Title:
Excerpt from the award-winning sci-fi “Perfection Unleashed”
Today, I’d like to
share with you the first chapter from Perfection Unleashed, the first in the Double
Helix series…
~*~*~
On another Friday night,
she might have been out at a Georgetown bar, accepting drinks from attractive
men and allowing them to delude themselves into imagining that they
might be the lucky one to take her home.
Tonight, she had work
to do.
The hem of the white
lab coat brushed about her legs as she strode toward the double doors
that barred entry to the western wing. No one paid her any attention.
Scientists and lab technicians scurried past her, nodding at her with
absent-minded politeness. On Friday evening, with the weekend beckoning,
no one thought about security.
Where men faltered,
technology kept going.
The corridor seemed
endlessly long, and the security cameras that pivoted on their ceiling-mounted
frames bore into her back. She knew that her image likely featured on
one or more of the many monitors at the security desk, but a combination
of training and nerves of steel steadied her. She resisted the urge
to twitch or to hurry her pace.
Each step brought her
closer to an ominously glowing red eye on the security panel beside
the door. Undeterred, she waved her badge over the panel. Moments later,
the security panel flashed to green and a heavy lock slid back. Another
small triumph. It usually took a series of them to make a victory.
She lowered her head,
ostensibly to look down at the tablet in her hand. Her long, dark hair
fell forward, concealing the lower half of her face from the security
camera as she walked through the open door. “Entering the western
wing,” she murmured, trusting the concealed microphone to pick
up on her whisper.
“Good luck,” Carlos’s
voice responded through the tiny earpiece inserted in her right ear.
“All’s clear out here.”
“I’m really glad
the security pass I programmed for you actually worked,” Xin added,
a whimsical tone in her voice.
Zara was glad, too.
She had a solid plan. Two of her finest associates backed her up—Carlos
Sanchez waiting in the car concealed off road outside Pioneer Labs,
and Mu Xin poised in front of a computer in her Alexandria home—but
she could come up with a list of a half-dozen things that could still
go wrong.
“I’ve finished checking
the employee log against the National Mutant Registry,” Xin continued.
“You’ve lucked out, Zara. Apparently Pioneer Labs isn’t big into
hiring mutants. You won’t have to contend with any telepaths or telekinetics
tonight.”
Good. That was one thing
she could strike off her list.
Another long hallway
stretched in front of her, but the glass-enclosed research station on
the left drew her attention. Two lab technicians huddled around a network
of computers, their attention focused on the output pouring from the
whirling terminals. Her gaze drifted over the lab technicians and focused
on Roland Rakehell and Michael Cochran, the famous co-creators of “Galahad”,
the perfect human. The two scientists stood in contemplative discussion
in front of a liquid-filled fiberglass chamber.
The man floating within
the sensory deprivation tank, his head encased in a metallic hood and
his face covered by breathing apparatus, writhed in agony. Wires monitoring
heart rate and brain waves trailed from his naked body. Jagged edges
leaped hysterically off the computer readouts as mind and body convulsed,
shuddering with madness and pain.
One of the lab technicians
spoke up, “Professor, his brain waves indicate that he is waking.”
Roland Rakehell glanced
at his watch. “Right on time,” he noted, his voice tinged with
disappointment. “I guess the miracles can’t come thick and fast
every single day.”
“We made him human,
not superhuman,” Michael Cochran said. “Besides, we don’t really
have time to record a miracle today.” He glanced at the two technicians.
“Roland and I are meeting investors for dinner, and we have to leave
now. Take Galahad back to his room. Make sure he gets something to eat.”
Silently she pushed
away from the viewing area and continued down the corridor. Her violet
eyes betrayed the faintest flicker of confusion and consternation.
Galahad.
She would never have
imagined it, but apparently the scientists had no qualms treating their
prized creation like a common lab animal.
“Xin?” she murmured
quietly.
“Right here,” was
the immediate response.
“Approaching the suite.”
“I’m one step ahead
of you,” Xin said. “I’ve gotten through the security system and
rerouted all the cameras in the suite to a static video feed. You’re
clear to enter.”
The second door opened
into a large suite pressed up against the western wall of the laboratory
complex. No gentle ambient lighting there, just harsh pools of unforgiving
white light blazing over the bed and table, leaving the rest of the
large suite in muted shadows.
