Kindle Series 3-Book Bundle: A Genetic Engineering Science Fiction Thriller Series

by Orrin Jason Bradford

  "I doubt it," Alphenius answered in a whisper. "Go ahead and wake her, and let's get it over with. Besides, I want to show her how well we did."

  Melaenis shook Sarrah's shoulder lightly until she began to stir. He then took a couple of steps back in case she awoke with a temper.

  "Umph, what the...oh, it's you two." Sarrah groggily rubbed her eyes. "It's about damn time you showed up. Where have you been, golly-lagging in the woods I dare say while your sweet, sickly mother freezes in her own home."

  Melaenis tucked his chin towards his neck and shook his head. "No ma'am, we've been hard at work. It just took longer than usual on account of it's the off-season for rich marks. But we got one, that's for sure. Alp, show her how well we did."

  Alphenius laid the wad of money in Sarrah's lap and jumped back a couple of steps too. "It's one of our biggest one day takes of the year. And it all came from one mark. There're five hundred and sixty-four dollars in all. Not bad for the off-season," she said proudly.

  Sarrah counted the money twice, her eyes gleaming in the pale light that came from the lanterns over the fireplace. "Might be able to get the electric company to turn the lights back on with all this. Yes, it's a right fair day’s work. Any trouble?" She stared straight into Melaenis's eyes.

  "Nothing that we couldn't handle." He stared back at her without a break. "Same guard that almost nailed us earlier this year, got a bit huffy with us talking to the mark, but we took care of it."

  Sarrah stuffed the money into the pocket of the wool sweater she was wearing. "Well, you just be careful up there. I can't afford to bail either one of you out of jail.

  "Alphenius, how 'bout a nice hot toddy for your decrepit mother. Two fingers of the old Irish, don't go trying to cheat me."

  "I only make it weak for your health. The stuff will rot your stomach," Alphenius replied, then, seeing that the stick Sarrah used for stirring the fire was within her reach, backed away another step.

  "Never you mind my health. It's atrocious, and I know it, but the whiskey helps, by God it does. I'll tell you what isn't good for it. That's sitting in this wind trap of a house without any firewood. Melaenis, get your butt outside and bring in a couple loads. After you fix my toddy, Alphenius, get a fire started under the stew. I don't mind eating leftovers, but I refuse to eat them cold.

  "Then, we'll have a special surprise to celebrate the day."

  Alphenius and Melaenis looked at each other, startled that their day's take would have such a positive effect. Not only had neither one been beaten for their tardiness, but Sarrah was even promising a surprise. Not that either one expected to see anything come of the promise, but it was comforting to know she had considered it.

  Both children bustled around the cabin tending to their various chores, each giving the rocking chair a wide berth. They were aware that so far no one had been cuffed, and so, they treated Sarrah like a bear trap with a hair-trigger spring. After they finished eating their meal, and they'd cleaned up the few dishes, Sarrah called Melaenis over to her chair. He stood the customary three feet away, close enough to appear unafraid, yet far enough for one quick hop to take him out of her reach.

  "Boy, come here and help your ma out of this chair. My arthritis is tap dancing in my joints worse than usual. Come on now, I've got to get up to get the surprise I promised."

  Melaenis hesitated for a second, then shuffled closer. Sarrah reached out her hands so he could pull her out of the rocking chair. She reached over to the fireplace for the stick. Melaenis raised his arm to protect his face.

  "Good God boy, you're awfully jittery this evening. Just going to use this to lean on. My cane is in the other room."

  She limped across the room to the kitchen area, leaning heavily on the stick that left a trail of black polka dots on the wooden floor. She reached up in the cabinet and pulled out a pumpkin pie. Inserted into the pie were the stubs of two thick candles. A good quarter of the pie was already missing. Sarrah turned to the two children and leaning on the counter behind her held the pie out to them.

  "Happy second birthday, dear ones."

