Light Plays: Book Two of The Light Play Trilogy

by N. D. Hansen-Hill

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  Copyright ©2000 by N. D. Hansen-Hill

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  Dedication

  To Jeanne and Byron

  Light Plays

  A life-dance rotates on Earth's thin crust,

  Sun's rich reign ‘tween conception and dust

  Which has more force in the overall plan?

  The endurance of plants or the ego of man?

  When light waves beckon ‘neath Sol's hot light

  When man must answer to radiant might,

  Is it really a gift to produce such wealth,

  So physically binding, so surrounded by stealth?

  If the method employed is a harmful vector,

  And the end product ope to abuse and hector,

  What point, what cost, what debt the change,

  How harmful the product, how inhuman and strange?

  Would the victim ever accept his loss,

  Turn sorrow to hope, coat anguish with gloss?

  What of uncertain side-effects,

  The type that the human mind rejects?

  To be cast out of body, in a form much stranger,

  Perceived as a demon, a potential danger,

  With life force held but by silver thread,

  Does one live like this, or prefer to be dead?

  —N. D. Hansen-Hill

  Foreword—Light Play

  Book One

  Dr. Caroline Denaro is the woman of Rick Lockmann's dreams—his most macabre nightmares. When she touches him, she gets under his skin—literally. Within days he realises his life will never be the same.

  Her spectral appearance belies the potency of her touch. A touch that carries both viral and plant gene sequences. Rick doesn't realise it—at first—but his body is changing. As the days go by, Rick seeks the source of his infection: the remnants of Caroline Denaro's genetic research. Only by understanding what she has enacted, can he have any hope of changing the outcome for himself—or her.

  Rick is sick—nearly unto death. His contact with Denaro has infected him with Wound Tumour Virus (WTV), a plant virus that has never before attacked humans.

  Rick's illness has not gone unnoticed. Genetechnic, Denaro's employer, removes him from the hospital and sequesters him within their complex. His mutation is both a subject for study, and a source of potential social backlash.

  It doesn't take long for Genetechnic to realise, however, that his antibodies are the most valuable resource of all. Rick may have recovered from the virus, but Denaro has not. She has begun to act as a viral vector, and is spreading a deadly form of the virus throughout the complex. Psychopathic and vengeful, she destroys everyone she can touch, from her own doctor, to Genetechnic's most hardened defenders.

  It's up to Rick to stand against her, but he doesn't do it alone. The Defensive Security Office (DSO) has been called in to challenge Genetechnic's questionable research. Rick's closest friends—horrified by what has been done to him—have also contrived a rescue mission of their own.

  Denaro's reign of terror is complicated by an unexpected byproduct of the plant and virus genes circulating through her system. Her body has succumbed to the foreign proteins—but has rejected part of her own mortality as a result. Caroline Denaro's spirit is repeatedly shunted from her ailing body. As time goes on, and her body deteriorates, her out-of-body self learns to manipulate her environment, in order to gain some degree of physical presence. It was this extra-corporeal being which infected Rick initially—and it is this Denaro he must also challenge.

  Rick defeats her, using the strength, speed, and healing ability that are products of his mutation. Denaro dies, and eventually, Rick recovers fully.

  His problems are not over, however. His life can never be the same as it was. Rick Lockmann is now photosynthetic. Not only are his physical needs different, but he has to come to terms with his mutant status—and the knowledge that he harbours the world's most valuable DNA within his cells.

  Prologue

  Rick stood under the moonlight and stared at the brilliant skies. He was enjoying a sensation of peace, while watching the almost frenetic activity taking place overhead.

  His eyes picked up the changes in the light waves as they were jettisoned across the heavens, to finally impact on the rod and cone cells of his vision. Unlike other people—who saw only velvet skies with pinpoint stars and the occasional cloud—Rick saw layers, arcs, and angles of light, that blended and glitzed the skies. Overlapping streams of multi-coloured radiance: cooler, but every bit as potent, as the lights of day.

  It was the wildness of the shifting wavelengths that stirred him—the ever-moving restlessness that appealed to his own energy surges. The heavens were never still, and he knew his keepers couldn't understand why he derived so much pleasure from looking at what was, to them, a dark sky. It was the price of his mutation, that even though he'd been given new depths of perception, it was something he couldn't share—something he alone could appreciate. Other people didn't possess the equipment to see things as he did.

  Rick suddenly realised how lonely he was. Despite the almost continuous inquiries about his health and well-being, the weight of his bodyguards’ eyes on his back, and the visits from his well-meaning friends, he stood separate—and alone. No more casual invitations, no more dropping by to watch or do things, no more fun. He didn't know whether it was because they were afraid of overrunning his metabolic imbalances, or the size of the retinue that lagged behind him wherever he went—or maybe, it was just that, somehow, in the making of this new Rick, they'd forgotten him as a person. Maybe now they saw him as something else.

