by Nathan Wall
“Tell me where the rift goes,” he barked through his teeth, his snarl opening up on the right side of his mouth.
“That's the thing about rifts,” Oreios laughed, “they can go anywhere. They're just wormholes that connect the parts of time and space that touch through a thin layer of reality.”
“Keep talking out of your ass.” Jackson pulled Oreios back, tilting his head over the side of the cot’s metal railing, bending his neck backwards. “Tell me why I shouldn't break your head off.”
“Because humans value the lives of fellow humans. That, I have to say, is a trait uniquely yours.” Oreios winked and lightly patted Jackson’s fist. He then rubbed Jackson's cracking knuckles, delicately sliding his fingers up Jackson's arms. “You know I can't tell you where it goes without seeing the trail, and that's something I can see only if I'm there. If you want your friends alive, you'll have to march out there with me and get them back.”
“I think I'd rather kill you.” Jackson wrapped his hands around Oreios' neck and squeezed.
“You would,” Oreios squealed, tapping the wall for mercy. He looked behind Jackson, pointing. “But. They. Wouldn't.”
Jackson let go, standing. He turned to see Sanderson, Elliot, Jarrod, and a slew of others standing in the doorway, watching. Oreios gasped for air, rolling to the floor and rubbing his neck. He coughed a few times before slowly standing.
“You better hope my lawyer doesn't find out about this little incident,” Oreios snickered, pulling himself back up to the cot. “I can tell you who opened the rift, and with any luck it'll still be fresh and I can reopen it. We can bring the welcome party to them before they have a chance to roll out the red carpet.”
“We're committed already.” Elliot nodded. “Let's do it.”
“And who is going to watch him?” Sanderson pointed at Oreios. “You've already left us plenty vulnerable.”
“I'll do it.” Jackson nodded, staring down at Shah who was standing in the background, his eyes pleading him to concur. “I've passed my physicals. Haven’t I?”
“He has,” Shah attested, nervously rubbing his palms together.
“Oh, a date.” Oreios sat forward. “I love going out with you.”
“I'm not sending one Double-Helix Agent in alone.” Sanderson shook his head. “We don't even know if the three we sent are still alive.”
“We don't know they're dead either, Bill,” Elliot yelled, walking into Oreios' cell. “If Jackson thinks he can handle the situation, let him.”
Jarrod could hear Mrs. Hanigan’s voice in his head, begging him to keep his promise. He did what he was always chastised for, and leapt into a situation without fully thinking it over.
“If you don't think you can send in one, then send in two,” Jarrod interrupted the bickering. Lian's eyes widened, looking him up and down. Everyone else turned to gaze at Jarrod. He looked at the floor, thought of the promise he made to Mrs. Hanigan, and nodded with confidence. “They may not be good odds, but they’re what I’ve got. I'll do the Double-Helix.”
“Impossible. It's shut down.” Sanderson shook his head.
“That's for me to decide.” Elliot suppressed his pleasure by biting his lower lip. He looked Sanderson over and pushed past him to stand next to Jarrod. “If this one fails, Sanderson, I'll put you out of your misery and end the Double-Helix.”
“I'll go too,” Lian spoke up. Sanderson faced her, turning white. His eyes lowered, slightly watery. She didn't need to read his mind to know how he felt. “It's better than building the psychic link from a distance. This way I can enter the rift with them and not lose communication. Who else is better prepared for this than me?”
“No one,” Sanderson said through a lump in his throat. He walked over and pulled her in for an embrace. “I know you're ready.”
“I know you do.” She grinned.
“I told you not to peek,” he replied, rubbing the back of her head.
“I couldn't help it.” Lian pulled back and wiped her eyes.
“Great, now I've got to babysit two kids and an asshole.” Jackson crossed his arms, visibly annoyed at the changing circumstance. He glared at Oreios who puffed his pillow as he lay back, winked, and flashed a taunting “thumbs-up.” Jackson left the room with a kick to Oreios’ gut. “I hope that jackass gives me a reason to kill him.”
