“Not everyone understands that. Especially if they’re jaded by the prospect of insufferable pain before death.” Jordan exhaled. “And that’s where this gets complicated. We’ve never published our research, and we only just met with our first client. I still don’t buy the excuse that last night resulted from over-the-top corporate espionage. But I’m also not sure how word of our experimental treatments would’ve reached the enhancer market.”
“So you think there’s a leak in our ship, huh?” Chris asked, skeptical. “I don’t like where this is going.”
“I’m afraid we have to consider the possibility.” Jordan pressed a palm to the window and leaned his forehead against it. “It could be anything from hackers to some kind of Net surveillance, or something as simple as an overheard conversation. Maybe someone treated one of our employees to a few too many cocktails.”
“True. Let’s remind everyone to keep their wits about them.” Chris pushed open the door. “But we’ve got more at stake than a stolen trade secret, and there’s nothing more we can do other than get back to work.”
***
Chris and Jordan prepared each of the isolated DNA samples for sequencing. They loaded the small tubes into the sequencer and started it. It might only take them a couple of hours to sequence the genes present in the biopsied tissues, but every minute they waited seemed like wasted time. He might only have days left before the lumps formed in his muscles and his skin bruised. On top of it all, Dellaporta’s prediction of his imminent arrest might come too soon, and he’d end up literally wasting away behind bars.
He shook his head and tried to rid himself of his self-concerned thoughts. A whole ward full of patients depended on him to find a solution—a cure. With the hospital in complete disarray from the bombing, he had no doubt their research would be indefinitely stalled.
The sequencer projected a progress bar in the air above it. Tapping his foot on the floor, Chris wondered which ax would fall first. Would he die of the disease he hoped to cure? Or would the police haul him in before he had a fighting chance? Even with the time, even if Dellaporta stalled her department, the insurmountable obstacle of developing a genetic treatment to counteract the effects of a shoddy illegal enhancement loomed before him.
Then again, he and Haynes might be wrong. The rhabdomyosarcoma cases might be due to a disease Chris would be inept at handling—it might have nothing to do with enhancements.
He wished he had seen the data Robin had gathered on the genetic mutations within her patients’ cancerous cells. His thoughts turned toward her disappearance. He pictured the two men hauling her off, and he wondered where they had taken her and why. Was she even still alive?
A deep sorrow burgeoned within him, twisting his stomach into a worried knot. He’d hardly known her, but he couldn’t help the way her disappearance had shaken him.
His comm card buzzed, interrupting his contemplation. He looked at the display. Veronica.
“Hello?”
“Hi,” she said, her voice uncharacteristically dull. “I know you’re busy, but is there any chance we could meet?”
“In person?”
“I don’t know another way,” she said. Chris detected a slight hint of humor. But it dissipated as quickly as it had arisen. “It’s important.”
Chris stood and paced in front of the sequencer. Jordan arched an eyebrow, and Chris held up a single finger. He left the lab and slumped into his desk chair. “Can’t we talk now? I’m swamped here.”
“I have something for you.”
“I don’t understand.”
“A gift,” she said, her tone sharp. “I want to give it to you in person.”
“Look, Vee—” he began. He glanced at the sequencer. The progress bar said it wouldn’t finish with all their samples for another hour and a half. And he wasn’t sure how many of his cells had already mutated, proliferated, and metastasized as they spread the cancer throughout his body. If his and Jordan’s efforts failed, this might be the last chance he would get to see her. “Okay. But it will have to be quick. Where do you want to meet?”
“You know exactly where,” she said with a chuckle.
Her favorite food spot, The Point.
He smiled when he heard the slight cheeriness in her statement. He missed her toothy grin and her penchant for laughter. “Ah, let me guess. You’re going to order a blue crab eggs Benedict and a bottomless mimosa.”
“Christopher Morgan, don’t you know it’s too late for brunch?”
“That’s never stopped you before.”
“I can’t pull one past you, can I?” she said. “Sometimes, I think you’re smarter than you act. Meet me in fifteen?”
“Sounds good.”
The Point at Fell’s required almost twenty minutes by Metro plus a short walk. He figured he could a call a taxi, but he didn’t want to waste any time waiting for a cab either before or after meeting Veronica. “Jordan, can I borrow your car?”
“You’re going to leave in the middle of an experiment?”
“It’s Veronica. I wanted to see her...” He trailed off.
“Say no more.” Jordan held up a hand. “You can take the car. But don’t try to drive manual on me.”
“It’s been a couple years since I drove a car manually.” Chris laughed. “And I’m not an idiot. I don’t intend to get myself in a wreck.”
Jordan tapped out a quick command on his comm card. A notification popped up on Chris’s card declaring he now had access to his friend’s vehicle.
“I’ll call you if anything comes up,” Jordan said. “And if you aren’t back after the sequencing is done, I’ll start the bioinformatics analysis so we can at least identify what proteins are produced from the contents of any foreign or mutated DNA I find in the samples.”
“Perfect. If we know what proteins are made, then we can have some idea of how the mutated DNA might be affecting the human body.” Chris stopped on his way out by the office door. “Jordan, I appreciate your help.”
