‘Fine,’ said Cadel, cautiously.
‘You didn’t come on your own, did you?’ she asked, and Cadel pointed at Linda, who had her feet on a chair and was unwrapping a stick of gum.
‘Oh dear,’ said the librarian, before hurrying off to have a word with Linda about rules and regulations.
Cadel returned to his books.
It appeared that most respected scientists had laughed at Vernon’s views. Then they had become alarmed when some of his experiments resulted in the deaths of two university students. Vernon’s research was outlawed, and driven underground. Meanwhile, Vernon was pursuing another theory about UFO sightings and alien abductions. It was Vernon’s opinion that such experiences were hallucinations, accidentally caused by other people – people with psychic powers.
Once again, however, he wasn’t taken seriously.
It angered Vernon Bobrick that so many of his fellow scientists were blinkered and stubborn. He wanted to prove his theories, but to do that he required even more money. First he engineered a fake gene patent scam, which robbed thousands of eager investors of their life savings. Then he quietly established a franchise of faulty vending machines, all of which swallowed money without vending anything. He was behind a handful of miracle cures that cured nothing at all. Finally, and most importantly, he started an organisation called GenoME.
Very few people realised that Vernon had anything to do with GenoME, which claimed that its trained GenoME ‘potentialisers’ could map your exact genetic code, and tell you where you were going wrong in life. By knowing exactly what potentials were contained in your genes, you could see where you were pointlessly fighting against your very nature. GenoME’s motto was Messages in Matter are Messages that Matter.
It cost a lot of money to get your genes mapped, and even more money to have the map analysed by experts. Soon GenoME was enormously successful, with offices and members all over the world. ‘GenoME changed my life,’ was a remark often bandied around in the GenoME advertising. It was almost like a religion.
If Vernon Bobrick had simply sat back and enjoyed the profits that rolled in from GenoME and his other business interests, he would have been left alone. But Vernon was a man with a vision – a vision that he intended to pursue at all costs. He changed his name to Phineas Darkkon, pointing out to everyone who would listen that it meant ‘Dark Lord’. Then he produced from his secret laboratory a person he named Doel the Disruptor. Doel, he said, possessed the power to make other people hallucinate. To prove his point, Dr Darkkon made Doel concentrate his disruptive energies on an English politician, who collapsed in a gibbering heap, screaming about giant spiders. Phineas warned that if a sum of $500 million wasn’t paid directly to him, a whole army of disruptors would be unleashed on the world, at his command.
Actually, Phineas didn’t have a whole army of disruptors at his disposal. He only had Doel. And when the world’s politicians called his bluff, his entire plan collapsed. (A great many powerful people were convinced that the shrieking politician had simply been drunk.) When Doel was arrested, it was discovered that his powers – if they existed – only worked in controlled laboratory conditions. Poor Doel ended up in a mental hospital.
Meanwhile, Phineas Darkkon vanished. When Interpol began to pursue him, he moved from hideout to hideout, waging a very peculiar war against the scientists whose lack of vision, he thought, had condemned him to life on the fringes. He contaminated gas pipelines with a curious kind of molecule. He corrupted computer systems across the world with a new strain of computer virus called ‘Darkkon’. And he developed a vicious little retrovirus, which he threatened to release so that he could wipe out all the ‘junk human beings’ who had hijacked mankind’s destiny. Only those with ‘supergenes’, he said, would be immune to the effects of this retrovirus.
That was when he hit the top of Interpol’s Most Wanted list. Shortly afterwards, he was arrested while buying a box of tissues at a gas station in Colorado. He received a life sentence at his trial. After attempting a couple of gaol breaks, he was put in a top-security prison, where he seemed to lose his fighting spirit. No one had heard much about him for several years, though rumours continued to fly concerning the whereabouts of his multi-million-dollar fortune. While much of it had been traced and confiscated, a good portion was supposed to be hidden away in various tax havens around the world. No one had yet identified Dr Darkkon’s mysterious accountant, who was believed to hold the key to the Darkkon Empire.
There was no mention of a son. No mention of a wife, or even a girlfriend.
