Xenofreak Nation, Book Three: XIA

by Conway, Melissa

  Mia nodded and then held up the plastic bag. “Post-op inshr...instructions.”

  Dundee loomed over them and Bryn gently took Mia’s arm. “We have to go now.”

  Mia smiled up at Dundee. “Who’s your friend?”

  Bryn almost said, “He’s not my friend,” but didn’t think it would be wise to aggravate him. “His name’s Dundee. Come on.” Bryn tugged on Mia’s arm now.

  “Okay, okay. Grumpy.”

  She wobbled the first few steps as Bryn helped her into the hallway. Dundee led them to the back door, which opened onto an alley. An older full-size truck was waiting, engine running.

  “Where we goin’?” Mia asked.

  “We’re getting a ride,” Bryn replied. The lie made her feel worse than lousy, but she didn’t see any alternative. Bryn might be able to outrun Dundee, but Mia was in no shape to do more than walk unsteadily. Explaining the circumstances would only upset her.

  Dundee put them both in the back, got into the driver’s seat, and turned all the way around so he was facing them. He reached up to his face with both hands and for a moment, Bryn was afraid he was going to take the mask off and expose Mia to the typhoid. Instead, he removed his sunglasses with careful precision and just looked at them. It took her a minute to realize he was revealing his eyes, and there was no mistaking his pride.

  There were no scars to speak of, even though Bryn had left at least half a dozen quills sticking out of his face. Fournier must have fixed them, just like he fixed Dundee’s eyes. They were large and round, an inhuman golden green with slit pupils. No white showed around the iris at all.

  He chuckled at the looks on their faces and turned back around to put the truck into gear.

  “What are those?” Mia had already been leaning forward to avoid putting pressure on her back, but now she grasped the top of Dundee’s seat. “Cat’s eyes?”

  Dundee snorted. “I got a croc graft on my face, lady. No, they’re not cat eyes.”

  “Crocodile eyes? That’s amazing.” Mia seemed to have completely missed his sarcasm. “Do you see color? Is your vision sharper? Crocodiles have excellent night vision, you know.”

  “Yes, yes, and yes, they do.”

  Bryn knew Dundee to be a violent psychopath, but he answered Mia’s questions almost indulgently.

  “Have you got the nictitating membrane?” Mia asked. She stumbled over the word nictitating, but as soon as Dundee said no, she blithely barreled on. “How did they seat them in the socket properly? Crocodiles are huge. Surely their eyes are, too.”

  “Depends on the kind of croc,” Dundee said.

  “Oh,” Mia said. Her questions stopped as she considered it. Bryn figured the new eyes had come from one of the smaller, probably endangered, crocodile species. Mia must have come to the same conclusion, because she said, “Right,” and looked out the window.

  She didn’t dwell on it long, though, as if the topic was just too compelling to resist.

  “I knew successful optic nerve transection between mammals was still eluding surgeons, but that it had been possible in cold-blooded vertebrates for some time,” she said. Then with only a tiny pause, she turned to Bryn and explained, “What I mean is: you can’t transplant a human eye, for instance, into another human. Not if you want them to see. Or a monkey into a monkey, or a mouse into a mouse. But you can put a frog eye into another frog, no problemo. Mammal to mammal, can’t be done, but for reptiles and amphibians, they’ve been doing it for a long time.

  “Now this…” Mia gestured to the back of Dundee’s head. “Putting a reptile eye into a mammal, well, it’s fascin – no, more than fascinating – it’s a tremendous leap forward.” She turned to Bryn. “Maddy would be very interested in this development. Her functioning eye is photosensitive.”

  Bryn scowled as soon as Mia brought up Maddy’s name, but it was too late.

  “Maddy…Singh?” Dundee asked.

  Bryn put a hand on Mia’s arm and squeezed, wordlessly telling her to shut up, but Mia was still under the influence of whatever painkiller they’d given her.

  “Ow, stop it,” she said, yanking her arm away. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Yeah, Bryn,” Dundee said. “What’s wrong with you? I want to hear more about Maddy’s eyes.”

  Bryn had had enough. “Where are you taking us?”

