George leaned in closer to the screen. The high-definition monitor was as clear as ever, but the recording was grainy. It wasn’t meant for close-ups. He frowned and scowled and squinted each way he could. “I don’t suppose we’ve had this sent off to get the images cleaned?”
“Not yet. We only just had the situation a short while ago, George. These things take time, and they require that you actually call on the appropriate parties.” Her voice was sharp, but he ignored the slight.
“Yes, I’ll get on that.” His tone was snide. “Just as soon as I’ve handled every other whim of yours for the day.”
“And you call other people cheeky. Honestly.” Still, she smiled a little. Anyone else would have been fired, but George was allowed a little room. It was one of the benefits of being someone she trusted.
He pointed to the male in the dress slacks and bloodied shirt. “He almost looks like… ” His voice trailed off. “Is that even possible, Evelyn?”
“Well, I would hope not, but no body was ever found, now was it, George?” It had been over four years since the last time Bobby had tried to contact her. After he stopped trying, they had to assume that Seven was dead and Bobby along with him. They were inseparable, after all.
George stared hard and slowly shook his head. “Seven? Could he be alive after all of that?”
Evelyn leaned back in her seat and sighed, making herself stay calm. There was a possibility that her son was alive out there, along with his other half, Subject Seven. The boy who made her life a better, brighter place and the monster who’d taken away her husband and son. “We’re going to have to work under the assumption that he is.” The thought sent a hundred different feelings through her. Seven. Alive. Was that even possible? Did she dare hope for that? After all that he’d done, after all that he’d taken. Her hand moved to the necklace again, fondling the ring and the tooth next to it unconsciously.
“Well, that’s not a comforting notion, is it?”
“Not at all.” She rose from her seat, wincing slightly as her legs protested. She might have kept her figure, but age was starting to wear away at her joints.
“Make sure you get one of the teams prepared.”
“One of the teams?” He frowned for a moment. “Rafael’s group?”
Evelyn nodded. “Yes. Rafael’s team should be the best suited for this.” She waved a hand of dismissal. “In fact, send him in here. I need to have a talk with him. After that, we can send him out with the cleanup crew for the second building. It’s best to have a backup plan for something like this, don’t you think?”
George frowned more deeply. “Right away.” He disapproved. She could understand that, but it was necessary. Rafael was the best and brightest of the soldiers they had available.
“I know you disagree, George, but this is for the best. I need him to know what Seven is capable of, and I need him to look at this footage.”
“Do you think Rafael is strong enough to take on Seven and what looks like others?”
“There’s only one way to find out, isn’t there?” She looked at her second and he in turn looked back at her, his face an impassive mask.
He wanted so much to argue with her, to remind her of what was at risk, as if she didn’t already know the possible outcome. There were no choices, really. It had to be this way.
“I need to consider all of the ramifications. I know that, George. But I also need the best we have to look into this and Rafael is the very best.”
George left without another word. That was another reason she’d hired him. He knew when to keep his mouth shut.
She needed to think. Her fingers danced around the ring, the baby tooth, and she made her hand move down. Sentimentality was not required just now. She had to keep control of her emotions.
She was once again toying with her trinkets when George and Rafael came back. Rafael was a striking figure, older than he looked by several years, which meant he looked almost like an adult. Almost. His face was still young enough to fool many people, though she’d known a few baby-faced adults in her time. His hair was dark, his uniform pristine, and his eyes carried the same dark, predatory glint that marked almost all of the Doppelgangers when they were in combat mode.
“You wanted to see me, Ms. Hope?” He got directly to business. She liked that about him.
“You’ve read the reports on your predecessors, haven’t you, Rafael?”
“Yes, ma’am, per your orders.”
She nodded. “What do you remember about Subject Seven?”
Rafael responded quickly. “Subject Seven was considered the first true success, physically far superior to a regular man, with a very high IQ and the first obvious Alpha tendencies. He escaped or was abducted from his home just a little over five years ago.”
A necessary lie. They had never made clear that Seven had escaped. They had no need to plant the idea of dissent into the ranks.
“We believe we might have a lead on Seven, Rafael, and we believe he has gone rogue. But I need you to confirm that before we send a retrieval team in.”
Rafael tilted his head slightly and nodded. “What certainties are there that this is Subject Seven?”
“There are none. From what I can see in the film you’re about to watch, he appears to be using Alpha tendencies, meaning he’s leading the others without words. But I need you to be sure of that.”
“How can I be certain? Alpha abilities are unique to each birth lot.”
Birth lot, a polite way of saying the genetic batch that a Doppelganger was born into.
“True, but didn’t you once tell me there was interference when you were dealing with other Alphas?”
Rafael contemplated that for a moment. He’d been the one to point out that while he could not force his will onto a different lot of Doppelgangers, he could always tell who the Alpha was because there was a mental resistance, a sort of feedback that was like white noise whenever he tried to read them. Since he had pointed it out, several other Alphas had confirmed the same thing.
“So, go find out. Either it’s Subject Seven or one of the Doppelganger teams we sold to the military is hunting us down. If it’s the latter, we can work it out easily. If it’s Subject Seven, we might have an issue on our hands.”
