Indefinite Renewal Page 15

  But you might, Nick thought as his father disappeared down the hall. He listened to the footsteps receding, then leaned back in his chair and frowned. He hadn’t meant to agree so quickly but he did want to gain Daniel’s trust, such as it was, and the offer was a good one. He smiled. Seven hundred thousand dollars would certainly be a nice thing to have, and playing along would keep Daniel happy until he was ready to move on his own. In fact, there were ways that he could use this . . . Nick swiveled back toward his desk and picked up a pen, idly twirling it as the thoughts solidified in his head. Yes, this could work nicely.

  “All right, now what?”

  “What do you mean? Everything is going according to plan.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Why not? The boy?”

  “Yes, ‘the boy’! I still don’t trust him. What if he decides to play?”

  “How? He doesn’t have the necessary experience, and he certainly doesn’t have the money. Or are you thinking about an alliance of some sort?”

  “It’s possible. He’s innocuous enough to go unnoticed, and he could certainly be used rather easily.”

  “I don’t think there’s any cause to worry. He won’t make any moves without coming to see me first, if only for advice.”

  “I’m still not convinced. What if he finds out? What then?”

  “He won’t! And if he does . . . well, he is expendable.”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  “Can I help you?”

  “Yes, I’d like to see Dr. Alexander, please.” Nick smiled and fought down the butterflies in his stomach. The psychology office reminded him of their own biology office—a little larger, and the desks seemed newer under the clutter of papers and timetables, but it had the same university feel to it, right down to the copy machine at the far end and the Coffeemaker gurgling happily in the corner.

  “Well, he’s not scheduling appointments at the moment,” the secretary informed him after peeking at a desk calendar, “but he is in his office. You can just drop by and see if he’s free—it’s room 341, right down the hall and to the left.”

  “Thanks.” Nick strode back out into the hall, nodding to passing students and keeping an eye on the numbers above each door as he followed her directions. 337, 339 . . . The hall ended and he turned to follow the new branch on the left side—and found himself looking directly through an open door into a small office crammed with books. The shelves ran from floor to ceiling, obscuring two of the three available walls, and more volumes were stacked on the desk and lying in piles on the floor. The only place not covered in books was the old-fashioned leather desk chair, and that was probably because the occupant had cleaned it off before he sat down.

  The man in question was hunched over a large textbook. His eyes flicked up, perhaps sensing someone’s perusal—behind small gold-framed reading glasses they were deep brown, the color of dark-stained wood, and very wise.

  “Dr. Alexander?” Nick stepped forward and extended his hand without bothering to confirm the room number. This had to be the man.

  “Yes?”

  “Nick Gordon, sir. I was wondering if I might speak with you?”

  “Certainly.” The professor rose from his chair, one hand holding his place in the book while the other met Nick’s in a firm grasp. “Have a seat.” He gestured to another chair, which had only a few books on it—it had been hidden behind the door—and then returned to his own place.

  “Thanks.” Nick picked up the offending works and, after a moment’s hesitation, balanced them precariously on top of a stack on the floor. Then he sat down and studied the man he had come to kill.

  His first thought was that there had to be some mistake. Dr. Alexander was supposed to be well over eighty, and he had pictured a frail old man with wisps of snow-white hair, milky eyes, and spotted skin. Instead the man in front of him was thin, certainly, but fit and alert, with a silvery-white goatee, a blade-like nose, and a bald head that gleamed under the fluorescent lights. His eyes studied Nick with equal interest, and for a moment Nick shivered, sure that this surprisingly vibrant man could somehow read his intentions in his face. Then the professor smiled and leaned back, and Nick forced himself to relax.

  “So, how may I help you?” he asked. His hands sought out a loose piece of paper from his desk and inserted it into the book before setting that aside. He studied Nick.

  “You’re not one of my students, are you?”

  “No sir, I’m not,” Nick admitted, reminding himself what he’d planned to say. He had mapped out all of his responses before coming here, but his words melted before this man’s intent gaze.

  “I’m a student over at Northwestern,” he finally managed, and took a deep breath before continuing. “In biology.” He had decided to stick with the truth as much as possible, since he could back it up better.

  “Ah, biology,” the little man before him commented, nodding as if that explained everything. “Let me guess—genetics?”

  “Yes,” Nick acknowledged, amazed and a bit scared by the man’s intuition. He couldn’t contain his curiosity. “How did you know?”

  “Oh, it stands to reason.” Dr. Alexander replied, thin lips pulled back in a friendly smile. “After all, most of my work is in unlocking human potential, in finding and releasing previously unknown traits and talents. Genetics is the study of the origin and transmission of those same traits. The limits of what our race can do and the science of what our race passes on—the two fit together rather well.” He winked conspiratorially at Nick. “In fact, I’m considering working with a geneticist on my next book, to help me tie what people can do now and what they carry inside them with what they are really capable of.” His smile broadened to a grin. “You wouldn’t know anyone who could help me with that, would you?”

