“I see. And what about the father? Is he in on it too?”
“No.”
“And you really think you can find a cure?”
“I don’t need to find a cure. One already exists. Or did.”
Another snort puffed from Neville’s nose and mouth. He uncrossed his arms and leaned toward Takoda. “It’s a myth, Takoda. Just because a few of Mugabe’s binding proteins found their way into this kid’s DNA does not mean the GODD chip is real. It and everything Mugabe created were destroyed. Regardless, it’s folly to think you are gifted enough to recreate her research.”
Takoda wasn’t sure which bothered him more, Neville’s swipe at his intelligence or the evvie’s dismissal of Dr. Dyan Mugabe’s experimental solution to end the blight of gutant mutations. As Takoda fought to maintain his composure, Neville continued his lecture.
“The woman’s been dead for what, almost twenty-five years? As legend has it, her research went up in flames at her execution. They literally burned her alive using her research to feed the fire. And I don’t have to remind you of what you know so well. Gene replacement research is illegal. That restriction includes research into binding proteins as well. The last thing the world needs right now is you, and Yon, and whomever else is in your band of misguided zealots, trying to play God. As the last century has proven, it’s a very bad idea.”
There was wisdom in Neville’s comments, yet it felt self-serving for Takoda to hear the sage advice coming from one who had benefited handsomely from genetic manipulation. “Spoken like a true evvie.”
Neville’s face turned red. “If I was a true evvie, Takoda, I would have already contacted NASF.”
“Then, what’s the point of the lecture? If you’re hoping to dissuade me from—”
“I know better than that,” Neville said. “You’re too damned stubborn. Plus, I understand why you’re really doing this. It won’t help her, Takoda. It’s too late. If your daughter’s still alive, she’s likely a jakali by now.”
Takoda leaped out of his chair. Neville held up his hand.
“Before you wallop me again, I want to remind you I was the one that helped you find a sanctuary for her.”
Suddenly dizzy, Takoda staggered backward and collapsed onto his chair. His mind filled with images of the tearful parting. There is no pain greater than watching as someone takes your child away, whether it be God or another human.
Neville continued to talk but Takoda didn’t listen. Memories of his lost family dulled his other senses until he felt his body shake and a shadow darkened his vision. Neville’s voice penetrated his mental fog. “…do you hear me? I’m not going to turn you in.”
“What?”
“I said I’m not going to turn you in. But…no more using this facility for any part of your plot. Do you understand? As noble as your intentions are, what you’re doing is very dangerous. You could ruin the lives of a lot of innocent people, including me. And I’m not taking a bullet for your pipe dream. Got it?”
Yon had left for the day by the time Takoda’s mind cleared. Too drained by the conversation with Neville and his subsequent sojourn down memory lane to work any longer, Takoda packed up his sling case and shut down his office.
On the drive home, his thoughts returned to binding proteins and their role in the last half-century of tragedy. Specifically, he thought of the mishmash of techniques, synthetics and chemical agents that had been employed over the first two decades of the Genetic Revolution to break apart chromosomes to remove unwanted genes, and then rebind the chromosomes after the genes were replaced.
In the fervor to rush gene replacement therapies to market, measured approaches to developing, testing and refining lab-created genes and binding proteins were largely cast aside. There had been a weak commitment to standardization, no long-term follow-up studies before approvals were issued, and scant thought was given to how one company’s gene-pack might interact with a gene-pack from another. Or how many gene-packs could practicably be replaced at one time, or cumulatively, before chromosome integrity was threatened.
If only there had been stronger dissent, calls for prudence. Who am I kidding? They would have been ignored.
He recalled stories of parents living in countries with rigorous standards traveling in droves to other countries where standards were lax or non-existent to secure the gene-packs they wanted for their children. Not surprisingly, many of the biologic companies flocked to these regulation-free havens, exacerbating the problems.
