After the nightmare, he fought against sleep. But, when his eyes popped open, even they felt dry and scratchy.
Water. Never in his life had Rick been so thirsty. He could see he was still on a drip, but it didn't seem to help.
It finally got to a point where he couldn't stand it any more. When his need for liquid far outweighed his instincts to conceal himself.
His throat felt raw where the tube had been, but his desperation far outweighed any sense of caution.
"Water!" he begged. "Ple-ease—"
* * * *
Rutgers jumped in surprise. The last thing he'd expected was for Lockmann to regain consciousness. He realised he hadn't really been watching the monitors very well for the last several hours. His mind kept drifting back to Raeiti, and Sandler, and wondering how the hell he was going to get himself out of this.
Now, he looked at Lockmann carefully. The man's skin had assumed a dark colour, almost like a rich tan, and he momentarily wondered if it was just the flush of fever. But, no, the monitor had remained constant at 99.5. A little high, but not enough to account for his deep colour. Maybe the monitor had failed, he thought, slapping it gingerly.
The patient wanted water. Rutgers hesitated. He'd had a tracheotomy, and he was on a drip. The tube was out, but it was unlikely the man could have healed already. In fact, Rutgers wasn't even sure how he was talking yet.
He wasn't about to offer him a glass of water. Too messy, and too much personal contact required. If the man's fluid levels were that low, and Lockmann was looking somewhat dehydrated, then Rutgers would have to increase the drip.
Where was all the fluid going? It wasn't being expressed as urine—the catheter had drained so little away that Rutgers was surprised. Sweat? If so, he didn't have enough left to sweat now.
Rutgers increased the rate on the drip. As the extra sugar poured through Lockmann's system, his patient did a surprising thing: he gasped, arched his back, and his eyes rolled up in his head. Within a few minutes—literally right before Phillip Rutgers’ eyes—Lockmann sank into a deep coma. His vital signs started to bottom out.
Rutgers did the only thing he could—reversed the process. He stopped the drip and stood there anxiously, waiting to see what would happen. By now, his team was gathered around him. He could smell the fear in the air. They all knew that their patient was all that stood between them and an acknowledgement of failure. They'd already seen what Raeiti did with failures.
“What about sterile water?” Porcer asked. “Maybe he's diabetic.”
Phillip Rutgers nodded. Porcer replaced the drip with water, and they watched, to see what would happen. There wasn't much more they could do.
Fifteen minutes later Lockmann's vital signs were almost back to what—for him—was normal. “It's working,” Rutgers said, relieved. “Sterile water it is.”
“I'd prefer it in a cup.” Richard Lockmann, surrounded by their startled expressions, did the only thing he could think of: he smiled.
* * * *
She knew what they were trying to do. Her mutation may have distorted her body, but her intellect was still intact. Intact enough to recognise the cunning direction her thoughts had taken; the way in which the compulsion drove her to find the means to salve her needs.
She'd long since left the chamber where Sy Morgan and Aaron Solomon lay lifeless on the floor. Their appearance and her guilt made lingering impossible. But, the remnants of her conscience wouldn't allow her to go beyond the doors of Solomon's chamber.
Until now. The compulsion was coming on her again, and she reasoned that it must be both biochemical, and cyclic. It was driving her to plan, and scheme, and plot her way beyond the limits they had put on her.
Vizar was trying to starve her into submission. She'd recognised that hours before, but she knew he'd fail. Daniel was only partially aware of what she'd put in her genetic mix, and the focus for her reports had always been on the success of her experiments to aid healing and deter ageing. Her most important work—that dealing with photosynthesis, and the conversion of humans to autotrophs, remained secreted in her personal research files. She'd deliberately minimised her success to give herself bargaining power, and a wider market for her discovery. When her failure had come, in the form of her horrendously deformed rodents, she'd minimised that as well. She'd never expected her failure to ride along on her own back.
