine is my daughter, and dear to me.”
“You didn’t marry her mother.” The Turnip had the nerve to smirk at me, thinking he had achieved some small triumph.
“No. The circumstances of Catherine’s birth are…complex, with unhappy consequences. As late as six years ago, her mother misled me about Catherine, implying she was not mine. The very day I received evidence to the contrary, I acted to make Catherine part of my family. My conduct since cannot be faulted. I treat her as I do the children from my marriage, in every way acting as a caring, responsible father. I have never attempted to hide her from view. It was Catherine’s own decision to take my name. I did not pressure her to make that choice.”
Patrick stared at me. I wished he would close his mouth; having it slightly open made him look stupid. What a waste. He wasn’t stupid, just undisciplined, self-focused, lazy and haphazardly educated. His parents had done him no favors.
“Wow, that’s quite a mouthful.”
This young man was becoming irritating. Highly irritating, since he considered himself so noble and pure of heart.
“Each of us has responsibilities, to ourselves, our families, our friends. A life cannot be lived well if lived without direction, from moment to moment. One must have goals, direction, standards, both in one’s professional and private life, or living is reduced to episodic chaos.”
“I kind of like to see what each day brings. I think that’s exciting.” He grinned that happy grin of his, flashing his perfect teeth.
I glared at him. I had been more thoughtful at the age of ten. By that time, my mother had introduced me to the classic tales of Arthur, Robin Hood, the Iliad and the Odyssey, and so much more. I knew her family’s history, and hence my own: the blood of two generals and a cabinet member of the CSA came to me through her, giving me a sense of place and obligation to perform my duties with honor and dedication.
All Patrick had was a lot of money he had not earned, and emotional beliefs rooted in bad science and self-congratulation.
“Digressing from your personal lack of direction, and to return to Catherine: what are your intentions?”
“I hadn’t really thought about it.”
“It’s high time to start thinking about her.”
“Well, Catherine’s a lot of fun.”
I closed my eyes and sighed, thankful I wasn’t a violent man. Patrick desperately needed a slap on the head or a paddling or both. Or perhaps two dozen lashes meted out by ancestor Captain John Grey.
“Possibly that is the last thing you should say to a young woman’s father. Mr Guyton, you have a singular talent for saying the wrong thing at the wrong time.”
“Are you trying to get me to marry Catherine?”
“Oh, Dear God, not at all. I’m trying to understand you. What are you planning to do after graduation?”
“Well, I thought hitchhiking to Alaska would be fun. I could see a lot of nature close up and see what the world looked like before we trashed it with cities and industries. I know a couple of guys who did it, and they had a good time. They didn’t like all the mosquitoes, though.”
“But mosquitoes in that part of the world are very much a part of nature. However, I was thinking more in terms of career.”
“Oh, that. I hadn’t thought about that.”
“Isn’t it something you should be thinking about? You’re how old?”
“Twenty.”
“I was twenty-one when I started here, twenty-two when my son Grey was born. What does your father do for a living?”
“Dad and Mom travel a lot. They enjoy that.”
“Before he retired, then.”
“Oh, he’s not retired. That’s what they’ve always done. Great-granddad made a lot of money, and granddad grew the fortune several times over and none of us have needed to work.”
“So, you see yourself doing much the same, traveling around the country, having fun…and Catherine fits into all of this…where?”
“I guess she’ll be part of it until one of us gets bored. I guess I’m a kind of free spirit.”
I glared at the useless lump of protoplasm. “I have another name for it, Mr Guyton.”
“What’s that?”
“Aimless.”
The fool laughed. I had insulted him, but he was merely amused.
“My high school teachers said that, too. My professors seem more open-minded.”
“Mr Guyton, in 1991 I was injured and nearly killed in an incident on site. I required specialized medical care to survive. I could have retired at age thirty, and lived well on the disability payments and the non-trivial settlement Genomex made.”
“That sounds like a good deal—money for doing nothing.”
“But I continued working. Do you have any idea why? Can you imagine a reason I would choose work over indolence?” All of my self-control was required to keep me from shouting.
“Dunno. I would have taken the money and had a good time. I want to enjoy life. I would have dedicated my life to saving plants, animals, and helping miserable underpaid workers.”
