The Gamma Sequence

by Dan Alatorre

  “No, we hear adult have short life span.”

  “Ah.” Hauser said. “You may be referring to some nasty rumors about an earlier series we developed decades ago. The group was about seventy-three percent male, and they typically lived almost to age sixty. Fine specimens, the Gammas. Very smart, very strong. Athletic. But we no longer . . . that line is no longer produced.”

  “I see. At present, we have no use for that,” the short man said.

  “Of course not.” Hauser swept his cane at the rows of containers. “But what you want is here, for every client you have, whatever their needs. We can grow and harvest any internal organ, for you to ship worldwide. We can provide your customers a subservient work force or any type of worker you desire. And in a year or two, we can open a facility in your country.”

  “We would be grateful. Cambodia is a poor country with many needs.”

  Hauser nodded. “High tech jobs, with laboratories and shipping. The construction of a large campus, like you’ve seen here. These are all good for Cambodia.”

  “Our current interest is in females.” He held up a handful of pictures. “Where can we inspect these?”

  The man in the cleanroom suit checked his clipboard. “I believe what you want is at recess now, on the playground, or we can take you to the school when recess is over.”

  “Yes, we pass on the way here.” The short man shook his head. “But no school. My employers have no need for them to be educated. No reading or writing.”

  “Not a school to educate, my friend,” Hauser said. “Simply a way to ensure a child remains obedient. Training.”

  “Obedience training?”

  “Yes, of a sort.”

  The door opened again, and another group of people entered.

  “Dr. Hauser,” a security guard said, stepping forward. “These are the Norwegian representatives you wanted to see. They’ve just arrived.”

  “Ah, excellent.” Hauser extended his hand. “Please, join us.”

  The security guard stepped back, allowing Dr. Hauser to shake hands with the Norwegians. “Sir, this is Ms. Pederson,” the guard said. “And her associate Dr. Karlsdotter. He had a question about longevity, and I was unable to properly answer.”

  “We were just discussing that,” Hauser said. “The Gamma sequence. It’s merely an unfortunate circumstance, really, in a line of embryos we developed years ago.”

  The woman nodded, making notes as Hauser talked. “Why does it happen?”

  “We don’t completely know. In the same way pre-birth babies develop organs for nine months, hormones and DNA coding says ‘stop’ at birth. Yes, they still develop, but not like before. They move from creating organs and systems to growing and maturing them. Upon a genetic marker, similar to ones that cause gray hair, the organs in the Gammas stop regenerating. Since it’s all organs, blood, et cetera, it manifests itself as massive and virtually simultaneous organ failure. Like cancer, its cause isn't completely known. And also like cancer, its cure isn't yet known. It's as though their bodies do a pre-birth for nine months and then a pre-death for nine months.”

  He walked along the aisle, leaning on his cane with each step, deep in lecture mode as he passed rows and rows of the containers. “Modern science doesn’t actually know why people die of old age, except to say their bodies wear out. We simply view this as an accelerated version of that. Like a tire that is said to last fifty-thousand miles, for some cars that would be ten years, but on other cars it might only be five. With the Gammas, we don’t know where the extra mileage is happening, we simply see that it does. It could be partially explained by the faster metabolism genes that were brought forward in that line.”

  He turned, punctuating the air with his cane for emphasis. “Life begins with rapid growth, and then slows. We don’t ask why. Puberty happens at roughly the same age all around the world, based on nothing other than a predetermined DNA time stamp that says it’s time to stop being a child and start becoming an adult that is able to reproduce. Menopause also occurs at a predetermined time, within a few standard deviations, because the DNA time stamp says it’s time to no longer have children.”

  The doctor limped back toward the group. “In the Gamma individuals, death occurs at roughly age fifty-five for a similar reason.” He shrugged. “A predetermined DNA switch in them simply said stop. But as I say, it’s no longer an issue.”

  The Norwegian woman looked up from her notes. “I believe that alleviates any concerns we had, Doctor.”