Vizar was unaware of the photosynthesis that could maintain her existence, provided she had water, and a quality of light that would supply red and blue wavelengths to her cells. Carbon dioxide hadn't been a problem, because the air filtering system hadn't operated on these levels for hours, and Aaron Solomon's exhalations still lingered in the stale air.
They were watching her, and Caroline hated it even more now, than she had before. She'd caught glimpses of herself in the shiny metal of autoclaves and centrifuges, and she resented the image she must present to the viewers in the video room. An image they could hold and maintain forever on the screen; that they could print and show to others; an image that could forever mark her as a failure, and deny any beauty her humanity had once held. No one seeing her now would ever believe that men had held her in their arms, made love to her, felt lust for her. Not the least of her pain was the sheering of her vanity; the distorted loss of those features which marked her as a woman.
She knew her hold on her body was tenuous, but until now, she'd been reluctant to relinquish it, for fear that she'd lose the small amount of control that had given her body mobility. For fear that she might not find her way back in. She could live for days given sufficient light, but her patience was wearing thin. And the only way to satisfy her intense craving was to once again rub her saliva across the smooth-skinned texture of a human form.
To deny it would only make it worse on the next cycle, and impossible to resist on the next. “I can't deny what I've become,” Caroline rasped. “My genes are making their own demands—”
She left her body in Aaron Solomon's apartment, in the bed that he would never use again. It was no good forcing herself to lurch through endless corridors, unless she had a specific direction in mind. Right now, that direction would be anywhere her spirit could reconnect with her body within reach of another victim.
Victim. It sounded so final. So inhumane.
So inhuman. Caroline's resigned sigh went unheard.
* * * *
“He's conscious.” Daniel Vizar repeated the words, but it took a moment for them to sink in. He found that what he really wanted to ask was, Is he still human?, but he knew that would raise questions in Raeiti's mind.
“Do you want to talk with Dr. Rutgers?”
“Put him on.”
“Is Lockmann likely to stay conscious?” When Rutgers gave him an affirmative reply, Daniel asked, “Can he speak?”
After they'd finished, he called the main video room. “Can you show me Lockmann?” he asked Shaine.
It only took her a moment to bring up the video of the room where Richard Lockmann was being held, and only a little longer to bring the focus to bear on Lockmann's face. “His eyes are weird,” Shaine commented.
“Can you get me colour?” Most of the videos were displayed in black and white, but colour, contrast, and resolution could be improved or provided as required.
“Right away,” she replied.
Vizar opened the dossier on Richard Lockmann, and looked at the photo. The man on the monitor was leaner; his facial structure firm and hard. None of the puffiness Rutgers had mentioned remained.
His skin was much darker, too—far from the ruddiness of the photo. It was, possibly, the best proof that the man had undergone some major physiological change. That and his eyes.
Vizar looked at the eye colour in the dossier. Blue. Well, they weren't blue now. They were an intense shade of green, and there was definitely something weird about the quality of the irises. They had an almost crystalline appearance. Glassy-eyed after being sick? Vizar thought. No. That bright, almost feverish,
intensity was far from glassy-eyed.
Vizar sighed with relief. Lockmann actually looked amazingly healthy—an incredible recovery rate for someone who'd been dying thirty hours before. Compared with Caroline Denaro, this guy was showing no symptoms at all.
Vizar picked up the phone and spoke to Rutgers again. “Didn't you say certain parts of his body were swollen when he arrived?”
“That's right, Mr. Vizar. They looked almost like tumours. But he seems to have undergone a remission.”
For the first time that day, Daniel Vizar smiled. They needed to check Lockmann's DNA, but if it was true he'd recovered, they now had two successfully transgenic humans.
Denaro, with her ability to kill within hours.
And Lockmann, who'd somehow managed to sequester negative expression of the gene.
Two subjects, with very different outcomes. Now, all Vizar had to do was get Lockmann to reveal the location of Denaro's research, and they might have something to pay the bills after all.
* * * *
Simon met Steven Hylton's eyes. “If Lockmann's contagious, I want to be the one to do it.” His voice broke on the last. He could have kicked himself for the show of weakness.
