“First, we know that Marcus Graves created Malad-X because common Malady is developing a resistance to Quell and he can’t allow that. In his genetic tampering to form a more Quell-susceptible breed, he increased the territorial aggression of the parasite and relished the results. Malad-X was born a Malady killer. Lovely.
“Second, Graves needed to test Malad-X. He kidnapped innocent people from the Void Lands and infected them with both breeds of parasite, pitting them against one another. Malad-X kills Malady. It’s all it wants to do.
“Third, Jameson gets shot up with Malad-X but doesn’t seem to be any more or less nuts than he was before. Why not? Where is the difference? This is the question that has kept me from sleeping, Luna, and now I know the answer.”
“Well?”
“Let me show you.” Albert handed Luna a print out from the DNA analyzer. “Feast your eyes on that!”
Luna couldn’t interpret the wavy lines, colored blocks and numerical string. She shrugged and handed it back to Albert. “What does it mean?”
“I analyzed the first blood sample I took from Jameson. This section, here, details his genetic sequence prior to getting infected with Malad-X. It shows the presence of a Malady gene!”
“Are you telling me that Jameson had Malady from the start?”
“No. He has a Malady gene. Which has made him immune to Malady infection his entire life. He wasn’t joking…so glad we didn’t have a bet going.”
“How’s that possible?”
“Well, I’ve been trying to cut back on gambling and—”
“No! The Malady gene…how did he get that?”
A wide grin spread over Albert’s face. “My theory, Luna. Malady-born!”
“I’m losing you.”
“People born from the infected. Jameson’s mother must have been infected with Malady prior to conceiving him, which put its stamp on Jameson’s genotype, his overall genetic makeup. Now, his father’s case also validates my theory. Graves Enterprises used Eric Shoals as a test subject because he had a natural resistance to Malady and I suspect it’s because he, like his son, was also born of an infected woman and carried the Malady gene. During conception, Eric passed that gene on to his son, who also developed his own Malady gene during antenatal development within his infected mother.”
“Is this Malady gene the reason Jameson didn’t become a raging psychopath like the other Malad-X test subjects on the ship?” Luna asked.
“Simply put, the blood of a Malady-born makes an invading parasite very sick and it dies before it infiltrates the brain cavity. It is likely that Jameson has been infected with Malady countless times; however, his blood kills off the invaders. Now, with this new Malad-X infection, I believe his unique genetic chemistry prevented the Malad-X parasite from spoiling his brain as it would in you or I.
“This is a revolutionary discovery, Luna! So far, all scientific efforts against Malady have been geared toward treating the infected and killing the parasite. All sorts of anthelmintic drugs have been administered, but with no success. Everyone laughed when I pushed my concepts of parasite and human genetic mingling,” Albert threw a combination of punches in the air, “take that, assholes! The answer to curing the world of the Malady pandemic is all around us.”
“It’s the children,” answered Luna.
“Precisely. Mutation—a word with a negative connotation—is an organism altering its genetic structure in response to changes in its environment to ensure survival. The Malady parasite has wrecked humanity’s environment and now we see the human response. Evolution. Mutation is evolution. But it all takes time. Emerging within this new generation is the newest breed of mankind, the one no longer a host. The Malady Born.”
“But how can we help Jameson?”
“By learning as much as we can about his condition.” Albert hammered his desk with his fist. “We went to such great lengths on that ship. You shot Eric Shoals in the shoulder, knocking him off Jameson. When Jameson passed out, I carried him and you carried Eric. We barely made it out of there. I patch up the old man, get him stable, and—”
“He runs off during the night,” finished Luna. “Like father, like son.”
“I just wish I had time to study Eric’s condition.” Albert crumbled a few scrap papers and tossed them into the basket beside his desk. “Have you told Jameson we saved his father?”
“No. He’s dealing with a lot right now. Don’t say anything. Let me.”
“You got it, Luna.”
“Now, tell me more about Jameson’s infection.”
