Double Helix Collection: A Genetic Revolution Thriller

by Jade Kerrion

  Xin reached for another croissant and dipped it in her hot chocolate. “You asked me once to help you locate your primary genetic templates. Well, I found one of them.”

  Galahad’s eyes widened. “Who?”

  “His name is Thomas Maddox.”

  “Thomas Maddox.” Galahad let the name roll off his tongue. “Who is he? How long have you known?”

  Xin answered the second question first. “About a year and a half now.”

  “I asked you for your help fifteen months ago, and you’re just telling me now?”

  “I was a bit grumpy with you,” Xin confessed, “and feeling a touch uncharitable. You’d just left Zara, and she was three months pregnant—”

  “I left her? She left me. She didn’t even tell me she was pregnant at that time.”

  “The distinction isn’t really meaningful, because it takes two to sustain a relationship. Anyway, I’ve been sitting on the information for a while now, and I figured I’d pass it along.”

  Galahad set his mug of hot chocolate down on the table. Ceramic hit stone, the sound as sharp as a gunshot. “Why now? This ‘charitable act’ on your part isn’t about reuniting me with one of my templates. You have something else in mind. What is it?”

  Xin released her breath in a heavy sigh. “Thomas Maddox is a person of interest in a federal investigation. Zara’s agreed to help with the case. She’s going to meet him, but she’s out of her league. She’s never going to admit it, though. I need someone to protect her. You’re the only person I trust to do that.”

  Galahad seemed to contemplate Xin’s words for a moment. If he was searching for a flaw in the logic, Xin knew he would find none. Neither would he turn down a chance to be with Zara; he would not give up on an opportunity to win her back. Find their weakest point, and you’ll always find love there.

  He nodded, as she had always known he would. “I’ll call her. Where is this Thomas Maddox?”

  “He hangs out at Sugarloaf Mountain, Maryland, about an hour northwest of D.C.”

  “All right. We’ll find him. Is there anything else I need to know?”

  Xin took a sip of hot chocolate before answering. “Thomas Maddox is the leader of Sakti.”

  ~*~

  Danyael tapped on the door of Reyes’s suite and waited for a response. Despite the early hour, the Mutant Assault Group headquarters bustled with activity. The second floor of the building, consisting primarily of guest suites, the infirmary, and conference rooms, was no exception. As soldiers passed, he acknowledged them with a nod and a murmured “Good morning.” Their responses were similarly polite; some even smiled at him.

  The door opened, and Reyes looked out.

  “May I come in?” Danyael asked.

  Reyes stepped aside reluctantly. The older man seemed unusually haggard, his smile absent. He did not meet Danyael’s eyes.

  Danyael entered the suite and closed the door. “You’re tired, Reyes. Can I help?”

  “I don’t think you can cure age, Danyael, and I’m feeling every bit of my eighty-seven years today. What brings you around before breakfast?”

  “I need to talk to you.”

  “Sounds ominous.” Reyes’s cheerfulness was forced. He waved toward the living room. “Sit, sit.”

  Reyes’s suite was identical to Danyael’s in layout and furniture, but Reyes had personalized it with framed photographs of wildlife and scenery. An eclectic collection of books was stacked untidily in a corner of the living room. A red knitted throw crumpled on the beige couch added warm color to the room.

  Danyael set his crutch aside and lowered himself slowly to the couch. He stretched his injured leg out and waited for the muscle cramps to pass.

  Reyes sat, too, and stared down at his feet. He emitted quiet misery.

  Danyael sighed, heart and mind in conflict. He’s my friend. Reyes, Amanda, and Miriya have been my only friends for months. Why am I doing this to him?

  Danyael placed a hand over Reyes’s, channeling peace and solace through his touch. “This isn’t an interrogation, Reyes. I just need some answers.”

  “Will the answers change anything?” Reyes’s voice caught.

  “I don’t know. I guess it depends on what the answers are.”

  Reyes’s laugh was short, desperate. “So what are the questions?”

  “Yesterday, when you saw Sakti’s attack on the prison, you felt guilty. Why?”