  Dundee laughed. “If you must know, we’re going to see an old friend who wants to thank you for attempting to save his life.”

  Bryn’s blood went cold. He could only mean one person.

  Fournier.

  Chapter Sixteen

  In a discussion that took less than ten minutes, Scott, Alton and Lo exhausted the possible places Bryn and Mia might have gone in the middle of riot-torn New York. Scott was thinking about who else he could call that might know where she was when he caught sight of Shasta’s dark head over the top of the cubicle walls. Instead of going directly to her office as she usually did, she headed straight for them, still dressed in the grey pantsuit she must have worn to the subcommittee hearing.

  “Damned protesters,” were her first words, followed quickly by, “Where are they?”

  “Interview rooms one and two,” Scott said. He stood and handed her the holofile with Nicola and Savvy’s information.

  She waved a hand over it to open Savvy’s folder and glanced at the identification page. His fingerprints told them his name was Felson Ostling, originally from Michigan. “Techs find anything?”

  “No word yet.”

  “You heard from Dr. Padilla? Her team can’t get hold of her.”

  “Not since this morning.” Scott was about to expound upon that, tell her where Mia was supposed to be, but Shasta turned to Lo and said, “Gear up and go pick up the UAAV. I need you and Boardman on protection detail. Deputy Director Unger’s flight will be arriving at 4:16 at JFK. Pick him up, escort him home and no matter what he tells you, keep an eye on his house.”

  Lo nodded. “Where’s the threat coming from?”

  “Fournier, apparently. Lupus – I mean Agent Quinones – isn’t talking exactly, but he has made some cryptic comments about the Deputy Director. It’s just a precaution.”

  Lo frowned. “I know Fournier’s a whack job, but you really think he’s going after Unger?”

  “Word on the street is he’s gearing up for something big. Quinones is a hot mess, but in case there’s something to it, I don’t want to take any chances.”

  “Where is he? Lupus,” Scott asked.

  She hesitated. “Here, actually.”

  “In the building?”

  She dipped her head. “Rikers is on lockdown because of the riots, and frankly, we don’t have the staffing resources to house him offsite. He’s being kept mostly sedated. Yang’s outside the door guarding him.”

  “Will sedation be enough to block out the fear if Fournier activates his nanoneurons?” Scott asked.

  “Fournier can’t get to him anymore – at least theoretically. The tech guys found something that’s supposed to block cell signals, a special paint.” At Scott’s raised eyebrows, she said, “I know what you’re thinking, but Unger did authorize me to requisition it for Bryn right after Padme attacked her. Stuff’s expensive and hard to get hold of, though, and by the time it came in and the painters were finished, Bryn and Alton had already gone missing.”

  She turned to Lo. “Boardman picked me up from the airport. He’s waiting in the parking garage for you. He’s still on crutches, but you need backup and he’s all we got.”

  Lo said, “Yes, ma’am,” before striding off towards the weapons room.

  “You know,” Scott said, “I saw a couple of XBestia in that crowd down there. Seemed to be trying to blend in.”

  “Huh. Lying in wait for Unger, maybe?” Shasta shrugged. “Alton, I need you to relieve Yang. She’s been there since last night. They’re on the eighth floor, central.”

  “Got it.” Alton started to walk away, but he looked over his shoulder at Scott and mouthed, “
Call me,” which Scott interpreted to mean: call if he heard from Mia and Bryn. He nodded, but couldn’t help but wonder why Alton seemed so concerned.

  He opened his mouth to mention Mia’s situation to Shasta, but she began to walk briskly towards the interview rooms, saying, “Have they said anything useful?”

  “Not really. Savvy’s socially awkward, but perceptive. Nicola found out she was a clone and ran away. She’s not planning on betraying her father.”

  “We’ll see,” Shasta said.

  She paused outside the door to interview room one, and accessed Nicola’s information on the holofile. She scanned the page with the DNA results.

  “So it’s true.”

  Scott nodded. Nicola’s DNA identified her as Miranda Vega, Bryn’s mother, who’d been dead for some years.

  Shasta tilted her head towards the door. “Has she bonded with you at all?”

