Carson Evolved Ch. 06

"The retrovirus has done its job well," replied one of his co-conspirators, the embittered old matriarch, Helga Lund. "In fact, a random mutation has increased its efficacy to the point that we're looking at closer to 40% of men being sterilized within 5 years than the original 30% estimate."

Her report was met with celebration, tempered though it was by the seriousness of what they were doing. Millions of their fellow citizens were unknowingly infected and carrying a viral vector that had the potential, if left unchecked, to wipe out humanity completely.

The remaining member of the evil triumvirate, Salvatore Clemente, posed an important question. "Is the treatment effective at staving off the effects of the virus in spite of the mutation?"

"Our researchers are confident that it will continue to work as designed. The mechanism of attack remains unchanged, only its virulence," replied Helga.

With a malevolent look in his eye, Jozef clapped his hands slowly. "Well done, both of you. Please pass along my thanks to your teams." Raising his cocktail glass, he proposed a toast. "To the rise of the first of men and women, and the new world order!"

On his best of days, Jordan van Heuval was a spoiled and petulant little child. But watching the video feed from the camera he'd hidden in his father's office, even he was aghast at the evil his father was capable of committing. Sure, Jozef van Heuval was a bastard of a father, dictatorial and controlling, but Jordan would never have considered that the man would orchestrate a biological attack against his own society.

For the first time in recent memory, maybe ever, Jordan felt an inkling of duty to his fellow man. He'd cuckolded who knows how many sheep-men without a second thought, but that didn't mean that he thought they deserved to be sterilized against their will.

He shut off the feed, his stomach suddenly threatening to empty itself violently. Sitting there in the dark, contemplating his next move, Jordan was struck by the realization of how empty his life was. He was a born taker. For years he'd coasted along in ignorance of the impact his actions had on others, always assuming that he could at least count on his father to support him. Ever since the appearance of Carson Jayne, though, his father had become more and more biting in his criticisms of his son.

It had infuriated Jordan, and as his frustration built, so did his insistence on finding something that he could hold against his father. That had led to his bugging the man's office, but he hardly could have expected to uncover a conspiracy of such epic proportions.

The more he thought about it, the more he realized just how out of depth he was. He picked up the phone and dialed a familiar number.

"Yes, Sir?" the voice answered.

"Patterson, I have a project I need your help with."

"Of course, Sir. What can I do for you?" answered his assistant.

Suddenly realizing that he was entering a dangerous game for which he was ill-equipped, Jordan began to wonder if perhaps his father might be keeping tabs on him as well. He answered, "Not over an open line. Meet me tomorrow night, eight o'clock, at the club you where your sister hangs out." He hoped that his coded message about the location was clear enough for the man.

On the other end of the line, Patterson was pondering his boss's meaning. Patterson didn't have a sister. Then he recalled a night several months earlier. They'd been at a club trolling for women, the way Jordan spent most of his weekend nights. Their waitress had been an attractive woman, and Patterson had flirted with her a little bit. As usual, though, Jordan had ruined it for him by remarking how much she looked like Patterson and how he didn't know Patterson had a sister. "I might have tapped that ass if something better hadn't come along this evening," he'd joked, "But even I wouldn't fuck your sister."

Gritting his teeth at the memory, Patterson nevertheless replied, "Understood. I'll see you then. I'm sure my sister would love to see you again," before disconnecting.

The tone of his voice caught Jordan's attention. Apparently, he was now on a journey of self-discovery, because he'd never noticed the contempt with which his employee had spoken. Perhaps he was starting to grow up a little, despite his best efforts, because when a whole series of scenes of his escapades in front of Patterson and his treatment of the man flashed before his eyes, Jordan began to feel very guilty. Hopefully, the guy didn't hate him so much that he wouldn't help him bring his father's plan to a stop.

He was sitting at a table away from the dance floor the next night when he saw Patterson enter and look around. As their eyes met, Jordan waved briefly. With a nod, Patterson moved in his direction.

Sliding into the seat across from his boss, Patterson couldn't help but notice how Jordan's eyes seemed to be nervously scanning the room. There was a tremble to his hands, and his face was much paler than usual.

