Dr. Yordanius had gotten behind in his journal entries because of the time he’d spent on the most perfect of all racial types he had ever created—a new species of human he had grown in the laboratory and released into the world earlier today, so that they could make their own way and influence their surroundings in a good, peaceful way. Before doing that, he’d retrieved all of the other experimental lab creations who were out in society, and brought them back. All except one who had turned out to be violent, Riggio Demónt, and he had not responded for a long time, with his source signal vanishing after injuring a young woman.
Dr. Yordanius had done his best to develop a non-violent offshoot of humankind, and had made tremendous progress in refining the exact genetic mix to accomplish his goal, one that would enhance mankind and preserve the future, not only for humans but for the entire planet and all the living creatures inhabiting it. For thousands of years violence and warfare had run rampant over the entire globe, wiping out civilization after civilization, killing hundreds of millions of innocent people.
In his childhood he’d studied history, learning that men were responsible for almost all of the carnage. Later, through painstaking research and testing, Yordanius had managed to increase the influence of the female in an optimal hormonal and genetic mix, with the intent of diminishing the wanton, destructive violence of men.
When he was eleven, he’d told his father how violent men were, and how he wanted to do something about it one day. His father, a successful stock trader, had looked at him for a long time, and then said, “You have a marvelous mind, Kato, and that makes up for the unlucky hand you were dealt with your albino body. Perhaps you, of all people, will manage to do that after all. I have no idea how, but I have great faith in you.”
Both his mother and father had been supportive, and the young man had gotten inspiration from it, and the strength in his childhood to study... initially history and then biology and medicine. He’d graduated first in his class at Harvard Medical School, but sadly, by that time both of his parents had perished in a solarplane crash in the South China Sea. They’d been returning from a business conference in Hong Kong, and the aircraft went down in a storm, killing everyone on board.
There had been plenty of money left for him; he’d inherited more than seven hundred million dollars, and when he took charge of his trust funds he’d spent them on his first laboratories and staff. In less than ten years he made a huge genetic discovery that he kept to himself, an earthshaking scientific breakthrough he didn’t dare share with anyone. To keep it secret he’d let all of his staff go, with generous severance payments.
Then, with only security guards to watch over his laboratory complex, he’d worked alone for four more years, creating and experimenting with new races of people, designing and growing human beings. Using revolutionary methods he accelerated their growth rate, so that he soon had new adult assistants he’d designed and grown himself, such as Andok Helato and Manga Vetti. This group was exceedingly loyal, and scientifically intelligent, hardly ever disappointing him.
Despite early successes, his experimental failures had been numerous, and he’d put them in cryogenic storage afterward, except for the elusive Demónt. This morning Yordanius had walked through the facility with Manga, looking into the clearplaz lockers where each of the failures were kept in vertical positions, row after row in hibernation... kept alive to preserve their genetics and mental faculties, which might be needed for future experiments.
Yordanius had allowed two hundred fifty of the original fetuses—around half of them—to mature into adults, and with the other fetuses, he had brought in additional cellular material and grown additional humanoids—fourteen hundred more of them. There had been failures in both categories—the original fetuses and the hybrids. Some failures looked horrific, more animal than human, while others resembled ordinary humans in appearance, but with defects in their brains.
He was immensely proud of his optimal strain, the eighty Homo Pax adults. Of the women in their midst, all were pregnant and expected to deliver in a couple of months. Some were carrying only one child, while others had as many as six. The gestation period for this racial offshoot was only five and a half months instead of the usual nine—breeding faster than normal was a necessity if the new population was to thrive. In addition, Yordanius had methods of accelerating the growth of the babies after they were born. The fathers and mothers were each only nine calendar years old, but had already grown into adults.
For some time now he’d worried that the end was inevitable, that he would be discovered by the authorities and shut down, and that all of his work would be lost. For that reason he had rushed the Homo Pax program, and had sent HP couples to different locations around the United States earlier today, where he’d already set up new lives for them. They would have their babies and lead productive lives; all of the parents were talented and intelligent. And they were on their own now.
He’d entered nothing in the journals about Homo Pax, and had destroyed all evidence in the laboratory that the species ever existed, including memory wipes on his lab assistants for this project.
Dr. Yordanius had a memory chip in his own brain, enabling him to view images of Riggio and his lab-children. He had access to all information on the chip, data that was originally transmitted from his own eyes and thoughts to the chip. The chip could not be seen on any x-ray or scanner. It was organic. He’d had his assistant Andok Helato surgically implant it, and then Yordanius wiped this experience from the man’s memory.
He realized not only that his experiments with human genetics were highly controversial, but that he was essentially playing God. He’d created a race of living creatures and turned them loose, giving them the free will to make their own decisions.
