Novels for Young Adults

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  Super heroes or just super people? These girl-band members from Europe were all electrocuted on stage, but survived. Now the strangest things seem to follow them as they tour US college campuses and discover women just aren't safe.

  Open/Close Bass Metal sample

  1ne

  The heat is unbelievable. Ximena had thought Spain could bake your bones, but Austin, Texas in August is unbearable, and the lights...well they don't help. Apparently the guys who set it up have never heard of LED lighting, the environment, renewable energy, or even cost-saving. The lights are necessary because it's night, but darkness hasn't brought down the temperature.

  Ximena is sweating so much she's afraid of being electrocuted by her own keyboard. She glances back at poor Lil on the drums and shakes her head. She sees Lil grimace at her. Lil's from Manchester, in the north of England and is even less used to the heat than is Ximena, who lifts a hand and signs tossing a bottle of water back into her throat and Lil nods appreciatively.

  Checking the rest of the band members, Ximena finishes up Lee Aaron's Metal Queen with them, crashing through a loud, strutting, strangled outro, and then she has a quick word with Noa on lead, and signals off-stage to Nik and Rho. In the brief interval before the next song, they switch out with Lil and Xi. Nik takes the keyboards.

  It means changing the playlist. They're used to this, if not quite so early in the set. Rho is actually the manager, and Nik both chief roadie and effectively the deputy manager, but the two of them can seriously play, and they routinely step in for the others. It gives Lil and Xi a chance to hydrate and enjoy a brief rest-break as they sidle off to the side to guzzle a gallon on the edge of the stage.

  As Xi is proud of announcing, she's an Isleño. People from San Fernando near Cádiz in southern Spain are known this way despite there being no island, but she isn't used to this kind of heat, at least not at night, and not with being this active in it. And not without a sea breeze!

  The atmosphere feels like a hot blanket on them. Heat, noise, and the smells of a hoard of sweating, drinking, partying metal and hard rock fans, all seem to jell into a sticky, oppressive mess, and this is only their first gig in the USA.

  Lil and Xi pull out large, chill, condensation-clad tubes of a rehydrating fluid named Mettle Fuji, with which some sponsor by the oddball name of Wax Jab has larded the tour. They're a sponsor, so what are you going to do? It tastes good and it's free so despite the size of the bottle, it's soon gone. Lily starts on a second. Ximena refrains, concerned that she's going to have to pee before long.

  Meanwhile, Bass Metal is well into Nightwish's Endless Forms Most Beautiful before they get into their next band-authored song, which will be a loud, heavy, and even more raucous number. It's so catchy that Xi and Lil, despite their encroaching exhaustion for so early in the evening, are totally unsurprised to find they're moving their feet in a lazy dance, and singing along with it anyway.

  Bass Metal is respectably hot in Europe, but here, not so much, except in the way they feel on stage right then, and that's not just from the temperature. The two of them watching from off-stage are impressed and thrilled by how good their band-mates look and what an awesome sound they're producing.

  In Japan first, and then in Europe, Bass Metal has taken off albeit modestly, which is fine, but as is too-often the case, the USA is a cold shoulder if the talent isn't home-grown. Despite being arguably the most powerful country in the world, both financially and militarily, the USA is disturbingly insecure, desperate to proclaim itself the biggest and the best in very questionable areas.

  Is Austin really the live music capital of the world? Most of those who would agree with that rather desperate claim tend to be the ones who've never been anywhere else in the world to judge it by! The band has found Americans to be disgustingly insular, self-centered, and blinkered to the outside world. They're also much attuned to the fast buck, so any claim that can bring in the almighty 'greenback' is pursued more than any god. Neil Gaiman got it wrong! It's not silicon; it's a blend of 75% cotton and 25% linen.

  And Austin's proud claim is disputed! Someone from Louisiana might argue for New Orleans as the holder of that title. An Aussie might argue for Melbourne instead. A Nederlander might argue for Amsterdam, just as an Indonesian might argue for Bali. A Korean might claim Seoul, and a Canadian for Montréal life.

  A Londoner would claim the title for London, of course, although Lil would argue for Manchester; or perhaps Liverpool if she were feeling magnanimous, which she often is. Xi would argue for Barcelona, maybe. Noa, playing lead guitar out there, would of course argue for Tel Aviv.

  Everyone has their own personal opinion. It's nothing more than chutzpah and neediness which argues for Austin, a relatively small city which has no better claim than very many other acknowledged music centers. In the end it doesn't matter, because here is Bass Metal, begging for recognition as they've done with greater and lesser success in many other, very similar, if cooler, venues.

  Bass Metal's first album, received well elsewhere, had died chronically in the USA. Their second album had been bigger than their first outside the US, and despite lackluster sales here, Rho has decided it's time for their '1964 moment'; if there's ever to be one. Whether there is still remains to be seen, but they're determined to give it their best shot.

  So they've flown over to kick-off their amusingly-named Bi-State Tour. It's Rho's idea and plays off the idea of a "fifty-state tour" - off the fact that not everyone in this band is straight, and none are convinced that the tour will be a success. Hence the bi-state: one state being abject failure, the other, runaway success.

  They're purposefully starting in the 'live music capital', although none of the band had ever heard of 'Austin' before - outside of antique literature that is, and it's spelled differently there. The gig is a free summer show in some place down by the river. Wax Jab arranged this venue as they have every other on the tour.

  Xi and Lil aren't talking, not because it's so loud, or because they aren't on speaking terms, but because they're so worn-down from the day-long oppressive heat and their throats still feel dry even now.

  Having the Red River doesn't help, Xi thinks, going back to Lil's bad pun based on the name of a street they'd seen in downtown Austin, and their monthly curse arriving in perfect timing for kicking-off this trip. It was a pun she had thought was hilarious, though other band members had merely groaned. How come no one ever groaned at Shakespeare's bad puns? Language differences!

  Xi remembers reading somewhere that Austin, which was evidently named after some dude unrelated to Jane, who is the only Austen she'd ever heard of, is on pretty much the same Latitude as Cairo in Egypt.

  The heat certainly feels like they're permanently carrying a pyramid on their backs as well as playing music of the same solidity, but unlike the location where Xi grew up, there's no cooling ocean breeze here in central Texas.

  At least standing almost butts-up against the huge industrial fans and the chill mist they're blowing, is amazingly refreshing on the skin. Lil is bordering on developing goosebumps Xi notes. It's easy to note because all Lil wears is a silver guipébikini which shows off her powerful build.

  The drummer is so proudly-ripped that Palladia, on rhythm, has moments when she can hardly keep her eyes off Lil, and while she's arguably the most laid-back of them all, so easy-going that she doesn't mind being touched and hugged, Lil doesn't lean the same way as Palladia.

  Xi thinks Lil secretly appreciates Pal's admiration, but in truth Pal really has eyes only for Noa, who does return her affection big time, and who, Xi has noticed, has been working out with Lil, presumably in order to develop a physique which will give Pal something else to look at!

  Two more songs later and Xi and Lil return to their instruments. They feel only marginally better, but it is better, and they can hardly slack-off for the whole evening and dump everything on the others. It's a band after all, not a bunch of bland, spoiled, monotonous, mononymous divas, which is where popular music seems to have descended to of late.

  Xi and Lil step back out to take up a couple of less prominent instruments for this track from their last album, signaling to the other two that they're back and ready to switch out at the end of the track.

  This is how it comes to pass that they're all of them out there when lightning strikes the stage, completely out of the black. It's like it was deliberately waiting for them to be totally exposed before it struck. They know nothing more until they all wake up two days later in hospital. This is the intro, subtle as it is at that point, to their tour starting to become rather weird.

  2wo

  The light is unnaturally bright when Noa opens her eyes. Her limbs feel impossibly heavy. She has a hard time turning her head, but she can see, as well as smell, that she's in a hospital room, and one which she evidently doesn't have to share with anyone. She wishes it wasn't such a room. She can't remember the last time she was really alone. She can hardly remember the last time she slept without Palladia by her side.

  She has the impression that someone was just in the room with her, but is not there now. Her head feels far too heavy to lift and look around. In fact it's too heavy to even roll back to staring at the ceiling as she was when she awoke, but at least her eyes are towards the door, which is open.

  She can neither see anyone through it nor hear anyone out there in the hallway. It seems very quiet and the isolation disturbs her a little. It's too chill in here, and antiseptic. She tries to call out, but her voice is so hoarse that it's a croak, not a vocal. Instantly she fears for her singing voice, which she doesn't think is all that, but it is serviceable. There's no way to tell if it will ever come back. This brings an appropriately silent tear to her eye.

  Contrarily, her mouth is dry, yet she doesn't feel thirsty. She can feel discomfort in her arm so she assumes she's been fully hydrated with an IV. She was a medic in the Israeli army, a part of the IDF, for two years so she doesn't feel out of place, or any sense of panic or unease - except in her desire to discover what's happening with her beloved band-mates. And to find out exactly what it was that happened to them all on the stage, which is her last memory.

  In a nearby room lies Lil, also returning to consciousness. She feels as heavy-limbed as Noa, perhaps more so because she's a lot stronger than Noa and a lot fitter, so the sensation is scarier to her. She's never had a problem with mobility, but she can barely move, and it's harder for her to understand why everything requires such a monumental effort. Realizing she's in a hospital, she's about to call for a nurse when Ximena saunters in like she hasn't a care in the world.

  "Oh hi!" she says nonchalantly in exotic English, which she speaks a lot better than ever Lil pretends she can speak Ximena's Spanish despite two years of high school language lessons. "Cómo estás?" Xi knows Lil understands that much.

  "Tired" is all Lil can croak and that's enough of an effort. Ximena grabs a nearby cup with a straw and lets her sip. She feels a little better and almost laughs when Ximena asks her exactly if that's what she feels: a little better. She pronounces 'little' like it's 'Lil'. She has done this exaggeratedly ever since it was pointed out to her that when she says 'little' in English it sounds like Lil's name.

  "What happened to us?" Lil gasps with some effort.

  "We were struck by God for playing evil music!" says Ximena and laughs out loud, appreciative of her own joke. This, whatever it is, amuses her greatly and Lil cannot help but smile at her. Ximena is very young and very much like a kid sister to the rest of the band, even though realistically, she's quite the adult.

  "What do you mean?" Lil says hoarsely, after her laugh turns into a cough.

  Ximena offers her some more water and she drinks gratefully. Her throat feels like it's been stuffed with fiberglass for some reason, yet she doesn't really feel thirsty. It's such an odd sensation.

  Ximena says in her soft, beautiful accent, "The stage was hit by...lightning? We were knock out! It is two days since accident; even you not strong enough to handle it, Muscular Mama. Not even you!"

  Lil smirks and then frowns. "Is everyone all right?"

  "Oh yes, do not worry about them. They are well as far as I learn, but I have not seen. Only you and me, and Noa are here. The others are at different hospital. No espacio here. No habitación...er, room here for all. I see Noa before I visit you. She still sleep."

  "Are you OK?"

  Ximena nods and laughs. "First I KO, then I OK! You too!" She loves joking in English, even if many of them are unintelligible to the rest of her band-mates.

  She offers Lil more water. "I very tired and...heavy, but now, up-and-running as you see." She makes a little running motion with her legs and then stops wearily. "Maybe not! Legs heavy. I wake morning. Now tarde. Late. I want to go see others, but we cannot leave yet, doctor say. I will stay with you for time. Tired of lying down!"

  Despite this declaration, Ximena climbs aboard the bed carefully, in her ripped skinny jeans and super-loose, lightweight shirt, careful to keep her original Spanish espadrilles off the edge of the cover. She snuggles with Lil who holds her with the one arm she has free of cables and tubing. Fortunately Ximena is almost as diminutive as the keyboard she plays, and takes up hardly any space.

  A nurse shows up right then and eyes them carefully. She's mature and looks competent, no-nonsense and authoritative, like she can tell the new doctors what to do and they do it without hesitation. "Is this wild Spaniard bothering you, ma'am?" she asks Lil with a smile on her face.

  "Go away, Crazy American!" says Ximena, who has evidently bonded with the nurse as easily as she does everyone else.

  Her face is still buried in Lil's strong arms and the latter says, "She bothers everyone. Ouch!"

  Xi has bitten Lil on her biceps, just softly, but she has sharp teeth.

  "Now don't be biting patients, thigh-maniac," the nurse says, obviously familiar enough with the correct pronunciation of Ximena's name to make weird puns. Lil guesses she's already had Ximena's patented lecture about it being a 'th' at the beginning, not a 'Z' or an 'S'.

  Lil had made the mistake, when they first met, of asking why she didn't just spell it "with a zed" and had nothing but grief from her for the next month over what exactly a "zed" was. She doesn't envy the nurse if she got it wrong.

  The nurse says to Lil, "Hi, I'm Katrina. You're my patient today, so we'll see lots of each other. "How are you feeling?"

  "Tired. Heavy. Dry throat. Odd smells come and go."

  "That's probably the Spaniard!" Katrina jokes and earns a raspberry from Xi's creative and pliable lips.

  "What's happening with my friends?" Lil croaks that last, and earns herself some more water, this time supplied by Katrina.

  "She's Lil tired, or tired Lil!" quips Ximena.

  "Oh shut up, you!" the nurse says with a smile. She focuses on Lil, and says, "We had a report this morning. They're all doing well. Only one was awake and alert though. The others are pretty much out of it, which isn't surprising given what you guys survived."

  "Can I phone them or something?" Lil asks.

  "I think so. Let me take care of a few things here and I'll see what I can do." She busies herself noting the IV level and taking Lil's vitals, asking a vague generalized question here and there about how she feels; then she says, "I'll be right back," and leaves.

  "You didn't want to call the others?" Lil asks Ximena.

  "They were all sleeping when I woke. I never thought after. More focus you and Noa." She pronounces it "fock us" which Lil deems to be hilarious, but is too worn-out to laugh at.

  "Does Noa look OK?"

  "She fine. Sleeping."

  Katrina returns with Lil's own phone. After letting Lil key in her opener code, Katrina puts in a number. "It's on speaker. Save the number so you can call later if you want," she advises, and Lil chats with Rho and Antje who are the only ones alert over there, wherever there was.

  Ximena listens attentively. It seems like they have exactly the same symptoms everyone else: tired, heavy, dry throat; period. The band has been together long enough that they all visit the Ruddy Goddess in sync these days.

  It's encouraging to know everyone is fine, though. Rho has even been in touch with the promoters to discuss the 'what's-up', with them. Promoter insurance is paying their hospital bills, which is truly excellent news, as ridiculously expensive as medical care is in the USA (now there, they probably are world capital). The truth is that the promoters are more than likely scared of lawsuits. Maybe misting the stage, while really refreshing, wasn't such a good idea?

  One of the sponsors of the tour is actually a pharmaceutical corporation which is working with Wax Jab, and their doctors have been directly supervising the treatment, so now Rho, Lil, Antje and Ximena all feel like VIPs.

  After the call, the nurse continues her examination asking what seem to them to be odd questions, but which probably make sense to a medical care-giver.

  "So, have you had tinnitus? Any ringing in your ears, that is?"

  Lil mumbled a "No."

  "How about blurred vision?"

  "Only when she drink too much!" Ximena quips.

