Double Helix Collection: A Genetic Revolution Thriller

by Jade Kerrion

  She paused, hesitating, and then said, Yes.

  In his sleep, Danyael sighed softly. I can’t go back to ADX, Miriya.

  I know. I’m not going to let them take you back to ADX, if only to preserve my own sanity. Your pain very nearly drove me crazy. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.

  I am now.

  Good. Um, is it all right if I check in with you sometimes? Miriya asked.

  Is there anything I can say to convince you to drop the psychic hook in my mind?

  Probably not.

  Danyael knew he sounded like a petulant child, but there was no helping it. I don’t like people in my head.

  I know, but I didn’t hold on to the hook in your head through a year of hell at ADX just for giggles. As far as I’m concerned, we went through ADX together. I’ve bloody well earned the right to hang around.

  Danyael was silent for a long moment. While he finally spoke, it was with a resigned smile. I guess everyone needs a voice in his head, so why not?

  If you think that’s a compliment—

  I owe you more than you know. I am not unaware of that fact, neither am I ungrateful. Just please…don’t betray me. He bit back the word “again.”

  I won’t, Danyael. We’re friends.

  Danyael tensed beneath the heavy covers draped over his body before exhaling shakily, a shuddering sound. All his friends had betrayed him. Everyone he had once trusted, including Miriya, Zara, and Lucien, had ultimately chosen Galahad over him. How could he, with all his flaws—physical and emotional—compete against Galahad’s perfection? I wasn’t aware I had any friends left.

  Damn, even his mental voice sounded bitter. Control. He had to control his feelings; as an alpha empath, he had no other choice.

  Danyael—

  It’s all right, Miriya. He cut off the psychic contact. He could, and would, survive without the illusion of friendship. He did not need his hand held, did not need to be coddled. He would be all right. He would find the strength he needed some other way.

  The searing ache in his heart made a lie of his thoughts.

  ~*~

  A gentle breeze, pleasantly cool against his heated skin, and the low murmur of indistinct conversation lured Danyael back to full awareness. He squinted against the glow of florescent tubes overhead as his world wavered back into focus.

  “Ah, Danyael, welcome back to the world of the living.” Carson Smith leaned over him, a kindly smile on his face. He glanced over his shoulder at a nurse. “Hannah, inform the general and Reyes Maddox that Danyael is awake.” The doctor adjusted the incline of the bed but stopped when Danyael gritted his teeth in pain. “What is it?” he asked, concerned.

  “My back and leg.” Danyael braced his hand against his lower back. He exhaled slowly through clenched teeth. “Just need some time.”

  “Is your leg cramping?” the doctor asked. “Let me get you a warm compress. You were out for almost forty-eight hours. The long period of inactivity did not help, I’m sure.”

  With painstaking care, Danyael turned onto his right side. His hands trembled when he tried to apply the compress to his left leg. He could feel the warmth through the thin layer of athletic bandages wrapped around the injury. He dug his fingers into the thin sheets, buried his face in the pillow, and tried to breathe through the spasms that tore along the length of his leg and the left side of his body. I haven’t gained nearly as much ground as I thought I had.

  Someone grasped the sheet wrapped around his body and pulled it back. Danyael twisted around reflexively, but aborted the defensive motion when shards of pain ripped along the length of his spine. He squeezed his eyes shut and bit back a scream.

  “It’s just me, Danyael.” Reyes placed his hand on Danyael’s shoulder. “Lie back. I know just the thing to help you.”

  Slowly Danyael eased onto the bed, relaxing against the pressure of Reyes’s fingers as the older man kneaded the muscles in Danyael’s lower back, coaxing them into submission. As the pain in Danyael’s back subsided, Reyes moved lower, gently massaging around the torn muscles in Danyael’s ruined leg.

  “Better?” Reyes asked, finally sitting back.

  “Yes,” Danyael nodded. The merciful absence of pain had nearly lulled him back to sleep. “Thank you.” He allowed Reyes to tug the sheet over his body, and then he turned to lie on his back, sinking gratefully against the soft pillows. “You look tired. Reyes.”