Cadel examined the photographs of Phineas Darkkon. They showed a Yoda-like figure in his late seventies, squat and bald, with large ears, huge eyes and a greyish complexion. Failed plastic surgery had left him with an almost non-existent nose. Though he claimed to have stalled his own ageing process with genetic manipulation and anti-oxidant flushes, Cadel saw no evidence of it.
He also saw no trace of himself in that strange-looking face.
Studying it carefully, Cadel turned various questions over in his mind. Why had there been no mention of Darkkon’s family? If Cadel was a Darkkon (and why should Thaddeus lie?), then who had his mother been? When had she died? According to Cadel’s calculations, he had been just under two years old at the time of Darkkon’s imprisonment. Had his mother died before then? Was that why he had been sent to Australia – because one parent was dead and one was serving a life sentence? If so, where had the information on his birth certificate come from?
Cadel glanced around him. There weren’t many people in the library, though all the computers were being used. No one was looking his way. The librarian had finished admonishing Linda and returned to her desk. Linda was scowling as she flipped viciously through a magazine about hairstyles.
Cadel slid his own magazine under the desk in front of him. Then slowly and carefully, he tore out the article on Phineas Darkkon, while pretending to read the book about GenoME that lay on top of his desk. Having folded the three-page article into a small, thick square, he tucked it into his pocket.
He did the same to the chapter about Phineas Darkkon in Gene Crime, and to the piece about synthogenes in one of the scientific journals. Then he got up, returned all his reading materials to their proper places, and left.
During the next couple of days, Cadel pored over his stolen texts in private. He couldn’t leave them alone; he was unable to think about anything else. Yet he told no one about them. This was partly because Thaddeus had warned him against it, partly because he had no real friends and partly because he wasn’t sure that he wanted the world to know who his real father was. On the one hand, Phineas might have been a man of vision and genius, embittered by ill treatment. On the other hand, he might have been a loony. It was hard to tell from the media reports. They were so very incomplete.
‘I couldn’t find anything about my mother,’ he remarked, when he was next in Thaddeus’s office. This time he hadn’t even approached the computer; he was sitting on the crimson couch.
Thaddeus sat facing him, legs crossed.
‘No,’ Thaddeus replied. ‘It wasn’t widely known that your father had a girlfriend. He tried to keep it a secret.’
‘Why?’
Thaddeus shrugged. ‘Less chance of anyone trying to get at him through your mother – or you. Of course the police found out. You were bundled off quick smart when they arrested him. I suppose they decided to hide you away in Australia so that Phineas would have a hard time trying to locate you.’ A soft laugh. ‘Although he did, of course. At least I did.’
Cadel thought for a minute. ‘Are you a GenoME person?’ he finally asked, whereupon Thaddeus winced.
‘Cadel, please,’ he protested. ‘That garbage? Give me some credit.’
‘So where do you fit in? Are you his accountant?’
‘I’m merely his right-hand man.’
‘Then why haven’t you been arrested?’
‘Because I’ve kept a low profile.’ While Thaddeus’s foot f
licked back and forth, the rest of him remained absolutely still. He didn’t even blink as he watched Cadel. He was like a cat with a twitching tail. ‘One thing your father has learned, since his arrest, is that you don’t draw attention to yourself. He’s a brilliant man, Cadel, but that was his error. He knows better now.’
‘Does he?’ Cadel was confused. It didn’t seem to him that Phineas Darkkon had been all that smart. In some ways, yes – but not in others. The business with Doel the Disruptor . . . Cadel wasn’t sure about that at all.
‘Your father has certain ideas about the world, Cadel,’ Thaddeus remarked. Twitch, twitch, twitch went his foot. ‘Not many people share them, because not many people understand them. Not many people have made the mental leap. He had to find his own money to fund the research to support those ideas, and in doing so he simply exploited the stupidity of others. You see, there are two types of people in this world, Cadel –’
‘I know, I know,’ Cadel interrupted. ‘I read about it. Two types of people, like two types of DNA. But I wouldn’t like to lose money in a soft-drink machine.’