“Follow me.” Dr. Shah grabbed Jarrod by the wrist, leading him down the hallway. “We have much work to do and very few hours to do it.”
Jarrod looked back at Lian. She stared back through the hug she was still sharing with Sanderson. Jarrod winked and grinned at her. She smiled back.
Episode 4
Twenty-five Years Ago
Sanderson took a drink of water from the glass on top of the podium. He shuffled his papers, turning his focus past the glare of lights and to the group of people listening to his speech. He thought about the woman's question.
What is ethical, after all? he asked himself, running his hand through his thinning and receding hairline, and exhaled slowly through his nose.
“When it comes to changing lives, preserving what we've come to fix in our heads as the memories we choose to cherish... in a certain light, yes. I believe it to be ethical.” He grasped the sides of the podium, holding himself up and nodding along with his statement. “There are several animals throughout time that have failed to evolve and suffered the consequences. They were eradicated by our own hand, whether or not we hunted them down for their fur or just interacted with their habitat with the most benign of intentions. Humans, by doing nothing other than acting by their own nature, have wiped out countless species. What if we were to turn the barrel of the gun on ourselves?”
Sanderson paused for a moment to let his statement ring out through the crowd. He cleared his throat, contemplating. The picture of his wife which he always had the podium with him to help concentrate smiled back. He looked at the group of scientists, journalists, and government officials, thinking about how his wife, Sarah, longed to have a child and how this research could help them.
“Over the past century—two decades even—disease, mutations, and cancers have sprung up at violent and unpredictable rates. AIDS is ravaging Africa and cancer has touched just about every home in America. It took Europe 150 years to recover from the plague and it spread relatively like wildfire in the thirteen hundreds. Imagine what could be done today, what is being done today, both by terrorists cooking things in a lab and by willing people who consume the wrong type of canned goods or have unprotected sex. Humans may have thrived with an evolutionary advantage to reach the point we have in the twentieth century, but we can't evolve fast enough to deal with what ails us now or what a sick mind can conjure. Infect the right person who has a business trip that hits Shanghai, London, and Chicago within the span of a week, you've already done irreparable damage. So when you ask if harvesting cells from a deceased individual in order to create a cure to better the human race is ethical, the answer is yes, I think it is.”
“There are some in the science community, notably the papers of a Dr. Elliot Foster, who say what you're suggesting couldn't be done unless you had a live specimen to retrieve these cells from.” A reporter in the front row stood, holding her tape recorder in the air. “So in theory, you'd have to clone these ‘pure cells,’ as you've called them, and then harvest them again from a living donor. What about the repercussions of playing God? What about breaking the law and cloning a human being? What would they think of themselves when they reach an age in which they could understand what they are? What about the madness of keeping them locked away so they can be harvested like a farm for everyone else's benefits? You'd be talking about breaking all sorts of laws.”
Does a brother bat an eyelash when he gives a kidney to a sibling? Do parents hesitate when they harvest bone marrow from one child to help the sickness of another?
Sanderson nodded. “Things would have to be changed, for sure. That's why all my research is purely speculative. However, I be
lieve it's the hard choices that are made for the benefit of the greater good, which taint the images of a few. Leaders do things that are unpopular with their people, but these things are done for their protection. Sometimes, we have to be willing to breach the ethical lines in order to preserve those lines in the first place. Then again, I don't think we'll ever see this in my lifetime. My research is theoretical. It's important to remember that it's the job of science to seek out and ask these hard questions of ourselves, but it's not always its responsibility to answer them.”
“Dr. Sanderson, I have one more thing to ask—”
“—No. I'm sorry, but that's all for now.” Sanderson smiled, raising his hand. He collected his papers into their folder and walked off stage. “I have a flight to catch. I'm eager to see my wife and I would hate to miss my ride home.”
