Nobility

by Dana Lyons

  He put one hand to his chin and his brow furrowed. “You want us to give this Nobility to those sick with this species killer as you call it?” He glanced down at a sheet on his desk. “There’s now a lot of patients. This thing is spreading like crazy; we’re going to have a pandemic.”

  “We can stall it in its tracks with Nobility.”

  “I don't know, Dr. Lazar. You’re asking a lot of me on little more than your word and your reputation. How do I know you’re all you say you are? How do I know your Nobility can do what you claim?” He glanced at Jarvis. “And for a letter of marque, how do I know your team can accomplish the mission?”

  Lazar glanced at Dreya. She shot a look at Jarvis.

  Jarvis put his hands behind his back, looking like a college professor. “We have something to show you, Mr. President.”

  * * *

  Dreya’s heart pounded. The single aspect of her life she’d kept covered-up was about to leap out of the bag. Are you ready for this?

  Bring it on, Quinn answered. I’m tired of hiding.

  Me, too, Simon chimed in.

  I’m in just to see the look on his face when I jump on his desk, Rhys added.

  She couldn’t help but grin at Rhys. Maintain respect, okay. He is the President.

  Their Nobility secret kept her constantly holding her breath, feeling like any moment someone would walk up and say, ‘I know what you are.’ Even with their pardons for leaving Draco, a secret required effort to maintain. She exhaled with relief. Yeah, I’m tired of hiding how exceptional we are. “Mr. President, you might want to sit down,” she said.

  Rhys stepped forward. “Excuse me, sir, may I use the restroom?”

  “Of course,” the President said, and waved Rhys to a door on the left.

  Lazar said, “When I worked on Draco station, we made dragon shifters—genetically altered humans that were able to work the toxic surface of Draco Prime.”

  The President cast a speculative glance at him. Lazar sucked a deep breath and kept talking. “In the Draco laboratory, I created an earlier version of Nobility which I no longer produce. A sample of that version was stolen from the lab and given to Agent Love and two of her team.” He walked over to the restroom door. “This is what came from that version of Nobility.” He opened the door.

  The President stood, frowning intently and staring hard.

  Rhys the raven walked out. He strutted across the carpet to the President’s desk and hopped on top. He stopped and stared at the President, who stood with his mouth stuck open.

  The President clapped his mouth shut and abruptly glared at Jarvis. “For this joke, I’ll have your head, Jarvis!” He backed up and glared at the bird on his desk.

  Before Jarvis could speak, Dreya approached. “This is not a joke, Mr. President. This is Agent Morgan.”

  Rhys pecked the desk.

  “He suggests you might want to sit down because there’s more to come.” She shrugged. “I have telepathy with the three of them.”

  “Excuse me,” Simon said quietly. He walked to the restroom and closed the door.

  The President sat slowly, still staring at the raven. He stretched a hand out. “May I?”

  Rhys pecked the desk again.

  “He says yes.”

  The President stroked the raven several times. Clearly enthralled, he never noticed the restroom door open, never saw the cougar quietly approach his side.

  “Sir?” Dreya warned. “You have Dr. Sinclair on your right.”

  “Eh?” he asked and glanced over.

  She felt a surge of energy come from the President and jumped to catch his chair as he shot to his feet. “Good God, are you kidding me?” he shouted. The phone buzzed and he grabbed it. “Don’t bother me!” He slammed it down.

  Simon sat and stared at the President with disinterested feline nonchalance. He yawned, revealing long teeth, and licked his lips and whiskers. Not getting a response, he batted at one of the President’s feet with a paw, claws extended.

  The President stepped back and pulled his hands into his chest as if he feared losing a body part. He glanced from the bird to the cougar.

  While the President was distracted, Quinn walked into the restroom and closed the door.

  “Dr. Sinclair says you can pet him,” Dreya instructed. “He likes to be rubbed behind the ears. But don't touch his tail. He’s fussy about strangers touching his tail.”