  “A little. She’s not crushing on me, if that’s what you mean.”

  Shasta made a wry face as she studied his black eye. “Not looking like that, she’s not. Where’s your eye patch?”

  He pulled it out of his back pocket and she helped him adjust it over his injured eye.

  “There,” she said. “That’s more like it. Romantic instead of scary. Now let’s see if we can get her to tell us where her father is.”

  When Scott had joined the XIA, the agency put him through intense training and then he’d gone immediately undercover. He’d never officially interviewed a suspect before, but assumed Shasta would take the lead and he’d sit quietly, observe, and try to look ‘romantic.’

  Nicola was slouched at the table staring at a crushed soda bottle and the wad of plastic wrap from her sandwich. Crumbs were scattered across the surface of the table. She stood when they entered and demanded, “Where’s Perky?”

  Shasta turned to Scott with a look of inquiry.

  “Her pet bird,” he said. “Perky’s hanging out with the tech guys.”

  “When are they gonna be done? And you said there were showers here. I’ve been sitting in this room forever.”

  It had been less than an hour, but he didn’t contradict her. “This is Shasta Fox, my boss.”

  Nicola turned a distrustful gaze Shasta’s way, not returning her smile.

  Scott pulled a chair out and after Shasta sat, he settled in the chair next to her. Shasta crossed her legs and set the holofile on the table. By default, the text and holos in the file were only visible from one direction. She and Scott could see it, but Nicola would only see a blur that was difficult to look at.

  Shasta invited Nicola to join them with a wave of her hand. “Have a seat, Miss Fournier.”

  “I’m sick of sitting.” Nicola’s voice had a distinct catch in it. She took one step back away from the table and crossed her arms sullenly.

  “Then you’ll want to cooperate so we can get you that shower and a nice room,” Scott said.

  “A room where?” Nicola asked.

  “Somewhere safe.”

  “There’s nowhere safe from my dad. Padme can find anyone and Lupus…”

  She trailed off, more than a trace of apprehension on her face. Scott had wondered how much she knew about Fournier’s activities, and her reaction seemed to indicate she knew quite a lot.

  Shasta must have wanted to ease her concerns, because she said, “Lupus is in custody, and Padme has left your father’s employ.”

  “Really?” Nicola looked astonished. “That must have been why she told me. Because she was leaving.”

  Scott tilted his head. “Told you…that you’re a clone?”

  Nicola decided to sit after all, sliding down in her chair, arms still crossed. “I didn’t believe her, but then I talked to Dad and he admitted it. That he made me.”

  “Where is your father?” Shasta asked.

  Nicola rolled her eyes. “Why? So you can arrest him? Like I’m gonna tell you.”

  “Are you aware of what he’s been doing?” Shasta leaned her elbows on the table. “Dozens of innocent people have died.”

  “That’s not his fault.”

  “No? And yet you’ve been with,” she glanced down at the holofile, “Mr. Ostling for two days now, while he’s been diligently using the socialnet to spread some very specific information about the outbreak. Information he had to get somewhere.”

  Nicola licked her lips. “Yeah, so what? Daddy tried to warn people, but they didn’t listen. Savvy thought we could do a better job getting the word out. Besides, Daddy didn’t create that bacteria. He’s not responsible for that. He’s just…using it.”

  “Well, I didn’t invent guns,” Shasta countered, “but if I use one to kill someone, I am responsible.”

  “Whatever.” Nicola’s gaze slid past Shasta towards the corner of the room.

  Scott was pretty sure Shasta wasn’t going to get Nicola to cooperate by attempting to undermine her loyalty to her father. In fact, she was only forcing the girl to vehemently defend the man. Maybe if they eased up on her, gave her the opportunity to plead her father’s case, she’d relax again.

  “Who did your father try to warn?” he asked.

  Nicola made a sour face, like he’d asked a stupid question.

  “You,” she said, spreading her hands to indicate the room around them. “The XIA.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Bryn kept an eye out for road signs, all the while acting like she wasn’t paying attention to where they were going. Not that it mattered, really. Since Dundee hadn’t blindfolded them, he was either taking them to a meeting place other than Fournier’s new hideout, or they just might not be getting out of this alive. She’d been anxious so often lately, she was beginning to feel as if the fight or flight response was a normal state of being.

