Separation

by J. S. Frankel

  He then turned to the cockroach guards, who’d been silent all this time, and his display of courtesy disappeared, overridden by an authoritative air. “Go outside. Guard the place. There may be others.”

  The guards nodded and left. Allenby finished off his glass and poured himself another. “I don’t suppose you’d like a drink?”

  “No.” Anastasia’s voice cut the air like a knife. “What do you want with us?”

  After he quaffed another glass, Allenby’s good humor returned and he chuckled. “I don’t really want you. I was after your friend, the little pig. And now I have him. He’s in another room at the back.”

  How thoughtful of him to tell us where he is, Harry thought. “Where are we?”

  “Ah, the standard first question,” replied their host. “Before I answer you, did you like my representative showing up at your place?”

  “If you mean the souped-up warthog,” Harry answered, “the answer is no.”

  His comment earned him a shrug. “It was merely a way of testing your fighting skills. I have to tell you, I could have sent more, but decided not to.”

  So he knows all about us. “You didn’t answer my question.” Harry might not have been in a position to demand anything, but felt he deserved to know, and was rewarded with a nod.

  “All right, I’ll tell you. Where we are is a small house on the outskirts of Lyon. It’s a place I purchased a number of years ago and kept as a vacation spot, just in case I needed to take a break from the rat race. I need to use it now, so here we are.”

  “I don’t suppose you’re going to tell us ASR’s plan,” Anastasia said.

  A faint chuckle greeted her statement. “I don’t see why not.” Allenby leaned forward as his did so, eyes bright. “But before I get into specifics, let me ask you a question. Why does the process in hybrids break down so quickly?”

  Right away, he’d started in on the business-academic angle. It was a complex question, one that Harry had managed to resolve partially, but he had no intention of giving this scumbag the solution or even part of one.

  He did, however, give him some information. “The animal genes are stronger and usually overwhelm those of the human genes. It’s something a Russian scientist told me a long time ago and...” he hesitated, “it’s something I figured out myself.”

  A wintry smile lit up Allenby’s face. “Ah, you mean Nurmelev, don’t you? Or perhaps you mean Kulakov or Grushenko?”

  There was no way Harry could keep the surprise out of his voice. “You knew them?”

  This time, a harsh laugh rang from the man’s mouth. “I did business with them. I helped fund their programs, in part. Their other funds came from Russian backers. I wanted the research just as much as they did, for my own reasons.”

  With the thought of doing a significant amount of damage to this traitor, Harry started to get off the couch, but in a smooth and very quick motion, Allenby produced a pistol from his suit pocket. “You’re fast,” he said, “but you can’t outrun a bullet.”

  “You won’t shoot me.”

  Another harsh laugh rang echoed around the room. “Let me show you what I’m capable of.”

  He snapped his fingers, and one of his minions appeared, hovering at his elbow. “Yes, master, what is it?”

  Without hesitation, Allenby turned around and shot him between the eyes. He never even so much as blinked. The man, more insect than man, fell without a sound. Harry stared, unable to believe the cold-bloodedness. “You’re sick,” he finally managed to say.

  “No, I’m determined. Sit down. I’ll explain.”

  Harry sat and listened, wondering if he’d ever get the chance to take out this scumbag. His host, though, had a gun, and outside of the cockroach men, no telling how many other guards were on duty. Allenby had already shown a willingness to kill, and his trained subordinates seemed no less bloodthirsty.

  “ASR, my company, was originally founded to produce medicine to combat diseases,” Allenby began in a very calm and reasonable manner. “We had the idea, as your father and you did, about using animal genes in combination with human genes to knock out cancer and leukemia. Our research was progressing well, and we’d worked with the FBI as well as a number of other private companies. During that time, yes, I’d heard about your father’s work in transgenics, Harry. I may call you that, yes?”

  Truthfully, the answer was no, but Harry decided to let it pass, as another thought entered. That thought was of his father—it always came back to his father—and he’d been innocent. “My father only did fruits and vegetables.”

