dochermes | Entries tagged with regulites

"PROJECT REGULUS EPILOGUE"

3/21/1993

I.

The tan Ford Escort slowed as its driver leaned toward the passenger side to read the road signs. Dr Gerald Salzmann had already gotten lost twice during the three hour drive up from Manhattan and had been forced to ask for directions at gas stations. This did nothing to improve his already sour disposition. All these years and he still disliked Americans and their bland surface helpfulness. As he drove, he kept unwrapping a packet of Tums from his jacket pocket and popping one of the antacids in his mouth to stop the constant heartburn.

Just past the age of sixty, Salzmann had become a spare, dried specimen well under average height. He had kept his hair and it was mostly still dark, but his pinched narrow face with the deepset eyes did not make him appealing. Here he was as the late afternoon approached and the sun was getting low, and he was just reaching his goal after driving all day. Outside the city of Watervliet, on a country road with miles of fields and stretches of woods between houses, he finally saw a intersection that read MORGAN LANE and pulled over onto it. Finally.

Here he hoped to find the three surviving clones of Project Regulus. If they were as bitter about what had happened as he was, he had the perfect way for them all to achieve a satisfying revenge.

The third house up Morgan Lane had a blue metal mailbox by the side of the road, and on it was painted the name REILLY. He found the family name chosen by the clones to be annoying. Tom Reilly had been the counselor at Project Regulus who specialized in showing the subjects how to move among the public without drawing attention. Salzmann had disliked Reilly from the start and could not understand why the clones would have taken that name.

At the end of the short driveway was a small white house with an attic and shingled roof. A black Oldsmobile was parked alongside it, and a bicycle leaned against one wall. The lawn was tended well enough, he grudgingly admitted, but there was a round trampoline set up in the back yard. What a waste of money, he thought, he did not expect the clones to be so frivolous.

As Salzmann parked his Ford next to the Olds, a boy about eleven years old came around the side of the house. He was a skinny kid with shaggy black hair, wearing jeans and a baggy maroon sweatshirt with the name of some rock band on it. As soon as he spotted the stranger, the boy called out, "Uncle Ted! Someone's here!" but did not approach any closer.

Getting out and closing the car door, Salzmann remembered that this subject had been initiated at the same time as the other two in the batch but his age had been tweaked so he would physically be seven when he emerged. That had been part of Karl Eldritch's plan. Immediately, the front door of the house opened and an elderly man with silvery white hair emerged, blinking in the sunlight. He was dressed in khaki pants and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up.

"It's all right, Kenny," said the old man as the boy hurried over to join him by the front door. The front of the house had a lilac tree almost touching it but the buds had not opened yet. "Something we can help you with, mister?"

Salzmann walked over to meet them. "I thought you would remember me," he said.

"Oh. Yes, Dr Salzmann. It's only been a few years."

"A few years.. yet so much has happened." Salzmann openly stared at the two. "Your skin tones look normal. How did you achieve that?"

"I don't see where we owe you any answers," the old man called Uncle Ted snapped. "You treated us like guinea pigs."

"Here now, let's not start on bad terms," Salzmann said. "I've been searching for your unit for a year now. I can help you get revenge on our common enemy."

Before Uncle Ted could answer, a woman emerged from the door behind him. She was tall, about five feet eight, and as thin as Ted and the boy Kenny. The woman wore a black skirt and beige long-sleeved blouse but had taken off her shoes.

"Dr Salzmann," she said in a chilly tone. "I thought you were dead with the others."

"A few of us escaped the destruction of Project Regulus," he said. "I happened to be off-duty that day. Your designation was Lucinda, if I remember rightly. You were the closest of your unit to the donor, even though we had to drop the Y chromosome and duplicate X."

"That's my name, not my designation. And we are not a unit, we're a family." She took a deep breath and softened her tone. In the sunlight, her eyes were a pale grey that watched the visitor warily. "You seem to be under some misconceptions, doctor. Maybe you should come in for a minute."

"Very well," Salzmann said. "I have a proposal for your... family."

( the rest of the story )

PROJECT REGULUS III - A Pack of Dire Wolves

6/17-6/18/1990

I.

