Thy Brother's Keeper

by F. Paul Wilson

  “She’s absolutely sure?”

  “No question.”

  “Who was doing the leading?”

  “Two men—one ‘very strange looking,’ according to her, but she was kinda vague about that—along with a woman, and another sim, an old male.”

  Luca dropped into his desk chair and cradled his head in his free hand. Cadman and Sullivan. Had to be. Plus that old sim Sullivan kept around, and someone else working with them.

  And they had the pregnant sim.

  “All right,” Luca said, straightening. This wasn’t FUBAR yet. It still could be salvageable. “We abandon Newark. Divide the remaining men into four teams: one on Sullivan’s apartment, one on his office, one on Cadman’s apartment, one on her office. You see them, grab them.”

  “But—”

  “I don’t care what you have to do to nab them, just get it done. If there’s any flack we’ll straighten it out later. I want one of those shits and I want them brought to me!”

  He’d interrogate them personally and they’d lead him to this pregnant sim. No need to worry about being recognized because whoever he dealt with would not be leaving vertically.

  But what if they’d all gone to ground?

  12

  MINEOLA, NY

  “She’s not going to last much longer,” Betsy Cannon said as she angled the doppler wand this way and that against Meerm’s swollen, gel-coated belly.

  Romy, Zero, Betsy, and Meerm were crowded into the tiny, white-walled, windowless procedure room in Betsy’s home office. Meerm lay on the table, Betsy working over her, Romy and Zero watching from the other side.

  “What do you mean?” Romy said, watching in rapt fascination as the 3-D shape of the fetus within Meerm’s belly formed on the monitor screen.

  “Her uterus has taken just about all it can. It’s too small for this baby. Andyet…the baby could use more gestation time.”

  At least Zero had his ski mask back on. They’d all agreed on the way here that no one else needed to know Zero’s history. When it was all over—and with Meerm’s baby, that could be very soon—he promised to go public.

  The mask made it easier now for Romy, but she wished Zero had waited outside with Patrick and Tome; she was still uncomfortable with him, especially standing next to him like this. And she didn’t want to feel uncomfortable, hated herself for it.

  But…how else could she feel? She was fighting her way through an emotional maelstrom and still hadn’t regained her bearings. She’d admired Zero so; he’d become a hero in her eyes and in her heart, and that was fine, but she’d also been sexually attracted to him, had fantasized about him, and now…now to learn that he’s not human.

  So what? said the ghost of Raging Romy, ever ready to shout Up yours! to the world. It’s not as if he’s a squid or a plant—he’s a fellow primate.

  That was true and real and forward thinking, but another more primitive part of her was repulsed and kept damning her, whispering that in another time, or in a SimGen-less world, Zero would have been born a chimpanzee, destined to spend his days sitting in a jungle sucking ants off a stick.

  Sicko evil girl! Wanting to make love with a monkey! Sick! Sick! Sick!

  Romy did her best to shut out that voice, but it wouldn’t go away, couldn’t because it was part of her, and that was what so dismayed her. She’d always thought she was better than that.

  “How much longer?” Zero asked.

  Betsy Cannon brushed back strands of graying hair from her face. “Hard to say. If this were a sim baby I’d say she’s almost due. If human I’d say premature. But this baby…I don’t know. And there’s another problem: Meerm’s uterus is small, smaller even than a breeder sim’s. That baby is packed tight in there, so tight I can’t determine its sex.”

  “We could lose the baby?” Romy said.

  “It’s a real possibility.”

  Romy stared at the color image on the monitor, watched the rapid filling and emptying of the chambers of its little heart, saw the baby move, squirming for comfort in the confines of the too-small womb.

  We can’t lose you, she told it. You must live. We’re so close now and…the salvation of an entire species rests on you.

  “We could lose the mother as well,” Betsy added. “The baby is going to be premature, and I can tell you right now that a vaginal delivery is out of the question. This baby is coming out by section.”

  “Cesarean?” Romy said, looking at Meerm’s distended belly. “How…where…?”

  “I don’t know.” Betsy’s expression was grim. “Not here, that’s for certain. It’s major surgery and I’m not equipped for that, not unless we intend to sacrifice the mother.”