  “So he did,” Allenby grunted. “But his work gave me and others like me the idea that the concept of transposing genes from animals to humans could be viable. In fact, he had done some research, but had stopped for,” he scratched his chin, “ethical reasons.”

  Ethical, as in doing the right thing, Harry thought. He said nothing, though, wondering where all of this was going.

  “Since your father wasn’t the type to take the next step, I had to seek outside sources,” Allenby continued. “I contacted the Russians. They had ideas, and of all the scientists, Nurmelev was the most open to sharing, particularly the concept of using transformation chambers to hasten the process.

  “Then, unbeknownst to me, he decided to implement his own plan, and the chain of events began, culminating in the creation of your wife, among other transgenics. Your young lady ended up in New York, and after Nurmelev died, the FBI cancelled our deal.”

  He continued to relate the story. It was as fascinating as it was repellent. ASR lost its contracts and ties to the government, but still had sufficient funds with which to continue its research. It made deals with Grushenko and Kulakov. “We had the money, they had the technology, and we traded. It wasn’t a hard choice to make.”

  “You sold out your country.”

  Harry’s words rang with bitterness, and while it did sound self-righteous, it happened to be the truth. Allenby’s face lost its smile. “I did what I did in the name of advancement—mine,” he stated, thrusting his face forward. “We were an up-and-coming name in our field. I could have become the leading industrialist in the field of medicine. Not only that, our discoveries could have revolutionized modern medicine. We could have cured diseases, every disease out there the other large pharmaceutical companies weren’t and aren’t willing to do anything about.”

  Allenby continued to grouse about how red tape had held him back. “The barriers the governments put up, the limits they allow a person to go—they took that all away. Instead of being a leader, my company, one which I’d founded and nurtured, was relegated to nothingness. You can hardly blame me.”

  Fanatic—this man was a true fanatic, but before Harry could get a word in, his wife beat him to it. “You’re slime,” she declared, her eyes flashing hate and the promise of violence. “You created monsters to kill others.”

  “I created—period,” Allenby shot back. “You have no idea of what I’ve sacrificed over the years. I sank everything I had into my company. I studied and went days without sleep and food when in university. I’m also a trained bio-geneticist and DNA researcher. I created, and then freaks like you decided to get noble and destroy the research. I’ve got nothing in common with you, but I’m going to use you and your kind to get what I want.”

  He stabbed a thick forefinger in their direction, but what got Harry most was the gleam of insanity in this man’s eyes. That, and the fact he hated all transgenics. This man was true slime.

  Allenby continued to rant. “I’m creating now. The chambers we use have been modified. They aren’t used to create hybrids, but clones. Some are used for research, but others, once the process is perfected, will be used—”

  “To replace others,” Harry interrupted.

  Allenby sat back, nodding. “Clever, you are clever. Yes, that’s my plan. I’ll create clones, those that can be bred and controlled. They can be used for any purpose,” he stated with certainty.

  In o
rder to make sure of what he was getting at, Harry asked, “You’re talking about medicinal usage, aren’t you?”

  A sharp bark greeted his question. “Your vision is way too small. Think of it, a pitcher hurts the tendon in his throwing arm or a football player damages the patella in his knee. We use the clone as a type of source from which to harvest. If the player is hurt too badly, then the clone will take his place. Soldiers are injured on the battlefield every day, and it isn’t too much of a stretch to harvest organs from their doubles in order to help them heal faster or even use the clones as soldiers.

  “But that’s only a start. Imagine someone you do business with who won’t see things your way—”

  “And you replace him,” Harry interrupted, fairly seething now as he got the big picture. “You really think you can get away with it?”

  A self-satisfied smirk lined Allenby’s round face. “I’m already getting away with it, but to bring my plan to fruition, I need your little pig friend. You see, using human stem cells can only go so far. The experiments I initially used involved stem cells, but the clones died within a few hours.

