by Simon Hawke
“Forget it. Lucas.” said Delaney. “Drakov has him thoroughly programmed and conditioned. You’ll never get through to him.”
“Maybe not,” Lucas said, “but it’s got to be worth a try. He can still think. He can still feel. He’s still as human as the rest of us.” Moffat stared at him. “What did you say?”
“I said that no matter what Drakov may have done to you, you’re still a human being, with a mind and will of your own. Think for yourself, man. At least listen to what we have to say.”
Moffat glanced around at them in bewilderment. “What sort of trick is this?” he said. “Why do you tell me that I’m human?”
Lucas looked at him with surprise. “Because you are, of course.” he said. “You mean to tell me that Drakov told you you’re not human? What did he say you were?”
Moffat’s defiance started to slip away in his bafflement. He had expected brutal interrogation, but not this. “You’re trying to confuse me,” he said. “I know what I am. I am one of my master’s hominoids, he created me.”
“That’s right.” said Lucas. “but that doesn’t make you a machine or some sort of subhuman creature. You’re serious, aren’t you? You really believe that’s what you are?”
Moffat had been programmed and trained to resist interrogation, but this was something he had not expected. He swallowed nervously, and deep within his subconscious, a flicker of impassible hope appeared. “You admit that my master has created me. and yet you still say that I’m human? How can that her
Lucas pulled up a chair and sat down in front of him, seeing a slim chance to get through to him, perhaps to circumvent his programming. No amount of psychological conditioning could be absolutely foolproof. The mind was a versatile, resilient thing. There was a chance. There had to be.
“What is your name?” he asked.
Moffat did not reply. “Surely you can tell us what you’re called.” said Lucas. That will give us no advantage over Drakov.”
“My name is Jared Moffat.”
“What do you know of your creation, Jared?” Lucas asked.
Moffat swallowed nervously again. but said nothing.
“All right. let me tell you what I know of your creation.” Lucas said, “and you decide for yourself if it rings true or not. You know about the parallel universe?”
Moffat hesitated, then nodded.
“All right, then.” Lucas said. “Hear me out. The story of your creation began in the parallel universe. It started with a man, a scientist, called Dr. Phillipe Moreau. He was a brilliant genetic engineer, a genius. He was the head of an experiment called Project Infiltrator, funded and established by the Special Operations Group, our counterparts in the parallel timeline. The scientists there believe that the way to overcome the confluence phenomenon is to try and create temporal disruptions in our universe, leading to a timestream split. They are convinced that this will result in our two timelines being forced, and quite honestly, they may even be right. Built might also make the situation worse. There simply is no way of telling.
“The point is,” Lucas continued, “in order to accomplish their aims, they have to send soldiers through into our universe by way of confluence points, where our two timelines intersect. If those soldiers succeed in disrupting our timeline and bringing about a timestream split, then they will never be able to get back home again and the Special Operations Group had a plan to insure that these troops would be unquestioningly obedient… and totally expendable. Moreau was part of that plan. He had originally intended to use genetic engineering to create humans who could be designed to perform specific tasks that ordinary humans couldn’t do, to be stronger, more adaptable, able to survive environmental conditions that would be hostile to normal humans. He honestly believed that he would be introducing a stronger, more versatile strain into the human race that would eventually result in an improvement in the breed. But as often happens, his obsession gave him tunnel vision. He didn’t foresee all the staggering implications of what he planned to do.
“The Special Operations Group established a top secret military lab for him to carry on his work.” said Lucas, “and Moreau believed he had their full support, that they shared his aims, but in fact, what the Special Operations Group had, in mind was something altogether different. What they wanted were genetically tailored, cannon-fodder soldiers, intellectually inhibited and emotionally stunted, with their pain centers blocked and their minds programmed so they could fight like automatons. Moreau wanted no part of it and his frustration and sense of betrayal made him vulnerable to Drakov, who was working with the Special Operations Group at the time. Working with them entirely for his own ends. I might add. Drakov abducted Moreau from Project Infiltrator, along with all his notes and experiments in progress, and he brought him to a hidden laboratory he had set up especially for him. He convinced Moreau that he had the same goals as he did and that he shared in Moreau’s sense of betrayal. What Moreau didn’t know was that Drakov, himself, was already an accomplished genetic engineer, as well as a lot of other things, and a genius in his own right. He watched Moreau and worked with him and learned from him and then he took Moreau’s work and carried on from there.
