The Best of All Possible Worlds

by Richard D. Parker

  “The downtown Travelodge,” Collier answered, beaming.

  “Shit that’s not five miles from here,” Sanders exclaimed excitedly and leaped from his chair as if he, himself, was going to rush down to the hotel room and take the targets into custody. “Why weren’t we called when they checked in?” He inquired, marching right up to Collier so that she got a strong whiff of his Government Issue aftershave. The man was a bureaucrat’s wet dream. He was tall, broad shouldered and clean-shaven with blond hair clipped just longer than a buzz cut.

  “There are others with them…helping them,” Collier explained. “Neither Adam or his sister actually checked into the hotel,” she added and took a step back to gain a bit of distance between herself and the gung ho agent. And though Collier wasn’t the kind of girl that swooned helplessly at the sight of a handsome man, Sanders proximity actually brought a slight blush to her face; it didn’t help that Sanders continued to stare into her eyes very intently.

  “Are they still at the hotel?” Armstrong asked with a bit more calm. They didn’t have them yet and he wasn’t going to get his hopes up prematurely again.

  Collier shook her head, thankful for a reason to pull her eyes from Sanders who was beginning to make her uncomfortable. Unconsciously she checked the NSA agent’s left hand and found it devoid of rings. ‘Shit!’ she thought before turning her full attention to her boss. “No, they checked out this morning, but we have surveillance video of them leaving the lobby and again in the parking lot,” she replied after a quick glance at Sanders. “We have the make and plate number of a passenger van they left in. It’s a rental…contracted out to one Tyee Johnston of South Dakota.”

  “Tyee Johnston?” FBI agent Garcia asked frowning…something about that name was familiar. He turned to his computer and conducted a quick search.

  Collier nodded.

  “Get the plates out to the city police,” Armstrong told her. “If they continue to use the van we’ll locate them soon enough.”

  “You’re not going to believe this,” Garcia suddenly blurted loudly, immediately getting everyone’s attention. “Tyee Johnston is the owner of Johnston’s Foldown, the campground near Dell Rapids…”

  Everyone stared at Garcia with confused looks.

  “Torres!” Collier suddenly exclaimed.

  Garcia nodded.

  “What’s this?” Sanders asked and actually reached out and touched Collier’s elbow leaving her with little doubt now that he was pursuing her.

  “Nico Torres,” she explained and took another small step away from the man. Sanders was nice enough looking, but he probably had a good ten years on her. Plus at this point in her career she would prefer not to get into any long term commitments, especially with a man from another government agency. And she’d never been a girl that found one night stands very satisfying.

  “The clinic bomber that was killed last week,” Garcia added. “He was killed just outside Dell Rapids, near Johnston’s Folddown.”

  Armstrong frowned and looked down at the stump of his arm. “You think our sword carrying bitch has killed again?” he asked.

  Agent Garcia nodded slowly. “It’s a very good possibility.”

  “Jesus,” Sanders exclaimed. “Now we’ve got goddamned serial killers in the mix. If we catch them we can put them away forever.”

  Armstrong chuckled. “I don’t think prison will be an option for any of these people,” he said sardonically. “Not even Florence Supermax could hold them.”

  “Who are they?” Sanders asked, but no one at the table had any definite answers or was even willing to hazard a guess.

  “Shit!” Armstrong yelled in the quiet and stood very rapidly. He stared at Agent Collier for a long moment. “Torres…I’ll bet he was the shooter in St. Louis.”

  Collier’s eyes went wide and she rushed over to Garcia’s computer to check something. Moments later she looked up and smiled. “They found a rifle with the body…a sniper rifle,” she told her boss.

  “Get it! We have to be sure,” Armstrong said and the desire to catch the strange woman intensified.

  Three hours later they found their targets…not physically but over the airwaves when Dr. Christine Dawkins and Galen appeared live before the nation on WGN television.

