Generation X - Genogoths Page 7

  “Subject is approaching awareness,” said a woman’s voice in his ear. Bouille. “Shall we hit him with more sonics?”

  Here in the controlled environment of the Foxhole they could use beamed sonic stunners to subdue the subjects rather than the cruder sleep-gas used on them in the field. “No,” he replied, “not if you’re ready. We can begin.”

  “Shall we wake him then?”

  “Good to go,” he said.

  The boy—the subject—twitched as a mild electric tingle was directed through the wrist shackles that bound him to the chair. His head rolled groggily, then he snapped upright as someone zapped him with a second charge.

  The subject looked around, confused, tugged ineffectively at his bonds, and finally slumped back in the chair. “Not again,” he said.

  Sharpe stepped into the pool of light, so that the subject could get a good look at him. “Again,” he said. “And again, and again, as necessary.”

  * The subject’s eyes narrowed. Sharpe knew his face would be the first stranger that the subject had seen since his capture. “Let me go,” said the subject. “Let us all go.”

  He smiled grimly. “So predictable. I’d have expected something more original from a radio professional.”

  The subject looked surprised. “You know who I am, then?” “Oh, yes, even if I hadn’t watched your rather pathetic display for our cameras on taped replay.” He stepped closer, the smile melting like ice in a fire. “That’s why I picked you— mutant.”

  Again surprise. Good. Keep him off balance. “Oh, yes, I’ve listened to your program. I listened to Walt Norman before you came along, with your pro-mutant propaganda. It was the ruin of a perfectly good program. But then, without it, I never would have found you''

  The subject said nothing. He just stared at Sharpe,

  Sharpe clasped his hands behind his back and walked slowly around the chair. In the other room, complex devices were recording not only every word said, every movement made, but every aspect of the subject’s physiology as he responded to Sharpe’s prodding. Sensors mapped the electrical and chemical pathways of his brain, how consciously and unconsciously he accessed the power inherent in his X-gene. With every breath, every thought, the subject betrayed himself further. Sharpe had only to provoke a reaction from him.

  “A few years ago I cared nothing for mutants, one way or the other. Then a group of mutants called X-Factor—you’ve heard of them? Yes, I see you have. X-Factor took everything from me, my r
  “Good data,” said the voice in his ear, “see if you can get his heart rate up.”

  “You are not,” continued Sharpe, “a celebrity here. You are not a man. You are nothing. You are an experimental subject, code-name Bloodhound, nothing more. Some of my superiors said it was a mistake to take such a public figure for our project, but I simply wanted to silence you. End your prattling. And—,” he smiled, the irony was so sweet, “your program has made you many enemies in Washington, powerful enemies. Some people work their whole lives to earn such notoriety. You achieved it well before reaching drinking age. Congratulations.”

  “What, about my friends? They didn’t do anything t

  “You might be surprised,” she said. “Let them resc

  Pound turned and left as well, leaving his robots

  “What, about my friends? They didn’t do anything to you.” Get the heart rate up? This should do it. “No, but we’ve been observing you for some time, and you brought them to our attention. It’s fortunate that their mutant abilities dovetailed so nicely with our project.” He smiled as he saw the dismay on the subject’s face. “Oh, yes, it’s your fault that they’re here. They’ll suffer just for knowing you. They’ll get their turn being studied as we’re studying you.”

  The subject was agitated, pulling at the bonds that held him to the chair.

  “Good data,” said the voice in Sharpe’s ear.

  The subject glared at him. “What are you going to do to us?” " ' “

  Sharpe raised his eyebrows and looked at the subject. Keep them wondering. Keep them fearing. “Right now,” he said, “we will study you, learn to understand you, every nerve, every cell, every molecule. We need to understand you, because what you don’t unders;and, you can’t control.” He suddenly leaned close to the subject’s face. “And you,” he said, “are mine.”

  The ebony-colored van rolled to a stop on the highway next to Black. He opened the door and slid into the front passenger seat. At the wheel, Leather’s eyes were locked on the road ahead. He said nothing as he put the vehicle in gear and roared off in the direction of Snow Valley.

