“Kid, wake up.”
The voice, harsh and insistent, pulled him out of his daydreams and into reality. He blinked and saw that Anastasia was still sleeping. A tap on his left shoulder made him turn his head around. Farrell stood there, a pensive look on his face. “How is she?” he asked.
“She’s still asleep.” Harry rubbed his eyes. “What time is it?”
“Around midnight,” the agent answered. “It’s just us here along with the Director. He says it’s important.”
“What’s going on?”
Farrell shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. He didn’t fill me in, said that you’ve got to come along.” He inclined his head toward the door. “Let’s get going.”
Reluctantly, Harry accompanied the agent and they went out of the room, up to the second floor, and into a meeting room where Merton was waiting.
He bade them to have a seat and opened the meeting without preamble. “It’s late, we’re all tired, but I’ve stayed here, as has Agent Farrell, because of the vital nature of your experiment. Is the girl still alive?”
The guy’s pretty rude, Harry thought, but decided to go with the flow and be nice. His future—and Anastasia’s, if she made it through—depended on this man. “She’s sleeping,” he answered. “We have to wait.”
Merton nodded and tapped a file on his desk. “This,” he said, indicating the file with a massive forefinger, “is the sum total of your research. “And,” he added with a certain air of somewhat incongruous good humor, “I have to say that I am very impressed. Your research has taken us in a direction we’ve never even dreamed about.”
Where he was going with all this was anyone’s guess, but Harry decided to cut to the chase. “And which directions are we talking about?”
The Director offered a thin smile. “There are numerous applications that have to be explored, young man. Doctor Halsey has apprised me of the number of possibilities, as have you. Medical advances, for one, and then there are military applications, for another.”
Suddenly, a chill went up Harry’s spine. The idea of the military using his research didn’t thrill him one bit. He’d already seen how perverted these military applications could be. The memory of Ivan, Nurmelev’s pet bone-breaker, remained fresh in his consciousness.
“Uh, sir, are you saying that you might use the Genesis Chamber and my notes to make a kind of human-animal hybrid? When I started working here, I was told that I was only supposed to reverse what that crazy scientist had started. I think I did that. We’ll know if it worked when Anastasia wakes up and...”
Merton held up his hand. “Son, ASR requested that I have this information ready, just in case. As I told you before, they’re a private company and they’re footing the bills, so it’s not my call to make. And I wasn’t the one who suggested any sort of military usage. That was Doctor Halsey’s recommendation.”
Harry snorted. It figured. Halsey didn’t know a rhizome from a nuclear peptide, but he wanted to claim credit for any and all future discoveries. “Sir, Halsey really doesn’t have any idea of what he’s doing. The ideas are mine. All I wanted to do was to help my girlfriend get back to normal.”
“And I didn’t stand in your way,” Merton countered, tapping the file once again. “To be honest, I’m not really all that keen on trying to recreate what this, uh, Nurmelev character did. I read your report and also Agent Farrell’s. I wasn’t here at the time. I was stationed in Los Angeles. It seems that bear creature you managed to kill was something out of a nightmare. However, I am obliged to follow up any possibilities and potential new discoveries your research might uncover. And Doctor Halsey is also very interested in the concept of using transgenic genes.”
All this talk, Harry felt, was merely a cover. With a shock, he realized that they were going to take away his work, and probably take Anastasia with them. “They can’t do that, can they?” he asked Farrell, and tried like crazy to keep the pleading tone out of his voice.
Farrell’s gaze swung between the table and his superior, and he licked his lips. “Sir, with all due respect, I’d have to agree with Goldman. He’s the expert here, not Halsey, and I’ve seen firsthand what kind of damage a hybrid creature can do.”
He lifted up his right arm and rolled up the sleeve on his shirt. A number of deep reddish-purple scars stood out on his forearm. “This is what that bear creature did to me. I saw it crush a man’s head like an eggshell. There are too many things that can go wrong, and too many possibilities that the science will be used for the wrong ends.”
