"If I have to. The Transnationals know I would not heedlessly accuse."
"Surely you realize that such an action will result in an investigation that could lead to a nasty court process. One that will indict the innocent as well as the guilty—if guilty there are. We appreciate your concern, but We feel you are overreacting. Bianca has made great strides in her research efforts—the Transnationals are particularly impressed—and if a few small animals have to be sacrificed, why, that is how science produces miracles.
"At least Doctor Raborman uses expendable beasts. Which is far better than some research scientists have done in the past. Wouldn't you agree?" A brutal, but necessary reminder of her grandfather's own transgressions.
She flushed at the barb. "Neither is acceptable when it involves changing the nature of the subject," she answered quietly. "Be it my grandfather's grand scheme or Bianca's obsession."
"Point noted. However, Doctor Raborman remains at Tartarus. She has been a valuable contributor toward keeping genetic endeavors on the cutting edge—as have you."
Watching the shifting anger and disbelief flashing across her face, he'd quickly added. "Ellery, I don't pretend to know the finer points between violation and non-violation, but I see nothing in those notes that could be construed as incompatible with the terms of the World Research Agreement and it is certainly acceptable to the Transnational nations. Isn't it possible you are responding to Doctor Raborman's research from the pain of Victor Dakota's?"
She hesitated and he could see her mind mulling over the question. He pressed his advantage. "With that in mind, and taking into consideration my lack of genetic expertise, We want you to continue to keep Us advised of any suspected impropriety. We will take appropriate action if deemed necessary."
He watched her intently, his fingers steepled below his chin until the silence became almost unbearable. With a deep sigh, he gently removed the summaries from her grasp.
"All right, Ellery. It's obvious you are not convinced that a monitoring plan will solve your problem. That only leaves one alternative. Since you think the Foundation should be closed, consider it done."
"I didn't say I wanted Tartarus closed. I said I wanted Bianca Raborman removed."
"One is tantamount to the other. These are serious allegations, Ellery. Believe me, We don't want a scandal any more than you do. So, if you'll provide Us with a list of all of your research personnel, and I mean every one of them, We'll take it to the board first thing tomorrow."
"But they're not all guilty!"
"Perhaps no, perhaps yes. The courts will have to decide that issue."
"Even if they're found innocent, there will always be those who disbelieve. Their reputations will be ruined, their careers destroyed, and God knows how their families will survive. Holiness, I can't—how can I do that?" Her shoulders slumped.
Recalling the look that had flashed across the director's face, Munoz could understand why her staff held her in such awe. Her brilliance aside, she was steadfast to a fault. But she would change. Oh, yes. Before he had finished, she would change.
Believing he would close the Foundation and crucify the innocent, she had agreed to cooperate.
Reaching across the desk, he drummed his finger on the brown envelope. Every month, like clockwork, he received an update on Bianca's activities. The scientist knew nothing of these monthly reports. It was better for all concerned if she remained unaware of Ellery's clandestine visits to the lab. This way, he retained full control.
He glanced at his watch. While his staff prepared their population control plans, he would chat with Bianca. She answered on the second ring; a faint heat suffused his groin when her face appeared on the telescreen. After a few moments of pleasantries, Munoz launched into the reason for his call.
"The ape, Bianca, she is progressing as you hoped?"
"Except for this last series." A scowl pulled her brows down. "The arms have lengthened, however the musculature has thinned too rapidly. I'll have to adjust the serum."
"Hummm. Perhaps the protein compounds are off balance. Have you discussed the problem with Doctor Jensen?"
"Hardly! You know how she feels about this."
"I need to talk with her today anyway. There's no sense wasting time if she can shed any light on the subject."
"This is my project, Raphael," Bianca flared. "It has Nobel written all over it. I’ll not have Ellery Jensen listed as contributor."
