Perfect Weapon

by Jade Kerrion

  Danyael laughed, a rare burst of amusement. "Close enough, except that it will be a book instead of the TV."

  The man shook his head. "I'm headed home for Thanksgiving this year. Like you, I was never close to my family, but about two years ago, my father, brother, and I had a major showdown. Things got a lot better after that, at least for my father and me. My brother didn't fare so well, but this year, I'm hoping he'll come home for Thanksgiving."

  "Glad to hear it. Family's important."

  "So why aren't you with yours? Thanksgiving is a time for reconciliation."

  He didn't need sermons on why he needed to make up with a family that didn't want him and had made certain he would never be able to find his way back to them. Danyael closed his book, stuffed it into his backpack, and slowly pushed to his feet. He gritted his teeth until the spasm in his leg passed, and then reached for his crutch, hooking it beneath his left arm. "The clinic opens at noon. I have to get to work."

  "Okay." The man stood. He was Danyael's height, but was built like a football player. His slacks were well-tailored, his heavy wool coat looked expensive, and his leather shoes were foreign-made. Compared to him, Danyael felt like a poor college student. His income from the free clinic hardly covered rent and food after he paid his larger obligations of student loans and Laura's child support. At least I have a job. Lucien had blocked every employment opportunity in the area, except the free clinic. Perhaps Lucien thought Danyael would not accept a job that paid a pittance for eighty hours of work a week in a crime-ridden Anacostia neighborhood, but Danyael was out of options. He was bound to the area; he could not travel beyond twenty miles of the Mutant Affairs Council office.

  Despite the constraints, Danyael had survived, even thrived, thanks to the most unlikely of benefactors. Four months earlier, he had limped out of the hospital penniless and contemplating suicide. Lucien's father, Damien Winter, had pulled up in a limousine and offered a $5,000 loan under exorbitant terms. "You stay away from Lucien," Damien Winter had told him. "I don't want you near him, ever again."

  Danyael had agreed, less because he needed the money, more because he acknowledged the inevitable. Without Miriya, without a telepath willing to break the mental blocks in Lucien's mind, Lucien's friendship was lost to him. Damien's loan had helped Danyael get back on his feet again. It paid for temporary accommodations until he found a job and then paid the security deposit and first month's rent on the apartment. The irony did not escape Danyael. That time, Damien Winter had saved his life.

  Danyael turned away, but the man extended his hand. "It was good meeting you."

  "Likewise," Danyael responded with automatic politeness. "I'm Danyael Sabre."

  "Jason Rakehell."

  Danyael's incredulous gaze flashed to Jason's face. Damn it, how could he not have recognized the president of Purest Humanity and the son of Roland Rakehell, Galahad's creator? He stumbled back, clumsy with shock. He looked around sharply; his empathic senses searched the area as he braced for an attack from pro-humanists. Damn it. Why couldn't he sense them? If they were psychically shielded, he could not protect himself, not without hurting them.

  Jason held both hands up. "It's all right, Danyael. I just came to talk."

  "I can't tell you anything. I don't know anything."

  "It's about your family."

  Danyael's stomach churned. The confession came out in a breathless rush. "My family doesn't want me. They won't acknowledge me. I don't even know who they are. Your father has nothing to worry about. They're not going to sue him for using my genetic code without permission. And I...I just want to be left alone."

  "Danyael---"

  Danyael swallowed hard and took two unsteady steps back. "I have to go." He turned away, his inherent grace hampered by the awkwardness of his injury. He had to get to the clinic. Surely he would be safe there. Surely pro-humanists wouldn't attack the free clinic. But what if they did? He couldn't put his patients at risk---

  Jason's clear, firm voice cut through the cacophony of Danyael's thoughts. "I'm here to ask if you wanted to come home for Thanksgiving."

  Danyael's mind blanked. Several seconds passed in silence as his heart caught on the single word: home. Hobbling on his right leg, he turned slowly to face Jason Rakehell. "Your home?" His voice sounded hollow, tiny against the roaring in his mind. He could scarcely string together a coherent thought. Home? His heart leapt forward, as his mind recoiled. Jason...my brother? No, it can't be. Why is he doing this? He shook his head. "I...no. I don't know anything. I don't remember, I swear."

  "Danyael, relax. This isn't a trick question. I just think it's time for you to come home."

  There was that word again. Home. Danyael searched Jason's face and emotions for the lie. "You..." The words caught; they could not get past the lump in his throat.

  "I'm your brother," Jason said softly. "Our father thought you were dead, killed in the car accident that killed our mother, when he used your genetic code for Galahad. Maybe it was his way of preserving your memory."

  Jason's emotions twitched, and Danyael caught the flicker of a lie. "He still doesn't want me back."