  Reyes dragged his hand over his face. “I did get some rest. Carson said he’d monitor you, and that there was little point in me hanging around.” He chuckled ruefully. “He went so far as to say that I wasn’t a young man anymore and needed to stop behaving as if I was. He sent me back to my suite a few hours ago and told me he’d wake me as soon as you did.” Worry and concern made the lines on his face even more prominent. “How are you feeling?”

  Danyael did not answer the question. “What happened?” he asked.

  “You looked like you were in terrible pain even after you’d fallen asleep. I told them that you didn’t like painkillers, but Carson finally decided to give you a low dose of morphine to take the edge off your pain. I think it worked. You seemed to settle down after a few hours.”

  Danyael looked around the infirmary. Many of the beds were occupied, but the men and women in the beds were awake and did not appear to be in any particular danger. They nodded respectfully when they met Danyael’s gaze. “Are these the soldiers I helped?” he asked quietly.

  “No. Those soldiers are up and about, back on duty. The ones still in here were the ones who were not critically injured. Carson did the best he could with them.”

  The fear lodged in the pit of Danyael’s stomach crumbled. “So everyone made it?”

  Reyes shook his head. “Everyone who was still alive when the fight was over did, but many were killed in the early minutes of the battle. They never had a chance.”

  The door of the infirmary opened to admit the general. He acknowledged his soldiers with a nod of his head and then walked toward Danyael. He smiled warmly, a rare sight. “I cannot thank you enough for what you did for my team,” he said. “Thanks to you, twenty-seven men and women are alive and well.”

  He did not need thanks. Danyael met the general’s gaze steadily. “General, what were those creatures?”

  “The future face of the U.S. military. They are super soldiers.”

  A fragmented memory teased Danyael. His brow furrowed. “How are they different from the abominations created by Pioneer Labs?”

  “You know about the abominations?” the general asked, his tone sharper than usual.

  “I’ve seen media clips of them.” Danyael saw no reason to tell the general that he had seen those clips while investigating his forgotten connection with Galahad.

  “Ah.” The general relaxed, tension easing out of his lean frame. “For a moment, I wondered if your memory had returned. You fought the abominations too, Danyael, not that you would recall. That memory was part of the forty-eight hours ripped from your mind in the aftermath of Galahad’s escape.”

  Danyael looked away, his face impassive. The memories were gone, but the emotions—a flash of anger, lingering confusion, and a deep sense of loss—remained, untethered and devoid of context.

  Reyes placed a hand gently over Danyael’s misshapen left hand. “It’s okay, Danyael. It’s okay to be frustrated and angry over the things that have been done to you. No one has more right to be angry than you.”

  How could that be true? Danyael’s training, so deeply ingrained as to be instinctive, overruled the expression of his emotions. The words of his instructors at the council pounded incessantly through his mind: You are an alpha empath. Anything you feel will amplify, and emotions that are released cannot be recalled. The one thing you cannot do, under any circumstance, is act on your emotions.

  Deliberately he quashed his anger, burying it deep. When he was certain he had his emotions under control, he looked up. “General, the super soldiers? How are they different f
rom the abominations?”

  The general was briefly silent, the line of his jaw taut. “The best person to explain the difference to you is the person who created them. Come with me.”

  Carson insisted on a wheelchair. Danyael had, just as firmly and politely, refused. Teeth gritted against the pain, Danyael limped from the infirmary, following Reyes and the general down brightly lit corridors and through a set of secured double doors marked with a sign Authorized Personnel Only.

  “This is the research annex next to the training arena. The super soldiers live here, but spend most of the day in the arena with their trainers,” the general said.

  “Trainers?” Reyes asked.

  “Alpha telepaths.” The general’s face tightened. “Unfortunately, we lost most of our trainers in the fight. They were the first to die.”

  “But why were you using alpha telepaths as trainers?” Reyes asked.

  From behind them, a musical, accented female voice said quietly, “Because I believed, until recently, that telepaths were the only ones capable of communicating with them.”