  Her associate nodded. “We are ready to place our order.”

  “Fine. Right this way.” Hauser headed for the door, his cane popping fast as he moved across the concrete floor. “The paperwork will only take a moment. And then, if you’ll excuse me, I have a reception I must attend.”

  “I believe we are ready, too, Doctor,” the Asian man said. “Subject to a satisfactory inspection of the stock.”

  “Excellent!” Hauser chuckled. “I may have to open a bottle of champagne.”

  The others laughed, following him to the door.

  “But to be clear . . .” The Norwegian woman held the door for her elderly host. “After the Gammas, you were able to detect the flaw in subsequent lines, and remove it?”

  “Gammas are not produced anymore.” Dr. Hauser lumbered outside into the fading light. “And none exist today. You have my word on it.”

  Chapter 34

  The Greyhound stood shirtless at the edge of the bed, studying the clothing laid out there. “Quite a selection.”

  “Best I could do.” Wearing a fluffy white robe, Dominique sauntered from the bathroom, her hair wrapped in a towel. “One maintenance uniform, and one from the dining room staff. What else do you think you’ll need?”

  He sighed, going to the dresser and taking out a pressed, folded dress shirt. “A fast car, a reliable gun—a reliable machine gun would be nice, or even two—some good timing, good luck, and good strength.” Opening the top drawer, he sifted through the silk neckties. “Did I say good luck?”

  “The best luck is being prepared.” Dominique came up behind her husband and slid her arms around his waist, kissing the back of his shoulder. “And you are certainly that.”

  “Tristan?” Maya knocked on the partition door. The Greyhound turned around and kissed his wife, then went over to the door and opened it. Maya held a notepad in one hand, a cell phone in the other, examining the screen. “I have some good news. The lab says the half-life for this latest batch of meds is testing better than previous ones. Initial field tests show as much as twenty percent better endurance.”

  The Greyhound slipped his shirt on. “I feel it. We talked about that in New York, remember?” He lifted his chin, inspecting himself in the mirror as he pushed a gold cufflink through a stiff white cuff. “I’d say it’s more potent, with a longer range, and less of a downslide after.”

  “If we can flatten the peaks and valleys,” Maya said, “so there’s no crash between cycles, we’ll really have something.”

  “That’s great news, Maya.” Dominique sat on the bed and folded her hands in her lap, her voice low. “Thank you.”

  Tristan finished buttoning his shirt, tucking it into his pants, his tone equally somber. “You’re a great chemist, and a good friend, Maya. If I haven’t told you that before, I should have.” He glanced at Maya as he picked up the shoulder holster, sliding it over one arm and then the other, the strap running across his back. “You’ve saved my life more than once, both of you.” Taking the air gun from its polished wooden case, he slid it into the holster and smoothed the wrinkles from his shirt.

  From the bed, his wife gazed at him, her face drawn.

  “I . . . should probably go.” Maya took a backwards step toward her room. “You two have preparations to make. Good luck tonight, Tristan.”

  He forced a grin. “I’ll see you in New York very soon.”

  He didn’t fully believe the words he said, and neither did anyone else. It was more of a wish than anything.
All three knew there was a very real possibility they’d never see each other again. The expression on Dominique’s face said it all—a wife sending her husband off to war, possibly never to return.

  In a few hours, it would all be over, one way or the other. Hauser and the board would be dead, or The Greyhound would be.

  He put on a windbreaker to cover the gun and the fancy shirt.

  “Do you have a plan for Hauser?” Dominique asked.

  “I’ll get into the reception, and an opportunity will present itself. He’ll go to the bathroom or he’ll step into the hallway to take a phone call. Then I’ll take him down and make him disappear. I’ll ambush the others in their rooms tonight.”

  “The phone call.” She nodded. “Hauser’s always doing that—stepping out so no one can overhear him. But he’ll have bodyguards with him.”

  “Leave that to me.” He shoved a handkerchief and the ether bottle into his pocket, along with the Propofol and a few syringes. The last item was a small container of pepper spray. “As for the rest, the less you know, the better. For your protection.”

