Pulling his hand through his hair, Rein leaned back in his chair. Genetic research was not a secret amongst the Renegades; they were kept well-informed. But they were actually engineering people at The Center?
He took in a deep breath, and the words rushed out when he exhaled. “What do you mean? You weren’t born?”
“Of course I was born. I was not hatched.” Ellyssa seemed a bit indignant. A second later, what little emotion she had expressed faded away, replaced with a void expression.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“A proper female was selected as my incubator. By definition, she would be considered my birthing mother, though I never met her,” Ellyssa said in a robotic-like tone.
“They took you from her.”
“Technically, she had no right to me. She was paid for her services.”
“You never knew her?”
“No, nor any other female figure who would be considered like a mother. Only assistants and nurses.”
A mixture of emotions twirled in Rein—horror, shock, pity. Worst of all, he couldn’t believe how calm she was about the whole thing, with her blank face and unemotional eyes. Trying to hide the feelings that he knew were playing across his face like a collage, he stood up and walked to the desk. He picked up the book and pretended to examine the cover.
“That bothers you?”
What was he supposed to say?
“If it makes you feel better, I know
Lines formed above the bridge of Rein’s nose. “
“My father,” she explained. “He is the one who created me and raised me. I guess you would consider him my family.”
Rein felt his mouth fall open. “Created you?”
“The DNA of my father’s sperm and a donated egg were modified, then fertilized outside of the womb. He then used In Vitro Fertilization to impregnate the female. So, for all intents and purposes, ‘create’ would be the correct terminology.”
“Why?”
“You know the answer.”
He did know the answer, and he was looking at the byproduct of it. Hitler’s world improved upon. Her flawless, perfect face, lustrous hair so pale it resembled snow, and her eyes—the color of a perfectly clear sky. Beautiful beyond compare.
But that only described her physical appearance. Her intelligence was sure to be off the charts. And the night they had found her—her instinct to live, her prowess in fighting even in her weakened state. Her uncanny healing ability.
“A human being superior to all others?”
She nodded.
18
Dr. George Hirch stepped off the elevator into the control station buried three floors below ground level of The Center. Only Leland, of all imperfect assistants, was permitted in the Top Secret area.
Four rooms surrounded the booth, two in front and two in back. Each was numbered consecutively, from right to left. Ahron stood in Room One while Xaver occupied Room Two. Each of the boys had two citizens taken from the population, substandard humans and therefore disposable.
A female and a male occupied the room with Ahron. They were tied to chairs, one on each side of his son. Their eyes bulged in rounded sockets, and their faces were contorted into inhuman expressions of terror. Duct tape sealed their mouths shut.
The doctor looked down at his sixteen-year-old son. “Are you ready, Ahron?” he asked, through a microphone. George’s voice bounced back at him, clipped and concise, void of emotion. He felt pride at his ability to interact without exposing his inner feelings.
“Yes,
George ignored the muffled cries of the test subjects. He turned his head toward his other creation. Xaver stood in a room exactly like Ahron’s, only he had two males with him. Their faces held similar expressions of terror.
“And you, Xaver?”
“Yes,
George clicked off the switch, so his conversation couldn’t be overheard. He maneuvered the control until the computer monitor showed the targets framed in red. He looked at Leland, who sat in front of the monitor connected to Xaver’s setup.
“Are you ready?”
His assistant shook his head and rubbed a shaky hand through his locks. “I don’t know about this. If something goes wrong, they could die. And what about the civilians?”
“The boys will not die. They will protect themselves first.”
“The others?”
The doctor shrugged. “Part of the greater good.”
Leland’s face paled. “We can’t let innocents die.”
His assistant was starting to annoy him. “Are you ready?” George muttered, through clenched teeth.
Leland’s lips parted, but he must have read George’s face and deciphered it correctly. The protest died on his tongue and fear actually lit behind the assistant’s eyes. The younger man nodded and turned his attention toward the monitor. He maneuvered the controls until all the targets in Xaver’s room were highlighted, too.
“Remember what I said.”
Without taking his eyes off the screen, Leland gave a curt nod.
Pressing the button on the microphone, he said, “On the count of three.”
The boys reached out both hands, placing them on the shoulders of the civilians.
“One. Two.” Three never came. As agreed, he and Leland pushed the buttons at two sending a command to the M-16s, and gunfire echoed in the rooms below, in short bursts of three, for a period of twenty seconds. When the time expired, the volley died away and left behind muffled screams. George turned on the exhaust fan and the scent of discharged gunpowder cleared away.
Even though the doctor had expected the outcome of the experiment, astonishment still fluttered in his chest. Unable to contain himself, he smiled. Both of the boys still stood, untouched and unharmed. Each room contained one dead subject and one live subject.
Ahron stared down at the female, her body tied to the chair, her eyes glazed over in terror. Blood bubbled from a wound on her chest, and more pooled below her across the white tiles, painting the floor crimson. The young boy’s face held no concern for the woman. No sorrow. Nothing at all.
The subject in Xaver’s room was beyond identification. Instead of a head, a bloody stump sat on the man’s shoulders. The fourteen-year-old didn’t even bother looking at the dead man. Nothing in his expression hinted at horror.
The two remaining subjects’ faces contorted from trying to scream, their cries drowned behind the tape. They struggled against their bonds.
“Two are still alive,” said George. “One in each cubicle. Excellent.”
Grinning like the Cheshire Cat, he looked at Leland, who stared at him as though he were an abomination. Leland’s horrified face was drained of all color and on the verge of turning green. His dilated pupils swallowed the blue of his eyes.
Apparently, his assistant didn’t have the insight George’s genius held. Of course, George was a successful Center Child, unlike the failed Leland, so his intelligence and perceptiveness exceeded, by far, his assistant’s
