In Italy, the enhanced had been the target of local citizens’ groups for the longest time. So far, they’d shot at least seven of the transgenics, proudly showing the bodies of the people they’d killed, saying, “They presented a clear threat to the safety of the Italian people. We are the people. They aren’t.”
It all added up to xenophobia by mobs of the uninformed and bigoted, nothing less and nothing more.
Naturally, the Italian police decried the violence, but they hadn’t done anything to stop it, and so far no arrests had been made.
In France’s case, while the enhanced weren’t persecuted, at least outright, they had been shunned by most of the populace. “We are committed to including them in society,” said Bernhard Lambert, an official government spokesperson.
A tall, slender man in his fifties with a head of snow white hair and a kindly, lined face, he seemed most sympathetic to the transgenic and human rights cause. “They are French citizens and should therefore be accorded the same rights as anyone else.”
Noble words and nobly spoken, but the few enhanced who had come forward had also been met by indifference, and had soon disappeared into the vast forests surrounding the countryside. The police considered them vagrants and nothing more, but they hadn’t arrested any, at least not for the moment.
As for Spain, the government officials professed to deal with them on a humanitarian basis, but with few funds and the limited education most of the transgenic group had, those in the enhanced group had gone underground—or so the reports had said. All of these reports dated back to roughly three months earlier. There’d been no reports since... until now.
Finally, Harry stopped thinking about things and came out with, “I know about the other hybrids from reading about them online. But we haven’t been contacted by anyone.”
“Okay, then we’ll wait.” Farrell’s cellphone buzzed and he flipped it open to say, “Yeah, they’re here. Come in.”
“Who is...” Harry started to say, but the door opened.
As he turned around, Jason Parham and Tina Mazerowski stood in the aperture. Jason, tall, skinny, and geeky looking with long black hair and an angular face, held a small paper bag as he stood next to his girlfriend. Tina, also tall and slender although not quite as skinny as he, bobbed her head. “Hey guys, welcome home,” she said.
“We never left,” Anastasia commented in a dry voice as she got up to give Tina a quick hug.
Jason and Harry gave each other an awkward fist bump. Formalities observed, Farrell asked for a rundown on the latest developments. Tina walked over to the computer. “This isn’t my regular laptop,” she said as she got seated, “but it’ll do.”
Her fingers began to fly over the keyboard. Midway through her typing, she stopped to pat her pockets. “I’m out,” she said. “Jason, have you got my stash?”
A confirmed chocoholic, she never seemed to be without something dark, chocolaty and sweet, and it constantly amazed Harry how she remained so slender. Jason proffered the bag. “Got it here,” he proclaimed.
“Gimme.”
He handed it over. “There you go, Tina.”
A sour look crossed her face. “We’ve been going out for a long time and you still call me by my real name. I’m Maze. I think I’m going to officially change it to that.”
Stifling a laugh, Harry thought about her nickname. She’d gotten it due to an almost preternatural ability to hack into any mainframe or get into any site, including the FBI’s database, the NSA’s, and the CIA’s. None of those organizations had been amused in the least at her efforts. The latter two were even less amused when she and Jason went to work for the FBI.
Maze rooted around in the bag and came out with five delicate slivers of something wrapped in elegant gold foil. “Oh...” she said with delight. “Jason, you are so thoughtful! This is La Diva, the best chocolate around!”
“Only the best for you,” he replied, affection coating every word.
Quickly, she took off the foil wrappers and shoved all five pieces in her mouth. A satisfied “Ah” sound came from her and she got back to typing. It seemed all was forgiven.
Soon a map appeared. It was of Rome, and she pointed at it with a chocolate-stained forefinger. “This is what I was searching for before you called us, sir,” she said to Farrell and hastily licked the remaining chocolate from her fingertip. “You asked for unusual heat emissions. We found them.”
“And where would they be?”
Jason walked over to tap a key. Maze got an annoyed look on her face, as if perturbed someone had the temerity to invade her personal space, but said nothing. “It’s here,” he said, “right under the Vatican.”
He had to be kidding. “What’s going on down there?”
Harry posed the question, but he felt he shouldn’t have asked. The Vatican had their secrets, and they weren’t about to give them up so easily.
“Satellite imagery suggests people,” Jason said. “That’s what the guys in Intelligence are saying.”
Maze tapped another key. A sharper image appeared, one of the Vatican, and then another of a thermographic image. It showed twenty people in a chamber deep beneath the surface, perhaps twenty meters down if not more.
Staring at the picture, Harry wondered who might by down there, although he was pretty sure. The question remained as to why those people had taken up a position under so powerful an organization. “Do we go?”
Anastasia seemed to arrive at the same conclusion and a thoughtful look appeared on her face. “Those people might be like us. They also might have clues to where other transgenics are hiding.”
It was also possible Istvan was still alive. “Are you thinking the same thing I’m thinking?” asked Harry, trying not to sound too positive. Even if this was some kind of trap, he felt obligated. Istvan had saved his life in Russia, freeing him from a jail cell, and he owed the little man.
She nodded. “Istvan, yeah, I’m thinking about him. If he’s alive, we have to go after him.”
