“You will have to go to the surface,” Carlo interrupted as he made his way into the chamber. He walked over and pointed at the ceiling. “The reception down here is non-existent. Follow me.”
They snaked their way through the narrow waterway, always taking care to step lightly. The faintest sound echoed sharply off the walls, and Harry’s sense of paranoia grew with every step he took.
Finally, they reached the surface, and Carlo pushed the grate off, poking his head out of the hole and swiveling it left and right. With a quick wave of his hand, he motioned upwards. “I will keep watch,” he said. “Please hurry.”
Duly noted, and Harry clambered out of the sewer. Sitting on the concrete, he quickly typed Jason, Maze... find out what you can about a person named Allenby.
The reply came back in less than a minute. This is Maze. Lots of Allenby’s in the registry. Can you narrow it down?
Harry licked his lips as he searched his memory for a possible link. A name floated up. It was a slim lead at best... and it all had to do with a company. Check on Applied Scientific Research.
Applied Scientific Research—ASR for short—had once been affiliated with the FBI. They’d wanted certain secrets in order to further medical research to be used to cure cancer and leukemia, in addition to other life-threatening diseases.
After a number of incidents had occurred, incidents meaning some other transgenic creations had wreaked havoc all over New York, the FBI had cut ties with them. More than likely, ASR hadn’t been very happy about it, and Harry had the hunch they were behind all of this recent mayhem... maybe.
The reply came back two minutes later. Got it Maze wrote. Horace Allenby, former director of ASR. Genetics researcher... founder of ASR... missing since August of 2014 and presumed dead...
Doubtful on the dead part, thought Harry. Theory or not, he had a hunch Allenby had faked his demise and had gotten the Genesis Chambers up and running years back. How he’d gotten the technology remained a mystery, though.
Another thought, one closer to home, rang in Harry’s mind, and he asked Maze if she’d heard from Overton. This time, Jason replied. Yeah, he called us on a secure line from some hospital in Italy. He said he got the order from Farrell to return. He’s coming back soon. Are you guys in trouble?
Yes.
Oh crap...
We’ll be okay Harry hurriedly typed out after receiving Carlo’s worried glance and gesture indicating they return to the sewers. I’ll contact you when I can.
Logging off, he thought briefly of his mentor in the hospital, and then sequestered that thought away. He’d meet Farrell later on and hoped his mentor would last until he returned. As he and his guide made their way back to the main chamber, Harry asked, “What’s the plan?”
Carlo offered a brief shrug and put a finger to his lips. “Keep your voice low. We are not sure if someone is listening.”
Harry nodded. Security had to be paramount down there... and he still wasn’t sure the church was totally on their side. They were under the largest and most powerful religious institution in the world. The thought of being trapped down there was a most unsettling one. “What are you going to do?” he whispered.
The answer came back in the same soft voice. “I do not know if Signor Morello told you or not. There is no central leadership. We are trying to link up with our other comrades in France and Spain. Those are the two main countries where our brethren have settled. They were forced out of the other European countries.”
“Forced out?”
A sad smile accompanied the words, “You do not know. I shall tell you.”
A few months back, when the first transgenics had come from various countries in the European Union, the rest of the world didn’t know what to do with them. Those hybrids had come from the laboratories of the scientists responsible for the transgenic program, mainly Kulakov. They’d escaped from the laboratories, found one another, and linked up.
From there, they’d willingly come forward, asked for jobs, and presented their skills. Some of them had university educations, while others possessed knowledge in the manual arts. Still more had no special abilities at all, save youth, strength, and the desire to do an honest day’s work.
“They were denied,” Carlo said with a trace of bitterness. “They were called abominations and affronts to God, they had their passports revoked, and they were given the choice of leaving their homeland or going to jail.
“They took the former choice, most of them. Those that stayed were either jailed or shot, at least here in my country. In Germany, while they were not deported, they were also not accepted. The authorities there said they already had too many refugees from the Middle East.”
At least they hadn’t been killed. In the Baltic countries, most of the transgenics had been massacred. Russia had been especially ferocious in hunting them down. Switzerland had refused them sanctuary, and Great Britain had accepted only a handful. Most of the other pro-Western countries had followed the same pattern. “We are not wanted, no matter how much we wish to contribute.”
Seeking a place of safety, they’d turned to the various religious organizations and those sympathetic to their cause. There weren’t many willing to help. “In Italy, our churches have helped, but not all of them. In France and Spain, the Jewish and Muslim relief groups have combined forces, but they, too, have been shunned, as they are the religious minority. It seems,” he said with a sigh, “there are no safe places for us to go.”
Harry listened, attempting to digest the facts at hand. Where could they go, what could they do, and what would their future be? “What do you guys really want?” He hoped they wouldn’t go radical in the same manner as Szabo and his ilk, but the possibility existed.
The answer came out simply and yet it carried great emotional weight. “Our rights,” Carlo answered in a grave voice. “What else do we need? I know about engineering. I know how to operate heavy machinery. I do not remember much about my family, even I had one, but I do know about my abilities.
