“You tell me. She seems friendly enough.”
Harry caught the sarcasm in the other man’s voice and answered appropriately. “I can’t tell if she wants to eat me or rip my head off.”
“Just tell me what she is,” Farrell said. He’d gone from sarcastic to businesslike in the matter of two seconds. “You’ve got the background, so fill me in.”
Harry couldn’t, but at the same time he recognized the mixture of feline characteristics with human ones. This woman—she looked to be around his age—was obviously the product of transgenic engineering. All the plastic surgery in the world and all the best makeup artists couldn’t make anyone look like a she-cat. He’d seen simulations of the various combinations before. In fact, he’d run them himself.
His breath abruptly caught in his throat and he coughed. The realization that someone out there had taken his theories and turned them into reality made him wonder who’d actually managed to pull it off. “Someone’s been playing God,” he muttered.
Farrell cocked his head to one side. “Come again?”
“It’s what my father used to tell me,” he answered, and wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. “I can’t tell without checking her DNA first, and I need my computer. You still have it, right?”
The agent nodded and jerked his finger at the door. “You saw. It’s inside. We, uh, we couldn’t crack the password you used.”
Harry suppressed a laugh. For all their vaunted knowledge, the FBI couldn’t crack a simple lock-and-key code. Maybe they were aiming too high. “I suppose you tried hacking into my computer?”
Farrell stabbed his finger at the laptop in an accusatory manner. “We tried, but you encrypted your files. I thought you were just one of those chemistry nerds.”
The remark stung. Then, once more admitting the truth to himself, he acknowledged he was a nerd, the home-loving, stay-in-your-room-and-study kind of nerd. “I’m a nerd of many talents. You didn’t screw up my computer, did you?”
“Trust me, the files haven’t been corrupted.”
Harry snuck another look inside the room. The cat-girl was sitting on her haunches and staring in his direction. Her whiskers twitched, as did her ears and he had the distinct impression that she was staring at him. She abruptly stopped her inspection and shifted her gaze to the far corner of the cell.
“I can’t tell for sure, but she seems to be a cross between a cat and a...a girl,” Harry said, and then felt dumb for stating the obvious. He closed the door, just in case the cat-girl decided to listen in.
The agent pursed his lips and nodded. “It’s clear you’re the product of a fine education.”
Once again, the sarcasm in his voice made itself evident, and it was both totally withering and totally effective. Harry felt the blood rush to his face in embarrassment, but before he could respond, Farrell asked, “Can you tell me what or who made her this way or what type she is?”
“Why are you asking me? I don’t know anything about cats.”
“Are you allergic?”
“No, I’m…” He abruptly stopped talking. He’d never owned a pet and outside of Parham the anime geek and his now gone parents, he relied on science to get him through the day. The rules and regulations of chemistry and DNA were his best buddies, always different yet always the same and always exciting. No matter how bad his life got, once inside a lab he felt at home. Now, he was just bewildered. In an attempt to get the subject back on track, he rubbed his head as if to get the neural synapses moving again and asked, “Who is she?”
The agent leaned against the wall. “We don’t know. The police picked her up a couple of days ago. She refused to answer any questions, although a witness, one Nick Winter—homeless—said she spoke to him. Said she was strong, fast, and mean. You just saw what happened to one of my men. She can take the full charge of a Taser and still fight, that’s how tough she is.”
He sighed. “New York’s finest caught her, but they didn’t know what to do with a case like this, so the precinct captain in Manhattan contacted us and now we have custody and jurisdiction. There’s a media blackout in effect. We don’t want the public to panic.”
Harry’s first thought was, of course they don’t. He could see the headlines now: How many other mutants are wandering around?
Then he wondered aloud what they’d been feeding her. Farrell laughed. “Well, the first thing we did was hose her down. She smelled, and it was pretty rank. Someone found her some clothes, and after she got dressed we tried offering her milk and she just hissed at us. One of the other agents mentioned sandwiches and coffee and she perked up, so it follows she can understand English. That much we’ve learned. We pushed in some sandwiches on a plate and she ate them, and then pushed the plate outside, which means she’s got some intelligence.”
