Species II (26 page)

17

“M
an,” Press said with a reluctant amount of admiration. “Look at this—he blew through this gate like he was a tank and it was paper.”

He and Laura and Colonel Burgess were outside the buildings that made up the BioHazard 4 complex, watching as a maintenance detachment scurried around with tools and rolls of fencing and worked to repair the huge rip in the front security gate. Above them was the sentry tower, heavily manned but apparently as useless as anything else had been in the efforts to keep Patrick Ross from leaving the base.

“What’s that supposed to be?” Burgess asked with a sneer. “Another excuse? We had him in custody, under guard, and
you
let him escape. Do you think you could get any more incompetent than you already are?” Press started to retort but Burgess turned his back and gestured furiously at the men measuring out lengths of cyclone fencing. “Hurry it up,” he shouted. “Get this damned thing fixed!” He whirled and faced off with Press again, his cheeks red with anger. “I can’t believe I offered you a million bucks to do this job, Lennox. You’re not worth two cents!”

Again Press opened his mouth to reply, but this time Laura beat him to the punch. “Fuck you, Burgess,” she cut in. The older man’s jaw dropped and Press felt himself start to grin, tried to hide it because he knew it would only make things worse. “If there’s an imbecile anywhere on this base, you’re it.”

Carter Burgess’s face went a nice shade of plum. “What did you say?”

“Are you deaf as well as foolish?” Laura spat. “This is all
your
fault—none of it would have happened if you hadn’t forced me to put Eve into the cyclotron. Patrick never even knew she existed until she made that telepathic link, and she never had that until your cyclotron order. Why don’t you be a man and face up to the fact that you just fucked up big time?”

Burgess took a step toward her, but Laura stood her ground. “Now you listen to me, Dr. Baker. You just watch what comes out of your mouth. You have no idea who you’re talking to, and if you ever speak to me like that again, I’ll shut your trap for you—”

It happened before he consciously sent the command to his brain: Press’s hands were twisted in the folds of Burgess’s military dress shirt tightly enough to cut off the colonel’s air supply and
really
give his complexion a reason to change color. “I think the person who ought to watch what the hell he’s saying is right here,” Press growled. His nose was an inch away from Burgess’s and he could smell the man’s aftershave, something inexpensive and sharp. Funny, Press would have expected even this jackass to have better taste. “You threaten Laura again and I’ll kill you. No fancy method, just a good old hand-to-hand elimination job where I rip out your lungs by their roots.” He released Burgess with a shove that made the man stumble backward. “Get it?”

Carter Burgess glowered at him. “You don’t want to go there, Lennox.”

Press’s return grin was nasty and much more menacing than anything that Burgess could have come up with. “Maybe I do.”

For a long, frozen moment, the three of them stared at one another and no one moved. Finally, Burgess broke the standoff. “Let’s just knock it off. Everyone’s upset and anxious, but we need to keep our heads clear and not muck things up further by losing our tempers. Remember, we still have to find Patrick Ross.” He paused and looked away, staring at the nearly mended fence but seeing something else. “I may know a way,” he said at last. “I’ll be in touch, and if you come up with any leads in the meantime, let me know.”

Press and Laura watched him move off to his sedan and talk to the driver, then climb in the back seat. A few tricky maneuvers and the driver had turned the vehicle around and sped away from the base.

“Thanks,” Laura said when the car was out of sight.

“Aw, he’s nothing but a marble-eyed, goose-stepping son of a bitch.”

She looked at him, then burst into laughter. “I’ve missed you,” she said with a nostalgic smile. “You always made me laugh.”

Press swung back to her instead of starting back toward the lab. “I’ve missed you, too.”

They gazed at each other and Press took a chance and touched her cheek. It’d been a long time since he’d felt the softness of her skin and the feeling was better than his lousy memory had let him enjoy. “Laura—”

“Gamble’s waiting in the lab,” she said gently. “Let’s go.”

Press dropped his hand and nodded resolutely, following her back to the BioHazard 4 laboratory. Losing Ross was his fuck-up of the day, but he wasn’t at all sure it was the biggest one in his life.