Hylton shook his head. “I don't think so. You're out of this one. Terminations are Angsley's job.”
“Not this time. Rick Lockmann's mine. I won't let anyone else do it.” Simon sat up in bed and pulled out the IV. He did it for two reasons: to show his determination, and so Hylton couldn't instruct anyone to dope him up so he couldn't come along.
“What about that?” Hylton pointed at his shoulder. “Do you want to cripple yourself?
Simon smiled. “'Delayed Primary Closure’. I'd have to wait another two days anyway.”
Hylton smiled, but Simon didn't like the look of it. “Angsley will be there to back you up.” It was as close as he'd come to agreeing. Hylton studied Simon's face. “Or lift you up, as the case may be.” Hylton was chuckling as he left the room.
* * * *
Cole lay in bed, and pretended to be asleep. It took him great strength of will to pretend his way through the delivery of his dinner tray, but he knew it was the only way he could hope for some time alone. Finally, nature—in the form of either food or function—lured Jacobsen from the room.
Cole was so surprised his plan had worked that he fumbled with Eric Sterner's card, and dropped it into the bedding. Then, he was in a panic that Jacobsen or his replacement would wander back in before he could place the call. A little desperately, he punched in Sterner's number.
“Sterner—is that you?” He listened for the better part of five seconds before he cut short the other man's inquiries. “Listen—can you meet me outside the hospital tomorrow night?”
Sterner's response was so loud that Cole cringed. Cole interrupted again. “I don't give a damn about the DSO. All I want to do is find Rick.” Cole decided the silence on the other end of the line was about as positive a response as he could expect, so he added, “It'd help if you could find out first where Genetechnic is.”
If he didn't know better, Cole could have sworn Sterner was laughing. Miffed, Cole added, “I don't know what time the DSO's rescue's going to be, but let's set ours for eight o'clock.”
This set off a new round of guffaws. Cole said abruptly, “Meet you outside the back entrance at eight.” He hung up.
As he leaned back on the pillow, he realised his plan still had a few flaws. One of them was finding a way to sneak out of here, and the other was to discover if the hospital had a back entrance. It must have, he reasoned. How else would they get all these people out in case of a fire? He just hoped it wasn't alarmed.
If everything went according to plan, he'd get Rick, stow him somewhere—preferably under Jason's watchful eyes—then get back here in time to have the operation on his arm.
He yawned. It made him tired, just thinking about it.
* * * *
“What do you mean, he didn't eat his dinner?” Jason was looking at Cole's chart. “What's wrong with him?” If there was one thing Cole Calloway liked, it was his food. Jason headed for Cole's room, spectres of Rick's illness popping up in his head.
He nudged him. “Cole! Hey, Cole—are you okay?”
“Of course I'm okay. I'm asleep.”
“Why didn't you eat?”
Cole mouthed a silent, but elaborate “Is he still there?”
Jason nodded.
Cole put a finger over his lips. “Just tired. I'll eat now, if there's anything left.”
Jace went out and brought him back a tray. “Simon says you paid him a visit today.”
“You should know better than to listen to him. It must be his imagination.”
Jason grinned, but his smile was slightly worn. He wondered what plan Cole was hatching. It was enough that Simon was involved in some kind of elaborate plotting. At least it appeared he had experience to back him up.
To Jason, it all seemed like a nightmare. Within days, he'd lost one friend, and stood close to losing two others.
Beyond his work, there wasn't much besides the good times he had with Cole, and Rick, and Simon. He didn't have time for anything else. The occasional date, but those were usually set up by Cole or Simon. The four of them were as close as brothers. Jace wondered whether he'd ever forgive himself for failing to track Rick down when he didn't return his calls.
He wasn't about to let the same thing happen with Cole. Simon was another matter entirely, but it seemed like Simon had lots of people to watch out for him. Cole was more likely to act, then think about it later. As a lifestyle, it didn't seem very efficient to Jace, but it seemed to work for Cole. Feet first, head later.
