Tainted Hearts

by Cyndi Friberg

  “We meet at last.” Anxiety drove a chill down her spine. She did her best to hide the reaction. He wasn’t tall yet his sharp-eyed stare exuded authority. She had to stay on her toes. Job was nobody’s fool. “Would you be offended if I said your video records don’t do you justice?”

  She smiled and averted her gaze. “I was just thinking the same about you. Your eyes are fantastic.”

  He was dressed in an outfit nearly identical to her dour-faced escort, but the commonality of his apparel only intensified his mystique. “Before we begin, I have one condition, and you’re not going to like it.”

  “How can you be certain?” She looked at him again and felt her mouth go dry. Those strange, starburst eyes were no longer focused on her face. Making no effort to disguise the direction of his stare, he assessed every curve and hollow of her body.

  “I have many enemies, you understand. I can’t allow myself to be too trusting. You’ve already been scanned for weapons, but I need to make sure there’s no recording equipment hidden on your person.”

  “How do you intend to do that?”

  He held out his hand. A disk-shaped device rested in his palm, its strap wrapped around his hand. “It’s not necessary to touch you, but I’ll have to come closer.”

  Silvery light danced in his gaze and a smile played about his mouth. It was obviously a test. If she refused, he’d send her away. She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin.

  “All right.”

  Closing the distance between them with two quick steps, Job passed the scanner up and over her head. He circled behind her methodically sweeping her hair. “Please raise your arms.”

  His breath stirred her hair, making her skin crawl. She could feel his body heat seeping through her filmy dress and her heart thudded. He had to be mere inches away. What would she do if he touched her, decided to force her? She was such a fool!

  Hesitantly, she lifted her arms. He scanned from her shoulder to her wrist, hovering just above her skin. Returning along the underside, he repeated the process on her other arm.

  He faced her again, his expression inscrutable, his movements lazy. He spent much too long with the scanner hovering over her breasts. Was he imagining touching her? Her stomach tightened in protest.

  “This is really unnecessary,” she said stiffly.

  “I apologize.” But his gaze never lifted to her face and his hand continued to caress the air above her body. He knelt, looking up into her face, his smile salacious, gently mocking. “Don’t panic. I need to put my hand under your skirt.”

  “I don’t think so!”

  “I’m not going to touch you. We’re almost done.”

  Clenching her teeth, she stared across the room at the elevator door, wishing she were descending toward Marc and safety. She could feel a faint stirring against her skin as Job moved the scanner. He leaned in, his face brushing her abdomen as he scanned the backs of her thighs.

  “Enough!” She stepped back. His hand trailed across her thigh and tented her skirt, before she managed to get them disentangled. “Are you satisfied?”

  “Hardly,” he drawled. His gaze never left her as he rose to his feet. “Why the sudden interest, Tuesday? You wouldn’t even accept an interactive call. Then, out of the blue, you want a meeting with me?”

  “Something happened to make me reconsider the things you said in your messages.” She swallowed and quickly licked her lips. “I found your ideas interesting before but in the last few days, I’ve thought about them more seriously.”

  “The question remains. Why?” He crossed his arms over his chest. His gaze narrowed as he studied her.

  “I was kidnapped. Someone from Sinclair-Dietrich drugged me and carried me off like so much baggage.” Tears stung her eyes and she felt her lips tremble.

  “Why were you kidnapped?” He sounded skeptical.

  “Because this whole tainted world has gone mad. They’re so desperate for biomechanical hearts, they’ll do anything! I’ve devoted my life to saving them and…I was abducted and terrorized because the Priority Matrix wasn’t moving fast enough.” She sobbed, concentrating on the fear and revulsion he inspired. “I thought you would understand. I thought you would…”

  She covered her face with her hands. Everything within her rebelled when his arms closed around her, but she forced herself to lean into his embrace. His hands rubbed her back. She pressed her face against his shoulder, gritting her teeth against her instinctive loathing.