  Reyes swallowed hard. “We, or rather Elysium, has been associated with Sakti for a long time.”

  “I’ve always known that. You said that you turned away members of Sakti who possessed true criminal intent; the flip side, as I understood it, was that you accepted those without criminal intent.”

  Reyes sighed. “When Sakti terrorists are ready to reclaim normal lives, they come to Elysium and stay for a few weeks or months, before returning to the real world.”

  “This isn’t about Elysium’s association with Sakti. You’ve never blatantly announced it, but you never seemed ashamed of it either, until yesterday.”

  “Things changed.”

  “Such as?”

  “You.”

  “Me?”

  Reyes sagged in his seat and shook his head. “Yesterday, when you talked about the super soldiers, how you had agonized over the decision, and what it cost you...I couldn’t understand—I still can’t understand how you’ve given this super soldier program everything, in spite of how you feel about it.”

  “I told you, the time to hesitate is before putting things in motion. The decision has been made. I’m committed now to making the program succeed.”

  “You are a remarkable person.” Reyes stared out into the distance, not meeting Danyael’s gaze. “I had always considered Elysium and Sakti two sides of the same coin. We strove for equal rights for derivatives and mutants, except our methods were different. And who was to say which method worked better, peace or violence? Time is the final judge, and even then, it may depend on who writes the history books or makes the movies. But you’ve shown me differently, Danyael.”

  “But…how?”

  “I realize now that I sold out Elysium by not actually making the choice, the commitment to a peaceful path toward derivative rights. I allowed Sakti’s brutally efficient methods to tempt me, not once but several times, and now it is too late to undo those choices…” Reyes’s voice dropped to a whisper.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You never can.” Reyes’s expression was flat, his eyes bleak. “You were meant for far better, greater things than—”

  A smooth voice came from the door. “Have I come at a bad time?”

  Danyael looked up. “General.” He acknowledged the man with a nod. Your timing is too perfect to be coincidental.

  “Were you talking about Sakti?” the general asked.

  Danyael saw little harm in broaching the issue directly, even if it meant offending the general. All he stood to lose was his life, and in the grand scheme of things, his continued existence was overrated. “General, I recognized one of the Sakti terrorists on the video feed yesterday.”

  The general nodded. “His name is Peter Dieter. He was a lieutenant in the assault group until about five months ago.”

  “Did you order him to join Sakti?”

  The general met Danyael’s gaze steadily. “Would you believe me if I said I did not?”

  “No.” Danyael’s reply was firm. “I sensed many emotions from you yesterday, but betrayal was not one of them.”

  Without invitation, the general sat across from Danyael. “You sensed correctly. I supplied Sakti with soldiers to lead and train its members. I also provided Sakti with blueprints and security plans of their target institutions.”

  Danyael’s breath caught. “The prisons.”

  “Exactly,” the general conceded with a single nod of his head. “I could not save you any other way.”

  “You took a big risk for your super soldier program.” Danyael heard the bitterness in his own voic
e.

  The general shook his head. “I risked it for you and for others like you. Mutants are the future, and if the United States is to thrive as a superpower, we must embrace everything that mutants offer. I am a patriot, as is Reyes, and as are the members of Sakti. America has forgotten the principles on which she was founded: freedom and equality for all. We are all trying, in our own way, to help this country find its way back.” He paused, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his thighs. “Does it bother you that I broke the law?”

  Danyael shook his head. “No. The law is…broken if mutants can be classified as criminals and locked away without trial.”

  “You are not irrationally loyal to abstract principles, are you?”

  “Like governments and their laws?” Danyael dragged a hand wearily over his face. “No. Abstract principles did not save or damn me. People did.”

  “You’re a practical man; I’m glad.” The general pushed to his feet. “I have to get to my first meeting, but we must talk more later. If you understood me better, you would find it easier to accept the life you are building for yourself here. We should also discuss your future when the social climate toward derivatives and mutants improves.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You would always be welcome at the Mutant Assault Group, but surely you want your life back.” The general spread his hands. “You are doing invaluable work for the U.S. military. When you prove both the efficacy and efficiency of fielding super soldiers instead of risking human lives on the battlefield, the government will owe you a debt.” He smiled again. “I’d collect, if I were you. A presidential pardon could get you the fresh start you want.”

