Separation (9 page)

She’d never gotten dizzy before, but fine,
foreign travel could make anyone hungry or feel unsettled. She
could eat all she wanted, Harry thought, but the main problem
remained of who the mystery man was in all this. Leo was sleeping
in another chamber, so the question of the voice with an American
accent arose. Harry asked, “Did you get a name?”

Istvan nodded. “I hear the name Allenby. I do
not know of him.”

Harry didn’t, either. “I need to send a
message.”

“You will have to go to the surface,” Carlo
interrupted as he made his way into the chamber. He walked over and
pointed at the ceiling. “The reception down here is non-existent.
Follow me.”

They snaked their way through the narrow
waterway, always taking care to step lightly. The faintest sound
echoed sharply off the walls, and Harry’s sense of paranoia grew
with every step he took.

Finally, they reached the surface, and Carlo
pushed the grate off, poking his head out of the hole and swiveling
it left and right. With a quick wave of his hand, he motioned
upwards. “I will keep watch,” he said. “Please hurry.”

Duly noted, and Harry clambered out of the
sewer. Sitting on the concrete, he quickly typed
Jason, Maze...
find out what you can about a person named Allenby.

The reply came back in less than a minute.
This is Maze. Lots of Allenby’s in the registry. Can you narrow
it down?

Harry licked his lips as he searched his
memory for a possible link. A name floated up. It was a slim lead
at best... and it all had to do with a company.
Check on Applied
Scientific Research.

Applied Scientific Research—ASR for short—had
once been affiliated with the FBI. They’d wanted certain secrets in
order to further medical research to be used to cure cancer and
leukemia, in addition to other life-threatening diseases.

After a number of incidents had occurred,
incidents meaning some other transgenic creations had wreaked havoc
all over New York, the FBI had cut ties with them. More than
likely, ASR hadn’t been very happy about it, and Harry had the
hunch they were behind all of this recent mayhem... maybe.

The reply came back two minutes later.
Got
it
Maze wrote.
Horace Allenby, former director of ASR.
Genetics researcher... founder of ASR... missing since August of
2014 and presumed dead...

Doubtful on the dead part, thought Harry.
Theory or not, he had a hunch Allenby had faked his demise and had
gotten the Genesis Chambers up and running years back. How he’d
gotten the technology remained a mystery, though.

Another thought, one closer to home, rang in
Harry’s mind, and he asked Maze if she’d heard from Overton. This
time, Jason replied.
Yeah, he called us on a secure line from
some hospital in Italy. He said he got the order from Farrell to
return. He’s coming back soon. Are you guys in trouble?

Yes.

Oh crap...

We’ll be okay
Harry hurriedly typed
out after receiving Carlo’s worried glance and gesture indicating
they return to the sewers.
I’ll contact you when I can.

Logging off, he thought briefly of his mentor
in the hospital, and then sequestered that thought away. He’d meet
Farrell later on and hoped his mentor would last until he returned.
As he and his guide made their way back to the main chamber, Harry
asked, “What’s the plan?”

Carlo offered a brief shrug and put a finger
to his lips. “Keep your voice low. We are not sure if someone is
listening.”

Harry nodded. Security had to be paramount
down there... and he still wasn’t sure the church was totally on
their side. They were under the largest and most powerful religious
institution in the world. The thought of being trapped down there
was a most unsettling one. “What are you going to do?” he
whispered.

The answer came back in the same soft voice.
“I do not know if Signor Morello told you or not. There is no
central leadership. We are trying to link up with our other
comrades in France and Spain. Those are the two main countries
where our brethren have settled. They were forced out of the other
European countries.”

“Forced out?”

A sad smile accompanied the words, “You do
not know. I shall tell you.”

A few months back, when the first transgenics
had come from various countries in the European Union, the rest of
the world didn’t know what to do with them. Those hybrids had come
from the laboratories of the scientists responsible for the
transgenic program, mainly Kulakov. They’d escaped from the
laboratories, found one another, and linked up.