  “I do understand.” His tone was low, soothing. “I know how they use and manipulate. You’ve been their puppet for far too long.”

  Pushing away from him, she wiped away her tears with her fingers. “I’m sorry. I thought I was over all this but I’ve never felt so helpless in my life.”

  “How did you escape your abductor?”

  She crossed her arms over her breasts. It wasn’t hard to appear upset with his strange, silvery gaze assessing her. “I didn’t. I negotiated my release.”

  “You gave him what he wanted?” The corner of his mouth curved, adding a suggestive meaning to the question.

  “In a manner of speaking.”

  “Come. Sit down. You look like you’re ready to bolt.” With his hand barely touching the small of her back, he guided her across the room. “I don’t want you to be afraid of me.”

  She sat on the large, green leather sofa. He chose the chair facing her. Crossing his legs, he rested his hands on the chair’s arms, his ever-present stare intent upon her face.

  The elevator door slid open and a slender, dark-haired girl walked into the foyer carrying a tray of beverages.

  “Rahab, set that here.” He motioned to the coffee table in front of him.

  Was this Raeanne Rawsen? Rahab’s features bore the sculpted contours so frequently found after cosmetic enhancement. Medium height, slender build, this woman could be anyone. Tuesday searched for some hint of the president’s daughter in the young woman crossing the salon. It was impossible to determine one way or the other.

  Without hesitation, the girl followed Job’s command. She kept her head bowed and her eyes downcast. Was this an act or had Job’s control so subjugated Rahab there was nothing left of Raeanne?

  “How long have you been with PURE?” Tuesday did her best to sound casual.

  The young woman busied herself with the assortment of drinks, shifting bottled water to one side of the tray, pouring a cup of coffee.

  “Answer her, Rahab.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize she was speaking to me.” Her dark gaze lifted for a second, then she returned her attention to her task. “I’ve been with PURE five weeks.”

  “Are you happy here?”

  “Yes.”

  Quite the conversationalist. “Are you a 0.0? What attracted you to the movement?”

  Rahab looked at Job as if asking permission to answer.

  “Join us. Ms. Fitzpatrick is curious about our society. Feel free to be honest with her.”

  She remained standing, her hands folded in front of her. “I ran out of options, Ms. Fitzpatrick. I came to PURE out of desperation, but I find myself fascinated by what the organization is trying to accomplish.”

  Tuesday looked at Job. “Do a lot of people come here for sanctuary?”

  He smiled indolently, accepting a cup and saucer from Rahab. “I suppose. Is that what you’re interested in? A place to hide?”

  “There are many ways to hide, Mr.…er, Job. Some people simply immerse themselves so far in their occupation they have no identity, others pay for complete facial enhancements so no one knows who they are.”

  Job chuckled and took a sip from his cup. Tuesday glanced at Rahab. Did she understand the inference?

  “Do my cosmetic enhancements bother you?” Job asked.

  She wanted to laugh. Of course he was vain enough to presume she was talking about him. Good. She pushed her luck. “No, I find your appearance striking, but the practice troubles me. The daughter of a good friend had her fac
e changed and just disappeared. Her father is frantic with worry.”

  “Yes,” he mused. “I suppose running away from home is a bit easier when you can completely change your appearance.”

  “Excuse me, sir. I really do have tasks awaiting me in the Data Center. May I return?”

  Had Rahab understood the message? Did the young woman even care anymore? “My companion is waiting in the lobby,” Tuesday interjected. “Could someone let him know I’ll be a while? I don’t want him to worry.”

  “Certainly.” Job reached for his vidcom.

  “If it isn’t too much trouble, could you send Rahab? My friend can be rather protective and the receptionist was rude. I don’t want him to do something rash.”

