“John, WLO funding is next to nothing. They love our experiments, ordered us to create engineered and enhanced soldiers, but they don’t want to invest. How can we continue for the next six months? Pay the staff? Feed the recruits and the animals? And we’d better hope the virus doesn’t hit here. Some of our clients that come here by car to get their injection could carry it.”
“Bruce, you panic too quickly. We’ve got other things to worry about, like the refueling station on Zahiria. I told you I received word that a group of terrorists has taken over the station and no ships can refuel.”
The man could be insufferable, forgetful, and stupid. He wondered if, beneath Bruce’s young appearance, dementia was setting in. That was not something the forever young serum could stop. It was a possibility and would explain why he constantly had to repeat himself. He sighed. Bruce annoyed him to no end, but hell, he still needed him for his research and assistance with surgeries.
John took a drink of his coffee, then set his mug back on the desk. Luckily, he had managed to gain some control of his trembling fingers and hands, but it wouldn’t last long. “I heard from our people on Brevona. Several groups are tracking and attacking them. We need to speed up our plans, get rid of the royals, take the palace, and get control of the planet, and I told the leaders of our people on Brevona so.”
“Do they know who is thwarting their every move? And what does WLO expect us to do about the station on Zahiria?”
“No. They haven’t been able to catch any of them. The last known location of one of the groups, the largest, made camp on a beach near the Zeegarna Ocean. I’ve got the coordinates. We need to send our eliminators immediately to take them out. As for Zahiria, I haven’t had time to think about that yet, or discuss it at length with WLO.”
He tapped his fingers on the desk. It wasn’t like him to fidget, but his body felt restless and his joints stiff. The Parkinson’s was becoming increasingly aggressive. He would need the injection soon, or he would lose the ability to administer the shot himself. “As you know, I am sending Twenty-four, as well as Ninety-one from the male division to hunt down those that are attacking our groups on Brevona. This will be an excellent mission for them. They’d stand out like sore thumbs if we tried to use them here on Earth. They were splendid subjects to experiment on, but they are expendable. It’s time to concentrate on our more advanced models.”
“Yes... yes. Do whatever you wish.” Bruce waved his hand as if dismissing the idea of losing the two recruits, then cast John a sidelong glance. “Where do you get the secret ingredients for the serum? I know one of them is non-human blood. But what do you get the blood from and what is the other ingredient?”
Of course, Bruce would be more concerned about the youth potion than the recruits. Any other time John would never hear the end of the money wasted on enhancements and training of their young men and women, only to kill them in the end. He sure as hell wouldn’t give up the ingredients in the formula to the man. “That secret will go with me to my grave.”
John sighed. Bruce didn’t know that he had no idea what the two components were, or that it was his brother on Brevona who had discovered the secret to the fountain of youth. After all these years, Ryan continually refused to divulge what it was or where he got it.
“I’m your partner. I should know. I have just as much invested in this as you do. And if we don’t inject ourselves, that grave will be closer than either one of us wants to think about.”
“Fuck it, Bruce. You’ve been growing soft on me of late, and you do tend to shoot your mouth off when you’ve had a few drinks. No. It remains a secret.”
“At least make a record of it and keep it in the safe in a sealed compartment. Just in case. I’ve told you that over and over. One of these days I might just quit altogether and retire and leave you to your devious schemes.”
“You’ll not get another dose of the forever young serum if you do. Do you really want to die? See your pretty wife age before your eyes?”
Bruce poured himself a coffee, then added a shot of whiskey. “We have a contract.”
“A verbal contract. Nothing is written in stone.” John had made sure of it
“You’re a fucking bastard.”
“Stop your damn overreacting. You’re a fucking drama queen. The virus will run its course, we’re going to send an eliminator to take out the terrorists on Zahiria, and all will be well in the world. Space travel will resume within three months, and I’ll be able to get the ingredients again. Mark my word. Now shut the fuck up, and I’ll give you your shot before you turn into a prune.”
