Vision

by N. D. Hansen-Hill

  Marcus nodded.

  “I think that's why the Board's so eager to dump it. The agency wants it, and the Board wants to dump the responsibility. They're afraid the backlash for ‘activity’ will be personal.”

  “Jail time for participation?”

  “Probably. Stupid, really. The ISO's in the position to eliminate any incriminating information. I was hoping a demo—paid work in answer to a challenge—might get the Board members to change their minds.”

  “That's why you sent Wingot and Magnus to Mexico.”

  “And now we're supposed to get paid for it. Helping out another branch of the agency. Only, it backfired. Our damned partners may not even have to pay to take the Clusters off our hands. Not if the Board has its way.”

  “So, if we want to keep the ‘Project’ going...?” Marcus prompted.

  “We're going to have to generate some money to cover expenses. Make the Project pay for itself. Convince the Board that it can, without collateral damage. I've already reminded them that after years spent covering for the Clusters, it's only recently that some unusual side-effects have begun to manifest themselves.”

  “Suddenly, they're useful.”

  “Something like that.”

  Marcus smiled. “You've been talking to Hanover.”

  Charles Smythe smirked. “Very enthusiastic, is Hanover. The only one on the Board who is. He can't wait to see what they do next. So, the brief has changed. Time to get them to perform.”

  * * * *

  Dustin was still at his desk at eleven-thirty that night, when the security monitor came on. They had set it up so the screen would catch their attention, even with the headphones on. Most of the staff worked with headphones, including Dusty. Either you were synchronising sounds and music to an animation, inspiring yourself in order to sling something creative onto the screen, or trying to forget you were sitting on your butt in front of a monitor while the rest of the world went by outside.

  So far today, he'd fielded calls from Ren and Josh, Jamie had emailed him twice, and Erik had hung around far longer than was necessary. It seemed they were determined to look out for him, no matter what he did. Between the pounding headache, a work deadline in his face, and the constant feeling of exhaustion, they were driving him crazy. At this point, he didn't want to see anyone—not even Ren. He just wanted to be left alone.

  The monitor wouldn't have flashed unless somebody was outside the building, wanting in. Unless it was Ren, or maybe Josh, out there, they couldn't be certain he was here. Let them think I'm out, prowling the streets. Leave me to it, so I can meet my deadline.

  Part of being independent, he thought. Making choices. I'm choosing to be left alone.

  “You've got mail” popped up in his face. Damn Jamie! If he went to the email programme, James would have one of those Reply to Sender things.

  I can always answer no.

  He picked up the phone, punched in his code, and changed the message on his answering machine. “I am not taking messages, answering the door, or opening my email. Will you kindly fuck off, so I can get my work done?”

  I'll have to remember to change that, before the office opens...

  * * * *

  Ren couldn't sleep. She'd smiled when she'd listened to Dusty's answering machine, and even now, she didn't feel hurt. He was going through a lot right now, and he wasn't the only one longing to disappear for a while to sort things out. Ever since these ideas about genetic influences had entered her brain, she couldn't seem to get rid of them. There was no one she could talk to, who wasn't directly involved.

  In a way, she was really glad everyone was focussed on Dusty. Having Valterzar out of the picture helped, too. She knew she was being insensitive, even cruel, but she didn't think she could hold up under his probing gaze right now. He'd know something was wrong.

  Zar with Merrie, Dusty with her. It was the other thing that was getting to her. Was their attraction real, or just a response to some chemical cue? Was there a correlation between the changes in Dustin's retro, and his attraction to her? Like the Myxomycetes which came together to spawn? Ren began to cry.

  Once she'd started, she couldn't stop. It seemed like she'd loved him forever, but did she love him any more than Josh or Jamie did? Than Merrie or Erik? Than Valterzar? Was she being a victim to some influence beyond her control, that had nothing to do with loving someone?

  It had been brought back to her forcibly today—the way they all clung together. They were all worried about Dustin, just as they'd all been worried about Zar. Was this the way normal people acted? Would I do this for any of my other friends? The work friends, on the “outside"?