  Job sighed. “By all means, Rahab, tell Ms. Fitzpatrick’s friend she’s in good hands. We wouldn’t want him to do something rash.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Marc flipped through the PURE pamphlet and struggled hard not to laugh. Their claims were cleverly twisted distortions of facts and events, propaganda at its finest.

  “Are you here with Tuesday Fitzpatrick?”

  He glanced up and found a slender, dark-haired woman standing a few feet away. “I am. What can I do for you?”

  “She’s been detained. She asked me to let you know. Thought you might be worried about her.”

  “I appreciate the information. Ms.…”

  “Rahab.” She looked directly into his eyes as she said the name. “She wanted to make sure I introduced myself. I guess PURE’s social graces leave much to be desired, according to Ms. Fitzpatrick.”

  “The woman who greeted us initially was rather rude.” Had Tuesday spoken with Rahab alone? It didn’t seem likely. Rahab was certainly choosing her words carefully. “Did Ms. Fitzpatrick explain what brought her here today?”

  “I’m not privy to every conversation that goes on in the stronghold. That privilege is reserved for members of security.”

  He smiled. “I see.”

  “I doubt it,” she snapped. “But I don’t have time to explain it to you.”

  She hadn’t been hostile a moment ago. What was she trying to tell him? “Is your schedule that demanding? I know Job runs a tight ship, but surely you can talk to a visitor for a minute or two.”

  “My schedule has changed significantly in the past few days.” Her voice sounded brittle. “When I arrived at PURE, I thought I knew what to expect, how to proceed, but the situation has changed—significantly.”

  His mind buzzed with questions, but they were being watched, he had no doubt. This ambiguous word game was frustrating the hell out of him.

  She walked to the rack of pamphlets and selected two. “I think you might find these more interesting than what you were reading.”

  He accepted the brochures with a halfhearted smile and watched her retreat across the lobby.

  * * * * *

  “Is the tainted man in the lobby your lover?”

  Tuesday carefully put down her coffee cup before she allowed herself to respond to Job’s provocation. “That’s none of your business.”

  “Everything and everyone within the PURE organization is my business.”

  She scooted to the edge of the chair, interlacing her fingers to keep from clawing through his artificial stare. The vanity enhancements concealed his emotions as effectively as mirrored sunglasses. “I requested the meeting today but I didn’t start this. Why have you been trying to contact me?”

  “You know why. Pretense doesn’t become you. If you weren’t interested in what we’re trying to accomplish here at PURE, you would have refused my messages a long time ago.”

  “I’m intrigued. I won’t deny it.”

  “As am I.” He stood, moving indolently toward her. “There is a reason for my question, Ms. Fitzpatrick. I’m not trying to embarrass you.”

  “I’m not embarrassed. I’m offended.”

  “Fair enough. Let’s say, for the sake of argument, that this man is intimate with you and you become pregnant. Will your baby be dependent upon a biomechanical heart for its entire life?”

  He wanted to talk statistics? Confused by his change of direction, she answered honestly. “For the sake of argument, if a 0.0 female became pregnant by a man with a Purity Rating of 2.0 their child would have a fifteen percent chance of requiring an biomechanical heart, thirty-five percent chance of requiring lifelong medications, and fifty percent chance of being born free of Methuselah Syndrome. There are any number of factors that can affect the outcome, but those are approximate probabilities.”

  “Fifty-fifty chance,” he mused, his hands clasped behind his back. “And that’s with a man whose rating is relatively low.”

  “What’s your point?” She kept her tone mild, her expression neutral.

  “How long did it take to perfect the SP-64?”

  He seemed to flit and flutter from one subject to the next, but doubtlessly there was a connection. Like a spider spinning a web, each strand would eventually intersect in a glistening trap. She took a sip of coffee, desperately needing the moisture in her mouth. “My first working prototype was successfully installed in 2061.”

  “SP-64, so named because it was officially launched on St. Patrick’s Day in 2064.” He cocked his head and studied her. “How many have malfunctioned since that day?”

