"Are you willing now to tell me anything about this research program you're in?" Jenny asked.
"Only that we're trying to solve the MES problem," I said.
"Which I think goes without saying."
"Right. You have to understand that I signed a non-disclosure agreement, Jenny. Even showing you the exemption from the Reproductive Safety Agency probably violated that."
"I do understand, Aiden. But I think it's important to have some kind of transparency with mega-corporations that develop drugs used to treat millions of people. Especially corporations that work hand in hand with government agencies."
I shrugged, not wanting to encourage this line of conversation.
"We still don't even know the details of how the MES virus came into existence," she said. "The CDC and the pharmaceutical companies tell us it was a random mutation in the VSV Ebola vaccine, but they won't release all the research. I know, because I was looking into that until my newspaper decided to kill my story."
"Yeah, I've read a little about it, and something's obviously missing. Probably to protect national security or whatever."
"Or maybe it has something to do with all those big pharma companies that advertise in the Sacramento Chronicle." Jenny gave me a droll smile. "We might not even know that much if a whistleblower such as Mantra employee Jonathan Liston hadn't come forward."
"Right." I was feeling more and more uneasy with her train of thought.
"Liston had to violate his non-disclosure agreement with Mantra to do that," she added.
"Are you trying to say I should do that, too?"
Jenny let out a quiet laugh. "I wouldn't presume to tell you what you should do, Aiden. I'm just saying that brave people are sometimes needed to get the truth out."
"Didn't Jonathan Liston spend time in jail on espionage charges?"
"Yes, about a year. Because the Ebola vaccine was produced as part of a joint military/government and private business venture, that put more bite into the agreement. And he was accused of not following 'proper whistleblower procedures.'"
I gazed out the passenger-side window, now wishing we could get home faster. I had thought once or twice before, sort of dimly, that maybe someone should look into CellEvolve. Especially after Aleesha Bloom had died. Even if I was being paranoid.
"But they ended up silencing Liston in the end anyway," said Jenny. "Part of his plea agreement made him unable to talk about the details of what he knew. They used the espionage charge and jail to soften him enough to take that agreement. So we're really still in the dark about a lot of stuff."
"Well, I think it's pretty obvious they screwed up with the VSV vaccine and all hell broke loose. I've learned enough about genetic engineering to know that it isn't the exact science they always portray on TV and in books. They try to change something without any other changes occurring – particularly bad changes – but that's almost impossible to do now, not to mention thirty-eight years ago."
"I'm no expert on genetic engineering, obviously, but that's how I see it, too. Last time the genetic engineers screwed up it changed billions of men into half-eunuchs. What will happen next time?"
I carried that unpleasant thought with me the rest of the way home, which we completed mostly in silence. It was just my luck that my mom was retrieving the newspaper from our driveway as we pulled up in front of my house. I sighed. But maybe it was better that way.
"Thanks for everything," I said, grasping the door handle. "Maybe next time I can do something nice for you."
"You already have."
"Okay. Well, 'bye."
"I think I'd like to meet your mom."
Before I could object, Jenny had popped her door and was already stepping out. Great. Here we go.
My mom looked even more surprised than I was as Jenny headed straight toward her. She raised her newspaper in a semi-defensive position.
"Hi." Jenny stuck out her hand. "You must be Mrs. Stevens, Aiden's mom. I'm Jenny Green."
Mom shook her hand warily.
"I'm an investigative journalist," Jenny continued. "I work for the Sacramento Chronicle. I'm doing a series of articles on hypers and was attempting to interview your son."
My mom's expression turned from surprise to suspicion – tinted with a good deal of fear, I thought. Understandably.
"And you're bringing him home in your car from where...?"
"We met at a park for an interview, but there was what I guess you'd call a 'clothing mishap.' When Aiden was changing out of his basketball clothes in the park's restroom, some kids apparently thought it would be funny to run off with his clothing. That kind of threw a wrench in the interview."
My mom stood blinking at her. She was a quick study, but I could see her struggling to keep the logic chains neatly on their sprockets.
"This is the first I heard about an interview." Her gaze shifted accusingly to me.
"Yeah," I said, improvising quickly, "she emailed me about an interview, which I agreed to after my basketball game."
"You agreed to." Mom's tone suggested a deep paradox was involved. She took a step in my direction. "And what happened to your face? Did you get into a fight with the kids who stole your clothing?"
"No. That was before, playing basketball at the Rec Center." I paused to gather my wits. "My wallet and car keys were in the pants they stole, so Jenny bought me some new clothes and drove me home in her car."
My mom stared at me for a prolonged moment before shaking her head.
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Stevens," said Jenny. "I probably should've run this past you before setting up the interview."
"I agree. Ms. Green, is it?"
"Jenny, please."
"Since Aiden is a minor, Ms. Green, I'm surprised you didn't see fit to contact his parents."
"You're right. I'm afraid I didn't think that through. I hope you will forgive me."
"I will happily forgive you if you promise not to bother my son or me again."