"Everything okay, boss?" he asked.

Jordan shook his head and chuckled. "No. No they're definitely not okay. Then again, I don't think things have been 'okay' for a very long time."

Surprised at the candor with which Jordan spoke, and suddenly concerned with his well-being, Patterson asked, "What can I do?"

"Before I begin, I need to apologize to you, Patterson. I've been...well, let's be honest. I've been a selfish, arrogant bastard for a very long time. And you've eaten a whole lot of shit sandwiches I've prepared for you. I know it probably doesn't mean much, but I just wanted to say that I'm sorry, and that I'm going to try and do better in the future."

Stunned, Patterson didn't even know how to begin. Finally, for lack of anything better to say and still skeptical of this sudden change-of-heart, he simply said, "Okay." Then after a moment, he asked, "What's this project you were talking about?"

Once again, Jordan nervously checked for anyone that might be eavesdropping on them. He leaned forward and lowered his voice to the point that Patterson was having some trouble picking out his words against the music in the background. "You know how a lot of guys are becoming sterile, and the scientists can't figure out why?" he asked.

When Patterson nodded, he continued. "I know who's behind it and how they're doing it."

"What?" exclaimed his companion.

Jordan hurriedly signaled to keep his voice down.

Quieter, Patterson asked, "Who is it? How'd you find out?"

Taking a deep breath and another look around, Jordan said, "It's my dad and his cronies."

In confusion, Patterson sat back. From the skeptical look on his face, Jordan could see that he didn't believe him. "It's true, I swear it."

"Jordan...Sir...I know that you and your dad don't see eye to eye on a lot of things. But this is pretty low, even for you." Before Jordan could even mention the proof in the video, Patterson stood and said, "I came here because you said you needed my help. But I'm not going to sit around and indulge in conspiracy theories just because you didn't get enough love from your dad." He turned to leave and took one step away before turning back. "That's it. I'm done. Consider this my resignation. Like you said, I've put up with a lot of crap from you, but this? This is too much. Get some help." With that, he turned and stalked away, even as Jordan called out his name, yelling that it was true, that he had proof.

Patterson ignored him and kept walking. Noticing the stares of the other patrons, Jordan collapsed back into his seat, suddenly painfully aware of how alone he was in the world, and completely at a loss as to how to proceed. He spent the next few hours watching the happy faces of the other clubgoers, silently wishing that he was still blissfully ignorant of the tsunami headed their way.

As he sat there trying to come up with a course of action, he kept coming to dead ends. He didn't really have any friends, and those that he did have were just as spoiled and disconnected as he had been. He thought about going to the police, but he knew enough about the project to know that its reach extended to all levels of government, including law enforcement. He couldn't be sure that his father wouldn't trace the leak back to him, and truthfully, he couldn't be sure that if that happened, Jordan wouldn't find himself fitted with concrete shoes and standing at the bottom of the bay.

Wracking his brain, he couldn't think of anyone that he knew well enough to trust with a secret this big. He was about to slam the last of his drink and head for home when inspiration struck like a lightning bolt from the sky, causing him to pause with the glass halfway to his lips. He might not know someone that could help, but he knew of someone that might be able to help. Someone with a golden boy reputation. The only question was whether he'd listen to what Jordan had to say. With a smile on his lips, Jordan tossed back the remains of his drink and headed for home. He had some planning to do.

*****

"Don't you think you're being a little hard on him? The man loves you, but he's not going to violate his principles on a whim. If he did that, he wouldn't be him, would he?" Mara was getting a little irritated at Sam's staunch refusal to accept that Carson had very good reasons for not wanting to insert himself between her parents. She'd hoped that if the two of them met for lunch away from the house, maybe she could help smooth things over.

Sam sighed in exasperation. "Intellectually, I know you're right that I'm being too hard on him. I can't help but get excited, though, about 'What if?' We aren't constrained by old ways of thinking. The whole point of the all the stuff we're doing is to advance humanity. If we could somehow determine the right conditions to produce new abilities in humans, isn't that worth a little sacrifice of comfort?"