The same wild-west approach had been applied to the techniques used to deliver gene-packs and their binding agents into cells. Some biologic companies had favored viruses as deliverymen, others had used nanobots. Then came the emergence of self-replicating smart-proteins that could navigate their own paths to desired gene positions and stimulate the unlocking and refastening of innate protein binds. At the peak of the gene replacement mania, there were more than twenty different delivery mechanisms in use…and twice that number of binding agents…and more than ten thousand different gene-pack combinations.
As Takoda neared the border checkpoint, he shook his head. Madness, absolute madness.
Early on, the slurry of gene-packs, delivery techniques and binding agents proved reasonably effective in maintaining chromosome integrity as cells divided. But then, as the first generation of genetically designed children reached puberty, the first signs of trouble in their replacement genes appeared.
The surge of hormones that caused children to blossom into adults weakened some of the altered protein binds to the point where they began to break. Not all at once, but over time. And some of the breakages were not clean, creating damage to genes on both sides of severed links, not just the replacement genes at the site of the breakage.
At first, these gutations affected a small minority of children but as the world discovered in the necro outbreak of 2082, and other virulent gutations that followed, it didn’t take much to wipe out a billion people.
“Necro should have been the wakeup call,” mumbled Takoda.
But the outbreak had not tempered enthusiasm for genetic design and gene replacement therapies. Nor had other pandemics that popped up over the next two decades. As the world approached the year 2100, the mania finally reached its peak. The pinnacle coincided with the earliest births of children sired by second-generation genetically-designed humans. Their inherited replacement genes mixed with inherited replacement genes of their mates, some already gutated, others not, compounding the slurry of weak binds and expanding the scope of gutations.
Another missed opportunity to stop the madness! Parents continued to walk into genetic design centers with laundry lists of desired attributes for their children. Blue eyes instead of brown, height over six feet, perfect vision, IQ in the 160 range, skin resistant to sun damage, elimination of genetic risk factors in the parents’ DNA for obesity, baldness, certain cancers, dementia, and so on.
Such laundry lists would have meant the replacement of hundreds, if not thousands, of an embryo’s 25,000 gene-pairs, meaning double the number of broken and mended chromosome binds linking each end of the genes together, especially if one or both parents already had gutated replaced genes in their DNA. The problem was further compounded by the apparent reset of many gutations in utero. The self-replicating smart-proteins in many of the replacement genes of one parent seemed to recognize and heal broken binds when merging with genes from a second parent. Alas, all too often, the binds would break again in the resulting child’s DNA as they reached puberty.
It took another ten years of horrible plagues and other mutation atrocities before worldwide sanity prevailed and genetic design and gene replacement therapies were outlawed. Sadly, it had been like slapping a bandage on a gaping chest wound. Too little, too late.
As Takoda stared at the traffic slowing down in front of him, he mumbled, “And without a miracle, the worst is yet to come.”
For although the pace of mutation-related deaths had steadily dropped over the la
st twenty years, new mutations kept appearing, including the most significant threat to humans since the plagues of the early 2110s, Jakali Syndrome.
Many people didn’t see the threat the same way as Takoda did, but those people were not paying attention to the history of the last seventy years. Jakali Syndrome would not be stamped out by euthanasia and sterilization. Too many were already in the wild and when those who escaped sterilization began to mate, there was no telling what kinds of monsters they would birth.
Takoda shook from this chilling thought as he brought his Mustang to a stop. Ahead of him was a row of armed NASF Vipers blocking the road. They surrounded the vehicle and ordered him to step out. For a brief moment, he froze with his hands on the steering wheel, suddenly recalling Neville’s admonition, “As noble as your intentions are, what you’re doing is very dangerous.”
An inner voice prodded Takoda to keep his cool and step out of the car. “Don’t give them a reason to question you!”
Forcing a smile, he exited the Mustang and moved to the side of the road. There, he waited while all but one of the Vipers searched the car. The remaining Viper, a blond male with a steely gaze, kept watch on Takoda, his menacing stare accentuated by his armed-and-ready stance.