  "Do I have to throw you out? I can, you little terror!"

  Ximena sticks her tongue out at Katrina and the latter laughs and says, "So? Blurring?"

  "Not so far, but I only just woke up!"

  "Right! How was it? Was the bright light painful when you opened your eyes?"

  "Only at first. After that it was fine. It's fine now." Speaking is still an effort.

  "Okay. Do your eyes hurt at all? In the eye or in the surround to it - like in your eyebrow maybe?"

  "Nope."

  "Okay! I'm about done here, but one more thing. Do you have any odd sensations in your skin - like any burning or tingling, tickling? Anything like that?"

  Lil started to shake her head and stopped, croaking instead, "Nothing."

  "Nothing? You mean like numbness or just no bad or odd feelings?"

  "Nothing bad."

  "No prickly sensations?"

  "No, none."

  "Well, that's good."

  "I do feel heavy - like my limbs and head weigh a ton."

  "Is that American ton or metric tonne?" Ximena smart-mouths. "There's big difference!"

  "No there isn't!" Katrina snarks back.

  "Yes, American ton is out of date!"

  Katrina smirks, but refuses to laugh.

  "Just ignore XI!" says Lil, pronouncing the name exaggeratedly like she's saying 'thigh'. Her voice still croaks a bit, but is improving.

  There had once been this joke that Ximena was only thigh-high, hence her name, except that it rhymes better with 'fee' than 'fi' (or fo or fum).

  "Well let me orient you to what happened as far as we can tell, okay?"

  Lil focuses tightly on Katrina, as does Ximena, although she has already heard this.

  "So it seems like when you were playing down in Zilker or wherever you were, lightning struck the stage. Fortunately for you guys, it didn't hit any of you directly. Your skin is resistant to electricity, but only for quite small voltages. Lightning obviously overcomes that, because the raw power in a lightning bolt is huge. Eighteen milliamps can stop you from breathing, and a bolt can carry a current of several thousand amps and a trillion watts of power."

  "Woah!" says Lil slowly. "That's pretty bold."

  "Impressive! I wish our...speakers deliver that!" Xi adds.

  Lil laughs with some difficulty. 

  Katrina went on, "So what you guys got was sort of side-swiped by the strike. The stage was grounded, but the sheer power was enough to knock all of you unconscious. As bad as that sounds, you were lucky. If you'd been hit directly, it could have killed you or left you severely disabled one way or another.

  "Disabled?" Lil asked. She had thought lightning either killed a person, or it didn't. She hadn't realized it could have lasting side-effects.

  "Oh yeah! The human body is mostly saltwater. It's the perfect medium for conducting electricity, short of being made of metal."

  "I-am-Iron-Man!" Ximena sings, deeply, and sounding perfectly on key as usual.

  "But the body does have metal in it, doesn't it?" Lil asks.

  "Yes. Your bones are made of calcium. They're not as good a conductor as your body fluids, but they will conduct. Have you heard of the piezo-electric effect?"

  "Yeah - where you squeeze something and it generates electricity?"

  "Ooh baby, squeeze me!" moans Ximena.

  Lil nudges her so hard that she almost falls off the bed.

  "That's right," says Katrina, who's pointedly ignoring Xi. "Your bones have this property, and it works in reverse - applying a current will cause the bone to squeeze a bit. Some doctors are exploring the possibility of applying a small current to bones to help promote healing of fractures. But the best conductors in your body are blood, where there's iron, and your salty body fluids. Your nerves and muscles are good conductors too. Nerves can be severely harmed from a lighting hit. Fortunately for you guys, you got hit very indirectly, so you don't have any burns. There's evidence of a mild heat flash, because a lighting strike can also generate several thousand degrees briefly. In general though, you were really very lucky and in theory, you should be able to leave here in a day or two, but that's up to the doctors."



When a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same object evinces a design to reduce them under absolute despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such government, and to provide a New Guard for their future security.

Romo Tang awoke from her nap suddenly, disturbed by the silence. She was to learn in rapid succession that her friend was dead and military men were coming to get her. An anonymous voice on her private phone was advising her to hide.

Zhi Ruo Chen's daughter was such a genetic mess when she was born that she was doomed to die, but Doctor Chen was not about to permit that. She not only fixed her daughter's problems, she enhanced her in every way she could, using whatever genes from whatever species would best serve her.

Her mom vanished long ago, and Romo is almost an adult. The only hope she has left is to find the handful of others like her, and join with them to resist the abuses and usurpations planned by the government, with every gene at her disposal.

Welcome to the New Guard.

Open/Close CHiPR sample

Chapter 1 (of the first 19!

Romo Tang awoke suddenly, disturbed by the silence.

She listened carefully for a minute, before reaching for her eyeglasses. A quick glance at her phone told her that it was already past three in the afternoon and she had no texts. Why had she slept so long on her noon nap? And why hadn't Linnéa woke her? For someone in hiding, this was unnerving.

It was the looming silence though, that pervaded all of her thinking. If Linnéa were home there'd be some noise. Being Norwegian and proud of her homeland, she was always listening to the so-called 'new' disco sound of Anna of the North, or Anna of the Norse as Linnéa called her, laughing every time she said it. She enjoyed Datarock, Röyksopp, and other such bands as well as artists Romo was familiar with despite her not being into those genres. This was why the noise would have wakened her.

But the house was completely silent.

Given that it was a small, single-storey place, with most of the space not at all muted by any intervening doors, it was definitely strange. Her own bedroom door was as wide-open as it typically was, but she could hear nothing, not even the mouse that was too smart for the traps they'd occasionally and half-heartedly set.

Romo dressed more warmly and glanced outside the front door. It was chill out there, a sensation which was not helped by the fact that Linnéa's bike was missing. The ride to the village was only five miles, which meant that even had she just left, she should be back in much less than two hours. The air smelled fresh and clean. There had been a frost that morning and it was cold, so a hasty return from any trip was surely called for?

Linnéa had said she was planning on going out to pick up some more medication since Romo was running low, so maybe that's where she was. Romo had no idea what would happen if she went off her meds; she'd been on them all her life. Even though she still had a small supply, the thought of potentially being without them was already making her feel insecure.

When Linnéa hadn't returned, not only after three hours, but not even when darkness fell, and still there had been no phone call or text, Romo became decidedly uncomfortable.

Chapter 2

"Quit being such a moron!" was the first thing she'd told herself, as she fiercely tossed another log onto the dying fire. "Something came up. She'll be in touch. Maybe she had to go into the city to get the meds."

So why hadn’t she texted that?

There had been nothing since Romo had woken, and her phone, curious, primitive, clamshell antique design that it was, had recorded nothing while she slept. That's what it usually showed, because no-one save for Linnéa ever contacted her, and any call would have woken her. Her ears were finely-tuned for contact from Linnéa.

So what was going on? And why wasn’t Linnéa answering her phone?

She knew there was a last-ditch number she could call in the event of a dire emergency - of the life-threatening kind - but no such situation had ever arisen. How could it? Romo had never been anywhere or done anything to put herself at risk. Linnéa had seen to that, and while Romo had resented it often, she'd long realized that her pet Norwegian (as she'd come to think of Linnéa at peeved moments) had only her interests at heart.

Romo had been home-schooled and was doing impressively-well according to the independent exams she'd recently taken. She'd been looking forward to next spring when she could graduate and finally be able to get away from here, and go off to higher education somewhere less isolated than this cottage.

So what if Linnéa had been dragging her feet on Romo's college applications? She trusted her companion and tutor; Linnéa undoubtedly wanted only what was best for Romo. Given that her own mother was dead and her deadbeat dad might as well have been likewise, Linnéa was all Romo had; all she'd ever had.

Her father! What a joke! Romo had learned at an early age what a worthless piece of dritt he was. Some time ago, Linnéa had explained at length how, after Romo had been born with multiple life-threatening genetic disorders, Steve Powers had simply walked out on his wife and his death-defying daughter.

Romo had been told that she had some form of aneuploidy, which is a fancy way of saying her chromosome count was messed-up. Usually that's not a good thing at all, but the genetic work her mother had done, coupled with her medication, seemed to be maintaining her in perfect health.

Her own research while studying biology and genetics had thrown her thinking into some confusion over her situation though. She was by no means convinced she'd been told the entire truth about her condition, but whenever she'd tried to broach the subject with Linnéa, her Norwegian au pair-verted her inquiry onto something entirely different to think about, which had been downright angering at times.

But Romo loved Linnéa nonetheless. She'd been a constant presence in her life since she'd been forcibly separated from her mother, and cagey as she could be at times, Linnéa had never lied to Romo as far as she could tell, and she'd taken expert care of her health and education.

Which was why her continued absence and lack of contact unnerved Romo more with each passing minute. This also explained why she pounced on her phone with disturbing aggression when it finally rang at about half-past nine that lonely evening.

The voice wasn't Linnéa's though, and since Linnéa was the only person on planet Earth who had Romo's number, this ramped-up the scare factor significantly.

"Hello?" Romo had said excitedly.

"They’re coming for you!" a male voice casually informed her.

Chapter 3

"What? Who is this? Who's coming?" Romo asked, before she realized she shouldn't be talking to strangers at all, and especially not, she noted as she looked at the phone, one whose identify and call-back number were being obscured from her. She was about to peremptorily hang-up when four more words stopped her dead in her tracks.

The voice said, "You're looking chipper today!"

How could a stranger know the secret code phrase that she and Linnéa had invented to signal that everything was okay? And why would someone use it when everything clearly wasn't okay, if this stranger's warning was real?

The voice went on without pausing, "Listen, Romo. You need to hide. They will be there any minute. You need to make it look like you left the house. Get into the safe room under the kitchen. Douse any fire you have burning. Clear off the table. Rinse your dishes and leave them in the sink. Turn off all your lights. Get into that safe space. Do it now. I’ll be in touch. Do it now, Romo. Now!"

Romo's heart felt like it was beating a thousand to the dozen by then, especially with that last shouted word, and while many people would have been paralyzed by a call like that, Romo reacted like a professional. Somehow she instantly recalled all the drills she'd been put through by Linnéa when she was much younger.

They hadn’t done it in forever, but she'd always been told it was a tornado drill and she'd never forgotten the routine, strange as it seemed to her now as she ran it through her mind once more. Suddenly she began to wonder if it had never really been about tornadoes, but about a time like this: one when strangers came calling.

Even as this jumble of thoughts raced through her mind, she was rinsing-off her plate and cup from her evening meal. She quickly poured sufficient water to douse the two heavily-charred logs that had been glowing in the ebbing fire, but not enough make it look like the fire had been put out deliberately, not once the water had dried off the hot logs.

She turned out the few lights she'd had on. In the kitchen she had grown-up enjoying, she grabbed the flashlight from the hook by the door, and she opened the cupboard to the left of the sink.

Pressing upwards at the top front corner of the cupboard while tugging on the middle shelf, resulted in the whole fitting swinging out on a hidden hinge, including the cupboard bottom and the strip under the cupboard door. Behind it in the cement floor, was a neatly-crafted hole, and a ladder leading to a cramped and tiny basement through what now seemed a very narrow space to squeeze into.

Before she went down, she ran to the bedroom and grabbed an assortment of clothes and shoes, her wallet, and a fresh box of tampons, since her period was coming due any day now. She stuffed everything into a back-pack. There were not that many items to stuff: Romo had few possessions, but what she had, she took with her back to the kitchen and dropped it into the basement hole. She was about to descend when a thought overtook her, and she hurried to Linnéa's bedroom and grabbed a bunch of her clothes, stuffing those into another back-pack, which she also dropped into the basement hole.

That was everything, right?

With a double-check that she had her phone, she slid awkwardly into the cupboard and started down the ladder. It was so much harder now she was grown-up and twice the size she'd been since she'd last done this, but if Linnéa could handle it back then, she knew she could now.

Finally, she swung the shelving unit shut behind her and tugged on a lever inside the ladder well, which solidly locked the cupboard door. She slid down the ladder, jarring her legs as she hit the bottom, because it was nowhere near as far down as it had been when she'd been so much smaller.

"Ouch!" she mumbled sotto voce, as she turned on the flashlight and found her way to the tiny chair she'd sat on as a kid. Linnéa had sat right there on the floor next to her and told her a different story to entertain her each time they'd done this drill.

It felt lonely down there now, and really chill, but she was a grown-up. In theory. She turned-off her phone and the flashlight, and took off her eyeglasses since they were useless in the pitch black, tucking them into the neck of her T-shirt so she wouldn't lose them.

She sat in pitch darkness for what seemed like forever. She was just about to call it a night when she heard a vehicle pull-up to the house. The sound was muffled, but her hearing was excellent since she hadn't misspent her youth listening to loud music or going to nightclubs. Living her entire life in near isolation had also helped her other senses, she believed, even as it had also hindered her in some ways, she felt.

Loud sounds made her very uncomfortable, but even as loud as these visitors were, their noises were well-muffled by the solid stone walls of the cottage.

She counted five of them, and they didn't even knock. They apparently used one of those short, heavy, steel battering rams that police used for raids - at least from what she'd seen in various movies she'd watched. It made easy work even of the stout front door that the country cottage boasted.

Soon they were all over the house, and her demeanor stilled considerably when those men entered the kitchen. They smelled of masculinity and sweat. It made Romo's nose wrinkle in rejection. She'd always been sensitive to smell and taste.

A gritty male voice said, "She's not here. The place is empty. Clothing is gone from both bedroom closets. It looks like she left in a hurry, and a while ago."

"Someone warned them!" said another male voice, this one really angry. There was a pause, a loud sigh, and then that same voice said, "We need to find this bitch!"

"Wait! Why would the Scandinavian skank's clothes be missing?" the first guy asked.

"Good point. Maybe this Asian freak just wants us to think she left. She doesn’t know what happened to the blond bimbo, does she? Search for trapdoors and hidden spaces.

Someone said, "That cupboard door is ajar. Is that important?"

"Maybe. The rest of the house is in order except for the open closets. Take a look."

Romo could hear the cupboard door open, right above her head.

Chapter 4

She heard someone rapping hard on the sides and floor of the cupboard and rattling the shelves, but evidently the secret of the hidden space held fast because the guy said, "This is solid. Let’s search everywhere else. Look under all the rugs for trapdoors! Check for any outbuildings!"

She heard someone stomping on the floor all around the kitchen, evidently seeking a hidden door, but the kitchen floor was quite solid and had always felt cold to Romo's bare feet as a kid.

They were looking in the cupboards and banging on walls and fittings, lifting rugs, but eventually they gave up and left the room. For a long time she could hear them around the other rooms in the house and outside. At one point she heard someone inside say, "She forgot to take her medication!"

"Bring it!" said another voice. She won't get far without it."

Romo's heart sank. How could she be so stupidly forgetful? She sighed softly. It couldn't be helped now.

It had felt like an age and then some, but after they found her meds, they seemed like they had no reason to stay, and soon they left. She heard their vehicle start-up and move away, but she steadfastly counted every passing second for forty five minutes before she felt that it might be safe to come back out into the kitchen.

When she did so, she brought with her a night-vision headset that was kept in the cellar hole. She'd played with it often as a kid. Linnéa had always encouraged her to experiment and take charge in all her play, but she'd lost interest as she'd grown up, and had almost forgotten it was down there at all.

