Immutable

by Cidney Swanson

  IMMUTABLE

  Book Five in the Ripple Series

  Cidney Swanson

  With deepest gratitude, for all the readers who asked for more Ripple stories.

  Copyright © 2014 by Cidney Swanson

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, character, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Cover art © by Nathalia Suellen. All rights reserved.

  ISBN 978–1–939543–23–3

  ONE

  Las Abuelitas, California

  1

  SOMETHING LESS DOOM-ISH

  Las Abuelitas, California

  “I know that song,” said Sam, her brow contracting as she carried a tray of lettuce and tomato starts to one of Mickie’s planter boxes. Head tilted to one side, Sam listened to the tinny-sounding speaker broadcasting a piece of classical music across Mickie’s compact garden.

  “You know this song?” asked Will, looking up from where he was boring holes in the soil.

  “It’s not a song,” snapped Mickie. “It’s a violin concerto.”

  “Mick,” murmured Will. He shot his older sister a look that said many things, not one of which was thanks for enlightening us.

  “Huh,” was Sam’s only reply. She tried to remember when she’d heard the piece. Recently. At the Las Abuelitas Bakery Café, maybe? No, she couldn’t really imagine “classical music” and “Las ABC” together. Gwyn was in charge of the music at Las ABC.

  The June sunshine that had browned Sam’s arms in the past week was now threatening to wither the lettuce starts in her care. Sam turned away from the glaring sun and her musical musings to set the starter tray in a patch of shade. She began easing a lettuce from its miniature pot.

  “It’s Vivaldi’s Summer,” said Mickie, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. She left a streak of dirt behind. “I’m only listening to it because Pfeffer recommended it.”

  Sam nodded. She knew the paper-cut sting of being on the other side of the world from the person whose company you liked best. Sam hadn’t been able to work out the exact degree of affection between Professor Pfeffer and Mickie—mostly because Mick would say nothing about it—but she suspected it was killing Mickie to be so far away. Sadly, there was no help for it. Pfeffer was in Europe helping the Angel Corps, Helmann’s intended army of doom, to become something less … doom-ish, and Mickie wasn’t willing to leave her little brother in order to be with Pfeffer.

  “I can turn it off if it’s bugging you,” said Mickie, reaching for one of the tomato starts. Her voice had softened. “You pick the tunes. It’s the least I can do in exchange for free labor. I’m sure Sylvia would prefer to have you home helping her.”

  Sam shrugged. Her step-mother Sylvia had been the one who recommended Sam go help Will and Mickie with their summer garden. Sam suspected Sylvia wanted some time alone with her thoughts; gardening was Sylvia’s favorite way to clear out the cobwebs, as she referred to it.

  There were plenty of cobwebs to clear. Construction continued apace on the Ruiz’s new home, following the destruction-by-arson of their former dwelling at the hands of Helmann’s pyromaniac son Hans.

  Who was very dead.

  It helped Sam to remind herself of this comforting fact every few days. All of Helmann’s main co-conspirators were dead now. Except Dr. Fritz Gottlieb.

  A shiver ran up Sam’s spine. She hadn’t forgotten the doctor responsible for stealing an egg from her. Nor the madman willing to risk Bridget Li’s life in exchange for one of Helmann’s black journals.

  “You okay?” murmured Will, eyebrows raised.

  “Fine,” she replied. Then she smiled to prove it to Will.

  She was still working out how to prove it to herself.

  “I heard from Pfeffer yesterday,” said Mickie.

  “What’s he up to?” asked Will.

  “He’s back in California, actually,” said Mickie.

  Will frowned. “In California? And not here?”

  Mickie continued. “He got worried about what might be sitting in Helga’s old lab. He thinks someone—well, Fritz—has been watching the Montpellier lab—”

  “The one Pfeff’s using for research in France?” asked Will.

  “Yeah. So, with his concerns about being under surveillance, Pfeffer is trying to secure all his research in France,” said Mickie. “But then I asked him about his research at UC Merced.”