"Now, Bianca. Doctor Jensen doesn't need to know the reason for my curiosity. You will find the answer, We know, but We would prefer it was sooner than later. I'll let you know what I find out." He flicked the telescreen off before she could answer. She would fume, but she would wait for him to call back. While she waited, her extraordinary mind would remember his offhand comment about proteins. It would already be working on the solution to her problem.
He reached for Ellery's envelope, withdrew the last page and read the first paragraph.
". . . fortunately Bianca has polluted the protein compounds. If she continues with this line of reasoning, the animal will soon be out of its misery, thank God. You must call a halt to these bizarre experiments, Holiness."
He stuffed the page back into the envelope.
His gaze wandered to the stack of papers on his desk that never seemed to get any less. He would finish these tonight and tomorrow there would be more; a never ending stream of decisions and tours and papers to sign. How he missed the countryside with its ever changing colors.
You are a man of the world, his father had said, and his father was right. He loved the cool smell of spring blossoms, the sweaty heat of summer, the crunch of leaves beneath his feet. Most of all, he loved the fragrance of fresh cut Christmas trees and the wet flakes of falling snow.
Munoz took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. He reached for his seal then pulled the first manifesto off the stack. No matter. He would have all the time in the world to enjoy those pleasures, he thought. Later, when the Plan was complete. He could wait.
Chapter 19
Ellery
Ellery mashed potatoes as she listened to the carolers sing their way down the wet street; their voices lifted in joyous praise of a child who had uttered his birth cry beneath a great star. For a startled moment, she thought she recognized the rich basso cantante of Charles Lakeland's voice; it was only the wind singing a mournful accompaniment as it blustered around the corner of the house. She stared out the window. Three years since his death and she could still hear his voice.
The scent of holly berry drifting from the living room mixed with the fragrance of baked ham, roasting turkey, and mincemeat pie.
"Want some cream and butter in those potatoes, Mom? Hello? Anyone there?"
Victoria's smiling face swam into view. "Sorry, I was thinking about something else. What did you say?"
Vickie pointed to the potatoes. "Cream? Butter? They won't be so lumpy that way," she teased.
"You're right. A little to start with. You can add more later. Is the salad done?" She glanced at the clock. "Have the boys called? Their plane should have touched down an hour ago."
"No, they haven't called. Ned probably didn't give them time. And yes, the salad's done." Vickie opened the refrigerator. "And the table's set," she continued as she pulled out the cream carton and a cube of butter. "And the tea is ready." She poured a thin stream of milk into the potatoes. "What were you so deep in thought about? The fire again? I wish they'd get that settled. You would think three years would be long enough to make a decision, even for a Washington bureau."
"Keep in mind, Vicki, Tartarus is an international institution with five nations to satisfy. The investigators have to be absolutely certain nothing has been overlooked."
"Humph. I think they wanted to make sure that their uncles and brothers had guaranteed jobs. That's what I think," Vickie said.
Ellery smiled. "Then you'll be pleased to know they stamped the investigation closed last week. It seems everyone has finally agreed that Charles st
ored a flat of organic combustibles at the rear of the maintenance space next to a solar intake screen. One of the vials overflowed and exploded which set the others off."
"Charles? Combustibles?" Vickie stood incredulous.
"That's what the investigators said. I have my own theory, but without witnesses I can never prove otherwise. The fire destroyed any evidence there may have been."
"What about the sea pumps then? Whoever worked on them should have to carry some responsibility. After all, if the pumps hadn't malfunctioned, Mr. Lakeland might still be alive. Martin Abelso, too."
"We checked that in the beginning, Dear. It was Martin's name on the pump log."
"Now wasn't that a handy coincidence. Speaking of Doctor Raborman, what's she been up to lately?"
"Now Vickie, you mustn't judge because of personal feelings. A little more cream, please." Her daughter obliged with another stream. "To answer your question, Bianca is developing a serum to increase libido for the long-lifers," Ellery said as she whipped the milk into the potatoes.