Jason decided he'd corner Cole before he did whatever-it-was he was planning. Either that, or he'd find a way to slip something into his IV. Whatever it took, Jason wasn't about to let him go it alone.
* * * *
Caroline drifted through the building, sometimes on one level, sometimes on another. Walls, ceilings, floors made no real difference to her in this form, but they would to her more corporeal side. And they momentarily gave her an out-of-body grounding that made her more secure. She'd walked these corridors many times before, but always with greater ease than her damaged body could now provide. There was no way her body could match the swift movement of her spirit, so she let it rest in Aaron Solomon's bed, and sent her spirit soaring through the empty spaces.
It was always the same, and as a scientist, Denaro had already statistically figured the odds of it remaining so: that exhilarating gasp of freedom, after the trap that was her bloated body—then mere instants of time before any thrill was bordered by terror. It was like being endlessly on a roller coaster that had reached the weightless, flung-out-of-your-seat part of the ride, during which you couldn't quite orient, and didn't quite exist. Roller coaster rides are bearable for the cheap thrill, that you know won't last. This was one cheap thrill that could easily go on forever.
Just when she was ready to retreat, Caroline saw her first victim. Like a worm baiting a fish, Caroline gave him a flicker of movement to follow; the kind that no security type would be able to ignore. The indefinable whisper of a female form that he'd feel he'd have to address, but that was too indistinct to address to others—at least until he was certain of what he was seeing.
Caroline led him, at times swiftly, with her shadow staying barely ahead—and, at others, plodding slowly so that the man knew, when he turned the next corner, he'd catch up with her. Down the stairs, and through a door. Along a corridor, and into the biohazard area. And then, at the last, into Aaron Solomon's quarters.
Where her better half was waiting.
* * * *
Later that night, it was Simon who cornered Jason in the hall.
“Simon—what the hell! You're supposed to be—”
Simon yanked him into a supply room. “Look, this is important! We're going to get Rick out—tomorrow night. I'm going to need back-up.”
“What about H
ylton?”
“Never mind Hylton!” Simon said, exasperatedly. “What I need to know is this: if I have to shoot Rick, where can I do it so it's non-lethal?”
Jason backed away. “What're you talking about?”
Simon gripped him with his good arm. “It's not my job, Jace. But I'm with someone who'll do him, if I don't get to him first.”
“There's no place where it won't do damage.”
Simon didn't have time for this. He decided to be blunt. Jason would hate him for it, but it would probably save Rick's life. “Jason, I know numerous places to make it lethal. I just need one that won't—” They both knew he wasn't talking about extremities.
He saw the look on Jason's face, and realised things would never be the same between them again. "I—can't—stop—it," Simon enunciated it slowly. “I can only make it non-lethal.”
"'Non-lethal’, hell!" Jason spat the words at him. His face was rigid with disgust. “What do they pay you, anyway? I knew you were devious, Kerrington, but I didn't think you were scum.”
Simon said coolly, “I told them, if Rick was contagious, I'd kill him myself. Rather than let a stranger do it.”
Jason turned away. Simon saw his fists clench. Jason wanted to punch him.
Jason struggled for control. “Can't you just drug him?”
Simon formed a mental image of Angsley's face. He'd never get away with drugging Rick. Not in front of that bastard.
But maybe it wasn't Rick who needed drugging. “Yeah,” Simon said, his face hard. “I could.” It would end his career, but there was a good chance his shoulder had already done that.
“How are you going to manage? With your shoulder?”
Simon was surprised. Then he realised it wasn't concern that had prompted the question. Jason wanted to make sure he'd still be able to get Rick out.
“Don't worry. I'll manage. And, I'll bring Rick out.” He hesitated. “But, if he's contagious, we've got real problems.” He grabbed Jason's arm and Jason jerked away. “There's one more thing. Can you be there, when I bring him out?”
Light Play: Book One of The Light Play Trilogy Page 19