The Dark Side of Science: Devya's Children

The Dark Side of Science

A Prequel to Devya’s Children

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By Julie C. Gilbert

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Table of Contents:

Dedication:

Important People:

Prologue: The Waitress and the Stranger

Chapter 1: Know Your Enemy

Chapter 2: Collateral

Chapter 3: The Scorekeeper

Chapter 4: A Question of Motivation

Chapter 5: Varick vs. Dee

Chapter 6: The Watcher Room

Chapter 7: Alone in New York City

Chapter 8: Motivation and Cooperation

Chapter 9: The Scavenger Hunt

Chapter 10: Retrieving the Package

Chapter 11: Cold Eternal Night

Chapter 12: Justice for All

Chapter 13: Reversing Cold Eternal Night

Chapter 14: Manhunt

Chapter 15: Triumph and Treachery

Chapter 16: Turning Point

Chapter 17: Tough Choices

Chapter 18: Power, Posturing, Proposals

Chapter 19: Thinning the Field

Chapter 20: Subway Bait

Chapter 21: Negotiations

Chapter 22: Price of Freedom

Epilogue: Public Face, Private Reflections

Thank You:

Dedication:

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To all the brave souls attempting Nanowrimo 2015.

Best of luck to everybody.

Important People:

(Warning: may contain spoilers)

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Adynatos Industries (Greek for Impossible)

Dr. Ian Emerson – lead researcher

Dr. Elizabeth Cliella – psychologist, associate of Dr. Emerson

Dee – soldier 

Kay – minder

Que – techie

Tae – empath

Votive, Inc. (Greek for promised to the gods)

Dr. Devya – lead researcher, creator of Devya’s Children

Dr. Evelyn Carnasis – researcher, associate of Dr. Devya, mother of Ashlynn

Dr. Jessica Paladon – former associate of Dr. Devya, mother of Varick and Nadia

Varick – soldier

Nadia – minder

Malia – empath

Prologue:

The Waitress and the Stranger

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Jessica James held her breath and kept the forced smile in place until the rickety front door banged shut behind the trucker’s massive form.

Good riddance.

A weight lifted off of her soul until her gaze fell upon the wreckage left behind. The table looked ready to be declared a disaster zone. Spilled coffee mixed with wet sugar clumps turned the paper placemat into a soggy, sticky mess. Fragments of half-chewed toast lay scattered across the length of the table. The man obviously had a thing against toast corners. Egg guts covered nearly every inch of the plate. Jessica grabbed the nearly pristine napkin and used it to pick up the disgusting plate. That’s when she spotted the carefully folded dollar bill nestled in between the salt and pepper shakers. Her grip on the plate tightened, and she was sorely tempted to fling the thing at the nearest wall.

Thoughts of a dozen deadly chemicals, complete with mental images of their molecular shapes, flashed through her mind. Jessica growled, partly at the uselessness of seeing strange chemicals and knowing how to combine them to be deadlier and partly at the lousy tip. With a sigh, she tucked a strand of long blond hair behind her right ear, released the lovely murderous thoughts, plunked the plate into the empty plastic bin she’d brought to clear the table, and started gathering the rest of the mess.

Easy on the dishes, dear girl. What did they ever do to you?

Jessica halted her cleaning efforts a moment to glance apologetically at her boss.

Sorry, Mr. Murphy. Her cheeks flushed.

Don’t give it a second thought, he said with a dismissive wave. But do preserve the pieces. They need to last a while out here. Beside, we won’t see that pig for a good week. Take comfort in that.

I’ll try, Jessica promised. She picked up a small plate and added it to the bin with care. As she continued the cleanup, she felt Mr. Murphy’s fatherly gaze linger on her. Having worked for approximately four months at Murphy’s Roadside Rest Stop, she was used to this sort of behavior. She filed it away as an old man’s prerogative, especially given the unusual circumstances surrounding her presence in the middle of nowhere Nebraska.

Four months ago, almost to the day, she’d awakened in the parking lot with pretty severe amnesia. The Oregon driver’s license in her wallet had declared her Jessica A. James, but she couldn’t even recall what the A stood for. Mr. Murphy had insisted she rest for about a week. She’d spent the time in a spare trailer he had parked outside his tiny, well-furnished log cabin. When some of her physical strength had returned, Jessica insisted on working for her room and board.

Thoughts of the early days occupied her while she worked.

When you finish with that, take a break. Go home and nap, just be back in time for the dinner crowd.

Jessica smiled at Mr. Murphy’s reference to the dinner crowd. According to legend, Jake and Ella Holloway hadn’t missed a Thursday dinner at Murphy’s for the last six years. At first, she had been intimidated by the retired general’s quiet gruffness. For some reason, she always felt like he was watching her, sort of like Mr. Murphy was watching her but also different. On the other hand, Ella more than made up for her husband’s lack of words.

