Adopted Son (11 page)

“But that corn ain’t some alien freak.”

“Where that boy comes from don’t mean nothing. What if your real mommy came from Israel? That don’t make you Jewish. My kin came here from Ireland. That’s don’t make me Irish. We’re Texans boy. We’re Texans from birth and by God’s will. That’s the important part. Who the hell cares what some scientist says about the boys ‘genes.’ That boy is yours and by God he’s a Texan too. You got a responsibility to raise him.”

“Even if he’s a freak?”

“Especially cause he’s a freak. Who the hell do you think is going to do that job if you don’t? The government?” He said the word ‘government’ with the same dismissive sneer as he said the word ‘genes.’ He moved in close once again. “Look here. I ain’t gonna be around forever you know. Somebody is going to have to take over this here field. Somebody with the Miller name. I am not about to let this place go to the corporations. Sure, it ain’t ideal and all, but that boy is gonna have to learn to farm, and you’re the guy who’s gonna have to teach him. A year from now and those liberals will all be saying that kid ain’t no alien, he’s an ‘Alien-American.’” He chuckled. “You raise him right and he ain’t gonna be no alien no more than I go around collecting shamrocks. He’s gonna grow up to be a Texan, just like his old man. Hell boy, you can’t skip out on your responsibilities just cause you don’t like the way things turned out. I raised you better than that.” The old man leaned back in his chair and took another sip of coffee. The chair creaked.

Tom sighed. He ran his hand over the plastic sheeting that held his adoption certificate. He felt better. The old man was right. It didn’t matter where that kid came from. He was still sort of Tom’s kid. Tom did teach him how to catch and all. And, Tom supposed, Lorraine had gotten attached to the little thing. It wouldn’t be right to just walk out. That kid needed raising. He had already dealt with the whole HS thing. He already knew that he could grow attached to someone who wasn’t perfect, someone who didn’t look like him. This was just one more step down that road. If he kept thinking that Jim was adopted, he knew that he could make a good father. He wanted to do right by Lorraine. He wanted to make his father proud. He didn’t want to let down the people that were counting on him the most.

Tom didn’t even wait to finish his coffee. He had to get back to his farm. Lorraine and Jim would be worried about him.

Article in the Journal of Biochemical Virology, published three months after the President’s announcement

Morphology of Handel’s Syndrome Virus Methyl-Transferase 1 (HSLVM1), and HSLV Promoter Sequences

Dr. Heinrich Mensen
^*
, Dr. Nancy Collins
^*
, Dr. James Bluefeld
^*
, Dr. Hong Lee
^†
, Dr. Wilma Sommers
^†

^*
Handel’s Syndrome Research Laboratory, National Institutes of Health, Bethesda MD.

^†
Department of Virology, the Johns-Hopkins University, Baltimore MD

ABSTRACT: Based on its large genome, Handels’ Syndrome Virus (HLSV) may represent a new class of DNA viruses. While most known viruses encode between 5 and 250 genes in their genome, HSLV contains significantly more open reading frames (ORFs). Based on the amount of genetic material present, it is estimated that there are up to 500 unique ORFs in the HSLV genome. It is possible however, that much of this material may turn out to be so-called ‘junk’ DNA that is not expressed. The first gene to be isolated from HSLV is Handel’s Syndrome methyl-transferase 1 (HSLVM1). This DNAse seems to have similar morphology to other known methyl transferases in the human genome. HSLVM1 functions on a specific, highly-conserved DNA sequence in the human genome known to be associated with gene promoter binding sites. It is thought that HSLVM1 functions by irreversibly methylating promoters thereby stopping the human gene from being expressed. DNA probes have shown that the HSLV genome contains sequences almost identical to the human promoter sequences bound by HSLVM1. However, the HSLVLM1 does not attack promoter sequences in HSLV due to the presence of a highly conserved sequence that appears directly before the HSLV promoter sequences. This sequence seems to inhibit HSLVLM1 activity against promoter sequences in the viral genome.

“Live Talk! with Bill Garcia,” broadcast nine days after Ray Johnston’s testimony before Congress.

