Without making a sound, Hunter found the Bowie knife and, even though the move almost made him groan in agony, lowered himself into a crouch beside the bed. He didn't look but knew Ghost was also crouching, poised to attack. He waited and a shadow slowly, almost tentatively, entered and stood motionless.
Bobbi Jo's silhouette stood in the narrow portal.
For the first time. Hunter saw Bobbi Jo the woman, instead of the warrior. Her hair was loose, and she wore blue jeans and a white T-shirt. Silhouetted against the light, she was more beautiful than any woman Hunter had ever known. She didn't say a word and didn't move, only stared at him.
Hunter laid the Bowie on the table. Then he walked forward, stopping close in front of her. He reached out to touch her cheek softly, and at that movement she reached up, grasping his wrist, leaning her head slightly into his hand, closing her eyes.
He gazed silently at her.
Her eyes opened and stared into his.
"At least we have tonight," she whispered.
Hunter paused, then reached out and lifted her from the floor. He closed the door softly and carried her slowly across the room to the bed.
Dr. Hamilton, tirelessly overseeing every aspect of the isotonic distillation of the serum, studied the technicians who were preparing the first twenty cc's. Drop by drop, the serum fell into a glass vial that slowly began to fill. The processing had progressed slowly, but after three hours there was almost enough for the initial test.
Emma was beside him, holding her ubiquitous clipboard. "After we do the electron scan and cross-check it with the receptor and transmitter genes and insure that there's no reopening or cyclization, we can proceed."
"Yes," he said thoughtfully. "You have ensured that the linear itrons are still intact?"
"Yes, sir." She nodded. "It's four hundred and fourteen nucleotides long. The same as before. But we've removed transgressors and progresses to stop the mutated cyclization rate. Now, when the molecule splits off a fourteen-nucleotide share, the split will multiply no faster than human DNA. The RNA is no longer self-replicating and tetrahymena has been molecularly spliced to normal human DNA to neutralize any mutation splicing. So basically there will be no rate of mutation at all. No way for it to overtake the human system. And yet it still contains the RNA itrons and RNA-related proteins that provide the healing and longevity factors." She paused. "I believe we've arrived, Doctor."
"Good." He seemed pleased. "Then it is time for our first laboratory test."
"Doctor, I know what… what is at stake. But we have already had one catastrophe already. Do you truly think that it's wise to risk the same dangerous results without the necessary precautions in place? I mean, shouldn't we isolate the subject somewhere?"
Hamilton smiled, his native charm and confidence awesomely displayed. "Emma, Emma," he answered, "there can never be surety of results. That is why we use test subjects. Now, granted, this is an unusual scenario. And because it is an unusual situation, it requires creative thinking. Surely you don't expect us to quantify results with mammals that have less than ninety-nine percent mutual strands with Homo sapiens, which leaves us with man. Now, should the test be a success, no harm will have been done. And should it fail, then we will know more precisely how to alter the serum to achieve our goal."
"I'm speaking about the danger of another monstrous mutation, Doctor." She seemed firm. "I'm speaking about Luther."
He laughed. "Now, surely you don't expect me to proceed without safeguards. Every contingency has been considered, every measure put in place to ensure the safety of both our team and the facility. These measures have not escaped me. Do not trouble yourself."
Emma glanced back at the lab personnel. "I'm saying this, Doctor, because some of the lab techs are terrified. I'm worried that their work will suffer, that we'll make a mistake in the isolation process. You have to remember, Doctor, they've been working almost nonstop in an attempt to compensate for the data lost at the other facilities. They're tired and frightened and I fear they're going to make mistakes."
"That's the reason that I am personally overseeing every aspect of the distillation process," Dr. Hamilton said, nodding sagely. "By noon tomorrow, we will have the first experimental serum, and the day after that, we will know if our efforts to synthesize this gene have been successful."
Emma didn't move. "And if this serum causes another monstrous transformation? Like the last?"
"As I said" — Hamilton turned back to his work—"those contingencies have been addressed. If there is a transformation even slightly similar to the initial reaction, we will be quite capable of killing it and performing an immediate autopsy to study the electro-molecular phenomenon." He shook his head, as if dealing with a disturbed child. "Emma, trust me. No one else shall be injured, except the initial test subjects. And then, when we have perfected the serum, there will be many who will be greatly aided."
Silent, she stared at him.
"Just imagine it, Emma," he continued. "Imagine what miracles reside within that blood. The complete cure for every disease known to man. All the flivo viruses, utterly incurable until now, will fall one by one. The devastation of HIV shall be no more. None of the great killers, from anthrax to Marburg, will be able to overcome the unconquerable strength of this immunity factor. And, finally, with the endless regeneration of cellular structure, we will live for hundreds, possibly thousands of years. For all practical purposes, Emma, we will be immortal.
"Do you understand what I mean, Emma?" he finished, unmoving.
Emma Strait found herself nodding. "Of course, Doctor. I just… I just thought I'd make you aware of a few things. I didn't mean that we should postpone the tests."
"Of course you didn't," Hamilton replied, more distant. "And now…" He turned back to the microscope. "I must verify that these serum samples have not developed mutations which would allow the extraordinary transmission of qualities that destroyed our expendable Luther — these base animal faculties that transformed him into a creature which… we may yet be able to use."
Chaney received no answer at the Tipler Institute, and set the phone down. This was bad. But who could he call? The police? Hardly. His own people? Even more dangerous.
No, he had to avoid all government or official lines of communication. No matter how he handled it, he had to do it alone. He put on his coat, groaning. The stitches were in tight; Brick had done a good job. But the morphine was wearing off and he was feeling a multitude of sore muscles and contusions that he had been mercifully spared until now. Brick saw him moving, spoke from his position beside a window.
"Where in the hell do you think you're going?" he rumbled.
"I have to reach this girl," Chaney replied, trying to conceal the pain. "If she's not dead already, she will be. These people are thorough."
"You ain't in shape for it."
"Doesn't matter. I gotta go."
Brick bowed his head for a moment. His chest expanded as he took a deep breath and lifted the AK from the wall. "I don't like this at all," he said. "First, you get waylaid. Now you're going out in the middle of the night to find some woman who's on a hit list. You're busted up. I'm old and slow and out of shape. We don't know who these goons are, how many of 'em are out there, or what they're willing to do."
"They're willing to kill us." Chaney put the Sig in his hip holster. "That's all we need to know."
"Wait a second." Brick disappeared down the stairs. In five minutes he emerged in different clothes. Now he was wearing brown pants and a heavy shirt, and Chaney could tell he had put on a ballistic vest underneath. He also wore a thigh-length coat, and when the flap opened Chaney saw two Uzi submachine guns on dual shoulder holsters. The remarkably compact weapons hung on carefully designed hooks that allowed Brick a fast release.