Double Helix Collection: A Genetic Revolution Thriller

by Jade Kerrion

  “Yes, sure,” Dee said.

  Zara emerged from the kitchen with a huge mug filled with cider and handed the mug to Dee. Steam wafted from its surface, filling the room with the scent of cinnamon and cloves.

  “Wow, smells great,” Dee said.

  Zara shrugged. “Store-bought. Microwave-heated.”

  Dee’s lips twisted with amusement. “Still, must have taken some effort for someone to make.”

  “As long as it wasn’t me.” Zara glanced up when the doorbell chimed, but Laura beat her to the door, standing on the tips of her toes in an attempt to reach the doorknob.

  Dee did not miss the way Zara’s hand instinctively rested on her hilt of her holstered handgun as she looked out through the peephole. Apparently, Zara’s guard was never down. Zara flipped the lock, twisted the doorknob, and pulled the door open. “Come in.”

  Xin was a small-framed Chinese woman, attractive in an understated way. Next to Zara, she looked washed out, her make-up much too faint; Zara was both flashy and exotic in a way few people could aspire to be. Xin knelt down and allowed Laura to throw her arms around Xin’s neck and press a sticky, lollypop-smeared kiss to her cheeks. To her credit, Xin did not flinch. She only laughed, a musical sound that made her seem more charming than she had previously appeared to be.

  Zara shut and locked the door behind Xin. “Xin, this is Dee. She’s the one I told you about. Danyael is mentoring her brother, Dum. Dee, Mu Xin. She works with the National Security Agency. Don’t tell her anything you don’t want officially recorded in government archives for eternity and a day.”

  Xin chuckled. She held out her hand to Dee. “It’s a pleasure meeting you. Shall we sit and talk?” Compared to Zara, Xin was polite and more importantly, she seemed normal. Was this unassuming woman really one of the more influential clones? “Tell me what you’re trying to do,” she said.

  Dee shared her plans for the foundation and the dance party, coherently, if not flawlessly, presenting all the relevant ideas. Xin interrupted twice with questions but otherwise allowed Dee to get all the way to the end of her presentation.

  At the end, Dee paused, out of breath. She studied Xin, and her heart sank. Judging from the serene and noncommittal expression on Xin’s face, she would have to practice more to get her pitch right. She opened her mouth, prepared to try a different angle, but Xin held up her hand. “It’s a fascinating idea,” the clone said.

  “You think so?”

  “You’d need much more than my support to pull this off, but if you’re trying to reach the clones, I think you’ll find them largely receptive. We don’t have much by way of financial resources—many of us work for the government—but we make up for that with political influence. This stadium that you want…which one did you have in mind?”

  “There’s a stadium in George Mason University—”

  “Patriot Center. It has ten thousand seats. What about the Verizon Center downtown? It’s more central, and you’ll have twenty thousand seats to fill. It’s challenging, but it’s possible.” Xin leaned forward and propped her chin on her hand. “Will you be talking to Lucien?”

  Dee cast Zara a quick glance. “Yes, soon.”

  “I’m sure Lucien can help you secure the stadium. He’s on the board of the company that manages the center.”

  “It would depend, of course, on whether Lucien can get past his irrational need to wreck Danyael’s life just for the hell of it,” Zara said dryly.

  Dee’s gaze shuttled between Zara and Xin. “What did Lucien do?”

  “He blocked all employment opportunities for Danyael in the area, except for the free clinic.”

  Dee’s brow furrowed. “But why would Lucien force Danyael into poverty. I thought they were friends?”

  Xin cast Zara a cool, warning glance. “It’s a long story, and it’s Danyael’s to tell.”

  Zara seemed to agree, for she said nothing more. An awkward silence followed until Dee broke it with a question. “What do you do?” she asked Xin.

  “I’m an analyst with the NSA.”

  “No, I meant before. In your former life.”

  Xin’s almond-shaped brown eyes shone with amusement. “In my former life, which I don’t recall at all, I was a pretty girl who managed to be more than a concubine.”

  “She’s understating it,” Zara interrupted. “Fu Hao was a 1,200 BC queen, warlord, and high priestess.”