Was it through deliberate
design or neglectful oversight that no attempt had been made to humanize
Galahad’s living quarters? Empty shelves lined the wall. The small
metal table and matching chair were severe, the narrow bed unwelcoming.
She had seen third-world hospital wards offer far more comfort to its
occupants.
Footsteps echoed, drawing
closer, and then paused outside the door. There was no time to waste.
She strode across the room, slipping into the shadows that obscured
the far side of the suite moments before the door slid open again.
The two technicians
she had seen earlier half-dragged, half-carried Galahad into the room.
It staggered with exhaustion, trying to stand on its own. The technicians
hauled Galahad up and dumped it unceremoniously in a wet, shivering
heap on the bed.
One of the technicians
cast a backward glance at the unmoving figure on the bed. “Pete, are
you sure he’s going to be okay?” he asked the other.
“Eventually. It usually
takes him a while to recover,” Pete assured the younger man. He pulled
out two sealed nutrient bars from his pocket and tossed them onto the
table. “Let’s go.”
“I think we should
at least get him a towel or put him under the sheets.”
Pete snapped. “How
many times do I have to say it? Let him be, Jack. He doesn’t want
to be helped, though God knows I’ve tried often enough. He wants to
be able to do things for himself, at least here, in this room. It’s
the only dignity he has left; let’s leave that to him.”
“It was bad today.”
The older man inhaled
deeply, sparing a quick glance back. Galahad trembled so hard it seemed
as if it would shatter. It curled into a fetal ball, perhaps to protect
itself from further violation. “I know. And the best thing we can
do for him right now is leave him alone,” Pete said as he stepped
out of the room and allowed the door to seal shut behind them.
The impact was thunderous—not
audibly—but she felt it nonetheless. It was the sealing of a prison
cell.
Zara had wondered what
kind of luxuries and privileges the incomparable Galahad—the pinnacle
of genetic perfection—enjoyed. Now she knew the answer.
She watched in silence
as Galahad stirred, slowly standing and leaning on the wall for support
as it staggered toward the bathroom. She had yet to get a good look
at its face, but the blazing light did not leave much of its body to
imagination. It was slender but well muscled, powerful and graceful,
in spite of its obvious exhaustion—the promise of perfection come
into fruition.
She waited through the
sound of running water. Patience had never been easy for her, but she
possessed the instincts of a hunter closing in on its quarry. Her patience
was rewarded when it finally returned to the room, dressed simply in
loose-fitting white cotton drawstring pants and a tunic of the same
material. As it stepped into the blazing circle of light, her eyes narrowed
briefly, and then a faint smile of easy appreciation curved her lips.
She had studied the
surveillance video feed Xin had hacked from the central computers of
Pioneer Labs the day before, but the wide-angle lenses had not captured
anything approximating the full impact of Galahad’s beauty. Its rare
and lovely color—pale blond hair paired with dark eyes—stood out
and attracted immediate attention, but the longer she looked, the more
beauty she saw in its exquisitely chiseled features, as flawless as
a Michelangelo masterpiece. Galahad was stunningly beautiful—would
be stunningly beautiful, whatever the color of its hair or eyes. The
scientists had certainly done well; more than well.
Galahad made its way
over to a rattan chair, moving with greater ease. It was regaining its
strength, though she did not think that it was anywhere near optimal
form, not when it had almost collapsed with exhaustion on the way to
the bathroom ten minutes earlier. It curled up in the chair and closed
its eyes, looking oddly content, despite the fact that it did not fit
very well into the chair. Within a minute, she realized from the even
rise and fall of its chest with every breath, that it had fallen asleep.
It was time to get to
work.
Galahad did not stir
as she silently crossed the room. A*STAR had demanded fresh DNA samples
obtained as directly from the source as possible. Hair or skin samples
would be acceptable, and both were typically abundant in a bathroom.
She pulled test tube and tweezers from the pocket of her lab coat and
knelt to examine the bathroom counter.
Something flickered
in the corner of her vision.
Instinct and trained
reflexes took over. In a flash, her dagger was in her hand. She spun,
the black serrated blade slicing outward.