“Interesting research.” A man in a sleek black suit approached Sanderson as he stepped off the stage. He offered out his hand and the two shook. “If you could spare just a minute of your time, I'd love to chat with you about your theories.”
“I'm sorry, but I really must be going.” Sanderson nodded. “Who did you say you are?”
“I didn't,” he replied, smiling. “My name is Elliot Foster. But please, refer to me as Elliot.”
“As in Dr. Foster, the guy whose theories were of great use to those who asked questions today?” Sanderson forced a polite smile, walking toward the door. “I thought you don't really see eye-to-eye with my research.”
“I don't on some levels, no.” Elliot walked beside Sanderson and continued. “But that's not to say I don't see merits in it, Dr. Sanderson.”
“Please, call me Bill. No sense in being formal when between colleagues.”
“Let's just say that I wouldn't be able to form my own conclusions without theories like yours, but there are gaps that I would love to have your help with.” Elliot pulled out a business card and handed it to Sanderson. “I believe in what you said, about the hard choices of a few.”
“There are no conclusions when dealing with theory…”
“This isn't theory. Not now.” Elliot stopped in his tracks and Sanderson turned to face him. “Just give me a call. We can change things.”
“Are you with the government?” Sanderson looked at the card and then back at Elliot. “Something like this shouldn't belong to any one political state. That's when agendas get involved and ruin things.”
“It's all completely, a hundred percent privately funded.” Elliot placed both hands on Sanderson's shoulders. “I believe we've found something to make your theories reality, but we need you to fill in the gaps. It wouldn't be right to continue without the man who started it all.”
* * *
Jarrod sat on the examination table with his shirt off. Only a small apron covered his private area. He watched intently as Dr. Shah moved about the room. A two-way mirror at his right reflected the scene. The creepy feeling of someone watching from the other side slithered up his back. A cold swab of alcohol on Jarrod's left arm broke his focus.
“What is it you're doing?” he asked.
“I'm about to inject you with a buffer, enabling your red blood cells to be more conducive for the process and increase your leukocyte count, all the while telling them not to attack the changes which will occur.” Shah squinted his eyes, slowly inserting the needle into Jarrod's skin. “There are also a billion or so nanites in this syringe that will help us closely monitor any changes that will occur.”
“Oh, I thought it was something technical and smart.” Jarrod laughed. “Basically, you're putting a chip in me like I were some dog? Woof, woof.”
“Not exactly. The nanites will make their way through your system in about seventy-two hours. You'll excrete them then.”
“Even better.” Jarrod scratched the back of his head, nodding. The smile then fell from his face. He tilted his head and looked at the ceiling, wondering. “Wait. Out of which end? Exactly how small are these nanites?”
“I wouldn't worry about it too much,” Lian said, silently closing the door behind her as she walked into the room. She blushed, looking over Jarrod's toned physique. Gasping for breath, she put her hand over her mouth, unable stop looking at his arms and chest. His broad shoulders looked like he could pick her up clear over his head. She looked away, unsure of what it was she was experiencing. After all, she'd seen well-built naked men before, but never felt like this. “I-uh... I mean, it's relatively unnoticeable when they pass.”
“What's relative when you’re shooting stuff out your pee-hole?” Jarrod looked at her.
“You shouldn't be in here.” Shah put the syringe on the metal table to his side and then spread a bandage over the injection spot. He snapped his fingers in front of Jarrod's face to get his attention. “It'll be sore for a bit. Try not to strain yourself. Relax.”
“Sure thing.” Jarrod nodded.
“And you.” Shah pointed at Lian, her face now completely pink. She tried to not make eye contact with Jarrod. “You need to leave, now.”
“Yes.” She nodded, putting the few renegade strands of hair which weren't tied in a ponytail behind her ear. “I'm sorry. I know better.”
“Please, no.” Jarrod lay back, crossed his legs at the ankles, and put his left hand up to stop them. “I could really use the company. You're not really going to force me to sit here alone while I wait for God knows how long. Are you?”