Bane had seldom felt his awareness of danger react more strongly. Every sense was keyed up to the point where it was taking an effort to stop himself from turning around and heading back to his car. What he felt was not fear so much as an awareness of imminent threats all around him. The Dire Wolf made himself breathe deeply and slowly, bringing out his enhanced hearing but still not being able to pinpoint what was alarming him.

At two o'clock on a muggy Sunday morning, this area off Wall Street was as deserted as any part of Manhattan ever became. The darkened skyscrapers on all sides were so tall that it felt like being at the bottom of a canyon, and he had not seen anyone on foot since coming down here. Every five or ten minutes, a taxi or police car might roll by, but that was about it. This was not a residential area. In the shadows of a deep doorway, Bane stared at the ancient church across the street and was annoyed at not being able to specify what was bothering him.

The church of Our Lady of Perpetual Hope was a protected historical site, dating back more than two hundred years and still in use. It hunched down between two towering office buildings, set back from the sidewalk behind a wrought iron fence, lit by a standing lamp post with a plaque detailing the church's history. Funny that the steeple had once been the tallest structure in the neighborhood, he thought. By the side of the church, pressed up against its wall of closely packed stones, was the woman who had called him here.

He had spotted her immediately but she was not the threat that was keeping him alarmed. Her body language indicated fear and uncertainty, not aggression. The woman was tall, about five feet eight, thin, dressed in a dark windbreaker and slacks. Straight black hair reached to her collar and even from across the street, he could see how unusually pale her skin was. But it was not her that his training was warning him about.

Finally, Bane strode across the street toward the church. The woman straightened up as he came into view. Getting closer, he saw she had a narrow face with pale eyes and there was something unsettlingly familiar about her. He realized that she looked a lot like he himself did...

Not speaking, still watching and listening as if surrounded by wild animals on all sides, the Dire Wolf walked up to her. He stopped just out of reach in a wary stance, ready to move in any direction instantly.

"Oh, you came at last," the woman said just above a whisper. "I'm Lucinda. I called you."

"Well, here I am." He turned slowly in a half-circle. "Is someone following you?"

"Yes. We have to get somewhere safe," she said. This close, her features were so much like his that they could have been brother and sister. "I have to warn you, there is danger..."

"You're telling me," Bane snorted. He whirled just as a dark figure dropped down off the roof of the church right at him. The Dire Wolf sidestepped and drove a hard left hook up into the attacker's oncoming body. The man grunted from the impact but still landed lightly on his feet. As the attacker straigtened, Bane was within a split-second of throwing a follow-up blow when he sensed something behind him. Quicker than any normal Human, a second attacker pounced and seized him around the body to pin his arms down.

The first man closed in fast, whipping out a straight jab. Bane rolled his head back so that blow barely scraped his jaw and pushed back against the man holding him so he could blast a front snap kick that cracked against the first man's chin. Bane brought that same leg back down to hook behind his grappler's ankle and got him off-balance.

If anyone had been passing by, they would have seen only a confusing blur of motion as Bane traded blows with his attackers, striking and blocking faster than an untrained eye could follow. He realized with a jolt that these men were just as fast as he was, maybe even a bit quicker. Snake men? Gelydrim? It was so rare that he encountered anyone who could meet his enhanced speed that he was taken aback. They were skilled fighters, too, and he had his hands full.

One of the men had drawn a knife and managed to get in a slash along Bane's cheek but he was left open by the swing and Bane caught him with a backfist that spun the man around. In the same continuous movement, the Dire Wolf whirled and drove out a high side kick that slammed the other attacker back against the wall of the church directly behind him. Bane had felt the man's bones crack under his boot at that blow. The attacker slumped limply to the ground.

Stepping back, the Dire Wolf touched his cheek and found the bleeding had stopped already. His healing factor from the tagra tea diet was at its peak. He stared down at the men he had beaten. Everything had taken place within a second or two and for the first time, Bane got a clear look at his enemies. The two men were wearing all black and they looked exactly like him with one difference. Their skin was the flat dull grey of a corpse.