Galahad reacted with
uncanny speed. It dove to the side, dropping into a roll and coming
up in a battle crouch. Her dagger slashed through the air where Galahad
had been standing a moment before. Galahad’s dark eyes narrowed as
it assessed her. Its body shifted into motion, preparing to defend itself.
She too reassessed,
readjusted. Her attack should not have missed. Galahad’s battle instincts
had been trained and polished to perfection. Apparently it was more
than a common lab animal.
Her dagger lashed out
once again in a graceful, snake-like motion, and Galahad evaded by dodging
to one side. The blade sliced harmlessly through the air so close to
Galahad that it must have felt the chill breath of the dagger’s passing
against its skin.
Galahad’s silent and
sinuously graceful movements were driven by so much speed and agility
that strength—although abundant—was superfluous. It matched her,
step for step, dodging each attack with a grace that made their deadly
waltz seem choreographed. There was no doubt that Galahad was good,
far better than anyone she had ever contended with. In spite of its
obvious fatigue after a long and difficult day, Galahad possessed flawless
timing and impeccable spatial precision, allowing it to escape injury
by fractions of a second and a hairsbreadth. It had nerves of steel.
It taunted her with its proximity and tempted the kiss of her blade,
never straying too far as it sought an opening.
She saw the dark eyes
glitter dangerously and knew that something in it had shifted, had changed.
She thrust her blade at its face.
In less than a heartbeat,
it was over.
With a swiftness that
left her stunned, Galahad twisted its hand to catch her wrist in an
iron grip. It sidestepped, yanked her forward, and drove its knee into
her thigh. Her leg weakened and collapsed. Its superior weight drove
her to the ground and kept her there without any visible effort.
A perfectly sequenced
attack, executed with flawless precision and stunning speed.
Gritting her teeth against
the pain, she recognized the inevitable outcome as it eased the dagger
from between her nerveless fingers. She cursed soundlessly. She had
underestimated its skill, perhaps to her folly. It suddenly released
her, pulled her to her feet, and then stepped away from her. Some emotion
she could not decipher rippled over its flawless features, and to her
amazement, it flipped the dagger over in its hand and held it out, hilt
first, to her. “I don’t know why I’m fighting you. You came to
kill me; I should thank you for your kindness.”
She reached out and
accepted the dagger from Galahad as her mind raced to understand the
incomprehensible. Galahad held her gaze only for a moment before it
lowered its eyes and looked away. She saw its throat work as it fought
an internal battle to suppress its survival instincts, and then it turned
its back on her deliberately and walked out of the bathroom.
She could have struck
the fatal blow. Galahad was offering her the chance. She could pull
Galahad’s head back and apply the faintest pressure to the dagger’s
blade across its jugular. She could extract the tissue sample she had
been sent to collect, and then leave, her mission completed.
She could not bring
herself to do it. Oddly enough, something in her wanted it—wanted him—to
live.
“Zara?” she heard
Xin’s voice softly inquiring in her ear, her tone concerned.
“I’m all right,”
she murmured. “Give me a minute.” She paused by the bathroom door
and watched him make his way toward the wide windows. He kept his back
to her as he stared out at the manicured lawns around Pioneer Labs.
Was he waiting for her to strike?
Well, she could play
the waiting game too. She followed him and then turned, casually leaning
against the window as she looked up at him, her gaze coolly challenging.
Several moments passed.
Finally he broke the
silence. “Who sent you?” he asked quietly without looking at
her.
She had expected the
question, but not the calm, neutral tone in which it was asked. No anger.
No hatred. No fear. Just a simple question, driven more by politeness
than by any real need to know. “Does it matter?”
He inhaled deeply and
released his breath in a soft sigh as she neatly evaded his inquiry.
He tried another question. “Are you from around here?”
“Washington, D.C.”
“I’ve seen media
clips of that city. It’s beautiful.”
She offered a nonchalant
shrug as a response to his statement. “It’s pretty enough, I suppose.
I take it you’ve never been there.”
“I don’t get out
much, and the last time was a good while ago.” He shrugged, a graceful
motion that belied the bitterness in his voice. “I’ve seen media
clips endorsed by Purest Humanity and other pro-humanist groups. There
is no place for me in your world.”
It was pointless to
deny the obvious, but before she could open her mouth to toss out the
retort on the edge of her tongue, an animal-like cry resonated through
the complex. It was a ghastly sound, starting at a low pitch akin to
the sound a lost puppy might make and then rising until it was a banshee’s
scream. “What was that?”