  Romy’s gaze darted to Meerm’s face. The poor sim didn’t have a clue as to who or what they were talking about.

  “That’s not an option,” Zero said. The finality in his tone stabbed Romy with a reminder of why she’d been so attracted to him. “Tell me what you need and I’ll arrange it.”

  “A sterile operating room and a skilled surgical team,” Betsy said. “Can you manage that?”

  “Tall order,” Zero said. His voice had lost some of its confidence.

  And then another voice spoke.

  “Why Meerm sick?”

  They all stared at her a moment, then Betsy spoke.

  “You’re not sick, Meerm. You’re going to have a baby.”

  Her sloping brow furrowed. “Baby? What is baby?”

  “You know babies,” Betsy said. “You must have seen many babies on television.”

  The brow furrows deepened. “Baby?”

  “Only this won’t be like the human babies you’ve seen. This will be a sim baby.” She gave a little shrug as she glanced at Zero and Romy, signifying that she was simplifying the situation as best she could for Meerm.

  “Where baby?”

  Betsy tapped the sim’s abdomen. “Right in here. And the baby will come out soon.”

  “Baby here?” Meerm said, a slow smile of wonder spreading across her face as she gently rubbed her hands across her belly. “Baby inside? Baby kick-kick-kick?”

  “Oh, yes!” Betsy laughed. “I’ll bet that baby’s been kick-kick-kicking like crazy!”

  As they all watched Meerm gaze at her belly, a question occurred to Romy.

  “Will she be able to care for a baby?” she said softly.

  “She won’t have to worry a bit,” Betsy said. “That baby will get great care. As a one-of-a-kind species, it will belong to the world.”

  “No, it will belong to Meerm. It will be her baby. We’re not going to forget that, are we?”

  “Ah, Romy,” Zero said through a sigh. “That’s why we need you: to ask the tough questions.”

  Something in his voice struck her…did Zero…could Zero feel about her the way she…?

  No. Out of the question. He couldn’t. He simply couldn’t.

  13

  SUSSEX COUNTY, NJ

  “Let’s get this started,” said Sinclair-1, spinning his chair away from the winter-browned hills beyond his office window to face Luca and Abel Voss. “I’ve still got a lot to do today.”

  Luca thought the CEO looked particularly irritable this afternoon. That was going to get worse when he heard Luca’s news. Normally he’d relish the prospect of upsetting him, but not now. All the blame rested squarely on him.

  “We’re waiting for your brother.”

  Voss shifted his bulk in his chair to face Luca. “I thought he wasn’t comin.”

  “I called and told him this was too important to miss,” Luca replied.

  Sinclair-1 gave him a questioning stare. Luca only nodded. Yes, they’d agreed that Ellis would be excluded from tactical meetings, but Luca had a reason. He was sure Sinclair-2 already knew that Meerm had been snatched from under SIRG’s nose, and damn well knew who had done it; he was going to use Sinclair-2 to bait a trap for the people he’d been supplying with information.

  They included Cadman and Sullivan, Luca knew, and
at least two or three others. Whoever they were, they’d all vanished. He’d hoped to nab either Cadman or Sullivan and wring the pregnant sim’s whereabouts out of them, but since he couldn’t find them, he was looking for a way to make them come to him.

  Because he needed that sim. Lister had thrown a shit fit this morning when he’d heard about losing Grimes and, of all people, Snyder. Grimes had been something of a jerk, but Snyder had been their most dependable man. Luca had stashed the bodies in the woodshed behind his cabin—he hoped the cold weather held—and Lister was keeping the news from the higher-ups for now, but couldn’t cover it up indefinitely. If Luca could produce the pregnant sim, however—say, today or tomorrow—the deaths wouldn’t matter.

  The office door opened and Sinclair-2 entered. The older brother looked strange today. And then Luca realized what it was: His usual down and dour demeanor was gone and he looked almost…happy.

  You son of a bitch.

  He fought the urge to grab him by his scrawny neck and twist it till he spilled everything he knew. Every last thing.