  The holoclock on the dash showed half an hour had passed. Mia talked a good portion of that time, but had finally seemed to run out of steam. She was resting her forehead on the back of Dundee’s seat, and Bryn thought maybe she’d dozed off until she said, “Where are we going again?”

  Something told Bryn the effects of the painkiller were wearing off and Mia wouldn’t appreciate another lie.

  “Dundee is Fournier’s man,” she said. “We’re, um, going to see him, apparently.”

  “What? Why?” Mia directed the questions to Dundee.

  “How would I know? Do I look like his best friend? He wants to talk to you.”

  Mia’s eyes slid to Bryn, who couldn’t muster a reassuring return look. She lifted her shoulders a little to indicate she had no idea why Fournier wanted to speak with them.

  Their surroundings gradually transitioned from residential to rustic as the houses got farther and farther away from each other. As the yards got bigger, the houses became smaller and more derelict. Dundee took a right turn onto a rutted road that didn’t have a sign identifying it. Bryn felt sorry for Mia, who stiffened in pain each time they hit a pothole or bump. They travelled along for at least a mile past what looked like an abandoned manufacturing plant. Bryn saw two armed guards patrolling the place and fully expected Dundee to pull up to one of the corroded metal industrial buildings, but he drove on.

  The road ended at a tall, gated chain link fence. Dundee pressed a button on the visor and the gate slowly pulled open. He drove onto a gravel track that went up a low, rocky hill. At the top, Bryn looked down upon a wide winter-brown field complete with a few cows and sheep, beyond which was a barn, a house and several outbuildings. She counted three men on horses riding the perimeter fence. Beyond the farm was a large body of water she assumed was the Hudson River. She glanced behind her at the abandoned plant, where the sun glinted off old-fashioned solar panels on the rooftops. The plant’s grunge contrasted sharply with the charming scene ahead of them.

  Dundee took them down the hill past the red, two-story barn with white trim. He stopped the truck in front of a ranch style brick house behind a low picket fence.

  Bryn took it all in and thought about the XIA’s efforts to track Fournier down
after he’d narrowly escaped death in the Warehouse tunnel collapse. Scott hadn’t told her much, but he had mentioned the XIA’s focus was on a small detail Padme had let slip: that Fournier kept the larger bioengineered animals offsite. An innocent-looking farm like this would be the perfect place to hide in plain sight.

  Dundee got out and opened Mia’s door. “Let’s go.”

  Mia complied, moving slowly. She seemed steadier now, but her lips were compressed into a thin line of pain.

  Bryn slid across the seat and got out as well. Her stomach was tied in knots. She couldn’t help but think of the one and only time she’d met the man who’d surgically removed her scalp and replaced it with a porcupine pelt. He’d been buried up to his chest in dirt from the collapsed escape tunnel and she’d forced him to tell her about the typhoid in exchange for helping him. Her efforts had been in vain, however – she’d watched in horror as he’d been buried alive – or so she thought.

  The front door of the house opened and he appeared on the front step. Other than a short, neatly trimmed beard, he looked the same as when she’d last seen him, except he wasn’t covered in dirt and there was no scar across his forehead where the shattered support beam had gashed it.

  There was a faint blue glow on his face, and she realized he was wearing a holopiece over his right ear. She heard him say, “Keep an eye on it,” before he blinked twice to discontinue the call. He then beckoned to them to approach, calling out, “Welcome! Please come in.”

  When Bryn got closer, Fournier reached out and tipped her chin back with one finger, running his gaze over her quills. “Lovely,” he murmured. “Except…you’re missing a patch just there in the front. Have you been in an altercation?”

  When Bryn didn’t respond, he looked at Dundee, who said, “Not my doing.”

  “Well, then,” Fournier said, smiling like a good host and gesturing them inside. As Bryn and Mia crossed the threshold into a dark living room with overstuffed brown leather couches, he said, “I apologize for detaining you this way, but I assure you it was necessary. Please have a seat.”