Now it was Randy who stared at Jason with wonder. “Did it hurt?”
Jason shrugged with studied indifference, pleased that he’d outdone his friend. “Just for a second.”
“I’m gonna try it,” Randy said, picking up the knife. Without giving himself time to change his mind or even think about it, Randy plunged the knife deep into the palm of his hand. He flinched slightly, then stared at the knife. Blood welled up around it.
“Tuli it out,” Jason whispered.
Jerking hard, Randy wrenched the blade loose, then began mopping at the wound with the already-bloody handkerchief. When the bleeding stopped, the two boys watched.
As with Jason, Randy’s wound disappeared within a few minutes.
“Wow,” Randy breathed. Then he grinned at Jason. “Know what?” he asked.
“What?”
“We can do anything we want to now, Jason. We can do anything we want to, because nothing can hurt us.”
Chapter 26
AS THE FIRST LIGHT OF DAWN glowed dimly through the east windows of his office, Paul Randolph massaged his temples in a vain effort to ease the tensions that had built up through the long night. The two other men in his office were gazing at him, and he had the feeling he was being judged. Overcoming his exhaustion with an effort of sheer will, he attempted to regain control of the meeting.
“Very well, then. The situation as I see it is this: We have the records of the project—the physical records—locked in the vault, ready to go to Washington this afternoon. The computer banks have been emptied of all data pertaining to the project, and the house has been vacated. What about the staff?”
George Hamlin flicked an imaginary speck from his left pantleg. “I can personally guarantee the security of the project as far as my people are concerned. They’ve all been with me for years, and each of them has a compelling interest in seeing it through.”
“And the boy?” the third man in the room asked. He was a middle-aged man whose hard-muscled body denied the appearance of aging that his close-cropped gray hair suggested. When he had first entered the room an hour earlier, Hamlin had known who he was even before Paul Randolph introduced them. The man’s military bearing had given him away.
“Well?” Lieutenant General Scott Carmody prodded.
“Ah. That is the problem, isn’t it?” Hamlin replied. A wintry smile molded his lips into an expression that Randolph had long ago come to associate with Hamlin’s less humane ideas. This morning was no exception. “It seems to me that that is the very area in which we need your help. What I believe some of your people sometimes call Vet activities’?”
“Let’s call a spade a spade,” the general dryly translated. “You mean you want us to kill him.”
Paul Randolph rose from his chair. “Now just wait a minute, George. There are some things that I cannot allow this Institute to be a party to.”
When he replied, Hamlin’s voice clearly conveyed the contempt he felt for Randolph. “Are there? It seems to me that this is rather an inappropriate time for you to begin setting moral standards for yourself. Or for any of the rest of us, for that matter.” Randolph tried to interrupt, but Hamlin pressed on. “Besides, I see no moral dilemma in having some of the general’s personnel pacify Randy Corliss.”
“You mean kill him” Randolph corrected.
“As you will. Kill him. Remove him. Whatever. The point is that as far as we know, he’s alive, and if he’s alive, he’s undoubtedly talking. That makes him, and anyone he’s talked to, a threat to all of us.”
“But to kill him?”
“In all likelihood he’s going to die anyway, Paul. All the others have.”
The general frowned. “All of them? I thought you were on the verge of success.”
“I am,” Hamlin told him. “Indeed, at the point that one of the subjects survives to maturity, I will have succeeded, and we’re not that far away. In fact, I think Randy Corliss just might be our first success, but unfortunately, circumstances don’t allow us to continue working with him. He’s become a threat.”
“George, he’s only a little boy—” Randolph broke in.
“God makes little boys, Paul. I made Randy Corliss.” He leaned forward, gazing intently at Randolph. “You’ve never really grasped the nature of the project, have you, Paul?”
“You know that isn’t true, George.”
“Isn’t it? You keep referring to my subjects as little boys. But Randy Corliss and the others are not boys at all. They are a new species, which I created through genetic engineering. Someday they will