  The President cautiously reached a hand to the cougar’s ears and scratched. Simon began purring and pushed his head into the President’s hand.

  The restroom door opened and Quinn silently padded out. He flanked the President and sat just out of his sight.

  Dreya glanced at Jarvis. While the director had seen the video recovered from their apartment when serial killer Martin Nash put them under surveillance, that video was of Rhys as raven. The director had never seen Quinn or Simon’s animal forms.

  Jarvis’ lips drew down in restrained shock. Slowly his hands came to cover his mouth as if another ‘Great Jehoshaphat’ were about to burst loose.

  Quinn thumped his tail and caught the President’s attention. The President gasped and lurched backward, drawing his hands to his face. Quinn dropped to the floor and rolled onto his back, tail flopping back and forth.

  After several minutes of petting and stroking and purring and thumping, the President glanced at her. “And how do they help you, agent?”

  She cocked her head as a message from Rhys came in. “Detective Morgan wants you to know he can soar in the high thermals and see a titmouse break cover. And with the telepathy, he can report everything to me and to the rest of the team.”

  Rhys jumped from the desk and headed for the bathroom. I’m getting dressed. Let the big boys finish this show.

  “During field interrogation, Quinn likes to offer a little incentive.”

  On cue, Quinn growled and lifted one lip to give a threatening show of a long canine. “You’d be surprised what a suspect will reveal in the face of that.”

  The President drew his hands away. “I see.”

  Quinn dropped the fang display and nudged his nose under one presidential hand, begging for a rub.

  “And the cougar?” the President asked. With his other hand, he scratched behind Simon’s ear.

  “Simon is our resident doctor. He takes care of us,” she said.

  The cougar chucked his chin at her. Thanks, princess. He knocked a baseball from the President’s desk and batted it across the floor. As he lunged for it, she cried, Simon!

  Just kidding, he answered and batted it back to the President. I’m getting dressed.

  “Mr. President,” Dreya said, “we want to find who’s behind this contagion release. They’re obviously well-moneyed and very powerful, which is why we need the utmost secrecy—your eyes-only on this case, this mission.

  “We’re a unique team with mixed experience and abilities. Quinn is ex-Sandhurst military and ex-special forces from Europe. Morgan a career detective, and of course, Dr. Sinclair. I, too, am ex-military. We’re not what anyone expects. I don't know how, but we’ll find the people behind this and stop them in their tracks, just as Nobility will defeat the virus.”

  Lazar stepped forward. “Understand, Mr. President, the extraordinary ability to shift is not a part of the current Nobility. Dreya and her team are a unique exception, a one-of-a-kind event not to be repeated. But the other benefits of Nobility are there—increased metabolism, increased muscle mass, and sharper thinking among others. Dreya, what can you add?”

  “I sleep better, generally have less anxiety. My hair grows an inch a week. My lung capacity has increased by 30%. I feel great every day, if that counts. And we heal incredibly fast, as in overnight from non-critical physical trauma. What else … oh, our appetites are voracious. We eat like animals.” She shrugged. “No pun intended.”

  “What animal do you become, Agent Love?” the President asked.

  “I don't become animal, but Nobility changed my eyes.�
� She pulled off one contact and gazed at him.

  “I have incredible vision. I can read the infinite reactions in faces with more accuracy than a lie detector. I’m telepathic with my team, and I’m highly intuitive around people. Based on their facial reads and their emotional energy output, I can detect what people are thinking. Their physiological and emotional responses reveal to me if they’re telling the truth.”

  The President paused in a long silence with his fingers tapping on the desk. “We can’t give people this Nobility without their consent—I see that as a problem. They’re suspicious of vaccines; they won’t want Nobility.”

  Rhys, Quinn, and Simon had rejoined the group. Simon said, “I have an idea. No one hated getting Nobility more than me, and now, well, I’d never go back. But people won't know what they’re missing until they actually receive Nobility.”

  “What do you suggest?”