  Danyael turned around.

  An Indian woman, her graying hair gathered in a bun, returned his gaze with a polite, though distant, smile. As with many people of Asian descent, she appeared younger than she was. Her face was smooth and unlined. Her eyes, framed by thin metal-framed glasses, were unusually beautiful and large, glittering with keen intelligence. Her handshake was firm. “So, you are the alpha empath who did what fifty alpha telepaths could not do.”

  Danyael hesitated. How was he supposed to respond to that statement?

  The general interjected, “Danyael, this is Professor Ehimaya Sadgati, creator of the super soldier program. Professor, Danyael Sabre and Reyes Maddox.”

  “I am pleased to meet you.” She accented her words differently from most Americans, but Danyael understood her regardless. “Thank you for your intervention. If you had not stopped the fight, we might have lost all the super soldiers. As it is, only one was injured, and he likely to recover.”

  She turned and led the way down another corridor to a large room with a viewing window overlooking an enclosure. “This is one of five super soldier barracks in the annex.”

  Danyael limped closer and looked down into the enclosure. Ten super soldiers loitered in a large space that resembled a den. The soldiers looked like ogres out of fairy tales, obviously humanoid, yet different enough to attract attention.

  “They are stronger, faster, and more agile than an elite soldier,” the professor said. “They also have a natural talent for brawling; we have not had to train them in hand-to-hand combat at all.”

  “How are they different from the abominations created by Pioneer Labs?” Danyael asked.

  “In many ways, some profound, some subtle.” The professor moved away from the window and walked to a computer terminal. Her fingers danced across the virtual keyboard, and an image of a super soldier appeared on the large screen overhead, next to an image of an abomination. The differences were stark. The super soldiers appeared almost human. The abominations bore no resemblance to humans or to any known creature on the planet. They were monsters spun out of nightmares, created by the same people, the same laboratory, that created Galahad, the perfect human being.

  “The design principles differ,” Professor Sadgati said. “The abominations began with the concept of perfection. In an attempt to attain perfection, the creators of Galahad stepped far outside the boundaries of known science, and in so doing, created monsters—the abominations—the antithesis of the perfection they were trying to find.” Her chin lifted, the gesture arrogant. “On the other hand, I began with what is real—excellent specimens of soldiers—and altered their genes to make the next generation more capable. I also added age accelerants; these super soldiers are four years old and fully mature.”

  She waved a hand toward the window. “What you see down there is my life’s work, the culmination of four decades of research. The most current generation of super soldiers is extraordinary in every dimension.”

  “Except listening to orders?” Danyael asked pointedly.

  The professor frowned but continued lecturing without missing a beat. “It is a known fact that, for our size and weight, humans are among the weakest mammals. To create better physical specimens, I transposed genes from other mammals, including the great apes and the great cats. The transposed genes promote a greater dependence on instinct, which is critical in the heat of battle. An unfortunate side effect, however, is that the transposed genes triggered a decline in higher cognitive function.”

  The general paced along the length of the window and took up the debriefing seamlessly. “In view of the constraints, I paired an alpha telepath with each of the fifty super soldiers to create fifty self-contained battle units—the perfect synthesis of brains and brawn. The telepaths use telepathy to communicate with and direct the super soldiers.” He paused and looked at Danyael. “The incident two days ago, however, proves that my approach was wrong. I should have been recruiting alpha empaths, not alpha telepaths. The super soldiers are just one step up from animals. They’re far more elemental than humans, and emotions are a great deal more elemental than thought. The theory suggests that you, as an alpha empath, would have more control over the super soldiers, and in fact you did.”

  Danyael shook his head. “Empathy is far less precise than telepathy. You’re choosing imprecise, broad control over precise, limited control. It’s a disaster, either way.”