As the search went on, Takoda noticed other Vipers waving the vehicles behind his through the checkpoint with barely a glance. Once again, Neville’s “very dangerous” comment echoed in his mind. Finally, though, the search ended and the menacing Viper motioned Takoda back to his car. He climbed inside, cast a final look at the Viper and resumed his drive into Carapach. You’re right, Neville. I better not lose sight of the danger. This isn’t over, yet. Not by a long shot.
CHAPTER 11: IN THE CROSSHAIRS
Palace of Prefect Munoz
Minneapolis, Lakelands Province, New Atlantia
The utter depravity of Prefect Munoz never ceased to amaze Damon. Behind his palace walls, the noble lived a life so disconnected from reality, it was as if he had convinced himself that he was a god among machines. Not a single human lived in the palace other than Munoz. The hundred-plus inhabitants were all servile androids…all females.
Damon recalled the prefect justifying the bizarre living arrangement on one of Damon’s first visits after being tapped to lead the Beacon task force. “Andros are less prone to treachery.”
The comment might have struck Damon as shrewd politics if not for the fact the prefect had been fondling the crotch of a young, android female when he’d said it.
Inexplicably, however, among the evvies in the province and the hierarchy of leadership throughout the rest of New Atlantia, Munoz was considered an effective and respected governor of his citizens. Damon wondered how many of them realized how rarely the man actually governed.
That, he left in the hands of his chief counselor, Jordyn, the Olympia-class android who sat in front of Damon now in the chamber where Munoz conducted official province business.
Olympias like Jordyn were primarily developed as logicians, emotionless evaluators who dispensed dispassionate analysis and recommendations for any and all situations. They had risen to prominence as counselors to the leaders of the world’s most populous country in the early 2100s, Old China.
Confronted by the rapid spread of gutant diseases, rampant internal caste warfare and incursions by armies of neighboring countries who sensed openings to settle old scores and retake ancient lands, the leadership of Old China fell into disarray. As legends told it, they turned to a cadre of Olympias, in whom they vested authority to enact the “austerity” measures recommended by the dispassionate androids. So began the age of gutant euthanasia and caste cleansing.
Some claimed the Old China Olympias saved humanity, but every time someone made the claim to Damon, his response was the same. “There’s a reason they call it Old China. There’s a reason there isn’t a New China.”
But despite the disintegration of the country the Olympias were tasked with saving, most people gave the logic-driven androids credit for the tough decisions the Old China leaders shrank from making, and for hastening an end to an out-of-control situation that might have otherwise cascaded across the globe.
Unlike the Old China Olympias, however, Jordyn was not a guardian and savior of humanity. She was merely a buffer that absorbed the burdens of decision making for Munoz, allowing him the freedom to dally with his playthings.
“This is all the information you’ve acquired?” Jordyn asked.
She was dressed in a charcoal pantsuit and black turtleneck, her blond hair pulled into a bun at the back of her head. Damon glared at her as he answered. “It’s only been one day since the smugglings, Counselor. We’re moving as fast as we can.”
“This is a grave matter, Major. If you do not move faster, this province, and the republic, could face dire consequences.”
“I understand the gravity of the situation, Counselor. Believe me, I feel it acutely.”
The android turned to face Cassidy, who sat next to Damon. For the next minute, the two female andros just stared at each other, an indication they were engaged in an electronic conversation. It was technically a violation of protocol to cut Damon out of their conversation, but he was powerless to prevent it. The counselor had carte blanche from Munoz to do as she saw fit. When the wireless exchange ended, Jordyn, seated in the prefect’s throne-like chair at the head of the table, turned to Damon and said, “Sgt. Willow indicates you declined to authorize cross-border surveillance of the two Carapach doctors.”
“That’s right, I did.”
“Explain.”
He shrugged. “We don’t have enough evidence to obtain a treaty waiver. Simple as that.”
“Where are they now?”
Damon turned to Cassidy. His subordinate spoke her answer instead of transmitting it. “Satellite imagery confirms they are at Dr. Wells’ home in Carapach.”