"Besides," she continued, around a bite of Cobb salad, "It's not like we're asking him to bed some random slut off the street. It's my mother, for crying out loud."

"That's just the point, though. Why can't you see that?" countered Mara. "For Carson, it would probably be easier if it was someone random. It's not the act that he's struggling with; it's the meaning. And I think you know it. So why are you treating him like a wayward child for not doing everything you ask?"

Sam stopped with her fork poised at the side of her plate. "I...it's like there's this shiny prize that's hanging just out of my reach. I know if someone would give me a boost up, I could reach it and change everything. But the only person around who can give me the boost is Carson, and he won't do it."

Mara knew how much the research meant to Sam. She had been at her father's side for a long time, waiting and hoping for even the smallest breakthrough. When Carson's mental abilities had manifested, it was a reward for decades of diligent work in the laboratory. And it had whetted the appetites of the entire Cross clan for more.

Gently, Mara laid a hand on Sam's arm. "What price are you willing to pay to make this happen? Because I think if you keep going, not only will you lose a possible research project, but you could lose the man you say you love."

Sam's head whipped to stare at Mara. "You aren't serious? You think Carson would divorce me? Make me leave?"

Her sister-wife tried to be sympathetic, but she felt compelled to lay the stakes out as she saw them. "I know you're disappointed, but I think you've been so wrapped up in that that you've missed how absolutely miserable our husband is. He's spending more time at work than ever, drinking more, and even when he's home...I don't think he thinks of it as 'home' territory anymore. Does that sound like a man who loves his life?"

Tears came to Sam's eyes and she dropped her head into her hands, muttering "No, no, no" under her breath. She looked up at Mara in anguish. "I can't lose him. He's still the best thing that's ever happened to me. He gave me a beautiful son," she said, glancing at the slumbering infant, "and he's unlike any man I've ever met."

Mara said, "Let me ask you a question: Does it have to be your mom? I mean, couldn't you just put some different women in contact with him to see if there's the same kind of response?"

Sam shook her head. "We thought the same thing, but we don't have any way of screening potential candidates. We tried every kind of sensor we can think of to see if we can detect something with mom, but it doesn't seem to be a measurable property. So it would just be throwing random women into his arms to see what happens. I know we've kind of been doing that already, but it's slow and completely random. It's like looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack."

Neither of them said anything else for a few minutes as they pondered the problem.

Eventually Mara shook her head. "This is way above my understanding. I wish I could be more help to you."

Sam placed her hand on Mara's arm and said, "No, you've been a big help. I need to get my perspective back. Carson is more important to me than any discovery we could make. If I lose sight of that, then I'm missing the point."

The two women finished their meals a few minutes later. They were gathering things to leave when Mara chuckled and off-handedly said, "It's too bad you don't have a sister."

Sam froze, whatever she'd been about to say gone in an instant. "What did you say?"

Mara was still gathering her things. "I was just thinking, you and Carson have some sort of reaction that happens when you're together, right?" When Sam nodded, she continued, saying, "Maybe if you had a sister, the reaction would be a little stronger, or maybe different, that's all."

Sam just stared at her with a look of amazement on her face.

Seeing the look, Mara asked, "What?"

A smile began to form on Sam's face. "I don't have a sister, but Mom does."

Before Mara had a chance to reply, Sam began animatedly talking about the possibility of getting Carson and her Aunt Cara together. Mara wasn't sure if she was still needed for this conversation, because it seemed Sam was talking to herself at least as much as to her. "I can't believe I didn't think of it before. Oh, but she's not part of the project. Would she even be interested in trying? She's probably lonely after Uncle Stephen's accident." She was still talking to herself when Mara kissed her cheek and made her way out the door.

As she drove home, she couldn't help but feel a sense of optimism that things would begin to turn for the better soon.

*****

Carson was still working under the tutelage of his favorite warrior-princess. Her four-months' pregnant belly was a hindrance, though, and he was adamant that they would not be training together physically until her delivery and recovery were complete. That did not keep her from monitoring his workouts and correcting his form as she could. She was beginning to find that Carson was reaching the limits of her expertise. Watching as he loosened up for the sparring session, she made a note to find him a new instructor.