  Jason sighed and shrugged. "I finally convinced him that you weren't any more interested in the publicity than he was. As long as you're not a threat to his reputation, whatever remains of it, he's willing to consider an occasional family reunion. It's not going to be much more than that, I'm afraid, at least not with him. He hasn't had much practice at being a father and is unwilling to try at this late stage."

  My father. My brother. Danyael looked up and met Jason's dark eyes, so much like his own. "What do you want from me?"

  "Our father will never be much good as a father, which makes you the only family I have left. Fortunately, I'm not too old to wrap my mind around the fact that I have a brother again. I hoped you might be willing to give us a second chance."

  "At what?"

  Jason chuckled. "You're not going to make this easy for me, are you? I thought we could start out as friends and then see if we still have a future as brothers."

  "Why?"

  "Because we are brothers?"

  "I'm a mutant, and you're president of Purest Humanity."

  "Just because we're supposed to be natural enemies doesn't mean we can't be friends. Let's start with Thanksgiving dinner and see where it goes. I spoke to the council; you're cleared to travel beyond the boundaries of your virtual cell. I'll come by the clinic on Thursday at two-thirty to pick you up."

  Could it be real? Danyael closed his eyes. If he opened them, would he find himself seated alone on a park bench?

  Jason was still standing in front of him when Danyael opened his eyes. Jason studied Danyael with mild amusement. "I'm not going away until I get an answer. Two-thirty all right with you?"

  For a long moment, the word "no" hovered on Danyael's lips. How could the situation end any way except badly?

  His mind hesitated, but his heart yearned. He had little to lose, and everything to gain---a brother, a family.

  Danyael nodded slowly. "Two-thirty."

  DEE AND DUM'S STORY CONTINUES IN

  WHEN THE SILENCE ENDS

  NOW AVAILABLE ON AMAZON

  When you choose your friends, you also choose your enemies.

  Seventeen-year old Dee wants nothing more than to help her twin brother, Dum, break free from the trauma in their childhood and speak again, but the only person who can help Dum is the alpha empath, Danyael Sabre, whom the U.S. government considers a terrorist and traitor.

  The search for Danyael will lead Dee and Dum from the sheltered protection of the Mutant Affairs Council and into the violent, gang-controlled heart of Anacostia. Ensnared by Danyael's complicated network of friends and enemies, Dee makes her stand in a political and social war that she is ill equipped to fight. What can one human, armed only with her wits and pepper spray, do against the super-powered mutants who dominate the Genetic Revolution?

  America, nevertheless, is ripe for change. Exhauste
d by decades of belligerence between humans and their genetic derivatives, the clones, in vitros, and mutants, society is on the verge of falling apart or growing up. Which path will it choose, and can a mere human, her sassy attitude and smart mouth notwithstanding, light the way to a better future?

  In her quest to help her brother become normal, Dee will learn what it means to be extraordinary. When the silence ends, the celebration of life, love, joy, and hope will inspire feet to dance and hearts to sing.

  THE DOUBLE HELIX SERIES CONTINUES IN 2013...

  A quiet evening was rare in a home with a harridan for a wife. Earlier that day, however, Marcia had left Washington, D.C., on their private jet and was likely, right then, sitting down at dinner with their daughter, Cheryl, at an upscale Manhattan restaurant. A celebration was in order---Cheryl, at twenty-eight, had been appointed the youngest news anchor at NBC News.

  Alone at home, Senator John Patrick Sullivan III of Montana raised his glass of port and toasted the large family portrait hanging over the fireplace. He considered himself part of the family celebration---financially, if not in body or spirit.

  Their investment in Cheryl had paid off in spades. She possessed her mother's spirit but not her spite, her father's strength of will but not his obstinacy. She was also as lovely as her mother, though John had insisted that Cheryl have his eyes. He was glad he had put his foot down; the fact that Marcia had refused to speak to him for weeks after was only the icing on the cake. He liked to think that Cheryl's large, brown eyes added a twinkle of humor and glow of humanity to the icy beauty she inherited from Marcia.

  He glanced at his watch, a Patek Philippe that Marcia had presented to him for their fiftieth anniversary the previous year. In less than an hour, he would have to head out to the club and join his fellow senators in a late game of bridge, but for now, he had the house to himself. He relaxed into his recliner, the leather butter-soft beneath his fingertips. Ah, the bliss of privacy. Instead of the harsh glitter and sensory overload of New York City, he had the lofty wood ceilings and stone tiles of his den. The only sound was the snap and crackle of flames in the fireplace. He closed his eyes and imagined himself back at his family home, a century-old ranch house presiding over one hundred seventy-five thousand acres of the finest horse and cattle land in Montana.