  In a moment they were traveling fifty, then sixty, miles per hour on the narrow, curvy road, but Leather’s face showed no emotion. He had the casual indifference of someone circling the parking lot looking for an open space.

  Black finally broke the silence. “They’ve gotten away, haven’t they?”

  Leather still didn’t look at him. “We think so, for the moment.”

  The van shot along the road, the sun flashing through the canopy of trees like a strobe light. More silence.

  “You hamstring us, Black. I need full authority to act. We can’t keep a lid on this with our hands tied.”

  “You’re mixing your metaphors, and making excuses. When we find them again, and we will, I don’t want any more mistakes.” Black leaned back in his seat and watched the trees go by. “In some ways this is better. They’ve lost the protection of their school, they’re contained, isolated, and we know exactly where they’re going.”

  They passed the service station he’d stopped at only yesterday. He wondered if they’d be the ones sent to tow his wrecked car. He wondered what they’d think. “Stop at the motel,” he said. “I want time to pack, make a few phone calls.”

  Leather looked at him incredulously. “They’re getting away. Even if we do know where they’re going, you’re just giving them more of a head start.”

  He dismissed Leather with a wave of his hand. “We have people watching all the roads south. Let them put some distance between us and the excitement we’ve caused here. Besides, I want to give young Espeth some time to consider what she’s done. She’s never had to face her own kind on the battlefield before, never looked at their faces. She may yet return to the fold.”

  The Xabago’s engine labored, and since their emergency flight from the school Jono had to keep the steering wheel well to the right just to keep them centered on the road. Under his feet, something scraped with every rotation of the wheel. The dash lights flicked on and off, even though the headlights were off, and the fuel-gauge had dropped suddenly from full to empty almost an hour before, though fuel supply seemed to be the least of their current problems.

  Angelo and Ev were plastered to the back window watching for pursuit that never came. Likewise, Paige had climbed info the seat under the Xabago’s roof-top bubble, using it as a crow’s nest. She had also seen nothing, other than startled motorists gawking at the bizarre vehicle that shared the road with them.

  Jubilee sat uneasily in the passenger seat to his right.

  “Hey, Gel,” he said to her. “What you did back there at the school, that took guts.”

  Jubilee immediately perked up and smiled. “You think so? Get out!” She thought for a while, unable to suppress her smile. “Like, I totally didn’t know if that trick with sending my plasma underground like that would work.”

  Jono glanced at her. “What if it hadn’t?”

  She shrugged. “Then it would have been a really nice hand-stand I guess. Then on to plan B. Wolverine used to tell me there’s always a plan B. Like, if you guys hadn’t come back to rescue me, on to plan B!”

  He was puzzled. “So, what’s plan B?”

 
She grinned. “Whatever you do when plan A doesn’t work. Wolvie was never big on planning when you could just do the deed.” " ' '

  If he’d still had a mouth, Jono would have grinned back. “Just about that whole escape was bloody plan B.”

  Since they’d landed, Espeth had paced back and forth, from front to back of the vehicle, checking with every lookout, peering through every window. Finally she perched on the lounge chair behind Jubilee. “We’ve lost them,” she announced, “for now.”

  Jono glanced back over his shoulder. Espeth didn’t look happy, leaning forward on her elbows. “And—?”

  “And, they’ll give us some time. They don’t like attention, and they’ll have attracted a lot of it back at Snow Valley. They’ll want some time and distance to cool things off. Then they’ll be back,”

  Angelo slid in from the rear of the vehicle and sprawled on the couch behind Jono. “That’s just great. And how do we lose them next time?” He glared suspiciously at Espeth. “Maybe we don’t lose them at all. I didn’t see you doing much to help us against your Genogoth buddies.”

  Jono waited for Espeth to say something in her own defense, but she stared silently off at nothing.

  '“Ease off, mate,” he said. “She was in the ’bago with us. Not much she could do.”