“Others here are knowledgeable about using computers, have medical training, understand the ways of chemistry and more. Many of us have had our minds invaded and our memories stripped away. As for our families...” his voice trailed off a moment and he gave a helpless shrug.
“We are not animals in spite of how we look. We are different, yes, but we are still people, and our basic personalities remain. We only want the same chance as our Italian brothers and sisters and nothing more.”
Simply and yet eloquently spoken, his words gave Harry a sense of hope... but at the same time, reality reared its ugly head. Carlo had just mentioned the other countries’ governments being unwilling to help. It would be a long, arduous road to acceptance.
More telling, though, was that if rights to the transgenic population were not accorded, where would the transgenics go? More importantly, what would they do? As if reading his mind, Carlo nodded. “I can imagine what you are thinking. You are thinking some of us will fight against this injustice, yes?”
“It crossed my mind.”
Carlo gave a hmmphing sound and crossed his massive arms over his chest. “It has also crossed my mind. However, Monsignor Morello and others in the church are working on our behalf. The religious and relief organizations in other countries are also working to aid us. We must be patient. There are not enough of us, and we have no power. As I said before, we need leadership.”
He said nothing more. Once they reached the main chamber, Anastasia met them. Even in the dim light, she looked pale. “Are you okay?”
“I tossed everything up for the second time since we got here.”
She threw up again... He didn’t want to believe it, but it had to be true. Just to make sure, he asked, “Uh, how long have you been feeling sick?”
Anastasia blinked. “It started a few days ago. I...”
Seconds later, her voice died away, but a faint smile spread across her face. “I’m also late. Maybe I should have told you?”
With a sense of realization that bordered on shock—almost—Harry whispered, “You’re pregnant?”
“It seems to be that way.”
Suddenly at a loss, his mind whirling, he sat down. Carlo gave him a pat on the shoulder. “It happens,” he said in a deadpan manner which provoked a giggle from Anastasia. “Congratulations... Papa.”
“Yeah...”
Harry couldn’t think of anything else to say. Carlo excused himself, and once they were alone, Anastasia took a seat, her legs folded underneath, and her hand upon her flat belly. “Are you happy?”
How was he supposed to feel? Shocked, surprised, awed... and yes, he was happy. Reaching out to touch her stomach gently, she guided his hand to where she said she felt it most. “I sometimes feel a twinge here. I’ve never been pregnant before, but I guess I’ll learn.” Her gaze met his. “You are happy, aren’t you?”
“Well, yeah, but when, I mean, how...”
Anastasia arched her eyebrows upwards in disbelief. “If you don’t know, then you need to reassess your life’s priorities.”
Harry felt the blood rush to his face. “I know how,” he stumbled out. “But I mean, are you sure?”
She nodded. “What else could it be? I didn’t have time to take the pregnancy test. Anyway, I can still help you out. Did you send the message?”
Putting aside the concept of becoming a first-time father for the moment, Harry filled her in on the details. “Yeah, I heard about a guy named Allenby. He used to work for ASR.”
Anastasia blinked. “Weren’t they working with the FBI before?”
“Maybe this guy Allenby is behind it.”
He then went searching for Leo, and found him in an adjacent chamber, feeding his face on a pile of pasta and slabs of cheese. He looked up, his cheeks bulging like a squirrel storing up nuts for the winter. “What is it?”
“What did the American say to you?” Harry needed to know everything in as much detail as possible. “Did he give you a name, tell you anything? We need to know what he looked like.”
After chewing and swallowing, Leo painted a most impressive description that would have made a police artist’s job easy. The man in question was in his forties, short and stocky, with a head of thinning blond hair and an authoritative manner. He had no distinguishing marks, save a birthmark running from the top of his hairline to his right eye. “It was red, very red, like a scar, but not a scar.”
The doctors called it a port wine stain, Harry recalled. The next time he was on the surface, he’d try to get a picture from Maze. “Did he say anything about creating other transgenics?”
Leo chewed on his lower lip in a slow, thoughtful manner. “He no say much. He point and gesture at the other changed people. It is like he is master and they are slaves. He point and they do, or he get very angry.”
Power trip, he’s into control. Harry had met others like him before. They exuded authority even if they didn’t have the brains to back it up. Some of his university professors had acted the same way. Once he’d shown them his results, they clammed up and left him alone. However, that had been a year and a bodily transformation ago...
“Did he say anything else?”
Leo shook his head. “No, he just say he search for someone and then tell us to leave.”
“Thanks.”
Harry walked over to the wall, thinking about Allenby’s plan and running some permutations through his gray matter. An awful thought occurred to him, but while he was thinking things through, Anastasia walked over and tapped him on the shoulder, interrupting his train of thought. “So,” she prodded, “spill.”
“He needs Istvan’s blood. I can figure out that much.”
A warning light flared in her eyes. “We have to get him out of here. If the citizen’s groups don’t get him and everyone else first, Allenby’s brood will.”
“You’re my top priority.”
Anastasia’s expression softened. “Thank you.” She leaned up to kiss him. “But I can handle myself. I know my body... sort of. Outside of throwing up, I can deal with this. Don’t worry.”