  When his term in D.C. was done, he would return home to Montana and never again leave. Marcia could have the run of their houses in Washington, D.C., and London, for all he cared. Better yet, they may never see each other again; the political expediency---the only reason for their marriage---would end with his final term as a senator. The marriage had failed the day she realized he harbored no political ambitions for the White House. The fact that he did what most people considered a damn fine job representing a state in which cattle outnumbered people three to one did not imply he was capable of leading the country. He had to convince his colleagues, many of whom would be at the club in an hour, to stop bringing up his name in the presidential-nominee discussions.

  He was tired; all he wanted was to go home.

  "Long day, John?" The man's voice, a polished tenor that hinted at expensive breeding and education, seemed familiar, but John could not place it.

  His eyes flashed open. His fingers twitched, but otherwise, he did not move. Aplomb, cultivated through years in the political arena, kept his voice steady. "Who are you? How did you get in here?"

  Beyond the glow of the fire, a man stepped out of the deep pools of shadows and into the light.

  John's eyes narrowed. "You? What are you doing here?"

  "Tying up loose ends."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Twenty-eight years ago, you contributed to the greatest tragedy in the history of mankind."

  His jaw dropped. "What?" John shook his head. "What are you talking about?"

  The man chuckled. "Your indignation is so real. Like all the others, you're convinced that your pretense of ignorance justifies your denied responsibilities."

  "What am I ignorant of?"

  "Of the child you fathered."

  "Cheryl?"

  The man shook his head. His smile mocked the senator.

  "Cheryl is my only child," the senator insisted.

  "And you are certain?"

  "Of course I'm certain. Do you think my political career could have survived the decades-long scrutiny? There are no other children."

  The man sighed. "You are no different from the others. I find it ironic that the only one who acknowledged his responsibility and tried to help was the one least equipped to do so. Perhaps his plight convinced the rest of you to deny me."

  "You?" For a single, terrifying moment, John's mind blanked. He shook his head, the motion frantic. "No, that's impossible---"

  "Twenty-nine years ago, you and your wife sought the advice of geneticists, including Roland Rakehell from Pioneer Laboratories---"

  He shot to his feet. "For Cheryl, not for this---" John shook his head, his teeth clenched in a grimace.

  "This?" The man echoed. "This what? Abomination?" He took a single step forward.

  The senator, known for meeting all his political challengers with a steely gaze, stumbled backward into his recliner. He cowed as his unwelcomed guest closed the distance.

  The man did not raise his voice. "Does my perfection make me less human than your precious daughter, the in vitro?"

  John's denial was a barely perceptible shake of his head. A thin sheen of sweat coated his palms. His heart raced, pounding in his chest. "I didn't know..."

  "I am your greatest contribution to humanity, your most triumphant legacy, and you never knew?"

  "No, I swear. If I knew, I would have...I---"

  "To top off your affection, Father, twenty-eight years ago, you voted to deny me my humanity."

  John stammered, "It was an unanimous vote in the Senate and in the House. Your birth forced us to confront the questions we'd been avoiding. The people needed assurance. They needed to know they would not be supplanted."

  "By me? But isn't that the point and purpose of evolution? To ascend ever higher? Other living creatures accept that the strong will thrive, and that their genes will pass to the next generation. But humans have created societies to protect them from change. The weak cluster to protect themselves from the strong, never thinking that the strength they reject could be theirs and their children's, if they would only embrace it." He paced with the grace of a prowling tiger around John's recliner. "Your shortsightedness will doom this country."

  "In America, individuals matter. We don't tread over their rights or dismiss their concerns just because a new and better model comes along---"

  "Ah, the tired, old song of individual rights. You tread over the rights of derivatives, and you don't even realize its dissonance. There is nothing just, nothing equitable, about protecting the rights of the weak while trampling over the rights of the strong. Nothing moral about denying an innocent child his claim on humanity."

  John released his breath in a shuddering sigh. He knew he would not survive the night. "What are you going to do?"

  The man's smile was a flash of white teeth in a face of sculptured, unparalleled beauty. "You must atone for the dual roles you played in this travesty---"

  "But you have your humanity now. The legislation the president passed three years ago---"

  "Do you think humanity is something bestowed by legislation? What a child doesn't receive, he can seldom later give." The man completed his predatory assessment and stopped in front of the senator. He shook his head. "What is the perfection that Rakehell saw in you?"

  John suspected he knew the answer: conviction of belief, a willingness to accept the entirety of his strengths and weaknesses, and the lack of ego to aspire beyond them. In the man standing before him, however, he saw no such humility, no such acceptance.

  He found no evidence of humanity in Galahad.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Jade Kerrion holds B.A. degrees in biology and philosophy from the J
ohns Hopkins University and an M.B.A. from the University of Virginia. When not writing or working, she ekes out time for dance and computer games. She resides with her husband and two sons in Fort Lauderdale, Florida.

  Find other Double Helix novels:

  http://www.amazon.com/author/jadekerrion

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  http://www.jadekerrion.com

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