  Birthdays

  Lionel watched the orange balloon as it freed itself from its tether and glided upwards, toward the high ceiling of the nursery. It bounced softly against the course tile, driven by the air currents of the heating vent. Finally, it found the sharp edge of a protruding nail and self-destructed. No one seemed to notice the loud pop, not over the too-loud music and the too-loud talking.

  Lionel glanced around the room and adjusted his smile, feeling a little guilty that he, like the rest of the staff, had to work so hard to put on the appearance of having a good time. Meanwhile, in front of him sat the seven girls for whom the birthday party was being held, each with their own little cake, two candles in each one. It was hard to believe these kids had been a part of Bio-Vita for only two years. Lionel could barely remember what it had been like without them. Part of the reason it was so hard to grasp was the children before him were, in all appearance, at least six or seven years old. Their accelerated growth had not stopped with their births, although, according to Dr. Chickowski, their rate of growth had begun to slow. Perhaps most alarming was that their intellectual development had surpassed their physical development. Although they often acted like six-year-olds, their intelligence quotients placed them in advanced levels of high school or above. A few would do well with any university curriculum.

  "They look so stern, don't they?" The voice startled Lionel out of his thoughts.

  "Yes, they do." He glanced around to find Dr. Chickowski had entered the nursery behind him. "I thought I was the only one late to the party."

  "No, I had to finish going over the latest test scores so I would be prepared for our meeting tomorrow."

  "And how are the little tikes doing?"

  "Extraordinary, as usual. But they aren't 'little tikes' you know."

  "What do you mean?" Lionel asked.

  "Well, look at them. Does this look like a birthday party for two-year-olds, or even six or seven-year-olds?"

  Lionel glanced around the room again and nodded. Each child sat at her little desk, smiling sweetly at the cake in front of her. They nodded whenever they were spoken to or gave some other signal that they understood what they were being asked. But there was something missing -- something that kept it from being a typical children's party.

  "No spontaneity, no life, no playfulness." Dr. Chickowski supplied the missing ingredients.

  "And still no talking?" Lionel asked looking back at Dr. Chickowski.

  "No, damn it, still no talking. They understand perfectly, everything we tell them. Hell, they all score well into the genius category on every test. But they don't talk. When they need to communicate they do just fine. They're damn ingenious about it, but they don't talk. Something is very strange about that. As strange as they are, I think that's the strangest part of all. But we're going to find out what's up next week. They're scheduled to undergo tests that should uncover what the problem is. Hell, we're prepared to conduct exploratory surgery if need be to find out why they can't talk."

  Lionel nodded as Dr. Chickowski spoke, paying only partial attention. The rest of his attention was on little Heather, who was intently watching the two of them, staring from one to the other as they spoke. She was Bridgette's child, and Lionel supposed it was for that reason that she was one of his favorites. As she noticed him watching her, she smiled and waved to him, then turned away, but Lionel was left with a strange feeling that there had been three people taking part in his conversation.

  "Where's Flip? I thought we decided he'd be allowed to attend."

  Dr. Chickowski's face flushed slightly. "Well, yes we did discuss it, but I decided it would be too involved moving all the life support equipment into the nursery. Might freak the kids out. Besides, his bladder infection has flared up again. Can't take a chance exposing the kids to a possible staph infection, now can we?"

  Lionel nodded but didn't say anything. There Chickows
ki goes again, he thought, changing decisions on his own and completely disregarding the others. It was getting to be more than an irritating habit.

  Maybe I'm just taking my frustration out on him. Who I'm really mad at is myself for not taking better care of Flip. It had been more than a week since he'd been down to the clinic to visit his friend. He promised himself he'd not leave Bio-Vita tonight without dropping by for a few minutes. It was still hard, even after two years, to see his friend hooked up to the life support system, like a plant being raised hydroponically. But it's a lot harder on Flip than it is on me, he thought. The least I can do is to let him know I'm still here for him. But even as he thought it, he knew it was silly. Flip didn't care if he came to visit. Flip didn't care about anything at this point. Flip was a damn vegetable being kept alive by the marvels of modern science in exchange, they hoped, for a few samples of his incredible seeds.