“Ah, it’s nothing. Just a couple of easy experiments.”
“Not just for today. I’m talking about everything.”
He left before his friend could respond. Jordan had truly given Chris another chance at life. His friend had gone so far as to become an active participant and researcher at their new company. Jordan hadn’t needed to do it, either; he had accumulated enough wealth to retire early. But instead of spending his time reading and writing at home, Jordan had pumped his financial assets into this company, ensuring they didn’t need to dilute their ownership of TheraComp by soliciting outside investors.
Now Jordan was helping Chris with research to literally save his life and, he hoped, his conscience. He wondered if Jordan still felt guilty that he had excommunicated Chris when the Baltimore PD investigators had arrested him the first time. Jordan hadn’t so much as sent a letter during Chris’s time in prison. And, though the police had uncovered evidence of Chris’s former illegal enhancement manufacturing, Jordan had managed to avoid any charges himself.
Of course, Chris had never ratted his friend out, either. Maybe that was the unspoken reason Jordan had devoted himself to helping Chris.
Once in the underground parking garage below the Maryland Biotech Incubator building, Chris jumped into Jordan’s red Audi coupe. The electric motor purred to life as he input his destination into the holoscreen. The car whirred out onto the crowded Baltimore streets, and he found himself looking forward to seeing Veronica again. He was thankful Jordan had been so quick to encourage him to walk away from their experiments for a short time and added yet another favor to the list of things his friend had done for him.
Chapter 17
The holodisplay at Veronica’s table lit up to ask if she wanted another rum and Coke. She gestured across it to decline. She had consumed her fair share today.
Though Chris was right about her fervor for mimosas, more often than not, she avoided drinking too many alcoholic beverages. Extra calories filled them. Calor
ies she didn’t need.
As a dancer, she tried to think of food as a fuel source. It wasn’t to be consumed except to provide her the energy to perform and to nourish the tight ropes of muscle gracing her bones.
But as an artist, she also considered culinary prowess an art. To her, a chef might pour his creativity into a piece of work viewed only once before it was ignobly consumed. And she enjoyed consuming art.
Although she’d bent the rules lately, she usually compromised with these two competing interests by allowing herself one cheat day a week. One day on which she could stuff herself with the greasiest, most delicious, caloric foods she wanted. One day to drink. And that day was generally reserved for Sunday brunches. When they were together, Chris had happily joined her in these endeavors.
Once they had parted ways, it was difficult to find another devoted brunch partner. Flora, a fellow dancer, fell inarguably in the “food as fuel source” camp, and her closest friend in the art world, Jessica, was a vegan. She needed other friends to take to The Point at Fell’s but hardly found the time to spark new, reliable relationships.
Where once she had never confronted the issue of a diminutive social circle, now she distanced herself from all but a select group. Most of the time, she feared she might unwittingly drag someone else into the quagmire of blackmail and persistent threats from a criminal antagonizing her on the other end of a comm card.
Veronica sipped from a glass of water. Each time someone entered the two-story restaurant, a rush of hot air clawed in through the front door. It brushed against her legs and arms, reminding her how much she appreciated air conditioning. She didn’t look forward to her dance company’s rehearsal in the “historic” studios above the Senator Theater, an old cinema turned performing arts facility. “Historic” meant no air conditioning and no escape from the suffocating humidity, which would only worsen with the warmth exuded from bodies leaping and twirling.
She checked the time on her comm card and then scrolled through her call history. She counted the calls identified as “unknown.” The sheer number of times Trevor called had somewhat inured her to his threats. Where once she fell apart and whimpered each time he rang, she now found herself snapping at him and moving on with her day. She didn’t mistake that for being happy again and understood she and her family remained in danger. But she had learned to keep living.
The sweltering heat bit at her skin again as another customer entered. This time, she recognized the dark brown hair and matching eyes. He stood there and squinted around the restaurant. Sweat spotted the front of his collared shirt. He was not a particularly athletic man, but Chris still maintained a healthy physique. He promised he never used illegal enhancements, but she’d never accused him of it, either. She knew it might hurt him if she told him she could tell. His muscles weren’t nearly as defined or toned as he had once apparently thought. She wouldn’t dream of admitting that aloud. After all, he was attractive enough. She liked the way he wore his shirt sleeves rolled up to reveal his forearms and the way he clenched his square jaw when he concentrated. He also benefited from a confident demeanor. Maybe a bit on the cocky side.
But now he looked anything but confident. She could see the wrinkles in his forehead, and his skin seemed ashen.
His gaze turned toward her, and she waved. She stood as he approached.
He stuck out a hand as if they were business associates. She brushed the gesture away and pulled him into an embrace. He might’ve gotten her into this mess, and she might’ve hated him for his foray into the black market, but she couldn’t shake the fact that she’d loved him once, and he’d loved her.
“I’m glad to see you,” he said.
“Really?” She raised an eyebrow. “You always seem like you hardly have time.”
He shrugged and ignored the jab. “You look fantastic.”
“Thanks,” she said. “You, too.”
“There’s no need to lie.” Chris scowled and motioned for them to have a seat. “I know I look like crap. I feel like it, too.”