  The general looked down at the super soldiers. “It’s a chance we have to take. Advancement, both in science and in warfare, has a price. Only visionaries will embrace the future and pay the price it demands. That, down there, is the price we can afford to pay.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Americans grow increasingly squeamish. We have lost the will to fight. When too many soldiers die, the public withdraws its support for the war and demands we pull out, even though the war has been barely fought, let alone won. If we want to retain public support for the military and win any future war, we need to change who we send to war and how quickly we win the war. Why should many die, when only a few need take the risk? We can increase the use of technology—drones and the like—but the war is never won in the air. Eventually, someone will have to go in on foot. At that point, we send in the super soldiers and mutants. The higher skilled the team, the lower the risk. We have to lower the risk in war. We need to save what lives we can.”

  Danyael’s eyes widened. “Save lives? What about the alpha telepaths who were killed?”

  The general tensed. “That was unfortunate, but we can prevent that in the future, if you help us.”

  Danyael shook his head, his refusal instant and automatic.

  “You know we can’t do this without you,” the general said.

  Incredulity lanced through Danyael. “I’m a doctor, a healer, and you want me to lead a group of killers?”

  The general’s eyes went flat. “My soldiers die protecting the country. They give their lives to protect people like you.”

  Danyael slammed the palm of his hand against the window overlooking the enclosure. “Your soldiers died at the hands of killers, and you want me to lead them? They didn’t kill to protect anything. They killed because they could.”

  “Do you know what they’re thinking?” the professor asked, cutting into the conversation.

  “I know what they’re feeling.”

  Professor Sadgati exchanged a glance with General Howard. “Despite months of working together, your telepaths couldn’t even understand them.” She looked back at Danyael. “This is why we need you.”

  Danyael shook his head. “Don’t you get it? You’ve created a weapon you can’t control, a weapon that no one can control.”

  The general placed his hands on Danyael’s shoulders, his grip tight. “You can.”

  “Imperfectly—which is hardly any better than having no control.” Danyael shook off the general’s hands
.

  “We can build in layers of control. You will be backed up by alpha telepaths; they’ll be a safety net.”

  “What safety net? The super soldiers just tore through your safety net. What makes you think the net is going to hold any better the second time?”

  “Because you will be there. You make all the difference.”

  Danyael met the general’s gaze. Why hadn’t he sensed the general’s determination—his obsession—before? Emotionally and mentally, Danyael recoiled. He turned away as quickly as his crutch would permit. “I can’t help you.”

  The general released his breath in a quiet sigh. “I’m sorry to hear you say that. The program is going on regardless.”

  Danyael gritted his teeth, steeling himself against a guilt-fueled sense of responsibility—a groundless sense of responsibility. I will not be guilt-tripped into this…insanity. Unable to shake off the dread that enveloped him, Danyael limped away.

  “Danyael!”

  Danyael slowed and stopped, turning around to face Reyes Maddox as the older man scurried breathlessly down the corridor toward him. “What is it?”

  “Why are you leaving? I know you don’t approve of the general’s approach, but you can’t fault his intent.”

  “Super soldiers that no one can control—”

  Reyes cut him off. “You can, Danyael. The telepaths couldn’t contain the soldiers when they rampaged, but you did. You stopped the fight and saved lives.”

  “Once. Nothing suggests I can do it again, or that I can control the soldiers in more complex situations.”

  “That’s why the general’s suggestion makes the most sense. You train the super soldiers, with alpha telepaths providing backup.”

  “I’m not a soldier.” I’m not a killer.

  “No. You’re a healer. Your calling is to save lives. How many lives do you think you saved two days ago? You healed twenty-seven people, but saved far more when you calmed the super soldiers and sent them back to their barracks.”

  Danyael raked his fingers through his pale blond hair. “This isn’t for me.”

  “Then what is, Danyael? What do you think is the better, smarter thing to do? Healing the injured or preventing the injury from happening in the first place? You can save lives by working with the super soldiers, Danyael, far more than by manning the infirmary. The general is sticking with the program regardless of your decision; you heard him say as much. What do you think will happen to his telepaths? There are far fewer of them now; almost thirty were killed two days ago by the super soldiers. Will twenty be sufficient to control the fifty super soldiers, or will the super soldiers break free of their mental restraints and rip through their trainers again?”