  Lionel glanced around the nursery again, this time taking a head count of who was present. The brightly colored walls with their circus parade mural contrasted sharply with the somber atmosphere of the party participants. Several of the nurses still dressed in their white uniforms, bent over the children trying to get them involved in the festivities.

  "Do you happen to see..." he started to ask Dr. Chickowski about Denise and Bridgette's whereabouts when the two of them walked through the doorway from the kitchen. The two mothers were busy talking as they carried in a large punch bowl. Lionel nodded to Dr. Chickowski, who smiled smugly back.

  "Go ahead, I'll mingle with the nurses. It makes them nervous when I'm around. Go have your fun." Lionel walked over to Denise and Bridgette.

  "Glad you could finally make it." Denise chastised him lightly as she placed the punch bowl on the table and turned to kiss him on the cheek. "We were beginning to wonder if any of the other 'big wigs' besides Franklin were going to make it." As she spoke his name, Franklin walked over with an empty cup in his hand. Balanced on his head was a hot pink birthday cap. With each breath, he blew a noisemaker that sounded like a sick duck.

  "Glad to see someone is having a good time," Lionel said.

  "Oh, this is a marvelous party. I'm having a wonderful time, really."

  Franklin turned to Bridgette. "Could I have just a little more punch?"

  "Sure Mr. Pruitt, be my guest," Bridgette answered as she dipped the ladle into the bowl. She expertly poured its contents into Franklin's cup.

  "I do wish you would call me Franklin. Everyone else around here does. Oh, this is such a nice party. I never had birthday parties when I was growing up. I never realized how much I missed. Now remember, you promised we'd play 'Pin the Tail on the Donkey' later."

  "Don't worry Mr…I mean Franklin…I won't let them start without you," Bridgette answered with a laugh.

  As Franklin returned to his little friends as he called the children, Bridgette poured a second cup of punch and handed it to Lionel with a warm smile.

  "Glad you could make it, Lionel."

  Lionel took the offered cup and smiled back at her, feeling the heat rise in his face. Lately, he found he could not be around Bridgette without a feeling of confusion and embarrassment that almost immobilized him. He noticed he spent much of the time he was with her staring into her deep blue eyes. He hoped no one else had noticed his pre-occupation.

  "Wouldn't have missed it for the world," he answered, then finding himself staring at her again, forced his attention back to Denise. "Have you heard anything from the other moms?"

  "Yes, a couple of them. Rachael sent presents to all the children; very nice gifts, for two-year-olds. I'm afraid none of the clothes will fit. Despite the pictures we've sent, she doesn't seem to realize the children are not your typical two-year-olds. Ingrid called to wish them all a happy birthday. Bridgette spoke to her for a couple of minutes, but Ingrid had to cut it short. She had an appointment to have her hair done. Nothing from the rest of them."

  "Nothing at all?"

  "No, I'm afraid not. It's like they never had a child. I think most of them view it as just a very vivid nightmare, and you don't keep in touch with bad dreams."

  "Come on everyone, the children are going to open their presents now," Franklin shouted from across the room. Everyone circled around the row of little desks as the nurses brought the presents to the kids.

  Denise leaned over to Lionel and whispered, "We brought a present for each of them from their mothers. We exchanged Rachael's present for sizes that would fit." Lionel nodded.

  "I don't know what we would do without you two. These kids certainly would have it rough."

  "Well, don't worry, you're not going to get the chance to find out. We're not going anywhere, despite what Chunk says."

  Lionel looked at Denise with a startled expression. "What are you talking about?"

  "Oh, nothing. Just that our friendly commander has been suggesting that we 'get on with our lives,' as he so aptly put it. Hell, this is our lives; they are our lives. He should know that by now."

  "Where is Mr. Smooth Talker?" Lionel asked.

  "I think, for once in his life, he used some common sense and stayed away so the kids could enjoy themselves a little. They really dislike the man."

  Lionel turned back to the scene in front of him, as each child methodically pulled the tape from the brightly colored package in front of her. "That's strange; I can't imagine why they don't like him. All he wants is what's best for the children, like taking away the only mothers they've ever known."