She felt almost uncomfortable as he looked at her. She guessed what he might be thinking about; it had been a persistent topic of many conversations. Since she had a LyfeGen Sustain, an artificial organ implanted in her, her skin would remain naturally smooth, her organs would be replenished by the enhanced stem cells, and most diseases would be eliminated from her body before a doctor could even notice. When they were together, he often remarked she’d always be beautiful as he grew old and wrinkled. And he had asked whether she would actually want to stay with an individual like that. Would she always be attracted to him?
Chris couldn’t afford one. She couldn’t either. The organ had been a gift from her parents.
But that didn’t stop her from feeling like Chris resented it.
“Thanks for coming,” she said. She opened up the menu on their holoscreen. “Are you going to get anything?”
“I don’t have much of an appetite.”
She noticed the heavy bags under his eyes. His cheeks appeared almost sallow. “Maybe you need to eat something.”
Shrugging, Chris selected a burger, and the holoscreen confirmed his order.
“That’s kind of boring,” Veronica said. “You never get just a burger here.”
“Well, a lot has changed in a short amount of time,” he said, his voice sounding almost snappy. He pinched his eyes closed. “I’m sorry. I’m suffering from a lack of sleep, and it feels like my whole world is off kilter. Truthfully, I’m a wreck.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Chris looked away. “Not now.”
Of course, Veronica thought. She rotated one of the silver bands around her finger. Avoiding his gaze, she stared at the ring. “Thanks for coming, anyway.”
“Believe it or not, I wanted to come.”
She looked up.
“It might sound selfish, but I do actually like it when you call,” he said. “I know sometimes I’m distracted or it might not seem like I care, but I do.”
Sincerity and compassion shone in his eyes, a genuine expression Veronica hadn’t seen on his face for the better part of the year. Since her hospital stay months ago, she had seen him only once at his apartment. They chatted over holocalls, but a hologram, though realistic enough, never conveyed the same emotional gravity that being in the same room as a person did. “I like talking to you too,” she said. “Even if it’s just me calling about my nightmares.”
His expression turned gloomy.
“Did I say something wrong?” she asked.
“No,” Chris said. “I just wish I could do a better job of being there for you. I owe it to you.”
He seemed distracted, and she knew that wouldn’t help her. “Listen, I have something I want to give you.”
From her bag, she pulled out a gift-wrapped present about the size of a paper book. She handed it to him but didn’t let go when he reached out for it. “I want you to remember something before you open it, though.”
His brows drew together, and he nodded. “Sure, okay.”
She let go of it. “It’s a birthday present.”
Chris’s head tilted. “For my birthday? That’s not for another month.”
“I know,” Veronica said. “But I couldn’t wait any longer.”
With trepidation, he examined it, rotating the present in his hands. “Can I open it now?”
She nodded.
He tore the paper off delicately. Before him, he held a small acrylic painting. It had taken her several hours over the night, but she knew of no other way to covertly communicate with him.
Maybe she was paranoid, but she couldn’t help wondering what Trevor would do to her and her family if she straight-out told Chris of her predicament and about the men tracking him through her. She feared Trevor could record her voice through the chip he’d implanted in her.
Maybe they were shadowing her meeting with Chris. They might be hiding out in a parked car or posing as other diners, sipping a drink with
one eye discreetly on her and him.
Comm card transmissions would be out of the question. She might not be a tech person, but she understood hacking a card wasn’t as difficult as the government and card companies claimed. She thought about writing a note, but anything on a piece of paper might be used as physical evidence against her. Especially if somebody spying on them somehow procured it.
She needed a way to transmit a message to him, and she employed the same technique she used when she wanted to send a message to the world: her art.
“It’s beautiful,” Chris said. He held the painting up, the naked unpainted canvas side facing Veronica.
She had envisioned this moment as she tried to craft the symbols Chris might understand. “Remember how I always said you inspired so many of my paintings?”
“I still have them all,” he said. “The lighthouse was probably my favorite with its red beam instead of white.”
Veronica laughed. She had once said his love was the beacon guiding her through all the storms of her life. Then, she had never known how a true squall felt like she did now. “Oh, I’m sorry about that one. A little too cheesy, even for me.”
“I can deal with it. It’s not like I’m lactose intolerant.”
“Now that was bad, Chris. You can do better.” She grinned at him, but inwardly she cursed. Already she’d distracted herself and him from the task at hand. “That painting is also inspired by you. I hope you can appreciate it.”
He examined it again. “I do.” Lowering it, his face contorted in a quizzical expression. “What’s this one mean?”
“You’ll need to figure it out on your own,” Veronica said. And you better do it soon.
Chapter 18
Jordan read the progress bar over the sequencer. It projected a run time of one hour still left before it would provide the full composition of genetic material in the biopsy samples from the hospital and in the vectors infecting Chris.
He hadn’t heard from Chris, but he wasn’t worried; Chris didn’t make it a habit to skip out on work. And he wanted his friend to see Veronica. Jordan hated to admit it and made a conscious effort to appear optimistic, but he feared their labors would be in vain.
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