Creeping stealthily back into the kitchen wearing the adjusted headset, she listened like a deer for noises and after a few minutes felt sure that the house was truly empty.

Nevertheless, she stealthily looked in every room just in case, and she took the time to peer out of every window she passed for several minutes each time, looking for movement, presence, breathed-out water-vapor, the glow of a cigarette, or anything that might indicate someone had remained to watch the house.

She saw nothing. She was alone.

It was another hour during which she had sat in silence and darkness pondering her options and seeing none, asking herself endless questions and having no answers to any of them, that she was once again startled by her phone ringing.

Chapter 5

"Romo? Are you ok?"

It was that same voice.

"I'm fine. Who is this?"

"You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, but it’s not important for now. I'm here to help. Did those people leave?"

Romo was suspicious after hearing that response, but she answered, "Yes! Who were they?"

"They were government agents. Listen to me, Romo, those people can never get you; understand? You need to do whatever it takes to stay out of their hands! This is critical!"

"Yes!" Romo said, almost angrily. "I get it! How did you know they were coming for me?"

"I work with them."

"So why are you helping me?"

"I have my reasons. I want what’s best for you. They do not; they want to exploit you and your mother's work."

"What do you know about my mother?"

"I knew her, Romo, before you ever came long. She was a brilliant geneticist. She was the one who cured you."

"If you really knew her or me, you’d know I'm not cured. I'm on daily medication to stop whatever it is that's wrong with me from killing me!"

Romo had tried to be strong, but this was becoming too much. A sob that was reflexively disguised by Romo as a cough, escaped her. She found herself blurting to this stranger, "They took my meds. Am I going to die?"

"You're not going to die, I promise."

"How do you know?"

"Because those meds, as you call them, that capsule you took every day? It was vitamins."

"Vitamins?" Something in this man's voice had told her he was lying, but she sensed he wasn't outright lying. She felt he wasn't being dishonest about the possibility of her dying so much as he was about exactly what was in those capsules she'd taken every day for her whole life, at least as far back as she could recall with any confidence.

"Yes! As long as you eat healthily, you'll get your vitamins. You don't need the capsules."

"Then why was I taking it? And how do you know all this?"

"I told you. I knew your mother. I know you. I knew Linnéa, but none of this is important right now. I don't know if anyone is going to come back to the cottage, but they might, so you need to get out of there as quickly as possible."

He was avoiding something. She had no clue what it was, but she was sure of it even as she was uncertain how she knew this.

"And exactly how am I supposed to do that?" she asked, sounding more juvenile than she had in a long time, and hating herself for it. "I don't have a car. Or money. I need to wait for Linnéa to come back. She'll tell me what to do. She always has."

"Romo…."

"What?"

Romo, I'm sorry to have to tell you this but Linnea's not coming."

"Why wouldn’t she come?"

"Because…because she's…dead, Romo."

"What?"

"Those men who came for you? They got Linnéa first. She killed herself rather than give you away. That's how they found you. She didn't give them a thing, but there were not many places she could have come from on a bike. They back-tracked in an ever-widening circle from where they cornered her, and that's how they found your cottage."

If Romo had been able to contain the sob before, she couldn't hope to dam the flood of tears that came crashing over the ineffectual wall of her lower eyelids right then as she dropped to the floor. She'd barely heard anything else he'd said.

Her whole body was convulsing. Linnéa had been too young to have been her actual mother, and usually she was much more like an older sister, but in reality she had been every bit Romo's mother for well over a decade. She'd been there since before her mother had disappeared, and she'd stayed when everyone else had left. It had always been the two of them and only they, it seemed now. Linnéa had been the one constant in a rather lonely and deprived kind of a life beside her daily medication - that now, she'd been informed, wasn't even medication.

Why would Linnéa not have been honest about that?

It was that question which finally halted her tears. There was something going on here, something other than Linnéa's death and those government thugs invading her home. Linnéa had evidently been misleading her for some reason, and this man appeared to be helping, but was he really?

How did she know any of what he was telling her was true?

She was so confused right then, she could have screamed, but she was done going down the path of histrionics. It was time to put everything she'd learned from Linnéa into practice because Linnéa had been more than a mom or a big sister. She'd been a tutor in every possible sense of the word, and more than that. She'd been some sort of a life coach, even as dishonest as she might have been over some things. One thing at least.

But that was overwhelmed by something new: a realization that suddenly was dawning on Romo like a fresh and bright new day. Maybe - for whatever reason - Linnéa had kept things from Romo, but the fact was that without even making it look like learning, Linnéa had used every day, every experience, and every passing moment as a teaching opportunity. This revelation came swelling onto Romo like an incoming wave, rolling over her and leaving her almost gasping for breath. Romo was ready for this!

"Romo? I'm sorry, but you need to move."

The voice sounded concerned. But what was it after, really?

"Why are you helping me? What do you want?"

"I want you to stay out of those people's hands, Romo."

"Why?"

"Because they want to exploit you. Their ends are not the ends you or your mother would want to support."

"You don't know a thing about me!" Romo yelled into the phone.

"I know more than you think. I know you don't want this in your life, and I know your mother wouldn't want you in those people's hands, or want you helping them."

"Go to hell!" Romo yelled and shut off the call.

So much for no more histrionics. Had hanging up been wise? She had no way to call back. This was too much to process.

In the end it didn't matter because the phone rang again almost immediately, but in her annoyance, she killed the call.

A text message came through quickly. Having enjoyed texting back and forth with Linnéa, even on this primitive device, she couldn't help herself. She looked at it vaguely hoping it would be Linnéa, even though she'd begun to feel that perhaps the man on the phone had been telling the truth when he'd said she was gone.

The message said that there was a car coming for her. This was not the government, but a friend. He would help her get away to a safe place. Pack your things, the message advised; take everything you need; be ready to leave within the hour.

Chapter 6

Romo was clueless for about fifteen minutes wondering what to do. Should she hide? No! If this guy knew where the bolt-hole was, hiding there wouldn't do her any good, and heading blindly into the unknown wilds outdoors wasn't exactly a charmed plan, especially if those other men were also out there looking for her. And it was hardly the height of summer right then.

But was going with a stranger in a car any better or safer?

She tried to rationalize it. If this guy on the phone had meant her harm, he could have come at her at any time. He knew where she was. He knew the layout of the cottage. He knew Linnéa - or at least about Linnéa. He could have come after her long ago when she was just a kid. And while it was true that the guy in the car was a stranger, he was coming on this other guy's behalf – the guy who had already saved her from the thugs.

What would Linnéa do? Linnéa who was gone. Or was she?

Romo cast her mind back to what she'd heard the men saying, and her memory was excellent: She doesn’t know what happened to the blond bimbo, does she? That's what they'd said. The Scandinavian skank. Linnéa. Maybe now, she did know what had become of her friend. Maybe Linnéa was gone. That would make sense of what they'd said, but why would they want to kill her in the first place? What had she done to them?

But they didn't kill her did they? Romo remembered what the guy had said. The anonymous guy who knew the phone number she'd thought only she and Linnéa knew. The same guy who knew their pass phrase. He hadn't said they killed her. He'd said that Linnéa had killed herself rather than give up Romo.

That much, Romo could believe.

Romo had often resented Linnéa, even as she also loved her. She'd seen Linnéa as a tyrant at times, but as Romo had grown older, Linnéa had seemed much less like a nightmare and more like someone who was truly concerned for Romo's health, welfare, and education. Sometimes Linnéa's behavior had seemed a bit on the bizarre side, but now, in the light of everything she'd learned over the last few hours, all the varied facets of her mentor and friend suddenly seemed to coalesce into a solid gem of a person.

The fact was that she had no clue what was going on, and the only way to find out was to go with this guy.

This, she decided, is the bottom line.

Chapter 7

Just before the dark, shiny car arrived, forty minutes later, she got another call. The now familiar voice told her this would be the car she needed to get into. He gave her a description of the vehicle, including the license plate, and also of the guy inside. As the vehicle pulled up to the door, the voice said, "He's going to turn the interior light on now, so you can see him, okay?"

At that moment, the car lit up and she could clearly see the guy inside, who looked just like the caller had told her he would. Romo headed out quickly, carrying the bag which held all her 'worldly goods' as they say. After seventeen years, to have so little to show for her life felt rather pathetic when she thought about it, so she tried not to. Her last thought on that topic was more positive: "Why should I have so much anyway, when too many have so little?" That had been Linnéa speaking.

She headed for the back door of the car for reasons upon which she exerted no speculation, and slid her bag in, quickly following it herself. Her nose wrinkled at the strange smells. She had assorted memories of being in a car before, but it was so long ago that she barely recalled it. She knew next-to-nothing about cars, but this one, she had noted from the hood ornament, was a Jaguar which was supposed to represent some luxury.

Once she was in the car and had closed the door, the driver said, "I need your phone. They have Linnéa's and we're sure she locked it, but sooner or later they will break into it. If they can do that, they can track you."

Romo stared at him, her mind an immediate turmoil of debate. That phone had been her lifeline to Linnéa for so long. If Linnéa wasn't around, then it was useless for that purpose, but she could still dial 911 with it.

The question was, did she need to? Was it wise to? She'd seen enough TV to understand that what this man had said was possible, but she felt troubled at the thought of giving her phone up to a stranger just like that.

She glanced out of the window at the cottage, and realized her eyeglasses were still stuck in her T-shirt, so she put them back on. Her home was in darkness and even with the eyeglasses, it was barely more than a vague shape right then, especially as seen through the darkened windows of the Jag.

The man said nothing and he no effort to tackle her, or to snatch her phone away. He merely waited patiently as though he understood her torment. She looked at him for a few seconds and then mentally shrugged. She had climbed into the car. She was voluntarily going with him to wherever it was he planned to take her. If she was willing to trust that much, then why not give up the phone? What did it matter? She had no one to call that she could trust. She pulled it from her back pocket and handed it over.

He cracked the case and slid out a tiny black piece of plastic, which he broke between his thumbs and tossed out of a window which he opened briefly and quickly closed again. She noted he was wearing tight leather gloves so his fingerprints would not be on the broken SIM, but he didn’t stop at that. He dropped the phone into a silvery plastic bag and zipped the top shut before sliding the whole package into the glove compartment. He said, "Thank you. Most people think breaking the SIM card will prevent easy ways of tracking you, but the NSA has IMSI-catchers and fake 2G towers which, if your phone connects to one, will disable all your encryption and bring them right to you. The only way to beat all of that is to stop using the phone. This is a Faraday bag, so no signals get in our out. You're safe from those guys now."

She sat waiting, but nothing happened.

The guy in the front was looking at her and she began to feel uncomfortable, but all he did was to say, "Seatbelt, please, Romo."

She frowned for a second and then understood what he meant, and struggled for a few more seconds until she had the belt clicked into place. As soon as she locked it, the car shifted smoothly into motion, but it traveled slowly down the rough and unkempt dirt drive to the road. Once on the asphalt, and despite that country road not exactly being in the best of repair, the car took off with some spirit, accelerating quickly. Romo liked this moving at speed, and in comfort. It sure beat her bike, which she realized, she might never see again since it was sitting parked around the side of that cottage she'd just left behind her.

After a few minutes of silence watching nothing save the darkness move by, since there was no street lighting out here, Romo was moved to ask, "So where are we going?"

"Someplace safe, but it’s going to take a while to get there, so if you want to take a nap, feel free."

She got the impression that the driver wasn't much interested in talking, so Romo fell silent, but neither did she feel sleepy right them, with adrenaline no doubt still pumping through her veins.

She had so many questions! She guessed she was going to have to wait until they arrived wherever it was this guy was taking her before those were answered, so she settled in for a wait.

At least she was hoping there would be answers.

For a fleeting second or two, she contemplated getting out her laptop, but it seemed like an effort, and before she knew it, she had drifted off into easy sleep.

When she awoke they were still moving and it was still dark. She had no idea how long she'd been out; her phone was gone so she couldn't check. She thought of her laptop, but she realized she could see a clock on the dashboard up front. It was after three in the morning. She must have slept for several hours. Outside, she could see a highway they were traveling on; not an Interstate, but a road designed for largely uninterrupted travel.

According to the dash, they were doing seventy, so a little math in her head suggested they could have traveled well over two hundred miles. That was further than she'd ever gone from the cottage since she'd moved there. This was a whole new life.

They began to pass through a small town and Romo found herself fascinated by the various shops, some of which were open: the one at the gas station, the all-night restaurant. This was a different world from the sleepy little village she'd known. A spasm of fear ran through her as she realized she was so far out of her element now. She had learned so much from Linnéa, but all of it was like theory and book-learning. She had zero practical experience in the real world. All she knew of any life beyond her home and the village she'd been to once in a rare while, was what she'd learned from TV and movies. Hardly real life.

As long as she'd done well in her studies, and completed her work and chores, Linnéa had set no limit on what she could watch on TV or which movies she could get on the streaming channel she had access to.

Once she'd been streaming a rather risqué movie when Linnéa had come home, and she'd blushed hugely because there was sex and nudity in it, but Linnéa had said nothing other than to remind her, "Remember Romo, this is the movie world. It’s not always like real life," and then she'd disappeared into her room and let Romo finish the movie by herself, coming back only when the credits were rolling. She'd asked, "Was that educational?"

"A bit," was all Romo had been able to bring herself to admit.

Linnéa had smiled and said, "Then you understood it in context. Ready to eat now?" and that had been the end of that.

Linnéa was Norwegian after all, Romo had concluded to herself with a smile. But Linnéa was gone. Forever. No coming back. It was not like in the superhero movies.

Romo's heart sank, but as she thought back on that time, she realized that even the freedom she'd had to watch whatever interested her was Linnéa's way of educating her about life.

Her recollections were interrupted by the car stopping at a quiet gas-station-cum-eatery.

The guy in front spoke for the first time since the conversation about her phone, and he said, "I need to gas-up and I’ll get some food. Any preferences? Something breakfast-y?"

"Breakfast-y sounds good," Romo replied, adding, "I have some money. I can buy mine."

"That's fine. It's on me. Just please, stay in the car, don't open the door; don't open the windows. Okay? You need to stay anonymous until we’re at our safe destination. Understand?"

Romo nodded mutely.

He left the car and she noted he did not lock the door. Why that was so, was a question she pondered for a minute or two. Perhaps he didn't want her to feel imprisoned? Perhaps it was a test to see if she would try to sneak off? Sneak off where? She had no idea where she was, let alone where she might go.

Right then he was putting gas in the car so he could keep a close eye on her if that had been his intention, but after he was done there, he moved the car to a parking space and sauntered into the restaurant like he was simply a casual traveler. He didn't look back, and the doors remained unlocked. She could have disappeared if she'd wanted to. She chose to stay.

He was back quite soon, and she noted that he detoured past an old, beat-up pickup truck that had pulled into the lot behind them but was evidently traveling in the opposite direction to them. The guy tossed something – her phone, she assumed – into the back of the pickup, and came back to the car.

"So you didn't run away?" he asked with a soft smile.

