Revolution

by J. S. Frankel

  Harry snapped back to the present as Farrell left off the questioning and tilted his head back. Soon, he fell , and Anastasia took Harry’s hand and led him to another seat. “It’s a little more private here,” she said.

  There were only seven rows on the plane, but whatever. “What is it?” he asked.

  She bit her lip. “It’s just us, for now.”

  “Yeah, it is.”

  With the disappearance and probable death of Istvan, the destruction of all the labs and the deaths of Szabo and Kulakov, the mastermind of all this insanity, it seemed as though there were no others like them, friend or foe.

  Yet, something the monkey-man had said at the farmhouse, something about... stasis chambers. Was it possible others were gestating in private facilities? He didn’t want to believe it. Although right now, anything was possible.

  That, however, could wait. He’d experienced the feeling of loss once, when his parents died. He’d experienced it once more, more painfully, when Anastasia was kidnapped. He did not want to lose her again, now or ever.

  “If it’s going to be us from now on, should we make it more permanent?” asked Anastasia, her eyes glowing.

  Permanent... as in... “Do you mean, uh, you want to get married?”

  “You asked me before. Back then, I was on the fence. I’m not now, and I always wanted kittens.”

  Her reply came out so deadpan he couldn’t hold back his laughter. “Well, I was thinking the same thing.”

  “Then kiss me now and seal the deal.”

  A second later, they did just that and held each other until they fell asleep. The rest of their flight was uneventful, and oddly enough, Harry didn’t dream.

  Upon their arrival back in the States, they stood in the private hangar, and Farrell cautioned them to be careful. He’d be speaking to the director of the FBI soon enough along with meeting the President after that. “Remember, this has to remain quiet,” he said.

  Although Harry felt jet-lagged and he needed to take a shower in the worst way, Farrell’s words hit home. The shower could wait and so could everything else. Another more pressing matter needed to be dealt with, and it had to be dealt with right now. What Anastasia had said on the airplane—them being the only two of their kind—it couldn’t wait. “Call for a press conference,” he said. “Do it now.”

  Farrell’s eyes bulged. “Kid, you don’t know what you’re doing.”

  Even Anastasia seemed surprised. “Yeah, I’m going to echo what the man in black said. What are you doing, boyfriend?”

  Harry had been thinking about this for a long time. It was time to end this whole veil of secrecy. He didn’t want to spend the rest of his life in a cabin, no matter how comfortable it was. It also had nothing to do with his love for research. That would always be part of his life. There was no way he’d give it up now.

  However, the other things that human beings took for granted, the ability to get up and move wherever they pleased, that was something that had been denied to Anastasia for the longest time, and it was something he’d only experienced recently. No one else should have to suffer just because they looked somewhat different from the norm. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that the norm was what society dictated, and right now, he didn’t feel like being dictated to by anyone.

  “Agent Farrell, look out there.” He pointed at the window. A stream of people off in the distance walked through the airport terminal. They looked to be happy, chatting with their friends, their families and their children. “What do you see?”

  Farrell’s face got tight. “I see people walking around. They’re going places—”

  “Right, they’re going places,” Harry interrupted and he tapped the glass for emphasis. “They can go wherever they want. We can’t. They can walk into a shop without someone staring at them. We can’t. They can get married and go to school and watch movies in theaters if they want.”

  “We can’t,” Anastasia supplied.

  Creases of frustration knifed their way onto Farrell’s already lean face. “Kid, the FBI has bent over backwards to help you. We’ve given you your labs and research. We’ve given you whatever you wanted—”

  “Except for one thing,” Harry interrupted. He felt the heat of anger and frustration growing within him. It was time to let it out. “We don’t have the freedom to do what we want on our own time.”

  “And it’s always the same excuse,” Anastasia chimed in. “The time’s not right, the people won’t understand... all of that.”

  Harry cast a glance at Anastasia, who nodded in affirmation. With a sigh that smacked of resignation, Farrell asked the obvious question. “So what do you want?”

  “This is our chance to walk around freely,” Harry stated and made his voice sound as determined as possible. “Make the press conference happen.”

  “What if I don’t?”

  Anastasia offered a smile and linked her arm with Harry’s. Together, they began to walk out of the hangar. “Then we’ll do it anyway,” she tossed over her shoulder. “The press loves a good story, and I’m kind of cute.”

  Jet lag or not, Farrell did a very fine impression of an Olympic sprinter and ran over to the door in order to block it. Harry stifled a laugh, but the agent obviously didn’t have a humorous bone in his body, and his face still wore a dubious expression.

  “I figured that it might come to this,” he murmured. In a sudden burst of what had to be resignation, he threw up his hands. “Okay, fine, if you do what you want to do, are you prepared for what people will say? What they might do? If we go public, the FBI can’t protect you like we once did.”

  “You didn’t do a whole lot for us before,” Anastasia pointed out. She added quickly, “You didn’t know about the other enhanced people. I get that. But the world’s going to find out sooner or later, and we want it to be on our terms, not theirs.”

  Time stood still for a few interminable moments. Finally, with a sigh that signaled defeat, Farrell said, “If that’s what you want, let’s get it done. My superiors aren’t going to like it, I can tell you.”