Merton’s eyes widened ever so slightly. “I didn’t realize you had considered all the philosophical implications of the research.”
“Getting carved up changes a person’s perspective, sir,” Farrell replied in a voice that suggested the Sahara desert at high noon. “If you’re going to use what Goldman’s done, then stick to medicine.” Verdict given, he rolled down his sleeve again.
The Director received the information without so much as one muscle twitching in his face. It was like talking to a rock. Finally, he let out a sigh, rubbed his eyes, and picked up the file, turning his cold eyes in Harry’s direction. “Sometimes, I really hate what I do. I want to repeat, son, that this isn’t my call. I read your notes over. I read about and heard about the damage that bear thing did. And in spite of what you hear about the clandestine nature of the FBI, we’re not the bad guys here.”
Who was, Harry thought. “There are other agencies,” he pointed out. “You know what they’ve done in the past. And I don’t know anything about ASR. I only found out about it the other day.”
Merton lost his air of equanimity and his voice got hard. “If you’re talking about the CIA and NSA, then I know very well what they’re capable of. I also happen to know that they want this research. I’ve kept it classified, and so has the director of ASR. Not even the President knows about this, and he’s not going to unless it’s absolutely necessary. So I’m not about to roll over and be anyone’s lapdog, and you are not one to lecture me about how to do my job, is that clear?”
Harry thought this was a huge pile of crap, but said nothing. Power lay in the hands of those with pull and connections, and he neither the pull nor the connections. Tired and defeated, he simply waited.
Merton heaved in a deep breath and let it out, and with the exhalation, his calm exterior returned. “If it means anything, son, I’m on your side. I’ll talk to the head of ASR later on. He’s on a business trip and can’t be reached now. Farrell, I need to talk to you—alone.”
Harry caught the obvious cue and left the room, making his way back to the lab. Once there, he saw that Anastasia was still out, and parked his butt in the chair. His heart had begun to hammer from stress during the meeting and it still beat wildly. They wanted to use his work to pervert nature once again, all in the name of science. He was damned if he did and damned if he didn’t, and he sure as hell didn’t want to see the horror begin again...
“Harry?”
A voice, soft and feminine, broke through his state of unconsciousness. The voice sounded so familiar, but his unconscious mind wouldn’t let him process the facts. Still half out of it, he blinked and dumbly looked at his watch. It was six in the morning. Had he been asleep that long? Perhaps he needed the rest, and...
“Harry?”
The voice came once more, and this time he looked up and found Anastasia staring at him, a faint smile on her lips. One hand held Farrell’s jacket over her private parts and the other caressed his face.
“Hi,” he said, unable to speak for a moment. Her hand, covered in fine fur, strong and yet gentle, felt warm and reassuring, as did the sound of her voice. “Are you...I mean, do you remember...?” he asked.
His speech stopped when she launched herself at him, kissing him firmly on his mouth and she held him tightly. “Yes.” Her voice came out in a low, throaty whisper of time lost and time remembered. “I know who I am. My name is Anastasia, my heritage is Russian, your name is Harry Goldman,
and I love you.”
Clutching her just as tightly, he felt a quiet sob escape his throat. His experiment had worked. In a moment of weakness and yet not weakness, he felt the absurd sting of tears work themselves from his eyes, and hastily wiped them away. “I thought...I wasn’t sure...” he began.
Anastasia broke the clinch and scratched her ears. They twitched and a smile broke through on her face, as if chasing away the old demons. “I wasn’t sure, either, but you took a chance and here I am.”
“Yeah, here you are.”
One millisecond later, their lips met once again in a rush of long held back emotion, need and want. Harry thought that if he died right then and there, the heavens would have another happy customer. Their kiss ended, and he asked, somewhat uncertainly, “Is it okay, I mean, you looking this way? I tried to get rid of the animal genes in you, and—”
Her hand came up to run itself around the contours of his face. “I told you before that if we could be together, then it would be okay. I’ve come to terms that I may never look like...” her voice faltered only a second... “Look like I used to.”