John unlocked the top drawer in his desk and took out two small ampules of serum. He loaded one into the automated syringe and strode toward Bruce who had already pushed his sleeve up.
“That’ll hold me for another three months. You do realize we only have a limited amount left for our regular clients.”
“Yeah, some of whom have succumbed to the virus. That’ll stretch our supply a bit. And since no planes are flying, the out of country clients won’t be coming for their shot until the epidemic has run its course. Now go. I’ve got work to do, missions to coordinate.”
Bruce left and slammed the door. John sighed, feeling exasperated. If he didn’t depend on his partner for his brilliant brain and expertise, he’d eliminate him. He pushed the com button and told Carol to summon Twenty-four to his office. He injected himself, waited for the tremors to stop, then placed the syringe back in the drawer. He gazed at the two remaining ampules containing the purple liquid that was as valuable, if not more, than gold. When there was a knock on the door, he quickly shut and locked the drawer and waited for Twenty-four to come into his office.
For just a brief moment his mind dwelled on that fateful day fourteen years ago. Everything that could have gone wrong that day did. He had paid a lot of money to those fucking terrorists to hijack that school bus filled with healthy children, all below the age of twelve, suitable subjects for his experiments. And what had the bastards done? Taken the money and decided to use the bus for their own purpose.
All the children on the bus were killed in the explosion—except one. He had gone to the scene and had hovered in the background. After the bus exploded, a small body had fallen to the grass near where he stood. At first, horror had attacked him as he had gazed at the bloodied child, but then he’d noticed her chest movement. He also saw that beneath all that blood, she was extremely pretty. The little girl was still breathing so he’d made a split-second impulsive decision.
He’d glanced around. Where he was, the military couldn’t really see him. Quick as a flash, he had fashioned a tourniquet to stem the bleeding of her mangled arm and leg, then took off his shirt and tore it into strips. He used a sleeve to fashion a pressure bandage and wrapped the strips tightly around her head. In a glance, he had seen that her skull was cracked and hoped that most of her brain was still intact. Then he had wrapped her in his jacket, picked her up, and hurried to his limo that was parked on the narrow country road that ran alongside the highway.
He’d called Bruce to prep the operating room for several emergency procedures. Between them, they had performed the surgeries and saved the girl’s life.
During surgery, and the many operations following that day, he’d questioned the wisdom of what he had done. The girl had been so severely injured that Bruce had suggested they put her out of her misery. But John had regarded her as a challenge and fought Bruce on eliminating her.
John was rather proud of Twenty-four and how she had turned out in the end. She was a beauty, even with her cybernetic jaw and ear that they couldn’t conceal with synthetic skin because of the network of fine control wires attached to her central nervous system. Those also ran through the skullcap, but at least he had been able to implant hair for her. Her arm and leg were bionic, and the synthetic skin on them looked and felt very real. Their latest technology enabled them to attach bionic limbs seamlessly. He pictured her naked bo
dy in his mind, her shapely figure, and sighed.
In a way, it was a pity he was going to send her on a mission. Then again, as a cyborg, she could never take part in a mission on Earth. What could he do? Keep her at the Institute for the rest of her life? No, she was perfect for this job. So was Ninety-one, though he had not been as badly injured as Twenty-four.
Chapter Three
“You’ve been chosen for an off-world mission,” Schultz informed her. “You’ll leave tomorrow morning. Report to me here in my office immediately after breakfast.”
Twenty-four was shocked at his words, though she shouldn’t have been. When Schultz had announced the girls that had been chosen to travel through the portal, her number had been called. Nevertheless, she’d hoped deep down her first assignment would be on Earth though she knew that was a futile wish. She was a cyborg and could never move freely among the people on this planet. The world was not ready for cyborgs. Feeling numb to her predicament, she merely nodded.