  “Wouldn’t Pfeffer have cleared out sensitive material prior to pretending to rejoin Helmann two years ago?” asked Sam.

  “He said he didn’t get all of it out,” replied Mickie. “But he also said that Helga had never had much respect for him as a researcher, so he wasn’t too worried she’d gone digging through his old files.”

  “But Fritz, on the other hand, knows Pfeffer is competent,” said Will. “More than competent.”

  “Exactly,” said Mickie. “Which is why I suggested that if Pfeffer is worried, he should clear everything out at UCM before December, when they declare Helga missing, presumed dead, and repurpose her lab.”

  “Definitely safer for Pfeffer to poke around in Helga’s empty lab than at Geneses’ headquarters in San Francisco,” said Will.

  “I’ve told him in no uncertain terms he is not going back there again,” said Mickie.

  Sam looked up from her lettuce start. A Pfeffer who would do what Mickie said in no uncertain terms sure sounded like a smitten Pfeffer. Mickie looked flushed. It could have been the heat, but it could have been embarrassment. Sam returned her focus to her lettuce starts.

  “We should go help,” said Will.

  “No!” Mickie’s response was instant.

  “I’m just saying,” said Will.

  “Promise me right now you won’t go there, Will,” said his sister.

  Will looked irritated. “Fine. I promise.”

  Sam smiled softly. The interactions between the siblings were almost always fractious, but Sam knew they loved each other deeply. Will would keep promises he made to his sister. Which was a relief. Sam didn’t want Will running off to Helga’s old lab, either.

  “The new house is going up fast,” said Mickie, evidently having decided the conversation about Pfeffer was over. She brushed dirt off her hands after finishing with the last tomato.

  Sam looked at the tray and counted. She had planted two lettuce starts in the time it had taken Mick to plant twelve tomato starts.

  “No matter how interested my sister seems in your house,” said Will, “it’s really just the pool we’re excited for.”

  “Will!” muttered Mickie. She said it in exactly the same way Sam had overheard Sylvia murmuring, “Slugs!” when uncovering them in her garden.

  Mickie turned to Sam. “How long till you can move in?”

  “Forty-seven days,” Sam replied without missing a beat.

  Mick grunted in laughter. “Counting the days, are we?”

  “You’d be counting, too, if you were living in a trailer with your parents fresh off their second honeymoon,” said Sam.

  Will groaned. It could have been a “too much information” groan or a “sorry, Sam” groan. Either worked.

  “I thought it was their first honeymoon,” said Mickie. “Didn’t they pass on taking one because of you when they got married?”

  “Yeah, but they called this one their second so people wouldn’t get confused on when they got married and all that.”

  Will laughed. “I don’t think the not confusing people part is working. Although, Mick is easily confused.”

  “Shut up,” sa
id Mickie.

  She said it, Sam noted, with less enthusiasm than it deserved, strictly speaking. Sam felt another flutter of sympathy for Mickie. Whatever was going on between her and Pfeffer, it left Mickie flat as the last ounce of soda in a can.

  “Talk to me about that Black Krim tomato,” said Sam, hoping to perk Mickie up. “Should I tell Sylvia to plant some?”

  “Only if she likes her tomatoes in colors nature never intended,” muttered Will.

  “Honestly, Will,” said his sister. “The whole point of an heirloom tomato is that it is exactly as nature intended.”

  “Tomatoes should be red, is all I’m saying,” replied Will. “Not black or purple or magenta or blue.”

  “There are no blue tomatoes, idiot,” said Mickie.

  “Exactly,” replied Will.

  “Well,” said Sam, intervening, “if Black Krims come GMO free, Sylvia would probably be all over them.”

  “They’re one hundred percent GMO free,” said Mick.

  Will paused in his preparation of the soil in his garden box. “Speaking of genetically modified organisms, did Pfeffer answer my question about the location of Hansel and Gretel?”

  “Hansel and Georg,” corrected Mickie. “And, no, last I heard, he doesn’t know what they’re up to or where they are.”