A wave of sadness came over him as he thought about his inability to monitor the results and accomplishments of this special group. He could not see the fruits of his labor, could only hope. None of the members of the new race had control units implanted in their shoulders that would enable him to shut them down or return them to specific locations for pick-up. And though he knew where he’d sent them, he’d retained no documents whatsoever of their locations, no trail anyone could follow to interfere with them.
He hoped for more time. After researching the Riggio problem in depth, he intended to begin work on a further refinement of Homo Pax, one that was different in some ways. Adding to its already great potential he would infuse talent and ambition into the genetics and personalities, so that that the next batch would be most likely to become world leaders. He would have incorporated those traits into the original batch, but the development of these offshoot individuals was more complicated, presenting challenges and would take time to solve. It was better to get something out there, and then work on the second phase. He would insert customized genetic settings into the next group, programming as if they were bio-robots.
He completed the other entries in his journal and closed the volume.
A few minutes later, as he lay in bed, he worried about the violent lab-child Riggio Demónt, wondering if he was alive or dead. He hoped for the latter. In Yordanius’ lifetime he especially regretted ever creating Demónt and the injury to the FBI agent, Jantz. On one level he understood the legal prohibition against tampering with human genetics, and knew that Agent Jantz had only been doing her job—and had suffered for it.
He wished he could take both things back, and he’d made entries in his journals to this effect. But he didn’t know where Riggio was, and if he contacted the FBI they would shut down his research and development program.
Tomorrow morning he would focus on the matter of Riggio Demónt, trying very hard to find out what he had missed. Yordanius should have done this much earlier, when he still had Riggio in his care, when he had not exposed him to society at all. He intended to study the data on the Demónt lineage, drawing comparisons with the genetics of other lab-children, all of the combinations and the resultant behavior, and making
projections about Riggio.
Above all, the goal that dominated every waking moment of the doctor’s life, the problem of violent men throughout history, needed to be reversed. It was his life-long goal, and Riggio was a mistake.
A big one.
Even though his work was not fully complete, at low points when he felt tired and dejected, he considered turning himself in to the authorities. He felt that way now, even with all of the details of creating a more perfect Homo Pax still ahead of him—work he had to do himself, because no assistant he’d ever created had been able to fully comprehend the details of what he was doing. They were intelligent and had scientific knowledge, but not enough. For the most part, he assigned specific tasks to them.
On his bed, he heaved a deep sigh. He had not written about Homo Pax in his journals, but he had included the possibility of turning himself in. He’d written of his deepest longings and motivations, his disappointment with mankind’s past and present, and his hopes for the future. It was all there.
Kato Yordanius didn’t want to give up his efforts, not yet. In the morning he would probably feel better, and would set to work again, first on Riggio and then on Homo Pax.
But even if he didn’t complete any more meaningful work he felt confident that his new race would thrive and increase its numbers, and not by turning the other cheek, which he considered weak and suicidal. Rather, they would defend themselves if necessary, but above all they would look for ways to avoid violence, constantly seeking alternate solutions to disagreements.
~~~
Just as he was finally beginning to fall asleep, the research scientist was rudely awakened by loud noises—something crashing to the floor, and the sound of breaking glass. He heard shouts and running boots, and doors slamming open.
This is it, he thought.
Dr. Yordanius switched on a light and sat on the edge of his bed, waiting. He was surprised by how calm he was, not knowing if the feds would storm in firing guns, and if these were the last moments of his life. He looked around the small, austere room in which he had lived for more than twenty years, evidence of the comforts he had forsaken in order to complete his important work.
And he thought of his work, of his professional accomplishments and failures as the sum total of his life... and they were flashing across his mind. Even in his childhood he had been serious, always thinking about something of importance. His classmates said he took things too seriously, that he should learn how to relax and have fun. He’d never done that, had not even tried. The smallest personal pleasures had always meant nothing to him. His teachers used to say that he was a man in a child’s body.
At least he’d gotten this far. At least he’d eluded the authorities for almost three decades, giving him the precious time he needed to work. He felt good about that.
The door burst open and armed men burst in, followed by a crippled woman moving her legs with the aid of a lower-body exosuit. He’d seen pictures of her before, Agent Sariah Jantz. No one opened fire, but the men spread around the room, opening side doors and the closet, looking for threats.
Jantz glared at him, and watched while another agent frisked him and then took his bed apart, searching for weapons.
In the midst of the intruders, Yordanius saw a tall, thin man with a black mustache. Silvo Ramus.
One of the doctor’s own creations had betrayed him, had turned on him. It was yet another failure....
CHAPTER 30
The following morning, in Seattle....
Zack had not been able to stop worrying about Meredith’s strange assistant. Much of what he didn’t like about the young man was based on his appearance, the peculiar expressions on his face, the way he carried himself, and his impenetrable sea-blue eyes, as deep and mysterious as the ocean. The episode with the two-bit tyrant General, saying he didn’t like the limited background information on Riggio, might factor in, but in that case the messenger, the officer, had little or no credibility.