“You’re going to Brevona. There is a pocket of insurgents that needs to be eliminated. Two, accompanied by Four from the male Institute, successfully diverted an attack on Brevona’s royal family, but there are those that are planning another assassination of the royal family. From what our spies have told us, there are approximately thirty upstarts. The king needs our assistance.”
“Sir, are Two and Four still there? Do I contact them?”
He frowned. “Unfortunately, they defected. Treason is punishable by death, as you know. Seventeen was sent to eliminate them. She lost her life in doing so.”
Twenty-four felt a moment of sadness. She didn’t know Two and Seventeen very well, but they’d all grown up together, schooled, trained, and ate together, and right now her fellow recruits were the only family she had.
“To ensure your mission is a success, we are sending Ninety-one with you from next door.”
“Sir, I can handle it on my own.”
He slammed his fist on his desk. “How many times have you all been told never to argue? You’ll do as ordered.”
Inwardly, she squirmed. Making Schultz angry was never a good idea. “Yes, sir.”
Schmidt came into the office. “I changed my mind. I don’t think we should send her. Choose one of the others.”
Twenty-four saw Schultz’s eyes darken. He gazed pointedly at Schmidt. “It’s been decided.”
“As usual, without my knowledge or consent. There are thirty or more rebels. Just sending two of them—”
“I told you about it this morning, remember? And you didn’t say anything then. And I’ll thank you to keep your mouth shut in front of a recruit,” Schultz snapped.
Twenty-four glanced from one to the other. There was an underlying current of animosity between the two men. Schmidt’s fists were balled. She was sure if provoked enough they’d come to blows.
“Twenty-four, go to your room and spend the evening studying up on Brevona. I will see you tomorrow morning.”
Glad she’d been dismissed she hurried to her room. After quickly showering, she curled up on her cot with her tablet to read about Brevona and refresh her memory of its language and customs. It wasn’t a difficult language. Many of the words resembled English and were easy to remember. She studied the customs, then read about their religion. They believed in gods and goddesses, and magic was still rife on the planet. Really? Magic? Probably just fairytales and superstition. There was no such thing as magic, and life sure as hell was not a fairytale. At least hers wasn’t.
After a while, Twenty-four grew bored of her study because she already knew the language. She had a photographic memory, all of the recruits did, thanks to the brain enhancements. Placing her arm under her head, she laid back and thought about the two girls and the young man who had died on Brevona. Schultz had not seemed disturbed by their deaths at all. He’d told her about it in the coldest manner imaginable.
She wished she’d known Two and Seventeen better. Sighing, she pictured Two’s beautiful face. From afar, Twenty-four had always admired her—her beauty, her talents, and her accomplishments. And then there was Seventeen with her cute pixie face, her hair in dolly knots, always so proud of her achievements with her wings. Which of course she was often admonished for. Pride was another big no-no.
The lives of the two girls had been snuffed out too early. Why had Two defected? Had she harbored the same hatred for the Institute? Had the young man who was with her, influenced her? How many of the girls were happy here? At peace with their circumstances and satisfied with their life?
She sighed. More than likely, none of them.
Schultz had taught them that forming close friendships caused insubordination. It was forbidden for them to play together when young, or to communicate with one another when they were older. So many years together, yet she’d not made one friend. She’d longed to have a friend for so long but never dared.
There had been several girls that formed secret friendships but were found out, and they had disappeared. She thought about a book series she’d recently read, Anne of Green Gables. She’d identified with Anne, but unlike Anne, she couldn’t have a kindred spirit, a companion so close she could tell her anything, her deepest desires, and thoughts.
Who was Ninety-one? She resented that she could not go alone. Hell, if she had a chance, she’d escape. How could she do that with someone watching her every move? Her mind worked overtime trying to make sense out of everything until she finally drifted off into a restless sleep.
As always, the nightmare woke her up early in the morning—the reliving and slow playback of her bus ride to hell.