"That makes no sense to me at all. Boosters have been on the market since the twentieth century. Why is she going over old ground?" Vickie's tone implied she'd never heard of anything so dumb. "In fact, according to a news article I read last week, the long-term results on V-IV came in at a plus ten score. One user even claimed it did the job better than nature ever did. That's pretty impressive."
"I read that article, too, Vickie. 'A twenty-five year follow-up program has shown that V-IV produces results without the cramps, nausea, and temporary blackouts so common with its predecessor, Viagran III' blah, blah, blah—a biased report, like so much of what we read or hear."
"Now who's being cynical?" Vickie grinned at her mother's sidelong glance.
"Although written by a freelancer, the story was edited by Viagen, the largest pharmaceutical corporation in the United Americas and holder of the Viagran patent. That news account failed to mention that V-IV induces impotence after prolonged use. Bianca's working on a DNA correction that will be tailored to each specific individual. The serum is simply a delivery system. She spent last week reviewing the records of those who are taking the life extension treatments." Ellery hesitated. "But that isn't what's bothering me. I have more serious things than virility to discuss with His Holiness."
"Since you won't tell me, anyway—I'm not going to ask," Vickie said archly. "It's Christmas, Mom. Whatever it is, worry about it next week, Okay?"
"I can't."
"What do you mean—you can't?"
"Next week, dear daughter, I have much more important affairs to think about." She tweaked Vickie's cheek. "Like your wedding. Or have you forgotten?"
"Is that next week?" Vickie's grin stretched from ear to ear. "I knew there was something I was supposed to do but I just couldn't put my finger on it." Her eyes glowed with happiness.
Watching her daughter, Ellery felt the same amazement she had felt when Ned Harris requested permission to marry Vickie. Knife poised over a golden breasted turkey, she had stood transfixed. Staring at her child, she realized—for the first time—that her baby had grown into a beautiful young woman.
How fast the years have flown, Ellery thought. Six years ago, she was pleading to learn a new exercise alongside her brothers, and now, Matthew's politicking in Washington, John's building power grids, and Vickie's getting married on New Year's Day. She smiled as she turned her attention back to the bowl of potatoes. Maybe by this time next year, she'd be a grandmother.
Vickie, unlike her brothers, wanted children. After Matthew's revelation, she had finally accepted her heritage and was proud she carried the BH gene. Even when her brothers teased her about what BH stood for.
A chance remark from Papa's assistant when the twins were born, they told her. A Bighead, they teased, rubbing the back of their own skulls. That's what it really means. If you ever get married and have a boy, Vickie, it's going to be a Bighead.
I don't care, Vickie would say, throwing a pillow or a stuffed animal at them. I love Bigheads, I've had you two to practice on.
Then the laughing tussles would begin.
Ellery chuckled. Sometimes, I think those two sons of mine are a mite jealous of their little sister, she thought. Jealous they can't give the same birthright to their children—if they ever have children. She carried the cold potatoes to the warmer and set the timer for two minutes.
She was wiping down the sink when the doorbell chimed. Vickie's face grew luminous. "I'll get it." She disappeared into the living room.
Hearing her daughter's happy shrieks, Ellery quickly dried her hands. Matthew and John were home. As she stepped into the living room, her mouth dropped open.
"Dane Wyland! We didn't expect you until next week."
"Miss Christmas dinner with my best friend? Not on your life. Besides, before I give her away I wanted to meet the man who stole her heart from me." He swung his gaze to Vickie. "What a fickle woman you are, Miss Jensen. After taking the best years of my life, you toss me aside like some old shoe and run to the arms of another man." He threw up his hands. Laughter filled the room at his expression of resigned despair.
"Are you surprised, Mom?" Matthew and John spoke in unison. "We all had to work some tight flight schedules to be able to come in together," Matthew continued.
"We wanted to surprise you and Vickie," John added.