  “You present Nobility as an experimental drug and give it as a last resort for the worst cases.”

  “That’s an excellent idea,” Lazar said. “Nobility will save the ones closest to death. When doctors see how their patients are responding, they’ll begin using it on other patients.”

  “Dr. Lazar, you say Nobility will end diseases for humanity?” the President asked.

  “I do, sir. Once it spreads to everyone.”

  The President hummed, fingers tapping. “Big Pharma won’t like this.”

  “No, sir. They never did care much for good health,” Lazar responded.

  Silence settled again and stretched. Dreya forced herself not to hold her breath. She glanced at the others. Quinn winked. Simon chucked his chin at her, his new ‘tell’ indicating his happiness since they mated. Rhys gave a slow grin and nodded. We got this.

  On her other side, Jarvis and Lazar twitched and shifted foot to foot. Beyond the office, not a sound came through. She wondered who was dying while the President made up his mind but was grateful he had the sense to think it over. Nobility was a big step, one she’d gladly be the poster-girl for, if it weren’t for being their big secret.

  Abruptly, the President stood. “All right. Jarvis, I’ll give your team the letter of marque. They report to you, and you to me. In person, daily.”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you.” He opened his mouth but the President cut him off.

  “And your people with their special talents and abilities will remain our secret.” He drew a thumb and forefinger across his lips before glancing at the reports stacked on his desk. “Dr. Lazar, I hope you have a substantial store of this Nobility, because people are going to need plenty of it.”

  “I do, sir, and I can help you with the distribution.”

  The President came from behind his desk and shook everyone’s hand. “I’m counting on you to save the human race, Dr. Lazar. Are you up for it?”

  “I’ve been preparing all my life. I’m only sorry it had to be under these conditions.”

  The President stalled, still holding Lazar’s hand and gazed eye to eye with him. “I don't know if I’d want to take your Nobility, Dr. Lazar.”

  “I understand, sir. It’s hard to alter what God hath wrought, but there are times when the status quo has to change. If God made Nobility through my hands, you could call Nobility an act of God.”

  The words settled around the room. Dreya glanced at each face as they sought the metrics for an act of God.

  I have to agree, Simon offered. And I never thought I would.

  Couldn’t say it better myself, Quinn added.

  Rhys agreed. Yep, never thought to see the day.

  When the President got to Dreya, he held onto her hand. “You’re a remarkable young woman, agent. What you did, throwing yourself on that vial, required extraordinary valor. I’d like to put you up for a medal.”

  Beside her, she felt love and pride coming from her men. “If you don't mind, Mr. President, we just want the chance to stop who’s behind this and we’re going to need your help.”

  “You have anything you need. Just bring me their heads.”

  As he released her hand, she scrutinized his face and saw only pure honesty. She sighed with relief.

  At least he’s not one of those involved.

  Rhys responded, I wondered about that.

  “Will do,” she answered the President. Let’s see what he says when he finds out who.

  8

  24 Hours Earlier Prospect Island, Caribbean

  On a lush tropical island, guests began arriving by boat and by helicopter. Richard Getz gazed out at the sparkling turquoise water, grateful for every inspiration that had brought him to this point.

  Operation Patience begins.

  From the tender age of nine when he first saw a street person, to this day of his crowning achievement, he thanked God for the tools to bring his dream alive.

  At last, we’ll deliver humanity from the dredges of evolution. But first we must bring it to its knees.

  As his guests went to their rooms and settled in, one by one they ditched their shoes and travel clothes and came to join him. “Senator, I made sure your favorite vodka was well stocked,” Richard said.

  “Good, Dick. I think we’ll have much to celebrate, am I right?” The senator pulled over a beach chair to sit close. “Finally, after all this time, all the planning and maneuvering, the decades of preparation, we make our move.” He lifted his glass in a toast, “What Dick wants, Dick gets; words to live by.”