“Agreed,” Farrell said. “He’s too important, and we need him.”
The meeting soon broke up after that, with Farrell saying he needed some time to make the proper calls. Sitting in a lounge downstairs, Jason leaned against his girlfriend with a look of love in his eyes.
“Yeah, we’re going to get married one day,” he said after Anastasia asked him about it. He put his arm around Maze’s shoulder and gave it an affectionate squeeze. “And you, Harry, you wifed her! That is totally cool!”
Trust Jason to come up with a dumbass statement. His best friend had often used the term, “wifing someone,” and now that it had come to pass, he felt more than a little uncomfortable hearing it. “I married her, Jason. Use a regular term, please.”
“Well, I think it’s cool, too,” Maze affirmed. She’d gotten a few chocolate bars from the candy machine down the hallway, and was busily shoving them in her mouth as fast as possible. “Are you into having kids?”
Fur or not, the red in Anastasia’s face showed clearly. Jason withdrew his arm and elbowed his girlfriend. “That’s a little personal, don’t you think?”
After his previous social faux pas, he shouldn’t have said anything, but he had, and Maze got an annoyed look on her face. “No, it’s not,” she replied with an air of indignation. “Married is married, and sometimes kids happen.” She nodded at Anastasia. “Am I right?”
Nothing came out of Anastasia’s mouth except for a mumbled, “Yeah, I guess so.”
“See?”
Harry said nothing, but decided if his wife wanted children, he was all for it, although he wondered what their kids would look like. When he’d done the DNA scan on himself as well as Anastasia, it showed an almost perfect split of feline and human. Since she was healthy and physically capable of having children...
The sound of coughing interrupted him. Farrell walked over to them, his hand over his mouth. He cleared his throat and said, “Sorry, the air’s sort of dry here.” He thumped his chest as if
to clear away any obstructive inner materials. “I’ll run you two back.”
In spite of the hacking fit, he seemed more comfortable now, and his color had returned to normal. Jason and Maze went back to work, but not before congratulating the Goldman’s on their marriage once again. “We gotta keep in touch,” Jason said.
“Count on it,” Harry replied. At first, it seemed odd to hear the name Anastasia Goldman, but at the same time, he found it a distinct thrill. Another rite had been passed, another step in his journey to adulthood.
Farrell drove steadily along the highway, and soon the noise, concrete and steel of the city transitioned into the green and quiet of the countryside. After he’d dropped them off, once inside their cabin Anastasia flopped down on the couch and waved at Harry in a playful come-here gesture. He willingly joined her and they put their heads together.
“Sorry about today,” she began. “It wasn’t your fault. It was mine. That host,” she practically spat the word out, “was a total jerk. I thought the attitudes of people would change since we got married, but no. They still think of us as freaks.”
“Not everyone,” he answered. “You remember the people who asked us to take pictures with them, right? They seemed grateful enough.”
“They’re the minority.”
Maybe so, he reflected. “If we’re going to change anyone else’s mind, then we have to start somewhere.”
They nuzzled each other for a few moments, and Anastasia peeked over Harry’s shoulder at the window. “It’s still afternoon,” she murmured in a husky voice, one that promised love and affection and a whole lot more. “It’s early, Mr. Goldman, and we might have visitors.”
No one had come around for the past two weeks, save Farrell. “We have privacy,” Harry answered as he picked her up in his arms. “Just don’t scratch, okay... Mrs. Goldman?”
She giggled as he carried her into the bedroom where they soon fell into the throes of love as all newlyweds did. Growing up shy and nerdy, Harry had never dreamed of meeting any girl, much less one as special as Anastasia, but an experiment of evolutionary proportions, a happy coincidence, and a whole lot of raging hormones had brought them together, and now they were here...
Day soon turned into night, but Harry couldn’t sleep. He pulled on a pair of jeans and stood near the window, waiting until night fell. A sense of unease overtook him... he didn’t know why, but he felt something was out there.
No, not something... he sensed two beings. Opening the door a crack, he listened carefully. One of them had light, almost delicate footsteps. The other’s footsteps were heavier, plodding... and powerful.
“You hear anything?”
Anastasia had come up silently from behind him, and he marveled at her aural ability. During his transformation in the Genesis Chamber, the process on him had been interrupted. That was why she had a tail and he didn’t. She was also somewhat stronger and possessed a keener sense of smell and hearing.
However, in terms of speed, he could actually outrace her and figured they’d matched up well, if not equally. As they were the only two of their kind—so far—it wasn’t as if they were going to look for anyone else.
Anastasia placed her hand on his shoulder. “No, I don’t hear anything, but...” she sniffed the air, “I smell something. No, check that. I smell two of them, but only one has a smell... like food. The other smells like a wet dog.”
So she’d come to the same conclusion he had. In turn, he also tasted the air with his nose. An odor of oil and pasta wafted its way into his nostrils. Ridiculous—the nearest Italian restaurant lay over twenty miles away. Still, this person, whoever he or she was, didn’t give off any bad vibes.