  “Am I the only person who’s nervous about that?” asked Will.

  Sam could answer that question: no.

  “You are not the only person who’s concerned,” replied Mickie, “but what exactly would you like Pfeffer to do about it?”

  Will shrugged. “I just think he should talk to Hansel and Gretel’s other siblings. The ones from the same cadre. Didn’t they grow up together with the same foster mother or something?”

  Sam’s skin crawled as she remembered what Sir Walter had told her: that the Angel Corps sleepers who were hypnotized and placed together were originally raised as single family units within remote compounds; each small group of five or six was raised by a foster mother, who was in turn overseen by a Matron who answered to Helmann.

  “Yeah,” said Mickie. “Same mom, same compound.”

  “Creepy,” said Will.

  “But Friedrich and Günter have no idea where their brothers are,” said Mickie. “They had a falling out when Hansel and Georg ran off to join Fritz.”

  “That’s understandable,” said Will. “But since Hansel and Gretel decided to leave Fritz, I just thought maybe the other two might have heard something. Or the sister. What’s her name?”

  “Martina,” said Sam.

  “Right. Martina,” said Will. “Has Pfeffer asked her if she knows anything?”

  Mickie sighed heavily. “Yes, Will. And the answer hasn’t changed.”

  “Maybe it would change if Pfeffer would start treating the former members of Helmann’s Angel Corps a little less like criminals,” muttered Will.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” demanded Mickie.

  Will shrugged. “I’m just saying that if it were me Pfeffer was dosing with that drug that keeps you from rippling, you’d be pretty upset about it, Mick.”

  “Maybe you should be dosed with monthly shots of Neuroprine,” said Mick, her voice a growl.

  “Bi-weekly,” said Sam. “That’s what it takes. I’ve been arguing with Sir Walter about this topic already. And I agree with Will: it seems like a pretty clear violation of basic rights. I mean, I wouldn’t want it done to me.”

  “You’re not Helmann-spawn,” said Mickie. “There’s no telling what any of these guys might do if they could ripple.”

  “True,” said Sam. “But I just think we might be making a big mistake taking away their genetic abilities. It’s a pretty poor way to build trust. What if additional Angel Corps sleepers decide Fritz has more to offer?”

  “Like Hansel and Gretel did,” murmured Will.

  Mickie frowned as she settled another plant into the soil. “I stand by Pfeffer. I don’t pretend to know what’s right and what’s wrong. But I think it would be … crazy to just let a bunch of kids raised by Helmann do whatever they want without some kind of check on their abilities.”

  “It still feels like a violation of their basic right to self-determination,” said Sam.

  “Self-determination is all well and good until someone uses it to kidnap someone you love,” retorted Mick.

  Or steal an egg from you. Or burn down your house. Sam knew Mickie was making sense. She just didn’t like it.

  Mickie dusted her hands off. “Listen, Pfeffer’s trying something new, and he wanted to be the one to tell everyone about it, but it seems relevant to your concerns, so I’m just going to tell you.”

  “Tell us what?” asked Will.

  “Pfeffer has developed a new form of gene therapy for Ripplers Syndrome he’s calling Immutin. Immutin acts to suppress the expression of the invisibility mutation. And it works permanently.”

  “Permanently as in … permanently?” asked Will.

  Mickie sighed. “You know some additional meaning of the word?”

  “Is he using it on himself?” asked Sam. She knew he had wanted to strip himself of his ability, seeing it as something that tied him to Helmann, the father he didn’t want to resemble in any way.

  Mickie shook her head. “Sir Walter all but forbade that. However, Pfeffer found two volunteers who agreed to try the therapy.”

  “Volunteers?” asked Sam. “You mean, from among the Angel Corps?”

  “Yup.”

  “How’d he get them to volunteer?” asked Will. “Was it coercive or voluntary?”

  “Honestly, Will. ‘Volunteers’ by definition means they took the drug voluntarily.”