Zack was convinced that something lurked in the mind of Riggio Tarizy, something really bad, and he had always been right about such things. Seattle Police detective Nolan Hagel, his friend from the Army Special Forces, always said that Zack would have made a great detective.
The last time the detective mentioned this, a few months ago, they’d been sharing glasses of wine in Zack’s studio, in the midst of his paintings and the ever-present smell of paints, which Zack had always liked. After looking around, the off-duty officer had added, “But if I had your artistic talent, I wouldn’t be a cop, that’s for sure. It’s a dirty, thankless job.”
Now Zack was walking into the precinct station where his friend worked, carrying a small paper bag. The bag contained the water bottle that Riggio had been drinking from when Zack drove him home; he’d left it on the floor of the car.
Zack had handled the plastic bottle carefully, only picking it up with gloves on, and slipping it into the bag. Now he would ask his friend to do a personal favor for him, and check the DNA and fingerprints to see if Riggio Demónt had a police record. Zack was betting that he did....
~~~
In the Sacramento field office of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, Agent Jantz glowered across a table at the prisoner with the white hair and skin, and enigmatic, pale gray eyes that were like a veil across his thoughts. An electronic data-finder sat on the table in front of Jantz.
For nearly three decades, she had loathed this man, vowing to capture him and bring him to justice. Now she had the notorious criminal in hand, but looking at him across the table, she felt an unexpected wave of sympathy.
Yordanius was eighty-one years old, and he’d managed to live with albinism, the physical disability he’d been born with, keeping it in check and functioning at a high level—albeit on a misguided path—but at a high level nonetheless. The two of them were the only occupants of this small interrogation room, and both had serious disabilities. Supervisors and agents were watching on closed circuit.
All the anger Jantz had felt for so long over her crippled legs and the elusive scientist, leading up to this moment, seemed to wash away as she gazed into the sad, genetically-flawed eyes across the table, with the chronic, twitching eyelids.
“I was only doing my work, you know,” Yordanius said, as if noticing the agent’s moment of weakness and trying to use it to his advantage. The twitching stopped. “I didn’t do any of it for myself. I was born with money, so I didn’t need to do it for profit. With my knowledge and ability to grow humans quickly, I could have developed a master race of violent human beings if I’d wanted, a private army to place me in a position of political power.”
Jantz didn’t respond.
“But I did not seek violence or personal power,” Yordanius said. “In fact, I sought nothing for myself.”
“No matter your rationalizaton, you had no right to tamper with human genetics. The things you did are forbidden!”
He shook his head, looked at her stubbornly. “Agent Jantz, I’m not a mad scientist creating monsters. I only wanted to improve humankind, adjusting the genetics, hormones, and other factors to reduce chronic historical violence. Yes, chronic. Make no mistake about it, the human animal has a disease, and for thousands of years there has been no cure. In fact, no one has even attempted to cure it.”
“You should have worked within legal guidelines. You should have made your case to the authorities, and sought to obtain permission to conduct experiments under strict government monitoring and control.”
“I knew they’d never give permission. Government control? Bureaucratic red tape and endless arguments over the procedures I wanted to use. It would have been impossible, and you know it.”
“Governments and laws exist for a good reason, for the stability of society, for—”
“The stability of society?” Yordanius interjected. “Wars are not stable! Ten thousand years of war is not stability!” He paused. “You say I had no right, but that is only true from a legal standpoint. Make no mistake abou
t it, I had a moral right. If I did nothing about the way people are—the rampant, unending violence of men—this entire planet would be destroyed fifty times over in horrific nuclear blasts, and the waves of destruction would be carried out into the solar system. All human life would be eradicated.”
Pursing her lips, Jantz said, “So you see yourself as the savior of mankind? You think you’re God?”
“God gave me free will, and the knowledge and talent to do what I did.”
“You act as if you accomplished something. How many of your... people... did you release into society?”
Dr. Yordanius rose to his feet, paced around the room. “You have my journals. Read what they say, and you’ll discover that there is only one of my lab-children left out there. Only one.”
“Only one?”
The elderly doctor stood by the locked door, arms folded across his chest. He nodded, but did not hold gazes with the FBI agent. From Jantz’s years of experience questioning suspects, she detected falsehood in this elderly man, something he was concealing from her. It must mean there were more than one of his lab-grown people out in society. She hoped none of the others were like the one she knew about.
Deciding to focus on the crimes she knew about, she asked instead, “You know he’s a serial killer, don’t you? We’ve found evidence that he murdered at least seventeen women. I suspect there are many more.”
Yordanius looked shocked, so apparently he had not known this, or he was making a good show of it. Shakily, he made his way back to the chair and crumbled onto it. “Oh my God. Murdered? I was afraid something like this might happen. I knew he injured a young woman when we still had him under monitoring, gave her a serious concussion. She recovered, but after that we tried to shut him down or recall him, but we lost all contact with him.”
The Unborn Page 17
