The Next Ten: Beginnings Series Books 11 - 20

by Jacqueline Druga

“Hello.”

  Joe grunted. “The video, you moron.”

  Hal decided to try. “You said you were showing a family video.”

  “Yeah, but it’s not a home movie,” Frank said. “It’s family. Rated G.”

  “Good God, he’s showing Mary Poppins.” Hal shook his head.

  “Fuck you, Hal. I’m showing the Bionic Man, Episode One. Fuck!” Frank screamed. “Now you tricked me into telling my surprise.”

  “Yes.” Hal rolled his eyes. “What a task that was. The Bionic Man.”

  Robbie corrected. “First episode.”

  “Yeah,” Frank agreed, “so Robbie can see the physical and psychological effects he might face.”

  “I think it’s wise,” Elliott said. “Good choice.”

  “Thanks,” Frank gloated.

  “Ass kisser,” Hal whispered.

  “Hey.” Frank tilted his head to show his way of visually thinking. “Why are you here? Who’s leading Bowman?”

  Perturbed, Hal answered. “Frank, we can leave for a few hours without the town falling apart. We were gone together for a week so you can say we’re settling.”

  “Settling what?” Frank asked.

  “Settling,” Hal explained. “Settling.”

  “Settling what?”

  “Forget it.”

  “Hal, what are you settling. A bet? You owe him . . .”

  “Frank!” Hal yelled. “Forget it.”

  “Sorry I’m late.” Ellen rushed in. “My people took forever. We had one reluctant resident. I’ll have to bring by the gifts they made later.” She walked over to the bed. “Hey you.” She kissed Robbie.

  “Hey, El. Look.” He raised his arm. “It works.”

  “Fuck,” Frank whispered in disappointment.

  After looking at Frank, Robbie returned to task. “See. I can move it.” Slowly he demonstrated again.

  “Fuck,” Frank repeated.

  “What?” Joe barked. “What, Frank? Why are you saying fuck?”

  Frank shook his head. “Nothing. Sorry. Do it again.”

  “Slowly,” Ellen instructed. “It’s still healing. Wave.”

  “How about flipping Frank off?” Hal suggested.

  “Can I?” Robbie asked.

  Ellen nodded.

  “Cool.” He lifted his arm.

  “Fuck,” Frank said softly.

  Hand lifted. Fist made. Robbie grinned.

  “Fuck.” Frank shook his head slowly.

  “Are you sure?” Robbie asked Frank. “I won’t flip you off if . . .”

  “No. Do it.” Frank one arm crossed over his waist and bit his nails. “Maybe now it will start . . .” He saw Robbie flip him off. “Fuck,” he grumbled.

  Hal clapped.

  Robbie laughed. “This is so great.” He looked at his middle finger and set down his arm.

  “Ah, man.” Frank again shook his head. “Fuck.”

  “Son of a bitch bastard.” Joe had enough. “What is wrong with you?”

  “Dad.” Frank crinkled his face as if he were trying to tell Joe not to make him say it.

  “What? What is that look for?”

  Wide eyed, Frank twitched his head to Robbie.

  “What?!” Joe yelled even louder.

  “Fine.” Frank huffed. “I didn’t want to be the one to bring it up. But . . . it’s broken.”

  “What’s broken?” Joe asked.

  “His arm,” Frank answered.

  Curious, Ellen looked at him. “Frank.” She snickered. “His arm works great.”

  “It’s broken, El.” Frank stated. “It doesn’t make that noise.”

  Robbie had to ask. “What noise?”

  “The beeping noise it made the first time you moved . . . “ The loud whapping sound not only made Frank shut up but take a step forward and grab the back of his head. “Hey!” He spun to this father. “Why’d you hit me?”

  “You’re an asshole.” Joe held up a rolled up piece of paper. He hit Frank again.

  “Hey!”

  “Beeping!” Joe screamed. “Beeping! Danny’s pager went off, you goddamn idiot.”

  “Yeah, so.” Frank shrugged. “What’s that got to do with it?”

  “The beeping,” Joe explained.

  “Okay. What’s . . . hey!” Frank held his head when Joe hit him with the paper again.