  Hell, the last time he'd had any fun, it'd been to shoot a dawn game of basketball with Cole, and even that had been orchestrated to try to find out what he had planned for his future. Well-meaning of course, but the outing had lost something after that. If anything, it had made him feel more isolated, because up until then he'd been hoping he might make his future at least partly match his past. A month ago he never would have guessed that the sound of a basketball thudding in his hall might be the most welcome reprieve in the world. A reprieve from his thoughts, from his separateness, from what he'd become.

  So, he stood alone in his yard, seeing what only he could see, and forcing himself to focus on the way the light waves rode the skies. Even when the stars appeared as shards of glitter, and the moon was fatly placid, breathy gusts would stir the tranquil image, and turbulence would lie waiting on the next spin of the orbiting globe.

  So much movement. Of clouds and moon, wind and light. Each star glinting through its ever-changing dance of colour. And, through it all, the earth swirled, even as the moon rolled across the heavens. The kinetics of the scene grounded him—somehow helping him to take his own frantic energy bursts in stride.

  Here, he was just one more piece of the turmoil. Of the eternally energetic litter cluttering the night.

  He smiled.

  When he was underneath the stars, it wasn't so hard to admit what he'd been lacking for the past month. Something that everyone's keen observation and concern had stolen from him—simply because it had made him feel less than human. Being out here, he was made to feel that he had a place in the univ
erse. He began to feel that once more, he belonged.

  Chapter One

  The freezer units were unguarded. During the day, this area was well-patrolled, but at this time of night, the only eyes were at the end of electronic tethers. There were electronic surveillance units everywhere.

  He'd been assured that the situation was controlled—that the surveillance cameras would be watching him with blind eyes. They'd thought it would be a matter of great importance to him. The truth was, he felt no qualms about dismantling the cameras, any more than he'd feel qualms about murdering any human opposition that came his way. He was going about the devil's work anyway, so if the price was worth your damnation, there was no point in half measures.

  Her remains had been sequestered: her parts savaged and scattered throughout the freezer units in the name of science. He'd already been warned about the damage her body had undergone—the multiple gunshot wounds that had changed her from monster to corpse.

  It didn't matter. They'd warned him so he wouldn't be shocked by the condition of her remains—so that he'd recognise her when he'd found her. How could they think he'd ever be able to forget the way she'd looked? The distortions that would be easily recognisable as long as there was a centimetre of skin left. As long as there was a gram of tumorous tissue to pass as flesh.

  Fools! This was nothing. He'd already endured the worst, and chopping her up further would only give him pleasure. Mutilation would act as a form of vengeance.

  He found her. The chills from the deep freeze were no worse than the chills she'd given him in life. The thought gave him pause. Should he do this? Should he take the chance on re-creating something that should never have existed in the first place?

  It was as deep as his thinking went. There was nothing for him without his work—without the thrills and edginess that kept him honed. It nurtured the evil that lurked within—the crimes against humankind that others were willing to commit, so long as only their minds, but never their hands, wreaked the damage. It justified his existence, somehow. As their tool, he was useful—and well paid.

  Tazo Raeiti performed his first surgery for pay. It was a messy job, but at least there was no bloodshed. He double-wrapped his trophies, and prepared to go. But first, he took a look around, to ensure that he'd left no traces of his work. He hadn't needed to take out the surveillance units after all.

  They'd discover what he'd done, but only when they came to do the devil's work themselves—and it might take them a while longer yet to get up the courage.

  With a dark smile, Raeiti placed his burden within the ice-pack, and crept back the way he'd come.

  * * * *

  Cole turned the key in the ignition, and listened, with a Cheshire cat grin, to the throaty response. The Rumbler was ready for action, and so was he. All action, and nowhere to spend it.

  What he really wanted to do was visit Rick. Dr. Dung was supposed to be returning to his lab on Monday, to ferret through his plant fungus. Cole shook his head. Whatever it was Rick saw in all that plant stuff was beyond him. Though now—Cole's face sobered at the thought—he knew Rick had more of an interest in it than ever. Cole just hoped that, given his new genetic make-up, Rick wasn't going to pick anything up from his sick plants.

  About three blocks from Rick's, Cole pulled the Rumbler over to the curb, and sat for a minute, drumming his hands on the steering wheel. He wasn't so sure Rick was going to welcome his visit. The last time he'd shown up on his doorstep, Rick had glowered at him.

  He'd mentioned it to Simon, and Simon had looked pensive for a minute, then frowned almost as darkly as Rick had. “We're pushing him, Cole,” he'd said.

  “Pushing him?” Cole had asked incredulously. “How can a little concern for his well-being be ‘pushing him’?”

  “Because, you ass, he doesn't get any time to himself. And he never gets any quality time with any of us.”

  At the phrase “quality time", Cole had tuned out. He would have snorted with derision if he wasn't already thinking about Simon's other comment—regarding “time to himself". Hell, what did Rick need more time for? He wasn't doing anything right now. Or, he wouldn't be, until he went back to work.

  Cole thought of the endless stream of people—predominantly female—who poured through his own life. He told Simon, “Bullshit. Rick doesn't even have a girlfriend.” Cole saw the look in Simon's eyes, and quickly added, “He didn't have a girlfriend before this happened, Simon. You know he's saving himself for ‘Daphne’. What I'm saying is: Rick has more time alone than I do, and I manage all right.”