“...Available wherever quality products are sold.”

Three seconds of black screen.

Bill: And we’re back with ‘Live Talk!’ I’m Bill Garcia. We’re sitting here today with whistleblower and alien investigator Ray Johnston. Now Ray, you’ve been telling us all about this so-called ‘alien plague but what everyone wants to know is what made you come forward. Isn’t keeping secrets number one priority with your people?

Ray: Well, Bill. Something needs to happen and something needs to happen soon. I had tried all of the usual channels and I was getting nowhere. What else could I do?

Bill: That must have been hard for you. You spent your entire life
not
talking to people.

Ray: That’s true Bill, but let me tell you, the people working in the intelligence community today aren’t the same ones that I knew when I started 30 years ago. Back then, during the Cold War, we had a purpose, a raison d’être. The men were motivated by a vital mission. Today’s agents are just bureaucrats. They can’t do anything right. The same goes for the military.

Bill: So it was incompetence that motivated you?

Ray: I came forward because I knew the bean counters who run the procedure for distributing declassified materials, and because I knew that beating your way through bureaucracy is like sucking molasses through a straw. I felt that the only way to get the information to the people in time was to take drastic action. I’d already wasted a whole year trying to go through the system legally.

Bill: That was quite a risk, do you think it was worth it?

Ray: Of course it was worth it. Now the scientists can get a handle on this problem. I’ve talked to some of the leaders in this field. They think that the disease can be stopped. But, it’s going to take time. Time we may not have. Time we certainly wouldn’t have had if I kept quiet on information of this importance. We had already isolated the virus for God’s sake! A virus that is turning our kids into monsters, and the government wanted to keep it quiet until some pen pusher in Washington who doesn’t know a virus from a jellybean could ‘review the data’ and put the proper spin on it. Hell yeah it was worth throwing away my career. This thing is bigger than me.

Bill: The Administration has come out strongly against you, but there has been a lot of public support for your decision. The military has withdrawn their attempt to prosecute you. You’ve been honorably discharged from your duties. The press is calling you quote, “The only ‘Real American’ in the federal government.”

Ray: hmm.

Bill: So what are your thoughts on what to do with these HS kids? Should we round them up and shoot them?

Ray: I’m not a sociologist. I don’t know how those kids are going to react when they grow older or how society should treat them. I don’t know what the solution is. But I’ll tell you this; the longer we wait, the more drastic our solution is going to have to be. We can’t sit around hoping things turn out ok. The answers must come and they must come quickly, or society as we know it is going to be in serious trouble.

Bill: You know the President is still denying that the virus is extraterrestrial.

Ray: I can’t control what the President says. The evidence is out there for people to judge themselves. I leave it to the scientists.

Bill: Any thoughts on the future? You can’t go back to spying.

Ray: You know, I haven’t really thought about it. My entire life I assumed that I’d be retiring on a government pension. I don’t know what I’m going to do. I have some speaking arrangements scheduled for the next few weeks, but beyond that, who knows?

Bill: Rumor has it that there’s grassroots campaign gearing up to have you run for Senator Blaine’s seat in Congress. Any truth to those rumors?

Ray: I’ve got no desire to run for office. I see myself as more of a motivator, someone who works behind the scenes. Congress has gotten fat and weak over the years. They need some new blood. People who are willing to go out on a limb and actually do something. What we don’t need are bureaucrats who sit around all day extorting money from lobbyists and filibustering each other. Government needs to work, not discuss. We need people of action to lead this nation.

Bill: Some ‘Real Americans’ huh?

Ray: hmm.

Bill: We’ve got to go to a commercial break now, we’ll be back with your calls for government whistleblower Ray Johnston on ‘Live Talk!

Fade to black.

