“Yes. That’s true. It’s only Fritz. The others were all killed by … by Helmann’s nemesis.”
“Waldhart de Rochefort,” said Katrin.
“The same. He’s very cunning. And dangerous. And he has caméleon friends.” Georg turned back to Katrin and held the necklace out again. “Here. Take it. I kept it all these years in hopes you weren’t really dead.”
She fingered the necklace for a minute. Then she passed it back, a look of regret on her face.
“Take it back,” said Katrin. “What am I supposed to do with it anyway? Hide it under the mattress? Fritz will see it.”
Georg’s face fell. “I didn’t think of that. I just thought you’d like it.”
“I’d like lots of things, Georg. Like getting free from Uncle Fritz, for starters.” Her face softened. “But thank you.”
No, no, no, thought Skandor. This was going completely the wrong way. Honestly, how could Katrin have a brother like this … this … worm? It was appalling to consider.
“I could free you,” said Georg. “I could take you away.”
Skandor stood, indignant. Dragons did not rescue warrior-maidens. That was the part of a hero; that was Skandor’s destiny.
Katrin’s face twisted. Skandor could see yearning in her expression, but there was fear, too. “If I vanished, he would kill Hanna. Or worse. She only lives because Fritz can use her to get me to do things he wants. Soon he’ll decide we’ve both outlived our usefulness, no doubt.”
“All the more reason to come away with me,” urged Georg. His left eye was twitching again.
“Don’t ask that of me!” Katrin’s eyes flashed fire. Then she took a deep breath, as if to focus. “Listen, Georg, this is important. Was it my imagination, or was Uncle Fritz happy that Hanna couldn’t vanish the last time we were together?”
Georg’s brows drew together. “He might have been … eager. Something was off about his reaction. I remember noticing it.”
Katrin nodded. “When it comes to Uncle Fritz, it’s always safe to assume he’s employing deception. Why would he be happy she couldn’t vanish? He’s already got Neuroprine to stop us from disappearing.”
“Maybe he was just … I don’t know, Katrin. Maybe he wasn’t hiding anything.”
One of Katrin’s gloriously arched eyebrows arched a bit higher. “Don’t tell me you bought that story about making us a better enzyme treatment!”
“He is making a better enzyme treatment. He’s already succeeded in making the injections last for four months. I haven’t had a treatment since June. And I was very, very sick at the time.”
“Really?” Katrin frowned. “Well, if Fritz has concocted a better enzyme treatment, it’s not out of the kindness of his heart. It’s because he got tired of keeping track of who needed their shots.”
Georg shrugged, unconvinced.
“Come on, Georg. Uncle Fritz isn’t trying to cure us. The only real question is why he hasn’t killed all of us yet.”
“Why would Fritz want to get rid of you? He saved you, didn’t he?”
“I don’t know. Uncle Fritz is crazy. I refuse to speculate as to the desires of a madman,” said Katrin. Then her brow furrowed. “Although, if I were to speculate, I’d say we should look at what we know about him. He’s selfish and he’s cowardly. I’d say he wants to live in a world where he’s the only one with a magical ability.”
Skandor felt an imaginary shudder running through him. The “only one”? How many cloakers were there, exactly?
Georg shook his head. “No,” he said.
But the “no” wasn’t uttered with conviction. Georg said it the way you said something when you really, really wanted it to be untrue and you knew it wasn’t, thought Skandor.
“I refuse to believe Uncle Fritz would take such a mad step,” said Georg.
Katrin grunted out a small laugh. “You refuse all you want. Right up to the moment he says, ‘Georg, my dear boy, won’t you roll your sleeve up for me?’”
“He likes me,” said Georg. “He trusts me.”
“Oh, Georg,” said Katrin. “You’re so naïve. Listen, there’s something else you should know. Fritz is desperate for other cadres.”
Georg nodded. “I know. He would do anything to get additional angels under his wing. That we can agree on, at least.”
“He needs lab rats,” said Katrin, a look of disgust on her face. “Lab rats who can vanish. So he can cure everyone of it and achieve his own peculiar brand of world domination.”