Lian stopped breathing, her eyes widening. She looked at Shah and at his full, puffy beard. He sighed and lowered his shoulders, nodding reluctantly.
“Fine. She can stay.” He smiled at Lian, whispering to her. “But nothing strenuous, you hear me?”
“What would be strenuous—” she stopped talking mid-sentence and looked at Shah, who was nodding with a smile. Her jaw dropped in disbelief and her brows lowered over her eyes. She slapped him on the shoulder. “Whatever. Don't be gross.”
“You rest up now.” Shah cleared his throat, pointing at Jarrod. “I'll be back in an hour or so to see how you're doing.”
He shut the door, leaving Lian and Jarrod alone. She sat on a small rolling stool. They looked at one another in silence with only the small buzz of fluorescent lights breaking the noise barrier.
“Thanks for keeping me company,” Jarrod spoke, rubbing his forehead as whatever Shah injected him with made its way through his system. His head throbbed mildly, but nothing worse than what he would get during allergy season.
“Are you feeling okay?” Lian asked. She rolled the stool up against the adjacent wall, leaning her head up against the cold bricks. She looked at his handsome features, thinking it a shame they would be changed after he underwent the procedure.
“You're the psychic. You tell me.”
“I don't like reading minds when I don't have to.” She draped her right leg over her left, folding her arms on her lap. “It gives me the illusion that I'm normal.”
“What is normal anymore?” Jarrod swiveled around, hanging his legs off the side of the table. “Being unaware of all the wonders the world has to offer, dropping chicken in the grease as you accept a less-than-stellar existence?”
“You make it sound great,” she replied, looking blankly out into space as her mind made a random journey. Jarrod smirked until he realized she was being serious. She looked at him. “Is that why you came here? To get out of the monotony of your life?”
“The people I left behind thought of it like that, blaming themselves for not being good enough. But that really couldn't be further from the truth.”
“Family?”
“The only ones I've ever known.” He leaned back again, stretched his left fingers, and then made a fist. He repeated the process several times to shake the numbness. His right hand slid over his left bicep, rubbing gently. “I guess I was just looking for something. For what, I don't know. Part of me came here because of a promise and I intend on living up to my word. I always have.”
“What kind of promise would have you risk your life and
journey halfway around the globe?”
“The most honorable kind.”
“Honor won't do you a lot of good if you end up dead.” She sat next to him on the table, rubbing his arm. His eyes explored her swift and subtle features, unsure how to receive her comment. She averted her gaze, blushing, and spoke again. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make it sound like that.”
“Oh really, how was it supposed to sound?”
“You know what I mean.” She shook her head.
“Oh, do I? You read my mind in order to tell me that?” He laughed and she twisted the injection spot, causing him to grimace. “Hey, that hurts.”
“My hand slipped.” She stared at him, expressionless.
“Sure it did.” He grinned, leaning his head against the frigid whitewashed brick wall. He stared at the ceiling, his eyes following along the numerous pipes that protruded from it. “I'm not afraid of dying. Never have been. My aunt and my girlfriend…”
“Girlfriend?” she asked. Of course there's one.
“Yeah, and even Austin to an extent, they always get onto me about leaping before looking. But I do look, always, and as if I'm able to discern the difference between logical and irrational fear, I jump anyway.” He paused for a second, enjoying the way her delicate hand rubbed his arm. “You can understand that, right? I mean, if anyone is able to make split-second judgments...”
“I do understand.” She smiled at him and then looked back at his arm.
“I'm glad someone finally does.”
“What does that have to do with honor or a promise?”
“Everything.”
Lian thought the expressions on his face said it all. She didn't have to be a psychic to understand the pain he was experiencing was real. She may have been weary of the voices in his head, blocking her from getting a read on him, but she was starting to find peace with them. Perhaps even happy at the fact that there was finally someone who made her feel normal.
“What was the other reason?” she asked. “The other fifty percent of why you're here...”