Love, Lattes and Danger. Sandra Cox
door. My mind going a mile a minute, I trot down the hall. I have to find out when she is going to be released from the amniotic fluid.
For now, I just have to get out of here before I’m discovered. If I’m going to get her out, I have to distance myself from my emotions.
I head for Dr. Stranger’s office, the mad scientist in charge of this lunatic asylum. He and Craven, my keeper, stand talking, their heads together, voices low. Two words drift back to me. Amy. Eggs. My blood chills.
Craven sees me and he straightens, lip curling. “Where have you been, mutant? The attendant said they finished checking your chip and blood ten minutes ago.” Craven hates mutants. He and Leif Voorhees are the only people at Ziccon, the oil company that bought me, who know what I am.
“I had to hit the head.”
Dr. Stranger studies me from behind his rimless glasses, probably trying to figure out if I overheard the conversation. Piper once said his eyes reminded her of a shark’s, flat and without emotion. “I’m surprised you didn’t steal a minute to go see the dolphins.”
“Yeah, one or two more surgeries, you’ll look just like those flat-nosed fish you’re so fond of. Ever seen the movie The Fly?” Craven throws in, trying to get a rise out of me.
Oddly enough, Craven’s comments seldom bother me, except as an annoyance, like being dive bombed by a mosquito.
Stranger, on the other hand, takes exception. He pokers up. “Do you have a problem with the product?”
“Oh yeah, I have a problem. He’s an abomination.”
“Does Ziccon share your views?”
Craven starts to spit on the floor, then apparently thinks better of it and does a noisy swallow instead. “The company is perfectly happy with the resident freak. His ability to taste oil in water and find the leaks in the tankers has saved them billions. But that doesn’t make him any less a sin against nature.”
“Yet you have no problem making money off my creations.”
The good doctor may not care about insults to my person but he certainly won’t allow anyone to criticize what he considers his handiwork.
“Yeah, well, I don’t like cows but I have no problem eating them.”
I lean against the wall and plaster a bored look on my face, while my mind races. How do I get my daughter out of that tank? And Amy… Is Craven in cahoots with Stranger? Does Ziccon know these two mad men are going to try to harvest eggs from my sister? How do I stop it? I don’t know yet, but I’ll find a way.
A security guard approaches and speaks to Craven. “Sir, your chopper is ready.”
Craven gives him a curt nod and turns to Stranger. “I’ll be back with the girl for her checkup in two weeks’ time.”
“Yes, she’ll need her checkup, and of course, she’ll have to come back again for the rest of her vaccinations.”
A look passes between them that makes my stomach cramp. I didn’t misunderstand. He jerks a thumb at me. “You say this one’s blood work and tracker are fine?”
“That’s right. He should be good for another six months if you keep him healthy.”
“What if he takes a notion to remove the tracker?”
My ears perk up. Can I?
Dr. Stranger strokes his cheek. I’ve never seen stubble or a whisker on his chin. I wonder if he can even grow facial hair. “He’d probably lose all motion and feeling in that arm. The tracker has grown into the muscle and is surrounded by nerves. It would be excruciatingly painful.”
I could deal with the pain, maybe even the loss of feeling. The loss of motion…no way.
“Well, now we wouldn’t want to cause the mutant any pain, would we?” The gleam in Craven’s eyes says otherwise.
I ignore him and ask Stranger, “I didn’t see any other dolphs around. Are you planning on closing up shop?”
“Hardly.” He gives a humorless laugh. “I have another dolph on the way. She should be here any day.” His cold eyes gleam with triumph.
“Hmmph.” I ignore the sharp prick of nerves racing through me and give a disinterested shrug.
“Come on, mutant, Voorhees will be wondering where you’re at.” Craven shoves me. If I hadn’t been expecting it, I would have stumbled, but I’m up on all his petty little tricks.
Craven answers to Leif. Surprisingly, unlike Craven, Leif treats me like a human being—albeit a human being in bondage.
I start forward. “Joel,” Stranger’s voice rings out.
“Yes?”
“You don’t have to worry about any more surgeries on your person. You are officially obsolete.”
Chapter 2
The hair on the back of my neck rises. If I were a dog, I’d bare my teeth. The bastard is talking about my child. Instead, I force out a nonchalant, “Glad to hear it,” and amble out the door, Craven at my heels. He points to the backseat of the chopper and climbs in front. With a whip, whip, the helicopter lifts off.
My mind racing, I lean back against the seat and pretend to sleep. I have to figure a way to get the baby out of the lab and Amy out of the clutches of the oil company. We’re going to have to make a break for it.
The problem is the damn trackers. It’s not going to do a lot of good if they can shadow our every move. Do I run the risk of immobility and try to find a surgeon to take it out? I don’t even know if it’s possible. And if I could, wouldn’t that information get back to Ziccon? Is there some way of blocking it?
Several hours later, when the chopper touches down on the offshore rig, I still haven’t come up with a solution.
I step off the helo onto a dimly lit deck. The night breeze smells of salt and fish. It’s late enough that there are very few people around. Craven hustles me down to the bowels of the ship where there are two identical, small, stuffy rooms, not much larger than closets. He throws open one door, says, “Stay put,” and slams the door shut behind me. His footsteps echo in the quiet as he marches away.
My stomach rumbles. There’s been no mention of anything to eat. No surprise. I didn’t expect food.
I flop down on the bunk, my head nearly touching the wall. “Hey, Ames.” I keep my voice low.
“Joel! Where have you been?”
My sister and I were purchased to check for oil leaks eight months ago. We’ve been on board ever since, though we’re forbidden to spend time together, unless we’re working. We have adjacent rooms, or cells to be more precise. In that time, we’ve knocked a tiny hole in the wall beneath the cots that allows us to talk back and forth.
“Craven took me back to the lab for my six-month check.”
“Any new dolphs there?” Her voice has a muffled, hollow sound to it.
“Yeah. We need to talk, Ames.”
“That’s what we’re doing.”
“Very funny. I mean face to face.”
“Well, we could try it. Craven doesn’t lock the doors.”
“Yeah, arrogant S.O.B. He probably figures he’d pick up any movement we made on the tracker. But he’s got to sleep sometime. Give it a couple of hours and I’ll meet you in front of your door.”
“Okay.”
Silence follows. Is she sleeping? I can’t. I prowl the narrow confines of my cabin for two hours, forming a plan. When my watch shows two, I go to the door and give it a cautious twist. Nothing happens. I shake it. It holds. The bastard’s locked it. I wonder