  “I then hit upon the idea of using stem cells combined with animal genes, transgenic clones, if you will. There were many failures at first, but eventually we got the idea.”

  Allenby tossed off the concept of many failures without any note of regret in his voice. Harry wondered how many failures there had been and then decided not to think about it.

  His host snapped his fingers. “Don’t zone out on me. I’m not finished yet, and you have to hear the whole story. This involves genius, my genius, and it will involve your knowledge as well.”

  Talk about having a God complex. “I didn’t know you were a genius... if you failed so often.”

  A look, something between anger and regret, flashed across Allenby’s face. “I doubt any great thinker was right all the time. You have to fail in order to succeed, and even you’ve failed, haven’t you?”

  He had a point. Allenby gave a hmmphing sound as if to say you know I’m right and settled back. “So now we have transgenic clones. This program works.” His voice took on greater passion. “It works, and the clones I make do live. Since my initial test-runs, I’ve managed to induce a somewhat longer lifespan, but it’s still severely limited, only a few months at best. As you said, the animal genes overwhelm the human ones, but in the case of the clones, they cause multiple organ failure. The pig’s blood will counteract that. We learned that much from spies.”

  So they knew. At least, they knew a little, but they didn’t know everything. Harry had zero intention of telling him that Istvan’s blood wouldn’t solve the problem. “So if you don’t need us, why don’t you kill us now?”

  Allenby offered a lazy shrug along with an even lazier smile. “I don’t need the young lady, but I do need you. Outside of myself, there’s no one else who’s as brilliant. You have genius, and I need that genius. I have a well-equipped lab and have spared no expense to help you to help me.”

  Psychotic doesn’t even begin to describe this nut... “Dream on.”

  Allenby’s face lost its look of happiness. In place was an expression of pure ambition coupled with an even purer evil. “You’re forgetting one thing. Not only are you a prisoner, you’re also a hostage. The young cat-lady with you is also a hostage, and...”

  His voice trailed off when Anastasia doubled over and puked out some yellowish bile on the floor. “What’s wrong with her?”

  “Motion sickness,” Harry said, offering what had to be the stupidest excuse in the history of stupid excuses. It didn’t fool Allenby for a moment.

  “Considering we’re not moving,” he said, moving off the couch to cover them with his pistol, “I’m going to choose to disbelieve you.” His eyes narrowed. “You two are married... I remember hearing about that. And if you’re married...”

  The wary look vanished and a look of understanding replaced it. In a casual, almost careless motion, he swung the pistol in the direction of Anastasia’s head and then brought the barrel down to aim straight at her torso. She instinctively put a hand to her stomach. “I wonder what the baby will look like. Given the genetic animal codes you both carry, probably another aberration.”

  With a sense of utter horror, Harry knew this thing wouldn’t hesitate to kill her. Allenby’s finger twitched when Anastasia said, “The only aberration here is you. Our child will be decent.”

  Allenby’s finger continued to twitch, and for a moment it looked as though he would execute her, but then he shook his head. “Never mind, it isn’t worth it,” he said as Anastasia finished heaving and wiped her mouth. She slowly moved back to the couch, her tail coiled around her body.

  Once she was seated, Allenby took his finger off the trigger and snapped his fingers. Instantly, two of the machine-toting cockroach guards appeared. “Take them back to their room,” he ordered. “Let them think about their plight. If they try to escape, kill the female.”

  Cold-blooded didn’t begin to describe this nutcase, Harry thought as he got up and took Anastasia’s hand. The guards silently ushered them back to the holding room and locked them in. Once there, they perched on their cots. “Well, this is another fine mess we’ve gotten ourselves into,” opined Anastasia as she hugged her knees. “I wish there was a window I could squeeze out of.”

  “You’ll hurt the baby.”

  She gave a brittle laugh. “Not this one. I think she’ll be tough.”

  Harry’s eyes grew round. “You think it’s a girl?”

  “I know it.”

  Leaning against him, she whispered, “You think we’re going to miss our flight?”