  “Nuh-uh,” grunted Will. “No way did they voluntarily give up the ability to ripple. There must have been some form of compensation.”

  “Fine,” said Mickie. “There was compensation.”

  “I knew it,” muttered Will.

  “Even with compensation,” Sam pointed out, “it could still have been voluntary.”

  “It was,” replied Mickie. “Pfeffer told Friedrich, Günter, and Martina that if they would agree to lose their ability, he would give them passports, tuition to any university in the world, and a lump sum to help set them up.”

  “He paid them off,” said Will.

  “Will! He was being generous. Very generous.”

  “And they all just lined up like kids at the ice cream truck to get rid of their ability?” asked Will.

  Mickie fussed with one of the tomato starts. “Martina wasn’t interested. But Friedrich and Günter were really excited about it. They always wanted to go to medical school, apparently.”

  “How long ago was this?” asked Will.

  “A month and a half, I think,” replied Mickie. “Pfeffer talked to Sir Walter about it last February. Right after the battle of Château Feu Froid. He’d been working on it to disable Helmann.”

  “Hmmph,” grunted Will. “And Pfeff was okay with this Martina person not complying?”

  “Completely,” said Mickie, nodding. “Hence, my use of the descriptor voluntary.”

  “It just sounds a lot more like something Helmann would do than something Pfeffer would do,” said Will.

  “Helmann wouldn’t have asked,” said Sam.

  “And he wouldn’t have offered them compensation, either,” said Mickie.

  “Compensating them just makes it look like he knows he took something valuable from them,” said Will. “You’ve got to see that, right Mick? Would you want me to accept that sort of deal?”

  Mickie’s eyes dropped. She sighed heavily. “No. But you love it, Will. I can’t imagine you being happy without being able to ripple whenever you felt like it.”

  The three worked in silence for a minute.

  “Well,” said Will, “Pfeff’s about the most fair-minded person I’ve ever met. I guess if he feels like this is a good solution, maybe there’s something to it. For the ones who don’t want to ripple, anyway.”

  “W
hat do you think, Sam?” asked Mickie.

  Sam chewed her lower lip for several seconds. “I would just hope that, if word got back to other cadres, or to Hansel and Gret—Georg—that they wouldn’t see it as some form of bullying the Angels into giving up their rights. I’m not in favor of anything that provides rogue ripplers with a vendetta against the people I care about.”

  “I don’t think we have to worry about that,” said Mickie. “Friedrich and Günter were really excited about this, according to Pfeffer. They tried hard to talk their sister into it. If they are ever contacted by Hansel and Georg, I’m pretty sure they’d say great things about Pfeffer’s generosity and all that.”

  “I hope you’re right,” said Sam, looking off into the distance, a furrow between her brows.

  “Hey,” said Will. He put a hand around Sam’s waist. “I’m sure everything will be fine. Hansel and Gretel didn’t exactly seem like vicious killers when they came to Las Abs last February.”

  Sam shrugged.

  “Besides,” continued Will, “we’ve got Sir Walter and Chrétien listening for their … thought signatures, or whatever.”

  “You would hear them, too, wouldn’t you, Sam?” asked Mickie.

  “Possibly,” replied Sam. “Probably. Now that I know what their voices sound like, I mean. Hansel’s, for sure I would recognize.”

  Mickie nodded. “Even if you were solid, right?”

  “It’s easier to hear them if I’m not,” Sam said. “But, yeah, I think I’d hear them if I was solid. If I was listening, anyway.”

  “And unlike some people,” said Will, hugging Sam, “you are an excellent listener.”

  Mickie’s only response was an eye-roll.

  “That’s everything but the peppers,” said Will, removing his hand from Sam’s waist as he stood. He went to retrieve the last tray of starts from the cabin.

  “He’s been a pain all week,” Mickie remarked.

  Will had said the same thing about Mickie earlier in the day. Sam busied herself brushing dirt off her shorts.

  “Gardening’s dirty work,” said Mickie, grinning as if this was possibly the best recommendation for spending time in a garden.