  Nick found himself smiling back, and cursed inside. Dammit, he was starting to like this man, and yet he had come here to kill him! He forced himself to respond calmly. “I’m sure a lot of people would be interested in collaborating on that. I’d love to do it myself, but I’m only a grad student. You’d probably want someone like my mentor, Dr. Carmichael—he’s been in the field for thirty years, so he’d be a lot more useful.”

  But the professor waved his excuses away. “Nonsense, my boy. Your mentor may know more than you do, and have more experience, but he’s probably an old fogy like me. With two of us together on one book, why, it’d be about as exciting as a wet noodle.” Dr. Alexander chuckled at his own expense, and his eyes twinkled merrily. “No, I need someone young and fresh, someone who can breathe new life into this thing and approach it from an unclouded perspective.” He poked a slender finger at Nick. “The fact that you’re here shows you’re interested in the subject, and you’ve got the gumption to get things done. Besides, you look like a bright boy, and I like you. What do you say?”

  For a moment Nick considered agreeing. Why not write a book with the man? It would certainly be a blessing to his career, and would probably secure him a good spot at one of the better universities after he got his degree, not to mention the fact that he really was interested in the subject. Maybe he could just ask the old man for help and get the information that way. But after a minute’s consideration Nick mentally shook his head.

  No, it wouldn’t work.

  Dr. Alexander might be willing to help him, even without knowing what was going on—which was doubtful—and he might be able to keep his mouth shut and not get too curious—which seemed even more doubtful. But even if that were the case, it wouldn’t work. There would be things he needed that the old man couldn’t know about, vital clues and facts that he would forget or gloss over as unimportant. Besides, the man might be spry but he was still eighty-something—his heart might give out tomorrow, and then all of Nick’s plans would be shot to hell. No, it had to be this way.

  “I—I’ll have to give it some thought,” he finally replied, wondering as he said it if the man had just been joking, stringing him along with such a dream offer. But Dr.
Alexander didn’t laugh or even smile—he only nodded politely, as if this were a real offer and he were truly interested in working with Nick.

  “I understand,” he said, taking a pipe from a small rack on his desk and clenching it in his teeth. “This is a bit sudden, and you need some time to think about it, but I assure you I am serious.” His hands were busy as he spoke, tamping tobacco from a small pouch down into the bowl of the pipe and lighting it with the ease of long practice. Then Dr. Alexander leaned back and puffed, filling the air with rich, slightly fruity smoke. The fact that there was no smoking allowed on campus clearly didn’t concern him in the slightest. They sat there like that for a minute, Nick simply watching this unusual man smoking his pipe, before the professor spoke again.

  “So,” he stated between puffs, “if you’re not in any of my classes, and you didn’t come to offer your services as a research partner, what can I do for you?” He chuckled dryly. “You certainly didn’t come out here just for my autograph.”

  Nick laughed agreeably at that. “No sir, I didn’t.” Now the conversation was back in the area he had prepared, and he relaxed again. “The truth is, sir, I’m doing a paper on how unnoticed traits are passed down and how they might be examined if they give no outward signs, and I was wondering how that tied in with your own research. I’ve read your treatise, ‘On the Hidden Depths of Humanity,’ and although you didn’t actually deal with it from a scientific viewpoint, you did suggest that such traits could be inherited, and that they would breed true. Do you really feel that way?” Nick had actually never read any of Dr. Alexander’s work himself, but Murray Williams had read all of them and had asked questions along a similar line, so Nick had considered it a viable excuse for his visit. He could have called, of course, but he needed to touch the man for this to work. Now he sat and listened to the older man’s answer, waiting for the right time to act.

  “Well,” the professor started, gesturing with the pipe in one hand, “yes, I do feel that way, but I couldn’t say why. That is, I’ve noticed that signs of latent ability are passed down from parent to child, but since I believe every person has such potential it’s hard to tell whether that’s specifically from the parents or just drawn from the human gene pool.”

  Nick was interested despite himself. “Then you think such traits might be as essential to the human condition as our physical features? Less like talents one person might have than like properties we all share?”

  Alexander nodded. “Yes, exactly.” Then he frowned. “Although it does seem that different people have different aptitudes, so it may not be as simple as that—it may be closer to the situation of people’s eyes.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well,” he replaced the pipe in his mouth and removed his glasses, polishing them absently on the hem of his shirt, “it’s a given that, unless there is some kind of defect, every person is born with eyes. They may be green, blue, brown, gray, even red, or some combination or shade of the above, but they do have eyes, and there are two of them.” He squinted at his glasses, and then returned them to their perch on his nose. “I feel these traits may be similar to that, in that every one of us has the ability to tap some of them, but which ones in particular will vary from person to person.” He paused and studied Nick, obviously waiting for some sort of response to his theory.

  Nick spared a quick glance at the clock hanging over the desk and frowned inwardly. It was almost five already, and soon people would be packing up and calling it a day—he had to hurry this up, while it was quiet and no one was around.