  "Well, you needn't worry. Bridgette is still managing her writing career from here, and Franklin assures me my job is secure. Not that I depend too heavily on what Franklin says, bless his soul. He's the biggest kid we have here."

  She was right. Franklin moved from child to child helping each of them with their presents, a broad grin on his face.

  Finally, the last gift had been unwrapped, oohed and awed over by all the nurses, and returned to its box. The balls of paper were swept up and taken away. The party was winding down when the spell struck.

  The nurses were busy cleaning the hands and faces of the children when the now familiar blank stares congealed across the girls’ faces. Their eyes glazed over, and their respiration slowed, falling into a steady synchronous breathing.

  As the room became suddenly hushed, Lionel, Bridgette, and Denise looked up from their cleaning. "Damn," was all Denise could manage to say. They looked at each other and then, back to the kids.

  "Been quite a while since they've had one so noticeable."

  "What do you mean, noticeable?" Bridgette asked.

  "Well, we've been studying the children by video for the last couple of months and have noticed that these long spells aren't the only ones they have. Throughout the day, they have anywhere from twenty to forty short mini spells. Most of them are so short they go unnoticed -- just a second or two. You wouldn't notice them unless you were looking for them."

  "What is it -- epilepsy?" Denise asked as she continued to stare at the children.

  "We don't know yet, but we don't think it's epilepsy. Least we've never heard of synchronous seizures like this. Then again, there's a lot we had never heard of that's true for these kids."

  "I feel so helpless when they do this. I don't like it. It scares me," Denise said.

  "Is there anything we can do?" Bridgette asked.

  "The spells don't seem to be dangerous. The children don't even notice them afterward." Lionel reached down to the table and started picking up the paper cups. "It shouldn't last much longer. Meanwhile, we may as well finish cleaning up."

  He said they were going to do surgery on us because we won't talk!" Heather thought to the others. "I don't want to be cut on!

  Aw, he was just messing with your mind. He probably knew you were listening in and wanted to scare you into saying something.

  He did not. Lionel may have known but Dr. Chickowski had no idea. I think we should break this silence before they hurt us.

  Strange, Flip thought, being careful t
o keep it sheltered from the others. Even though I'm listening in on thought patterns, I can tell from Heather's thoughts, she's on the verge of crying. And I bet if I could see her in person right now, nothing would show on her face.

  Heather, you're just an old fraidy cat, Kristin thought back.

  Just like her mother, Flip thought. Rachael would have said the same thing. The only difference is she'd go and spit in Dr. Chickowski's face for good measure.

  I am not. I just think it's a silly rule, and we should stop it. Why did we make it, anyway?"

  We made it as a stand for isolationism. To remind us daily we are different from those who hold us captive. It's more than a rule. It's a position that says who we are.

  That could only come from Tabitha, Liz's child. None of the others had such a militant viewpoint, Flip thought to himself. Strange how, despite the fact most of the children had never even seen their mothers, they still had so much in common with them.

  Not surprisingly, Tabitha's remarks had sparked a heated debate, a veritable free-for-all of thoughts.

  Isolationism is stupid...

  What would you know about it...

  I think we need to protect ourselves...

  I think it would be fun to talk with...

  It's not a question of...

  Why don't we...

  Flip decided it was time to intervene. Performing a trick he had learned early in his second life, Flip mentally whistled a sharp irritating blast. Immediately, the thoughts stopped, and the children's attention turned to their father.

  Thank you. I hate to interrupt your discussion, if that's what we can call it, but if you'll allow me, I'd like to give some fatherly advice. He paused for a microsecond, to get his thoughts straight.

  In many ways, Tabitha is right. Your vow of silence is much more than just keeping your mouths shut. It stands for something. It represents you as being different. It reminds you of it everyday. But, is it really necessary to be reminded of that? I don't think so. You'll be reminded every time you turn around. All of you are truly the most unique individuals this planet has ever seen.