Adopted Son (28 page)

The man plops himself down in the seat next to her and passes her a bag covered with the appropriate corporate logos. “Burger and onion rings, just like you asked.”

“I can’t believe that you have to drive almost an hour to get food around here.” The two open their packages and begin squirting the contents of small ketchup packages. “I didn’t even think that this island was that big.”

“It’s not,” Frank says with half-mocked cynicism. “But you’re lucky if you can get up to 30 miles an hour on these roads, and that’s with the 4-wheeler.”

“I can’t believe that I’ve been here for four months. I want to get back to civilization.”

“That’s only because you spend all of your time out here on the east side. You should hang out more at Alofi. It’s getting really exciting. They’ve almost finished the main complex.” Just then a large cargo plane flies overhead. They used to be so unusual out here. This place only had one flight a week, and that’s if it even bothered to show up. Now cargo is being shipped in ten times a day. The U.S. Army Corps of Engineers had to expand the runway twice already.

“I still can’t believe that we’re out here. Couldn’t we have found an immune population in LA or Paris? How come every time Mensen needs something from a god-forsaken place, I’m the one who’s got to go?

“Oh stop complaining. He’ll be here soon enough. The facility is supposed to be operational in two months. Then they’re all coming. And we’ll be here for a while too.”

“You don’t think that we’re going to find anything?”

Frank coughed and took a sip of his warm soda. Food was so far away from their location that they had long gotten used to eating cold meals with warm drinks. “Come on, you know how science works. You can’t just throw money at the problem. Things take time. Even if we isolated the gene factor tomorrow we’re still looking at five years of work to develop a vaccine.”

Nancy crumpled up her wrappers and looked for a trashcan. She always felt bad throwing away things out here. There wasn’t really any trash collection. “Yeah, but maybe...,” she said getting up and returning to the hut, “...once we’ve got something concrete, we’ll do the rest of the work back in the U.S.”

“Ha ha, after the UN spent a billion dollars building the ‘world’s most impressive biotechnology research facility’ all the way out here? It ain’t going to happen honey. We’re here for the long haul. All of us.” He moved his fingers in a ‘quote’ motion when he talked about the facility. It was a giant project that dwarfed the NIH. The idea was that all HS research would be moved to the island. It was voted in the UN to make the HS-vaccine project a World Priority, and all nations were required to do their part. Of course, some industrialized countries offered to build the facility on their soil, but smaller nations were worried that the research would be politicized or withheld by their richer neighbors. After much debate in the Security Council, it was decided to build the facility here, out in the Pacific. It was remote, but it wouldn’t be too hard to ship the technology in. With the large population of resistant individuals to use as test subjects, the island provided researchers with opportunities not available elsewhere. Of course being a small, independent country didn’t hurt either. For their part, the islanders were grateful for the attention. It meant money and opportunities that hadn’t existed before. Within months they would have reliable power, they would have paved roads, they would have malls and stores that would cater to the seven thousand scientists that were recruited to move to this desolate place. All of the top biologists in the world were coming. This program was fast becoming more high profile than the U.S. space program had been in the 1960s. Older, established scientists were drawn by grant money that flowed like water, and the opportunity to rapidly make a name for oneself pulled in the younger researchers eager for their Nobel Prize.

As Nancy stepped back out of the hut she saw two native men walking up to the porch. In their hands they carried necklaces with ornate wooden pendants attached. They presented the necklaces to the two researchers, going so far as to actually place the strands over their head. “These are for you, they are good luck charms. You are going to save the world,” one said. They smiled ear to ear revealing mouths of half-rotten teeth.

“ummm. Thanks,” Nancy said with a quizzical half-smile on her face. She turned to Frank. He just shrugged and tried to suppress a giggle.

Three days after the UN HS-Vaccine Research Center formally began operations. Area 51, NV

There are layers to all organization. There are levels within levels. There are meanings within meanings and purposes within purposes. Very few people are allowed access to the most inner circles. There are dozens of programs that only a handful of people have access to, and access to one doesn’t mean you are allowed to even find out that others exist. This place is the headquarters of one of those programs.