Albert flipped the paper over. “This is the result of the blood analysis after Jameson became infected with Malad-X. There is distinct biological diversity here. His blood has become a strange cocktail of human, Malady and Malad-X DNA. But that’s not all that my prized analyzer has revealed. Take a look at the print out again.”
Luna let out an irritated sigh. “You know I can’t read that.”
“Oh, right. Sorry. Further analysis of the Malad-X traces left in the syringe highlighted more genetic variations. Are you ready for this?” Albert performed a drum roll with his fingers on the edge of his desk. “Malad-X contains human DNA!”
“What? Who’s?”
“I cross-referenced the DNA with my copies of the Oasis Hospital and Sable Tower archives and confirmed it to be the DNA of its creator, Marcus Graves.”
“This means,” Luna added, “that Graves has Malady and used his own infection to create Malad-X.”
Albert tucked the print out into a manila folder. “Welcome to the scientific community, Ms. Briggs.”
Luna took Albert’s hand in hers. “Albert, I’m impressed. Excellent work.”
“Thank you. But I’ve done all I can on my own. I need Dr. Carmen Victoria at Oasis Hospital to help me stitch it all together. It’s time I call a meeting with her to reveal my discoveries. And I do believe it’s time she learns what her adversary, Dr. Graves, has cooked up.”
“Karma City needs to know, too,” demanded Luna. “We should push for Oasis to organize an awareness event and expose Graves for the monster he is. His Malad-X parasite can’t get out. If it does, there will be wide-spread murder and no one will be able to stop it.”
***
“Are you nervous about your first day at the new job?” Corpse-Dad asked.
“Not really,” Jack answered. As he rode the bus to Sable District, he watched Karma City roll by through the clouded window. It always amazed him how healthy people looked as Sable District drew near. Everyone dependent on Quell, everyone keeping their Malady asleep in their brains. Jack rolled his pill vial in his hand. Dealing with Corpse-Dad was becoming easier and he had refrained from taking Quell since Wednesday morning.
“I thought you were trying to track down the people who jumped from the train to get their story.”
“I’m still on it,” Jack answered. “I was hoping for a lead with Crimm but when he turned up, well, like you, it redirected the trail of bread crumbs. This Malad-X thing, whatever it is, is important.”
“Oh, I see. So, you’re not really going to work for Graves? You’re just pretending so you can dig up more information.”
Jack rubbed his eyes. “Dig up? Was that a dead man pun?” He shook his head. “Why am I getting into this discussion with a hallucination?”
“Who else are you going to talk to?”
Jack shrugged. “Good point.”
“Say, I remember how nervous you were on your first day of school. Do you remember that?”
“Enough with the memory lane crap.”
“Gee-whiz, someone got up on the wrong side of the bed today. What’s the matter?”
“I’m tired of your rosy recollections. Have you forgotten about how violent Malady made you? How you used to beat the crap out of me for no reason?”
Corpse-Dad looked down. Droplets of puss pattered on his moldy shoes. “I haven’t forgotten. I feel terrible about all of that.”
Jack gathered his briefcase a
nd overcoat as the bus jerked to a halt at the Sable District gates. “Keep quiet. I don’t need people looking at me funny today.” Jack stepped off the bus and processed through the security checkpoint. With Corpse-Dad following behind, he walked five blocks to Sable Tower and entered through the main lobby. He adjusted his tie and patted down his hair before approaching the receptionist’s desk.
“Good morning and welcome to Sable Tower. How may I help you?”
“Jack Halligan. Here for a meeting.”
After a few keystrokes at her computer, she handed him an employee access card on a lanyard. “The card will activate the tower elevator. Head to the top floor. Dr. Graves holds his executive meetings in his personal conference room in his suite. Will there be anything else, Mr. Halligan?”
“No, thank you. Have a good morning.”
“Whoa!” Corpse-Dad exclaimed. “The tension is stifling in here.”
“Shut up,” hissed Jack.