The food smelled so good that Romo, who was ravenous, was happy she'd stayed. She ignored the comment. He'd brought double portions for her, as though he knew just how hungry she would be. Talking of tracking people, this disturbed her a bit. He seemed to know far more about her than she did about him and it was unnerving. The cure for that was to say little and listen lots, so she focused on eating, but first, she asked, "Is it okay to eat in the car?" She'd been carefully eying the pristine and plush leather of the seats. They had a freshly-cleaned, artificial odor. It was not a nice smell. Romo much-preferred natural ones.

The driver laughed and said, "It’s perfectly fine. Try not to spill, but don't sweat it if you do. And thank you for asking."

He had a pleasing laugh, but it was almost lost on Romo as she launched into the food with gusto, eating everything he'd bought for her.

He'd also brought her coffee, with what smelled like one of her favorite creamers in it. How would he know that? Unless he really did know Linnéa as well as the voice on the phone had claimed he did. But knowing her favorite creamer? That was a bit much.

Maybe it had been a lucky guess. Maybe it had been the only flavored creamer they had here, but the fact that he knew she preferred flavored creamers to regular creamer, or even taking her coffee black, was making her uncomfortable. Would that voice on her phone from earlier have told this guy all that stuff? Or was this guy actually the voice on the phone? If he was, why not admit it to her?

Romo asked where she should put the trash, and he took it from her and put it into the bag his breakfast had been in. He'd finished his small meal only a little while before she had, and he'd resumed driving.

Romo felt a bit embarrassed by her hunger. "Sorry, about being such a pig," she said. "I don't usually eat that much. Or that quickly. I was famished."

He laughed again and he said, "You'll find that you eat more now you're off your meds, but don't worry about putting on weight. Your metabolism is going to ramp up."

"I'm not worried."

"Okay, try to get some more sleep."

She felt a lot more relaxed after that, and settled back comfortably with her stomach happily-filled. She took off her eyeglasses and found herself wondering briefly what he meant about her metabolism. Why would it ramp up? Maybe that wasn't important, her sleepy mind advised her conveniently. It wasn't long before she slept again in spite of the coffee.

Chapter 8

When she awoke next, the day was just beginning to open up, so she knew that while she'd missed the break of dawn, it wasn't by much, and she couldn't have slept for quite as long this time. They'd left the highway now, and were on a narrow country road, cruising along at a relatively sedate pace.

Romo stretched and yawned and the driver must have noticed her because he said, "Not long now. Almost there."

He sounded like a relative who was driving her back to her family after a stay away from home; not that she knew that feeling. She almost smiled, but the fact that she had no parents, one lost through his own betrayal, the other through forcible abduction and perhaps murder, drained the joy away from waking on a fresh morning, beautiful as this one promised to be.

It occurred to her that she truly was lost. She had seen no signs on the highway for the brief time she'd been awake, and she'd had no sun to gauge in which direction they'd traveled. Now she was miles away from anywhere it would seem, with no way of contacting anyone even had she anyone trustworthy to seek out.

For a short time, she contemplated the fact that she could have been abducted: that this man and his associate, whoever they were, could have quite easily set this up. Even as she considered that she would rather be with this guy than with those five who had broken into her home, it crossed her suspicious mind that it wouldn't have been outside of the realm of possibility for this guy to have made-up the whole story.

He could have had some associates come to break into her home; then he could have called her and warned her of it, and finally have picked her up afterwards, in order to abduct her - and with her own willing cooperation as it were. A plan like that would certainly make her much more amenable to giving this guy whatever it was he was after, than simply abducting her would have accomplished.

But weighing against that was the fact that he knew so much about her. He knew the code phrase that she and Linnéa shared. He knew of the bolt-hole in the kitchen. He knew where she lived.

It occurred to her that he could have kidnapped Linnéa and tortured that information out of her, but if he were willing to do that, why treat Romo so kindly? Because he needed something from her? What could she possibly have that he wanted?

There was an obvious answer to that, but if it was such a pathetic wish-list as her teenage body, then why her? There must be a couple million girls her age in the USA who would serve him better, so to speak, so why pick her in particular?

He knew about her meds too, so why tell her she didn't need to take them? Wouldn't her dependence on her medication have been a good leash to hold her with? Once again, it seemed, she was up against a brick wall that only a serious hammer of explanation could break down for her.

The final analysis always seemed to be that no matter what he wanted, or what his intentions were for her, her best bet was still to stick with him and see what she could learn.

Chapter 9

Before so very long they were slowing and the Jaguar was turning onto a driveway which was barred by a stereotypical metal gate. Where were they? Professor Xavier's mansion?

It turned out to be far less prepossessing, although no less picturesque. The gate opened automatically, so it seemed, and they followed the drive. It curved under a gorgeous and relaxing assortment of mature chestnut, hickory, and red maple trees which were only just beginning to show some early signs of recovering from their winter shedding. Winter had been warm.

The drive ended much more abruptly than Romo had been expecting, and they were suddenly in front of an equally surprising, though modest two-storey colonial-style house of red brick, with shutters either side of each window. From what Romo's inexperienced eye could tell, the shutters seemed to be not merely decorative.

The roof was red tile rather than the usual green shingle, and there were newer, single-storey extensions on one side, which ran around the back of the house. Two ornamental pine trees sat, one either side of the front door which was painted a deep russet color. It looked weirdly picturesque, given the circumstances that had brought Romo here.

The guy got out and went to the door, evidently expecting Romo to follow him. There was no reason for her not to, now they were here. Where else could she escape to?

Once inside, he locked the door and bolted it. He turned and eyed her and she became nervous, but all he said was, "Always secure, Romo. Security is truly important for you, now more than ever. Please, drop your bag by the stairs there, and follow me into the kitchen. I'm going to make some coffee, and you're going to get some questions answered."

Romo followed him to a large kitchen which shamed the one at her own home. It was an oddly-eclectic mix of ancient and modern. The stove seemed like it was two sizes too large for domestic use, as did the fridge. The table did look like it came from some country kitchen, but from a century ago. Large terra-cotta tiles covered the floor.

The guy began bustling around in the kitchen, evidently cleaning up the mess he'd left before he'd hurried out to pick her up. As he did so, he said, "In case you wondered, we’re in northern Virginia. Please make yourself at home here. Treat the house like you live here because you do, but please be tidy and respectful of the property. You’re safe here only because no one knows you're here, so feel welcome to go outdoors whenever you want, but stay close by the house. The property is fenced and has security cameras, so we’ll know if anyone tries to enter it, but I don't want passers-by being able to see you or photograph you. The word is that it’s not exactly clear how those men - the government people - tracked you down to that village, or what resources they're putting into searching for you now, but never doubt that they're still looking for you, and they will not stop. You're critical to their plans. They will not hesitate to come over that fence and take you away by force if they learn you're here, and if that happens, I don't think I'll be able to help you."

"Why do they even want me? I'm nothing special. Why would I be so critical?"

He turned to look at her. His serious face suddenly became softened by a smile which was paradoxically haunted by sadness. He said, "You've gotten so tall! You would dwarf your mother." He sighed softly and added, "to answer your question: just how special you are remains to be seen, but we don't want them experimenting on you to find out."

"Experimenting on me?"

"Romo, when your mother and father discovered exactly what you represented, that's when you became special. I’d say unique, but that's not really the right word."

"What’s the right word? What am I? I only know I was sick from a genetic disorder and I was told those meds - or whatever that stuff was in those capsules - was to keep me alive and healthy. Now I'm supposed to believe it was just vitamins, and I'm not really sick? I need to know the truth."

"Truth is what you're getting."

"I want to speak to the other guy - the one who called me. Is he here?"

"Okay, this is a bit awkward after I just said you'd get the truth, but truth starts here and now. I'm the guy on the phone."

"What?"

"I'm the guy who called you. There is only me."

"You sound nothing like him!"

The guy held a hand to his ear, mimicking being on the phone, and in a different voice he said, "You're looking chipper today!"

Romo stared at him. It was the same voice she'd initially heard.

"It is you!"

He dropped his hand and spoke in what she had to assume was his normal voice, which was slightly higher-pitched and less sonorous than the phone voice had been. "Yes. I'm sorry for the deception, but I deemed it necessary at the time and I didn't want to get into a lengthy explanation in the car. I needed to focus on getting you safely away from there and you needed sleep. But now you're here and safe, and rested, I can tell you everything."

"Then you can start by telling me who you are and what you have to do with any of this."

"My name is Matthew Powers. I'm your uncle."

Chapter 10

Romo stared at him with her mouth literally wide open. She'd had no idea she had an uncle, but the sorry truth was that she'd spent so little time with her mother, it was hardly surprising she knew so little about her family.

Right then she said, "And you left me in Linnéa's care, and no one: not her and not you, had the decency to tell me you existed?"

Her uncle, if that's who he truly was, at least had the decency to look guilty-as-charged. He said, "Romo, let’s make something to eat and sit down and talk about this."

That actually sounded good to Romo. Despite having fed her face not that long ago, she felt hungry again now he'd put the idea in her head. What was up with that? Hypnosis?

Before she could say anything though, the man went on, "There's a lot you don't know. You were…abandoned, if you want to think of it that way, because you had to be protected at all costs. Your mother forbade me from reaching out to you because she was terrified that I would be watched, and that I would lead the wrong people to you."

"Why would the wrong people even care about me?"

Her uncle - for she'd decided to label him that way tentatively at least - didn’t answer her. Instead, he raised a finger and headed to the fridge.

By this point, Romo was half-expecting him to tug a spy out of there by the scruff of his neck, but he simply pulled out two of those large, purportedly 'manly' frozen dinners and slapped them both in the microwave, which had a shelf in it.

She was quite startled by that. She'd never imagined that a microwave could have a shelf, especially not one that looked like it was metal. The battered and stained antique they'd had at the cottage was tiny, and rarely used, given Linnéa's penchant for fresh and whole foods cooked from scratch.

Having set the 'meals' to cook (and Romo indeed thought of these packaged dinners as meals in quotes), and without even looking at the packaging for direction, which suggested he ate like this routinely, her uncle put some water to boil in this cool glass electric kettle he had, that sat on the counter and turned the water blue with LED lights. It fascinated Romo for the entire time until it boiled and he poured the hot water over tea bags in two mugs, into both of which he'd squirted honey for sweetening.

He splashed some goat's milk into one and held up the carton along with his eyebrows, as a way of asking, she supposed, if she wanted some in her tea. She shook her head vigorously. Goat milk sort of weirded her out. She'd seen goats once, and she found them rather disconcerting.

He put the carton back into the fridge and set her tea in front of her, teabag still onboard. She stirred it with a spoon he handed to her and sipped it. It was way too hot, but tasted wonderful. How did he know she liked honey with tea? Linnéa? Again?

Before she could ask, the microwave binged and the meals were ready. He peeled off the plastic overwrap with a flourish and set hers in front of her with a fork and no ceremony. He sat with his own across from her and dug in, obviously enjoying it.

Romo eyed the meal suspiciously. There were mashed potatoes which looked like they were made from powdery, off-white model clay. There were flaccid 'vegetables' in the shape of mixed peas and corn, and some mystery meat which could have been pulped cardboard for all she knew. This wasn't a meal. Not by her standards. But she was starving. She dug into the so-called food without a scintilla of joy, and started shoveling the tasteless pap into her mouth, half expecting to throw it up before long, but it went down easily enough. She continued to eat.

As she ate, her uncle talked. He said, "Romo, this is going to be a hell of a lot for you to take in, okay? And believe me, I do understand that from your perspective it sounds simple: I tell you the truth, you integrate it into your world view, and everything will be all right, but it’s honestly not that simple."

"It really is. Just tell me."

"It really isn’t. This is something you're not going to believe unless I tell it to you in small edible chunks."

At the phrase 'small edible chunks' Romo eyed her food and wished it was so, but it sat in its black plastic tray defiantly looking nothing like the colorful illustration on the packaging, and she briefly wondered how long it would take this tray, this product of the planet-destroying fossil fuel industry, to disintegrate. She brought her mind quickly back to bear on what he'd said, and she answered him, "Why would I not believe it?"

"You'll understand that when you know everything."

Romo almost laughed. Know everything? No one could ever know everything. All she wanted was the truth about her life, and why men had killed Linnéa and were now coming after her. She asked, "Is Linnéa really gone?"

"She is. I'm sorry. I know she was like a mother to you."

"How can you possibly know that?" Romo was so angry now. Suddenly. Unexpectedly. Explosively.

"Linnéa was my cousin, Romo. I was the one who facilitated the arrangements for her to come and work with your mother in taking care of you after your father left. When he'd gone, your mother and I became close…."

Romo's eyes widened.

"Not like that!" he said quickly, and harshly as though maybe he'd hoped it would be 'like that'.

"Sorry!" he added after a second. "I really liked Zhi, but we were never involved. I only helped her."

Her uncle pronounced her mother's name correctly, so that it sounded rather like a soft-ish version of the 'ch' in cheese. It meant 'wisdom' or 'healer', which was very much her mother.

Zhi Ruo Chen was Romo's mother's full name. She even kept the 'Chen' part after she married. When explaining why they changed Romo's own name, Linnéa had once told her that 'Tang' - her last name - was a derivative of 'Chen'. Romo had had no idea what that meant, since she spoke no Chinese, which saddened her. She spoke more Norwegian than ever she did Chinese, and she spoke little of that beyond 'vær så snill' and 'Takk skal du ha', but everyone knew 'please' and 'thank you' in some foreign language. It was like a thing. She had quite a few more words she'd unconsciously picked-up, and that she would inject into conversation without realizing it, but she'd barely been aware of it because Linnéa had always understood her.

On that score, it occurred to her that Linnéa had never explained where the name 'Romo' came from, for that matter. Romo's real first name had been Eppie, which she recalled was derived from a Greek word meaning 'well-regarded'. Romo was much more her name than ever Eppie was, which sounded like something to be kept on hand for an allergic attack, so she was glad it had been changed.

With a catch in her voice she asked, "Is my mother dead too?"

Her uncle's face clouded darkly. "I honestly don't know. For a short time I was able to keep track of her, but that whole operation went dark and I wasn't a part of it. I couldn't dig into her whereabouts without raising flags and putting you at risk. What's important is that when your mother was taken, I kept in close touch with Linnéa. I helped her get you set up at that cottage and helped to keep people off your track."

"So you've been in touch with her this whole time?"

"Yes! Where do you think the money came from to pay for your existence? For the cottage and the food? Those 'meds' you took? School supplies? Everything you have?"

Romo stopped and swallowed. "You did that?"

"Yes!"

There was a moment's silence and Romo finally said, "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Her uncle pushed his empty tray aside and said, "It wasn't easy, you know? I had to find ways to siphon-off my own income and feed it to Linnéa so it couldn't be tracked, so I had a third party set up a charity called EPI, named after your real name!"

Romo smiled. Uncle or not, evidently he knew a heck of a lot about her.

"Anyway, through the charity I used some black funds to buy that cottage and then I conveniently lost all record of it. The cottage was held in the charity's name and indirectly I donated a portion of my salary to that charity. It worked far better than I'd hoped, but not for long enough. It started falling apart about three months or so ago when the OMB decided to audit our operations after that genetic doping scandal. I was hoping the cottage was so deeply buried that they'd never find it after all that time, but those snooping bastards eventually uncovered it. Not long after that, a small and shady department of the NSA got interested in it, and recently they put two and two together after they learned when the cottage had been purchased."