A helicopter is landing. A man dressed in army fatigues guides it down to the pad. It is black, no markings at all, not the U.S. Army white star, not the organization’s name, not even the required FAA call number. This helicopter doesn’t exist. Its purpose is to bring people who will deny having been, to a place that doesn’t exist. Not even America’s rivals know about this facility. It was built in the side of a mesa decades ago when those who plotted here had different enemies. Before the helicopter blades even come to a complete stop, General Hudson, looking strangely out of fashion in non-descript civilian clothes and mirrored sunglasses steps out. A jeep is waiting, motor already running. It is almost an hour drive to the facility. The landing pad is placed far enough away from the mesa to not arouse the suspicions of anyone who might see helicopters landing in this remote corner of Nevada. He gets into the jeep followed by two other non-descript men. The vehicle drives off in the direction of what everyone assumes to be an old test-shot hole dug by the military before underground nuclear testing became politically taboo. The helicopter pilot sits in his seat and swigs some water before taking off again. He watches the dust trail as the jeep moves over the unpaved surface of the salt flat. He wonders where these people go. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t have the clearance to know. Not even Johnston had the clearance to know. He never suspected what was out here in the desert. Even when he was Vice President he was kept in the dark. Of course, this place was never a part of Bluefly, Majestik-12 or Beachcomber. It was designed with the Soviets in mind. The research of Project ‘Zephyr-Alpha’ is a very well-kept secret.

White House Rose Garden, Seven years to the day after Jim’s speech on the Capitol steps.

“...and I am proud to stand here today, surrounded by the next generation of Americans. The people who will lead the way into the future. The protectors of our legacy. No matter what the future brings, I know that our values, the core of what makes us American, will live on. And as a father myself, that’s all I can ask for.” The President gives a wave to the crowd of reporters.

“This way Mr. President.” A press aide takes him by the shoulder and guides him over to the ornate wood table that has been brought out onto the dais. He sits in a cushy chair and examines the bill one last time. To his right are twelve gold-plated pens, one for each letter in his name. As photographers snap pictures he picks up the first pen and makes an ‘A then a second ‘a’ with the second pen, and so on until his entire name, Aaron H. Talbot, is spelled out. He hates the way they make him sign these things. It looks like a child wrote it. It’s for posterity and he can’t sign his name properly because he has to create as many commemorative pens as he can to give out to supporters. “They’re probably mad that they didn’t elect someone with a longer name,” he thinks as he crosses the last ‘t.’ Once his arduous task is complete, he stands and shakes hands with the little man beside him. Alien skin is rather moist and slippery feeling, like a dolphin, and he has never really liked to touch them. The alien’s fingers are too long for a proper handshake, they curl around his wrist and make him feel like he’s shaking hands with a bony squid. But he would learn to live with it. It was just one of those things that a person has to get used to.

After the obligatory picture taking, the alien drops the President’s hand and moves the podium. Unlike the first time he spoke in Washington seven years ago, he is wearing an expensive and stylish suit created just for him by a known fashion designer. With no hair to speak of, his prep time for the cameras was kept to a minimum, but he still had grayish powder dabbed all over his face to look more presentable on television. He didn’t argue too much, the makeup artists knew what they were doing. They had even brought in a special Alien-American makeup artist who normally worked in Hollywood painting up the handful of alien stars who were on TV sitcoms.