  “All that? At the same time?” Dee asked.

  Xin grinned. “I’m sure it was more exciting than planting rice in the paddy fields. It’s simply about understanding your alternatives.”

  “Did you actually lead armies in battle?”

  “Fu Hao did. I’m a clone, Dee. I have the same genes, but I’m not a reincarnation of Fu Hao. It’s easiest if you think of me as her twin, several centuries removed. Back to the topic of your dance party, I know people in all branches of the government, and I can smooth the way for you by clearing the red tape.”

  Zara spoke before Dee could. “Legitimately or by hacking through them?”

  “Whichever works faster. Hacking, probably,” Xin conceded.

  “Isn’t that illegal?” Dee asked.

  Xin shrugged. “Only if you’re caught.”

  Dee’s eyes narrowed.

  Zara chuckled. “She still has morals, Xin. Let’s not disabuse her of them so early in her life.”

  “She’ll lose them eventually,” Xin pointed out, her tone sweetly reasonable.

  “Not if she hangs around Danyael.”

  Xin laughed out loud. “Yes, true. You’ve never managed to grind his morals down, which makes Danyael all the more remarkable.” All willowy grace, Xin pushed to her feet, pulled out a technology-imprinted business card and handed it to Dee. “I’ll stay on top of things and you shouldn’t need to call, but just in case, that’s my personal number.”

  Dee accepted the card and stared at it. It was two inches long and an inch wide, imprinted on one side with Xin’s name, and on the other with a barcode. Scanning the barcode with a phone or any other communication device would connect Dee with Xin immediately. “I didn’t expect getting help to be this easy.”

  Xin smiled, her lips pressed into a thin line. “It’s not. Danyael paid a great deal for it, and I owe him. You’ll be seeing me around.”

  “You weren’t wrong,” Dee said after Xin had left. “Danyael does have strings to pull.”

  Zara shrugged. “Xin was easy. The rest won’t be.”

  ~*~

  Dee was rarely up at eight in the morning on Sundays, but Danyael had told her that it was her only chance to meet with Jason Rakehell. Yawning, Dee slumped down on a park bench next to Danyael. Not even the scent of coffee wafting from her steel travel mug could dispel the scowl from her lips. Stifling another yawn, she looked around, studying her surroundings.

  The small park at the corner of Good Hope Road and 23rd Street was scarcely deserving of the name. It was a patch of land formerly occupied by a derelict house. The city had torn the building down, installed a few benches, and then abandoned the park to the care of nature. The lawn was more weed than grass. “You come here often?” Dee asked.

  “Every Sunday morning.”

  “Why?”

  “The clinic doesn’t open until noon.”

  “What do you do out here?”

  “Read, hang out. What else do you do in a park?”

  Not much, considering that the park was a pathetic excuse for a park. Dee tried not to look too skeptical. “Have you ever been to Fort Stanton Park?”

  “The last time was many years ago.”

  “It’s a great place,” she rushed on, trying to block out the wistful tone she had heard in Danyael’s voice. Of course, he would not go to Fort Stanton. The heavily wooded grounds around the ruins of the fort were too hard to navigate on a crutch. “It’s so quiet and peaceful there. Is it always so empty? There was hardly anyone else there when I was there.” Except Edward, of course.

  “From what
I recall, yes.”

  Dee peered at a tall and broad-shouldered man making his way toward them. “Is that Jason Rakehell?”

  “Yes.”

  “He doesn’t look much like you,” she commented.

  Danyael pushed to his feet as his brother closed the distance. The two men clasped hands and then hugged briefly.

  Jason pulled back, his dark gaze raking over Dee. “So this is the person you wanted me to meet?” He extended his hand to her. “Jason Rakehell. What can I do for you?”

  Her presentation was somewhat more polished; she had worked on it for most of the night. While speaking, she watched the play of expressions across his mobile features. Jason was more expressive than Danyael, who had serene equilibrium down to an art form. Jason’s features were harsher and lacked the sculptured precision of Danyael’s features, but their eyes were almost identical, dark and deep-set, fringed by absurdly long eyelashes.