“She’s got manners,” Harry stated. “You really don’t know who she is?”
The agent shook his head. “We have no prints, no name, and nothing else to go on. We’re running her picture through state and nationwide records right now. We’ve also contacted Interpol, just in case. They haven’t called us yet, but when they do, we might have something to go on.”
Harry was confused. “So what do you want me to do?”
Farrell pulled himself away from the wall. “I’m not a scientist,” he said peevishly. “Our people can’t type her. Your father was one of the foremost transgenic researchers in the world.”
“He only did fruits and vegetables.”
Farrell threw up his hands in frustration. “Okay, that was him. You’re you, and according to all reports, you’re even better than your father was. We need to know who and what she is, and we need to know now.”
“You couldn’t get anyone else?”
“No one’s come close to what you can do, whiz-kid.”
Harry rubbed his forehead in frustration. “Uh, look, Agent Farrell…”
“Call me Miles. We’re going to be working together, so we might as well be friends.”
Miles, Harry thought. He figured all the men in black had tough names. Miles didn’t sound tough at all. And screw any friendships with anyone else at the moment, especially this jerk that’d arrested him in the first place and managed to ruin his life and a promising career. “Uh, sir, I’m not a technician. I’ve never seen a transgenic person before. I’ve only run simulations.”
“Do you know anyone else who knows as much as you?”
It was a fair question. Harry recalled the times some of the other researchers had spoken to his father. They’d come in a couple of times every year up until his father had taken ill, men and women from everywhere in the world. After his father’s death, though, no one had bothered to come around or even called to offer their condolences. It totally sucked, but that was how life went.
Oh, the question of who was better qualified…“Uh, haven’t you tried checking on all the other researchers yourself? I mean, my father knew people from China and France and more…”
Farrell waved off his suggestions, his features set like stone, and he recited, “The US government is not in the habit of consulting foreign researchers on matters such as this unless absolutely necessary. The potential for damage and misuse is enormous. In short, we can’t trust them.”
“I can see all the damage right in front of me.” Harry pointed to the door and the agent’s face flushed a deep red. “So why can’t you trust an American researcher?”
Farrell inhaled a deep breath and slowly let it out. “We did try talking to some of them. They all said it couldn’t be done. They’d all done the basic equations. Even your father never got as far as you did.”
He spread his hands wide in a gesture which meant he wanted help. “All I’m asking is that you unlock the data you have on your disc and tell us what you know. We’ll get a blood sample and have one of our techs analyze it. After that, the rest is up to you.”
Harry decided to test his keeper. “What if I say no?”
The agent’s voi
ce came out the same way a hammer banging a gavel in court would. “Then you go to a maximum security lockup. No special privileges, full-time in the can. And Miss Kitty can stay here until her hair falls out. Right now, I don’t care which.”
Both jailer and jailed stared at each and Harry blinked first. After thinking about it, he didn’t have much of a choice. No, on second thought, he knew he was screwed. With a sigh, he opened the door, went inside, and got his computer going. Miles Farrell looked on, his gaze impassive, and Harry inserted the disc in the side and downloaded the information. “You’re not going to tell me the password, are you?” he asked.
Harry knew he didn’t have to, but on the other hand visions of a jail cell and someone who wanted to be his special friend persuaded him to cough up the details. “It’s Linoleic acid,” he said. “Two words and linoleic is capitalized. Acid isn’t.”
He worked on a few equations, typed some commands in, and then turned the computer around to face the agent. “There it is. That’s as far as I got.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that the cat lady was observing him with interest. She’d obviously been listening to everything they’d been saying, and he wondered if she knew about everything in the room. Her eyes darted back and forth as if memorizing and categorizing every single object.