"OMB? NSA?"

"The Office of Management and Budget. The National Security Agency."

"I know what they are. Why did they even care about an uviktig purchase of a cottage? And why were they able to dig so deep into black ops? Aren't those things supposed to be super hidden?"

"No!" her uncle said with a laugh. "There's always somebody who knows about them.

"So are you at risk now?"

"No. I'm smart, Romo. I did enough sleight of hand that they’ll never be able to track it back to me."

"You hope! You said you gave money to the charity that owned the cottage!"

"Yes, I did, but not directly. I filtered it through other sources first. I'm safe, don't worry."

"So why not put me in witness protection instead of going to all that trouble?'

"You really are well-educated, aren't you?"

"Yes I am."

Her uncle laughed. "Linnéa did an awesome job. That's good to know. And witness protection sounds like a great idea. We did consider it. That program works well, but in order to get you set up there, I’d have had to bring other people into your secret – people I didn’t know or have any trust relationship built-up with. The more people who share a secret, the more likely it is to get out, so I decided against it. While the NSA normally doesn’t care about witness protection programs, they can get into that system if they want, and find people. I couldn't risk it."

"Which brings us back to why they give a shit about me."

"Language!"

"I think I'm entitled to some language after a lifetime of being lied to!" Romo sounded angry again. She swallowed and tried to calm herself, thinking about Linnéa's words from what now seemed an age ago when she'd been dealing with some anger issues. It had been several years since she'd been this angry or had gone through so many different emotions in such a short time. She wasn’t sure why she was going off the deep-end so easily now. Maybe she had good reason, but it wasn’t like her.

Thinking back to Linnéa's teaching, she swallowed and began slow deep breaths.

After a moment watching her, her uncle said, "I told you this would be a long story and you’d have to follow it in bite-sized chunks. I can scarcely believe it, and I know everything there is to know about it. You're going to have a hard time with it."

"So start telling me!" Romo said, feeling the anger rise again.

Her uncle raised his hands in a placating gesture and began to speak. "Okay!" he said, apparently marshaling his thoughts. "There's a back-story here that I don't want to get into yet, so let’s start with your genetic problems."

"I thought that was what the meds were for, but you told me they were just vitamins!"

"That's a whole other issue."

"Then quit lying about everything and tell me the truth!"

"Romo! Are you going to let me give you this in pieces you can digest or not?"

Romo took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a few seconds. What was going on with her? She wasn't normally like this, but she realized that she hadn't had her second dose of medication that day, and she felt something was going on inside that she didn’t have her usual control over. On the other hand, maybe she had good reason to feel this way after all that had happened. After she felt calmer, she opened her eyes to find he was observing her with a sort of clouded, curious look on his face.

"What?" she asked.

He slowly said, "Nothing," and added, "Are you okay, Romo?"

She said, "Yeah. I'm fine. It’s been a stressful day, I guess. So…okay. Sorry. Tell me this story."

"I'm going to make more tea first."

"I'll take coffee."

"Okay, but decaf."

"Whatever."

He made tea for himself and coffee for her and then he eyed her carefully for a minute while she toyed with her coffee.

She looked at him wide-eyed and with an exaggerated shake of her head, she asked, "What?

"Nothing. It’s nothing."

"What? Do you think I need to go back on those vitamins, or something?" She said the word like it had air quotes.

Her uncle actually considered it.

This rather shocked her. If they were unimportant vitamins, then what was the big deal? If they were not, then why was she coming off them? Was this anger and moodiness tied to that?"

Commandingly, she said, "you need to tell me what was in those capsules and why I was taking them."

"I will. When I've told you this other stuff first. Otherwise you won't believe me."

Chapter 11

Romo stared at him with her mouth literally wide open. Again. But she said nothing and he continued his revelations.

"So…when you were born, you had serious genetic issues. Not just one, but several. Had you been anyone else's daughter, you would have died. It’s important to understand this!" Slowly he added, "You would have died. Zhi wasn't about to let that happen, so she conducted those illegal genetic experiments on you."

Romo knew about the experiments. She had no problem with it. Her mother had saved her life. The wider implications of genetic enhancement on kids to improve their life were not a concern for her, having been a successful recipient of such work herself. She allowed that they could become a concern for society in general, and a serious one if genetic fixes became the preserve only of those who could buy them, used as a means of further widening the gigantic gap between rich and poor by not just implementing fixes, but including augmentations available for the offspring of the rich, that the less well-off could never afford.

What Romo didn’t understand, and what even Linnéa had never been able to offer a satisfactory answer for, was why Romo had all these genetic problems in the first place. Genetic issues usually arose through some sort of inbreeding, and by that Romo wasn’t thinking of incestuous offspring, but of people who had lived in relatively isolated or closed societies for an extensive period.

Because of Romo's own genetic background, Linnéa had taught her a lot about genetics and in particular, genetic diseases. Many of them occurred in religious communities where there were restrictions on who was allowed to marry whom.

This blocked any flow of fresh genes from outside and it concentrated anomalies inside, sustaining and amplifying them over generations. Groups such as Ashkenazi Jews, and the Amish, Hutterites, and Mennonites, are well-studied peoples at risk of being carriers. She recalled a church of the Latter Day Saints community on the border of Utah and Arizona which harbors a fumarase deficiency, brought on by cousin marriage. Religious purity becomes much less of an ideal when genetic issues are counted in, but it’s not just religious communities that have these problems.

Populations that are isolated for whatever reason can experience a prevalence of gene-based circumstances that aren't so common in the wider world population. The Güevedoce intersexed population in the Dominican Republic were an example.

Romo knew there was nothing wrong with being intersexed, just as she knew it can happen anywhere and everywhere, but it happens above average in that community. Another example of a different kind, was family near Brasilia, the capital of Brazil, which had polydactyly as a common feature. That's only really a disorder when it comes to buying gloves, Linnéa had joked.

As far as Romo could determine, there was no reason at all for her own parents to have passed on genetic complications to her. Her mother was a perfectly healthy Chinese woman, raised in the country on wholesome foods and she had…if Romo could put it so clinically…bred with a healthy American man (albeit a shit-heel as it turned out) who also had no genetic issues that Romo had ever been told of. You would think genes that had been so widely-separated geographically for such a long time would offer the best bet for avoiding genetic issues, but it wasn't quite that simple. Certainly not in her case it hadn't been.

For years it had been impossible to correct these disorders and people had to live with them…or too-often, die with them. But with the growth of genetic understanding and more recently, engineering, and particularly with the discovery of clustered regularly interspaced short palindromic repeats or CRISPR, and the enzyme that could interact with them in controlled ways: CRISPR-associated protein 9, or Cas-9 as it was known, it had come within the realm of people in their garage, kitchen or backyard shed, to do genetic engineering. The genii was out of the bottle, unleashed by two women, Emmanuelle Charpentier and Jennifer Doudna.

Romo's mind was all over the place instead of listening to what her uncle was saying. He was asking, "Are you listening?"

"Yes! Sorry, my mind wandered for a minute."

"Look, if you're tired and want to take a nap, this can wait."

"No!" Romo said loudly, almost shouting in fact. She did not want to put this off any longer.

Her uncle raised his eyebrows. "Okay! So as I was saying, CHiPR was a breakthrough in much the same way Cas-9 was."

"Chipper? Isn't that something that cuts French fries?"

"You really weren't listening, were you?"

"I was...not, no. Sorry. I'm thinking about genetic disorders."

"Okay so you're at least in the ballpark."

"So what’s a chipper? Not something for making mulch out of logs, right?"

When her uncle laughed, his whole face brightened. The clouds that had occupied it went away, his face took on a noticeably more youthful quality, and the sun shone from every feature when he did that. It made him look younger.

He took a breath and said, "No," and asked her, "You've heard of CRISPER and Cas-9, presumably?"

"Yes! Linnéa gave me a first-class genetic education, because of my problems when I was a baby. It helped me understand them, but she never explained exactly why I had so many problems to begin with."

"I'm getting to that. So in the same way that Charpentier and Doudna's research revolutionized genetics with Cas-9, Zhi took that entire world a step further when she came up with CHiPR."

"Chipper. Like when you said that pass-phrase, 'you’re looking chipper today'?"

"Yes! That's where the phrase came from. I think it was Linnéa who came up with it, and she shared it only with Zhi and me. We figured that if I ever had to get in touch with you and make you believe I was on your side, I could use that phrase. I hoped I would never have to use it, but I'm glad it worked."

"It did work. It was what made me think I could trust you. But I'm still not completely convinced of that. You’re on probation."

Her uncle smiled. "I understand," he said.

Romo said, "The only person I really trusted was Linnéa, and now I realize that she wasn't always honest with me."

"Linnéa was protecting you. But let’s not get off track. CHiPR isn’t just a phrase. It’s an acronym for something your mother invented: C.H.I.P.R. I forget what it stands for. Linnéa never mentioned that to you?"

"Nope," Romo replied with a heavy sigh. It seemed that there had been a lot that Linnéa had never mentioned now the tally was coming due. Romo was surprised that this had never been brought up: all the talks about genetics that she and Linnéa had had; all the reading Romo had done online and in textbooks, and no one had said a word about CHiPR.

"So what is CHiPR?" she asked.

"Don't ask me," he replied. "I don't have the first clue exactly what it is or how it works. I understand it’s like Cas-9 and it can reliably and accurately edit genetic material, and that it’s even a level or two up from that in that it's programmable to do several things, but beyond that, I have no clue. Your mother was on her own level when it came to genetics: way beyond anything anyone else was able to accomplish. It's a biochemical thing outside of my expertise. The way she explained it to me was to liken it to a virus. Viruses have no real existence of their own. As we've learned lately, when they get into your body, they co-opt the cells' own mechanisms to feed and spread, and they do it with ruthless efficiency, but any given virus tends to infect only a specific host."

"That's right. Linnéa went through that when we did the health segment in biology. She found it amusing how they panicked when they thought men might bring back a virus from the Moon that could wipe out humans and so they quarantined them?"

"Yeah! And then they sent out Moon rocks to everyone and their uncle for scientific study without any quarantine at all!" her uncle said, laughing.

Romo said, "But viruses grow and evolve with their favorite host, so when they're introduced into some other species they failed miserably, unless that species was very closely-related to the original in terms of its immune system."

"Right, so the idea of a completely alien virus infecting us is just as stupid as that Star Trek bullshit that humans can readily mate with aliens and have offspring"

"Yeah. She used to go on about how the chimpanzee is our closest relative and we’re too different even to mate with them – assuming anyone would want to."

Her uncle laughed at that and leaned forward, running a hand through his hair. He said, "So…anyway, viruses are programed by evolution to make the most of your genome. They can insert themselves into it."

"Yeah, yeah! Some of our genes are actually viruses that we learned to tolerate and ended up becoming a home for."

"So that's how CHiPR works, but it’s not random: it programs repair genes to end up exactly at the precise location CHiPR had selected for them to go. They travel there and insert themselves into your genome, and they become a part of you, without doing your existing genes any harm - unless the harm was intentional."

"Why would she want to intentionally harm genes?"

"If the gene isn’t working properly, or doing something harmful to your body, then that's a target. So CHiPR can break a bad gene or disable a malfunctioning one, or augment either, so it works properly again. It can even add new genes to give your body something it's missing, or to add new functions."

"Is that what mom did for me?"

"That's exactly what she did. And it's what got her arrested for child abuse."

Chapter 12

"Arrested? I thought they kidnapped her for her knowledge!"

Her uncle sighed. "They did, but they couldn't just remove a well-known and respected scientist without there being an outcry. You know what the Chinese are like for protesting mistreatment of their citizens, except when it’s the Chinese who're doing it…."

"I really don't. Never been there."

"I'm speaking loosely, Romo. Anyway, it wasn't like she wouldn't be missed. She was established in the US, and was a bit of a celebrity in scientific circles. Her name was even becoming known outside the science world. The only way to remove her and not have an outcry was to disgrace her, and that's what they did."

"Who is 'they'?" asked Romo, eying him carefully.

"The government. Specifically the NSA - or more specifically the dark section I work for."

"You work for black ops?"

Her uncle smiled. "On the contrary, I work for Relucent, which literally means 'shining' the very opposite of black! The NSA thought it was hilarious that the darkest section they have is named for something bright and is being passed-off as a private corporation."

"Relucent," said Romo quietly, considering it. "I know that name from somewhere," she declared, sitting up straight.

Her uncle leaned back as though he were dedicated to keeping the exact same space between them no matter what. He seemed very relaxed, despite the topic. "It’s a security organization, and it's supposedly a private one. They were in the news briefly a few years ago, until the NSA squashed it."

"That was it!" Romo said, twitching very slightly in her chair.

Her uncle looked concerned for a second or two, but she didn’t notice. She said almost triumphantly, "That was the one where the reporter conveniently committed suicide wasn't it?"

"Very good! You're up on the news."

"Linnéa mentioned it and I looked it up."

Her uncle smiled again. "Then she was doing her job, keeping you in the loop as much as she was able; educating you to what you're up against."

"But she never linked this to me."

"Probably because she didn’t want to scare you. And she didn’t want you to know that it was an assassination, not a suicide. You were too young for those revelations back then."

"And these are the people who have my mother? Why do they want her?"

Her uncle took a deep breath. "Because of what she can do for them with her genetic technology."

"Which is what? Make a super soldier?"

"Exactly. With the emphasis on super."

Romo frowned for a second at that wording, but she became distracted by another thought. "Mom wouldn't help them with that…would she?"

"No, she would not, but because of you, they had leverage."

"What did I do?" said Romo, her voice almost a plea.

"You existed. As long as they could threaten your mother with your welfare, she would cooperate. She even put out a statement that she'd committed…what was the wording…heinous? Yes, heinous crimes against her own daughter which had put her daughter's health at risk, when in fact what she'd done was the exact opposite. She saved your life with CHiPR, and because they now had a proven example to show that the technology worked, the government saw a way to build soldiers and spies who were tougher, stronger, more malleable, and had more endurance and resistance to pain."

"My mother did that?"

"No. She didn’t. She pretended to do it while they had you in their clutches, but after you were busted out of there, they had no leverage on her any more, and she'd been smart enough to hide her secrets. The science papers she published had all the vital elements removed from them so no one could abuse what she'd discovered. Even then she knew how powerful CHiPR was, and once she knew you were safe, she wouldn't cooperate at all. The government spent the next decade using teams of their best geneticists to try and reproduce what she'd achieved by herself, but they didn't have the starting point Zhi had, so they were always behind her. Instead of helping them, she actually used their resources to explore other areas, and she made two more break-throughs in genetic medicine, which were published under the names of other scientists. The irony is that the commercial licensing fees for those discoveries went to fund Relucent's project to duplicate your mom's work."

"So they found a way to make her help them anyway?"

"In a way, but she didn't care about that. They would have got the money regardless, and she was never in it for money, or even for fame or recognition; she genuinely wanted to help cure diseases and was fascinated by what genetics could do for us. At that time, the government was still years behind her, but all of that scientific power, technology and government seed money brought those teams along fast. They caught up to what Zhi had discovered even though they didn't have the advantage of a starting point she'd had, or the CHPR technology she'd used."

"Didn't they have her computers?"