“A hominoid is nothing more or less than a human clone, developed from human genetic material. The only difference is that hominoids are mules, incapable of reproduction, and their genetic material can be altered or augmented to suit a specific purpose. Drakov took those purposes much further than Moreau ever intended. He created a wide variety of hominoids, some from ordinary human genetic material carefully selected for specific traits, some with human and animal genetic material combined, and he sent them back through time, so that they could mature and he could clock back and make checks on them at various points of their development.”
Lucas saw a reaction in Moffat and realized that he had struck a chord.
“The result was that years would pass for the hominoids while they matured, but only days or even minutes would pass for Drakov. With some of those hominoids, at various points in their development. Drakov would bring them back to his laboratory for conditioning or biological augmentation brought about by complex surgery. At the end, some of them looked perfectly normal, but some of them were monsters. He created genetically engineered giants, harpies, werewolves, vampires, even a centaur. Because, you see Drakov may be a genius, but he is hopelessly insane.”
“No.” said Moffat, shaking his head, his voice barely above a whisper. “No, it cannot be.”
“What do you know about Nikolai Drakov?” Lucas asked him. “What do you know about his past?”
Moffat moistened his lips and shook his head. “Nothing.” he said. “It was not my place to ask such things. It was-”
“I’ll tell you about his past.” said Lucas “I’ll tell you who he is. Have you ever heard him mention General Moses Forrester?”
“Yes,” said Moffat. “Often. I know that he is your commander. The director of the T.I.A. My creator’s greatest enemy.”
“And also his father,” Lucas said. Moffat stared at him with astonishment.
“Hle never told you that, did he’?” said Lucas. “Nevertheless, it’s true. If you could see’ Moses Forrester, if you could look at his face and eyes, you’d have no doubt that he is Drakov’s father. When Forester was a young temporal soldier. out on his first mission, he became stranded in time Trapped in 19th-century Russia. He was badly injured, crippled, and he believed he’d never get back home again. A young Russian gypsy girl nursed him back to health and they fell in love. She became pregnant with his child. Forester planned to spend the rest of his life with her, but our people finally found him and he had to go back to the future. He did not belong in that time. Only Vanna, Drakov’s mother, could not go with him. Forrester knew that if he told his superiors that Vanna was pregnant with his child, they would abort the fetus. He simply couldn’t do it, so he never told them she was pregnant. He said good-bye to her and tried to explain why he had to leave, and though their heart
s were broken, they each understood it had to be.
“But in the brief time that he had with her.” Lucas went on, “he couldn’t fully explain all about time travel and the antiagathic drugs that extend our lifespans and make us immune to disease, and she would never have understood all that anyway. What she did understand, she told her son. but what she didn’t understand, she filled in with her own superstitious beliefs and imagination. The result was that a young, impressionable boy came to believe that he was somehow the result of a supernatural union between his mother and some sort of a demon from the future. That, and the hardship that they suffered, and her subsequent death, and his failure to understand why he never became sick and why he aged so much slower than everyone else around him resulted in a raging hatred for his ‘demonic’ father and a deep self-loathing. Over the years, it drove him utterly insane.
“What Drakov wants,” said Lucas, “is to strike out against Moses Forester, against time travel, against the very world that brought him into existence. And you are an unwitting part of that insane plan of vengeance. And there’s something else you may not know. The real Nikolai Drakov is dead.”
Moffat stared at him with incomprehension.