I felt my body slump. I barely resisted rolling my eyes. My mother was nothing if not predictable.
"I was hoping to talk you into an interview as well, Mrs. Stevens," said Jenny.
"I'm sorry to dash your hopes, but neither my son nor I will be giving any interviews."
"Excuse me," I said, "but I can speak for myself, mom. And if I want to give an interview, I'll give one."
"We'll discuss that inside." Hostility was floating off my mom like heat waves from a sun-baked sidewalk. "Let me be clear, Ms. Green. Should I learn that you have any further contact with my son, I will report you to the RSA."
Now Jenny's cheeks flushed with anger. "There's no law that I know of that prohibits an interview with a minor."
"But there is against illicit contact between an adult and a minor, which I'm going to assume if you persist."
"That's...nuts."
"Is it? Are you saying you haven't been affected by Aiden's unique chemistry?"
"I'm using a nose spray which blocks that."
"No nose spray that I know of – and I think I would know, since this happens to be my area of expertise – has been proven effective in any scientific study. At best, you'd experience a partial and temporary insulation from a hyper's pheromones."
"All right." Jenny bit off the words, obviously straining to keep her cool. "Then how would you feel about interviewing your son only when you're present?"
"What I feel is that you're not hearing me, Ms. Green. I just told you in no uncertain terms to leave my son and me alone and what the consequences will be if you don't. Is there something about that you don't understand?"
My mom could be a total bitch when she wanted to. Someday I might tell her that. But probably not today.
"I understand," said Jenny, unspoken words flaring in her eyes as she turned to me. "Goodbye, Aiden."
"Mom," I said slowly, battling my own anger. "She drove me home and even bought me new clothes. You should be thanking her instead of reaming her a new one!"
"And you wouldn'
t need a ride or new clothes if she hadn't lured you into an interview." She faced Jenny with glacial eyes. "Tell me how much I owe you for his clothing."
Jenny just turned away and stalked back to her car, pausing at the driver's door to give me a regretful look before dropping inside. My mom and I stood in chilled silence as Jenny's Toyota rolled away.
"Way to go, Mom," I muttered.
"It's for the best," she said. "And you'd know that if you were channeling your intelligence instead of your hormones."
"What's hormonal about giving an interview?"
My mom gave me a weary stare. "Would you be giving that interview if the woman were plain and overweight instead of looking like a fitness model?"
I turned away from her terrible, knowing eyes. I tried to remember the last time I'd seen an overweight girl. I couldn't think of any at first thought. Gertie tended toward being a bit plump but that was it.
"What did you tell her, Aiden?"
"Nothing," I said. "Not really."
"Would you mind defining 'nothing'?"
My mom had an ear for my evasions like a world-class piano tuner's for an off-note.
"I told her a little about my life, how it was being me," I said with a careless shrug. "Boring stuff, really."
"Did you mention anything about CellEvolve and what you're doing there?"
Forget piano tuner. More like a shark's nose for blood. I forced my face into a neutral, unconcerned mode.
"Well, she asked where you worked and I told her," I said. "Before that I said that I was working in a research program. She put it together that I was working with CE."
My mom made her dreaded teapot hissing sound. "Aiden, you're one of the brightest people I know. But you're also sixteen. Do you see the problem there?"
I cracked a small smile. "You're saying the two tend to contradict each other?"
"In the case of females, definitely. I think you should realize how little time you've had to adapt to being hyper. You'd have to be superhuman to be completely rational."
"I'd be happy just to be mostly sane right now."
"You are, Aiden. What I'm asking is that you trust me when it comes to dealing with females – especially much older ones – because I think that's where your judgment tends to breaks down."
I really wanted to hate my mom right now, but she was spoiling that. Part of me did want to believe she was right – that what she'd done with Jenny wasn't about crushing me or my romantic aspirations but about protecting me. And who could dispute that sometimes I needed protecting?
"Okay," I said.
"She's an investigative journalist, Aiden, not your friend or the love of your life. Learning that a teenaged hyper is involved in some secret research program must sound like casino jackpot bells ringing. What do you think she's going to do with that information?"
"I don't know. Check it out somehow? Maybe call CE?"
"I'd say that's a safe bet. Then what do you think will happen?"
"CE will deny everything?"
"Yes. But it won't be happy that she called. Even if she doesn't call but starts digging into it, CE will probably learn about that."
"How?"
"CellEvolve has an intelligence division and owns a security firm called Graywater that make a point of learning about things that threaten it."
Graywater. That raised an involuntary shiver. It sounded so ominously unsanitary. The darkening day darkened a few more shades as we stood there in the driveway.
"That's a little scary," I said.
"Good. It's healthy to be a little scared when it comes to CE, Aiden. Or at least respectful." My mom's stern expression softened. "Look, I'm not saying CE is some dark, malevolent force. It has done good things for the world, in my opinion. If I didn't believe that, I wouldn't be working for them. It can be incredibly generous to those it deems worthy, as you've seen. But this is not an organization you want to trifle with. Definitely not an organization that you, as an employee, want to talk out of turn about."