  Simon lifted an eyebrow. “You think so?”

  “Sure. I manage just fine—”

  Simon gritted his teeth. “I was referring to Rick. Between his little trips to the hospital, visits from the three of us, calling cards from Hylton, phone calls about his health, and agents watching him—”

  “He has agents watching him? Why haven't I seen them?”

  Simon looked at him pityingly. “You weren't supposed to see them.” He gave a wry smile. “But Rick knows they're there.”

  Cole looked disgruntled. “So come to the point, Spy-man. Or is there one to all this?”

  “The point is: Rick's so stressed that he's about to run. And I don't know what they'll do to him if he does.”

  Cole hadn't slept well after that. Here it was—Saturday—the day when (until a month ago) he usually went over and bugged Rick. The day he dragged him away from all his science crap and made him do something a little more healthy. Only, now he didn't feel comfortable doing it. Because he might be driving Rick away. Literally.

  And that's what Cole was afraid Rick would do. Run. Simon was right. Between Cole's phone calls, and Jason's “visits"—that were really more medical assessments—and Simon's casual inquiries about his health, Rick looked ready to bail.

  Cole couldn't say exactly what time of the night he'd decided Simon-the-Spy knew what he was talking about. Cole had thought he knew Rick better than any of them, but he had to admit Simon probably knew more about people living on the edge. If anyone had an edge to his existence, it was Dr. Richard Lockmann.

  That edginess was part of the reason Cole had taken to hovering around Rick's place on his off hours. Now, he had to admit, he'd probably been bugging the shit out of Rick just to keep track of him. Cole tried to tell himself he was doing it for Rick, but sometime during the night he acknowledged the truth: the thing with Denaro had just been so goddamned scary. And—Cole grinned—so goddamned heroic. Not only was he drawn to Rick because of their old friendship, and a brotherly need to protect him from the side-effects of the world's strangest metabolism, but there was an element of danger surrounding Rick that Cole couldn't resist. Everyone wanted Richard Lockmann—from the Defensive Security Office (DSO) to the Genetechnic leftovers to God-knows-who-else. Hell, half the genetics labs in the world would probably love to spend a week with him—or his bodily parts. Cole wanted to be involved in some way—to be one of the people to act if someone tried to trespass on Rick's DNA.

  Cole climbed out of the Rumbler and began to jog. This way, if he doesn't want to see me, I can always pretend I was just passing by. He knew Rick wouldn't be fooled for an instant, but he hoped it might make him feel less pressured.

  He'd come Rick's way this morning determined to put things back the way they'd been. Or, at least, as close to the way they'd been as Rick's weird genes would allow. He had this idea that Rick would appreciate his attempt to bring things back to normal—and quit all this namby-pamby coddling shit about his health.

  Cole grinned. If he handled this right, Rick would not only be glad to see him, but excited about what he had in mind. He'd get Simon and Jace involved again, too. Hell—despite his calm exterior, Jace was a maniac when it came to this stuff—the damned storm chaser. Give the man a CG (cloud-to-ground strike) or a CC (cloud-to-cloud) to photograph, and sane Jace went off his nut.

  Cole was still a few driveways away when he changed his mind. All this would probably
seem dull to Rick now. He saw things differently through those crystalline eyes of his. And, hell, he'd been through so much, everything else would seem tame. Cole made a few more excuses, but what he was really worried about was that he'd be the trigger—the one to set Rick off, so he couldn't stand it any more. Cole knew he wasn't always the most tactful person, and he was afraid—after Simon's warning—that he'd push Rick just enough to lose it. And, if Rick were to run, nobody would find him.

  Cole knew the DSO were confident they wouldn't have any trouble—that they'd be able to find Rick, wherever he went. Which was the only reason they let him stay free—because they were sure they could get him back. That's if he took himself off, of course. If someone else took him, then it'd be a different story.

  Cole had thought it through as he tossed and turned the night before. That was the main reason the DSO was watching Rick. To keep someone else from getting him. Until they could think of a use for his so-called “skills".

  Cole was just as sure that—if Rick wanted to disappear—the DSO wouldn't stand a chance. Rick was too smart and too fast. The only time they'd have an opportunity to nab him was at night, when Rick dropped into that semi-comatose sleep of his.

  Cole sighed. Sometime during his sleepless night, he'd made it his mission to make Rick realise he really didn't want to run. If Rick took off—and Cole knew this as strongly as he knew Rick could evade the DSO if he chose—he'd die. Because Rick had never paid attention to things like eating and sleeping when he was engrossed in a project. Sooner or later, Dr. Richard Lockmann's curiosity would get the better of him. He'd become focused on something, and forget who and what he'd become. Then, he'd drop over in a coma and die. End of story.

  Now, in the daylight, Cole felt like a fool. The best way to deter Rick from going away wasn't to get him involved in an “outing", but to avoid him so he wouldn't feel trapped. Cole turned around and jogged back the way he'd come.