Six months after the President’s announcement. Holy Trinity Orphanage, Bronx, NY

The living room is dark at this time of night. Everyone is asleep. Well, almost everyone. It is still possible to maneuver your way through the maze of threadbare furniture and soiled toys by the light coming in the window from the street lamps outside. This is exactly what Sister Mary Helen is doing. Rain is falling against the windowpanes this evening. The sound is enough to blot out the noise of distance sirens and car horns that can keep the children awake at night. However, it is not loud enough to keep out the sound of a knock against the front door. The dreaded knock. It was later in the evening than most, the knocker was lucky that Sister Mary Helen was up. She usually was fast asleep at this hour. Something had kept her awake, something had made her decide to boil some warm milk before bedtime. The knocker was lucky that she was awake, or, more to the point, the child was lucky that Sister Mary Helen was awake. That was what the knock was all about wasn’t it? It was safe to assume that it wasn’t someone coming round to sell encyclopedias. This was another case of an unwanted baby being abandoned on the steps of the orphanage. These cases had been growing in regularity of late. “Perhaps...,” thought Sister Mary Helen as she walked to the door, “...we should consider hiring a night watchman. For practicality.” Mary Helen began twisting open the bolts on the outer door. She dismissed her previous thoughts about the night watchman. She knew that everything happened for a reason, and that God wouldn’t let these children down. She trusted her instincts. She knew that when the next instance occurred, God would once again revive her insomnia so that she could be there for the child.

As she feared and expected, the top step contained a large pile of blankets, gently wriggling. She knelt down to pick up the bundle. She was getting older, and her back wasn’t what it used to be, so she had a bit of trouble getting back up with the babe in her arms, but she managed, she always managed. She took the child off the damp, tile floor of the entryway and brought it through the darkened living room to the bright warmth of the kitchen. She lay the child on the table and turned off the stove. Her milk had almost boiled over. Once that was accomplished she returned to the pile of blankets. She knew what she would find inside. She undid the top few fold and revealed the baby’s head. Its huge, bug-like eyes were closed, but it twisted fitfully in its sleep. She looked around for the obligatory note from the mother, but there was none in this case. “Well, at least they bothered to give the child a blanket,” she thought.

At that moment a creaking could be heard coming down the stairs. It quickened its pace when it reached the point where one could see that the lights were on in the kitchen. A few seconds after that, the form of Father Blythe could be seen entering the room.

“Sister, I thought I heard a knocking. It’s another child isn’t it?” the father said dejectedly. While he was happy to care for any child in this world, he pitied the mother, pitied the fact that anyone would willingly give up such a gift from God. He would pray that the woman would have the strength to live with her decision. The fact that the orphanage’s resources would have to be stretched further to accommodate this new resident didn’t cross his mind. They always managed.

“Yes Father,” responded the Sister. He moved towards the child.

“HS?”

“Well, duh,” she responded. He looked down upon the child, putting his hand upon the girl’s oversized, bald head. The child responded by fidgeting around and freeing one arm from the swaddling. Father Blythe put his finger out, which the baby grabbed tightly before returning to sleep. Sister Mary Helen returned to the stove to finish her cooking. “I have some warm milk Father, if you’d like some.”

“No thank you sister, that’ll put me right to sleep. I’ve got to find a place for this little one before I go to bed.”

“This is the seventh HS child we’ve gotten in the last two months. It seems to be a trend doesn’t it Father?”

“People are scared of the unknown Sister. They don’t understand what is happening to them. They look at these kids and they just see ‘monster.’ There has been so much on the news about it. It is no wonder that they choose not to deal with it.”

A tiny voice came from the foot of the stairs. “Am I a monster Father Blythe?” said the voice. A face came into view. A little boy. He was wearing yellow pajamas and dragging a stuffed rabbit by one ear. His oversized, bald head was covered by a rather ridiculous-looking purple nightcap. As silly as it was, he never took it off. The Sister had made it for him.

“No, you’re not a monster Franklin. But you should be asleep.”

“I’m sorry Father. I heard the noise down here. I came to see.” He waddled across the kitchen, the plastic feet of his pajamas scuffling across the linoleum floor. He climbed up on one of the chairs as one would mount a horse. He stood on the seat and peered into the blankets. “Another one like me,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Yes Franklin, it seems as if you have a new baby sister.” Franklin poked at the child with his long, bony finger, perhaps to assure himself that the little thing on the table was actually alive.