A split second later, she stretched out, bending her torso first to the left and then to the right, muttering “This feels normal.”
She continued to stretch and then did a graceful pirouette, dancing her way over to the mirror. A series of flips perhaps ten feet in the air followed. Like the old adage of a cat always landing on its feet, she did the same, landing gracefully and without a sound.
Abruptly she froze in front of the mirror, examining her face, and then contorted her body into various positions. After that, she self-consciously pulled the jacket closer to her on her return journey back to where Harry stood. He watched the action and felt overjoyed that not only had his calculations worked, he had his girlfriend back.
“And here we are again,” Anastasia said, cutting through his reverie. “Uh, I’ll need some clothes. I don’t think wearing Farrell’s jacket is going to cut it.”
Suddenly bashful, Harry felt his face turn hot, and after he mumbled something about her covering up, he searched the room. Luck was on his side when he found a spare sweat suit in one of the cabinets. Baggy and somewhat threadbare, it smelled musty, but there was nothing else. Anastasia slipped it on and wrinkled her nose. “I’ll have to get a skirt and blouse later on.”
“It’s winter,” he reminded her. He remembered, though, how good she looked in a skirt. Yellow—she looked great in yellow.
“I have fur. I’ll live,” she said with a chuckle.
Suddenly they clung to each other, and Anastasia, her voice deep with longing, said, “I wish we had a room together. I—”
Her wish was interrupted by the sound of the door opening, and Farrell poked his head in. His face brightened when he saw her up and around. “Glad to see you made it.” At the very least, he sounded sincere.
If he sounded sincere, Anastasia didn’t seem to believe him or didn’t care. “You would have to come at the wrong time,” she said in a sour voice. “I just got my legs back again, and you had to walk in.”
Farrell smiled, but there was no humor in it. “Love will have to wait. We’ve got trouble.” He turned to Harry. “I’ve been here all night, waiting around.”
“Were you that concerned, Agent Farrell?” Anastasia asked with a slight tone of sarcasm creeping into her speech. “I’m touched.”
“Don’t be, it’s part of my job,” he answered, but he inclined his head anyway.
It seemed as though he cared, Harry thought, but it was a given that the agent would never admit it. He also left out any mention of the meeting, and it would remain a secret for now. “So what’s going on?” he asked.
“We got a call a few hours ago. Someone was killed, someone you know, Anastasia, and we’re back on the case.”
Her ears pricked up. “I know this person?”
“You do,” Farrell affirmed. “His name is—or was—Nick Winter. He was clawed up but good. His throat was also torn open.” He grimaced and waved his hand at the chamber. “It seems we have a clone.”
Chapter Three: Searching For Clues
Farrell immediately pulled out his cellphone, cupped his hand over the receiver and spoke quietly into it. Ten seconds later a secretary, short, plump, and forty-ish with a bad dark-hair dye job and glasses, walked through the open door carrying a file.
Her professional demeanor suddenly cracked when she caught sight of Anastasia. The file slipped through suddenly nerveless fingers and fell to the floor, and she stopped dead in her tracks, letting out an audible gasp. “That...that’s...that’s a kitt...” she started to say.
All talking ceased when Anastasia abruptly launched herself in the direction of the secretary and pinned her against the wall. Her left hand held the hapless woman as she thrashed around while claws slowly extended from her right hand. At two inches in length, they had the ability to slice through skin and muscle as easily as a buzz saw through wood.
Leaning over to shove her face one inch away from the other woman’s, Anastasia laid down her challenge. “If you’re thinking of calling me Miss Kitty,” she hissed, “then don’t. Get out!”
With a terrified squawk, the secretary left, and Anastasia, shaking with anger, retracted her claws, walked back to the desk and hopped on top. With a snort of disgust, she crossed her legs in a very prim manner and eyed Farrell. “Well?” she asked.