“Then, I will explain: to be certain my children would be educated and prepared to be successful adults, and also for my own self-respect. An individual needs direction, Mr Guyton. Worrying over obscure toad species is not a life; it’s a diversion from life.”
“I don’t see how running Genomex is so special. You’re just making money. You’re not making the world better or preserving species.”
“You’re quite wrong. The main mission of Genomex is the preservation of a species, the human species. Along the way we do some unique research and generate a profit. Try to live without being in some way productive, Mr Guyton.”
Patrick laughed. “Everyone tells me I’m a great guy. Are they all wrong?”
“Your peers? Your parents? What do you expect them to say? You’re an overaged boy at best, a pampered, entertaining pet at worst.”
“You’re serious.”
Patrick had finally realized that our conversation was not an extended joke. The smile abandoned his face and the resentment he had shown last night dominated his features.
“I’m a very serious man. What are you going to do when you’re not quite so handsome, your hair has fallen out, your buddies have careers, and you are still hitchhiking to Alaska, agonizing over the fate of toads? Nothing stays the same; change is the only thing life guarantees.”
“I’ve never worried about things like that. I think about things corporate drones are too selfish or insensitive to care about. I’ll always have money.”
“Money isn’t enough. Life without money is miserable, but money alone does not make a life.”
“Are you saying you don’t like me?”
Patrick had taken a long time to perceive the obvious.
“You are immature and forgettable, a curious throwback to the misguided of the 1930s and 1960s. I don’t like you for my Catherine.”
“What are you going to do about it?” There was an element of challenge in his voice. He was accustomed to getting his own way no matter what the circumstances.
“Catherine is of age. I cannot impose my wishes upon her. I can only hope you will tire of her quickly, sooner rather than later, and without inflicting enduring scars. She inherited my intelligence; she does not require me to explain you. She will sort you out herself.”
“You think she’s really something, don’t you?” Patrick laughed.
I glared at him in disbelief, and wished Catherine could see him now. “I’m her father. The people I love, I protect fiercely, if they let me.”
“You think you have all the answers.”
“I have a good many of them. I want to thank you for this discussion. You have clarified a lot for me.”
I walked around my desk, indicating that the discussion had ended. Patrick sat in his chair, immobile.
“Come along, Mr Guyton. This discussion is at an end.”
“I just want to sit here awhile and think.”
“Not in my office. No one is allowed in here save in the presence of Rebecca or me.”
“How does she put up with you?”
“I wonder about that myself, sometimes. I’ve decided her tolerance of me is rooted in the reality that our relationship is based upon more than fun and lust.”
“I can imagine…at your age.”
I smirked at the jackass. Are you going to get up out of that chair, or must I call security to carry you out of it?”
Patrick oozed out of his chair like slowly melting butter.
You are a waste of the air you breathe.
Lilith
“There! Isn’t this better than being in prison?” I did my best to sound cloyingly cheerful, hoping to annoy Adam.
Adam scowled at me. He was a miserable individual to work with, whining about the repetitive nature of the lab work we were both performing.
“I don’t think I can tolerate finishing another row.”
“Of course you can.” I kept my tone patronizingly and pleasant.
I could not believe he was actually embarrassed by what we were doing, but hours ago I had concluded that was part of his annoyance. The great Adam Kane, embarrassed by his own wrigglers! And I had no one with whom to share the observation.
We were fertilizing my engineered ova by the dozens, and placing them in vessels I called ‘decanters’, to maintain the Huxleian theme. I was stunned when Adam failed to immediately recognize the reference, but I was getting a better and better idea just how narrow Adam’s education was. Surely he did not think I had a few hundred surrogate mothers prepared! But he did not ask, and I had come to relish surprising him.
“My back is beginning to hurt,” he whined.
Who cares, Adam!
“Well then. Get up, walk around, and then return to the task at hand.”
“What is the point of all this, Lili?”
“To make a better human. This is the logical continuation of Paul’s mission.”
“I don’t recall him talking much about this kind of research.”