"Well surprise me you did." Ellery held her arms wide to the three young men in front of her. After giving each a firm hug, she turned to her waiting daughter. "Vickie, show them to their rooms while I finish setting dinner on the table. Don't dally," she called after them as the group, chattering like magpies, climbed the stairs. "You'll have plenty of visiting time after dinner."
She hurried back to the insistent buzz of the cooker. Adding more cream to the potatoes, she reset the timer to warm. If only the days could stop, she thought. It would let me have a little extra time with my children before His Holiness arrives.
Thinking about the Pope's imminent visit, Ellery squared her shoulders. She would try again to make him understand what was happening at the Foundation and this time, he would not only have her detailed report, he would also see what that report was telling him. This time, there would be no interpretive ambiguity.
She shuddered as she remembered the morning he had informed her that Tartarus had come under the directorship of The Church of Universals. The morning, a year later, when her plans for ousting Bianca had come to naught.
Ellery grimaced at the memory. Much as she disliked the thought, he had been right in his assessment; she had let her Dakotan ancestry color her judgement. Worse, she had let it affect her timing. A grievous error. One that removed her leverage and rendered her unbiased observations suspect.
She had been so intent on keeping the Dakotan name—and Tartarus—free of further tarnish, she forgot that untrained eyes would not, could not see what she knew was there, hidden deep within the folds of Bianca's miracle cures. Not then.
Ellery inhaled deeply. I tried, she thought. God knows, I tried, but he didn't understand. Now we have that hideous ape changeling in a Foundation laboratory. It wouldn't surprise me at all to find she has embarked on another project of horror to present to His Holiness as harmless research. The stove timer dinged as if in answer. "When he sees the ape, he'll appreciate what I've been telling him," Ellery muttered as she carried the potatoes to the table. "I don't care how talented she is. Either he removes her from the Foundation or I will resign as Director. I will no longer be a party to such cruelty."
"Enough, Ellery," she scolded herself. "Enjoy Christmas. You have happier things to think about than Bianca Raborman." She stood back, surveyed the festive table, and sniffed in the aromas.
"If anybody's hungry, it's on the table," she called out.
Happy chatter and glowing faces responded.
Chapter 20
George
George huddled in the ell formed by the cold steps of the gazebo and the squared base of its wa
lls. In the distance, he could hear the muffled sweetness of carillon chimes playing "Silent Night". He cocked his head at the faint sounds of Christmas merriment echoing into the dark park. Fools, he thought. All fools. The warning howl of a speeding ambulance jammed its voice into the sweetness. George shuddered.
"The bitch," he muttered. "She did it on purpose. I know she did it on purpose."
A sudden gust of wind swirled into the byplace. Shivering, he tugged the ragged hem of the all-weather coat beneath his buttocks and pulled the frayed collar tight against his neck.
Blown by the wind, an empty Coke can rattled across the cobblestone walkway and slammed against the steps. It teetered on end a moment before another gust sent it clattering back down the walk. George held his hands over his ears as if the bouncing can made a painful noise.
"Go 'way," he slurred. "Play somewhere else."
The siren's howl abruptly ceased.
Reaching between his cocked legs, he pulled up a dirty bottle and tipped it to his lips. "Somfbitch, all gone," he said, his voice filled with surprise. He threw the bottle into the dark, laughing with a croaking sound as it shattered against the stones of the walkway. "All gone, you somfbitch. Don't need you anymore." He wiped his hand across his mouth and sucked at his tongue.
"Merry Christmas, Sir." A satined alto caressed his ears.
"Fuck Merry Christmas."
"Ummm. Merit in that, also. However, it's a bit too cold and a bit too wet, don't you think?"
George pulled his head out of the coat collar like a turtle from its shell and tried to focus his eyes. "Who are you? What do you want?" A figure knelt beside him. He sniffed a familiar fragrance. "You're a she!" He scrabbled sideways, his legs slipping on the wet grass.
"So I am."
He felt her hand on his arm.
"You must be freezing," she said.
Her body settled next to him.
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