  I'd visit them if they were sick...

  If one of them was in the hospital, maybe, or rang me up to ask for help.

  But this is different. We've known each other since we were kids...

  Not Valterzar. Yet we stormed his house, too.

  For the first time, Ren was glad Dusty wasn't here. As she paced restlessly, she planned what she was going to say. It was time to pay Charles Smythe a visit.

  Chapter Eleven

  I have a right to know. It was probably the hundredth time she'd thought it, and it got her through the door and into his office. She was concentrating so hard on her own nervousness, that it took her a moment to recognise his.

  He was petrified. Of her. She looked up, all her own fears forgotten, and met his eyes. He knows I'll be able to read him, and he doesn't want me to. “I'd like to see the original files on the Project,” she blurted.

  He'd never expected this. It had been easy for him to think of Valterzar as an employee, and Erik as a glorified clown, but neither one had ever wanted background information. Erik, because he knew he didn't have the technical training to understand, and Valterzar, because he'd probably guessed his own genome was suspect, and didn't want to know more. But Smythe had controlled the others, Kithren Magnus included, for ten years now. What had triggered this sudden interest?

  “Why?” It was obvious why, but he was stalling. She knew it, too.

  “Because I want to know what kind of ‘gene therapy’ we were given.”

  “It saved your life—” he began.

  “I want to know if it was human.” The moment she'd said it, she regretted her choice of words. It was as though some bell had gone off in his brain. He wanted to know why she wondered about the “human” part—what manifestations had brought her to this point.

  And he was going to do his damnedest to find out.

  She stared at him, suddenly aware of something else, that sent gooseflesh dancing across her skin. He was going to tell somebody—a partner—an agency. Somebody who was much better than he was at finding things out.

  I've been so blind. Most of her life she'd been watched. It was another thing that she'd taken for granted. In its own way it had been comforting, to know there was someone there, to catch her if she fell from a podium, as she had that day at the conference. It had been all one with the special schooling, the isolation for exams, and the acknowledgment that none of them were quite “normal".

  “That's an odd statement.”

  She realised he was talking to her, and she tried to pretend she was still in control. Tried to make it seem as though some part of her wasn't cringing, and trying to run away. She swallowed hard. “Dr. Drewsome—”

  Shit! What's wrong with me? She'd reverted to the nickname they'd used for him as kids. It was as though all her confidence had deserted her, after tuning in on Smythe's thoughts.

  She cleared her throat. “Dr. Garris said something once about—” she thought quickly, “—how experiments could sometimes be dehumanising,” she lied. “It just got me thinking.”

  Cover. You've got to cover.

  Be tough. Somehow, she had to re-establish the mood he'd had when she'd entered the room. When he'd been afraid of her.

  Ren stood up. “I have a right to know more about what was done to me. I'd like to see my file.”

  “A
ncient history,” Smythe told her. “I'll requisition it, but it'll take a while.”

  Another lie. He could access it on his computer. All he needed was the password.

  “Tragedy,” she muttered. She looked up, to find him staring at her aghast. That was the password. “Nothing,” she mumbled, frightened at the way he was looking at her—the thoughts that were running through his head. “I-I didn't say anything.” She didn't know what to do.

  She ran. His thoughts were racing now, and he was thinking about detaining her. He was scared, all right, but he was also thinking about the ways he could use her, after this little demo. The ways those others—the ones he was going to call—could use her, too. She'd never fight them, because she had too much to lose. Because they'd threaten the other members of her Cluster.

  She slammed the door to his office, and then kept on running. Around her, voices and thoughts and words came pounding into her head. At one point, as she neared the front door, she found her feet slowing; reacting to some of the confusion in her brain.

  I should never have come...

  They'll be following me.

  Go home. If you don't, they'll pick you up now. Go home.

  She stopped only once, at a pay phone. All around, she could sense eyes on her. They were watching now. They'd wonder who she was calling.