“At least, we think the original Nikolai Drakov is dead.” said Lucas, “but we really can’t be sure. Because, you see, one of the things that Drakov did with the process he stole from Phillipe Moreau was to use his own genetic material to replicate himself. We don’t know how many times. The man you know may be the original Nikolai Drakov, but for all we know, he might be a hominoid just like yourself.”
“No.” said Moffat, his lower lip trembling. “No, that isn’t possible.”
“It’s not only possible,” said Lucas, “it’s very probable. Chances are he doesn’t even know himself. But one thing is for sure. Nobody can make life out of nothing. You may not have been born in the conventional manner and you may not be able to have children, but you are the result of genetic engineering. You may have been cloned in a Petri dish and gestated in an artificial womb, you may have been programmed and conditioned with certain psychological imperatives, but you’re as human as the rest of us. You think. You bleed. You feel. No matter what you’ve been conditioned to believe. Your own independent thoughts may have been subverted in some ways, but what do your feelings tell you?”
“Oh. God.” said Moffat. very softly. “Sally…” A tear rolled down his cheek.
Lucas stood. “Leave him alone now.” he said softly, he shook his head sadly. “Poor bastard.”
They left the room and softly closed the door.
9
Johnny Small was frantic. He couldn’t find Andre and the others anywhere. The innkeeper at the Peacock Tavern said he hadn’t seen them and there was no one home at Hunter’s house on Long Lane, either. It was as if they’d all simply disappeared without a trace. It was his job to watch them and now he had no idea where they were. He fingered the Liberty medallion Sam Adams had given him. Adams had expressed confidence in him and now he’d failed him. He had no idea what to do.
As he walked through the dark streets of Boston, he tried to think where they might have gone. They wouldn’t have gone to one of the radical taverns, surely, because except for Hunter, they were all posing as Tories. The last time he had seen them. Andre had been on her way to meet with Hunter, so perhaps they were with him, but where? He tried to think where Hunter might have gone, who his close associates were. Perhaps one of them could tell him where Hunter could be found. He tried to think and then it came to him.
Hunter had been sponsored into the Sons of Liberty by Ben Edes and Ebenezer Macintosh. The hour was late and Edes was known to retire early, but Macintosh was a notorious carouser. He hurried to The Bunch of Grapes, but was told that he’d missed Macintosh by only twenty minutes. He had gone staggering home, full of rum, as usual. Johnny showed his Liberty medallion and said he had an urgent message for Macintosh from Samuel Adams and the he produced Macintosh’s address. He ran all the way there, desperately hoping that Macintosh Was not so drunk that he would be passed out by the time he arrived. As he ran, he had no idea that he was being followed.
“Mac, wake up.” said Hunter.
“Whhuh? Who izzit?”
“Mac! Come on. Mac. wake up, God damn it!”
Hunter grabbed Macintosh by his shirtfront and slapped him several times across the face. He had fallen into bed completely dressed, without even bothering to take his shoes off. Macintosh came awake with a drunken roar, sat up in bed, and took a wild swing at Hunter. Hunter easily avoided it and threw him out of bed onto the floor. Macintosh rose to his hands and knees and shook himself. He looked up and saw Hunter.
“Reese! Damn your eyes! What in God’s name are ya doin’ here?” he said, his voice thick with drink. “How’d ya get in here, anyway?”
“You left the door open, you drunken idiot. Come on, get up. We’ve got to get you out of here.”
Macintosh remained sitting on the floor, squinting at Hunter.
“Man can’t even sleep in peace. y’want? Breakin’ inta a man’s home at this ungodly hour.”
“Mac, get up!” said Hunter. “If you want to live, move yourself!”
“What kinda way is that ta talk? Go ‘way. Lemme alone.”
“Damn it, Mac…” Hunter went over to the washstand and picked up the basin. He threw the water into Macintosh’s face.
“ Aaarrghr
Macintosh lunged up off the floor and came lumbering at Hunter like an angry bear. Hunter ducked his swing and gave him a sharp jab in the solar plexus. Macintosh wheezed and doubled over. Hunter threw him up against the wall and slapped him twice across the face.