In the past, other hybrids, either human and one species of animal or a composite of two or more animals and human, had often set off alarm bells. It was as if his instincts had developed to the point of being able to instantaneously separate friend from foe. This time, one of these visitors wasn’t a foe... but at the same time, he, she or it might not be altogether friendly. As for the other, he didn’t want to take any chances.
“You’re going to think I’m crazy, but it smells like someone’s been eating pasta. The other one, yeah, it smells like a wet dog—and a really dirty one.”
Anastasia chuckled, but her laugh carried no humor in it. “I don’t think you’re crazy. For the record, I agree with you.”
She raised her head toward the ceiling and walked around, her nostrils dilating and expanding rapidly. “You’re right. I smell meat sauce... pasta... and someone’s added oregano.”
“So either we’re being pursued by a giant bowl of spaghetti or else...”
Anastasia beat him to it and jerked her thumb at the door. “Let’s go see who’s out there.”
Carefully stealing outside, they split up, with her taking the right flank and him taking the left. Unlike some other celebrity couples, they had no surveillance equipment installed. They preferred to keep a low profile, as low as possible under the circumstances. Both of them felt with added security, it would be a matter of time before some nut came around to test them.
In any case, no one other than the human variety of life had come around... until now. Harry crept quietly along the forest floor, picking his way here and there, smelling and listening for anything other than human or cat. His sense of smell wasn’t as finely developed as Anastasia’s was, but he could still discern a number of different odors at the same time.
To his right, he caught the scent of five rabbits out foraging for a late night snack, and beyond them, he heard the rustle of an owl’s wings as it sought its evening’s prey. He heard a squeak which abruptly cut off. Field mouse, he thought. Bad luck for you... but a good evening’s meal for Mr. Owl. He continued listening, every nerve ending on edge, waiting...
Something leaped out at him. He only got a brief glimpse of something short, squat, and with heavy legs. It jumped him from his side and knocked him down, its fangs gnashing and its claws going for his face. “Kill you, kill you!”
Not a very friendly first meeting, thought Harry as he replied with a smash to the thing’s face. It continued to attack and succeeded in slashing his right forearm. Blood spurted out, and Harry, emitting a bellow of rage, slammed the palm of his left hand against the thing’s face. Rolling aside, he got to his feet, his claws out, ready and waiting.
“Kill you!”
Not friendly at all, and although the thing kept slashing at him, Harry, being the quicker of the two, shucked and jived and managed to stay out of arm’s reach while darting in occasionally to land a few blows to his opponent’s face and body.
“Kill you, kill you,” the other animal-person repeated in hoarse grunts. Its vocabulary consisted of only two words, but it obviously had some intelligence as it backed off, shaking its head and pawing the dirt.
Getting a good look at it, Harry saw a combination of a warthog and a man—brown fur, elongated nose and piggy eyes, but no tusks. Instead, this thing walked like a man on oversized feet and also had extremely long claws, perhaps five inches in length. It was immensely strong, but also slow. “Who sent you?”
This time, the other creature didn’t offer its usual two-word reply. Instead, it leaped forward, arms extended, which left its throat vulnerable. Harry judged the thing’s leap, stepped aside with a millisecond to spare, and let fly a slash that tore its throat out. It collapsed in a heap.
No time to celebrate, as the sound of another struggle took place off to his left. “Anastasia...”
Wasting no time, he ran over to the source of the sound and heard his wife saying, “Hey, don’t struggle, I won’t hurt you.”
Arriving at the scene, he found Anastasia holding onto a rotund little man. Short people weren’t uncommon, but this man was far from common.
At the height of barely five feet, he resembled a mole more than anything else, with a tiny twitching nose and even tinier eyes, oversized and powerful looking hands used most presumably for digging, and a gray, furry
body. He squinted up at Anastasia, made a faint squealing noise, and fell silent.
“Are you okay?” she asked. “Your face and arm are bleeding.”
Panting, he acknowledged her question with a nod. “I had a run-in with a warthog. He’s... history. I’ll heal.”
She started toward him, but he waved her off and took a good look at their captive, clad in stained and torn blue overalls. The smell of pasta and oil was unmistakable. “If you’re a refugee from a pasta factory,” he said to the visitor, “then I’m going to be really disappointed.”
“It is my last meal,” the mole-man replied in a thick Italian accent. While his English wasn’t perfect, he made enough sense for Harry to understand. “I go to restaurant in city below. I eat what they throw off. I then come here.”
Harry motioned to the scene where his most recent altercation had taken place. “I want you to meet a friend of ours.”
They escorted him to where the body of the warthog-man lay. Immediately, the little mole-guy began to shake. “I do not know that thing. I come... came here to tell you. I was sent.”
“By whom,” Anastasia wanted to know.
“My friend... he tell me come here. So I come to tell you and warn you.”
Instantly, Harry’s hopes began to soar. Only one other transgenic person in the world, as far as he knew, had been there before. It couldn’t be anyone else. “Your friend’s name... what is it?”
“He... I don’ know his name. He never say it to me. But before I leave to come to this country, he say to me to give his two companions, Harry and the beautiful Anastasia, a message.”
Anastasia bent over to ask, “What’s the message?”
“Piggy lives.”
Separation Page 3