“It’s an experiment
in another part of the building.”
“It doesn’t sound
like anything I recognize. What is it?”
He tossed her question
back at her: “Does it matter?”
“Not if you don’t
care.”
“It’s been going
on for as long as I can remember.”
His matter-of-fact statement
was like fuel to fire. Her eyes flashed. “And you feel nothing? No
anger? No pity? You’re inhuman.”
“I thought you’d
already decided that,” was his mild rejoinder. “Isn’t that why
the pro-humanist groups want me killed?”
She hesitated. Somewhere
along the way—she was not even sure when—she had stopped thinking
of Galahad as an “it” and had started relating to it as a “he”.
She had attributed to him all the responsibilities of being human, but
none of its rights or privileges, in effect placing him in the worst
possible no-win situation. She recalled his anguished convulsions in
the sensory deprivation chamber. How much pity did she expect him to
dredge up for another creature in a position no different from his own?
Very little. In fact, none at all.
She closed her eyes
and inhaled deeply. The anger subsided. “Do they conduct experiments
on you too?” she asked softly.
He stiffened. Without
meeting her gaze, he answered the question, choosing his words with
care. “I…yes, they do, sometimes.”
“What did they do
to you today?”
He averted his gaze
and bit down hard on his lower lip. He shook his head, said nothing.
“You looked like hell
when they brought you back. I want to know, please.”
He was silent for so
long she thought he was never going to answer the question, but then
he spoke in a measured, neutral tone. “They gave me a highly concentrated
sleeping pill and then injected a hallucinogen, to induce nightmares.
They wanted to see if I could overcome the effects of the sleeping pill
to wake up.”
“Did you?’
Another long pause.
His reply was a softly anguished whisper. “No.”
“How long did the
experiment last?”
“About eight hours,
perhaps nine.” He laughed, low and melodic, but it was a humorless
sound. “I slept all day, and I’m exhausted.”
“Why do they do that?”
“It’s simple; because
they can. Humans and their derivatives, the clones and in vitros, have
rights. I’m considered non-human, in large part because of the successful
lobbying of pro-humanist groups, and I don’t have rights.” Galahad
released his breath in a soft sigh. Long eyelashes closed over dark,
pain-filled orbs as he inhaled deeply. He opened his eyes and met her
gaze directly, holding it for a long, silent moment. The corner of his
lips tugged up again in a bittersweet half smile. “I’m tired. I
need to lie down. You can do what you need to do whenever you want.”
“Wait!” She grabbed
his arm as he turned away from her. “You want me to kill you?”
“Isn’t that what
you came to do?”
“Do you actually want
to die?”
He waved his hand to
encompass the breadth and width of the impersonal and deliberately dehumanizing
room. “I’m not sure this should count as living.”
“But you’re not
human.”
“No,” he agreed,
his voice even. “No, but I am alive…just like any other human. This
isolation drives me crazy. I know this is not the way others live. This
isn’t living.”
He looked away. His
pain was real, his anger compelling. In spite of it, she had seen him
smile a few times and wondered whether his twisted half-smile could
ever be coaxed into becoming something more. In silence, she watched
as he turned his back on her and walked to his rattan chair. He seemed
tired, emotional weariness draining his physical strength. Slowly he
settled into the chair, drawing his legs up and curling into a vaguely
comfortable position. Apparently he had chosen to deliberately ignore
her. He was tuning her out and was once again trying to find solace
in the few things he had left, such as a worn chair and his own company,
trying to get through each cheerless day and lonely night.
Outside, a rabbit, safe
from predators in the falling dusk, emerged from its burrow and hopped
across the small patch of grass in front of the large windows of the
suite. Zara watched as a faint smile touched his face, briefly transforming
it. His personality seemed wrapped around a core that was equal parts
weary indifference and tightly controlled bitterness, but there was
still enough left in him to savor the small crumbs that life saw fit
to throw his way. If his quiet strength had amazed her, his enduring
courage humbled her. As she watched him, she knew he had won the battle
he had wanted, so badly, to lose. He had proved his right to live, even
though there was no purpose in living in a place like this. He knew
that fact intimately, and so did she.
Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully.
“Zara, we’ve got
trouble.” Carlos’s voice cut through the silence of her thoughts,
his habitual calmness edged with tension. “Lots of vehicles incoming.
Purest Humanity logos. Could be a protest forming; they look seriously
pissed.”
She took a few steps
away from Galahad. Annoyance disguised flickers of anxiety in her voice.
“They’re about two days too early. They’ve been gathering on Christmas
Eve each year.”
“Well, looks like
someone had a change of plans. I’m estimating about forty…fifty
cars, at least twice as many people.”
“They won’t get
through the gate,” Xin said. “It was designed to keep out APCs.”
“Uh…The gate just
opened…Por dios…They’re driving in!”
“What?”
“No kidding, I swear
to God.” The tension in Carlos’s voice escalated. “Someone must
be screwing around with the security system.”
Zara suppressed a hiss
of irritation. “Find that person, Xin, and disable his access. I don’t
want to have to fight my way out of here.”
“I’m on it, but
I can’t guarantee they won’t get to you. If they’re already through
the gate, they’ll be pounding on the front door in seconds. You don’t
have time; get moving. And Zara, if you don’t take Galahad with you,
he’s as good as dead.”
Zara’s mind raced
through the options available to her, the possibilities. She shrugged,
dismissing the many logical reasons why she should not do what she was
about to do, and took her first step down her path with a terse and
coolly decisive order. “He’s coming with me. I’ll get us out of
the building. Carlos, stand by for an extraction.”
“Copy that.”
She stepped toward Galahad.
“You need to change into something else.” The thin cotton tunic
and pants he wore would not provide sufficient protection from the chilly
night air. Besides, his clothes looked like something issued to long-term
residents of mental hospitals. Something with fewer negative institutional
implications would work better at keeping him as inconspicuous as possible.
He blinked in surprise,
her voice jerking him back to reality, and he looked up at her. “There
is nothing else to wear,” he said. He released his breath in
a soft sigh, his gaze drifting away from her to the rabbit outside the
window.
Nothing else? A quick
search of the suite confirmed his words. The only pieces of clothing
in the suite’s large and mostly empty walk-in closet were several
pieces of identical white cotton tunics and pants, a subtle but highly
effective dehumanizing strategy. “We’re leaving anyway,”
she told him as she returned into the living area of the suite. “Get
up. We’re going.”
He stared at her in
bewilderment. “Going?”
Zara exercised exquisite
politeness and reminded herself to be patient with him. “I’m getting
you out of here.”
A glimmer of understanding
tinged with wary hope swirled through the confusion in his sin-black
eyes, but he still did not move from the chair. “I thought you came
to kill me.”
Not precisely, but perhaps
it wasn’t a bad thing if he kept believing it, especially if it would
make him more tractable. Things were complicated enough; an uncooperative
captive would heighten the stakes and the danger of their situation.
“I’ve changed my mind.”
“Changed your mind?”
“It’s a woman’s
prerogative,” she told him, a wicked smile curving her lips. Her tone
softened slightly. As huge as this step seemed for her, it must seem
even larger for him. “I want to help you. Will you come with me?”
He met her gaze, held
it for a long moment, and then finally smiled. “Yes.”
The simplicity of his
answer staggered her, to say nothing of the heart-stopping power of
his smile. It was a smile that could melt iron. “You trust me,”
she said, “but you don’t even know my name.”
“It would be ungracious
not to trust someone who has already passed up on several opportunities
to kill me.” He uncurled from his chair and stood. His manners were
at least as exquisite as his looks. He made no mention of the fact that
he had beaten her in a fair fight and then refused to follow up on his
advantage.
Maybe he considered
it irrelevant. The important point was that she did not. The fight she
had lost had, after all, been the critical turning point. She smiled
up at him, suddenly realizing that his dark, fathomless eyes did not
seem nearly as distant and empty as they had several minutes earlier.
“I’m Zara Itani.”
He smiled faintly, the
warmth from his smile briefly lighting up his eyes. “Zara, I’m Galahad.”
~*~*~
(so that I could start As I Wake) -- 280 pages
On page 76/236 as of 11pm 
--384 pages. Review is HERE
and got to about 6%. This was a bad reading day, I was very unmotivated.
got about 3% into it.