  “Don’t do that. Don’t act cold. Not now.”

  A sad smile crossed his face. “My love, I said goodbye an hour ago—unrushed, unworried, a perfect moment—because I knew there wouldn’t be a chance to say goodbye properly when I had to leave.” He chose his words carefully, making sure his voice didn’t waver. “If that’s the last time I hold you, I’ll remember it forever. And if we see each other again—”

  “Stop.” She lowered her head, wiping her cheek with the sleeve of the robe.

  He went to the bed and sat, taking her hand in his and looking into her teary eyes. “If we should see each other again, we’ll cherish that goodbye, and share another one at a different time.” He swallowed hard. “I hope that’s the case.”

  Squeezing her eyes shut, she pressed her face to his chest.

  He held her, enjoying her warmth through the soft robe, brushing his hand up and down over her back as he inhaled the aromas from her shampoos and bath soaps.

  On the dresser, a series of chimes played on his phone.

  He kissed the top of his wife’s head. “It’s time.”

  She hugged him a moment longer, then let her hands fall to the bed. The Greyhound stood and stuffed a few garments into a canvas bag, picked up his phone, and headed to the door.

  * * * * *

  DeShear and Lanaya reached the security station after the sun had set, but its interior lights were still on. Sweaty and tired in their cleanroom suits, they approached the building. At the back door, DeShear pressed the intercom button.

  The voice of the security guard came over the speaker. “You’re late.”

  “Yep.” DeShear said, leaning on the button. “You gonna buzz us in?”

  “The others went through a long time ago. You were supposed to stay with your group.”

  He glared at the intercom. “Clearly, we did not.”

  It remained silent.

  Lanaya huffed. “Does he expect us to spend the night out here?”

  “He might.”

  She frowned and pressed the button. “See here, young man. Who do you think you’re talking to? We are board members of Angelis Genetics, with executive level passes. If we wish to stray from our group, we shall—and with not a word of admonition from a security guard in the process! Do I make myself clear? Now open this door before we’re late to the reception.”

  The door buzzed. As they opened it, the tall square-jawed American guard ran toward them. “I’m so sorry, ma’am! I thought you were with the audit team.” He opened the next door for them. “I really apologize. It’s been a long day, and—”

  Lanaya stormed past him, with DeShear following.

  “My good man,” she said, “it’s one thing to have a long day. It’s quite another to be rude.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She stopped, putting her hands on her hips. “I shall keep this between us this time, but remember, you are a representative of Angelus Genetics. I’ll expect better from you in the future. Now if you’d be so kind as to call a cab for us.”

  “There’s one waiting, ma’am. The IRS woman insisted. But . . .” The guard folded his arms.

  “Yes?” Lanaya stared at him.

  “Ma’am, I’ll need to collect your ID cards.” He eyed the lanyard with the security pass.

  DeShear held his breath. If the guard inspected cards every day, he would know DeShear’s was doctored.

  The guard stared at Lanaya.

  She narrowed her eyes, holding up her ID badge. “We’ll be keeping these.”

  He let out a loud sigh and reached behind the counter. The door buzzed. “Yes, ma’am. Enjoy your evening.”

  Lanaya marched through the front door and headed for the taxi, climbing in with DeShear on her heels.

  “Nice work.” He chuckled.

  “Thank you.” She fanned her face. “I nearly wet myself.”

  The cab bumped along the dirt drive, heading from the lab campus to the hotel. DeShear pressed his phone to his head, holding his other ear shut so he could hear over the road noise. “We got him, Cammy. We caught Hauser talking about committing euthanasia, and we have pictures of a mass grave site on his property, filled with the bodies of children.”

  “What?” Camilla said. “I can’t hear you, Dash. You’re breaking up.”

  DeShear raised his voice. “I said—”

  His phone cut out. He looked at the screen. There was no signal and only three percent battery life.

  “Crap!”