  XXIII

  “Science is only right until it is proven wrong.”

  Dr. Paula Ratner

  May 21st 2015 Old Earth

  “Good afternoon,” John Stanfield said smoothly into the monitor, apparently unaffected by the lights, the cameras or the host of support personnel that now filled his living room. “We’ve interrupted our regularly scheduled programming in order to bring you an exclusive interview with Dr. Christine Dawkins of Cryogen Laboratories, a national leader in genetic research.”

  The screen then shifted to a larger view showing three people sitting around a small cherry wood table and then moved in for a close up of Christine. She appeared calm and dry, thanks mainly to the make-up crew who’d arrived along with the cameras, lights and sound men. Inside however, she was very nervous to be on television, especially in her current situation. The only other time she’d been interviewed on TV she’d been part of a panel and therefore shared the spotlight.

  “With Dr. Dawkins is an amazing young man named Galen Dawkins,” Stanfield continued and the screen flashed onto a smiling Galen, who was clearly free of any jitters. Galen gave a brief, friendly wave to the camera. “Now what makes this young man amazing is the fact that he’s not yet three years of age.”

  The camera lingered on Galen, clearly showing the television audience an older boy, probably in his late teens, while Stanfield paused for dramatic effect.

  “Dr. Dawkins,” Stanfield continued as his image once again filled the screen. “Please explain to our audience…in layman’s terms, how Galen here could possibly be so young when he appears to be a normal, healthy teenage boy.”

  “Well Mr. Stanfield,” Christine began in the only rehearsed bit of the interview.

  “Please call me John,” Stanfield interrupted graciously with a fake smile that appeared to be genuine.

  “Well…John,” Christine corrected with a nervous smile of her own. “Galen is the first engineered human being.”

  Stanfield frowned for effect. “You mean cloned?” he asked.

  “No, not at all,” Christine corrected. “Galen is not a copy, not a clone; his genetic code is completely unique, just like yours or mine. By engineered I mean that his genetics has been altered by artificial means.”

  Adam sighed. ‘Well it’s out now,’ he thought and felt a touch of relief, knowing that this was the beginning of the end. He tensely watched the live interview on television, sitting next to Vio on the couch in the family room in another part of the large house. Avigail giggled and pointed excitedly toward the screen as Galen appeared. She and Vio were amazed to see him on the slim TV box and it was all either of them could do to stay seated, though to be fair, both Dorothy and Blue were also on edge. It was not every day you knew someone who was on television. All of them were sharing a big bowl of popcorn that Blue cooked up in the microwave with Stanfield’s permission. Stanfield thought it best to start the truth telling process with Galen’s story only and leave the two women from another world completely out of the equation.

  “Sounds ominous,” Stanfield commented.

  “Not at all,” Christine answered. “Genetic research is sanctioned and funded by the government and is taking place all over the world. If the US is to remain a global leader in the scientific community, the study of genetic engineering will lead the way.”

  “So just what is genetic engineering?”

  “Like I said before genetic engineering is the alteration of a genetic code through artificial means,” Christine repeated.

  “To what end?” Stanfield asked.

  Christine smiled. “There are an infinite number of benefits possible through our research,” she said moving her gaze between the camera and Stanfield and then back
again. “Not only could many genetic diseases such as Cystic Fibrosis, Sickle cell anemia or Muscular Dystrophy be cured, but certain desirable characteristics could be enhanced and shared.”

  Stanfield stared at her blankly for moment so she went on.

  “Genetic diseases are caused by gene mutations or aberrations,” she explained. “Being able to repair or replace damaged genes will dramatically change the way we experience life and the benefits will not just be for humankind. All life on earth shares a remarkably similar genetic code and what one species does well could now be a benefit for all species or at least the species of our choice.”

  Stanfield looked a bit taken aback. “Are you saying that you would put genes from an animal into a human?”

  “Certainly,” Christine answered with confidence. “We share a vast majority of the same genetic code with all life on earth…animals and plants.”