‘Cadel, you wouldn’t.’ Thaddeus spoke patiently. ‘If you ever set your mind to it, you’d never have to pay money into a vending machine ever again. You’re the sort of person who would develop a means of getting the drink without paying the money. You have a supergenetic blueprint, Cadel – just like your father. The world is going to hell precisely because the junk DNA of stupid and talentless people has been swamping the potential of the human race. Think about it, Cadel. Think about what you have to put up with. It’s as if you’ve been dragging invisible shackles around, isn’t it? No one wants you to spread your wings. You’re regarded as a problem, not a solution. Everywhere you turn, people want to rein you in. Stop you from doing what you want.’
It was true. Cadel stared in astonishment.
‘Have you heard about Galileo?’ said Thaddeus. ‘Galileo was scorned and imprisoned because of his views, which were ahead of their time. One day, Cadel, your father will receive the recognition he deserves.’
Cadel wondered. He wasn’t completely convinced. But he was interested. After a long time, he said: ‘Do you know what I like about you? I like the way you talk to me. No one else talks to me the way you do. People treat me like . . . like . . .’ Words failed him, briefly.
‘Like an eight year old?’ Thaddeus suggested, with a smile.
‘Like I’m stupid,’ said Cadel. ‘Like I don’t understand.’
‘Which isn’t an error I’m likely to make.’
‘You’re the only one who doesn’t expect me to be stupid.’
‘As to that, I should point out two things,’ Thaddeus replied. ‘Firstly, most adults would find it impossible to admit that a child is smarter than they are. Secondly, your father is not among this group of people.’ Thaddeus narrowed his eyes. ‘He would very much like to speak to you, Cadel. If you have no objection.’
Cadel had been swinging his legs. He froze. He stared, then swallowed. ‘On the phone, you mean?’ he asked warily.
‘I think not. Your father is under constant surveillance. He’s had to find alternative methods of contacting me.’
‘How?’
‘Via transmitter.’ A slow smile spread across the psychologist’s face. ‘As a matter of fact, it’s hidden in his arthritis bangle.’
Cadel blinked.
‘His first transmitter was in his wrist watch,’ Thaddeus continued, ‘but they took that away.’
‘It must be a pretty small transmitter.’
‘It’s wired with DNA.’
Cadel caught his breath.
‘It’s what?’
‘You heard me.’ Thaddeus winked. ‘Someone was bound to master the technique some time, and Dr Darkkon has the obvious background.’
‘But . . . but . . .’ Cadel’s mind was working furiously. ‘But DNA is a bad conductor. Unless it’s a substrate for metal plating, and that’s so much work.’
Thaddeus lifted a hand. ‘Don’t ask me for details,’ he said firmly. ‘Your father’s the one who understands – your father and his nanotechnology department.’
‘There’s been no news.’ Cadel could hardly believe his ears. ‘Nothing. Not on the Internet or in the papers.’
‘Of course not. If no one knows it’s even possible to hide a transmitter in an arthritis bangle, why would anyone think to look?’ Thaddeus surveyed Cadel over the top of his clasped hands. ‘Well?’ he drawled. ‘What do you say, Cadel? A fifteen-minute conversation during our next session together. How does that sound?’
‘Fine,’ said Cadel, but his voice was flat. Experience had taught him to be cautious, and he still didn’t know how he felt about his father. Only about Thaddeus.
He trusted Thaddeus, and admired him. Thaddeus was the only one who seemed to understand. If Thaddeus thought he should speak to Dr Darkkon, then he would – no matter how nervous the prospect made him.
Besides, how else was he going to get a look at that DNA-wired transmitter?
FOUR
When Cadel turned up for his next appointment, he discovered a curious little screen mounted on Dr Roth’s desk. The screen was attached to a very small box of circuitry, which trailed an array of fine wires. Thaddeus directed Cadel to a chair in front of the screen and began to fiddle with connections and adjust frequencies. Cadel watched him with the motionless attention of a leopard waiting to pounce.
After about five minutes, a crackling noise issued from the plastic box. Thaddeus said ‘Ah,’ and rubbed his hands together. The screen in front of Cadel filled with light.
A face appeared, then broke up again. There was a roar of static.
‘Damn,’ muttered Thaddeus.
‘Are there relay stations?’ Cadel wanted to know. But before Thaddeus could answer, the shredded signal coalesced once again, and Cadel saw his father’s face on the screen.