"Project Regulus...." he growled.

( the rest of the story )

"Project Regulus I - The People Breeders"

11/1-11/4/1988

I.

After the guard passed around the corner, Chen emerged from the wall. He passed through the concrete and tile of the wall as if it was just an image cast by a projector, but the truth was the opposite. It was Chen who had become unsolid through the effect of the ensalir Dragon Pendant he wore beneath his black tunic. As soon as he was clear, the young Chinese exhaled and took a deep slow breath. When he was unsolid, he could not breathe and this limited how long he could remain in that state. Now he flattened up against the pastel green tiles and listened acutely for anything to indicate he had been detected. There were wooden doors with frosted glass panels at intervals along the hall but nothing else. No signs, no diagrams of fire exits, not even an arrow to indicate where some specified location might be. Only the dimmest possible illumination came from nightlights set at intervals down by the floor.

At twenty-six, Chen Wong-Lai was the only living master of the Fang Lung martial art his father had created. Some of that art had been taught to Shiro Mitsuru and some to Chen's lover Tang Ming, but most still remained only in the elder Chen's notes and in what the son had learned. Fang Lung was an art which emphasized stealth and misdirection, it stressed timing and cleverness over sheer strength in a fight. Chen slid down the brightly lit hall so silently that it seemed unnatural. He was wearing the rubber-soled slippers, snug leggings and tunic of his Dragon of Midnight role, with the long sleeved tunic ending in thin cotton gloves. The hood of the tunic had been drawn up, and under it Chen hid his face behind a full face black mask which was thin as gauze. On the brow of that mask was an outline of a rampant Imperial Dragon in thin white lines.

All of this, from the outfit to the mystic Dragon Pendant to the martial art, had been passed down from his father, Chen Lee-Sun. So far he had not added anything of his own, but he intended to. The new Dragon of Midnight moved quickly down the corridor and froze into position as his enhanced hearing detected someone breathing just ahead. The hallway widened into a lobby, with a pair of elevators visible. A closed-circuit camera swivelled slowly high up in one corner, but Chen knew he could disregard it. The gralic force of his Pendant blurred photographs and made video images grainy and unreadable. Anyone watching the monitor of the camera would think something was wrong with the equipment and start fiddling with the controls for a while.

Peering around the edge of the wall, Chen saw a lobby twenty feet by forty, with a pair of elevators and a stairwell behind a door with a clear panel. Two benches, a few plastic chairs and a table with some newspapers. Behind a simple metal desk, a heavyset middle-aged man in a bright Kelly Green security uniform sat and studied a slim paperback. He wore a billed cap and an automatic was in a flap holster on his right side. Beneath the black mask, Chen smiled. He reached inside his sleeve and drew a thick metal dart from the leather wristband.

( the rest of the story )

PROJECT REGULUS IV: THE CAULDRON OF NEW LIFE

12/14-12/17/1991

I.

Just outside town, in a little plaza of its own, Fenwick House was a six-story hotel with a three star Michelin rating. The rating would have been higher but it lacked twenty-four hour room service and a few other details. Its tan stone exterior was softly lit and an American flag waved from a post hanging off the roof. In the parking lot, every car without exception was in showroom condition, not a speck of rust and a visible dent. This wasn't policy, it was just the sort of clientele that Fenwick House attracted. The prices were kept deliberately elevated to discourage riff-raff. And yet crimes were committed there every night.

Pulling into an empty space was a maroon BMW that gleamed as if it had been waxed while entering the parking lot. Two men got out and examined their surroundings suspiciously. The driver was several inches over six feet tall, wide-shouldered and with a remarkably narrow waist. He was wearing a tailored grey business suit without a tie, the top bottom undone on the shirt. The bitter December wind did not seem to catch his notice at all.

Rigel seemed satisfied with the situation. He had a strong face, with a wide jaw and stern blue eyes under heavy brows. His thick black hair was kept short. Turning to his partner, Rigel said, "Deneb should be down at this point."

