Ultraviolet Gene book 1: The Lost Children

by Eliza Bohnen

  It was a typical office, with a computer and monitor on the desk and a fancy office chair, a mini-fridge, a round table and several wooden chairs, and a small sofa. One might expect to see a place like this littered with things like family pictures, or at least a few nature photographs of a place the occupant liked to visit, but the desk and walls were bare of anything that suggested personality. It reminded Ellie of her father's office. He didn't have any family pictures in there either, like she needed more proof that he resented the hell out of her and her mother. She didn't know whether Ashby's lack of such things meant that he didn't have a family, or if he hated them, too.

  She remembered Casey, and told him what she saw.

  It's not the same room, said Casey. We're going to go for it.

  Good luck, said Ellie. Keep in touch.

  The man sat her down on the sofa. Ellie moved her tongue in her mouth, trying to work up enough saliva to wet her throat just a little. She swallowed wrong and coughed through her nose, so dry it stung.

  The man guarding her must have still had a shred of humanity, for he came over, ripped the tape from her mouth – owwwww – and let her cough normally.

  While her mouth was free, she asked, "Could I have some water?" She fidgeted her hands behind her back. The tape was tight, but maybe...

  The man considered it. "All right," he said. He went to the mini fridge and crouched to open it. Ellie concentrated on the tape around her wrists – duct tape was easy to rip along the grain – and when she felt it coming apart, she faked several coughs to cover the noise. She got it about halfway, on the side that faced in to her back so that no one would notice.

  The man brought over a bottle of water, opened it, and held it to Ellie's mouth. Undignified as it was, she drank gratefully. A little spilled down her front, but that couldn't be helped right now.

  Okay, she said, in her mind, addressing it to both Casey and Matty. They brought me to the leader's office. His name is Ashby. I think Jet and his dad are on their way up.

  She waited, but received no response. She grew cold thinking about what that could mean. Soon the office door opened again, and Jet came in with another man. They deposited him on the couch next to her. He glanced at her, eyebrows raised. She opened her mouth to whisper to him, wanting to say she was working on freeing her hands, but the men in the room were watching, so she thought better of it. If only, Ellie thought.

  Casey, she called. Matty. Where are you?

  * * *

  The pleasant voice that said "Welcome!" when Matty and Casey reappeared took them both by surprise. Matty gasped and turned around to look, and Casey grabbed onto his arm. If they were in the right place, of course the office would be occupied. Matty cursed himself silently; he should have thought of that, but they'd been so eager to rush to their friends' rescue...

  The man was sitting, so Matty couldn't tell for sure, but he looked pretty tall, and was also quite stout. He was bald on top and had shaved the rest of his head to match, and on his chin sat a neatly-trimmed goatee. Not one thread of his suit and tie, custom-fit, was out of place. The holster on his belt did not go unnoticed by Matty. He smiled broadly and gestured towards some of the chairs in front of his desk. "Please, sit!"

  What do we do? Casey asked.

  I think we sit, said Matty. Be careful. He's armed. He pulled up a chair and sat down, and Casey did the same. Matty glanced at him; the kid looked terrified. It was time to think fast. This man must have seen them teleport in, and his reaction suggested he knew exactly how they'd done it. This could get dangerous.

  "What brings you gentlemen here?" asked the man.

  Casey gaped. Matty opened his mouth. "We... uh..."

  "I'm sorry, that's quite rude of me, isn't it?" The smile on his face was strong, but saccharine. "Would you like some tea?"

  "Um, sure," said Matty. Casey still hadn't spoken.

  The man stood from his chair and walked over to a counter against the left wall, where there was a tea set on a tray and an electronic water heater. He packed a tea ball with leaves, placed it in the pot, then filled that with hot water. A minute later he served three steaming cups, at his desk. "Do you take cream and sugar?"

  "Yeah," croaked Casey, the first time he'd spoken.