  Neither Danyael nor Reyes said anything until the general left Reyes’s suite. When the door closed behind the general, Reyes pushed stiffly to his feet. “I think I could use some coffee, spiked with rum.”

  Danyael chuckled, a hollow sound.

  Reyes brought steaming hot coffee in two mugs and set one in front of Danyael. “Drink up. There’s no rum in yours. I know you have a training session with the soldiers later today. I didn’t think it would be smart for an alpha empath to be even the least bit woozy.”

  Danyael sipped sparingly. He did not have the heart to tell Reyes that he did not consume caffeine either.

  “You still don’t believe him, do you?” Reyes asked bluntly.

  “I’m trying.”

  “What will it take you to trust him?”

  Danyael’s shoulders moved with a shrug or perhaps a sigh. “Just time. Trust comes slowly for me.”

  “Do you trust me?” Reyes asked.

  Danyael looked up into the aged face of the man who had lost his life’s work and an entire community of friends and followers because he had sheltered an innocent man. The older man had stepped in to anchor Danyael when Danyael had no one else to lean on. The alpha empath smiled faintly. “Yes, I do.”

  Reyes nodded and then he sighed, a defeated sound. He must have seen puzzlement flash across Danyael’s face. He patted Danyael’s hand.

  The gesture was likely intended to be reassuring, but alarm flared through Danyael as he sifted through the subtle flashes of Reyes’s emotions. Danyael pulled back. “What are you trying to say?”

  Reyes shook his head. “Don’t mind me. I’m just an old man with many regrets. You, with all your promise, all your brilliant promise, make those regrets taste bitter.”

  “I—”

  “No. Don’t say you’re sorry, Danyael. You shouldn’t be sorry for being different, special. I would have been proud to call you my son.” Reyes’s calm and reflective tone contrasted with the wrenching sense of despair and defeat emanating from him.

  Danyael wrestled with the temptation of probing deeper to draw the emotions and the confession out. Trust. I have to trust. He checked his empathic powers, if not his curiosity.

  Reyes looked up at Danyael, his eyes wet. “Can you forgive a misguided old man for what he forced you to do?”

  “My choices were limited in any case; you know that.”

  “Still, I’m not proud of the role I played.” Reyes shivered slightly, although the room was not cold. He turned away. “You should go. Don’t you have a physical therapy session soon?”

  Danyael understood when he was dismissed. He would have to finish his conversation with Reyes another day, outdoors, away from the listening devices that he was certain were hidden in his and Reyes’s suites. He stood and reached for his crutch. “I’ll see you later.”

  ~*~

  Later that morning, northwest of Washington, D.C., Miriya knocked on the door of Lucien’s mansion in McLean. Her reception was a great deal warmer; calling ahead for an appointment had helped. Lucien opened the door to her. “Miriya, it’s good to see you again. Come on in.”

  Miriya grinned up at him as she trooped into his home and followed him to his study. Once there, she sank into a deep cushioned chair and sighed appreciatively. She had always liked Lucien’s study. The room was large—as was every other room in Lucien’s mansion—and stamped with Lucien’s personality. The desk was massive, but its lines were simple and clean. The sitting area around the large fireplace was similarly understated in its elegance. The rug was lush and deep, absolutely inviting. Miriya tossed good manners out the window, kicked off her sandals, and dug her toes into the carpet.

  She had good memories of that place. She had spent many hours in Lucien’s study with Lucien, Zara, Danyael, and Xin shortly after Zara had freed Galahad from Pioneer Labs. Their desire to understand Galahad’s obvious connection to Danyael had not seemed overly ambitious back then. In hindsight, those plans were life changing for everyone except Xin.