"Yes, but her research conveniently wiped itself from the only two places she kept it stored," her uncle said with a satisfied laugh.

"How?"

"She had a wiper program set up - military grade."

"From you?"

"Yes. If she didn’t stop it every day from triggering, it would wipe what she'd saved, and once she was arrested, she wasn't able to stop it! The very fact that they had her in custody was what robbed them of her discoveries!"

"That was rather brilliant. But what happened to Mom?"

Her uncle's entire demeanor changed. It was like a thunder cloud came over the sun all at once. His face creased, and his eyes were dark. "I don't know." He said gruffly. He sounded sad. "Once she refused to cooperate and they realized they couldn't find you, they had no use for her. I stopped hearing anything about Zhi. She disappeared."

"So is she dead?"

"I don't know. Somehow I don't think so. I think word would be out if she'd died. Why would they hide that? It would have been to their advantage to have had a funeral for her and publicized the death of such an abusive mother, as they were painting her. They'd already put it around that you'd died because of what she'd done. They did that to make her look more evil than ever, so they could hardly then turn around afterwards, and say they were looking for you."

"But they were, right?"

"Yes, they never gave up. That's why we had to hide you."

"You and Linnéa?"

"Yes."

Now it was Romo's turn to have her face go dark. She felt a pain in her stomach, probably more psychological than physical. She said, "I feel so bad that Linnéa died."

"Romo, that wasn't your fault. I would have warned her had I known they were so close, but they slowly shut me out of the information pipeline and transferred me out of Relucent. I suspect they began to distrust me, but they had no proof I was involved. Quite the contrary. I gave them fake, but believable leads every now and then, coordinated with Linnéa, so it looked like they had a near-miss in catching you from time to time, but still they didn’t keep me in the loop. I think they suspected I might be playing both sides, but they couldn't prove it."

"I really miss Linnéa."

"I do too, but she wasn't quite the innocent nanny you might think. That doesn’t make her death any easier to take, but it was something she was prepared for."

"What?"

"She was with the Etterretningstjenesten."

"The what?"

The Norwegian secret service. Linnéa worked for them."

"What?"

Her uncle smiled she assumed, because she kept repeating herself. He said, "Zhi was up for a Nobel prize, Romo! She was a shoo-in. In fact, one of the guys who was nominated in competition with her withdrew when he knew she'd been nominated, because he felt her discovery was a lot more deserving than his. So naturally, the Norwegians were interested in her. The Etterretningstjenesten got in on it once they found out what this technology could really do; they were interested in it not to exploit it, but to make sure it was used for the purposes Zhi herself wanted it employed on. That's how I met Linnéa and found out she and I are like fourth cousins or something?"

"So this is yet another thing that's been kept from me!" Romo exclaimed angrily.

She took a deep breath. Something was affecting her and she had no idea what it was. Something wasn't right. Was this uncle poisoning her?

That was ridiculous! He could have killed her in her sleep had he wanted it. So what was wrong?

She felt hungry and nauseous at the same time.

"Romo! It’s not like that," he was saying, but his words had made little impression on her until right then.

Now her hurt-bubble suddenly burst. "It’s exactly like that! I've been lied to and kept in the dark all my life. Why should I believe a single thing you're telling me now? I've had enough of this."

She turned to leave, intending to walk straight out of the door with nothing save what she was wearing, and to keep on walking, but her uncle was suddenly in her path.

"Romo please don’t! If they find you I can’t protect you."

"I don't need your protection! I've been living in secret all my life!" he raised his hands to try and grab her, but she pushed him aside like he was a shower curtain and headed toward the front door. Suddenly there was blackness and weight above her eyes and she felt herself falling.

She never hit the floor.

Chapter 13

When she awoke she was in her bed and it was the next morning judged from the way the sun was slanting in the window. An instinct which had been drilled into her by Linnéa forced her to look quickly under the covers, but apart from her shoes, she was wearing everything she'd been wearing when she passed out.

The only odd thing she detected was this uncomfortable tingling in her fingers and toes which she knew was a possible sign of toxin poisoning or perhaps a genetic disorder. Was that why she'd been on her meds? If that's the case, then why had her 'uncle' told her it was fine to be off them? Was she relapsing now? Was his assured advice really just another way of holding her hostage?

She moved to get out of bed, and felt weak; weaker than she'd felt in a very long time, and the tingling seemed like it wasn't just in her extremities now that she considered it, but all over her skin. Was she allergic to something? Like the bed covers?!

She'd been on her medication all her life as far as she could recall, but now she'd suddenly gone cold turkey as they called it. Could that be the problem? Maybe she wasn't sick per se, maybe she was just in withdrawal.

She tried to stand and felt a wave if dizziness coming over her and a dark, heavy weight above her eyes threatening to knock her out again. What was wrong with her?

She lay back in the bed, waiting for a few minutes to regroup.

It was then that there came a soft knock on her door, and her uncle asked, "Romo, are you awake?"

"Yes" she said, just barely above her normal speaking voice.

"How are you doing this morning?"

"Not good." No point in denying it. "Is this because I'm off my meds?" May as well get right to it and see what he said.

"Yes, it is in a way, but it’s not a bad thing. It’s not like you're going through withdrawal or anything" he said, as though he could read her mind.

"So why do I feel so bad?"

"That's the next thing we need to discuss, but I've been called in to work, so it'll have to wait until I get back."

"They called you in?"

"Yes, there's been some sort of an emergency."

"Do you think they know about me?"

"I doubt it."

"You suspiciously took time off just when I escaped."

"There's nothing suspicious about it, and there's no way they can connect the two things. As far as they knew, I had no idea they were coming to pick you up, so when I said I’d work from home yesterday, they had no reason to link it with you."

"But what if they know?" Romo suddenly realized how alone she would be if he ended up the same way Linnéa had.

"Can I come in?" he asked.

Romo reflexively sat up on the bed so she presented a less incapacitated appearance, and she said, "Yes."

He came in looking like he was ready for a day at the office. He pulled a phone out of his pocket and handed it to her. My number is in there, but don't use it unless it’s a real emergency. I will call you in about two hours. If I haven't called in three, then leave the house and find someplace to hide. Take this phone and all your things with you. Don't leave anything to show you were here at the house, or leave any trail they can follow. I will contact you. But don’t worry. I don't see how this is connected with your disappearance. Call it a hunch, but I think something else is going on here. I'll let you know as soon as I have any information about when I can come back, okay?"

"Okay."

"There's breakfast downstairs. Go eat as much as you can. You need to eat a lot right now, build up your strength, okay? Dropping the meds is going to give you an appetite."

"Yeah? What was it - a diet pill?"

Her uncle laughed. It was genuine. He was hiding nothing in it. He said, "No. It has to do with your genetic surgery, but not what you think. I'll tell you about it this evening. You're going to feel a bit weird coming off it, but you'll be fine. Don’t sweat it."

"Okay"

"Don't go outside today, just as a precaution. Stay indoors and stay away from the windows just in case. It’s probably best if you hang out in the basement. There's food down there, books, a TV, and also an emergency exit that will take you out to the back of the property. It's undercover most of the way in case you need to make a break for it, but I'm guessing this isn't about you, okay? Don't panic. Take it easy."

That advice seemed so contradictory that she let it glide over her. Don't panic, but stay out of sight?! It’s not about you, but avoid the windows?! The one fact that drove her was that she was feeling extraordinarily hungry. She'd end-up looking like a tank if she kept on eating at this pace, but maybe that look would be good for her. Maybe it would help disguise her.

She put on her eyeglasses and found she could not see properly through them. She could see much better without them. How weird was that? Being without them might help disguise her if anyone knew she'd needed them.

Her uncle took-off quickly and she was all alone again. It felt odd and unnerving. She experienced pangs of emptiness as her mind recalled, unbidden, her life with Linnéa, which seemed idyllic now, but she let it wash through her, taking calming breaths. When she felt quite able, which didn’t take long, driven by hunger as she was, she went down to the kitchen and positively wolfed down everything her uncle had left for her.

Everything seemed louder this morning. Her bare feet on the floorboards sounded like a repeatedly slapped face. The sound of the microwave reheating her breakfast was like locomotive. The sound of her fork on her plate was like a church bell. The soft scrape of her kitchen stool on the floor was like nails on a chalkboard. Her skin crawled under her rasping clothes.

She made coffee and carried it to one window after another, staying to the side, out of sight, but scanning the vista each one offered, looking for anything odd or unexpected. There was nothing out of the ordinary at all.

She wanted to draw the curtains, but she realized that if anyone was watching the house and had seen her uncle leave, they would know someone else was there.

She hurried down to the basement.

Far from being a dark and dank place, it was really plush and comfortable down there: sort of a man-cave but without the bar and sports paraphernalia, which pleased her. She liked sports now and then, but couldn’t for the life of her see how anyone could take any of it it seriously or live their life by it. There were far too many peacocks and turkeys in professional sports for her taste, and it was all about violence and lording it over others. It wasn't Romo at all.

She'd been a fan of the US Women's National Team until the World Cup when she'd been so ashamed of them for lording it over the poor Thailand team they'd whipped thirteen to nothing. She had no problem with their winning by such a huge margin. It was just that their celebration after each goal, scored against a clearly inferior team, was so far out of proportion to the effort it had required to score it that it had seemed cruel and mean to her, and it had seriously turned her off the team even as she supported their quest for equal pay. She could not stand abuse and meanness.

If they'd been playing the men's team and beaten them like that which she felt they could, then fine, but to pull such a power play over a fellow women's team was like raping them to Romo.

She sighed and looked around her. She puttered about for a while examining everything, including exploring the escape router her uncle had mentioned. It was just as he'd described and there was an unlocked door at the other end secured only by an internal bolt. Fortunately the door in the basement was securely-locked.

She had all day and it was going to be a long one, staying shut up down there, so she might as well inspect the place. In the basement was a set of weights, and not a cheap set, either, along with a stationary bicycle and some other training devices. She had not done any real exercise for a couple of days, and she felt a powerful need. She decided that she would hit those after her breakfast had settled.

She ignored the TV and moved to the bookshelf, where there was an eclectic selection of fiction and non-fiction, fluff and steel. As she continued looking around blankly, something clicked.

She halted and then did a slow spin, eying everything. The startling fact that hit her was that there was nothing personal in this entire basement: no photos of family or friends, not even mom or Linnéa. There were no trophies from anything, no paintings, posters, or other pictures on the walls, no sports pennants. There was nothing to personalize the basement. It was so bland it could be almost be anyone's basement anywhere.

Her eyebrows flicked up briefly in surprise. Perhaps he had no photos of Zhi or Linnéa, or of her, because he did not want it known he had ties to them.

She muttered a soft and sleepy, "Huh!" and then she focused on the TV and decided to catch up on the news. That's what really woke her up.

Chapter 14

The headline news was cycling though some items: the idiot president's latest self-serving braggart lie, the most recent example of a jackass of a celebrity screwing-up something, another black guy shot by police, another person abusing their authority by having an affair with a subordinate, another judge being lenient on a campus rapist because he was a nice guy really.

She was about to turn it off when it came back to the top of the news headlines with the woman announcing, "This is W5X5-TV with the headline news at the bottom of the hour, and this is Robin Judge reading it. Now our top news item again: a person somehow managing to mimic having super powers, flew over the White House early this morning, landed on the north portico roof, painted a target on the building, and then took off and disappeared. At this time we have no information about who that could have been or how they managed it, but our special correspondent Missouri Boatwright is on the scene with the latest update for you!"

The TV view shifted from the talking head of the newscaster in the studio to the talking head of a woman who was, in Romo's opinion, way-over-dressed (and wearing whopping heels, Romo was willing to bet), and who was standing in front of the White House, the familiar spiked railing and Pennsylvania Avenue view behind her, like no one knew what the White House looked like.

As Romo pondered the rank stupidity of burning gasoline to drive over there for a pointless on the spot newscast, the reporter announced, "A man wearing blue spandex and a red cape was somehow able to fly onto the north portico early this morning and land on the apex," the correspondent said, pointing at an awkward angle in the direction of the handful of Roman Doric pillars with the squat triangle of a portico on top of four of them. On the tympanum, the flat triangular structure right beneath the apex, was painted a clearly visible set of three concentric circles. It looked like an archery target, but it consisted symbolically of red, white and blue.

Romo raised her eyebrows.

The correspondent went on, "No-one knows who it was who flew up there and painted the target, and though he was apparently dressed as a superhero, it's being seen as a very hostile action. The president is in hiding, and the White House and Washington DC security forces have been placed on high alert. We'll let you know more as new information comes in. Back to you, Robin."

Romo sighed. Clearly they had no more clue what was going on now than they had when they first broadcast this segment, but of course they'd keep recycling this same empty sound-bite just to pique viewers' interest.

The newscaster appeared back on the screen and said, looking off camera as though her correspondent was actually standing nearby rather than several miles away, "Thanks Missouri! We'll update you on that breaking story as soon as we have any more news. Meanwhile we have with us an architect who is going to tell us some of the history and design features of that north portico, and speculate on what symbolism this bizarre action might hold."

At that, Romo turned off the TV out of boredom and promptly fell asleep.

She was awoken early in the evening by her uncle, and she was famished.

"Hey sleepyhead!" he announced jovially, gently shaking her shoulder.

She sat up, staring blankly as she realized that her hair was a rat's nest of a mess, and she had drool on her chin. Charming.

"What’s up?" she asked sluggishly.

"It’s almost seven. Have you slept all day?"

"No!" she said, not knowing if she was lying or not, but it can’t have been that long, surely? She couldn’t recall what time it had been when she'd watched the news.

"Are you hungry? He asked.

"Yes, I'm really starved."

"I can imagine. Go freshen up and I'll get something cooking. I brought groceries."

An hour later they were sitting informally in the kitchen, at the modest rustic table covered by a simple, almost cheesy tablecloth with the traditional red and white checkerboard design on it. They were chowing down on some sort of goulash her uncle had apparently bought on the way home.

He'd added a couple of things to it, like that somehow made it into his own creation, but Romo didn’t rate his culinary skills as highly as she rated Linnéa's cordon bleu talents. Or whatever they were called in Norwegian.

Blå ledning was what her mind supplied, which suggested to her that she'd gone through this conversation with Linnéa before; otherwise how would she even know such an oddball fact? And why did she remember it so readily? In truth they probably said cordon bleu anyway. It didn't matter.

Her heart stuttered briefly over these thoughts: of the painful recollection in the present of joyful time spent in the past, which could now never be repeated. Linnéa was gone.

Someone had seen to that.

She swallowed that down and dug into her food, stuffing that into her mouth perhaps in hopes that it would displace her pangs, not only of hunger, but also of grief.

"That's good, that you're eating so healthily. You want some more?"

"Please!" she said. "I'm going to be like a blimp at this rate."

"No, I promise you you’re not. It’s time we talked about those genetic changes that Zhi blessed you with, especially in light of today's news."

"What news?"

"Did you not consult the TV today? A guy dressed as a superhero alighted on the White House and painted a target on it. Its's being widely considered as both the most bizarre terrorist attack ever, and the most threatening because of the ease with which he was able to bypass the security around that place."

"I saw something about it before I fell asleep. I thought I’d dreamed it, it was so weird. It was like they were emulating that scene from the X-Men movie where what's his name gets into the oval office and no one can stop him."