“That’s because you worked with him primarily in the days when he was sidetracked by the creation of human freaks. He wasted so much time on that effort, and gained so little good. You should have kept in contact with him after you bolted Genomex.”
I knew what was coming. Eckhart wasn’t an accountant, but he had people working for him who were. Paul was deeply disturbed when proof was presented of Adam siphoning off huge amounts of money in the mid-1990s prior to ‘escaping’ (Adam’s word!) from Genomex in 1998. Adam told people he had constructed Sanctuary with money made in the tulipomania stock markets of that decade, and that was true. However, the money for his original investments was embezzled.
“I planned to contact Paul. I was always so busy…”
Yep, between 1998 and 2007, you never had any free moments to pick up a phone. And if Paul had divulged your location to Eckhart, which he very likely would have done after learning the magnitude of your theft, you would have been arrested and charged with embezzlement. After Paul protected you from prosecution for attempting to murder Eckhart, you knew very well Eckhart would not rest until you were punished for something, someday.
“What was it like, leading Mutant X, having the dumb, devoted trust and loyalty of the people you doomed to pain and an early death?”
Adam looked up from his work. If looks could kill…but they cannot, and Adam was dependent up0n my good will for his survival.
“Lili, I was helping the members of Mutant X stay alive.”
“Bull-oney, Adam Kane. Save that for people who don’t know your history. We both know you used them to continue your experiments.”
“Well, they were helped.”
He wasn’t even bothering to tell a story!
“Adam, what you did was unconscionable. I say that admitting Paul was to blame as well. But while Paul had sense enough to proceed cautiously after producing Gabriel Ashlocke, you displayed no restraint at all. Paul made mutants by the handful. You streamlined the techniques and made thousands. How many times did you have to make a mistake to conclude your work was flawed? Or was something else involved, the fact you were tampering with mere humans as opposed to carefully engineered androids like ourselves?”
“I’m a physician, Lili. I swore an oath to help people.”
“Tell that to the parents whose children died before they reached the age of twenty five because their immune systems imploded.”
Adam jumped out of his task chair and stood over me menacingly. I cursed myself for not being better prepared to deal with his volatile anger. He was behaving predictably. Adam had no appreciation of the fact Paul had built me to be several times stronger than an untrained woman my size, for my own protection. Using ordinary lab tools at hand, I could inflict fatal wounds easily, or serious wounds with slightly less effort. But this was not the time to surprise Adam.
I grasped one of my lab coat buttons, twisting it between my thumb and forefinger as if nervous.
I wasn’t nervous. The button was a security device, summoning two of the men who helped me break Adam out of prison.
They burst into the lab soon after. Both topped six feet and were heavily muscled. They were more than muscle; they were brilliant individuals, well-educated generalists. Saying nothing, they evaluated the situation immediately, and stood staring at Adam. If he did anything that could harm me, Matt and John would literally tear Adam apart in my defense.
“Adam, why don’t you sit down and get back to work? We have so much to do.”
He wasn’t happy about it, but he knew he was outflanked. He sat down, cursing.
I turned to the two brothers –that is what they were—and softly said, “Thank you.” They nodded and left.
“You must pay your goons well to inspire such devotion.”
“If you talked to them, you would discover they’re highly intelligent, educated young men. They’re a good deal more than ‘muscle’.”
“Yeah,” he scowled sarcastically.
Loyalty like that you do not purchase, the loyalty of sons to their mother. For I was their mother. Adam might figure that out in time. I chuckled inwardly to myself.
What would Adam think if he asked them their ages, and they answered with the truth that they were seven and seven and a half years old respectively? You continue to underestimate me. For all your intelligence, you are a silly man.
Rebecca
Despite the excess of excitement overnight, and Mason’s fatherly encounter with the Turnip, Saturday afternoon and evening proved tame.
Mason was on his best behavior, that is, he was being subtle with the Turnip. We set off to a Waterhouse exhibit a couple hours away. Three of us were content; this was part of the continuing catch-up phase of Catherine’s education. Patrick seemed bored, seeing only “pretty pictures”. When Mason began pointing out to Catherine the mathematical elements in the composition of the works, Patrick was stunned. Corporate bad guys were not supposed to know things that he did not know himself. After all, Patrick was the designated ‘sensitive’ guy. I added further confusion to Patrick’s mind with commentary on the influence of the development of the synthesis of ever-brighter, more lightfast, and less toxic pigments upon painting. I had learnt none of this in a formal setting, but in reading done after taking up watercolors.