  “Plants?”

  Christine laughed. “Yes…you’re more like a tree than you know,” she added in what she hoped would come across as playful banter.

  Stanfield laughed along with her for a moment then suddenly became serious. “So this young man,” he began and the camera shot away to show Galen smiling joyfully, “has been engineered. Did you use any tree genes in designing him?”

  Christine laughed again. “I didn’t design him…nature did, and no I didn’t add any genes from plants other than the millions humans already have in common with trees. What I did use is several man-made genes; specifically one we call R89 which we believe will help control the aging process.”

  “A man-made gene?”

  Christine nodded. “Yes, it’s a relatively new technology but scientists all over the world are now working in this field and there are literally thousands of man-made genes out there.”

  “And the R89 gene is supposed to do what?” Stanfield asked and Christine cringed. This was the question she wanted to avoid the most; she hesitated for a moment then decided that the entire truth would come out eventually, better it was heard from her.

  “The R89 gene,” she began and rubbed her sweaty palms on her pant legs beneath the table, “was specifically designed to interfere with the natural aging and development process allowing for accelerated or retarded growth in equal respects.”

  Stanfield raised his eyebrows. “And that is why Galen here appears to be a teenage boy while in reality he is not yet three.”

  “Precisely.”

  “I’d say the R89 gene did its job then,” Stanfield said. “Galen what do you think about the R89 gene?”

  Christine gasped. She was not expecting such a question to be posed to Galen and was not at all sure how he was going to respond. She hoped he’d keep mum on his wild belief that he was now in control of his own genetics.

  The camera went to a close up of Galen, who was smiling and nodding slightly. In the far room Avigail giggled so loudly she could be dimly heard through the airwaves “Well Sir…” Galen began politely; his innocence and good nature translating right through the cameras, and Adam shook his head in amazement. The boy was a natural with crowds and Adam was sure that any viewers watching this interview would be sympathetic. Galen was amazing; Adam just had a tendency to forget the fact since he was so close to the boy. “The gene has given me several opportunities I would not have otherwise enjoyed. And it has helped me survive.”

  “Survive?” Stanfield asked with an inward smile. ‘This was perfect,’ he thought pleased with himself and with the direction of the interview. It wasn’t until the thought came to him unbidden that perhaps Galen was the one steering the interview that he began to grow uncomfortable. He shivered slightly but luckily he was still off camera.

  “Yes,” Galen answered. “I was set to be destroyed at Cryogen but Christine and Adam…her brother, rescued me.”

  “By destroyed you mean killed,” Stanfield corrected.

  “Yes,” Galen answered a smile still on his face. Being on television was fun, though he wished he could see how he looked on the screen. Of course, John had promised to provide a copy of the interview so that Galen could watch it later.

  Stanfield turned to Christine then, his face deadly serious.

  “Cryogen planned to kill him?” He asked her.

  Christine nodded solemnly. “Yes, against my advice and best wishes, the experiment…Galen was to be terminated.”

  “But why?” Stanfield asked sincerely.

  “Because of who he is?”

  “And who is he?”

  Christine gulped. ‘This was it. This was the information that would make or break Galen with the public.’

  “Half basic genetic structure is my own. I supplied it out of need and half was derived from samples taken from the Shroud of Turin…but let me reiterate, Galen is not a copy. The genetic samples we used are only a framework; the genetic material has been altered. Galen is an engineered human being, completely unique in his own right and not a clone.”

  Stanfield, like the professional he was, remained silent so as to let this information sink in with his audience.

  “The Shroud of Turin,” he finally said softly for dramatic effect. “And he was scheduled to be killed once again.”

  Christine frowned at the phrasing of the statement. It made it sound as if Galen was indeed a clone, but Galen didn’t seem to mind. “Yes,” the young man added though the smile now barely visible on his face, “for something I could not do for Reverend Carter Heyworth.”