"What?"

"I said…."

"I heard what you said," her uncle interrupted. "I just didn't understand it. You say there was a movie with this news item in it?"

"No. The move started with this mutant guy who had the power to teleport finding his way right to the president's office and stabbing the Resolute desk with a dagger. It was quite dramatic."

"Did he wear spandex and a cape?"

"No, just a leather overcoat I think. It’s been a while since I saw the movie. It came out right around the time I was born, but I guess it was a favorite of Linnéa's. She made me watch the whole series with her when I was about eight, I think. She told me I was an X-Man, but I refused to join. I wanted to be the first X-Woman."

"I think you actually are, Romo. I remember Linnéa saying she was going to introduce you to that film series for educational purposes."

"They weren't remotely educational! They had nothing to do with remedial genetic surgery like I had. These people were all supposedly mutants, but you can’t have one single gene work all the changes they exhibited. It’s nonsensical!"

"You're right, but that wasn't her aim."

"Oh? She had an aim? I thought she just wanted to share some of her favorite movies with me."

"No. She discussed it with me. I remember it quite clearly. She wanted to put the idea into your head that genetic change can be about much more than simply curing disorders."

"What? That it can also give me super powers?" Romo laughed.

"Yes. It can."

Chapter 15

Romo stared at him. "Ri-ight! What did the changes really do?"

"We don't know exactly, but what Zhi did was not just fix your genetic problems. She also enhanced you in several ways."

"Enhanced? Like how, exactly?"

"Well you can’t fly like that guy supposedly did onto the roof of the White house this morning. But you're an improvement in every way possible over what your everyday human like me is."

"Ya right!"

"Romo, I'm not kidding. Your mom put genes in place to help make you smarter and stronger, with more stamina, and better able to use oxygen to fuel your cells and muscles. She gave you more efficient digestion. She fixed minor issues in your genetic material, malfunctioning or broken genes, that in other people might have led to a disorder down the line, or some sort of biochemical breakdown, or physical impairment. She also removed a bunch of your junk DNA and tightened up the genome so it’s more efficient. None of your energy is wasted in maintaining the barren parts of your genome; all of it goes to supporting actual functions and those are enhanced."

"How did she do all that?"

"She was a genius, that's how. She used the magic of CHiPR. I don't know every detail of what she did, but I do recall some: she took a gene called TRIM5 from monkeys and put it into you to help protect you against HIV. I'm honestly not sure what use that will be, but it’s one that stuck in my memory. She also took interferon genes from bats and gave them to you to fight viruses. She took Fox-p3 from rodents. She explored all animals that have natural immunity, with an eye to helping people, and all the government could think of to do with that is build a better soldier!"

"Any other animal bits I should know I have?"

Her uncle had to think for a minute and she could almost see him wracking his brain to recall the things he knew about her. He said, "She tamed something called NALP proteins and augmented your NRP3 gene. These are things which fight inflammation and are why some viruses, like that new Coronavirus, are so destructive to people. She learned these protections from animals that seem unaffected by the viruses we humans have grown to fear, and she amped up your system with things like that."

"That's…pretty amazing!" Romo said quietly, growing a new appreciation for her mother.

"Zhi was pretty amazing. I wish you could have known her."

"Me too."

Her uncle sighed affectionately and he said, but in a less strident tone, "Romo, in a way you can know her through what she did for you. You look so much like her, but you're much taller than she was."

Romo hesitated for a second at his use of the past tense, but she pushed on, trying not to let the negative weigh her down. She asked, "So was there anything else she did aside from turn me into a bat-monkey-rodent hybrid mutant?"

"Romo?"

"I'm kidding."

"Fine. Okay so…um…once the medication is completely out of your system, your vision should be better than 20-20, so kiss those eyeglasses goodbye! All your senses will ramp up: your hearing will be augmented, your sense of smell improved, your muscle strength off the charts…."

Romo touched her eyeglasses hanging from her T-shirt collar briefly in an unconscious response. She was so used to wearing them that she felt a little bit naked without them on her nose, but she'd noticed it was a lot easier to see clearly without them than it was with them, of late. She said with a snort, "So I'm like what, the bionic woman now? You know how that TV show failed right?"

"You're nothing like a bionic person! All of you is completely natural, and unlike fictional characters that get souped-up as adults, your body has been growing with these genes in place nearly all of your life. Everything about you is completely integrated."

"I guess I felt something recently: sounds seem louder, smells stronger, clothes scratchier. But how come I don't see any of these real 'enhancements' you claim I have? I don't feel like I'm any better than anyone else, and I should know, because I'm me."

Her uncle smiled at that, and his face really lit-up when he did. She liked that. The more time she spent with him, the more she felt he truly was her relation, and he really meant her no harm, but still, lurking inside was a 'stranger danger' suspicion after all that had happened to her. That wasn't irrational was it? What had been irrational was the anger she'd had the day before; that seemed to have vanished. Where had it gone? She didn't know. Maybe it had arisen as a result of coming off the meds and now she was getting onto an even keel, it had abated? Again, she didn't know. She hadn’t felt this ignorant in a long time.

Her uncle answered her by saying, "I have two responses to that: the first is, "How do you know you're no better than anyone else, since you've never been tested against other people? Second, and more importantly, you've been on that medication which suppressed all of these things throughout your life."

"So what was what was the point of enhancing me, if all you're going to do is suppress the enhancements as soon as you give them to me?"

"Your mother gave them to you, but she also made sure they were suppressed because she didn’t want anyone finding out about you when you were at an age where it might have been hard to make you see the wisdom of disciplining and hiding your powers. Now you're an adult, Romo, there's no need to restrain you any more. That's why I don't care about you being off your 'meds' as you call it. Over the last few months, Linnéa and I had been talking more and more about cutting you loose. She'd been taking small and measured steps, which you may or may not have noticed. We were very slowly reducing your dosage, but lately we'd been discussing taking you completely off anyway. We just hadn’t figured out how to break it to you with regard to what a huge difference you would see, and without you thinking we were nuts."

"I still think you're nuts."

Her uncle smiled that smile again, but he went on unfazed. He said, "Once Relucent found out where you were, our hand was forced. Because you’re threatened now, it makes no sense to keep these enhancements under wraps. You'll be far safer if you’re allowed to become everything you were truly meant to be. Linnéa has gone, Romo, and in the end, if I fail, it will come down to you being able to protect yourself; you'll need every tool you can command for that, especially now. Once she knew she could fix your genetic problems, your mother also realized she could also use CHiPR to give you the best genome it was possible for a human to have and that it would help keep you safe from anyone who wanted to exploit what you have."

"What do you mean 'especially now'?" Romo asked, looking at him intently.

"What?"

"You said I'll need every tool, especially now. Why especially now?"

"Because of what happened at the White House this morning."

Chapter 16

Romo laughed. "You're kidding, right?"

"Why would I be kidding?"

"That's got to be a joke! Some street artist in a Halloween Superman costume on top of the White House?" Romo laughed, but she stopped when she realized her uncle wasn't joining in.

He said, "No. It really happened. That's why I was called in today. They may not trust me where you and your mother are concerned, but they know I'm the best expert they have on what genetic enhancement can do to people, and what augmented people can do with their powers."

"So wait, they think this guy in the super hero costume was genetically improved…like me?"

"No, Romo, they don't think it, they know it. He's one of theirs and it would seem that he's gone rogue. He's not the only one like that, either."

"But how can he fly? Humans don't have any genes for flying. Apart from bats, there are no mammals that fly! We split ways with the dinos and their bird descendants so long ago that the only genes we have in common any more are the ones for cellular functions. You can't magically augment a person's genome and have them sprout wings, much less levitate without any wings at all. That's just bullshit from the movies, where they have ridiculous feathered wings that come out of their shoulder blades! Wings don't come out of the shoulder blades even in real birds! They have the same anatomy that we do, just configured differently!"

"You're absolutely right, but I never said they'd augmented people so they could fly. I said they'd augmented them in the same way you were augmented."

"So faster and stronger? What…the guy jumped onto the roof?"

"Pretty much, but not by leaping tall buildings in a single bound; just by some subterfuge and sleight of hand. The authorities have hidden a lot of the truth to make the story look ridiculous, like someone deep-faked it and it never actually happened at all, but the truth is a lot more scary. A small team of people apparently were involved, and one of them, who seems like he was particularly good at jumping, was helped to leap the fence; then he scaled the building using Parkour techniques. From what Linnéa told me, you're familiar with those, right?"

"Yeah. That was her idea of PT. She told me what we were going to do a week before we started, and she said she had an adjusted set of meds I had to take to cope with the stress."

"That adjustment was a reduced dosage to allow you to start experiencing a small part of your powers, so you could work with something real. It’s what we’d talked about."

"I wondered how it was that I was suddenly so good at something I’d barely done before. I mean the things we did were like games she and I had played when I was younger, but what we did from that point on was so much more powerful than anything I'd done as a kid. I completely dominated her! Before that, she'd always made me feel like a klutz."

"Linnéa was an amazing teacher, Romo. She was also from a family of acrobats in a circus. She had natural skills from her own childhood that were beefed-up when she trained with the Etterretningstjenesten. You were so good because you had the basic moves already in your head and your muscles from playing games with her. You were so much more powerful because some of your genetic augmentation was coming through with the reduced med dosage. Linnéa had lesson plans way ahead of where you were at. She wanted to ease you in to these things. I only wish she'd had the chance. She would be so proud of you."

Romo felt her eyes tearing up, her insides tearing up. She didn’t care whether or not Linnéa would ever know of her physical skills. She felt only the loss of a dear friend and companion, someone she would never talk to again, never see again, never ask advice of again, never hear laugh again, and never hear that oddly sing-song voice tell her what was up next on the lesson plan.

Suddenly she felt an intense anger arising at the people who had robbed her of Linnéa and robbed Linnéa of her life. She asked, "Who killed Linnéa? Why did they do it?"

Matthew's face darkened. He said, "She killed herself because she didn't want to give you up, but I don't know who made her feel like she had to take that way out."

"Can you find out?"

He scrutinized his niece's face carefully before he asked, "And if I did, what difference would it make? It won't bring her back just knowing who ultimately killed her."

"I don't know if you've heard about it, but there's this thing called justice. Its aim, when practiced properly, is to punish offenders by depriving them of their freedom until it’s deemed they've paid a fair price for what they did. It has a secondary purpose of removing people from society who are not fit to live in it; like those who would abuse a woman because she was neither of importance nor use in their blinkered view of the world."

"And so…what? You’re going to be Judge Dredd? You’re going to mete out justice to professional killers?" He laughed.

Now it was Romo's turn to eye him as he'd eyed her. After a cold minute she said, "You know what your attitude bought the Germans in the 1930's? It bought them a twenty-year feast of misery and destruction, millions of deaths. And for desert they had almost a century of cold war."

"And assassinating Hitler would have stopped all that?"

"No, but stopping all of the Nazi leaders would."

He uncle looked at her wide-eyed.

She eyed him calmly in return, no expression on her face.

He took a deep breath and said, "I guess you're not a little girl any more."

"Damn straight I'm not. Now can you find out who did this or not?"

"I can find that out, but if you pursue this, you'll be opening a can of worms, and they'll be intestinal worms that will hurt you in return. Do you understand that? You could end-up leading a short-term happy, but long term non-existent life."

"I don't care about that. I care about justice for Linnéa. Not revenge, not rehab, not for those people. I care about making them understand that there will be a deadly price to pay, because clearly, such a price is the only thing that will stop them in their tracks."

"Romo, where is all this coming from?"

"From augmented genes I guess. I don't know. I just know it's right."

"Super heroes don't go around killing people, you know. It’s not in the comic book code."

"Superheroes don't do shit, Matthew. Look at Superman and Batman. They have all that technology and all that power at their disposal and when has either of them ever gone out and fed the hungry or helped the homeless? When has Batman's scientific knowledge ever advanced humanity? When did Superman ever stop a mass shooting?"

"Batman, no, but Bruce Wayne had a few foundations and helped out. Tony Stark did too."

"And still they were billionaires who lived a life most people don't even dream about. They're not heroes. Not even close. They're so pathetic that the comic book writers had to invent bizarre super powerful villains for them to fight. They never get down in the trenches and actually help people! All real people want is a home, a full belly, clothes on their backs, an education, something useful to do with their time, so they can make a contribution, the freedom to pursue their passions, and often, a need to feel loved."

"Batman wasn't in the matchmaking business, Romo."

"No, but if Bruce Wayne was so benevolent, why didn’t he share his technology with law enforcement? If Tony Stark was so heroic, why didn't he? And yeah, I guess that there are a lot of trigger-happy cops who won’t ever merit a super suit, much less military technology, but there are a hell of a lot of people who do; who, given a suit like that, would put it to good use helping people, yet Stark was so selfish with what he had, that he begrudged even his best friend using it, at least to start with. He could have set-up a foundation training people to use the suit, but he never did, and Hollywood would have us believe a man like that was loved and mourned when he died? It’s horse-shit."

"Neither do we live in Hollywood, Romo."

"Exactly! So don't ask me to emulate those ass-hats. This isn't Hollywood. It’s a DC that isn't even a comic book. We don't live on a movie set or in the pulp press. We live in the real world with real people who need help, and where real choices…hard choices, have to be made."

"And you're going to make those choices?"

"Why have all these enhancements you tell me I have if I hide away and never use them? What's the point? What did Mom want from me if not to use what she'd given me to do some good in the world?"

"I seriously doubt she had this in mind for you."

"Then why do you praise her foresight so highly? How do you know this wasn't exactly what she had in mind?"

"I knew her, and I know she would never have put you at risk. That's precisely why she hid you away!"

"When I was a child! I'm not a child anymore."

"She didn’t want your life put at risk."

"Neither did she want this technology getting out, but it’s out now. It’s out of the box. Why did she give me so much more if she didn't believe I could stop it if it got into the wrong hands? Why was Linnéa training me so hard?"

She looked at her uncle and he looked back at her with an open mouth and apparently, a closed mind. It seemed that he had nothing he could offer: no argument, no suggestion, and no restraining orders. He had to know she was right, but that didn’t mean he was onboard with her putting herself at risk. He'd lost Zhi. He couldn’t afford to lose her daughter.

He said sharply, "Romo I am not going to find out who did this, okay? I'm not even sure I could try to find out without raising flags, but even if I could, I'm not going to give you information that will set you off on a lone crusade for justice that will only end-up putting your life at risk! These fuckers are professional killers, Romo! They're highly-trained, government-backed, and they have nothing to lose."

"Oh yes they do."

"Romo! You're not in their league. They will kill you."

"We'll see."

"So how are you going to find out who did this without my help?"

"I think the Etterretningstjenesten would be greatly interested in learning that one of their operatives was murdered by the American government, don't you?"

Her uncle raised his eyebrows at that. "So in order to get revenge, you’re going to risk Norway being at war with the USA? I can tell you in one word how that's going to end for Norway: badly."

"Not if they have a covert operative here in the US who is happy to take care of their business for them."

"Here's another word for you: treason. Aiding a foreign government against your own."

Romo said softly, "I have a whole sentence for you: when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same object evinces a design to reduce them under absolute despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such government, and to provide new guards for their future security."