Twenty-four dressed quickly. She pulled a brush through her implanted hair, wishing she had a mirror. They weren’t allowed mirrors. Vanity was a personality defect, and it came from the devil, or so she’d been taught. Weird, they forbade any type of religion, said people only used it as a crutch, and yet the instructors often quoted the devil. To believe in the devil, one had to also believe in God.
She hurried from her room and joined the others in the mess hall. Twelve took the seat next to her and began to fidget as if she were trying to get her attention. Twenty-four ignored her lest one of the guards noticed and they both were punished for communicating. While virtually shoveling her porridge into her mouth, something poked her leg. Reaching under the table, she felt Twelve push a bit of paper into her hand. For what, she had no idea, but it must have been important to Twelve for her to risk the wrath of the guards.
She closed her fingers around it and quickly finished her breakfast, then hurried to Doctor Schultz’s office, but on the way there, she stopped at her room and dashed into the tiny bathroom. The bathroom had no camera, so she could safely look at what Twelve had shoved into her hand. The scrap of paper was small and folded up many times into a tiny square. She undid it carefully and looked at the words written on it in bold capitals. DO NOT ACTIVATE IMPLANT. IT WILL KILL YOU.
She sucked in a breath. What in the hell was Twelve talking about? Why would the implant kill her? So many questions flooded her mind all at once. No time to think about it. I’m going to be late.
She flushed the scrap down the toilet and almost jogged to Schultz’s office. Once she arrived at his door, she took a deep breath and knocked, then slipped inside when she heard his voice through the small speaker above the door say enter in a muffled tone. As soon as she closed the door behind her, Schultz pegged her with an impatient stare. She hated those lizard green eyes and the way he looked at her... like she was insignificant, nothing more than a machine.
“You’re late, Twenty-four. You know I hate tardiness.” Schultz snarled at her.
She lowered her head in submission, though inwardly she bristled. The man was an ass, and she despised him and his partner, Schmidt. “Sorry, sir. I had to use the bathroom.”
He took a sip of his coffee, then stood and gestured to her. “Come with me. They’re waiting for us.”
Relieved that he seemed to
have calmed, she followed him out of the office and to a section of the Institute that was off-limits for the trainees. There were warnings painted in red on the white walls, a red stripe painted along the center of the floor, and yellow and black radiation signs hung every couple of feet. A set of double doors with a yellow radiation warning sign above it was blocked by two heavily armed guards.
When Schultz approached, the guards shifted away from the entry, revealing a retina scanner and thumbprint pad. Schultz activated the device, and the doors slid open. She followed him inside a large room. A gray, metal, very tall oval frame, stood against the far wall. Schultz led her to stand in front of it.
Loud crunching sounded behind her. She glanced at the robot approaching them. It looked outdated, and it squeaked with each step it took.
“You and Ninety-one will land on a remote beach surrounded by large rocks. The bot will help you move them. The rebels were last seen in the area where you’ll arrive,” Schultz informed her.
Twenty-four cringed. With the noise the thing was making it would alert anything within miles of their landing. “I’d rather not take that bucket of bolts with me. When was it lubricated last?”
“You’re far too mouthy for your own good.” Schultz glared at her, then turned and called out to one of the engineers hovering in the background. “Gary, oil this thing quickly?” He lovingly stroked the bot. “One of our first. Very dependable. Its name is Bobo.”
She chuckled at the ridiculous sounding name, then shook her head. How twisted that a scrap of metal rated an actual name yet the recruits did not. “Bobo? And it answers to that?”
Schultz frowned. “Don’t be ridiculous. My grandson gave it the name.” He walked away to talk to the engineer who had begun oiling the bot.
He has a grandson? Children? He actually brought his grandson to the Institute to see the robot? She peered at him and couldn’t imagine him with a wife and family. Twenty-four hated him and his roving hands with a passion. Schmidt, too, though he hadn’t put her through as much as his partner had. Her thoughts dwelled on the day she had woken up in a sterile, totally white room, with tubes attached to her arm and other parts of her body.
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