  "No, thank you," said Matty. He wasn't a fan of black tea, but figured this wasn't the time to say anything. He reached for the cup, but found it too hot to touch. What kind of game is this guy playing? Matty wasn't an idiot; this man was toying with them. There was something especially absurd about this man dressed in an expensive suit serving tea to a little kid in a polo shirt and jeans, and a man in flip-flops, board shorts, and a faded Hard Rock Cafe New York t-shirt – the one he'd borrowed from Jet.

  "It's a lovely night, isn't it?" the man said. He spoke with an American accent, which struck Matty as odd, given they were back in London.

  "I guess," said Matty. He glanced at the clock on the wall – it was 3:45 am here. That made it, what, evening in Hawaii? Matty was so wired that he didn't even know what time zone his body was on, anymore.

  "I know it's a bit unorthodox," the man said, "being awake at this hour, but I work so much better at night. Everything's gone global now, though, hasn't it? It's daytime somewhere."

  "I guess."

  "Indeed," said the man. He looked at Casey. "Young man, why don't you tell me about yourself?"

  Casey's eyes widened, and he froze. He turned to Matty for help. "I... er... I..."

  Suddenly Ellie's voice rang through the channels, asking their whereabouts.

  "There's not much to tell," said Matty. He wanted to answer Ellie, but he couldn't focus both on speaking to the strange man and to her. At least she wasn't hurt. He took a deep breath and steeled himself. "Why don't you tell me what you want?"

  The man laughed, and this time a tinge of darkness colored his voice. "Me? You're the ones who came barging into my office. Why don't you tell me what you want?"

  "Come on, don't play games with us," Matty said.

  "Really?" the man asked. "I think you mistake my tone for playfulness." He opened up his desk drawer and pulled out a thin manila folder, then opened it and leafed through, finally choosing a paper. "Ellen Alicia Shiflett," he read, "born on the 29th of January, 1986. On March 17, 2000, at 10:01 pm, we received a wave pingback from the event that we generated." There was that word again, event, spoken deliberately to denote it described something more specific than any random happening. "Our agents were dispatched to collect her, and she was brought into custody at 10:56 pm, GMT." He wrinkled his nose. "I'll skip the next bit, it's boring. Evidence for telekinesis is strong, no compounding detected."

  He placed the sheet back in the folder, set the folder flat on the desk, and slid it towards Matty and Casey. "Would you like to look at it?"

  "I don't know why I'd need to," said Matty. "None of that means much to me." Plus, whatever else they had written about Ellie in there was none of his business.

  "Nonsense," said the man. "I'm sure it means a little bit, even if you don't understand some of the bigger words." He folded his fingers together. "I want to make one thing clear: if either of you leave this office, we have others waiting, and for them, there will be consequences. Certainly you might say to me, 'Jester, why on earth would you punish innocents for our actions?' but I would tell you that it is the only way to treat teleporters. Precautions must be taken, you know."

  "Jester?" Casey muttered.

  "It is what I am called," said the man. Casey shrank back and pursed his lips, but then the phone on Jester's desk rang and he was saved.

  "Jester," said the man into the receiver. "You have? Excellent. Excellent. I'm very happy. Well, circumstances being what they are, I think you ought to bring all of them up to my office right now. Yes, all of them. Very good." He hung up. "Well, we'll have company soon," he said. "Isn't it a marvelous thing that you knew exactly where to come? I wonder where you might have obtained that information."

  "Uh-huh," said Matty
, unwilling to provide anything further. Think you can teleport with two people at once? he asked Casey.

  Dunno, said Casey. I haven't tried yet.

  It might be our only chance, said Matty. Just be ready.

  Okay, said Casey, and then the door opened behind them.

  * * *

  They shoved Ellie into the room first, and then Jet, and then finally Jet's father. The men had been kind enough to remove the tape from their mouths before, which meant Jet could breathe a little more easily, though they had certainly not pulled the tape gently. Matty and Casey were situated in chairs in front of the desk, and they had cups of tea. Tea? What the hell was going on? The other three were probably talking a mile a minute inside their heads, but that didn't involve him. When the three prisoners were lined up against the wall, the man at the desk stood up. "Thank you," he said. "Watch them carefully."