“And if it’s Seven?”
“If it’s Subject Seven and you can take him down, do so.” She looked at Rafael and took his measure. Against almost anyone, he was more than a match. He’d been tested extensively in combat situations and on obstacle courses. He could easily bench-press five hundred pounds and had a reaction time that was documented at one one-hundredth of a second, ten times faster than the reaction time of a trained athlete. Still, she wasn’t completely sure if he could take Subject Seven without getting himself killed in the process. He was close to the levels they’d reached with the original test subjects, but none of the original subjects had matured to Rafael’s level. Even with the procedures they’d used to chemically age the Doppelgangers, they were still physically not as matured as Seven. They weren’t likely to be as physically powerful. “If it looks like he has the upper hand, retreat and we’ll consider our options.”
Rafael tried to hide it, but she could see the arrogance in his face. He didn’t think he could take Seven, he knew he could take Seven. “Rafael, I chose you for this because you are one of the very best soldiers at my disposal. You are an amazing fighting machine.” She could see him resist the desire to preen. Evelyn did not give out compliments lightly and he knew it. “But when he was ten years old, Subject Seven was already stronger and faster than you.”
Rafael blinked, surprised.
“Listen carefully to me. If he did escape from us, if he wasn’t abducted, then he killed over ten people the night he escaped. He injured or crippled twenty more. Do not assume that he’s weaker than you or slower than you. And just because he hasn’t been trained by us doesn’t mean he hasn’t been trained. Do not underestimate him. Do I make myself clear?”
Rafael snap
ped to attention, duly chastised. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Very good. Come watch this tape with me. Look for any weaknesses and help me decide what’s going on with the rest of the people with him.”
“Do you think they’re like him?”
“Not quite. Either they’re some of ours, or they shouldn’t exist.”
Intrigued, Rafael sat in one of the chairs George offered and started watching the tape.
Chapter Thirty-three
Joe Bronx
Theyentered the Stevenson Hotel through the front doors, and while a person or two might have questioned why they had wet pants and shoes, no one gave them grief.
The wound in Joe’s arm was almost completely mended. His dress shirt was gone, left in the sewer because, as Joe had learned over the years, people might not question dirty pants, but they always asked about bloodstains. The hotel room door opened just like it was supposed to. Joe Bronx walked over to the dressers and promptly began pulling out clothes as the Others stood around looking at him.
“What are you doing?” Not-Gene looked at the dress slacks, the sets of shoes and the accessories, for men and women alike, and scowled, not with anger but curiosity. His face was an open book, and that was fine with Joe. His mind was already an open book. He couldn’t exactly read all of the guy’s thoughts, but he could come close. It was one of several things that separated him from the rest of the Others. Not-Gene was curious. He was waking up more every minute, becoming a real personality instead of a puppet. Joe wasn’t sure if he liked that part.
“What are we doing,” he corrected. “We’re going out. We’re going to have a nice dinner and we’re going to party.”
“Cool.” Not-Tina smiled. Her face lit up when she smiled. The rest of the time she just looked like a girl ready to go on a killing spree. Her mind was not as much of an open book. She was like looking in on a gathering storm, her mind adrift with violent flashes of rage and overwhelming sensory winds. Somewhere in that hurricane were thoughts and emotions that were easier to read, but like the rain-drops in a storm, they seemed almost inconsequential.
“Why?” Not-Gene again. He was a downer.
“Because we can.” Joe shrugged and tossed a pair of charcoal slacks at Not-Gene, who caught them easily. “Those should fit. I had to guess, guys. We’ve never really met before.”
Not-Gene was not modest. He stripped out of the too tight clothes and quickly began to dress.
“We’re going to have a proper talk, boys and girls. You see, our counterparts, they’ve got certain impressions about us. I helped them have those impressions. I intend to make sure they keep those impressions for as long as possible.” He threw more articles of clothing and watched as the others got changed. Not-Kyrie was surprisingly shy. Not-Tina stripped down without hesitation.
He enjoyed both views.
“What do you mean?” Not-Kyrie asked the question as she slipped into a pair of shoes that looked slightly too small.
“I told our other selves that we were looking for a way to coexist.” Joe looked from one to the other, doing his best to read their faces. “That’s not quite true.” He waited until he had their attention, all of them. “I intend to find a way for us to keep living while they go away. Permanently.”
They listened, but none of them said anything. They still had so much information to absorb.
When everyone had finished changing, he went into the bathroom and lifted the top off the back of the toilet. There, taped carefully in place, he found the stack of twenties he’d hidden away.
When he moved back into the room, Not-Kyrie was putting on a light layer of makeup from the small collection he’d purchased earlier. What the hell did he know about cosmetics? Only enough to know that some girls wouldn’t willingly leave a room without having put the stuff all over their faces.
“So, here’s the deal. None of you have ID yet. We’re going underground after dinner.”
“Underground?” Not-Cody’s turn to frown in confusion.