  It seemed a foregone conclusion. Harry blew out a deep breath and held her, wishing things could be different and knowing there was no way out of here.

  Perhaps twenty minutes later, one of the guards came down and opened up. Machine gun at the ready, he pointed it in Harry’s direction. “Our master wants you to begin work. Come with me.”

  Knowing in his heart that he’d never go along with the program, Harry got up and walked out. The roach locked up and rattled the door, as if to send a signal that escape was futile. “Don’t worry,” Harry said as he left. “I’ll be fine.”

  Anastasia gave him a hopeful nod and settled back. The roach marched him along the corridor and up the stairs, and they ended up in the same room as the one where Allenby had revealed his plan. There, the leader waited, gun in hand, and he gestured at the rear of the house. “Shall we get to work, Harry?”

  Harry said nothing and stood stock still.

  Allenby thumbed back the safety and his polite attitude disappeared. “Attitude is something I prize in all my subjects. Your attitude could use some improvement. A bullet in your leg might change your mind.”

  “One day you won’t have that gun,” Harry said, locking gazes with him and meaning every word. “And when that day comes, you’d better hope you have something else than a well prepared speech.”

  The answer came with a silky smoothness. “I’m always prepared. Now move!”

  Allenby once more gestured toward the rear, and this time Harry walked straight ahead. At the back of the house was another room and he turned the knob, wondering what he’d find.

  Doing so revealed a small room that had been converted into a lab. It had probably been a storage room of sorts before, as a faint smell of linen hung in the air. The wooden walls were old and somewhat warped, and the floorboards were also loose and creaked every time he took a step. A small window with metal bars on it allowed fresh air to enter.

  However, what sat in one corner provoked Harry’s sense of outrage. A metal cage housed Istvan, and the little pig-man sat huddled up with a morose, lost expression on his porcine face. “Did you have to put him there? He’s not an animal!”

  “Your definition of animal and mine differ slightly,” Allenby said as he stepped cautiously into the room and waved the gun to indicate all the equipment. “Do you like what you see?”


  The maniac hadn’t been kidding when he said he’d spared no expense. The room housed a centrifuge, a DNA analyzer and differentiator, numerous chemicals, and a number of other useful scientific instruments guaranteed to make any scientist envious. It also had a laptop and two memory sticks. “It’s... pretty decent,” Harry said grudgingly.

  “I thought you’d say that,” the reply came. “Feel free to use the computer on the table. Yours, we already destroyed, and don’t think about sending a message. The Internet link won’t work, only the programs for medicine and DNA analysis. The password is my last name.”

  Harry then heard the click of the pistol’s safety as it was thumbed back. A second later, he felt the cold metal of the pistol’s barrel on his neck, and the next words he heard chilled him. “You’re here to do research and only that. There will be a guard posted outside the door. Remember, your life—and your wife—both belong to me.”

  The barrel withdrew, and the sound of a bolt being thrown echoed over the room. Immediately, Harry wrenched the door to the cage open in order to let Istvan out. “You’re okay, right?”

  The little pig-man rubbed his bottom and stared at his former prison with distaste. “I am not pig, not yet. What will you do?”

  Harry opened the computer and booted it up. “Run some more tests on you.” He leaned over to whisper, “Don’t worry, I won’t tell them about your blood, but I need to make sure of something.”

  Ever since leaving the catacombs in Rome, he’d been wondering why Istvan’s blood couldn’t be used in a different manner. If a retrovirus could keep the devolution process at bay, why not use the breakdown immunity-healing factor that Istvan’s blood held? Harry was no hematologist, but he knew the basics and they would have to be enough. Taking a vial and a syringe, he asked Istvan to extend his arm.

  “You want more blood?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Reluctantly, Istvan put out his arm, and Harry quickly withdrew a sample. He then analyzed it, ran some calculations, and got to work. After a couple of hours, he had the calculations ready and he saved it all on the memory sticks. That one he placed in his pocket.