“They are the only ones at the clinic who are Carapach citizens. Correct?” Jordyn asked.
“Yes,” said Cassidy. “The rest are New Atlantian citizens.”
“And you have all of the New Atlantians under surveillance?”
“Yes, Counselor.”
For a short spell after Cassidy’s answer, Jordyn stared off into the distance. Damon wasn’t sure if that implied she and Cassidy were continuing their dialogue via radio, or if Jordyn was ruminating over the information they had provided. When she came out of her trance, she blinked several times and said to Damon, “Detain and interrogate all of the New Atlantians under surveillance. Tonight. Lead a stealth team across the border tonight as well. Take the Carapach doctors into custody and question them. When the interrogation is complete, execute them and dispose of their bodies before returning.”
“Execute them? Are you nuts?” Damon felt his face and neck growing hot. “That’s not gonna fly, Counselor.”
“Major, I have weighed the evidence you and Sgt. Willow collected and I have determined there is sufficient risk to this province and to the New Atlantian republic to justify detention and interrogation of the Carapach doctors. The executions will also send a message to Beacon — to cease further smuggling operations.”
One of the annoying attributes of Olympia androids to Damon was they never showed emotion, for they had no emotion modules. Therefore, they did not pound tables, their voices never changed tone or inflection and their faces remained neutral at all times. It made arguing with them all the more infuriating.
“And just what do you think will happen when the Carapach doctors suddenly go missing? Covert op or not, the Carapach government will put two and two together right quick, especially when word gets out about the other interrogations. And there’s no way we can stop that from happening. The clinic director is an evvie. He’ll go straight to the Guild. The prefect will have his ass in a fire before sunrise…from the Guild and Carapach.”
As placid as still water, Jordyn said, “I have assessed the likely response scenarios. They are all manageable…and they all carry less risk than the a
lternative that Beacon pursues more operations like the ones yesterday.
“If Maj. Jackson is correct about Beacon’s motivations, and Beacon is conducting illegal genetic research, intending to develop a JS cure or disrupt didgee conscription in New Atlantia, it could be a catastrophic blow to our human society.”
Damon rolled his eyes. Obviously, Cassidy had shared the details of his discussion with Beauregard Jackson during her radio-only tête-à-tête with Jordyn. Nothing like stirring apocalyptic paranoia in an Olympia-class andro.
“Counselor, there could be many different explanations for Beacon’s actions, many of them far less sinister. Regardless, though, killing the Carapach doctors, the only leads we have, is insane. And short of that, sending in a stealth team to interrogate them will only cause Beacon to go deeper undercover. We’re better off—”
“I have made my decision.” Jordyn rose from Munoz’ throne. “You have your orders, Major. See that you carry them out.”
Takoda’s residence
Wolf Lake, East Dakota, Carapach
Edging a little farther out into the water, Takoda cast his line. As he watched the fly-lure splash into the stream, it rippled the shimmering gold surface. Soon, he felt the tug of the current pulling on the line. He paused for a moment before twitching the rod and thought of how it used to be before he had sent her away.
Back then, they used to fish every summer night. He would rush home from the clinic, picking up dessert from the bakery on the way. Most evenings she waited for him at the end of the driveway, laden with their fishing gear. Other nights, when he was late or she was too impatient, Takoda would find her already at the stream, knee-deep in the water.
Occasionally, he would arrive home to discover the scent of cooking fish drifting through the woods. The memory of those nights brought a smile to Takoda’s face. He would wind his way through the thicket of trees, following the aroma and the trail of smoke. Soon, he would see the glow of the campfire and the silhouette of a crouching girl tending skewers on the hot coals. As he drew closer, and sunset bathed her in a mix of gold, purple and orange, Takoda couldn’t help but notice how much she looked like her mother. Turning now to gaze at the fading sun, he filled his mind with images of both of them.
The GODD Chip (The Unity of Four Book 1) Page 14