  Valterzar picked up the phone. Ren didn't wait for him to say hello. “Is Merrie there?” she asked urgently.

  He frowned, worried. “What's wrong, Ren?”

  She was fighting back tears. “Let me talk to Merrie. Pleas-se."

  Merrie was on the line the next moment. “Are you okay?”

  “I need you to do something for me,” she hissed. “Talk to Dr. Drewsome.”

  Merrie froze. “What about?” she asked, through stiff lips.

  “Find out if he had any backups, that aren't on Symtech's computers.”

  “What's happened, Ren?”

  Ren glanced around. “I talked to Smythe.”

  Closing in...

  She suddenly realised something else. Merrie wouldn't want to know if it wasn't human DNA. None of them would. It was too horrifying to contemplate.

  Look how I'm reacting, and I'm a scientist.

  “I have to go...”

  Go. Get out. While you can...

  "Ren!" Merrie sounded scared.

  They were going to get her if she didn't run.

  “Forget what I said!” Ren told her quickly. “It-It's nothing!” She slammed down the phone, then picked it up again to throw them off. She punched in the first number that entered her head, then let it drop.

  Trying to appear calm, she got back in the car and headed for home.

  Behind her, at the phone booth, a man picked up the receiver and listened—stunned when he heard a familiar voice. “Dana?” he asked, incredulous.

  “What happened to the phone, Max?” Dana asked him.

  “Nothing—just a misdial. Must have been thinking about you,” he said.

  “Who was that?” the other man asked, after Max had hung up.

  “Believe it or not, that was my wife,” he replied. Max didn't sound too happy about it. Having a client punch in his home phone came across like a threat. His voice was angry as he told the other man, “Magnus punched in my number.”

  * * * *

  Merrie put down the phone slowly. She trusted Zar with her life—with all their lives—but this wasn't his job any more. Very deliberately, she turned to him and gave him a lingering kiss.

  His eyes glinted. “Distraction, Merrie?” he growled against her ear. He kissed her deeply, then asked, “What's up with Ren?”

  It was so tempting. Whatever the official status, Zar was still their team leader.

  And my lover. My Love. She wanted to blurt out her worries, but her sense of fair play wouldn't let her. Zar no longer had Symtech's support to back him up. Over the past six years they'd embroiled him in so many things that had cost him in headaches, time, and—during this last episode—injuries.

  She knew, even better than the others, how hard Symtech's decision had hit him. He was gratified by the way the group of them had reacted, but that didn't mean he needed to resolve their problems any longer. Ren's difficulty, whatever it was, remained just one more in a long line of chaotic events. Merrie felt confident they could resolve it on their own.

  It's just that if Zar were handling it, whatever it is would be resolved a lot faster...

  But she couldn't do that to him. It would be like torture, involving him in this latest escapade when he had neither the means nor the support to act. Running counter to Symtech at this point might only involve him in some sticky legalities—or illegalities—that his psychiatric practice didn't need.

  Merrie rubbed against him, then gave him a big smile. If it didn't quite reach her eyes, he didn't say anything. “She wants me to do something for her.”

  “What?”

  “A favour.”

  Zar tilted his head.

  Suspicious. Merrie's smile faded a little, and she looked around for her purse. “She's really worried about Dusty.” At his expression, she admitted, with some asperity, “It's just one more glitch, Zar. No more or less than a dozen other glitches over the years.” She wrapped her arms around him. “Just one more little problem.”

  “And you think I'm better out of it.”

  She met his gaze seriously. “Yes. Sometimes I wish I—” She froze, and her eyes brightened. Why the hell not? Why did she let Symtech dictate her life? Why did Ren let them frighten her? The only reason they were involved at all was because, years before, Symtech, or Symbio, or somebody who worked for them, had goofed. They'd used some form of human experimentation, and they were still paying the price.

  No longer.

  I don't need them. I have Zar as my helpmate, and he has me. Dusty was right. We don't need Symtech. They'd hurt her nearest and dearest, and dammit if she'd have anything more to do with them.