Graves Enterprises executives sat around an oval glass table. They fidgeted with pens and quietly spoke to one another. The men and women wore black professional attire with very little color. Jack reasoned it was likely a dress code of some sort. Guess I missed the memo. He looked down at his tan slacks, green collared shirt and brown loafers. One man stood out from the others. He sat at the opposing table head in a bright white tuxedo. A rose boutonniere and pearl-trimmed embroidery lined his lapels and jewel-encrusted rings adorned his hands. Like an owl perched on a hemlock bough, his cold eyes followed Jack as he took his seat.
Marcus Graves entered the room; disconcerting shadows lined his face. To Jack, the doctor looked like a different person than the man he’d had breakfast with. Graves sat at the table head and slowly eyed the group. He spoke softly, commanding attention. “Ten and a half million. That’s what I lost with the destruction of the Graves Enterprises vessel.” Graves pointed to the man in the white tuxedo. “I hold you responsible for this, Gabriel.”
“You’re not the only one who’s suffered losses at the hands of these raiders, Graves. My beautiful resort needs extensive repairs and I can’t even count the number of lost clientele and injured employees. How dare you blame me? Have you forgotten who you’re talking to?”
Graves tensed and stood up. He calmly walked around the table to stand near Gabriel. “How could I forget a worthless, Void Land dreg masquerading as a kingpin?” He reached down, snatched Gabriel’s hair and jerked his head back. Silver flashed in Graves’ hand—a scalpel. He pressed it under Gabriel’s eye and snarled, “Do you think I care about what happens in your rat’s nest, Gabriel?” Gabriel struggled. Graves pressed the small blade into the skin of his face. A line of blood trickled from the top of Gabriel’s cheek like a scarlet tear, staining the white tuxedo’s lapel. “I keep you around because I need your network, not because I need you.”
Jack looked on, stunned. He held his breath as if that would make it easier to watch.
Corpse-Dad nudged him. “I told you he had Malady and, my goodness, has it made him crazy.”
Graves’ assault carried on. “I could cut your eyeball out of your head with a single turn of my wrist. Then perhaps you’ll see things my way.”
Gabriel stiffened. The other men at the table looked to Jack like helpless animals frozen in terror, trapped under the deadly presence of an indomitable predator.
“Now,” said Graves with the scalpel firm, “I have expectations in business. I expect discretion, commitment and professionalism. I discreetly rented your waterfront warehouse. We had a confidentiality agreement. Yet, your people in Eden proved incompetent in securing your resort and as such, my files were stolen, my operation was interrupted and my ship was destroyed. Tell me how you’re going to fulfill my expectations now.”
Gabriel hustled for the briefcase with rattling hands. “I have photographs of the people responsible. Surveillance captures.”
Graves released him and drew a napkin from his pocket. He tossed it to Gabriel. “Clean yourself up.” He opened the briefcase and took out an envelope. Once back in his chair, he sifted through the photos, calm and quiet. “Is this the whole group?” he asked, after a long period of silent deliberation. “Yes. The scientist distracted my lobby guards. The thug and the Iron Tribe woman destroyed the security office and stole the computer drive that contained information about your operation.”
Graves studied the pictures then spoke to another executive seated across from Jack. “Mr. Rockland, as Captain of the Sable Guard, I want you to deploy forces into Karma City to bring down these attackers. I will have no further interruptions or delays in my endeavors. Understood?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Good. Now, I feel that tensions have become much too high for a collaborative meeting. Let’s take a half hour break. There is a lengthy agenda to cover and I’m eager to discuss the tightening of internal controls, hear the update on Quell analytics and most importantly, I want a full briefing on Malad-X testing success ratios.”
In a stiff, single-file line, the men exited the boardroom; Jack noticed shoulders falling from relief and heard gasps of breath, like men suddenly emerging from deep waters. Graves beckoned for Jack to remain. Once the others were gone, Graves said, “I apologize for the hostile environment. It is not what I would have wished for your first day with Graves Enterprises.”
Jack, struggling to appear at ease, stuffed his hands in his pockets and gave an exaggerated shrug. “Hey, I live in central Karma and I’ve seen a lot worse than that.”
“I appreciate your resolve. You’ll fit in well around here.”