  “I agree,” he told the waiting professor, “and I wonder what affect that would have on where such traits are located in the genetic code, and how we might find them. Certain characteristics are easier to spot in the DNA spiral than others, and usually those are the ones that are more fundamental to our framework. So if these traits are as basic to our species as you say, they should be present in one of the larger spirals, more toward the inner core of the strands.” He glanced at the clock again, a little more obviously, and stood up.

  “I wish I could stay longer,” he explained lamely, turning so that his back blocked the view from the door. “But I’ve got a night class, and I’ve got to get back. I’d like to come back some other time and continue this, though, if that’s all right with you.”

  “Absolutely,” Alexander replied, rising himself. “I look forward to talking about this some more—what you were saying about finding the traits in the spiral is exactly the sort of thing I need to prove their existence.”

  “Well, I’ll see what I can do,” Nick commented, “but don’t get your hopes up too much.”

  The smaller man smiled, “I think you can do it.” He glanced at Nick more closely, more serious now. “And do think about what I said earlier, about working on a book together—I was completely serious about it, and still am.”

  “All right.” Nick extended his hand. “Anyway, it was a pleasure to finally meet you, and I’ll be in touch soon to see about continuing our conversation.” He smiled then, although it hurt to deceive the man. “And I will definitely consider your offer.”

  “Fair enough,” the doctor nodded, reaching out to take the proffered hand. “But don’t wait too . . .

  and his words faded to a gargle, then to a gasp, as he slumped down and landed back in his chair

  and Nick squeezed reflexively as he felt the energy pulsing up through their clasped hands and into his body, surprised at how much there was

  and Dr. Alexander’s head lolled to the side, his cheeks shrinking in, eyes rolling upward, tongue flickering like that of a lizard in search of moisture as his whole body dried out

  and Nick reeled slightly, the overdose of energy sending his senses lurching about, the sudden transfusion of life-force making him feel slightly giddy with power

  and the old man’s frame crumpled in slightly, clothes draped over the suddenly wizened form

  and Nick felt the hand he was grasping turn skeletal, skin drying and cracking in his grip, bones protruding and joints swelling until he seemed to be holding a bundle of knobby sticks

  and it was over. Nick reached out to the door frame behind him for support as his senses came crashing back in, and he regarded the limp form in front of him with some regret. I’m sorry sir, he whispered silently. I’d rather have said yes to your offer, but I needed what you had, and I needed it now. I will write your book for you, though. I promise.

  He steadied himself, took a deep breath to calm his nerves and focus his thoughts, and brought the energy back to the surface again, directing a fraction back into the old man the same way he had with Williams’ body the day before. He felt the current gather and then pass through him, dancing its way over the professor’s desiccated remains, and . . .

  “Dr. Alexander?”

  Nick turned, barely remembering not to release his grasp on the old man’s lifeless hand, and found himself staring straight into the eyes of a young man in blue jeans and a maroon sweater. The man clutched a manuscript at his side, obviously a student, and his breath hissed out as his green gaze swept from the limp body in the chair to the hand holding onto it, up to Nick’s own blue stare. Then the manuscript hit the floor and he began backing away.

  “What are you . . . what have you . . . the professor . . . hel . . .” the last word, a little louder than the others and higher in pitch, was cut off abruptly as Nick’s other hand shot out and grabbed him in a steel grip, dragging him into the office and dropping him into the vacant chair.

  Nick’s foot lashed out and swung the door shut, even as he considered what to do now.

  The boy had seen him standing over the professor, and he doubted he could talk his way out of it, even with a prognosis of death by natural causes. It would still look suspicious, especially with Amy still missing, and if anyone remembered seeing him at the hospital things would look even worse. He shuddered—as a Renewed, the idea of several consecutive life-sentences held a special horror.

/>   With those thoughts ricocheting through his head, he turned back to the terrified young man in front of him, mind already reaching out to start the process that he had just completed with the doctor. The boy had seen too much—he couldn’t risk letting him go. So he closed his eyes, head leaning against one of the bookshelves, and focused on the feel of the two hands in his grasp. The one, older but almost restored now, needing only another touch of energy to return it to its former vibrant state, and the other, young and healthy, that was about to give up its secrets and its vitality so that Nick might retain his own a little longer. Then his thoughts were torn away by a whirlwind of energy, uncontrollable in its strength, and he felt his body buffeted by the forces

  and the boy gasped and jerked as his strength was sucked from him through the conduit of his own arm

  and for a moment Nick felt himself to be at the center of a whirlpool, energy funneling into him and through him in all directions, as strength passed from the boy into him and then into the professor, and then the professor was out of the loop and it was back to the more familiar surge of oncoming, invigorating energy

  and Dr. Alexander’s hand grew still more solid, fleshed out again, and then dropped from Nick’s own, to fall limply to the arm of the desk chair

  and the boy whimpered, the sound fading to a moan and then a hiss, as he felt the full horror of having his entire life drained before his eyes, feeling it leave his body and take with it his will and his soul, feeling his eyes drooping down without the power to hold themselves up and his lungs empty without the strength to re-inflate, feeling a frightening sense of lethargy drop over him as he realized that he was sinking into the cold numb slumber of death and lacked the will to fight it anymore