  “We have a zero percent mortality rate due to device failure,” she stated proudly.

  “That’s not what I asked.”

  Tension’s fist closed around her heart and squeezed. The answer was seven thousand and forty-two. A miraculously low number, given the millions in operation, but seven thousand and forty-two times her device had malfunctioned. “I came here to learn about your organization, not to review my job performance.”

  “You’re a scientist.” He returned to his chair, retrieving his cup from the coffee table. “May we speak frankly and logically, setting aside our emotions as well as we are able?”

  Did he have any emotions to set aside? “All right.”

  “Have you solved the problem with valve number three?”

  Tuesday guarded her reaction, suppressing her shock and suspicion. The problem was not widely known but it wasn’t classified either. Was he trying to impress or intimidate with the accuracy of his information?

  “What does this have to do with PURE?”

  “Indulge me for a few moments. What harm can come from polite conversation?”

  Pausing to set her beverage aside, she crossed her legs and folded her hands. “Yes. The valve problem has been resolved in the new model.”

  “Is there any hope of developing a model that derives its power directly from the human body?”

  This was clearly meant to intimidate. “Your research has obviously been more extensive than mine. I came here to learn about PURE. If you’re not willing to—”

  “My point is simple. Even with your incredible invention artificially sustaining their lives, those with Methuselah Syndrome are vulnerable. They’re at risk from malfunction. They die if they can’t recharge their power cells. Isn’t CPT currently working on a pocket defibrillator, so the heart can be jumpstarted like an antique automobile?”

  “Your solution is to simply let them die?”

  “Of course not.” He sounded genuinely aghast. “Have you read none of my literature?”

  “I’ve read all of it.”

  “And you still don’t understand?” He tapped his fingers against the arm of his chair. “Let me see if I can give you a better example. Let’s talk about the SP-64 cocktail. It’s a combination of chemicals, all toxic to the human body, designed to suppress the immune system so the biomechanical heart won’t be rejected. Is that correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “What are some of the risks inherent with long-term ingestion of this cocktail?”

  “We both know the answers to all of these questions, so what’s the point of this conversation?”

  He laughed. Amusement didn’t reach his eyes, emotion never reac
hed his eyes. “Ms. Fitzpatrick, you live and breathe the SP-64 Project and I am fascinated by it. If Michelangelo sat before me, you can guarantee I’d ask him about painting.”

  “Despite the Sistine Chapel, Michelangelo was primarily a sculptor,” she pointed out.

  He annoyed her.

  “Is it true that long-term suppression of the immune system increases a person’s risks of getting cancer or other life-threatening infections? How many cocktail-related deaths have there been in the last five years?”

  “I can send you all this information in a spreadsheet. I wish you had made the nature of your interest clear to me. It would have saved us both a frustrating conversation.”

  His chuckle grated on her nerves. Setting his cup down, he joined her on the couch. She suppressed the urge to crawl into the opposite corner, as far away from him as physically possible.

  “That’s the world your tainted lover offers you.” He didn’t touch her, but he extended his arm along the back of the sofa, bringing his hand within inches of her hair. “Would you like to hear about my world?”

  She shook her head. “You speak of physical purity and yet you’re obviously enhanced. You were certainly not born with those eyes. Isn’t that hypocritical?”

  “I’ve had moments of vanity. I’m the first to admit it. But I’ve learned from my mistakes and realized what is important. Besides you’re comparing hair dyes and cosmetic alterations with a genetic mutation passed on for generations. Are they really the same?”

  She didn’t answer. Her tight, dry throat refused to release a single word.

  “You’re the epitome of a PURE female. You’re untainted by the scourge God is pouring out upon this planet. You’ve resisted the temptation to mutilate your body. You radiate health and vitality as nature intended.” He paused, leaning toward her. “The thought of him touching you makes me crazy.”

  Swallowing past the considerable lump in her throat, she managed to say, “I didn’t realize your interest in me was personal.”