  But that was not an option. Even though Mercer Sinclair was considered the true untouchable—his was the public face of SimGen, so closely identified with the company that if he went down, so would the stock that made SIRG an entity unto itself—Ellis Sinclair was also considered off-limits. No move could be made against him without direct authority from the Old Man himself.

  What Luca couldn’t understand about Ellis Sinclair was why . Why would anyone in his right mind want to kill this golden goose called SimGen? So that had to be the answer: The older Sinclair was out of his mind.

  Which didn’t make Luca want to kill him any less.

  He swallowed his bile and said, “I won’t waste anyone’s time here: We have it on good authority that the pregnant sim is in the hands of Patrick Sullivan and Romy Cadman.”

  “Oh, Christ,” Sinclair-1 groaned, closing his eyes.

  “That tears it,” said Abel Voss.

  Sinclair-2 leaned back in a sofa and said nothing.

  “When?” the CEO said, recovering quickly. “Where are they now?”

  “This morning. And if I knew where, we wouldn’t be having this meeting.”

  “Damn!” Sinclair-1 glared at Luca. “You’ve got to get her back!”

  “We’re working on it.”

  Sinclair-2 finally spoke. “Give it up, Merce. Can’t you see it’s gone too far? It’s past the point of no return now.”

  “Not yet! Not until they produce that baby!”

  “And even if they do,” said Voss, “we can call it a hoax, can’t we? Some cheap publicity stunt, a twenty-first century version of the Piltdown man or Barnum’s Cardiff Giant. We get our PR boys to crank up their bullshit machines and start poundin away at every news outlet they know: A hoax, that’s all it is. Just a hoax. Those boys are so good, before you know it, we’ll be believin it ourselfs.”

  Sinclair-1 was shaking his head. “That won’t fly in this case. They have a real live sim mother. They can identify the human father—what was his name?”

  “Craig Strickland,” Luca said. “The security guard at the globulin farm.”

  “Who’s dead, right? But that doesn’t preclude fingerprinting his DNA. Plus they can put the sim mother and human father together for months in the same building in the Bronx. And most important, they’ll have the baby. With all that, it’s a simple everyday process to establish paternity.”

  Luca could have cheered. He’d been looking for an opening to bait his trap, and this was it.

  “I’ve taken care of that,” he said. “Because of his connection to a crime, Strickland’s body has been in cold storage in the New York City Morgue since it was pulled out of the ashes in the Bronx. A real crispy critter.”

  “So?” Voss said.

  “So yesterday it was released. Since Strickland’s got no family—at least none that’s come forward—I had one of my men present himself as Strickland’s cousin and claim his body. We’re going to have it cremated as soon as possible.”

  He hadn’t done any of this yet. The idea had occurred to him less than an hour ago, and he had to clear it with Lister first. But Sinclair-2 didn’t know that.

  “That still doesn’t help us,” Sinclair-1 said. “If indeed his corpse was, as you so elegantly put it, a ‘crispy critter,’ the NYPD would have had to look into his DNA in the course of identifying the body. Even after he’s reduced to ash, his RFLP profile will remain in the department’s database.”

  Voss frowned. “What’s R-F—”

  “Restriction fragment length polymorphisms,” Sinclair-1 said. “A way of testing for the differences in the banding pattern of DNA fragments from different individuals. DNA fingerprinting, in other words.”

  “We know all about his RFLP in the database,” Luca said. “Ever hear of hacking a computer? Hardly anyone’s better at it than my people. We’ll have someone else’s RFLP—yours, if you want it—in that computer before sunrise.”

  “I get it,” Voss said, nodding. “I’m not hearin a word of this talk of illegalities, of course. Matter of fact, I ain’t even in this here room right now. But if I were, even a genetics cretin like myself can see what’ll happen: They’ll hold up this Strickland boy as the father for all the world to see, but when it comes time for matchin up the DNA, there’ll come a cropper. They’ll go to the NYPD computer and—Lordy, Lordy, will you look at that—no match. And when they look to exhume the body—”

  “—they’ll be nowhere,” Luca interrupted. “Because Craig Strickland will be nothing but a pile of dust. A pile I will personally scatter over the Hudson River.”