From there, they’d willingly come forward,
asked for jobs, and presented their skills. Some of them had
university educations, while others possessed knowledge in the
manual arts. Still more had no special abilities at all, save
youth, strength, and the desire to do an honest day’s work.

“They were denied,” Carlo said with a trace
of bitterness. “They were called abominations and affronts to God,
they had their passports revoked, and they were given the choice of
leaving their homeland or going to jail.

“They took the former choice, most of them.
Those that stayed were either jailed or shot, at least here in my
country. In Germany, while they were not deported, they were also
not accepted. The authorities there said they already had too many
refugees from the Middle East.”

At least they hadn’t been killed. In the
Baltic countries, most of the transgenics had been massacred.
Russia had been especially ferocious in hunting them down.
Switzerland had refused them sanctuary, and Great Britain had
accepted only a handful. Most of the other pro-Western countries
had followed the same pattern. “We are not wanted, no matter how
much we wish to contribute.”

Seeking a place of safety, they’d turned to
the various religious organizations and those sympathetic to their
cause. There weren’t many willing to help. “In Italy, our churches
have helped, but not all of them. In France and Spain, the Jewish
and Muslim relief groups have combined forces, but they, too, have
been shunned, as they are the religious minority. It seems,” he
said with a sigh, “there are no safe places for us to go.”

Harry listened, attempting to digest the
facts at hand. Where could they go, what could they do, and what
would their future be? “What do you guys really want?” He hoped
they wouldn’t go radical in the same manner as Szabo and his ilk,
but the possibility existed.

The answer came out simply and yet it carried
great emotional weight. “Our rights,” Carlo answered in a grave
voice. “What else do we need? I know about engineering. I know how
to operate heavy machinery. I do not remember much about my family,
even I had one, but I do know about my abilities.

“Others here are knowledgeable about using
computers, have medical training, understand the ways of chemistry
and more. Many of us have had our minds invaded and our memories
stripped away. As for our families...” his voice trailed off a
moment and he gave a helpless shrug.

“We are not animals in spite of how we look.
We
are
different, yes, but we are still people, and our
basic personalities remain. We only want the same chance as our
Italian brothers and sisters and nothing more.”

Simply and yet eloquently spoken, his words
gave Harry a sense of hope... but at the same time, reality reared
its ugly head. Carlo had just mentioned the other countries’
governments being unwilling to help. It would be a long, arduous
road to acceptance.

More telling, though, was that if rights to
the transgenic population were not accorded, where would the
transgenics go? More importantly, what would they do? As if reading
his mind, Carlo nodded. “I can imagine what you are thinking. You
are thinking some of us will fight against this injustice,
yes?”

“It crossed my mind.”

Carlo gave a hmmphing sound and crossed his
massive arms over his chest. “It has also crossed my mind. However,
Monsignor Morello and others in the church are working on our
behalf. The religious and relief organizations in other countries
are also working to aid us. We must be patient. There are not
enough of us, and we have no power. As I said before, we need
leadership.”

He said nothing more. Once they reached the
main chamber, Anastasia met them. Even in the dim light, she looked
pale. “Are you okay?”

“I tossed everything up for the second time
since we got here.”

She threw up again...
He didn’t want
to believe it, but it had to be true. Just to make sure, he asked,
“Uh, how long have you been feeling sick?”

Anastasia blinked. “It started a few days
ago. I...”

Seconds later, her voice died away, but a
faint smile spread across her face. “I’m also late. Maybe I should
have told you?”

She was late... late as in...

With a sense of realization that bordered on
shock—almost—Harry whispered, “You’re pregnant?”

“It seems to be that way.”

Suddenly at a loss, his mind whirling, he sat
down. Carlo gave him a pat on the shoulder. “It happens,” he said
in a deadpan manner which provoked a giggle from Anastasia.
“Congratulations... Papa.”

“Yeah...”