Easy for her to say, Harry thought as they searched for Istvan. They found him sleeping in an adjacent chamber and woke him up. He sat up, rubbing his porcine face. “What is it?”
“We have to get you out of here,” Harry said. “Farrell and our other man need you back in the States.”
“Can you guarantee my safety?” Istvan’s question was simply put, but the answer was complex. “Here, I have some. I know why they want me. I remember you tell me my blood is special. If it is special, perhaps many people want it.”
It was special, but being special also meant problems associated with the uniqueness of it all. Harry had researched it in the past, and even though he doubted the people here had the proper equipment, still, he had to try. After finding Carlo, he asked him what kind of medical equipment they had.
“We have IV bags, bandages and some syringes, among other basic items. What else do you need?”
A centrifuge and a DNA differentiator happened to be the two most needed items, but without them, Harry had to rely on his knowledge and intuition. “If you have a few glass slides and a microscope, I can run some preliminary tests. I also need a couple of sterile syringes.”
“I will get what you ask for.”
Once Carlo had gathered the materials, Harry used the syringe to withdraw some blood from Istvan. The little pig-man stoically offered his arm up, but he sounded most dubious. “You know my blood is special. You say so to me. Why you need now?”
Harry had tested Istvan before, once in Hungary, but he had to make sure of something. Even without specialized equipment, he was able to run the most basic tests. “Trust me, it won’t take very long.”
Dropping a little blood on a glass slide, he examined the platelets under the microscope, squinting to make sure of, and... there! It couldn’t be, yet it was. He then fed a few computations into the computer, went up to the surface, ran the equations, and sweated as he waited out the results as much from anticipation as fear of being caught. He then returned below. “What is it?” asked Istvan, once he came back.
It turned out Harry’s hunch had been correct. “Your blood is different, yes,” he said, “but not in the way you think.”
“I do not understand.”
While the little man’s blood carried an enzyme capable of mitigating if not curing a whole host of diseases, it had a time limit. “It can only be used within a seventy-two hour time period,” said Harry.
“I still do not understand.”
Keep it simple. “I have to make sure, but if I’m right, the enzyme in your blood can stop or even cure diseases if it’s combined with conventional medicine. The problem is the enzyme breaks down after three days.
“In you, it’s keeping you alive and healthy. You’ll live a long time. It’s also probably why you haven’t devolved. But in someone else, it won’t work unless the medicine is administered within that time period. Do you understand?”
Istvan nodded slowly while he listened to the explanation. “I think so. It means my blood must be used as soon as possible. It cannot be stored?”
“No, it can’t.”
Istvan nodded once more as if seeing the word picture painted before his eyes. If Allenby was also aware of this, then it meant he’d keep Istvan on tap twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Not only that, Anastasia was expecting, and he didn’t want her running around. Knowing her, she wouldn’t sit out any fight and that meant trouble. Oh, this shed new light on the meaning of the phrase imminent departure.
Grabbing his computer, Harry went on the search for the underground’s security expert and found him talking to three other dog-men. “I need to send another message and contact my people. This is important.”
Carlo shook his head. “We cannot go up now. I have reports citizens are searching for us. They spotted another of our group nearby. They may know of our lo
cation. They may not, but we cannot take the chance. Please wait.”
Anxious but aware detection would probably lead to everyone’s death, Harry nodded. “Let me know when it’s safe.”
“I will.”
With that, Harry rejoined his wife in the chamber. Istvan and the others had decamped to another area and most of the other occupants were sleeping. Anastasia curled up with a blanket over top of her. “So,” she whispered, “is this the vacation you planned on?” Her tone came across only as mildly mocking.
“No, but I figured we’d go somewhere more exotic,” he answered. Concerned, he placed his hand once more on her stomach. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay?”
A look of exasperation flashed across her face. “I told you before, I’ll be fine. Morning sickness won’t stop me. I can still move. When it’s time to go home, I’ll go, but for now you need me.”
He started to say something, but she leaned over and kissed him. Stroking the side of his face, she murmured, “I love you, husband. Let’s get some sleep.”
Harry awoke when someone touched his arm. He sprang to his feet, claws out. “Wait,” a voice whispered. “It is me, Carlo.”
Quickly, Harry retracted his claws. His guide stood a couple of feet away. “Let your wife sleep,” Carlo said. “The area is clear for now. I will guide you up. We will leave this place after you are finished sending your message.”
Pointing at one of the dog-men who stood by the chamber entrance, he gave him a signal, and the dog-man went to the sliding brick wall and opened it up. “That person is from France. He escaped and brought us a message. We are to meet up in the countryside of Lyon as soon as possible. He will guide the way.”
Good news to hear.
On the surface, Harry sent a message. This time Jason answered. I got the information here. Hang on.
Seconds later, a picture flashed on the computer’s screen. It was the man Leo had described, right down to the port wine stain. Harry’s heart began to beat fast, and he smelled something—men. The odor of sweat, fear, and rage was unmistakable. “We’ve got to get below,” he said to his guide. “Istvan has to leave now. Everyone has to leave.”
Separation Page 7
