“Be seated please.”
Cleo sat down first and rolled out a chair on wheels for Wind Dancer, who, once seated, rolled the chair back and forth with a fascinated expression. She whispered something to him and he ceased moving and folded his arms across his chest to resemble a ferocious enemy from a John Wayne movie. His mouth took on a pouting appearance, and Jacque noticed Cleo slipping her hand off the table onto his leg. Jacque decided he’d settle down, too, if she stroked his leg. He sat on the other side of Wind Dancer. Something whispered trouble in his subconscious.
“We’ve asked you to come to discuss Mr. Wind Dancer’s entrance into this world.” The colonel crossed his legs and leaned back drumming his fingers on the table, never taking his eyes off Wind Dancer. When they locked glares, the colonel never wavered as if he might be getting ready to do an interrogation. Jacque used the tactic often enough to recognize the beginning of intimidation. However, although he’d known Wind Dancer for only a short time, he doubted it would work on him.
“So you know?” Cleo sounded relieved. “You believe he did this?”
“Yes. We’ve known for some time there are parallel universes, most of which are beyond our reach. Dr. Kuzma did extensive work in this area for NASA.”
“But his research was terminated when funding dried up.” Cleo spoke with caution.
“Yes. The funding and research became property of the Defense Department when we suspected the possibility other life forms could access this universe and destroy life as we know it, with bacteria, viruses, even creatures could wreak havoc on our fragile ecosystems.”
“How long have you known about this?” Cleo blinked.
“Approximately four years. Your father notified us of a possible opening into another world. His concern fell on deaf ears until we discovered Dr. Kuzma was somehow involved in his research and ultimate discovery. After his disappearance, we investigated with DARPA’s assistance.”
“What the hell is DARPA?” Jacque scanned the room, hoping others were as clueless as him.
The colonel raised his eyebrows and clicked his tongue. “Defense Advanced Research Projects. They answer to the Defense Department, thanks to President Eisenhower who oversaw their creation in 1958. Their job is to handle, develop, and spot emerging technologies: everything from the neurosciences to bionics, cloaking devices, and parallel universes.”
“Those the guys who invented the Internet?” Jacque mocked with a smirk.
“Exactly.”
Jacque’s flippant disregard for the colonel’s authority faded into a thin frown.
“And all the while you let me believe my father was dead?” She addressed Jacque. “Did you know anything about this?”
“I never even heard of the case until a few days ago when the Field Museum reported some missing artifacts. I worked drug enforcement when your father went missing.”
Agent Farentino checked some notes he’d been taking when they’d sat down. “Mr. Wind Dancer, where exactly did you come from?”
The Pawnee stared straight ahead, ignoring the agent.
Cleo cleared her throat and spoke in a calm voice. “He’s trying to understand, Joseph.”
“I come from the land of the Platte.”
“As in the Platte River?”
Wind Dancer nodded as he shifted his eyes from Cleo to the colonel.
“Can you tell me if you’ve been sick?”
“Once. I almost die of smallpox. Very high fever.” He lifted his hair to show his neck and the area under his ear. “Left scars.”
Another soldier entered the room and whispered something in the colonel’s ear. He straightened and caught the eye of Wind Dancer. The Pawnee jumped onto the table then tackled the young lieutenant to the floor, landing multiple blows as the others tried to drag him off the bloodied soldier.
“What the hell, Joseph!” Jacque snapped, trying to free him of the FBI agents. “Are you nuts?”
Wind Dancer struggled and managed to shake his guards off. “This is the man who brought smallpox to the Osage and to me. Because of him, my sister, her children, and her husband are dead.”
Chapter 13
Neosho and Ty sprinted through alleys until they reached an abandoned garage behind a boarded-up house. There were charred streaks around several windows adding to the shabby appearance. Ty peeled a section of chain-link fence away for the Osage to slip through while continuing to scan the direction they’d escaped. The fence clinked and moaned as both moved to a side door of the garage. The sturdy steel gave an impression of security and set the stage for a safe meeting place for the Death Apostles.