  He walked over to the prisoners. "Here we have the telekinetic," he said, Ellie's shoulders tensing up as he leaned in close to her. Next, the man moved to him. "And you say this one's a teleporter?"

  "It's what we're assuming, sir," said Ashby, "since the incident occurred at his home."

  "And this is Dr. Cooper," said the man. "We'll talk about him later." He paced back towards his desk, but remained standing. "Esteemed guests," he said. "You may call me Jester." This guy spoke with an American accent. "I suppose you all know why you're gathered here today."

  Does he expect me to answer him? thought Jet. That would be crazy, with guns pointed at me. Even if they think I can teleport, I can't. I'm screwed.

  "Sir," said Ashby. "Who are these two?" He gestured to Matty and Casey, who were petrified in their chairs. Probably they'd attempted a rescue mission. Jet appreciated the effort, anyway. It was something.

  "That's a good question," said Jester. "They've been so rude as to not introduce themselves yet, don't you agree?" He walked around to Casey's chair and patted the boy on the back. Casey looked like he might throw up. "What do you say, son? What's your name?"

  "It's, uh..." said Casey. "Ca... Caleb."

  "Is it?" asked Jester. "Are you certain?"

  Behind him, Matty stood up. "Leave the kid," he said. He pointed to Jet. "And he's not one of us. Let him go."

  Ouch, thought Jet, though Matty almost certainly hadn't meant it that way. He was an ally, but he wasn't one of them. He wasn't special. Would he ever get used to being the regular one? Maybe Casey wouldn't need to hang out with a guy like Jet after this.

  "I don't know that you're in a position to bargain," snapped Ashby.

  Jester raised one hand. "It's all right, Ashby," he said. "Let the boy be. You've recovered the telekinetic, I see, so I'm in a forgiving mood."

  Ashby had the grace to look ashamed.

  "Who is this clown you're answering to?" Dr. Cooper demanded.

  "Clown?" Jester said, affronted.

  "Clown, Jester," said Dr. Cooper. "You've infiltrated the BSU and you've got some of our best people working for you. What do you hope to accomplish?"

  "Things you once hoped to accomplish, did you not?" asked Jester. He walked closer to the captives again. "Adam Cooper. You wrote a lovely article, back in 1978."

  Jet's father looked embarrassed. "I did write an article, but it was all theoretical. Academic fiction."

  "Don't sell yourself short," said Jester. "Your preliminary theories and research inspired the masses. It's just too bad that you lost sight of the goal afterwards."

  "What are you talking about?" asked Jet's father. "You don't even know me."

  "No," said Jester, "but I have been working with Ashby for over thirteen years, now."

  Jet watched his father as the man closed his eyes in contemplation. "Is this what that phone call was about?" his father asked.

  Ashby smiled. "I'm surprised you remember."

  "What phone call, Dad?" asked Jet, unable to contain his curiosity.

  "I..." his father said. "I was grading papers in my office. It was... it was 1986. I remember. It was September 7th."

  "That's my birthday," said Jet.

  "Yes," said his father. "And that's why I remember." Some affection for his father rekindled itself in Jet's heart. "Ashby called me, said there'd been an incident, that... this had been our dream. But I couldn't. I'd have missed your birthday."

  Jet wasn't sure what to say at first. "I... you missed it last year. And the year before that."

  His father smiled bitterly. "I was a little better about it back then."

  Jester brought his hand down on his desk so hard that everyone in the room, ally or otherwise, flinched. "Ashby," he said, "I appreciate you bringing the doctor here along with the children, but I don't think his presence will be necessary. He's seen too much, and he knows you."

  "I thought it would be safer to bring him here first," said Ashby.

  "You were correct to do so," said Jester. "Here we can do that discretely. And as for the children... well, if the doctor's son isn't one of them either, then I guess we have no choice."

  "No!" Casey shouted.

  Matty gripped Casey's shoulder. "Don't," he said. "Look, if you let them go, you... you can have me. I won't resist. But let them go."

  Jet's heart pounded. The men had guns on them, still, and there was now a very real possibility that they were about to be shot. His brain was telling him to run or yell or do something, but his shoes and his heart were filled with lead.