  Miriya’s mood soured. Deliberately Miriya set Xin out of her mind. The clone was clearly up to something, but her psychic shields were strong enough to deter Miriya’s telepathic probe. Miriya had tried earlier that morning, and she had earned a dirty look from Xin for her efforts. Xin had then asked her point-blank, “Would you rather I keep you innocently clueless, or did you want to take on the burden of lying to Danyael, to an alpha empath, who is as intimately aware of your feelings as you are of his thoughts?”

  When Xin put it that way— “Innocently clueless is good.”

  “I thought so. Focus on breaking the mental block in Lucien’s mind and leave the political shenanigans to me.” Xin had then left the council headquarters, presumably to set her plan in motion.

  Miriya looked up from her place on the couch as Lucien drew the shades. The sunlight dimmed into a romantic glow. He glanced back at her. “We might as well be comfortable while talking.” And I don’t necessarily want my staff squealing to my parents that I’ve been talking to alpha telepaths again.

  Do they really squeal on you?

  I think they stopped after I fired the first three who did, but people have short memories. “So what are we doing?”

  “Just relaxing and talking. I spoke to Alex and a few other alphas. I’m sorry it took so long; you know how it is…ten alpha telepaths, twenty opinions. We all have extra voices in our heads. Anyway, their cumulative advice is to find and lock on to your strongest memory of Danyael. It’ll anchor you when I start to take the mental block down.”

  “Fine.” Lucien sat beside Miriya. He looked comfortable in a white shirt and faded denim jeans. He did not wear shoes either. He grinned when he saw Miriya looking at his bare feet. “Owner’s privilege.”

  She chuckled. “How did you meet Danyael?”

  “I was fifteen. My mother was chairman of the board that managed several large orphanages in Virginia and Maryland. I accompanied her to a board meeting that was held at one of the orphanages; and while she was in her meeting, I wandered around.”

  “Alone? She let you do that?”

  Lucien shook his head. “I had two bodyguards with me.”

  “Figures.”

  “One of the kids was hiding between a bookshelf and a couch, sitting with his scrawny legs hugged to his chest and his head tucked
between his knees.”

  “Danyael?”

  Lucien nodded. “Only he wasn’t called Danyael then.”

  “Really?”

  “That came later.”

  “Hmm…” Miriya gestured to Lucien to continue.

  “He was about twelve and looked up as I passed by. When the other children threw books at him and hit him, he only curled up tighter. He did not cry out, not once. I was about to intervene when a group of older boys came over. They were in their late teens, older than I was. They sent the kids away. One of them said, ‘Leave the pretty boy alone. He’s ours.’ They dragged Danyael into one of the bedrooms.”

  Miriya cringed, knowing how the story would end. Danyael’s unchecked empathic powers, shaped by a childhood of abuse and neglect, invited abuse in a vicious, unending cycle.

  Lucien pushed on grimly. “The door was locked. I told my bodyguards to break it down.” He pressed both hands to his face as if to hide from the scene that must have been replaying in his mind.

  Miriya squeezed her eyes shut. A single tear leaked out. “Your bodyguards…they didn’t—”

  “They were psychically shielded. Danyael’s empathic powers couldn’t affect them, at least not without physical contact. The teenagers did not stop when I told them to, so I had my bodyguards knock a few heads together, but they still did not back down. They had to be physically incapacitated before the attack on Danyael stopped. Later, much later, I understood why. It wasn’t entirely their fault; Danyael’s emphatic powers had driven them insane.”

  “It wasn’t Danyael’s fault either,” Miriya said softly.

  “No. If Danyael had been treated with greater kindness earlier in his life, he would not have been conditioned to expect abuse, but by the time he was twelve, I don’t think he believed life could be any different for him. Anyway, I raised bloody hell and had the director of the orphanage fired.”

  “Your mother went along with it?”

  “Yes. Before Danyael, you might almost say I was destined to be idle rich—too much money can do that to you—but Danyael shocked me off a wastrel’s path. My mother once said that Danyael was the first passion of my life, the first person I cared enough to change the world for. She was right, though her observation didn’t make her happy. She never liked Danyael.”