“That’s crazy, Katrin.”
She shrugged.
Neither of them said anything for half a minute.
“Listen,” she said, at last, “not that I haven’t enjoyed our little tête-à-tête, but do you actually know how to put me back under?”
The words flashed through Skandor’s mind: Vial, Door, Mirror.
“Yes,” said Georg. “I know the words.”
“What are they?”
Georg seemed reluctant, and this was not lost on Katrin.
“Oh, come on. You barge in here, hand me a necklace, tell me your secrets, and you’re not going to tell me the passwords?”
“I can’t say them out loud,” said Georg. “You’ll fall asleep.”
“Oh. I suppose that’s true.” Katrin looked appeased. “So, do you think you could write them down? I’d like to memorize them. Just … in case they might come in handy.”
Georg patted his pockets and removed a pen. He searched for a scrap of paper and found an envelope in another pocket. In cramped handwriting, he inscribed the words: Svegliati. Vai a dormire.
Skandor glided around carefully to read the inscriptions.
“Italian?” asked Katrin.
“Yes,” replied Georg.
“Huh. Well, he likes Italian opera. Go figure.”
“Come with me right now,” whispered Georg. Skandor saw the raw longing on Georg’s face. “We could leave together. Don’t you care about me at all?”
Katrin’s face pinched with the same combination of fear and yearning Skandor had seen before. But she shook her head. “I can’t go, knowing Hanna would be in more danger. Find out what Fritz is up to. And find some of that … long-lasting enzyme treatment. And find a way to take Hanna with us. Then we can talk about leaving.”
Odin, but she was brave.
“Okay,” said Georg. His eyes were fixed on the floor, despondent.
“And, Georg? Of course I care about you.”
Skandor thought he saw a new look of determination flash in Georg’s eyes as he raised them to look at the alf-warrior.
Katrin scooted back onto the bed. “I’m ready,” she said. A flicker of fear passed swiftly over her face, and then it was gone. “As ready as I’ll ever be, anyway.”
Georg didn’t look ready to say goodbye, but he couldn’t seem to find an excuse to keep talking, either. “Vai a dormire,” he said.
And the warrior-maiden’s eyes closed. Then Georg wrapped his arms around her and the two vanished together. Georg did not reappear. It took Skandor a minute to recognize that Georg had no reason to come back solid.
For a long while, Skandor sat in the illumined room, staring at the apparently empty bed as if by the sheer force of his will, he could conjure the golden-haired warrior.
He could, though. He knew her passwords. But Georg had spoken of returning later, and Fritz would be nearby soon, and Skandor’s shift started in less than an hour.
Sighing, he rose and headed outside. He spent his work day with thoughts of cadres and polygamous cult leaders and mad experimental treatments whirling in his brain.
14
SIGUNN TO HIS LOKI
The day after Georg’s meeting with Katrin, Uncle Fritz was in a foul mood. Georg was working in one of the labs on the ninth floor. Behind him, Fritz paced and muttered about “those damnable regulatory and advisory boards,” while Georg continued some rather uninspiring work on Dr. Girard Helmann’s sunscreen.
After exhaling in an angry huf
f, Fritz took a seat at Georg’s side.
“They’ve invited Geneses Corporation, International to demonstrate research and development goals consistent with the highest aims of medical science,” said Fritz, making air quotes around the offensively phrased invitation. “Father would not have stood for it, I can tell you that much.”
Georg’s eyes flicked over his shoulder. His uncle was certainly in a communicative mood, which didn’t happen often. Maybe he could use this.
“Helmann would not have stood for it, Uncle, but it seems to me as if … may I speak bluntly?”
Fritz waved a hand in airy assent.
“It appears your hand is being slapped for the miscalculations of your late Father, regarding the … inoculation program.”
“Hmmph,” intoned Fritz. “The fines alone….”
Uncle Fritz rose and did not finish his thought, having drifted, Georg supposed, into another of his bouts of pacing and muttering and railing against interfering idiots. Georg applied himself to his work once more.