Am I being needlessly paranoid?

Did you hear me?

Realizing she hadn’t responded aloud, Jessica stopped cleaning long enough to nod at her boss.

Yes, I heard you. Thank you, Mr. Murphy. I think I’ll do that. Although acclimated to the odd hours, Jessica appreciated every break she could get. With the staff total standing at two and a half, she was basically always on call. They ran a decent breakfast, but she honestly couldn’t tell how the business made out financially. For that matter, she didn’t know why she stayed. Sure, she owed Mr. Murphy for taking her in when she clearly had nowhere else to go, but how long would that debt last? The half was Murphy’s granddaughter, Emma, who earned some pocket change by playing hostess every other afternoon.

Another ten minutes slipped by while Jessica scrubbed away evidence of the trucker’s presence. After depositing the dirty dishes near the sink, she retrieved new place settings and reset the table.

Would you like some coffee before you go? asked Murphy.

Sure, Jessica answered, expecting the question. He’d asked the same question nearly every day like clockwork. A cup of coffee would be great.

Is this what the rest of my life’s going to be?

Jessica frowned at the thought. She couldn’t remember what she had done before coming here, but she was a hundred percent positive it was not waitressing. She would have moved on several weeks ago if the migraines and flashbacks didn’t ambush her every few days.

Murphy set a cup of strong black coffee in front of her and slid a sugar container her way. She caught it and nodded thanks. Absently, she added sugar and swirled the hot liquid around in the sturdy mug so she wouldn’t have to dirty a spoon.

Use a spoon. We have a dishwasher, Murphy said, gently setting a spoon next to Jessica.

She smiled faintly but didn’t argue the point. The early morning was just starting to catch up to her. Wearily, Jessica sank onto one of the high stools and wrapped both hands around the warm mug. For several minutes, she sipped slowly and let her mind go blank.

Where am I going in life?

As if in answer, the bell above the door tinkled cheerily, announcing a new visitor. Jessica made a face into her half-finished coffee and mentally kissed her nap goodbye. Taking a deep breath, she finished the coffee in three large, scalding gulps.

What do you want? Mr. Murphy’s icy tone told Jessica the newcomer wasn’t welcome.

That alone intrigued her. Mr. Murphy rarely had a cross word for anybody, even terrible tippers. Spinning around on the stool, Jessica took in the stranger. He wore a dark suit and sunglasses, even though the gray cast to the sky didn’t warrant shades. The words tall, tan, and fit also applied.

Ms. James?

Who’s asking? Jessica asked carefully.

Dean Devya. I work for the government. The man flashed a smile and a badge in a well-practiced move that was too quick to actually let her read the badge.

Liar. You may as well have printed that at Wal-Mart.

Jessica tensed. She didn’t doubt that the man worked for the government. His whole being bled some version of federal agent, but she knew for certain he wasn’t Dean Devya. Waves of disgust, anger, and inexplicable sadness flooded her at that name, but the man’s face evoked no feelings whatsoever.

A different man’s image lit up in her mind. He had messy brown hair, a determined expression, and a magnetic personality. He was also slighter than the stranger.

And far, far more intelligent.

You’re not Dean, she said softly. He’s ... shorter.

And he has brown hair, not black.

The man chuckled.

Jessica, go into the back room, please. I’ll deal with this man.

You’ve done enough, Murphy. My men will take her from here.

She’s not ready, declared Mr. Murphy.

"Where are your men?" Jessica challenged. She half-expected the bell’s tinkle to herald an invasion of government lackeys. The line about men taking her sounded odd no matter which way she looked at it.

The stranger ignored her, keeping his focus fixed on her boss.

I wouldn’t do that, he warned, shaking his head in disapproval that had an almost parental air to it.

Jessica glanced back to see Mr. Murphy holding a shotgun across his chest. She’d always thought of the weapon as a prop for keeping sleep-deprived truckers civil. The ease with which her boss handled the gun spoke of expertise beyond casual use.

All right. What’s going on? Jessica felt the first sharp pangs of a headache.

Not now!

She fought off the headache with a few quick breaths. For good measure, she clenched her fists until her nails put nice indents in her palms. The mild pain helped her concentrate.

Ms. James, I’m going to ask you to come with me. It’s a matter of national security.

The statement earned a sardonic smile from Jessica.

Did you rehearse that line? she asked. Because it’s terrible.

I’m only going to ask you nicely one more time, Ms. James, and then I’m going to resort to threats. Consider your answer very carefully. The man spoke cordially but his eyes flattened in an unnerving way.

You don’t have do to anything, and you shouldn’t go anywhere with this man, Jessica. He’s dangerous. Murphy stood ramrod straight, still maintaining a firm grip on the shotgun.