I was nodding reluctantly as she spoke.
"I'm beginning to wish I'd never gotten you involved with CellEvolve." Her voice was heavy with regret. "I wasn't demonstrating a lot of foresight when I did that. I admit selfish motives were involved. Having a hyper son who could possibly unlock the secrets of MES was a prize too hard to resist, it seems. But I should've placed your interests above that. What I'd like to see you do now is just ride out your contract until your eighteenth birthday and then walk away from these people. Hopefully, Reprise will give them what they want and everything will be good."
"It's doing well in the animal tests?" I asked. "No problems like Revive?"
"So far." A tiny frown formed and vanished on her lips. "Neither the MES-infected male rats nor the bonobos are showing any of the negative side-effects – the temporary partial paralysis, muscle weakness, lack of sexual desire – that occasionally occurred with Revive. Desire levels have improved dramatically, to the point where the males will go to the point of exhaustion..."
"That doesn't sound so great." This was the most my mom had revealed on the subject, and I wanted to keep her going without spooking her. She was still sensitive about the problems with Revive. But this made for a great distraction from Jenny.
"After 24 – 48 hours of rest, they seem to recover without issues," she said. "A human being, exercising conscious restraint, could likely avoid that. Though I could see some men overdoing it the first time. We won't know until the human tests begin."
"If overdoing it's the only issue, that doesn't seem too threatening."
"No, although the greatly increased virility has had somewhat unexpected effects on the social interactions between males and females – particularly on the female bonobos." My mom paused, pursing her lips and looking past me as if searching for the right description.
"How are they acting differently?"
"More sexually aggressive."
"Oh." I was going to say that women seemed plenty aggressive in my experience, but decided not to explore that topic with her. "It makes sense, doesn't it? Females responding to amplified male pheremones."
"That's our leading hypothesis." She gave me a thin smile. "And speaking of aggressive women, I hope it goes without saying: no more interviews with beautiful journalists."
I sighed. "All right."
"No anything with beautiful journalists."
"Okay, Mom. I get it."
I lay in bed later, my mind going ten thousand miles per hour. The desperate run through the park, the basketball player who thought he was a big-time wrestler, the gorgeous Dr. Kayla D'Amato operating on my nose, and Jenny Green...all swirling around in my head.
One pleasant surprise: when my mom drove us back to the park and I used my spare key to get into the BMW, I found my wallet, cell, and original keys tucked under my post-basketball change of clothing in the front seat. There was also a note.
I discovered that my son and a few of his friends made off with your things in a practical joke that I'm sure you didn't find in the least humorous. I didn't, either. I won't give you my name because I don't want the police involved, but rest assured that my son and the other boys will face consequences for their actions. I apologize deeply for this inconvenience.
That left me with the warm and fuzzy feeling that good just might triumph in the universe. But as I drifted toward sleep, a more negative image emerged: a slimy grey subterranean river running below it all, eating away the ground beneath my feet.
Chapter 26
I WAS BACK IN the saddle again, as the classic rock song went, and when the dark-haired, tanned beauty entered my apartment/sex lab, my gloomy thoughts fled and life was simple again.
"Hi," she said. "I'm Janna."
Janna was short and slim, with hair that reached well past her small breasts nearly to her tiny waist. She was vaguely Polynesian or Asian something-or-other with splashes of other races thrown in. Early twenties, maybe younger. She was easily the smallest and most exotic woman
I'd ever been with. Or was about to be with. That thought summoned some of my old explosive desire.
"I'm Aiden."
I extended my hand. She grasped it with two miniature hands and gently worked my middle finger free. She slipped it slowly into her mouth. A shiver rocketed through me that threatened a premature end to this first round.
"I..."
She smiled around my finger. "Yes, Aiden?"
"I was just going to say..." I coughed quietly. "You, uh, have a nice way of introducing yourself."
"It gets better," she laughed.
It did. Near-infinitely better. What she did to me made me think about infinity. And my mortality, which seemed in peril.
I couldn't get enough of her, and from the pained expression gradually forming on her face during the third session it got a bit too much for her. She limped away afterward with a soft pat on my shoulder.
Not a personal word passed between us. That was a first for me. In the past there had been at least a pretense of making small talk. I was curious about Janna, but at the same time, as I lay sprawled in the tangled sheets of my CE studio apartment bed, it was liberating not to know.
Someone knocked on the door. I covered up.
"Come in," I said.
A fortyish woman in a lab coat entered. Short graying hair, dark-rimmed glasses, a pleasant but not noteworthy face. She smiled blandly or perhaps tolerantly as she approached the Petri dish filled with what appeared to be curdling cream waiting on the small night table beside the bed.
As she reached for it I slid over and grabbed her wrist. She raised a dark-stenciled eyebrow.
"I'm just here to collect your, um, sample," she said. "I'm not on your roster."
"I know," I said, pulling her toward the bed.
DR. BLUMENTHAL had his classic cat ate the canary smile when I entered his office three hours later.
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