After trying the door without success, Ty banged on the door then waited and rapped some kind of rhythm with his knuckles. The door jerked open to reveal a young man pointing a gun at the two. Neosho’s face continued to be free of emotion or concern over his new situation. After Ty explained they might have a problem, they were allowed inside.
The garage was large for Chicago. With room enough for only one car, at some point the original owners built a second story, probably for a rental or retirement apartment for aging parents. The inside of the lower level needed a good sweeping, and the mismatched furniture on the far end resembled something from the curb of a Goodwill center. The colorful pinball machine sitting in the corner took center stage, considering it sat idle without the access to electricity. A small window at the rear donned a covering of the cartoon section of a newspaper, now faded and ripped in several places, allowing ribbons of light to pierce the darkness. A few boards nailed on the outside gave the impression of danger.
“Who’s he?” a man who stood a head taller than Ty asked. He watched the Osage with more curiosity than concern. “Ashanti ain’t gonna like you bringin’ a stranger here.”
“I didn’t have a choice, man. Where is he?”
He flicked his eyes to the steps leading upstairs then to the Osage who moved around the room lifting items for examination then dropping them to the floor.
Ty cleared his throat drawing the Osage to his side. He pointed upstairs, but was shoved aside by the gang member dressed in the same sort of drab clothing as Ty.
“You stay here. I’ll take him up.” He grinned, revealing a mouth full of yellowed and gold capped teeth with a pink tongue that he slid across his dark lips. “This way,” he said.
Ty shrugged then pretended to find interest in his feet. “Tell them,” he managed to mumble from the corner of his mouth as they moved up creaking steps.
Nothing but silence at first, followed by loud voices until the sound of moving furniture being tossed and thumps against the floor drew Ty to move to the side of the stairs and sneak a peek upwards as a dragging sound drew closer. He jumped away when the man who had taken the Osage upstairs rolled down the steps like a slam-dunk basketball in the last seconds of a game. Ty caught his breath as he glanced from the man to the Osage standing at the top. Ashanti appeared beside him to examine the result of crossing the newest member of the Death Apostles.
He removed a toothpick from his mouth and growled at Ty, “Get up here. We need to talk.”
Ty stepped over the man trying to gain traction to stand at the foot of the steps. His grunts of pain encouraged Ty to move quicker and take the steps two at time until he reached the top.
Ashanti’s rolling desk chair squeaked when he sat down. “Your friend doesn’t have much to say. Maybe you can fill in some gaps for me, Ty.”
“Sure, Ashanti. Found this guy down by the riverboat tours. Thought he was claiming some of our territory. He’s a boatload of trouble, too.”
Ashanti leaned in his chair as he watched the strange man in a Packers jacket continue to sit so still he appeared to be a statue. His robotic gaze seemed as piercing as lasers emitted from some kind of futuristic alien in a science fiction movie. The leader twisted in his chair. Ty expected the worst.
“So what’s the story, big guy? You gonna let Ty speak for you?”
The Osage turned his head as if i
t were atop a wooden neck and nodded to Ty.
“He don’t talk much. But he’s one hell of a fighter.” He offered a slight grin and raised his hand for a high five but only managed to make the Osage’s eyes narrow. Dropping his hand, he addressed Ashanti. “You ain’t gonna believe this.”
Both men watched the Osage grab a knife from a nearby table and dig the bullet from his shoulder.
~~~~
Colonel Jefferson helped the lieutenant to his feet. “Everyone sit down,” he demanded through clenched teeth.
“What are you talking about, Joseph?” Cleo placed herself in front of the Pawnee to distract him from further attack. The amount of firepower in the room could fill him with holes like a piece of Swiss cheese. “How is it possible you saw this man?”