I
t was a beautiful office and, of course, one that Carter Burgess could never hope to have for himself. Funny how that was—the quirk of fate that let one man be born into the arms of a centuries-old southern family with political ties as unshakable as their family fortune, while another man—himself, for instance—was born the son of a World War II army mechanic and a WAC. All those carefully framed photos of Senator Ross with various Presidents and here, on the prime corner of the huge desk, was a portrait of the man himself and his astronaut son, Commander Patrick Ross. What a terrible waste. But Judson Ross would get past it because, Burgess believed, the man was a survivor like himself.

The senator just needed a little time to get a handle on things.

“The proof is incontrovertible, sir,” Burgess said. “Your son was infected by alien DNA while he was up in that capsule. I’m sorry, Senator.”

Spread on the desktop in front of a disbelieving Judson Ross were a dozen photographs, all in lurid, unforgiving color. Dr. Ralph Orinsky, the two young women from the Watergate Hotel, a half dozen others; at the last minute Burgess had decided to remove the photograph of Melissa, thinking that something like that would be a shock for even a strong man when he knew the victim.

“My God,” said Senator Ross in a tortured voice. “You’re telling me my son did these . . . these horrible
things?”

“Yes, sir. We have matching blood types, DNA matches, and a witness. We had your boy in custody, but he injured a number of people when he engineered an escape attempt.” Burgess gave him a sidelong glance. “I’m afraid that two of those men are in critical condition. Generally speaking, they aren’t expected to recover.”

The senator scrubbed at his face with his hands. “You’re sure it was my son?” he repeated.

Burgess stepped forward and put a hand on the desktop. “Listen, Senator. You can rest assured that we’ll deal with this problem quietly. Patrick will receive medical treatment—the best doctors the United State government has, as well as the most expensive the private sectors have to offer. You know what that means, what we’re capable of—treatment and cures that the public generally doesn’t even know exist yet. And all top secret—the last thing this country and the President needs right now is anything that would tarnish the Ross family name.”

Burgess heard a scraping sound and saw Ross bend slightly to the side. A moment later, he pulled a bottle of Old Grand-Dad from the drawer along with a crystal shot glass. His hands were shaking as he poured himself first one slug, then another; he looked like a man who was drowning and just wanted to anesthetize himself as he went under. The alcohol must’ve burned on the way down, because he swallowed hard and it was a long time before he could finally speak. “What do we do?” he asked mournfully. Senator Ross’s face reminded Burgess of a sad old dog, shriveled and sagging at the edges.

Colonel Burgess cleared his throat. “There are two imperatives, Senator Ross. First and foremost, we have to find Patrick and bring him in immediately. There can’t be any more deaths and any more . . .” The senator looked at him expectantly but he broke off, unwilling to tell the elder Ross any more than was absolutely necessary. “Any more problems,” he finally finished. “Second, we have to neutralize
any
possibility that this situation leaks to the media. That would be extremely damaging in far too many areas. Not only would the Ross family name be destroyed, the NSEG’s integrity would be suspect and the President’s favorability ratings would plummet. We can’t allow any of that to happen. I have to tell you . . .” He hesitated, then decided to continue. Of all things, the senator had a right to hear his next words. “The generals are very concerned.”

His statement had the effect of a rifle shot on Senator Ross. Lines of anxiety appeared like crevices in his skin and there was a sharp flash of fear in his eyes. “The generals?” For an instant, no more, his face went blank while the knowledge worked its way a little deeper. “Jesus Christ, Burgess—they’ll kill my boy, won’t they? Or have him killed!”

“Senator—”

“Those fucking Pentagon bastards will have Patrick assassinated to protect themselves! To keep it all nice and tidy and
quiet!”

“Senator,” Burgess tried to cut in. “I assure you that we have no intention of—”

“I’ve seen what they can do!” Senator Ross shrieked.

“Senator, please. You don’t—”

“Don’t you let them kill him, Burgess!” He was rising from his chair, already shouting and with his voice still climbing. “That’s a direct order, damn it. Don’t you—”

“We won’t—”

Ross suddenly lunged around the side of the desk and clutched at Colonel Burgess’s jacket. “Please, Carter,
please.
He’s my son, my only child.” Blubbering now, and this kind of display of emotion in such a powerful man made Burgess’s skin crawl. “I’m begging you,” Senator Ross sobbed. “Don’t let them do this—don’t let them take my son away. He’s my only boy!”