“I say, my boy,” said Uncle Fritz, stopping beside Georg once again. “How goes your project? With the improved skin protectant? Perhaps there might be something in that.” Fritz tapped his index finger thoughtfully against his lips. “The state of California is concerned holes in the ozone layer will significantly increase health care costs associated with skin cancers in the next decade.”
“Honestly, Uncle, I don’t think the product I’m working on would be a good candidate for proving Geneses is … how did you say it? ‘Pursuing developments consistent with the highest aims of medical science.’”
“Ah, facing setbacks with our research, are we?” Uncle Fritz nodded sympathetically. “Perseverance, my boy; perseverance is the key.”
Georg frowned. He didn’t like to contradict his uncle—particularly when Fritz was in a communicative mood—but Georg felt certain the FDA would never allow Helmann’s sunscreen to hit the market.
“What seems to be the problem?” Fritz asked, offering Georg the chance to speak.
“Well, the sunscreen does its job quite satisfactorily,” began Georg, holding a pasty white arm out for his uncle’s inspection.
“Good, good.”
“But the delivery of the organic agents absorbing UVA and UVB rays is problematic.”
“Problematic?”
“Yes, Uncle. The agents breach the skin’s barrier and enter the bloodstream, and the FDA is already under pressure to eliminate sunscreens which allow benzoates into the bloodstream, so I don’t see them looking favorably on the agents proposed by Helmann, which are actually more capable of delivering unwanted chemicals into the bloodstream.”
“I see,” said Uncle Fritz. Oddly, he looked more interested than Georg had seen in a long time. “Go on.”
“I am observing these agents crossing the skin barrier both transcellularly and intercellularly,” explained Georg. “I’ve made some progress reducing the intercellular activity, but the transcellular path is acting like a sort of highway to the bloodstream no matter what adjustments I’ve made.”
“Hmmm….” Fritz rapped two fingers against the black surface of Georg’s work station. Tap-tap-tap-tap. A pause. Tap-tap-tap-tap. “Regarding the delivery of the agent. You say you have only to apply it to the skin?”
Georg nodded.
Uncle Fritz clasped his hands behind his back. He gazed as if at the ceiling where one of the fluorescent lights flickered irritatingly. When he spoke again, it was as if to himself: “I wonder….” Then he seemed to have made up his mind.
Georg waited, expectant.
“Let’s take a look at what you’ve got so far, Georg. The research and the product.” Fritz smiled at his nephew. “Do you know, dear boy, it may be you have come up with the means to rescue Geneses from a great deal of unpleasantness.”
“Those ‘damnable research and advisory boards,’” said Georg, venturing a tiny smile at his uncle.
“Oh, yes,” said Fritz. “Yes, indeed.”
Fritz raised his hand, holding it within a patch of sunlight passing through the window by Georg’s station.
“Hmm,” Fritz murmured, twisting his hand back and forth in the light. Then he directed his full attention to his nephew.
Georg demonstrated the application of his custom sunscreen, and Uncle Fritz seemed genuinely fascinated. An examination of Georg’s blood five minutes after application showed the active agents in the topical lotion had, indeed, made their way into Georg’s bloodstream. Georg hadn’t seen his uncle this animated for weeks.
“If we can eliminate the transcellular pathway,” said Fritz, “while increasing distribution through the intercellular pathway, I might have a use for your unmarketable sunscreen after all, my boy.”
Georg hesitated. He wanted to ask what that use might be, but when he’d asked these sorts of questions in the past, his uncle had not responded well. So Georg did not ask.
“I desire only to serve you, Uncle,” Georg said, instead.
Fritz didn’t answer; he seemed lost in his own thoughts.
“You would like me to … continue, then?” asked Georg. Now might just be the time to ask for fuller access to Helmann’s papers.
“I would,” replied Fritz. “And I should like regular updates on your progress.”
“It might be helpful if I could examine some of Dr. Helmann’s later papers, as well,” suggested Georg. “And Dr. Gottlieb’s—Dr. Helga Gottlieb’s, that is. I feel as though I am missing something … something just out of my grasp.” Georg ran his thumbs nervously along the tips of his fingers.