“Snap out of it. Mac, damn you!”
Macintosh made a small stunting, squealing sort of noise. “Gonna be sick…”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake
Hawke Hunter stepped away as Macintosh doubled over and threw up on the floor.
“Mac, you’re a fucking mess.” said Hunter.
Macintosh wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “Now look what ya gone an’ done,” he said. “I’m gonna break yer bloody neck…”
“It’s your own neck I’m trying to save. you fool.” said Hunter.
“They’re going to hang you!” Macintosh blinked. “What? Who? What the devil are ya talkin’ about?”
“The Tories! The Hellfire Club. you idiot! The followers of the headless horseman! They could be on their way here right now to lynch you, just like they did to those four friends of yours!”
Macintosh paled. “The horseman’s men’? They’re gonna hang me?”
“That’s right, you fool. Sober up if you don’t want to die! You’ve got to get out of hem right now!”
“Sweet Mother o’God,” said Macintosh. “And ya come ta warn me. God bless ya. Reese. you’re a real friend. I’m sorry I took a poke at ya-”
“Never mind that now,” said Hunter, impatiently. “You’ve got to get out of here. Are you sober enough to remember what I tell you?”
“Aye, if comes to my own neck, that I am,” said Macintosh, rubbing his face. “They’re not gonna hang Ebenezer Macintosh. by God!”
“Listen to me carefully,” said Hunter. “We haven’t got much time and lives depend on it. The horseman’s men are going to try to kill off the leaders of the Sons of Liberty, one by one. Get to your South End boys. Tell them that they’ve got to place a constant watch on Adams and the others or they’ll wind up dangling from the Liberty Tree. Have several men watch each of them at all times, especially at night. And you stay out of sight, yourself. You got that’?”
Macintosh took a deep breath and nodded. “The horseman’s men are gonna try ta kill Adams an’ the others. Have my boys watch ’em, day an’ night.”
“Good man. Now come on, we’ve got to get you out of here. Have you got a place to go where you can hide out?”
“Aye. I’ll go an’ see my boys. They’ll take care o’ me. They’ll know what ta do.”
“All right, get moving. Quickly, now!”
Macintosh grabbed his coat and hat and lumbered down the stairs, Hunter right behind him. “God bless ya. Reese,” he said as they stepped outside. “You’re a good friend. I won’t forget this-”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m a saint, I know. Get moving. And for God’s sake, keep to the alleys. Don’t let anybody see you. And don’t forget what I told you.”
“I won’t forget. I’m on my way.” He shambled off into the darkness and turned into an alleyway. Hunter sighed with relief. And then he heard the sound of running footsteps. His fingers closed around the butt of his Beretta, but he relaxed when he saw Johnny Small come running up to him.
“Mr. Hunter! Mr. Hunter! Thank God I’ve found you!” The boy was out of breath. Hunter grabbed him by his shoulders.
“Steady on, lad. What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Its’-it’s your friends, Mr. Hunter.” Johnny gasped for breath. “Andre and the others. I–I can’t find them anywhere! I-have to-”
“Easy, lad, easy, get your breath back first,” said Hunter.
“Hold it right there. Hunter!” said a voice from the darkness. “Don’t move or the boy gets it!”
Two men with drawn weapons came walking out of the darkness. They both looked a little out of breath. As they came closer, Hunter saw that they were dressed in colonial clothing, but holding laser pistols, Network men. They must have picked the kid up at his old place and followed him. Johnny glanced up at him with fear and uncertainty.
“All right, hands out from your sides, very slowly, and clasp them on top of your head,” one of them said. Hunter did as he was told. Looking at him fearfully, Johnny did the same.
“Get lost, kid.” the other Network man said.
Johnny didn’t move: “Didn’t you hear me’?” the man repeated. “I said get lost! Run! Get out of hem!”
“No,” said Johnny. “No, It-I will not run. I have my duty!”