Burgess barely stopped the sound of disgust in his throat as he forced the senator’s hands to let go, then straightened his jacket. God, the man was drunk—how much of that bottle had this fool pumped down even before Burgess had walked in here with the horrible news about Patrick? To know that this man, who was in charge of so many things for the American people, had been sitting here and knocking back whiskey as though he’d been in a back-street bar instead of a senatorial office was appalling.

“If you want to save your son, Senator Ross, I suggest you help us find him.” Burgess’s voice was cold and comfortless. “It’s the only way the boy will live.”

“S
he’s incredibly beautiful,” Dennis Gamble said. “How can she be so dangerous and look like this?”

He was standing right outside Eve’s bio-environment, staring at the woman inside. He felt vaguely like a voyeur but if Eve resented being looked at, she showed no sign of it. Instead, she came to the glass to look back at him, studying his face curiously before letting her gaze travel up and down his body. After a second’s hesitation, Dennis gingerly lifted his hand and pressed it against the glass. Eve did the same, placing her palm against his on the other side. Then, inexplicably, she made a repulsed face and pulled her hand away; without even looking back at Dennis, she spun and returned to the living area of her habitat to sit in front of the television. For her, Dennis Gamble no longer existed.

“Damn,” Dennis said. “Would you look at that? It just figures—the way my luck’s been running, I can’t even attract an alien. I thought you said she and Patrick were attracted to anyone.”

“They are, for the most part,” Laura agreed. She was about twenty feet away, working at a computer console while Press leaned off to one side, his watchful eyes taking in everything around the lab. Laura’s voice was more relaxed than it had been in days and the reasons were all around her—security in the BioHazard 4 laboratory had been tripled since Eve’s near escape. A sole guard had even been assigned to stand by the tether mechanism, and her only job was to trigger it if something went wrong.

“Then what the hell’s wrong with me?” Dennis asked as he walked back over to the computer area. “She was looking at me, then suddenly she pulled away like I had leprosy or something.”

“I’m not trying to scare you, Dennis, but to her, you do.” She tapped a few more things into the computer console, then sat back.

He frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“Some people carry a genetic code in their DNA that gives them a predisposition toward a certain disease,” Laura explained. “It doesn’t mean that they have the disease, or even that they’ll ever get it. However, for certain types of illness there is a distinct probability that the disease will appear in their offspring. People with certain types of bone-marrow disease, for instance, will generally get blood tests either before they marry or before they decide to have children.”

Dennis was silent for a minute or so. “I don’t think I have anything like that,” he said slowly. He shot a troubled glance back at Eve’s glass habitat. “Unless she can . . . I don’t know. Smell something on me that I don’t know about.”

Laura turned back to the console and rapid-fired a series of keystrokes into the computer. Windows flashed on the screen, then the speaker gave a bleep. “Let’s take a look at your chart,” she said serenely. “Obviously you were in excellent health when you were chosen for the Mars landing expedition, and you maintained that health throughout your training. The periodic physicals and ongoing blood monitoring would have revealed any change.” She studied the text scrolling by on the screen. “Nothing here,” she murmured. “Wait—”

“What?” Dennis asked anxiously. Even Press turned his attention away from whatever mental security calculations were going on inside his head.

“Ah,” Laura said and sat back. “It’s right here on your chart. Not to worry—you don’t have a thing wrong with you. There is, however, a predisposition in your family history on your father’s side toward cancer. So far, you’ve escaped any problem; however, these aliens can—how should I put this
?—read
us in some way that we don’t understand yet. Things that take intensive medical testing for us to discover, they detect immediately, and as you just saw, sometimes without even physically touching the person.”

“That’s a pretty good skill,” Press commented.

Laura nodded. “Oh, you bet. If I remember correctly, you and I talked about it in our encounters with Sil.” Her gaze on Press was clear. “I know you think I’m the world’s biggest idiot for agreeing to be a part of this project and for helping the military to re-create—what did you call it? ‘Sil-Lite.’ ” She actually smiled. “But I saw so much potential for good there—what if we could breed a tamer, calmer version of a creature that would help us diagnose diseases we can’t even find with our best medical equipment?”