He looked out over the crowd and smiled broadly. The audience was mixed, with several Alien-American journalists crowded in among the throng of people that had come here to see the signing ceremony. “The amount of attention being paid here today is what I’m the most thankful for,” he began. “It shows that my work these past seven years has not been unnoticed. Today is the culmination of my dream. It is a dream that many others have had. A dream that all people who come to America have– to be free. Just like the struggles of the Africans to sit at the front of the bus, the struggles of the feminists to guarantee women the vote, and the struggles of the homosexuals to be free to express their love without fear of reprisal, I too have dreamed of freedom. Seven years ago when I started JHADS I couldn’t walk the streets among you. I couldn’t go to restaurants and be served a meal. Even if I hadn’t been so young, I wouldn’t have been allowed to vote. But things have changed. I have followed the path of my predecessors like the Reverend Bentley, and I fought for what I believe in– Equality. Here today, with President Talbot’s help, I think that we have achieved it. The bill being signed into law today prevents discrimination on the basis of genetic factors. It will allow people like myself to be employed by the federal government, to be allowed to fight in the military, to be allowed to rent an apartment or apply for a job without fear of discrimination. And once and for all it closes the remaining Johnston Orphanages that kept us as virtual prisoners in the name of scientific research.”

“I would like to thank my Alien-American brothers for all the work they’ve done to bring this about. I can understand how humans might fear us, how they might not trust us. I credit each and every one of you for standing up and showing that you are just as red-blooded, just as normal, just as... American as everyone else in this country. That is what has turned the tide in our favor and made those who feared the unknown learn to cherish this new resource. And while we still maintain hope that a cure to this virus will be found, we, the Alien-American community, stand ready to take up the guard from our fathers and keep the values of America strong!” The crowd cheered.

“But this is not the end of our struggle. There are still those groups in America that hate us for the color of our skin and the length of our fingers. Even worse is the treatment we receive in other parts of the world. The infanticide and murder of innocent alien children is leading to a noticeable decline in world population. In many places we do not have the right to vote or even to be seen outside! In other places we are routinely rounded up and placed in what can only be called concentration camps. This must end! The U.S. must put pressure on the UN to force an end of these human rights abuses. None of us will be free until we are all free! So let’s celebrate this victory today and redouble or efforts towards building a better tomorrow. A tomorrow where all people, human and alien can live together in peace and harmony. Thank you.”

Jim stepped off the stage to allow the next speaker to talk. He walked backstage to a rousing congratulations by some of the staffers who had worked on the bill. Someone handed him an ornate wooden box tied with a ribbon. Inside was an expensive looking gold-plated pen.

UN HS-Vaccine Research Center, Republic of Niue. Three months after James Miller’s Rose Garden Speech.

“Is Stacy going to be all right?” The young alien was quite concerned. He wasn’t used to this much attention. For him, attention usually meant criticism. If someone was watching him closely he must have done something wrong.

“Everything is going to be just fine Mr. Lawson, they’re just prepping her. There’s nothing you can do right now. Let’s take a walk in the courtyard, it’ll steady your nerves,” replied Nancy.

The two walked out of the main hospital complex into the inner courtyard. The Project facility had been built much more ornately than it really needed to be, partially because they had to keep the researchers, who tended to be much more testy than regular people, happy out here in the middle of the Pacific; and partially because with such a high profile, the designers wanted to primp and preen as much as possible. With time being more of an issue than money, the Project administrators often had plenty of cash left for aesthetics.

“I didn’t mean for this to happen you know. I really didn’t,” he was still a bit embarrassed by the incident.

“I know Mr. Lawson, it’s ok, we’re not here to judge you. Actually,” she leaned in, “...as far as we’re concerned here on the island, we’re very glad this happened. We’ve been waiting for an opportunity like this for a long time.”

The two sat on a bench under a palm tree. Various men and women in white lab coats scurried back and forth along the stone paths. Some carried samples, others carried packets of papers, some just wandered aimlessly, lost in thought. A brightly plumed bird flew overhead. “Who would have thought,” said the boy, “that I’d ever be in a place like this. I mean I’ve never been outside London before you know. And now here I am on a tropical island halfway around the world.”

“Yes, this place does grow on you after a while.” In the courtyard, the stiff breeze was blocked and the warm, sunny air just made you feel happy.