A wry grin painting his features, he went over to shut the door, picking up the file on his return trip. “Was that really necessary? She’s under orders not to say anything, but I’ll probably have to put in a call for a new secretary.”
“Yeah,” Anastasia ground out, still pissed off and quivering with rage, “Yeah, it was necessary, and as for the second point, I don’t care.” She continued to glare defiantly at the older man.
Talk about being a badass. Harry said nothing, for there was nothing to say. In a quick flash to the past, he recalled the looks other people had given Anastasia when they saw her for the first time. None of them had been at all complimentary. Anastasia didn’t like being thought of as a freak. Who would? The part of him that loved her—the biggest part—was on her side all the way.
He gently placed a hand on her shoulder.
She looked up at him and the fire left her eyes. “Sorry.”
All business now, Farrell flipped open the file and pointed to two pictures of the victim, Nick Winter. “Well, we’ll table apologies for another day. Have a look at these pictures first. The one on the left was before this person got to him. The one on the right was after he got scratched up. Coroner said that only a large cat could have done it, and there’ve been no breakouts at the zoo. Do you remember him?”
Anastasia blinked, wet her lips with her tongue, and started to nod after looking at the picture on the left. “Yeah, I do, I...” her voice grew hesitant and trailed off for a moment. Then she looked up, the expression on her face somewhat more confident. “I saw him when I first...first escaped from Nurmelev’s lab. Yeah, that’s right.”
Her words came faster and surer now. “I smelled food in the alleyway, and I just wanted something to eat. He and some other big guy tried to jump me.” She blinked again. “I remember running, and then the police captured me.”
“Ancient history,” Farrell groused as if being reminded of the past was a painful thing for him.
You’re not the one who had your DNA altered. “Do you really feel bad about capturing Anastasia?” Harry asked and he felt the wave of injustice coming from his girlfriend. Bad vibes were in the room, and it was time to clear the air. Thinking back on it, he’d also been captured and brought here against his will. “I remember you not liking her very much.”
The older man offered a sour smile as if he’d just been forced to eat a dozen lemons. “Like I said, kid, that’s ancient history and anyway, she’s on our side, although...”
Abruptly, his voice trailed off and he stared intently at her.
Anastasia clearly p
icked up on the silence and a knowing expression crossed her face. “Let me guess,” she said as she arose from the desk to stand face to face with him. “You think I’m still part of the Russian spy program, don’t you?” She pushed her face closer to his and her voice took on a dangerous edge. “Am I right or what?”
Farrell’s face showed no hint of what he really thought. “I’m required to investigate any and all possibilities of who might be here. Your memory is still impaired, you’ve just come back from a cat state, and there might be some hidden blocks or codes in your head that we don’t know about.”
His comment set her off and with a hiss, she spat on the table. “You are a real jerk, you know that?”
Jumping onto the floor, she stood toe to toe with Farrell. “After everything that’s been done to me, after all I’ve—” she pointed to Harry—”we’ve been through, you still think I’m some kind of spy or traitor. If you want me to walk in there,” with a violent motion she jerked her thumb at the cell, “then tell me. I don’t have to take your crap.”
Harry felt this had gone far enough and he got between them, putting his hand on her shoulder and gently pushing her back. He got the impression, though, that she could have tossed him aside at any time. Small though she was, she had genetically engineered strength, approximately three times that of a very strong man.
“Anastasia, no one’s saying you’re a traitor or spy. Am I right?” he asked, swiveling his head in Farrell’s direction.
“Yes,” the answer came in a very noncommittal and rather insincere manner. “It was an observation, nothing more.”
Anastasia’s reaction was to extend her tail into an upright position. It looked not unlike someone giving someone else the finger. “Fine, we’re all buddies now,” she stated while Harry fought the impulse to laugh.
Rise of the Transgenics Page 4