Not-Tina answered first. “We’re going to clubs that are illegal. No carding, no getting kicked out for being underage.” Joe nodded. Like the others, she was getting more of a personality, more of a defined sense of self. She had been awake longer than most of them, well, more often, at least. Both Not-Tina and Not-Kyrie had served very important purposes since he’d awakened them.
Joe nodded. “We go in, we talk, and maybe we get lucky and score a few new friends for the night.” He made sure not to look at either of the women. He didn’t want them getting the wrong ideas. He wasn’t looking to settle down and sure as hell not with one of the women he’d be spending the next few weeks or months dealing with regularly.
Not-Cody looked grim. “What if they come back?”
Joe shrugged. “Then they come back. It’s going to happen. We can’t stop it. Not yet, anyway. I mean, I can help you wake up, I can keep you awake, I think, but sooner or later, Hunter will come back and he certainly can’t help you. Wouldn’t even if he could.”
“Why not?” Not-Cody. He was as curious as a baby, which worked well enough, considering.
“Because he thinks we’re the bad guys. We’re the monsters.”
Not-Cody seethed, his face twisting into a dark storm of rage. “They’re the ones keeping us locked up! Not the other way around!”
Joe smiled and held up his hands in mock surrender. “Calm down, chief. You’re preaching to the choir.” He shook his head. “We’re going to discuss that very thing. We’re going to figure out how to get rid of them. All of them. Forever.”
Not-Gene looked his way for a moment and slowly the brutal features of his face moved into a small, tight, satisfied grin. A moment later the others were smiling as well. Sometimes you just had to let people know you were after the same thing. After that, it was easy.
Chapter Thirty-four
Joe Bronx
When they sat down, Joe ordered coffee for everyone. Caffeine helped them stay alert, stay changed for longer. If they were like him, they wanted the fix, wanted to be free for as long as possible. The group looked ravenous. Fortunately he’d chosen a restaurant that was known for its generous portions. Changing required a lot of calories. As near as he could figure it out, the physical transformation that their bodies went through when they shifted from one form to the other burned about the same calories as a five-mile run. Bones had to grow and change, and muscles had to change with them. It wasn’t just a matter of getting a dye job for the hair. The entire body was altered. Cody to Not-Cody meant putting on a lot of weight, enough to make the difference very noticeable. Cody could eat a dozen pizzas a day for months and not put on the weight that came with becoming Not-Cody. The science of changing was unknown to him, but he knew that every time he took back his life from Hunter, he was so hungry that eating a cow seemed like a nice notion for a snack.
The Others were just as hungry. The four newborns tried everything they could think of and ordered more afterward.
They didn’t spare much time for talking until the feast. But as they settled down to look at the menus, Not-Cody got a petulant look on his face.
“What’s wrong?” Joe asked. “Nothing you like on the menu?”
“I don’t know what I can eat.”
“Why not?”
“Cody’s allergic to shellfish and peanuts.”
Bleed over again. Not-Cody shouldn’t have known anything about Cody. This amount of bleed over would have been enough to guarantee Cody’s death if he’d been one of the subjects that Janus had decided to keep for observation. Joe smiled. “Cody’s not allergic to a damned thing. He just thinks he is.”
“He breaks out.” Not-Cody spoke with the conviction of a religious fanatic.
Joe’s fist slammed into the tabletop hard enough to rattle every plate and glass. People at other tables looked toward him with worry and irritation. He ignored them. They were insignificant. “You’re. Not. Cody.” The four others wore dark expressions, and he had to remind himsel
f how hard he’d worked for self-control. It was easier, so much easier, to take offense, to cut loose and devastate whatever crossed your path. But it was best not to antagonize them. He thought he could shut them down, revert them back to their Jekyll forms, but could he do it fast enough? He didn’t know and didn’t want to test the theory.
When he spoke again, it was with his mind.
You’re not Cody. You don’t have his mind or his weaknesses. Any allergies he has, they belong to him.
Not-Cody didn’t have the ability to speak mentally, so he spoke out loud instead. “How do you know that? If I eat a shrimp, how do you know it won’t kill me?”
His real voice again, now that he had calmed down enough not to want to yell. “You’re new to the world. I get that. All of you are new.” He made sure to look each of them in the eyes. It wouldn’t do to offer insult by ignoring any of them. “I’ve been around for five years.”
“Five years?” Not-Gene sounded doubtful.
“Five years. What can I say? Hunter was an early bloomer.” A necessary lie. He’d been around a lot longer than that, but trying to explain it would take too long. “I’ve had five years to work out details, to learn things. One of the first things I did was to get DNA samples taken of me and my counterpart. What I can tell you without fail is that, as far as that test was concerned, there was no genetic correlation between me and Hunter. Not even close enough to be distant cousins.”
Not-Kyrie shook her head. “Not possible. I saw you change.”
“You saw Hunter become me. We’re not the same. I’m almost a hundred pounds heavier than he is. I’ve developed more body mass, more muscle density. I can see better than he can. I can hear better than he can.” He started lifting one finger for every point he made. “I heal faster, I move faster, I fight better, cook better, read more and even dress better than that loser. He’s probably a virgin and I might as well be a slut. We’re not the same person. We just got stuck occupying the same space. Get it?”
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