  “Father,” Hal said with the airiest of snickers. “If you just let it go.”

  “No, Hal I won’t. Beeping, Frank,” Joe snapped. “What’s another name for a pager? A . . . a what? Think about it.”

  Frank did. “A pager. A pager. Oh, got it. A beeper.”

  “Ok.” Joe held out his hand. “There you have it.”

  “Fine, but it still has nothing to do with Robbie’s arm not working.”

  “Robbie’s arm is fine!” Joe blasted. “It never beeped. Danny’s pager went off. The pager made the beeping sound, you hard headed bastard, not Robbie’s arm.”

  “Fuck. Dad. Yell at me. All you had to do was say so. Fuck.” Frank tossed his hands up. “Sorry to worry you, Robbie.

  “No, I thought it was broken too. Thanks for getting that cleared up.” Robbie winked.

  “You’re welcome.”

  Totally aggravated, Joe rubbed his hand hard across his face. When it slid across the bridge of his nose, he saw Ellen’s face. “Now what?”

  “Nothing. That was just funny.” She smiled. “How come Danny has a pager? Can I have one?”

  “No,” Joe answered. “Frank, can we watch the video so we can all leave Robbie alone?”

  “Family video,” Frank corrected and reached for the tape.

  “Oh,” Ellen said, excited. “Is it Christmas or Yellowstone?” She didn’t know what she did to cause the sudden outburst of moans, so she didn’t ask. She figured she would just sit next to Robbie, say no more, and silently watch what Frank was placing in the tape player. While she did that, she would do something she had been waiting to do for a very long time. She grasped Robbie’s right hand and held it.

  CHAPTER SIX

  It had irritated Lars to the point he couldn’t even work. All he could do was sit on his thinking stool, arms crossed, while he stared in massive aggravation.

  No productivity. No incentive to work. The three simple blood tests waiting on results still had to be run and even the gallbladder surgery was rescheduled.

  The gallbladder could wait.

  Lars couldn’t think.

  Perhaps it was trivial, Lars supposed. But to him it was a big deal. It gnawed at his gut in two ways. The first was the object itself. The second way was how it came to be. How it came to be was done with complete violation.

  In a sense, not only was Lars’s lab violated, but his dignity was raped as well.

  It was a shame, a pure shame.

  A practical joke of the most distasteful kind.

  Justice needed to be served. Pure unadulterated justice. By all and any means and that could only be authorized through the order of the Chief.

  Therein laid the problem.

  The Chief was related to the cause.

  The cause being . . . Tigger.

  When Mike entered Lars’s little domain, he wanted to speak out a ‘what’s up, Lars, you sent for me?’ but Mike didn’t. The simple sight of Lars sitting on the thinking stool told him not it wasn’t a pretty situation Mike was called upon to handle something for Lodi’s brightest mind.

  Lars rubbed his chin and spoke in a monotone. “You do realize that a man of your size, no matter how hard he tries, cannot make a silent entrance, especially when he wears cowboy boots.”

  “Cowboy boots?” Mike looked down. “I don’t wear cowboy boots.”

  Lars peered over his shoulder to Mike. “Close enough.”

  Disgruntled by the remark, Mike ignored it and stayed focus on official business. “I got the message that you needed to see me officially.”

  “Yes, I did . . . Chief.”

  “Chief? Is this bad?”

  “Ho
rrible.”

  “What is it?”

  “Your son.”

  Mike closed his eyes. “Did he do something?”

  “Vile. Disgusting. You name it. It can be decried for what he did.”

  “How do you know it was Tigger?” Mike asked.

  “Because you’re physically inhibited son is the only person in town who is sick enough to think of it, let alone small enough to crawl though a damn mouse hole.”

  “Lars.”

  “Seriously, Mike. He came in through the peep window. It’s tiny.”

  “Still how do you know it was him?”

  “By what he did.” Lars stood up.

  “And that would be?” Mike waited.

  Lars moved to the closet. With dramatics, he inhaled, grabbed the door handle, and swung it open. “This.”