  “Yeah,” said Angelo, obviously unconvinced, “not much.” Jubilee squirmed in her seat, then reached down behind the cushion. She pulled out a CD in a cracked jewel-box, The Best of Dev o.

  Seeing the CD, Monet immediately moved forward to lean between the seats. “Princess found a pea,” she said. “I was wondering where that went after our trip. Give.”

  Monet reached for the CD, but Jubilee snatched it away. “Hey,” complained Monet, “that’s mine. I got it at the M.O.N.S.T.E.R. chapter last summer.”

  Jubilee smirked. ‘Yeah, because some grangy deejay liked the way your tee-shirt fit and gave it to you.” She opened the box and took out the disk. “I want to listen.”

  Monet frowned, but didn’t interfere as Jubilee slipped the CD into the dash-mounted player. They listened to We’re

  Through Being Cool. When it was over, Jubilee paused it and said, “You know, this was recorded like, what, a hundred years ago, right? So, like who gave these guys cosmic awareness so they could write songs about us! It’s—”

  “Uncanny,” suggested Angelo.

  She nodded. “It’s like that Nostradamus special on FOX last month.”

  Angelo absently rearranged the skin on his face. “I thought it was more like When Monsters Attack 111!'

  Jubilee frowned. “Shut-up, Angelo. I’m serious.”

  He snorted. “Nostradamus, serious. Yeah, got it. I got some of my mamma’s old Menudo albums somewhere. You can listen to them for hidden mutant messages too.”

  Jubilee glared at him. “I’ll tell you where you can put your Menudo—”

  “Guys,” said Paige from the crow’s nest, “we got company on our tail.”

  Angelo glared at Espeth. “Well, that was quick, wasn’t it chica!”

  Espeth ignored him and climbed onto the tubular metal frame that supported the crow’s nest seat for a better look.

  Jono leaned over and peeked into the side mirrors. He could see a vintage Z-car coming up on them fast. While he was watching, a black Lincoln Continental came down an on-ramp and pulled in with it.

  “Scouts,” she said. “They just found us. If they had an ambush set, there’d be more of them. They’ll bring company soon though. We’ve got to ditch them and get off the freeway.”

  Jono put the gas pedal to the floor. With a moan, the Xabago sluggishly responded. “How do you propose we do that, Gel? We’ve got a Japanese muscle car and some heavy Detroit iron on our boot, and we’re having trouble doing fifty-five.”

  “I could blind them with some fireworks,” suggested Jubilee.

  Espeth shook her head. “That would only blind them for a minute or two. If we do it and we’re on the freeway, there’s no time to get away. If we get off the freeway and do it, they’ll have phoned in the exit, and every Genogoth in the state will converge to track us down.”

  “We could do the flying trick again,” said Paige.

  “Captain,” said Ev, imitating a Scottish brogue, “she won’t take any more of that.” He dropped back into his natural voice. “Serious. You see the problems we’re having. I think the frame could just snap in two. For sure it’d never drive again.”

  Jubilee socked her right fist into her left palm nervously. “Ev’s on the right track. What we need is, like, warp drive.”

  “I can do that,” said Monet.

  Angelo looked at her skeptically. “What up? You got some antimatter in your purse or something?”

  She pushed her way to the front of the vehicle and started exploring the dash and the front floor with her fingers. She found a solid beam under the dash that seemed to meet with her satisfaction. She rapped it with her fist, and it made a clang like a bell. “Jono, you sure you can drive this thing?” He nodded.

  “I mean drive? she said. “Well, get ready. Jubilee, go do your fireworks thing.”

  Jubilee looked puzzled, but shrugged and climbed back to the side door.

  Ev seemed to understand what she was up to. “You need some help down there?”

  “It’s a tight squeeze. No room to get you down here. Without something solid to push against, you’d go right through the Xabago’s nose.”

  Jono looked down as Monet put her hands against the beam she’d found, stretched out, and was suddenly floating above the floor. Then he realized, she was flying inside the Xabago.