“Not unless I’m useful. I’d like to get to work but I need to know more if I’m going to put anything on the paper. What’s Malad-X?”
Graves put up his index finger and grinned. “Right now, the details are still restricted to authorized personnel. You will not receive that level of information access just yet.”
“You hired me to cover your advances against Malady. Now you’re telling me I’m restricted. What am I supposed to write about?”
“You’ll write what I need you to write, when I need you to write it.”
“I’m no singer-for-hire.”
“Take a break, Mr. Halligan. Go to the café on the main level and get something to eat or drink. As I said earlier, tensions are too high. We’ll discuss your assignments later today. I’ll see you in a half hour. And stay away from Mr. Gabriel. He’ll be in a sour mood for the rest of the day.” Graves exited through a side door at the far corner of the conference room. Jack deduced that it likely led to his private suite.
“Café sounds like fun,” piped Corpse-Dad. “Race you to the elevator!”
Jack sighed. “I’m not in the mood for a latte. I’d rather see what’s behind door number two.”
Jack pressed his ear to the door Graves disappeared behind. He heard piano music playing a somber, classical piece. He said to Corpse-Dad, “I’m going in. Let me know if you hear anyone.”
“I can’t. I’m not real; remember?”
Jack rolled his eyes and tried the knob. It turned. “Must be my lucky day.” The door opened to a lavish parlor with burgundy and gold paisley wall paper. Brass sconces poured soft light over the walls. Jack smelled burnt wood and charred paint and noticed the ceiling blackened. There’s been a fire here. That’s strange. A horse-shoe of leather couches sat in the middle of the room, where a record player warbled with haunting piano music. Jack stepped quietly across the thick, scarlet carpeting and listened. He heard Graves talking from an adjacent room and he wondered to whom.
“All they’ve accomplished is robbing me of precious time,” rambled Graves.
Jack crossed the parlor and stood behind the doorframe to eavesdrop.
Graves laughed. “But I don’t need much more time. Soon, Malady will be hunted and slaughtered. Eradication is imminent.”
“What is he talking about?” whispered Corpse-Dad.
Jack wondered briefly why he was whispering, then felt a blast of cold air.
He peered around the doorway and watched Graves pull open two large glass doors. The doctor stepped onto a balcony and moved up a staircase that stretched out of view. Jack followed.
From the dizzying heights of Graves’ balcony, the Karma skyline spread beneath him. The buildings looked like toys that he could knock over with the wave of his hand. The silver rails of the Iron Tribe’s train gleamed like lines of spider’s silk threading their way through the city. The East River reflected the sun in fiery jewels falling into a foggy coastline and the clusters of districts, neighborhoods and businesses were a complex, geometric labyrinth. Jack eyed the staircase that Graves ascended. It led to the tower’s roof. As he crept up the stairs, clinging to the railing for courage.
Jack peered across the rooftop and gasped. There, a steel scaffold supported a massive glowing tank of murky white liquid. The liquid swirled and effervesced. Painted, black letters stenciled to the tank’s curving glass formed the word: MALAD-X. Graves’ black coat fluttered around him as he circled the unit. The threw up his arms, triumphantly shouting, “Eradication is imminent!”
“I think I’ve seen enough, son,” Corpse-Dad remarked.
“Funny, that’s exactly what I was thinking. Let’s get out of here.”
Chapter 12
“Do you have to do this now?” Donna followed Jack around the apartment as he searched for his suitcase.
“I’ve called Graves,” Jack said, “and told him I’m not feeling well and need a few days off. Hopefully, we have enough time to get out of Karma City.”
“Let me see if I understand this,” said Donna. “There is a mysterious glowing liquid at the top of Sable Tower?”
Jack flung open the bedroom closet. “Yes! Now, where did I put my suitcase?”
“Jack, stop for a minute and look at me!”
He stepped out of the closet and faced her. “I know how it sounds but I swear I didn’t imagine it. Graves has made something called Malad-X, and whatever it is Professor Crimm knew of it and died for it. Graves is preparing for something terrible, Donna. And we don’t need to stick around to find out what.”
Karma City Page 15