“He is the one. This I know for sure. I took him myself to show him the village of the Osage. Neosho came out to meet us because he trusted me, unlike many of the other Osage. We not always friendly, but because Neosho lived among us for a time, he believed I meant them no harm. Because of my actions, he lost his entire family and much of his village.”
Cleo whirled on the colonel. “Is this true? Do you know how to cross over into his world?” When he didn’t answer, she shifted her gaze to the FBI agents. They shook their heads in confusion.
The colonel waved toward the chairs, but no one obeyed.
“Do you?” Her voice pitched a little higher than she intended.
“The short answer is yes.”
“There’s a long answer?” Jacque shoved Joseph several times before the Pawnee moved toward the swivel chair he rolled to the back of his knees. He patted the leather, but Joseph refused to sit. “Let me guess. You sent a bunch of your knuckle draggers across with smallpox to see if it changed on the transfer?”
“Not so simple.” The colonel eased himself into his chair as the lieutenant dragged a handkerchief across his bloody nose.
“Really, Colonel?” Agent Farentino chimed in. “Enlighten us, because you may have succeeded in exposing the entire city, if not the whole country, to smallpox because of your desire to have military might over the enemy. In case you’ve forgotten, biological warfare has been against the law since 1972. Where the hell did you get the idea this was okay?”
“In a world where terrorism is running rampant, the military decided to explore options that would eliminate the threat of biological agents we feared could go airborne in a short amount of time. Three different labs have mishandled smallpox containment areas in the last six years. We thought we’d manipulated the components that make smallpox so deadly. It was too late to destroy what remained of research smallpox, so our people managed to change the chemical makeup to force it to destroy itself.”
“I don’t understand why you took it to Joseph’s universe. What were you trying to prove?”
The colonel shifted in his chair a bit before nodding to his lieutenant. “Care to elaborate?”
Cleo reached out for Joseph’s hand and tugged gently so he would also sit in his chair.
“We knew multicellular organisms which produce their food by photosynthesis have the ability to thrive and spread outside their native range. These plants can be especially invasive when introduced to a new habitat.”
“Like the Asian kudzu plant in the south?” Cleo interjected.
“Exactly. Kudzu causes about six million dollars of damage each year in spite of the herbicides to control it.”
As silence stretched on, Cleo fidgeted in her chair. “So how does smallpox fit into this?”
The lieutenant continued. “Our primary concern might mean our people would be exposed and ultimately bring it here or possibly even die. Throughout history smallpox has attacked populations. We believed DARPA had finally discovered a way to destroy smallpox once and for all. All of us were vaccinated, but something happened when we crossed over.”
“Did you break out in smallpox?” As a doctor, Cleo wanted to sound outraged, but her interest grew with each revelation.
“We didn’t believe so. All of us suffered cold and flu-like symptoms.”
“Indicating the onset of smallpox.”
“Yes. But it lasted only twenty-four hours, and we thought the crossing might be the cause of our fever and distress since it vanished so quickly.”
“And you had no contact with the Pawnee or Osage during this time?” Jacque quizzed.
Wind Dancer twisted restlessly in his seat. “When I found them near the Platte River, they were starved and sick. I took them to my campsite, where I had been hunting with two other warriors. We shared food and water.”
“Did you cough, sneeze, or expose any of your bodily fluids during this time, Lieutenant?” Cleo already knew the answer.
“Yes. But we still believed it to be an adjustment to the crossover. After all, we were convinced the vaccination would prevent this kind of thing. The new strain of smallpox should have destroyed itself. History showed native tribes exposed to the virus would be decimated. Even though we knew their exposure would be inevitable with westward expansion, we didn’t want to be the cause.”
Agent Farentino weighed in next. “Explain your mission.”
Cleo stood up and pointed a finger at the colonel. “You knew those men were infected.” The colonel opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off. “Yes. You vaccinated after infecting them. You had no clue if it would be safe.”
“Our tests showed 90 percent effectiveness.”