Afterwards, we had a slow, casual dinner at a restaurant specializing in world fusion cooking. Patrick was baffled by the menu, but I give him credit for being game enough for trying Tex-Mex Masala on my recommendation instead of gutlessly ordering a hamburger.
The drive home (how curious to think of Genomex as home) was long enough for me to fall asleep, worn out by the day. Mason didn’t stay awake, either, but fell asleep holding me. Catherine and Patrick were in the middle seat, GSA lackeys up front.
Catherine was not happy with Patrick. I didn’t know the roots of her unhappiness, but at the museum her displeasure was not subtle. I was pleased to see her rationality and good judgment engaged.
I woke up to hear them speaking quietly.
“Patrick, that isn’t nice.”
“But look at them. They’re old. They look like a couple kids back there.”
Catherine paused before answering, a habit of Mason’s. I could not recall if she had always done that, or picked it up from time spent with her father.
“I think it’s sweet.”
“And they were holding hands in the museum, too.”
“When I’m their age, I hope someone will want to hold my hand. I don’t see anything wrong with anything they are doing.”
“But it looks so odd seeing anyone that old doing that stuff.”
“They don’t take each other for granted, Patrick. Not like some people do with each other. And another thing: I’m getting tired of you making fun of my father. I warned you ahead of time that he wasn’t like anyone else. He’s been very good to me. So has Rebecca.”
Catherine managed to make the Turnip shut up! And she was thinking rationally about him! My faith in her was not misplaced.
I shifted myself about in the dark SUV to become comfortable and continue my nap.
Mason squeezed my hand. I opened one eye slightly, peeked at him, and discerned the faint trace of a sly smile by the fleeting light of oncoming headlights. He had heard everything.
Mason
Catherine and I were both early risers. We had agreed to meet and talk the day before, out by the lakefront. Only a handful of employees showed up at such an hour on Sundays, so most likely we’d have all the privacy we could want. No one would catch sight of me wearing jeans.
Anxious not to miss an opportunity to talk to Catherine, I arrived just past sunrise. She appeared not long after.
“Good morning, Mason.”
“Good morning to you, Catherine.”
“Well, I don’t have to ask if you like Patrick.”
Catherine was as blunt and direct as I was. Once she found her niche in life and gained confidence in her abilities and knowledge, she would be formidable, perhaps my equal. Perhaps better than me. She was more like me than any of my other children.
“You know I won’t lie to you.”
“Are you going to try and talk me out of him?”
“I was, but after Dr Steyn explained some Psychology of the Young Woman to me, I understand now the more I spoke against him, the less you would listen and the more inclined you would be to defend him. I won’t present you with a list of things I don’t like about Patrick and all the ways he is unworthy of you.”
Catherine laughed. “I thought I was going to have a big argument with you.”
I shook my head. “No. That would a tiring waste of a beautiful morning.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Nothing. I’m going to allow Patrick the opportunity to braid the rope with which he will hang himself. After he’s done that, I promise not to embarrass you with ‘I told you so’.”
“I didn’t expect this.”
“Some things we must learn ourselves.”
“He’s very smart.”
“You’re smarter. You are inherently more intelligent. You have the habit of stuffing your brain with a spectrum of information and skills, and you are acquiring the useful talent of putting things together in unexpected ways. That’s why I’m going to let you find the truth on your own, if you don’t know it already.”
I wish I could spare you the lesson, but Rebecca is right about this. Can you tell how proud I am of you, Catherine?
“Okay.”
“Does Patrick know what you are?”
As soon as I had said it, I wished the words had come together with greater grace. What Catherine was, a Genomex mutant, at once bound us and separated us. I could not change past misdeeds, and would not pretend they never happened. At awkward moments like this, I knew very well I had delivered some measure of hurt to one of the people I loved best. The miserable reality of the Genomex mutants blighted my life and the relationship I had carefully built with my long unknown and much-cherished daughter.