  “They don’t have to shave with seven razors every morning,” Harry answered.

  Farrell made good on his promise. After he’d taken them to FBI headquarters for a quick cleanup job along with a change of clothes, he called for a press conference. It took place at noon, on the steps right outside headquarters.

  With a police blockade in place, the citizens came, gawked, gasped when they realized this was no publicity stunt, and then the press showed up. For the first time in a long time, Harry wore a short-sleeved shirt along with his usual jeans. He stole a look at Anastasia as she stood next to him on the dais. She wore a yellow blouse and skirt and they matched the color of her fur and eyes perfectly. Yellow was definitely her color, he thought.

  It seemed as though the press thought so, too, as the photographers snapped Anastasia’s picture and jockeyed for position in order to get the best angle. Farrell looked distinctly uncomfortable as he fidgeted all the way through, wiping his forehead every few seconds.

  While a few people seemed to find the whole idea repulsive or thought it a simple publicity stunt, most seemed accommodating. That, Harry thought, was probably the best way. You couldn’t like everyone, but at the very least, you could be civil.

  An old man stood at the back of the crowd wearing a ratty suit. He was listening intently to the question-and-answer session with a slight smile on his face. It was Morozoff. He nodded and Harry nodded back. He glanced at Anastasia—she must have seen him, for she also nodded. Morozoff waved goodbye and disappeared into the shifting throng.

  One reporter called out, “What are you going to do now? Are you still working with the FBI? Do we have to be worried?”

  It was a standard question—one that Harry had been expecting all along. Part of him wanted to answer, but the other part said to wait, let them figure it out on their own. Finally, after three seconds, which to him seemed like an eternity, Farrell spoke
up. “Their work is on a voluntary basis,” he answered and then added, “They’re both citizens of this country. Their loyalty isn’t something that anyone should question.”

  Anastasia put up her hand. The gallery immediately quieted down. “You asked about danger. We’re not the ones you should be scared of. A few months ago, lynch mobs came after us. The police were checking for dangerous mutants. They should have checked the regular people first.”

  “Miss.... uh,” one reporter began.

  “My name is Anastasia,” she reminded him.

  Another reporter held up his hand for attention. “Anastasia, there were others, um, sort of like you. We’ve all seen the pictures. We saw what they could do and what they did. You’re asking us to believe you, just like that?”

  She gave him not a hard stare, but what seemed like an honest appraisal. “Yes, there were others like us, other transgenic experiments that were into killing, but we’re not about that. Agent Farrell has told you what we’re all about. We’re just like you... only furrier.”

  Her statement provoked a laugh from the crowd. More flashes went off and a few civilians juxtaposed themselves between the crowd and the stage in order to take a few selfies. Selfies, Harry thought, what was this about selfies? Someone always had to take a picture and get their fifteen minutes in.

  “What about war?” someone asked.

  “I think you’ve seen too many movies,” Harry shot back. Most of the people in attendance chuckled. Some didn’t, though. They remained quiet, watching with guarded expressions. To him, they were the most dangerous ones of all.

  “There’s no war,” he added. “There are no mutants against humans, no threats to take over the government, and there’s no us against you.”

  Anastasia chimed in, “It’s not us versus you. It’s just us.”

  Murmuring broke out among the press and the ordinary citizenry, with people turning to one another, looks of confusion and acceptance and a couple dozen other emotions going on. After a few seconds of buzz-play passed, a different reporter asked, “So where are you going now?”

  “We’re going shopping,” Anastasia answered. “I need some new clothes.”

  More laughter came from the crowd along with the usual questions of lifestyle and plans for the future, until Farrell decided that enough was enough. “I’ll have a full statement for all of you tomorrow,” he said by way of closing. With that, he ushered Harry and Anastasia inside the building.

  “That... was pretty intense,” he said, observing the crowd as it jostled outside the closed doors. “Was it really necessary to call a press conference?”

  “Yeah, it was,” Anastasia answered.

  Farrell shrugged. “I guess it was. So where are you going now?”

  “Home,” answered Harry, feeling tired and exhilarated at the same time.

  “I’ll get the car.”

  Farrell took them downstairs to the underground garage and asked them to wait. “I have to get something from my office.”

  He came back five minutes later carrying two small paper bags, opened his car door, pulled his aging and decrepit Ford out and bade them to get in. “Here we go,” he said, stepping on the accelerator.

  The noonday traffic was heavy, but for once Anastasia didn’t get carsick. Three hours later, they arrived in the Catskills, back to where it had all started. It was only fitting that it should end there.

  Parking the car near the cabin, Farrell turned around in his seat. He handed over the bags he’d taken. “What’s this?” Anastasia asked.

  “Look inside.”

  Harry did. He found his passport and a thick wad of bills bound together by a rubber band. Anastasia let out a gasp and showed off the contents of her bag. They were the same as Harry’s. “Why... did you do this?” she asked.

  Farrell’s face never changed expression. “You’ll need this to start off with. If you ever need anything else, you know where to reach me.”