  Had Mike not ejected his hand to cover his mouth, he would have laughed. A small snort did escape, but Mike covered that with a cough, then ran his hand across his own chin. “My God,” he said when he looked upon the manipulated picture that hung center and forefront of Lars’s ‘I hate Dean Hayes’ shrine. The picture was obviously taken from some sort of old gay porno magazine only instead of sporting its original models, perfectly cut out heads of Dean Hayes and Lars were pasted over the faces of the two men that posed in a rather compromising position. A cartoon balloon floated above Dean’s head with the words, ‘yes, Lars, yes’ while a caption heading stated, ‘The Real Reason Lars Hates Dean’.

  “See, Mike?”

  “How can I not? Why is it still there?”

  “I fully intend on taking it down once I figure out how to do so without damaging my other Kill Dean photos. A scientist I am. The home improvement guy, I’m not.” He shut the closet.

  “I realize you’re upset.”

  “Upset? Upset is an understatement. I take this closet and its contents very seriously.”

  “I know that. If it helps, I . . . I knew that Tigger was up to some things last night. This . . .” Mike pointed to the closet with a hidden snicker. “I was unaware. However Tigger has been punished.”

  “What did you do? Use that lame, ‘you’re so fuckin grounded’ line on him?”

  “Well . . .”

  “Come on Mike. It doesn’t work. The child has, is, and will always be, out of control.”

  “I know. I know. But,” Mike spoke on an up, “there is a bright side.”

  Lars grumbled.

  “Seriously. He had Johnny with him.”

  “Oh, yes, that’s a bright side.” Lars rolled his eyes. “Instead of one we now have two.”

  “But in a way that’s good. I mean, maybe Johnny will start to act like the kid he never was. Maybe when Beginnings sees him, that will give even more evidence to the fact that Johnny is still Johnny. Johnny, right now, is being the teenager he didn’t get a chance to be.”

  “All well and fine, Mike.” Lars nodded. “You allow this but keep one thing in mind. It’s for now. If Beginnings ignores our pleas, it doesn’t matter how much of a kid Johnny acts like right now. In a few short months, nothing, not even Tigger, will stop him from acting like a killer.”

  ^^^^

  Another dead fetus, ten weeks gestation, floated in the synthetic amniotic fluid of the clinical womb.

  “Fuck,” Ellen whispered out and tapped her finger on the small case, hoping against hope there was a malfunction. But there wasn’t. No life signals were picked up, no movement. He looked so lost in the case that wasn’t all that big. It was eighteen inches by twelve, flexible plastic, strong and sturdy, built by Danny Hoi without question. A case that held hope and life would be empty like the six other ones now moved to the back room.

  At that moment, Ellen didn’t have the heart to remove the boy fetus. It would be a simple task if she planned on safely disposing it, but that wasn’t the case. Ellen would bury the fetus. Secretively. No one could know they were growing embryos. Even though it was totally different than what the Society was doing, it would still be viewed the same . . . farming.

  Prior to Ellen leaving to serve her sentence, she and Dean had successfully spilt twenty-six ovum. Eight failed in the first few hours. Two days before, with high hopes, she and Dean gave Danny instruction to complete only twelve cases. By the time she left on her own, ten remained. Dean did good monitoring, but they needed more attention. Perhaps if they were on top of the situation, the aborting of the babies wouldn’t occur. Perhaps they wouldn’t be down to only four.

  Ellen picked up the chart before the case that contained the lifeless forming child. She shook her head, seeing that her notes were the last ones. The day before Dean, like promised, never stopped down to check after Robbie’s surgery.

  The clipboard dropped with disappointment from her hand. She made herself a promise right there that she would go to that second backroom religiously, even if it meant getting out of bed to do so.

  Pulling out her pen to make notations on the life signals of the remaining four, Ellen stopped. If Dean had been lax on something so predominantly life, what else had he neglecting?

  With that thought, Ellen thought priority, and walked from the back room. In habit, she closed the door that had the windows blackened out. She punched in her code to secure the lock and walked partially through the cryo-lab to the other back room.

  Originally used to house the scientists that were once frozen, that back room now housed something precious. She opened the door, flicked on the light, and held her breath.