This evening, she'd arranged for one of the security teams to attack him en masse, the way a street gang might. Beyond the physical exercise of his skills, being outnumbered four to one would require him to sharpen his situational awareness and rapid decision-making skills. Each of the 'attackers' had been given a training knife, while Carson was unarmed.

Each of the combatants was dressed in a combat sim-suit. These lightweight garments were imbued with a host of sensors and simulation tools that, when linked to the combat monitoring software, would increase the realism of the battle. If a person was stabbed, for example, the suit would simulate the pain of the injury and limit the use of affected muscles. Likewise, impacts such as punches or kicks caused a low-level pain and stiffness to simulate the formation of bruising; the longer the simulation went on, the more the pain and stiffness were felt.

The match had been in progress for about 11 minutes when Carson did something Tilda had only ever seen in a movie. The attacking agents had adopted a pack-attack strategy, with individuals attacking randomly to keep the victim off-guard. Carson was doing his best to dodge out of the way as the knives slashed through the space he'd just vacated. Unfortunately, his best wasn't quite cutting it, no pun intended, and he had taken a series of cuts to his upper arms and back.

The agent standing behind Carson lunged at his undefended back, preparing to deliver a killing blow. When his arm began to fall, though, Carson was simply no longer there. Seemingly in the blink of an eye, Carson used the leg of the agent in front of him to launch himself airborne. As he did so, he delivered a resounding kick to the man's chin while twisting his upper body mid-flight to deliver a knockout punch to the chin of the next agent in line. He continued his fall, whipping his leg out to catch the agent who'd initiated the attack across the chest with the entire weight of his leg, knocking the man to the ground so hard, his head bounced off the mat.

Carson landed in a crouch on one knee, his eyes steady on the remaining attacker, who was simply standing open-mouthed in awe at what he'd just seen.

"End simulation," called Tilda. She scurried onto the mat. "What was that?" she asked excitedly.

Carson shrugged. "I don't know, it just felt right, somehow. Why?"

Tilda exchanged looks with the agent. Some form of silent communication took place, with the man giving a small shake of his head.

"I think you need to see the replay, Carson."

After ensuring that the other agents were okay, everyone gathered around the monitor to review the footage. The software collected a great deal of information about each of the combatants, including things like kick or punch speed, respiration rate, etc. As the fight commenced, there was nothing particularly noteworthy. There came a point, though, roughly a minute before his acrobatics, when Carson's heart rate and respiration rate went into overdrive. Suddenly, his punches and kicks that had previously been on par with his assailants gained speed. The entire process of taking out three agents in that final flurry took a grand total of 1.83 seconds.

All eyes were on Carson as they processed what they'd just seen.

"Don't look at me," said Carson. "I don't know what just happened either."

Tilda backed the video up to the point his physiology changed. "What were you thinking right then?" she asked.

Carson glanced at the screen, then closed his eyes in thought for a moment. When he opened them again, he said, "I was thinking that I needed to move faster, and if I didn't figure out a way to even the odds, I wasn't going to last much longer."

"Did you feel any different?"

He thought about it again and replied, "I didn't recognize it at the time, but there was a 'ding' of acknowledgement, and things seemed to slow down suddenly. I remember suddenly seeing a combination of moves beyond just the guy in front of me; it was like knowing where everyone was going to be before I moved a muscle. I could even sense that guy behind me tensing to attack."

Tilda was looking at him oddly. She murmured, "I wonder..." She dismissed the team and pulled Carson aside. "Carson, I've never seen anyone move as fast as you just did. That was unbelievable. If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn't have thought it possible."

"Well, I've had a good trainer," he said with a smile, but Tilda shook her head.

"That's nothing to do with me..." she began, before she stopped and cocked her head as a new thought came to her mind. "I think we need to run some tests, but I think something has changed with you, physically. When we first got together, you were in shape, but you couldn't do anything like you just did. But ever since you got shot...you've been changing. I didn't pick up on it because it was gradual. But look at you. You've always been strong, but now you're muscular, defined, and apparently, much, much faster.