The agent ignored the cat-girl and focused his attention on the computer. He peered in to look at the data more closely and arched his eyebrows. “What am I looking at?”
Harry pointed at a chemical matrix on the screen. “This is what would happen if I combined shark DNA with human DNA. It’s also what you arrested me for. Pretty stupid, too,” he added.
Farrell pulled a face. “We went on the evidence available. You knew damn well it was against the law. Why’d you do it?”
Harry ground his teeth together in frustration and then resignedly blew out a gust of air. “I was looking for the gene that knocks out cancer. That’s what my father died from. I figured that if I could somehow combine the two, then the immune system would fight off the illness, can you comprehend that? It’s not I like ever tested it with a real live person. This is as far as I got until your Storm Troopers hauled me in.”
The agent shrugged. “Sorry about your old man, but I was just following orders.”
Harry had heard that before, justification for doing evil. It seemed as though personal freedom of thought obviously didn’t matter much to US lawmakers. Then he noticed Farrell staring at the screen. “Do you understand what you’re looking at?” he asked.
The agent shook his head. “All I see are numbers. Did you manage to figure it out?”
Now Harry felt embarrassed. He didn’t want to admit failure. He’d been working over every equation and permutation in his mind and still couldn’t get it right. “No, not yet, because I had a lot of problems, and…”
A sound from the cat-lady interrupted him. She started meowing, a low, husky, and oddly sexy sound, and shifted her feet. “Looks like we should have brought a box of kitty litter in,” Farrell muttered.
He reached inside his suit pocket and took out a small Taser. Going over to the bars but keeping a respectful distance, he waved the weapon in front of the prisoner. “See this?” he asked. The cat-lady watched him warily, but didn’t back off. “You know what this is, right? I’m sure you do.”
Harry took in the scene, and for some reason it reminded him of a trainer with his pet in front of an expectant crowd. In the back on his mind he thought of how much damage those claws could do, but at the same time this wasn’t an animal, not completely.
Farrell unlocked the cell door and carefully backed up before waving the girl out. “Well, c’mon kitty, you want to use the bathroom, don’t you?”
She slowly extended her arm, her middle finger upraised, and Harry stifled a laugh. Whoever she was, she was a badass. The agent grimaced and waved his hand in the direction of the bathroom. She stepped out of the cell and walked quickly and gracefully to the far end of the room, where a sign indicated the lavatory, and entered. Farrell closed the door for her and stood outside, Taser at the ready. “She saw the bathroom on her first day here and made for it in a second,” he said. “She doesn’t want to talk, but she knows where the toilet is.”
“She also gave you the finger,” Harry supplied.
Farrell grunted something vicious under his breath, waited a couple of minutes, fingered his Taser, and then banged on the door. “Are you finished?”
A meow answered him, and then they heard the sound of the toilet flushing. The cat-girl came out, shook the water off her hands, and stopped to stare at Harry. “Meow,” she said again, but this time it didn’t sound like a cat’s meow. It sounded like a human saying the word.
Then she stopped, sniffed the air, and took a step in his direction. He was transfixed, and while one part of him wanted to retreat, the other part wanted to see what would happen. She took another step and then jumped and yowled as the agent zapped her. A series of snarls and hisses emanated from her mouth, and after turning around, she backed into the cell and watched him through narrowed eyes. Farrell closed the door and locked it.
“She seems to like you,” he observed as he moved out of range. “You think she’s cute, like those furry animated creatures or something?”
Harry didn’t know what to say. He stood there, mouth slightly ajar, and then shrugged and turned his head away in order to hide his embarrassment. Yeah, he thought she was cute. “I guess she’s okay.”
A chuckle came from the older man. “Maybe you’re right. I’m a dog man, myself.”
Farrell’s hand went to his jacket pocket and he took out a pager. He checked it and turned it off. “I have to go upstairs for a moment. When I come back, I’ll bring someone to take a blood sample from her. Don’t move, got it?”