  When Dee’s voice trailed into silence, Jason cast Danyael an amused look. “Have you lost your mind?”

  Dee bristled, but Danyael seemed unfazed. “No more than you have by acknowledging me as your brother,” he said quietly.

  “It was a personal choice—”

  “With the potential for professional repercussions—”

  “My job is less important to me than you are.”

  A faint smile crept across Danyael’s face. Warmth coiled in Dee’s heart at the pleasure and relief that flashed through Danyael’s eyes. Jason’s simple affirmation clearly meant a great deal to him.

  Dee slipped into the brief silence that followed. “This is our chance to make a difference. We’ve been at this genetic conflict for decades now.” She looked directly at Jason. “It started before you were born…”

  He nodded, but said nothing.

  “Do you want your children and grandchildren to live through the same madness, the same chaos? Yesterday, a pro-humanist group killed an in vitro in Dallas, and a mob of clones killed a pro-humanist in New York. Not a day goes by without someone dying just because someone else didn’t like his genes. The rest of the countries in the civilized world are probably laughing their heads off at how this bastion of freedom and democracy can’t seem to find its way out of the genetic paper bag. I’m human, and my brother is a mutant. I want us—both of us—to have a future in this country. It’s our country. We shouldn’t have to pay the price just because your generation can’t get its act together.”

  Jason chuckled. “She’s got quite a mouth.”

  “And a point,” Danyael added. “She’s right. We didn’t start this mess, Jason, but maybe we can help clean it up.”

  “Are you jumping back in with two feet? I thought you were done with the government.”

  “I am, but this isn’t about the government. It’s about the people.” Danyael averted his gaze. “I never wanted to get involved. I thought that if I kept a low profile, I could slip through life unnoticed.”

  “And we know how that worked out,” Jason said sardonically.

  “Exactly. My trying to stay out of the conflict only escalated it. Dum’s doing something different; he’s stepping into the conflict and trying to defuse it. Maybe he’s onto the right idea.”

  “You want to put pro-humanists in the same enclosed space as derivatives? That’s a natural disaster just looking for a place to happen.”

  “I’ll be there. I can keep the situation under control, if necessary, but I don’t think it will be. Dum’s music is changing Anacostia, and if Anacostia can change, there’s no reason why the rest of D.C. can’t.”

  Jason seemed to contemplate Danyael’s words. He turned to look at Dee. “What do you want from me?”

  She inhaled deeply. Her words rushed out. “We want Purest Humanity’s support for the event.”

  “You want our financial support?”

  “We want your people to attend.” She smiled. “People can’t change if they’re not there.”

  He nodded slowly. “You’ve given me a lot to think about. I’ll get back to you next week.” He smiled then. “You’re a very persuasive young lady.”

  “I just talk fast.”

  “I suppose you’re going to talk to Lucien Winter too.” He seemed to direct the question at Dee, but he was looking at Danyael as he spoke.

  Danyael looked away. Sensing his reluctance, Dee spoke for him. “He’s next. We’re going to ride the metro out to D.C. and then catch a cab to McLean.”

  “I’ll give you a ride out there,” Jason said. “I won’t go in, though. Lucien Winter and I don’t see eye-to-eye on many things.”

  “Like what?” Dee asked curiously.

  “Danyael, for one,” he said brusquely. He did not elaborate, and neither did Danyael.

  Jason had parked the next street over, and within five minutes, they were on their way to McLean. Dee relaxed against the smooth leather of the backseat, Danyael’s crutch lying across her lap.

  Jason took his gaze off the road long enough to cast his brother a searching glance. “So how are you doing?”

  “I’m well.”

  Dee rolled her eyes. Could Danyael possibly say any less?

  “Did you see the orthopedic surgeon I recommended?”

  Danyael nodded.

  “What did he say?” Jason asked.

  “That there’s nothing he can do for me at this point.”

  “What about surgery?”

  “Experimental and expensive.”

  “I can—”

  “Very expensive.” Danyael shook his head. “I’m fine. It’s not a big deal. I’m used to the crutch, and my leg doesn’t hurt as much as it used to.”