  Mid begging that Dean was ‘up’ on things, Ellen moved to the case. The new key code lock was there and she punched in her code. Then she pulled out a key for the second lock. As she opened it, the case made a hiss and then another sound flowed out at her.

  A series of small steady beeps.

  “What the hell?” Ellen, curious, waited for the steam to clear. When it did, she saw the two small indicator lights were partially covered. Using her hand to clear the frost from the LCD display, Ellen stopped. Her hand sprung up and her eyes widened. “Oh my God,” she spoke. “What are you up to, Dean?”

  ^^^^

  When Richie Martin was ten years old he had a paper route. By the time he reached eleven, that small two street route grew to a twenty street route and he had four paperboys delivering the papers for him. Not that Richie was the ‘smart’ business man. He never claimed to be. Nor was he in it for a lot of money. Richie was happy with getting by financially with the least amount of work. Perhaps that was why he stuck with manager positions all his life. He did them well. Richie was the typical and classic manager of any operation. He smoothed his way in, did all the work himself, shone in a way no one else could and when he gained the trust and faith of those in charge, when he gained a controlling position, Richie delegated responsibilities elsewhere and oversaw them well.

  Just like in Containment.

  He whined and complained that he was given the job when the truth was he wanted to the job. Why not? Locked away with no physical work was the perfect overseeing job.

  And Richie knew it. After all, he was at one time a resident by default, his sister’s default. Ellen. They looked alike in a female meets male manner regarding height, weight and hair. But in no way did they act alike. Richie would never carry a grudge over an unpaid sibling debt like Ellen did toward him, not only accumulating interest, but making Richie pay by locking him away in Containment.

  Little did Ellen know, he’d make it backfire on her.

  And he was.

  The measly four hour a day spot had grown to a twelve hour daily shift, six days a week. When Richie first entered Containment as a worker, he did all the reports. He also did them better and faster than they had ever been done. He revamped the schedule for activities and treated the residents with so much ‘I am one of you’ reflection, Richie couldn’t help but be a boy wonder in their eyes.

  In turn, he became the boy wonder in Joe’s eyes too.

  “Richie, can you fill in more?” Joe asked.

  “R
ich, I swear I won’t ask this again,” Joe would say.

  “No, problem, Mr. Slagel, Richie always replied. “I’m on it.”

  That was about six weeks earlier. By Richie’s calculation, in another six weeks, the words from Joe’s mouth would be, ‘Richie, hate to do this to you, but we need you, not Ellen to run Containment’. Richie smiled at that thought, because when he took authority, the stupid reports were going right back to Ellen, like she tossed them on him.

  Of course, it wasn’t like Richie did all the reports himself. Nor was it like he led the activities. He was smarter than that. Like in the old world when he had people working for him, Richie had people in Containment doing things. He called them trustees and all the other residents respected that.

  Things ran smoothly, rarely with a glitch, and that allowed for Richie to spend a lot of time in that private office of Ellen’s. However, once and a while a problem did arise, one that beckoned Richie’s attention. Richie dove headstrong into whatever problem there was, rectifying it immediately.

  With concern and compassion on his face, Richie shook his head slowly as he sat behind Ellen’s desk, talking to Dan from Security. “Goddamn shame, Dan. Goddamn shame.”

  “Tell me about it,” Dan said. “I didn’t think I was doing anything wrong.”

  “You weren’t.”

  “Ellen yelled.”

  “Ellen overreacts.” Richie nodded.

  “A treat. It was a simple treat. These people deserve it, don’t they?”

  “Yes, they do, but I’ll tell you . . .” Richie pointed. “It’s not Ellen that’s your problem. This wouldn’t be a concern right now, would it?”

  “You’re right,” Dan huffed out. “Dean. Damn tattletale.”

  “What are you gonna do.”

  “I’m gonna talk to him about it and tell him we don’t open our mouths.”

  “Good. Good.”

  “He won’t get a treat, Rich, he won’t.”

  “I don’t blame you.”

  “What I want to do . . .” Dan shrugged. “Is some good old fashion blackmail. Make him think that I’m gonna tell everyone in Beginnings that he’s here.”

  “Everyone in Beginnings knows he’s here.”

  “He doesn’t know that.”