  "I'm asking you to show a little humanity," said Matty. "You need a lab rat? You got me. I don't have a home to go back to. The rest of these guys will be missed. I won't."

  "Matty, come on," Ellie begged.

  Jester looked at Matty seriously. Jet glanced at his father, whose expression was tense. He looked over at Ellie, who looked like she might cry. She was fidgeting with her arms behind her back. "You're giving yourself to us?" asked Jester.

  "Yeah, I am," Matty said.

  "Well, then." Jester opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a syringe. Next to him, Ellie winced – she knew what Matty was about to get, and it wouldn't be good. Jester also grabbed a small packet. Jet craned his neck to see what it was.

  One of the guards went behind Matty and held him by his left shoulder. Then he took Matty's right wrist and extended his arm. Jester went to Matty and tore open the packet, then swabbed the crook of Matty's elbow with the contents – it was an alcohol wipe. Before Matty could protest, Jester jabbed him in the elbow with the syringe. His aim was true. He must have had a lot of practice.

  "Ugh," Matty groaned.

  Suddenly, Jet felt something tickle his wrist – but his hands were taped behind his back. Ellie elbowed him.

  He looked over at her. She was a good deal shorter than he was, and he dared not move too much for fear of attracting attention, but he caught a meaningful look in her eyes. He wiggled his wrists and found there was a small rip in the duct tape that bound them. Right, he thought. Telekinesis. If he and Ellie could get their hands free, maybe they'd have a second to do something.

  Over in the center of the room, Matty's knees wobbled, but the guard held him up.

  "State your full name," said Ashby.

  "Matthew K. Okada," said Matty.

  "Your full name," Ashby demanded. "No initials."

  Matty gritted his teeth. "K-E-I, Kei. Matthew Kei Okada."

  "Ah. Very good," said Jester. "Ashby, take Matthew and the other children downstairs – leave the doctor's son, though."

  Matty's knees buckled, but he managed to remain standing. "I told you I'm giving myself up!"

  "And we appreciate it," said Jester, "but we can't let them go. They know too much. You understand."

  "You asshole," muttered Matty. The agent was already dragging him towards the door.

  "Take care of it quickly," said Jester. "We'll have the office cleaned in the morning."

  Jet's heart thumped hard against his ribs as the remaining man raised a gun, and pointed it squarely at his father. It must have only taken a second, but it
seemed like an eternity. That man was going to kill his father, and Ellie was occupied, could she possibly deflect another shot?

  Time froze for Jet. He looked around the room, took in every detail. His eyes lingered on the lights in the ceiling. His limbs felt lighter, suddenly, as if liquid energy had been injected into his blood. He narrowed his eyes and focused on the lights.

  "Dad," he said. "Take a dive." And then Jet closed his eyes and heard the sound of tinkling glass, the sound of all of the light bulbs in the room – some in the hall, too, for once he tapped into one he could reach out, feel the network of electricity winding through the building like blood vessels. Like blood bursting from a wound, glass and sparks rained down upon them. Jet shoved his father to the left, then dropped to the floor. The gun went off, and bullet cracked plaster and drywall. "Run!" he cried, and then he went limp.

  "Get the lights back on!" cried Jester, as if that was an option. Sure, Jet hadn't turned them off in the entire building, but he'd gotten the whole floor, and there weren't windows in the hall. It was going to be pitch black out there. The door was still open.

  A pair of sneakers bumped Jet, and a girl's voice grunted.

  "Someone get my dad," he begged. Ellie didn't say anything, but she got up and continued moving. He rolled over. He had to get back up, in a minute they were going to find him and shoot him.

  Suddenly a pair of hands seized him by the shoulders, and a moment later he was gone.

  "Jet. Hey, Jet."

  Jet rolled over onto his back. The room was filled with an eerie white light. That was funny, he thought he'd gotten all the lights. But when he focused on looking at the ceiling, he saw cracked plaster, completely devoid of the fluorescent fixtures he'd exploded a minute ago.