She shot him an incredulous glare and flopped down in her chair when Agent Farentino slammed his fist on the table.
“The mission,” he snapped, his face flushed. “What the hell were you after?”
The colonel’s thicker bottom lip protruded. “We went to collect samples of the flora and fauna in hopes of manipulating the DNA. We also wanted to check for indications of change in parallel universes that could be beneficial to us. Believe it or not, we have samples from our 1800s. Comparing those samples could make great strides in environmental stability.”
“Since when did the Pentagon care about environmental stability?” Agent Crosby interjected.
“One of the biggest concerns at the Pentagon is water. With climate change, whole populations find themselves in drought areas that destroy access to successful farming. Even in this country, we’ve had years of drought out west. The plains provide wheat to the world, but in recent years has fought climate oscillations as well. For the last three years, the corn crop has produced half of its average annual yield.”
“So you want to monkey around with the DNA in hopes of creating more genetically modified foods.”
“If the world is starving, there’s no need for us to join them. Think of the peaceful possibilities.”
“I don’t follow.” Jacque frowned. “How can GMFs affect world peace?”
Cleo fingered loose strands of hair behind her ears. “We hold governments hostage with the promise of food, technology, and agricultural advancement with a price of allegiance and natural resources.”
“We don’t actually need natural resources for the most part. The reason OPEC keeps lowering their price on a barrel of oil is due to our increased independence. We’ll buy theirs until it’s gone then start selling to them. We want to rein in countries hostile to our government and those who support terrorism. Such hostility jeopardizes our way of life; from the movies we watch to the fast food restaurants we frequent.”
Jacque whispered, “That doesn’t sound like a bad thing, Cleo.”
“And the smallpox?” she quizzed, ignoring Jacque.
“An unfortunate discovery.”
“Unfortunate?” Wind Dancer growled. “Many people died. The Osage, Neosho, was exposed to smallpox and he is here. What will happen?”
“He’s right, Colonel Jefferson.” Agent Farentino locked his fingers together on top of the table. “What did you discover when your team returned with samples? Did you test the men as well?”
“We did. The virus mutated when they crossed bac
k. Even though the team had been inoculated against the virus, they suffered a mild form which didn’t manifest completely.”
“I don’t understand,” Agent Farentino said.
Cleo began to put it all together. “The men were inoculated against the disease so even though they exhibited symptoms, they didn’t completely break out. It’s like when an older patient who exhibits symptoms of shingles. We can give a ten-day dose of medicine to keep it from ever breaking through the skin into the blisters that lead to excruciating pain. Older patients often already have compromised immune systems, so this is a real breakthrough for them if they come in for treatment right away. Except, in this case, those men remained contagious.”
Wind Dancer crossed his arms on his chest, an expression of a gathering storm covering his face. “And when these men returned to this time, this universe, did the smallpox change again?”
“Yes.” The lieutenant hesitated. “The virus in all three of us remained alive and more dangerous than before. We went into quarantine for several months, undergoing tests and therapy until we found a new anti-virus that could protect the population. We believed only our team managed to cross over and survive the return trip. It seemed too preposterous to think the indigenous population could follow. There was no indication of anyone else following.”
“Why? Because we are ignorant savages who believe in evil spirits and worship things you do not understand?” Wind Dancer’s voice sounded amused. “We have known of these portals into your world for generations. Dr. Sommers, Cleopatra’s father was the first white man to survive the crossing. Many of our people have tried, but the openings…” He flexed his fist in some kind of motion then waited for Cleo for help.
“The portals fluctuated shut?” Cleo slapped her hands together. “Kind of like this.”
He nodded, his eyes wide. “Yes. They also moved. Some lasted only for a blink of the eye and could be large. The smaller ones stayed open longer, but dark inside, and we thought they held evil which could be brought into our world.” He shifted his gaze to the colonel. “I guess we were right.”
Dark Side of Morning (Wind Dancer Book 1) Page 11