  Anastasia leaned over and planted a tiny kiss on his cheek. His stone façade cracked as he flushed a brilliant red, but he patted her shoulder. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  “I’ll let Jason and Tina know you’re okay,” he said. “I’ll, uh,” he stopped to clear his throat, “I’ll call you in a couple of days. Get going.”

  “Thank you,” Harry said as he pulled his girlfriend out of the car with him.

  The cabin sat there, an oasis in the woods. Once they got inside, Anastasia plucked the bags from him, tossed them on the table and pulled him toward the bedroom. He went willingly, only noting in passing that the place had been scrubbed clean and smelled as fresh as the outdoors. Once they passed through the portal, Anastasia whispered, “I don’t care if we stink. It’s just us here now.”

  After taking her in his arms, he nuzzled her nose and kissed her deeply. “Let’s keep it that way.”

  Early the next morning, Harry slipped out of bed, stretched, and took a long, hot shower. Padding over to the closet, he took out a t-shirt and fresh pair of boxer shorts and flicked on the television. He kept the volume low so as not to disturb his girlfriend, and watched the replay of yesterday’s video conference. “Have to say, Anastasia looks better than I do,” he murmured. She’d looked composed, while he shook in his seat, looking distinctly uncomfortable. Nervous or not, he felt that he’d made the right decision.

  As he shut off the television, his gaze fell on his computer. It sat on the table, undisturbed by the cleaning staff. The program he’d been working on had finished and the result displayed made him gasp. One hundred percent viable, it read.

  This was the answer. The one he’d been working on all this time. It meant that all he needed was another Genesis Chamber and he’d be transformed back into his original body. Anastasia would benefit as well. This was the answer... but he decided to wait until she was awake and then tell her. It had to be her decision.

  The computer beeped. Calling up the program, he read out the results of Istvan’s blood tests, the ones he’d sent from Budapest. What he saw was unbelievable. Even before Istvan had been transformed, his blood held the key to solving a number of diseases, including cancer, the dreaded killer that had claimed the life of Harry’s father only one year ago.

  Harry carefully copied the information onto another disc and set it aside. Thinking about it further, he made two more copies and hid them in an alcove. It was just a precaution.

  Once done, he came back to his computer and studied the information in front of him. This was going to revolutionize medicine as he knew it. He’d get to work on it as soon as possible. When the time was right, he’d make his presentation to the medical world. The pharmaceutical companies would probably scream about their profit margins, but damn the consequences, no one would have to die in vain.

  For now, though, Anastasia’s voice called him back to the bedroom. “Harry, where are you?”

  “I’m out here,” he answered and quickly closed the top of the computer before going back to bed. “I was just checking on some things. Everything’s fine.”

  As he padded into the bedroom, Anastasia sat up, back against the backboard, a light blanket wrapped around her. She regarded him with a calm gaze. “How did I look on the tube?”

  Damn, she’d heard everything, he thought. “You looked beautiful,” he said, and meant every word. “I still have to work on my stage presence.”

  She giggled, but soon her expression changed to a somber one. “So... what other good news do you have? I heard the computer beep. How did the tests go?”

  She’d heard that, too. “Um... we can change back.”

  Their fifteen minutes of fame forgotten, her eyes widened. “Tell me.”

  He did, leaving nothing out, and once he was done, she offered a smile. “How long will it take to build another chamber?”

  Rapidly calculating the numbers, he gave her the offer of three months. “That’s if the engineers can prepare everything according to the specs. They did it before, so,” he shrugged, “they can d
o it again.”

  She looked down at her body, bit her lip and her voice came out softly. “You know, I never wanted to be anything other than what I was. I was human once, with a normal body and a normal life. I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask to be a freak or be called one.”

  “You’re not—”

  Anastasia put her hand to his lips. “Wait, hear me out. I never wanted to be turned into something I’m not, but since I met you, you showed me that to be something different isn’t anything to be ashamed of. You changed for me. You did it because you loved me, didn’t you?”

  “I did. I still do.”

  She offered a quiet and rather shy smile. “And now, after the press conference, I realize that I’m not ashamed to be seen by anyone. Not anymore. And I can live with that.” Her face a study in naked honesty, she added, “We’ll always have the chance to be what we were, if we want.”

  Her hand came up to caress the side of his face. “But for now, we’re what we are—and I’m down with that.” She leaned back and a wry smile appeared. “What are you thinking about, boyfriend? You’ve got that broody look again.”

  Harry didn’t know what to say at first. He’d done all this research, spent countless hours for a cure... but he realized that the cure was right in front of his eyes. It was her, and it always had been her. “I was just thinking... kiss me now and seal the deal,” he said.

  “Let me take a shower first.”

  Anastasia slipped out of bed and ran to the shower. While she was getting clean, his mind went through a few scenarios with the Genesis Chamber. He also wondered if there were really other transgenic people gestating in some hidden laboratory somewhere in Europe or the Far East or even here.

  Thinking about it, he decided that he would be contacting Farrell and it would be soon. However... listening to the shower water run, he decided that the safety of the world could wait a couple of days. A heartbeat later, Anastasia came back wearing a pair of yellow shorts and a yellow blouse. “Get dressed,” she ordered. “I’d like to take a walk.”