“I’m sorry for the way that sounded, Catherine. But does he know?”
She shook her head. “Nobody at school knows. And I know you weren’t trying to be nasty. I know when you’re trying to be nasty.”
“Good.”
“It’s hard to know how to ask questions like that.”
“I do not read Patrick as a personality to be entrusted with such information.”
“Yeah. There are two people at school I’m pretty sure are mutants. Odd things happen around them. They’re not careful, and they drop hints. Some people just don’t know which secrets to keep.”
“No.”
“Even around someone named Eckhart.” She smiled.
I smiled back. “Can you keep a secret? A serious one?” I already knew her answer, but the question had to be posed and the promise made.
“Sure.”
“Someone broke Adam out of prison Thursday night. He’s back in the wide world. Sooner or later he will show up here. He cannot stay away from me.”
“I didn’t hear or read anything about a prison escape.”
“There’s a news blackout. Someone came in with a helicopter gunship, and blasted the prison, all for Adam.”
“That took money.”
“Money, planning, organization, connections. Acquiring such a craft is not like purchasing a used airliner. Eleven prison guards were murdered just so Adam could walk free.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Shadows settled across her young face. She knew as well as I the deep flaws in Adam’s character. She did not hate him as I did, but she did resent his attempts to manipulate and use her.
“Because I knew you would be interested.”
“I am. And?”
“I want you to be cautious. I don’t know what Adam might do, but no doubt he rightly blames me for his incarceration, and I expect he will attempt some vengeance. I fear he will seek out you, and hurt you to hurt me. The intelligence I have at hand doesn’t even allow a guess at what Adam is doing. All I know is that he was broken out by a woman who worked here several years ago. Rebecca recognized her from the video record.”
“A woman?”
“She looked like a woman. I suspect she is what Adam is, an android.”
“Adam never said anything about another android.”
“Adam’s in denial about his true nature. He does not admit to himself what he is.”
“I’ll be careful.”
“Catherine, I don’t check up on you at school. But I know there are secret mutant associations, brotherhoods, whatever you want to call them.”
“You’re not asking me to rat on people…what is this about?”
“No. I don’t even want you to tell me whether you know of particular groups. But should you do so, try to warn them against being used by Adam and this woman. Adam may contact such groups.”
“Will do. But…”
I interrupted her. “I don’t want to know details. Just remember all the pain Adam has caused in pursuit of his unholy research.”
“Some people still believe Adam’s a hero.” Catherine shrugged.
“There is a delusion for every taste.”
“Those two silly people I think are mutants? One of them lives in my dorm. For a long time, she only knew my first name. When she finally saw my last name on a piece of mail, she asked if I was ‘any relation to the creep who rounded up and persecuted mutants and fought against Adam Kane.”
“And you told her…?”
Catherine laughed, relishing the memory. “I handled it the way I’ve seen Rebecca handle the analogous question: ‘Yeah. I’m Mr Creepy’s daughter.’”
I smirked. “Did she turn and run, screaming in horror at being in the presence of Catherine Creepy?”
“Noooo. I parted my hair,” and while saying this, Catherine demonstrated, “and told her, ‘It’s okay. I didn’t inherit the Eckhart horns.’”
“I would have liked to have seen that. You may lack the familial horns, but you have the wicked sense of humor.”
“Thank you!” she laughed. “What do you hear about Brennan?”
“He still craves Nutty Bars and is highly proficient in the manufacture of license plates. At long last, he has acquired an honest skill.”
“Think he’ll ever be paroled?”
“Not until he’s past fifty, and not then if I’m around to influence the outcome. And yes, with Adam’s escape, he is being watched with great care.”
“I don’t think Adam will do anything for Brennan. Adam never cared about anyone else, unless they could do something for him. Brennan is of no use to him now.”
“I agree. I expect Adam will come back here. He always does. He cannot help himself.”
“Yeah. He thinks you’re the Antichrist.”
“That has been the case for over twenty years. He never wearies of it. He may even believe what he says.”
“Well, you know the truth about him.”
“Sometimes, I think I know too many truths. Truth can be a burden.”
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Part 1
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
Part 8
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