It was quite a shock.
‘Good God,’ croaked a disembodied voice.
‘Are you reading us?’ Thaddeus demanded. ‘Dr Darkkon?’
‘I can see him,’ the fuzzy voice continued. ‘It’s Cadel, isn’t it?’
‘That’s right,’ said Thaddeus, and nudged his client. ‘Say something, Cadel.’
Cadel, however, was struck dumb. Reception wasn’t perfect, and the colour was poor; his father’s face looked blue. It hung on the screen like a big, blue balloon, bobbing and weaving with every breath that Dr Darkkon took. Cadel saw first one eye, then another, each embedded in a nest of heavy creases. Dr Darkkon had a frog’s mouth and liver spots. His expression was hungry, his breathing loud.
‘Cadel,’ he crooned. ‘Cadel. I can hardly believe it. You really are the image of your mother. Thad, can you believe it? He’s the spitting image.’
‘Mmm,’ said Thaddeus.
‘How are you, Cadel? Thad says you’ve been having a lot of fun, lately.’ A sly grin. ‘Playing with trains, and so forth.’
Cadel swallowed. Then he nodded and licked his lips. He didn’t know what to say. (This man was his father!
) ‘Mucking around with computers,’ Dr Darkkon added. ‘You like computers, don’t you?’
Cadel cleared his throat. ‘They . . . they won’t let me use them,’ he stammered. ‘Not the way I want to.’
‘I know. I’m sorry.’
‘I don’t even have one of my own any more!’
Dr Darkkon shook his head and clicked his tongue. ‘It’s a shame,’ he murmured.
‘Can you buy me one?’ Cadel asked hoarsely, deciding not to beat around the bush. His father owed him a computer, after so many years of missed birthdays. It was the least he could do. ‘I’ve heard you have a lot of money.’
‘Well, I do, but –’
‘Can you give me one with DNA wiring?’
‘Cadel, it’s not as simple as that,’ Dr Darkkon said softly. His face lurched about on the screen. ‘I wish I could give you a computer, but if I did the Piggotts would wonder where it came from.’
>
‘I could hide it. If it was small enough. If it had DNA wiring.’
Dr Darkkon laughed. Thaddeus said: ‘Too risky. Suppose they did find it? Word would get out. The computer companies would get interested. You’d have the world at your door, Cadel, and you don’t want that.’
‘No, you certainly don’t,’ Dr Darkkon agreed. ‘If there’s one thing I’ve learned, Cadel, it’s that you must keep a low profile. You should never attract too much attention. Let Thaddeus guide you – he’s always been inconspicuous.’
‘There’s an art to it,’ Thaddeus conceded.
‘But I want a computer!’ Cadel protested. Tears sprang to his eyes. He had hoped that his father, by suddenly appearing, would be able to solve all his problems. ‘Why won’t you give me one?’
‘Because I don’t need to,’ Dr Darkkon replied. He didn’t have a nice voice – not like Thaddeus. Dr Darkkon’s voice was high and scratchy and nasal, made worse by the distortions of the transmitter. ‘Someone with your brains, my boy, shouldn’t have everything served up to him on a plate, even if it were possible. Think. Consider. Work your way through this. There isn’t anything you can’t get if you’re smart enough.’ With a flourish that sent colours bouncing wildly around the screen, he added: ‘Just look at me. They tried to take my son away, and they couldn’t do it. I’m too clever to go without. Why should you be any different?’
‘Because I’m not a grown-up,’ Cadel replied, in sullen tones. ‘Because I’m not a billionaire. Because I’m not in charge of an international business empire.’
Dr Darkkon chuckled. It sounded like water gurgling down a drain.
‘Don’t worry, my boy,’ he said, leering across the miles. ‘You’ll be all of those things soon enough. I guarantee it.’
And with that promise Cadel had to be satisfied. Dr Darkkon steadfastly refused to give him a computer. What’s more, though Cadel tried very hard, he was never able to obtain even the most humble laptop for more than a day and a half, because his withdrawn behaviour always alerted the Piggotts. It was as if they could smell the electrodes firing.