  “The Reverend Heyworth?” Stanfield asked surprised by Galen’s revelation.

  Galen nodded. Christine swallowed hard, very scared. “Reverend Heyworth supplied the DNA sample and is a very large contributor to Cryogen’s research,” she explained and Stanfield smiled. ‘God this was good!’

  “And just what did Heyworth want you to do,” he asked though this was not part of the interview they’d rehearsed, and he wondered once more who was the true manipulator of the interview.

  Galen paused, and a strange apprehension washed over Stanfield. ‘He’s damned theatrical for a three year old!’

  “Well…he wanted me to end the world,” Galen answered without a hint of a smile and after a long moment they cut away to a commercial about floor cleaner.

  “This is great!” Rodney, the cameraman said excitedly, just as the sound of car engines roared up the long, winding drive, second’s later tires squealed loudly out front and for a moment everyone froze.

  †

  “Do not draw your weapons unless attacked,” Cord reminded the dozens of men and women around him.

  “Whatever you do, do not threaten the boy,” Agent Collier added and then signaled Garcia to lead a group around to the back of the house.

  Exactly one minute later they burst through both the front and back doors simultaneously with Cord and Rebecca in the lead.

  To their surprise Adam Dawkins, the Native American Tyee Johnston and a large woman were waiting for them just to the left of the entryway. The front of the house had an open floor plan with a very high ceiling, a hall led directly to the back of the house and a stairway to the right led to the upper levels. Armstrong signaled those following behind to fan out and secure the rest of the house. A pair of agents moved down the hall as four more quickly bounded up the stairs.

  Behind Adam Dawkins and his group, stood the easily recognizable John Stanfield and another man who was holding a large remote television camera with a bright spotlight shining toward the front door. No one else was in sight at the moment but on the far side of the room was another doorway which presumably led to the back of the house.

  “You are on the air,” Stanfield informed them with a mischievous grin. “May I ask why you are in my house?”

  Someone behind Armstrong cursed softly.

  “We are here to collect a piece of property stolen from Cryogen Laboratories,” Armstrong answered in what he thought of as his authoritative voice. He was acutely aware of the camera and lights which were aimed directly at his face. With his left han
d he slowly removed his DOE id card and held it up in front of him.

  “You will please turn off the camera,” he stated just as a group of agents appeared from the back of the house and stopped in the doorway on the far side of the room.

  “On what grounds?” Stanfield asked calmly. “I’m filming a live interview here,” he added, “and you are interrupting my work.”

  Armstrong did not hesitate or back down. “The camera please?” He politely asked one more time and when the camera man made no move to switch it off Armstrong nodded to one of the men in the far doorway. Immediately two large men, dressed in blue suits, white shirts and blue ties, moved forward and easily wrestled the camera from its operator. Seconds later the bright camera lights went out.

  “I want no more trouble from you,” Armstrong said pointing at Stanfield and then he turned to Adam and stuck out his left hand. Adam hesitated a moment, suspicious, but then reached out and shook the man’s hand.

  “Mr. Dawkins, a pleasure,” Armstrong added and after a moment released his hand and then shook Christine’s. “Doctor,” he added, “very pleased to meet you. You’ve done some great work for your country. I’m Agent Armstrong, Cord Armstrong.”

  Christine nodded, but said nothing, slightly surprised by the tone of the greeting, but then she realized the entire act was undoubtedly for Stanfield’s benefit.

  Everyone stood silent for several long seconds then a couple of agents came thumping down the stairs.

  “No one upstairs,” said a man with red hair and shoulders wide enough to land a plane between them.

  “Back of the house is clear as well,” added a shorter man who had his blonde hair cut so short Christine had at first mistaken him for bald.

  “Where is D17?” Armstrong asked nicely without even a hint of aggressiveness in his voice.

  “His name is Galen,” Christine corrected, and Armstrong raised his eyebrows.