A calm feeling stole over Jessica. Dozens of memories crowded her head, none of them making much sense. In her mind’s eye, she saw a pristine lab, a flask holding a green liquid with a label she couldn’t read, and two fair-haired children. The thought of the children brought on an ache so deep her knees almost buckled. She looked at the stranger again. Going with him was crazy. She could—and ­probably would—die, but there was also a small chance that he would lead her to answers. If she didn’t go with him, somebody would suffer. She didn’t know who or why, but she knew that kind of psychology drove these people.

I’ll go with you, Jessica said. Fear and thrill ran through her in equal measures.

No, protested Murphy. Let yourself recover.

From what? Jessica wondered, turning to face her boss. Mr. Murphy, you’ve been wonderful, but I ... need to do this.

Are you sure, dear girl?

Not at all, Jessica admitted. She forced a weak smile.

There’s nothing to fear from us, ma’am, said the stranger.

That’s not very comforting from a man who won’t even give his own name, she pointed out. And who’s ‘us’? What do you want from me? I can’t even remember my own name some days.

You’ll have your answers in time, but we’ve got to go. The director’s waiting for my report, and I need to call off my man in the next minute or Ms. Ashton will have a very bad day.

Emma. Jessica’s heart tripped over the name.

Murphy cursed and placed the shotgun on the counter, his head bowing with defeat.

It’s okay. Jessica tried to sound reassuring. A hot lump climbed into her throat and burned away more words. Tears sprang to her eyes. She held out her right hand toward Murphy. He took hold of her hand and squeezed.

Relax, Mr. Murphy. Ms. James seems cooperative.

Jessica squeezed back as hard as she could. She wanted to thank him for everything, but suddenly couldn’t think of anything to say.

They shouldn’t be bothering you with this, dear girl, but they’re not here to harm you either, Mr. Murphy said. His eyes were resigned but accepting. Truth is, they need your help. I know you don’t remember much about Dr. Dean yet, but it’ll come back if you let it.

She had so many questions, but she could feel the stranger’s impatient eyes on the back of her neck.

I’ll try not to forget you, Jessica promised.

This made them both smile, since her memory problems were the reason she’d stayed so long in the first place.

Will you be all right? Jessica felt ridiculous asking that question. It wasn’t like she’d been a great help to Murphy.

More like a great burden.

They’ll send me more help as necessary. You were made for greater things. Your brilliant mind is wasted waiting tables in these hills. Go change the world again.

Again?

Touching, muttered the stranger. Let’s go, Ms. James.

You can stop calling her that now. If you recruit her, at least address her by the title she’s earned. Mr. Murphy’s tone was scolding.

Jessica looked back and forth between her boss and the stranger. The men seemed to be holding an entire conversation with their gazes.

Agreed, said the man at last. Let’s make this formal. Dr. Jessica Paladon, please come with me. I’ve been asked to reactivate you. We need your unique expertise.

On what exactly? Jessica asked carefully. She let the name fly back and forth in her mind, testing it for familiarity.

The children, of course.

She stared at him blankly.

The man’s eyes pierced Mr. Murphy.

What’s wrong with her?

The memory stripper needs to be reversed first, son, replied Murphy. She can make the counteragent herself if you give her enough time.

The stranger looked like he’d swallowed a burr.

We need her active right now.

Hey. I’m right here, Jessica protested.

Be patient, said Murphy.

Jessica couldn’t tell whom he was addressing.

I’m sure one of the others could make the counteragent as well, Murphy continued.

The stranger grunted.

I’ll make some phone calls, he muttered.

Karita.

As the name flashed into Jessica’s mind, she repeated it aloud.

Karita could help. She frowned as she always did when strange names popped into her head. I don’t know why I know that, but I do. Welcome to my life.

The counteragent’s not going to be all that pleasant, but it should restore your memories, dear girl, Mr. Murphy said.

We should go, Dr. Paladon, insisted the stranger.

Once again, the name didn’t evoke any emotions in her.

I’ll explain on the way, he went on.

Where are we going?

New York City. Your children are about to enter a fight for their lives. Their chances of survival increase tenfold with your aid.

My children?

Part 1: Opening Moves

Chapter 1:

Know Your Enemy

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A gentle knock announced Dr. Cliella’s arrival in response to his summons.

Enter. Dr. Ian Emerson rose as his office door swung inward to admit the young woman into his inner sanctum. He waved her toward one of the two guest chairs. Thank you for coming on such short notice. I know your workload’s not easy to bear. Did you get a chance to read the files I had delivered last night?

Only briefly, answered Dr. Cliella. She sank onto the chair but didn’t lean back. She kept her back stiff, like she wanted to leap up