  Richard raised his glass and nodded. His sense of self-satisfaction brimmed with joy. “Yes, after all this time.”

  Today’s events began long before he was born, but his participation began on that Sunday afternoon when he was nine.

  “Papa, can we go for an ice cream?” He’d asked hesitantly, not sure what to expect. Usually when he wanted a treat, he had to ‘win’ it—nothing was free with Papa. His father crossed his arms and gave the stern look, indicating exactly what Richard expected. “Yes to the ice cream, but first I have a problem for you. If you solve it, I’ll pay you enough to buy a double ice cream.”

  Richard loved his father’s praise. Eagerly he asked, “What’s the problem, Papa?”

  His father collected the car keys and opened the front door. Richard shot out and ran for the car; he didn’t care what the problem was, as long as there was one to solve and a prize to win.

  They rode in silence. He squirmed in the front seat, anticipation high in his heart, but he knew he had to wait until the problem was revealed. His father drove past the ice cream shop and on down to the ‘bad part of town’ where the poorest people lived. He parked within view of a convenience store.

  Richard sat forward in the seat so he could see out the big windshield. “What’s the problem, Papa?”

  “Watch, son. You see that man walking up?”

  “Yes.” He reflexively wrinkled his nose at the sight. “Looks like he needs a bath.”

  “Yes. Did you consider that maybe he doesn’t have a home with a bathroom? Maybe he lives on the street.”

  “How can you live on the street? Where would you sleep?” He frowned as a myriad of other ‘where would you’ questions popped into his mind. “Doesn’t he have money for a home?”

  The man had disappeared into the store. “Apparently, he has money, for he’s shopping. Do you wonder what he spends his money on?”

  Richard stared intently. He needed to know what the man bought, understanding that therein lay the answer to the problem. His mouth watered, for his prize today would be a double scoop.

  The man came out. He shuffled into the alley beside the store and fumbled with the paper bag’s contents, then held the bag to his mouth and tipped his head back, drinking. Afterward, he set his bag on the trash dumpster. He glanced side to side, then unzipped his pants and urinated.

  Richard’s mouth dropped open. He’d never seen anyone do that out of doors. “Papa, what was he drinking?”

  “It doesn’t matter. The point is, he would rather have the drink than a job, a home, a bed
and a bathroom.”

  “He can’t work. Who would hire him the way he is?”

  “No one. Would you?”

  He shook his head emphatically. “But how does he eat? Who feeds him? Where does he get the money for the drink?”

  “By begging money from strangers.”

  Such a life never occurred to him. He cocked his head in contemplation. “What happens if he becomes ill?”

  “The government will pay for his bill, and then he’ll go back to living as he does.”

  “So basically, he earns nothing but gets what he needs from others who do work.” This concept unsettled him. “How many people are like this, Papa?”

  “Quite a few, unfortunately.”

  Richard pondered the revelation. He cast a gaze at his father. “Are there enough people to pay for those who don't work?”

  His father stared back, drilling him with ‘the look’ that said, Figure this out. He gave a hint. “Do you think that’s the right question to ask?”

  Richard knew the solution was right in front of him, he just had to process through what his father had shown him today. He chewed on his lip, feeling his father’s eyes upon him.

  Slowly, he said, “I think what matters is … why should anyone feed a man who produces nothing, a man who’s not even interested in feeding himself? I mean, obviously, there’s something wrong with him, something broken and he doesn’t want to fix it. So, why allow him to live at the expense of others who have more important things to do with their money?”

  He held his breath. For a moment, he thought he went too far in suggesting the man didn’t deserve to live. But his fathered smiled and started the car. “Excellent, Richard. Your mother will be proud to hear how you solved today’s problem.”

  That day, after getting a triple ice cream cone, he began a list, carefully titling it, THOSE WHO DON’T. He began with:

  1. Drunk pissing in alley.

  With a newly heightened awareness of those who might make the list, he gradually expanded it to include Neighbor who beats wife and Poor black woman sitting on curb.