  “And without DNA backup,” Voss cried, slapping his thighs, “the hoax angle from our flacks will start lookin mighty acceptable to the Great Unwashed. I like it! I like it very much!”

  Luca had been watching Sinclair-2. His sunny disposition appeared to be fading. Rapidly. Good. He’d taken the bait.

  “So,” Luca said, clapping his hands. “That leaves one more matter to discuss: Who’s delivering the sim’s baby?”

  “Deliverin?” Voss said. “Deliverin how?”

  “This sim, this Meerm or whatever she’s called, is going to be giving birth. Who’s going to handle that?”

  Sinclair-1 slapped his palm on the table. “Excellent point.” He jumped to his feet. “If, as you say, this OPRR woman and that lawyer Sullivan have the sim, they’re not going to handle the delivery on their own. The baby is too important. They’re going to seek out expert help.”

  “You mean some sort of obstetrician?” Voss said.

  “Not just any OB. They’ll want one experienced with sim births. And if I was looking for a sim OB, there’s only one place on earth with a staff that fits the qualifications.”

  “The Natal Center!” Luca said. Damn it! He should have thought of that himself. “They could be approaching someone on the staff right now.”

  Sinclair-1 pointed to Luca. “Send a notice to the entire Natal Center staff—MDs and assistants alike—warning them that they might be approached, and to report any feelers that might come their way.”

  Voss said, “And you might want to remind those folks that they’re eligible for the five-million reward.”

  “Excellent point,” Sinclair-1 said.

  “We’ll check out any Natal employees who’re out sick or taking an unplanned vacation,” Luca added.

  But all this was going to require more manpower. He’d have to go to Lister for it. But that was okay. Canvassing the Natal Center was a good tactical move, and Luca would present it as his own idea.

  Sinclair-2 suddenly shot from his seat and began pacing. He looked jittery. I do believe we’ve hit a nerve, Luca thought.

  The CEO stared at his brother. “What is it, Ellis? You have something to add?”

  Sinclair-2 stopped at the window and stared out at the hills. “I just thought of something. Something terrible.”

  “Oh?” Sinclair-1 smiled. “Finally realized wha
t that baby will do to our stock?”

  “I’m not worried about the stock,” he said. “I’m far more worried about what this baby will do tous, Merce—you and me. Personally, not financially.”

  “I’m not following.”

  “What if Meerm’s baby is a girl?”

  The CEO looked puzzled. “Girl, boy, what difference does it make? Its very existence is the threat.”

  “Competition, Merce.” Sinclair-2 turned from the window and stared at his brother. His eyes looked haunted. “Inter- and intragenomic competition. Think about it.”

  It’s finally happened, Luca thought. Sinclair-2 has completely lost it. Even his brother can’t figure out what he’s talking about.

  He glanced at the CEO then and was struck by the change in his expression. His King-of-the-World look was fading—the perpetually raised eyebrows had sagged, the condescending half smile had fallen into a frown. But his eyes…his eyes told the whole story, narrowing and then widening into what Luca could only describe as abject horror. His mouth opened, his jaw worked, he took a step backward, almost lost his balance, and fell into his chair where he sat staring at his brother. His gray complexion made him look more dead than alive.

  “What’s wrong?” Voss said, upset as well, but only by his boss’s reaction. He seemed as much in the dark as Luca. “What did he say? What’s wrong with it being a girl?”

  The CEO was incapable of speech. Sinclair-2 answered for him.

  “Not your concern, Abel. This is a personal matter between us.”

  “Itis his concern!” Sinclair-1 blurted, getting some of his color back. “It’s all our concern!” He turned to his brother. “Ellis, for the love of God, if you’re involved in any way with the people who have the sim, do something! Stop them!”

  Sinclair-2 shook his head. “I can’t stop anything. I don’t know Meerm’s whereabouts. It’s beyond you, it’s beyond me. It’s up to Zero now.”

  Sinclair-1’s brow furrowed. “Zero? What’s zero?”

  “Not what. Who.”

  “You don’t mean…?” Sinclair-1 blinked. “That Zero? But he’s dead.”