His companion was just six feet tall and gaunt, lean to the point of seeming almost frail but he gave off a sense of being dangerous that contradicted that. He also wore a business suit but in black, and instead of a dress shirt, he had on a rollneck pullover in red. The shorter man's narrow face was intense and even feral. "She has given clients extra time before to encourage repeat business," said Antares.

"Let's investigate." Rigel headed for a side door. The big man moved briskly and smoothly, like an athlete in peak condition. As he approached the door, he took a laminated ID card from a pocket and swiped it to unlock the door with a buzz. As he opened the door, he turned to look over his shoulder at Antares.

"We cannot use this card after tonight," he said. "When the employee has not shown up for work, someone will likely investigate and find the body."

"Inconvenient," Antares said simply. He closed the door behind him and heard the lock click. "What room is Deneb working?"

"She said 225. Should we use the stairs? We would be less exposed."

"Yes." In the hallway light, it could be seen that Antares had strange pale eyes... so light a grey as to be almost colorless. "I suggest I proceed to the room while you wait on the landing in case of trouble."

"Agreed," said Rigel. The two of them did not seem completely emotionless, just very reserved and self-contained. They opened the stairwell door and Rigel stood just inside, where he could watch the door and the hall. Without a word, Antares loped easily up the stairs, racing as quickly as most people could walk on a level surface. At the second floor landing, he peered suspiciously through the glass panel in the metal door before slipping through.

Antares found himself in a cool, dry hallway with subdued indirect lighting. The railings along one wall were polished brass, ebony benches stood at intervals and paintings hung in their own little niches. None of this mattered to his feral mind. He spotted the door with a silver number 225 and a round peephole just to his right. Since he had held onto the employee keycard, he swiped it through the electronic box beside the doorknob and heard the buzz of the lock unfastening. Bold as if invited, Antares opened the door and entered, quickly closing it behind him.

The suite was elegant to the point of being in dubious taste, with carpeting a little too plush, furniture too elaborate, the marble counters with chrome trim a bit overdone and even the draperies a bit gaudy with their wine-colored folds. Standing in the middle of the room, between the yellow silk-colored couch and the oval writing table was a naked woman.

Deneb had been tweaked before birth to be more beautiful than her source. At five feet four, with long legs, a flat tummy and perfect medium-sized breasts, she would appeal to almost any man. Her straight black hair hung to her shoulder blades and bright green eyes gleamed in a heart-shaped face. There was only one drawback.

Her skin was the dull greyish-white of a corpse. As she saw Antares, Deneb pouted. "The tan is wearing off faster and faster," she complained, holding out her arm. "We have to find a better method."

"Sirius is working on it," Antares said. "Your client?"

"Oh, I had to kill him to be prudent. Once he saw my skin change color, our secrets were no longer safe." She pointed to the bedroom. "I suffocated him with a pillow. Naturally, he did not suspect I was stronger than he was."

"He could not know about us," Antares said. "Get dressed and we will leave. Rigel is on sentry."

"I will take the Normal's money and credit cards, of course," she said as she strode into the darkened bedroom with a complete lack of self-consciousness. Her nudity did not affect Antares. None of the survivors of Project Regulus had sex drives, just as they lacked a number of other normal Human traits.

Antares looked around the room. Nothing here that he needed. He stole without any hesitation or guilt because these wese traits he had never been taught. Whatever he did, he had what seemed like a good reason to do, so doubt never touched him.

Emerging from the bedroom in a demure floral print dress, heels and appropriate accessories, Deneb was tugging on an ankle-length cloth coat. "The Normal had more than a thousand dollars in cash for me," she said. "Two credit cards. Sirius will know how to use them best."

"He is the most intelligent of us," Antares agreed, heading for the door. No one was in the hall. The two Regulites hurried down the stairs and, hearing them approach, Rigel had the outer door open. They all strode briskly across the parking lot to where the BMW waited. They were back on the highway within minutes, with no one at the Fenwick House having gotten a look at any of them and the security cameras being almost useless as usual. Deneb did not usually kill her clients, since they were more useful as regulars. But murder did not affect her emotionally anymore than the prostitution or the robbery did. Like the other Regulites, she was motivated solely by self-interest.

( the rest of the story )