  “Maybe our father can—”

  “No. I’m not interested in being indebted to him. I’m through with owing people favors.”

  “Must be a lonely way to live,” Dee chimed in from the back seat.

  Danyael glared at her.

  Jason chuckled. “Yup, quite a mouth, and a smart one too. You know she’s right, Danyael. I don’t think I’ve ever met a more emotionally reticent person, let alone an alpha empath. You’re trying to fix this kid, Dum. What are you doing to fix you?”

  Danyael released his breath in a sigh, but said nothing.

  Jason’s obvious affection for his mutant brother did not align with his professional credentials. Dee leaned forward in her seat. “You’re not a pro-humanist, are you?”

  Jason met her gaze through the rearview mirror. “I’m president of Purest Humanity, the largest pro-humanist organization in the world.”

  “But you’re not pro-humanist,” she insisted.

  “I stopped being a pro-humanist two years ago.”

  “What happened?”

  Jason cast Danyael a quick glance. Danyael shook his head.

  Dee rolled her eyes. “Is this one of those things you think that a seventeen-year-old shouldn’t hear? Tell me, or do I have to ask Zara?”

  Jason chuckled. “She has blackmail down to an art form too.” The smile vanished from his face. “Two years ago, shortly after Galahad escaped, we had an unplanned family reunion at the ruins of Pioneer Labs—Galahad, my father, Danyael, and me. I forced my father to choose between Galahad and Danyael. My father chose Galahad, so I shot Danyael.”

  Dee’s jaw dropped. “You did what?”

  “I shot him. As he was dying, he absorbed the hatred that had defined my relationship with my father and colored my view of all human derivatives.”

  “Wait, what do you mean ‘as he was dying’?”

  “It was a fatal wound. The Mutant Affairs Council arrived in time to save his life, but if not for them, he would have died.”

  Dee looked at Danyael. “Is this true?”

  Danyael did not look at her. “So he says. I have no memory of those events. On my father’s orders, the Mutant Assault Group ripped my memory of the few days following Galahad’s escape.”

  Dee’s brow furrowed. “How many days did you lose?”

  “Two.”

 
“Two critical days,” Jason added.

  “But you now know what happened during those two days, right?” Dee asked.

  Danyael shrugged. “I know what people have told me. The memories themselves are gone for good.”

  “That’s crazy. How can you be okay with this?”

  “The memories aren’t coming back. It’s time to move on.”

  “I just hope Lucien feels the same way,” Jason remarked ominously.

  Dee turned her attention back to him, “So, if you’re no longer a pro-humanist, why are you still president of Purest Humanity.”

  “Sometimes, the best way to change something is from the inside. Sakti tried to change society from the outside, and I’d say Sakti’s attempt failed rather spectacularly. Change is difficult, especially if it demands a change in deep-set beliefs. I plan to ease Purest Humanity gradually out of the pre-Genetic Revolution twentieth century and into this one.”

  Danyael chuckled. “Any luck so far?”

  “There’s been a subtle but important leadership change over the past two years. Most of the militant pro-humanists have been sidelined in back office and administrative roles.”

  Danyael kept his eyes fixed on the road, but a smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. “I don’t suppose you had anything to do with it.”

  “I had everything to do with it. The only elected role in Purest Humanity is the role of the president, and I was just reelected for a six-year term. All other positions are salaried positions; we’re no different from most corporations. If I couldn’t justify the job change on the grounds of unsatisfactory performance, I justified it based on increased exposure and experience from a job rotation. It worked fairly well. The entire executive leadership team was overhauled. We’ve never been better positioned to shift Purest Humanity into a more mainstream stance. Of course, we’ve had a bit of setback after what happened on July Fourth. No thanks to Sakti, anti-mutant groups got a lot of ammunition, and the rabid pro-humanists caught a second wind. Your proposal about the cross-genetic dance party may be a good one, Dee. I think we all need to get out a bit, forget about our genetic differences, and realize that for all the genetic optimization, most of us still can’t dance.”

  Dee laughed. “I just need to convince Lucien Winter of it.”