  A moment later, the screen flashed with an incoming call from Camilla, but it immediately dropped and lit up with the message “call lost.”

  “Is there any juice left in your phone?” he asked Lanaya.

  She shook her head. “What do we do?”

  “Driver, do you have a cell phone?

  The man shrugged, peering at DeShear in the rearview mirror. “No English, sir. I am only speak Indonesian.”

  DeShear held up his phone, pointing to it. “A power cord? Anything?”

  The driver shook his head. “No phone, sorry. I take to hotel, yes?”

  “Yes.” DeShear slumped back in his seat, pulling his cleanroom suit hood off. “Hotel.”

  * * * * *

  The Greyhound waited in coveralls behind the dumpster until a truck pulled up to the Viceroy loading dock. A man with a rifle stood at the back of the hotel; another at the side. Both were dressed the same as The Greyhound. As the service crew came out to unload the vehicle, he joined them. Hefting a box onto his shoulder, he lowered his head and carried it inside.

  He followed the man in front of him to the kitchen and set his box on a stainless steel counter, lingering as the others returned to the truck. When they were gone, he walked in the opposite direction and ducked into the restroom. He unzipped his coveralls and balled them up, slipping them into the trash can in the corner, then smoothed his hair.

  The wait staff jacket and dark pants would work well enough inside the reception.

  * * * * *

  Near the Christmas tree in the Viceroy hotel ballroom, Camilla sipped ice water, tapping her hand against her thigh. There had been no word from DeShear yet. Something may have happened. If it did, what then?

  She distracted herself by watching one of the hotel staff plug a cell phone into a projector cable. Slides about Angelus Genetics appeared on screens lining the walls. After a second cord was attached, holiday music came over the ballroom sound system.

  Her phone pinged. Pulling it from her purse, she read a text from DeShear.

  On our way.

  She strolled around the room, trying to focus on mingling with her agents as they awaited their host, telling herself if DeShear and Lanaya were on their way, they were probably okay.

  * * * * *

  Dominique took one last look in the mirror, pressing her hand to her stomach to ease the butterflies. She slipped her key card into a small handbag, adjust
ed the strap on her shoulder, and headed to the door.

  When she opened it, Dr. Hauser was smiling at her from the hallway.

  Her stomach lurched. She fought the urge to slam the door in his face and throw herself against it.

  “Hello, Dominique.” Hauser brushed past his two bodyguards. “May I escort you to this evening’s reception?”

  She swallowed hard. “Uh, of course, Marcus.” Then, a smile. “It would be my pleasure.”

  “Excellent.” He extended his arm. “This way.” They walked down the hallway together, his cane setting the pace. At the elevator, one of the body guards pressed the button. The doors opened, and the foursome stepped inside.

  As the doors closed, Hauser leaned his cane against the wall and pressed the button to the lobby. “You know, my dear Dominique, you disappoint me.”

  Her heart pounded. Would the body guards attack her now that she was out of sight in the elevator? Why hadn’t she brought a weapon?

  She fought to keep her breathing steady, staring straight ahead.

  “You are an amazing creature. So smart.” He patted her arm. “But I knew you only did my bidding out of fear, and that can only take things so far.” He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and gazed at it. “How are your children—the boys? Are they behaving while you’re away? Not giving your mother any trouble, I hope.”

  Her hands shook, her voice wavering. “They’re fine.”

  “Ah. Good.” The paper crackled as he unfolded it. “They have school in the morning, tomorrow, and baseball practice after.” He looked up. “Baseball, in December?”

  She said nothing, holding her breath, unable to stop her heart from racing.

  “And you will call them at your mother’s, on their tablet, after baseball—as you do every time you travel.” He folded the paper and put it away. “I’d like that to continue. I’d like for you to call them tomorrow. I’d like for them to answer and speak with their mother. I’m sure they’d be disappointed if that didn’t happen. Of course, I’m sure you’d be heartbroken if you called and they didn’t answer. If your mother said they weren’t there, and she didn’t know where they were.”