“Yes, yes, of course.” Fritz was pacing again, but with a lift to his step. He returned to Georg’s computer and typed in a series of codes. “My father’s expertise is at your disposal, my dear boy.”
Georg had to bite the insides of his cheeks to keep from grinning. As far as Georg was concerned, Geneses Corporation, International and its California headquarters could drown in regulatory and advisory boards so long as Georg gained complete access to the observations and writings of Girard Helmann and Helga Gottlieb.
Georg had found himself attracted, on several levels, to the ideas the father and daughter shared about an evolutionary step forward for mankind. It reminded him of things Hansel used to say, before the two had made the break from Pfeffer back in France. Hansel had opined that mankind was slipping farther and farther from anything that could be called progress. And he wanted to make a difference, he told Georg. Together, Hansel insisted, they could still make a difference—just not in the way Helmann had projected.
What might it mean, Hansel had asked, to create a new future for humanity? Georg thought he saw such a future in some of Helga’s writings. Her strange ideas made themselves at home in darkened corners of Georg’s mind. He wasn’t ready to entertain all of her notions quite yet, but then, he hadn’t finished reading, had he?
Georg had completely lost the thread of his uncle’s current monologue. Fritz seemed to be railing against interference again, so Georg nodded appropriately, and he knit his brows as though, he, too, was quite as distressed as his uncle could wish.
Upon examining his uncle more minutely, however, Georg felt puzzled. Uncle Fritz didn’t seem particularly downcast at the moment. Rather, he was pacing the laboratory in a manner Georg associated with his uncle’s more, well, manic disposition. Somehow, the morning’s examination of Georg’s sunscreen had taken Uncle Fritz from a foul mood to one of eagerness or hope or … Georg wasn’t sure what.
“You seem … cheered, Uncle,” ventured Georg.
“Oh? Hmm. Well, we can’t let the bastards get us down, now can we?” Fritz smiled briefly. He was scrolling through his phone. “I think I might just attend the conference on Transdermal Routes of Administration in Fresno next month.”
Georg raised one eyebrow. His uncle eschewed conferences.
“You may take the remainder of the afternoon off,” said his uncle, “while I get myself up to date on your research. I’l
l see you for dinner in my office in an hour.”
Fritz was preoccupied to an unusual degree. All he seemed to want now was to be rid of the distraction Georg presented.
“Very well, uncle. I didn’t sleep well last night. I think I might rest now.”
“Excellent idea,” replied his uncle, his attention clearly diverted.
Georg made his way back to his room wondering what, exactly, had caught his uncle’s imagination so thoroughly.
He wasn’t, however, the only person to wonder.
~ ~ ~
Skandor had been spending more and more time in his cloaked form.
He overheard the conversation about skin protection, yawning his way through trans-this and inter-that. He’d been hoping the two would settle in to a long evening of research together, but that hope was crushed when Fritz “dismissed” Georg from the lab.
What Skandor wanted, of course, was access to the brave girl with the fiery temper. He dreamed of her, now. She played Sigunn to his Loki, just like in the little skits Mom and Dad wrote for the campers. But in Skandor’s dreams, the two raced from continent to continent, rescuing innocents in danger, leaping from airplanes or from buildings afire, saving those who were without hope. When he awoke from one of these dreams, it was always with a sense that something had been stolen from him.
He had to see the girl again. To get to know her better so that he could come up with the best possible rescue plan and warn her of the dangers of trusting Georg, whom Skandor found daily reasons to like less and less.
But Fritz and Georg were always around, which made it far too risky for Skandor to visit the captured warrior-maiden.
Of course, if Georg was really planning to nap for an hour, well…. That was plenty of time to go visit the girl and introduce himself. A sleeping Georg was a Georg whose exact location could be known. As Skandor knew from observation, Georg spent much of his free time cloaked, and Skandor didn’t want to do anything if he didn’t know exactly where Georg was.
So, this was it! An opportunity to spend maybe half an hour introducing himself to Katrin. He would have preferred several hours, but he would take this unexpected opportunity.
Knavery: A Ripple Novel (Ripple Series Book 6) Page 10