He stared at her and she said, simply, "Meet the New Guard."

Chapter 17

It wasn't until a day or two later that Romo managed to sneak off and find an Internet café where she could set up an anonymous remail account and fill out a contact page on the Norwegian embassy's website. Her uncle had slapped on an ankle bracelet while she slept, and that really pissed her off, but it effectively confined her to the house and property until she discovered a way to defeat it online.

She wasn't in a hurry though. She was very angry about a variety of things, but she was also very patient. The way to defeat this particular model of bracelet wasn't to waste time trying to defeat the lock, but to cut the wires, after first exposing them and rewiring the thing so that the circuit remained unbroken but the bracelet was large enough to slide right off her foot. It was a lot trickier than it sounded, but she was both skilled and quite assured when using her hands, so she got it done in a short time and felt rather proud of herself.

While she was gone, she left the ankle bracelet it on the couch in front of the TV and took off in her uncle's antique gas-guzzling 14mpg Jeep Cherokee. It was an insult to the environment and she felt guilty about it, but he'd left her with no choice. She had learned how to drive from using the racing simulator her uncle apparently played with in the basement.

She was by no means expert, but this taught her enough technique to be able to drive the Jeep around the property for a couple of days, and when she felt safe, but more importantly, felt she could drive it well enough that she wouldn't get stopped by the police, she went five towns over to the nearest quite large locale, and wearing thin latex gloves so she'd leave no fingerprints, she emailed her information on Linnéa, telling whomever it may concern what had befallen her, and who was responsible. She included her remailer address, which in future she could access from home if she was careful about disguising her tracks.

Yes, she was angry with her uncle, but that didn't mean she wouldn't listen to his advice when it came to how much in danger she could be if the wrong people found out her location.

By the time her uncle came home, she had the Jeep back in the garage. She'd had no money for gas, so she was pleased he was evidently quite anal about keeping the tank full. She was hoping he wasn’t equally anal about checking the gas or mileage. He evidently wasn't because when he came home, he was quite distracted by his discovery of Romo's ankle bracelet sitting on the side-table where he routinely dropped his car keys.

She heard him open the garage door, but he closed it far too quickly to have done anything other than to simply verify the Jeep hadn’t been taken, and maybe he wasn't even checking for that. Whatever he opened it for, he came rushing down into the basement. There he found nothing other than Romo sitting happily in front of the TV eating popcorn.

She eyed the bracelet he held up for her inspection, and all she said was, "That's just so you know you can’t keep me here if I choose to leave, and she turned back to the movie she'd been watching. It was Iron Man 2, but it wasn't Arrogant Man she was really paying attention to. It was the enticing, if highly theatrical, skills of Black Widow which entertained her far more. And she was only playing the movie in the first place to mess with her uncle's head. She wasn't that interested in super hero movies. She was more of a Bond girl herself, especially now that she'd heard that they were actually going to have a Bond girl take over the lead role in that franchise whenever the next movie came out.

"And how do I know you haven't been out exposing yourself to discovery?

"You don't. You'll just have to trust me like I'm forced to trust you, won't you now?"

To her surprise, he seemed amused by that. He said, "Touché," with what almost sounded like a hint of a French inflection.

Because he lingered at the door, Romo steeled herself slightly for what was to come, but it wasn't quite the punishment she'd been half-expecting. Instead he said, "Well enjoy your TV. Tomorrow you start physical training. Your vacation is over. And no, you won't be able to fool me that you're doing something when you're really not, because I have a trainer coming to the house."

Romo made a small show of deliberately turning off the TV and then turning herself slightly on the couch to look at him. In a half-amused voice, with a raised eyebrow, she said, "Really? You're putting my safety at risk by bringing in an outsider?"

"She's not an outsider, she's your step-cousin."

Matthew smiled at her and then spun on his heel and sauntered off, singing softly, "Tomorrow, tomorrow, you'll pay it tomorrow, it’s only a day away…."

Chapter 18

Ukukhuthazela Ngokomzimba was a tall, spare, and truly striking-looking woman. She had her hair in a Mohawk TWA style, sides shaved, top about an inch or so long and standing straight up, adding to her height. Her skin was midnight dark, which made her eyes stand out with a truly startling glow. She wore pink yoga pants and a matching tee which had

"Not today!" - Claudette Colvin, 3/2/55"

emblazoned on the front, in black. Romo knew who Claudette Colvin was. She was one of Romo's idols.

This trainer looked nothing like Claudette. She looked like one of those new-wave African models who had been showing up on runways quite regularly since the fashion world unexpectedly made the stunning and unprecedented discovery that there were six hundred million women on the African continent, all of whom had been ignored by the old white men who made their millions from trying to tell any woman who would listen, how they really ought to look and dress.

This woman who was apparently to be her personal trainer strode in confidently, like a person who was certain that no one would mess with her if they honestly knew what was good for them. Romo had been told she needed to be in the gym at 06:00, and she'd learned enough from Linnéa to understand that when she was given a military time to be somewhere, she'd better not fuck it up or there'd be a price. She'd arrived way early, and she used the time to stretch and limber-up.

That on time rule apparently didn’t apply to the person she waited on though, and frankly she was about to give up and leave when this woman, who could not have been more than a half-dozen years older than Romo, finally entered. Romo's exit was halted in its tracks purely by the redoubtable apparition the newcomer presented.

"I am Ukukhuthazela Ngokomzimba. That's a mouthful, I know, so you can call me Thazela, or Thaz for short."

Thazela wasn't short by any stretch of the imagination. She must have been six-three, which beat Romo's height by those odd three inches, and even as Romo eyed her and assessed her, she could see that Thazela was doing precisely the same to her. It did not bother Romo one iota. She was quite convinced she could kick this woman's ass if she needed to assert authority here.

She was wrong.

Thazela put her on her first wrong-foot by saying, "I've read your file and know where you're at physically, so let’s start with some warm up exercises and then we’ll move on to fighting technique, okay?"

Romo smirked and nodded, half expecting Thazela to yell at her, drill-sergeant-like, and demand that she answered "ma'am, yes ma'am!" There was a distinctly military vibe to the trainer, but the woman merely nodded in return and began explaining what she wanted Romo to do.

"First let’s ease into splits and…."

Romo was quickly down and in a perfect middle split as it was known, even though there was nothing middling about it. Her long legs stretched out left and right horizontally along the slightly chill floor to either side of her. Her feet were turned to the vertical, making a right-angle with her shins, and her perfectly pedicured bare toes flexed back toward her hips as though sighting them along her legs.

Thazela advised, "I was going to say take your time. Your body is relaxed first thing in the morning, but that doesn't mean it’s as limber as it needs to be for our purposes."

"I already limbered up, Ukukhuthazela Ngokomzimba," Romo said, "so I'm fine."

Romo's use of her entire name, pronounced flawlessly, which even surprised Romo, gave Thazela pause for an extended moment's reflection as she eyed her trainee, who was smirking slightly though she tried to hide it. It didn’t knock Thazela off-track; she said, "But there's something just as important as warming up, and that is mindfulness, so now we’re at full stretch, I’d like you to close your eyes and center yourself."

"What does that mean, exactly? I'm perfectly balanced," Romo claimed, lifting her arms in a graceful ballet-like mirrored gesture.

She was amused to see that Thazela smiled at this. She did not trust the smile though, because she realized she was playing with fire here, and that the tutor might well choose to punish the student, were the one to diss the other one time too many.

Patiently, Thazela said, "Centering is a part of mindfulness. As we descend into a split, we need to be in the moment, following our descent, thinking only of what we're doing right then, which is descending into a split."

"Been here, done it." Romo said with a sigh.

"And now that we're down here," said Thazela, ignoring Romo's comment and finally completing her own split, which must have really burned her sinews, Romo thought, considering how long she took to get into it, "we allow ourselves to understand that we’re down here. Accept completely that we're in a split. Feel your muscles and tendons pulling. Feel how your bones are lying. Feel how your skin and flesh enwraps them."

"Enwraps?" thought Romo. "WTF?"

Thazela continued. "Feel your blood coursing through your veins and arteries. Don't focus on any one thing, not on discomfort or pain, not on self-satisfaction at sitting and splitting so rapidly, not on your tutor, not on the chill floor, but on you; on what you are doing. On how your body is feeling, but without settling on any one sensation; without dwelling on any particular aspect of what you're doing. Forget about the outside world. Forget about annoying your tutor. Become aware of your breathing, in and out. Don't control your breathing. Don't force it. Don't worry about what it's doing, whether it’s too deep or shallow, too fast or slow. Merely be aware of it, of the airflow into your lungs and out again."

Romo did as instructed, but her mind wandered too readily, wondering how long this crap would go on for; how long her legs would hold out. She'd never held a split for a significant length of time. Maybe she ought to focus on her breathing as instructed? This floor was downright cold now her fitte (as Linnéa might have termed it) was squarely on it with nothing between it and the chill of the parquet but thin yoga pants. She wasn’t even wearing underwear. She and Linnéa rarely had.

She tried to let that go, and do as Thazela was instructing, but now her muscles were beginning to ache a little. She began to wonder if Thazela might be deliberately prolonging the split for no other reason than that Romo had dropped into it so quickly.

Or maybe if she'd entered it more slowly as Thazela had advised, her muscles might not ache? What the hell kind of a name was 'Thazela' anyway? And that was just the abbreviation. But really, how was it any weirder than 'Romo'? Damn this floor was uncomfortable. And chill. She decided that next time, she would drop more slowly, as Thazela had done. She really needed to focus on her breathing.

"And rise slowly, still paying attention to your breathing, without really concentrating on it. Don't change your breathing. Just observe how it is, how the air comes in quite naturally, quite effortlessly, and flows out with equal ease."

Romo tried to bring her legs to the front, but she felt them really aching now in her hip joints, and just as she tried to bend a leg and rise, she got a cramp, and uttered a harsh gasp.

Rather than stand and mock her, Thazela came to her at once and lifted the leg that seemed to be giving Romo discomfort. She raised it high and bent Romo's foot and toes back toward her body. That got it.

Thazela's hands felt really warm on Romo's chilled toes. Romo eyed her soft hands, and especially her natural hue which was so very dark against Romo's pale, almost translucent skin that had spent very little time outdoors for one reason or another.

Romo noticed that Thazela wasn't paying any attention to her skin, but seemed to be amused by Romo's toenail polish. For her own amusement she'd colored each toe differently; each foot was like a matching rainbow. Only the shortest wavelengths: indigo and violet, were missing. Romo might be a genetic freak, but she still only had five toes on each foot, five digits on each hand.

Of course those days of playing with make-up were gone. All of that was still back in the cottage where she'd left it in her flight.

Thinking of her old home, she recalled that time she'd learned from Linnéa, in her genetics unit, about a family in Brazil that routinely grew and extra finger or toe on the end of each limb due to a genetic quirk, which meant they were advantaged when it came to playing piano or serving as a goalkeeper in a soccer game. Romo would rather not have the notoriety though. She was happy having only five digits per limb.

"That better?" Thazela asked, massaging her foot and eying Romo who had clearly been off in la-la land.

"Uh…yeah. I think it’s gone. Thank you!"

The gratitude ewas real, and it showed in Romo's features.

"You’re welcome," Thazela said with a bright smile, and added, "so let’s go get something warm to drink and let’s sit and talk."

"No more training?"

"Always training, but if we’re going to do this Romo, we need to be on the same page. This only works if we’re a team."

She extended a hand to help Romo rise, but the latter didn't take it. Instead, she bent her knees and crossed her legs, and then rose up using her legs like a scissors lift, spinning away from Thazela and heading toward the stairs up to the hallway upstairs.

Thazela eyed her studiously for a minute and then followed.

Chapter 19

When Thazela arrived in the kitchen, Romo was already there boiling water in her uncle's magical kettle, which did seem to heat up fast, she credited.

"You want hot chocolate?" Romo asked as Thazela entered, delivering an engagingly bright smile to her trainer.

"That's fine," was all Thazela offered, seating herself on a stool at the breakfast bar, and watching her charge guardedly.

Romo was soon delivering mugs brimming with the fragrance of hot chocolate. She said, "It’s peppermint. I hope that's okay?"

"It’s fine."

"Romo sat next to Thazela and eyed her. "So what’s your story?" she asked.

"My story?"

"Yeah! What were you doing in your life before my uncle made you drop everything and come to waste your time on me?"

"Is that what you think? I'm here against my will, wasting my time?"

Romo raised her eyebrows. It wasn't what she really thought, but it never hurt to challenge people. Besides, she really wanted to know. This woman presumably had a job somewhere, which was now presumably on hold because of Romo. She didn’t know Thazela, but she couldn't help feeling a little guilty about it, especially coming so soon after Linnéa's precipitous and permanent departure. Was this to be her life? Disrupting the lives of other women because she needed to be babysat? That was not what she wanted at all.

She said, "I assume you were in gainful employment. I assume you were not planning on dropping everything to come and babysit me, now that Linnéa's not around."

Thazela couldn't fail to see the look that soured Romo's face as she said that. Clearly Linnéa's death had cut deep, and left a festering wound that needed healing. She wanted to reach out and hug her, but she knew that Romo, in this mood, would reject that, and perhaps even her, and this wasn't the way to go.

She said, "So you think I'm Linnéa's replacement and that will get me killed?"

Romo stared at Thazela. She had not meant to give so much away, but what bothered her more was how easily this woman, a stranger to her, had somehow caught a glimpse of her private life. Romo was used to her secrets being hers, shared only with Linnéa, everyone else excluded. Now she was in this new environment where her life…or at the very least her freedom and self-determination felt threatened. She had an uncle pulled like a rabbit from a hat, who knew more about her than she did, and suddenly this other woman shows up who gives off a vibe, fake as it may be, that she can read minds. Romo didn’t want this.

"I don't need to be psychoanalyzed," she declared emphatically. "Or to have my life turned over. I don't need to be drawn-and-quartered into convenient segments that can be filed away."

"Yeah, I get that. You’re a mess and you like it that way, but there are people out there who will imprison you and experiment on you, and they’ve already shown that we can’t guarantee your protection, so the bare fact is, Romo that you need to be trained and ready for anything. I'm your best bet for survival. We can work together on this and get you ready, or you can be an angsty teenager and cast your fate to the wind. Your choice: make it."

Romo looked up from her hot chocolate and said, "What experiments? What do I have to offer them?"

"You’re a going concern. When you were born, you were a genetic disaster, and your mother fixed it all, and then some. Now? You work perfectly. These assholes who want to duplicate you for their own purposes clearly haven't got what they'd hoped to get from your mother's work. They're not able to make another you. They’ve tried, but recent events have shown how far short they’ve fallen. That's why they want you specifically, so they can take you apart and find out why you work. You're going to be an animal experiment. Every time you reject the help we offer, you're making it that much easier for them to get what they want. Is that what you want? Because you have better choices and you need to make them, and soon."

Romo was silent, staring into her hot chocolate.

After what seemed several minutes she looked up with moist eyes and said, "I don't want them to get me. What do I have to do?"

"Come back down to the basement. Listen to me. Do what I ask. Work with me, not against me. I'm on your side, and I will do everything in my power to make it as hard as possible for them to get you. But you have to listen and learn...and work hard."

"Show me."