POSTHUMAN

Chapter Twenty-Two

Philip's eye scanned through correspondence from his father to Ronald Barnes and vice versa: 'Psionic gene isolation...plasmid placement...host subjects...unpleasant outcomes (fatal degeneration accompanying psychosis), genes always expressed...deaths still present after genetic restructuring due to abnormal gene product...'

        Philip examined the exchanges with a mixture of fascination and revulsion. His father had not cared. Aaron Albion spoke about the dozens of lives his experiments burned through with admirable dispassion. The final email sent to Dr Barnes before his father's death was shorter than the rest – 'Current test group faring well, previous groups experienced total fatality within a week. 70% fatality in current group, gene product showing signs of normalisation. Subject 324 promising.'

The Raptor-Five touched down on a rooftop in Nha Trang, a handful of armed men were dotted about the ugly concrete. Beams of sunlight lit up the dust which hung all about them as they descended an iron staircase within the unimpressive sanctuary. Tristan led them down a corridor where, nestled in its alcoves, more paramilitaries stood guard.

        A huge, unwieldy steel door was between them and a presence which Philip could near enough sense. It took the strength of both Tristan and Marcus to open the door. Strange anticipation coiled in Philip's stomach as they approached a young black woman sat on the edge of a plain bed. She was reading, a book Philip recognised immediately, not the exact same volume but the same edition of Les contes de fées Monsieur Perrault. Her eyes drifted upward, away from the children's stories in her hands, two purple orbs settled on him. A beautiful smile illuminated her features. Angelene was before him.

        "Angelene," her name escaped Marcus' lips as a tiny gasp. Her eyes were a shifting, living shade of purple . Marcus wandered over to Angelene and knelt down by the foot of her bed, enchantment apparent on his face. He had thought after meeting her once, experiencing her amazing otherworldly self, that she could never surprise him nearly as much as she had upon their first meeting. Marcus did not mind being wrong. He had all but forgotten the feeling of simple joy but her presence filled him from head to toe with the unfettered wonder of a child.

        "Uncle Marcus!" Angelene sprang from the bed and bounded a dozen yards to Marcus before enveloping him in her arms. Marcus clumsily hugged her back as she babbled in remarkably perfect albeit accented English, "I told Tristan they would send you but he was so sure they wouldn't. I told him I was really, very certain. More than he could ever be." She hopped back a few steps and gestured widely at Marcus as she smiled smugly at Tristan, the captain rolled his eyes.

        "Philippe! I'm so happy you could be here, you're going to make so many friends; we've been waiting for someone like you," Angelene hugged Philip tightly as she sang his praises. She pulled away from the doctor and smiled broadly at all those who had come to see her. Her shaved head, unearthly eyes and pearly teeth created the impression that some strange goddess regarded them.

        "Why would they wait for someone like me? They must already have a short scientist?" Philip was so intrigued by Angelene's riddling that he very nearly forgot his own news.

        "We have enough scientists. I cannot properly explain what you have to give," for the first time in as long as Philip had known the woman before him, she looked a little unsure. Not even as a girl in the wards of the Kinshasa aid camp had she ever looked uncertain; the very notion upset his perception of the world. Angelene scratched her head, trotted back to bed and began to read her book again. Philip did not think he would ever grasp her ability to completely disconnect from the world at the drop of a hat.

        The doctor turned to face his comrades, ready to make his announcement, "My father was involved in a psionics research programme called Project Pandora."

        "I'm sure I've heard of that before," murmured Marcus, he gestured for Philip to continue.

      "The Providence wants to create a psionic army. I'm not yet sure whether they've been successful but I do know they need Angelene to refine their research; with my father dead, Dr Ronald Barnes probably has control of the project. He'd want a definite way of replicating psionic ability.

     "Using a psionic who isn't Angelene will irritate him. Barnes needs a complete fabrication of her psion sequencing before stable extrapolation can take place. As long as Angelene is with us, she's safe and there won't be any war in this part of the world. The last thing any of us wants is more war."

      Angelene instantly engaged with the real world again, even if her eyes never left the pages of her book, "Legacy, they call him Legacy."

                                                                             * * *

A beige interrogation suite occupied by a simple aquamarine table and two chairs. In the chair on the right side of the table sat Legacy. The room's lights were bright, harsh and unflattering. Legacy blinked rapidly every now and then to counteract the almost painful glare.

        The door swung open and Barnes padded in, a white box in his hands, he sat across from Legacy and placed the box on the table. Legacy's inquisitive gaze was fixed on Barnes' hands as he unclipped the box's latch and took out three coloured geometric blocks: a cube, a sphere and a tetrahedron. "I need you to rearrange these without touching them or the table," directed Barnes.

        Legacy studied his challenge. He concentrated on the blocks and imagined that they began to float off the tabletop. He drew the scene out of his imagination and superimposed it over reality, as if he were in a lucid dream. One by one they began to do exactly as his mind envisaged and levitate. Higher and higher until all three hovered in a circle at eye level around them.

        As the shapes began to orbit around their heads, Barnes put his hand back inside the box and took out an Mv7 Falchion heavy pistol. Legacy's eyes widened as the innumerable imprints inside his head threw up vivid representations of what the weapon was capable of. Barnes pushed his chair away from the table and beckoned to Legacy. The shapes clattered to the ground. His protégée now stood opposite him, the doctor raised the gun and pointed it at the young man.

        "I want to test your combat imprints, take this pistol from me," Barnes was calm but he could see fear flit past on the face of his pupil, "It's loaded with rubber rounds. We can't have you dying on us." The trigger was pulled the very instant that Barnes fell silent. A rubber bullet halted mid-air, inches from the smoking gun – Barnes took a moment to marvel at his student's prowess.

        That was all the time Legacy needed. He side-stepped the bullet and pushed Barnes' arm down at the elbow, the doctor's arm bent and his gun pointed to the ceiling; Legacy knocked the pistol's grip and the weapon flew out of Ronald's hand. Barnes caught Legacy's wrist but the psychic turned his arm downwards whilst backhanding the doctor's forearm. They fell into a blisteringly fast pattern of strike and block, catch and throw, limbs moved swiftly but precisely, and the gun bounced between them as they wrestled for control.

      On the other side of the dark glass stood Morgan Stern, Thomas Saul and Epoch Emmerich. Epoch stood between Stern and Saul, he appeared perversely young and so pale skinned that in the wrong light he could be described as deathly, every last hair on his head was ash grey and slicked back. His bicoloured eyes watched in fascination at the furiously calculated movements on the other side of the window; deep blue on his left and dark hazel on his right. Every now and then the corners of his mouth would twitch with reserved amusement, his unnervingly sharp canines would glint ever so slightly in the dim light.

      "Gentlemen, you have done extremely well. This one is our future. Oh, look! The student has overcome the master," Epoch chuckled unpleasantly. Legacy had won the little competition with Barnes, the doctor's hands were held up in defeat and the heavy pistol pressed to his chest.