He quickly left the room and closed the door behind him. Harry went back to his chair and sat watching the cat-lady—and then he then decided to call her a girl. Even with the fur and the feline features, she still appeared to be more human than animal, and overcome by curiosity, he walked toward the cage. The prisoner sat on her haunches, staring at him. He got to within two feet of the bar and halted. “Uh, hi, I’m Harry Goldman. Do you have a name?”
No answer.
“I’m a researcher here. The man with the Taser, his name is Miles Farrell. He’s an FBI agent.”
The girl still didn’t speak. She stared at him, her eyes wide and curious and then with a quick movement, reached out and gently touched his hand. The contact sent an electric shock through him…and suddenly he felt ridiculous, like he was conducting some kind of ESL class with a very attractive student. “Do you understand…?”
“What are you doing?”
Farrell’s voice came from behind him and Harry whirled around, caught off guard. He felt the blood rush to his face from embarrassment and mumbled, “Oh, well, I thought that maybe if I talked to her…”
“You’re not supposed to,” the agent said, and the disgust came out in his voice. He came over to the cell and pulled Harry out of the way. “You’ve seen what she can do damage-wise, right? What makes you think she won’t turn you into a ribbon? Is she that cute that you have to get a glimpse?”
“I was just trying to help.” As soon as he uttered those words he felt totally foolish. It was such an overused expression, and lame, too. But what was he supposed to do, anyway, just hang around and play with the numbers? The girl was a prisoner, and a pang of empathy went through him.
Clearly, Farrell didn’t have the same kind of empathetic emotions, and after swearing quietly, something about dumbass young people being incompetent and thinking with their balls instead of their brains—his last comment made Harry turn bright red—he turned to the man at his side and pointed at the cage. “Do what you have to do.”
The technician, short, fat, and bald, stared at the prisoner and took a step back. “You want me to get a sample of that thing’s blood,” he asked in a high-pitched nervous voice.
His hands quivered and sweat popped out on his forehead. “She looks like she wants to eat me.”
“Get over it,” Farrell said, and his voice rose in exasperation. Harry thought the whole tough-guy routine pretty dumb and totally unnecessary. Perhaps federal agents took classes that taught them to be badasses or totally impersonal asses. Whatever, he kept his mouth shut and waited.
“We need a sample so our whiz-kid over here can figure out what she is.”
The fat man reluctantly nodded and slowly reached into his pocket to withdraw a plastic syringe and a glass vial. When he started in the direction of the cage, however, the girl started hissing and lashing her tail, and then pointed to Harry. Farrell noticed the gesture and gave a harsh chuckle. “It looks as though you’ve made yourself a friend, kid. Join the crowd.”
Reluctantly, Harry sidled over to stand with the other men. The technician got the syringe out and took off the plastic tip. “I’m ready.”
Farrell took out his Taser and opened the door. The girl backed up against the wall, a low moan combined with a snarl coming from her lips. Harry figured she was scared and remembered what most animals did when confronted by bigger or multiple foes. “Don’t you think we should wait or something?” he asked.
“We don’t have time.”
Harry really didn’t think all three of them being in the cage was such a good idea and knew she’d fight. The next two seconds proved his assumption correct. The cat-girl waited until the trio got within striking range, and then she lashed out with a fist and caught him on the side of the head. He’d been smacked before, but never like this. A second later, the concrete hit his face. This is it, he thought, I’m toast. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the girl slash the technician’s arm and heard him scream.
Soon the cage was filled with swearing and hissing, spitting, cries of pain, and the spray of blood dotted the walls. Then the sound of the Taser rang in his ears, a sharp, snapping sound with the blue and yellow crackle of energy filling the air. He heard the girl screech in anger as the agent zapped her at least three times, and then his eyes closed. Farrell’s voice came through just before the darkness took over. “Well, at least she knows who’s in charge around here. Let her try giving me the finger now.”
Catnip Page 4