  There was a blast of cool air and a roar of wind as Jubilee pushed the door open a few inches with her shoulder. She yelled, “You ready?”

  “Go, girl,” Monet yelled back.

  Jono shielded his eyes against what he knew was coining. Through his fingers there was a brilliant flash, as though lightning had struck immediately behind them.

  He glanced down. There was a look of determination on Monet’s face, her arms flexed.

  The headrest came up and slapped him in the back of the head. Everyone not sitting down was suddenly thrown backward, Paige and Ev falling into a heap in front of the couch, Jubilee holding onto the door frame for dear life.

  The speedometer needle surged and he wrestled the wheel to keep them from veering off the road. Ahead, the road was clear. He dared a glance at the rearview, but the two cars were almost lost, both having run off into the median strip.

  His eyes went wide as he glanced at the speedometer again. It read to one hundred miles per hour, and the needle was pegged. They were still accelerating. The tires screamed. Something big and green flashed by. “Either the Hulk is hitchhiking or the exit is coming up,” he said.

  Espeth pulled herself up next to him. “Skip it. That’s what they’ll be expecting. Go for the next one.”

  The whole vehicle was shuddering. The wheel rattled so hard that his hands were going numb. “Aye, aye,” he said grimly. “Steady as she goes.” He watched the lines in the road going by in a blur and wrestled the wheel to follow them. “I hope.”

  The same old woman that Black had observed earlier stood in the open motel office door watching the flurry of activity as the Genogoths packed out. Every hotel door was open, every vehicle in the parking lot being loaded. From the expression on her face, he knew that later she would be counting all the towels, checking the end-tables for Bibles, and inventorying the lamp shades.

  The side door of Leather’s van rolled open and Leather stepped out. He closed the door quickly behind him, so that nobody would see the complex communications and surveillance gear installed inside. He looked at Black and frowned.

  “Two of our scouts picked them up over in New York state, but they managed to escape again.”

  Black was unshaken. “Two points make a line. They’re headed south. We suspected as much, but now they’ve confirmed it. We’ll find them again.” He considered for a moment. �
��Have a plane waiting at the local airport to take me to Philadelphia, and have an appropriately-equipped car waiting for me there.”

  Leather said nothing, but the scowl on his face made it clear that he didn’t like being used as a lackey.

  Good, thought Black. Then his attention was drawn to the sound of a heavy vehicle pulling to a stop behind the van. A car door opened, but the engine remained at fast idle.

  A man in a blue uniform shirt, badge, and police hat stepped around the back of the van and approached Black, his hand casually, but conspicuously, resting on the hilt of his bolstered pistol.

  He stopped and looked at the two of them suspiciously. “Chief Authier, Snow Valley Police. I’d like to ask you gentlemen some questions.”

  Dog Pound had been strapped into the chair for what seemed like hours as the machines poked and prodded and the tall, angular-faced man named Sharpe pestered him with questions and vague threats. Recall had warned him what would happen, but it didn’t make it any easier. He was hungry, he was thirsty, he was tired, and he was, admit it or not, afraid.

  Sharpe had disappeared into the gloom that surrounded the examining chair for a while, but he returned, a sly smile on his bloodless lips. It made Pound’s skin crawl. “So,” he said, in a tone as though he were discussing the weather, “you’re a telepath.”

  “I told you, Sharpe, I’m not saying anything. Name, rank, and serial number.”

  He laughed harshly. “Oh, please. Anything I want to know, I probably already know. Anything I don’t know, I’ll soon find out. I’m just passing the time here, making pleasantries, something that’s not especially in keeping with my nature. I’m sorry you don’t appreciate the effort.”

  He waited to see if Pound would respond. When he didn’t, Sharpe continued. “Of course you’re a telepath, of a limited nature, but a telepath just the same. You can communicate telepathically with animals. You find this—useful?”

  The boy frowned. He’d learned early on that animals didn’t have much to say that an attentive observer couldn’t figure out anyway, and as for talking to the animals, most of them just weren’t inclined to listen. “Not especially,” he said.