Harry couldn’t think of anything else to say.
Carlo excused himself, and once they were alone, Anastasia took a
seat, her legs folded underneath, and her hand upon her flat belly.
“Are you happy?”

How was he supposed to feel? Shocked,
surprised, awed... and yes, he was happy. Reaching out to touch her
stomach gently, she guided his hand to where she said she felt it
most. “I sometimes feel a twinge here. I’ve never been pregnant
before, but I guess I’ll learn.” Her gaze met his. “You are happy,
aren’t you?”

“Well, yeah, but when, I mean, how...”

Anastasia arched her eyebrows upwards in
disbelief. “If you don’t know, then you need to reassess your
life’s priorities.”

Harry felt the blood rush to his face. “I
know how,” he stumbled out. “But I mean, are you sure?”

She nodded. “What else could it be? I didn’t
have time to take the pregnancy test. Anyway, I can still help you
out. Did you send the message?”

Putting aside the concept of becoming a
first-time father for the moment, Harry filled her in on the
details. “Yeah, I heard about a guy named Allenby. He used to work
for ASR.”

Anastasia blinked. “Weren’t they working with
the FBI before?”

“Maybe this guy Allenby is behind it.”

He then went searching for Leo, and found him
in an adjacent chamber, feeding his face on a pile of pasta and
slabs of cheese. He looked up, his cheeks bulging like a squirrel
storing up nuts for the winter. “What is it?”

“What did the American say to you?” Harry
needed to know everything in as much detail as possible. “Did he
give you a name, tell you anything? We need to know what he looked
like.”

After chewing and swallowing, Leo painted a
most impressive description that would have made a police artist’s
job easy. The man in question was in his forties, short and stocky,
with a head of thinning blond hair and an authoritative manner. He
had no distinguishing marks, save a birthmark running from the top
of his hairline to his right eye. “It was red, very red, like a
scar, but not a scar.”

The doctors called it a port wine stain,
Harry recalled. The next time he was on the surface, he’d try to
get a picture from Maze. “Did he say anything about creating other
transgenics?”

Leo chewed on his lower lip in a slow,
thoughtful manner. “He no say much. He point and gesture at the
other changed people. It is like he is master and they are slaves.
He point and they do, or he get very angry.”

Power trip, he’s into control.
Harry
had met others like him before. They exuded authority even if they
didn’t have the brains to back it up. Some of his university
professors had acted the same way. Once he’d shown them his
results, they clammed up and left him alone. However, that had been
a year and a bodily transformation ago...

“Did he say anything else?”

Leo shook his head. “No, he just say he
search for someone and then tell us to leave.”

“Thanks.”

Harry walked over to the wall, thinking about
Allenby’s plan and running some permutations through his gray
matter. An awful thought occurred to him, but while he was thinking
things through, Anastasia walked over and tapped him on the
shoulder, interrupting his train of thought. “So,” she prodded,
“spill.”

“He needs Istvan’s blood. I can figure out
that much.”

A warning light flared in her eyes. “We have
to get him out of here. If the citizen’s groups don’t get him and
everyone else first, Allenby’s brood will.”

“You’re my top priority.”

Anastasia’s expression softened. “Thank you.”
She leaned up to kiss him. “But I can handle myself. I know my
body... sort of. Outside of throwing up, I can deal with this.
Don’t worry.”

Easy for her to say, Harry thought as they
searched for Istvan. They found him sleeping in an adjacent chamber
and woke him up. He sat up, rubbing his porcine face. “What is
it?”

“We have to get you out of here,” Harry said.
“Farrell and our other man need you back in the States.”

“Can you guarantee my safety?” Istvan’s
question was simply put, but the answer was complex. “Here, I have
some. I know why they want me. I remember you tell me my blood is
special. If it is special, perhaps many people want it.”

It
was
special, but being special also
meant problems associated with the uniqueness of it all. Harry had
researched it in the past, and even though he doubted the people
here had the proper equipment, still, he had to try. After finding
Carlo, he asked him what kind of medical equipment they had.