  Excited now, she gave him another big kiss, her expression enthusiastic. “I love you,” she told him, then ran out the door.

  On the way home, she rang Dusty. He was answering the phone again, but he sounded grouchy as hell.

  “You were right,” she blurted.

  “About what?”

  “Symtech. Ren had some kind of a run-in with Smythe this morning, and she's all upset.”

  “Is she okay?” he asked quickly.

  Merrie smiled. “I think so. Maybe you should ring her, though,” she pushed. “Find out what it's about.”

  “Thank you, Merrie,” Dustin told her drily.

  “I'm writing them a letter.”

  “Who?” Sometimes he found it a little difficult to follow her reasoning.

  “Symtech. Zar's letter made me think of it. They're supposed to be doing us a favour, not running our lives.”

  Dusty said slowly, “You're going to ‘terminate their contract'.” She could tell from the sound of his voice that he was smiling. “Dammit, Mer—that's brilliant! Technically, they can't do anything unless we want them to.” He hesitated. “Are you going to tell the others?”

  “Only the revolting ones,” she chuckled. “Like you.”

  “In revolt, Woman. Get it right.” Dustin sounded cheerful. “I may even beat you to it. I think I'll send ol’ Charlie an email. Follow it up with a formal letter.”

  “Talk to Zar, Dusty.”

  “About the letter? Better a fait accompli. It'll mean more then.”

  “No, you fool—your head. You're driving everyone crazy.” She added, “It's all about taking responsibility—”

  Dusty smiled. “—for my own well-being.”

  “No point in having Symtech denounce your letter as the product of a deranged mind,” she said brightly.

  “Ever so positive, aren't we?” Dusty said sarcastically. He lowered his voice. “Look, I already called the neurosurgeon Zar suggested. I've got an appointment.”

  “Good. When is it? One of us'll drive you.” />
  Dusty dug around on his desk, and found the slip of paper. November twenty-fourth. Eight weeks from now. He could guess how she'd react. “I have it here somewhere,” he lied. “I'll get back to you.” He hesitated. “I missed Ren last night. There's a possibility she's a little bit peeved. Put in a few points with her for me, okay?”

  * * * *

  Charles Smythe read Dusty's email, then leaned back in his chair. He punched in a number and spoke to Marc Jekkes. “I've just received a note from Dustin Mallory, ‘resigning’ from our programme. He extends his thanks, but says that since he's now entirely self-sufficient, he'd prefer to be self-governing as well.” Charles’ voice was amused. “Arrange to have Mr. Mallory sent somewhere he can test his self-sufficiency. Somewhere with an overdose of history, and some strong vibes. Like a battleground.”

  * * * *

  Dr. Drewsome.

  Ren knew Merrie didn't like to do this—not willingly, anyway. That must mean it was important to her—maybe important to them all. Drew Garris was a name from their past.

  He'd run the Project, for a long time, anyway. He'd earned the name from their visits to the lab, and for the way he'd made them manifest their “gifts". “Show me,” he'd say.

  Merrie had hated him. For the most part, she remembered her childhood fondly. She and Jamie had always been close, and Erik had become the friend of her teen years. The patterns formed, broke apart, and reformed, endlessly. On again, off again, in the way of kids. “I'm not gonna be your friend", but then the next day, you were.

  Erik had been Dr. Drewsome's favourite. It was probably the only “gift” he could see a use for, and Merrie had sometimes wondered whether Erik's decision, to go for the money, wasn't in some way influenced by Garris. He'd certainly made Erik feel he was worth any two of the rest of them.

  Or maybe he just made the rest of us feel we were worth only half of Erik...

  Garris had despised Jamie, which may have been part of the reason Merrie had disliked the man so much. Now she could see how his actions may have been based in fear. He also had trouble with Ren, because she could read him too well. He could control her, though, simply by overloading her nervous system with input—punishing her by taking her on a “field trip", usually to some place like the subway station, or the airport. Places where people were tense and focussed, especially toward anyone who was in the way. Ren always found herself in the way in places like that.