The Neo-Spartans: Altered World (3 page)

                            CHAPTER THREE

              A thatched roof structure huddled in the middle of a run-down neighborhood. It tried hard to fit into the urban decay landscape of abandoned warehouses, shabby dwellings and jammed-to-the-gills junkyards. The walls, made of woven reed and mesh netting, gave it an open air feel but utterly failed at camouflaging the place. Ironically, it looked more like a surfer’s shack, a desperate attempt to escape the ugly urbanization. But this was no escape; this was the Neo-Spartans’ Seed School, their sancta sanctorum of knowledge. This was the place where young generations of Neo-Spartans learned how to grow food, how to become natural healers, how to be strong, and invincible fighters. The spirit and the muscle behind the school was Morgan Kilbert, an aging legend, indefatigable despite his seventy years. Decades before he’d been arrested for illegal organic seed exchange and thrown into jail. This was Eugenics, Inc.’s most popular method of weeding out the Neo-Spartans. Since their way of life was declared a threat to the mass population of Eugenics, organic food and seeds were labeled toxic and illegal, and whoever dealt them was prosecuted. But Morgan Kilbert didn’t take his incarceration as a defeat. He looked at it as a tremendous opportunity. He had plenty of time in jail and he made good use of it.

              He had great curiosity and passion for plants. Every single sprig was a little universe to him with secrets and powers that could feed you, heal you, bring joy to your eyes or poison you if you were not careful. Throughout the years he had gathered so much knowledge about the plant world that he felt the need to spread it around. There was astonishing power at his fingertips and it would go to waste if he didn’t share it with others. So he sat down and committed to paper everything he knew about natural plants, seeds, and medicinal herbs. He catalogued and classified thousands of species and this massive piece of work became the encyclopedia of survival for the Neo-Spartans. It was a valuable weapon in their hands, but it wasn’t enough. The community was defenseless. It was a constant target of random police raids and misguided civilian violence. Kilbert wanted to send a message loud and clear. He designed his own self-defense system that became mandatory for all members of the community. It was a concoction of the most lethal martial arts techniques aimed at quick disabling and evasion of enemy forces. Training was brutal but it was worth it. The message travelled fast: mess with a Neo-Spartan, expect to suffer the consequences.

              So there he was, this legend, this colossal man, a leader of the community, getting ready to teach, laying out boxes of seeds and lab equipment, when Quinn and Gabriel rushed in and plunked themselves in the available chairs. Kilbert noted their arrival with a nod of approval in Quinn’s direction. As soon as all the chairs were occupied, his calm but commanding voice rose over the improvised classroom.

              “Now, where did we leave off?” It was rhetorical; he knew perfectly well. “Natural versus gene-altered seeds. Now first, let’s practice telling the difference between pathological food mutation and strange-looking edible species.” Kilbert held two containers in his hands as he walked among the students. One of them housed a reddish purple potato that resembled a pine cone and the other, a large golden potato with an appetizing sheen over it. “Who’s going to tell me which one is grown the natural way and which one is the lab baby?” The students peered at the exhibits, looking for clues, their minds whirring as they tried to form an educated guess. An eager Neo-Spartan about Gabriel’s age shot his arm up. Kilbert nodded in his direction. “Yes Marty, tell us.”

              “The purple one is altered. It has the telling tumor formation that results from DNA sequencing gone bad.” Marty sat down, gloating that he had nailed the answer first. Kilbert patted him on the shoulder.

              “That way of thinking is not bad, but the answer is wrong. What looks like a tumorous formation is the natural shape of this Peruvian potato. It’s practically extinct, which is why you’re not familiar with it. But if you flip to page ninety-six of your catalogues you’ll find a picture with the stats of this vegetable. Developing a keener knowledge of what you can plant and eat is your duty.” The class became a field of wilted sunflowers as students’ heads dropped in embarrassment. Kilbert lifted the jar with the golden potato and his voice boomed across the classroom. “Why should you avoid at any cost this seemingly appetizing specimen?” Seconds of suspenseful silence ticked away, followed by an audible sigh of relief when Quinn pitched in.

              “Because of the glossy sheen covering its skin.” Quinn searched Kilbert’s face for signs of approval. It was as placid as a lake on a breezeless day. He expected more. She took a deep breath and continued: “The sheen is a sign of high toxicity. During the alteration process the natural DNA of the plant didn’t fully accept the genes of the pesticide and as a result they formed a tumorous layer. The poison of the pesticide is concentrated in the skin sheen.”

Kilbert nodded vigorously. He couldn’t hide the pride he felt for his exemplary student. The rest of the class looked at Quinn in awe, except for Gabriel who rolled his eyes and slouched in his chair.

              Kilbert moved to a table where he had arranged kits with test strips, tubing, bottles of enzymes and solutions. He motioned the class to join him.

              “Pull out your seed kits, and in groups of five start working on the protein antibody test to determine whether a seed is pure or altered. You have to isolate at least ten and list the novel traits.”

              The lab table hummed with activity. Kilbert walked among the different groups and was pleased to notice the fervent eagerness of his class to determine which was natural and which was the monstrous creation of Eugenics, Inc. He could feel it—this wasn’t just a lab test for them, it was a crime scene. He let a smile disrupt his serious façade; there was hope for the Neo-Spartans.

              The clinking of glass tubes being put away signaled the completion of the task. Kilbert walked by each group and looked at the results. He nodded in approval, but when he got to Gabriel’s group his facial muscles tensed.

              “I said isolate at least ten traits. How many do you have?” He aimed his hawk-like stare at Gabriel but received nothing more than the boy’s casual shrug. It had the effect of gasoline on fire.

              “Apparently, we are wasting Mr. McKenna’s precious time with useless exercises. For the rest of us this might be a matter of life and death but for him it is a nuisance.” Gabriel was not a stranger to what was about to follow. He knew every button Kilbert was going to push, he knew the role he was going to play and he hated it. But he had started the ball rolling so he had no other choice but to take this to the end.

              “It is not a nuisance. The test seed I have is genetically altered. Okay, I admit, I don’t know the ten unbelievably long and unpronounceable names of its modified traits, but I do know it is lethal.”

              “And how exactly did you glean the dangerous properties of this seed? Please share your insights.” Kilbert wasn’t a fan of public humiliation, but he was worried about Gabriel. He needed to push the limits with the boy and hope that he’d snap out of this destructive indifference. The kid possessed a precious gift, but it wasn’t propelling him toward the promising future Kilbert and the rest of the community hoped for. It was dragging him toward a pitiful predicament. It was too much for Gabriel. But blessing or a burden, he needed to learn how to carry it. Kilbert tried to still his emotions as Gabriel accepted his taunt. The boy looked at the rest of the class, and armor-plated himself with indifference. He opened his mouth, stuck his tongue out and placed the seed on it. Within seconds his face started changing. First the eyes watered, and what seemed like a blush started spreading from the bottom of his neck, up to his cheeks, and finally, it reached his forehead and turned his face dark red. The students watched mesmerized, hungry for more of this freak show. And Gabriel gave it to them; he kept the seed on his tongue and the dark red rash bubbled up on the surface, creating pustules that threatened to burst and ooze something disgusting.

              “Enough, Gabriel! Take the seed out.” Kilbert’s command came out rapid fire, but Gabriel ignored him. Soon, he started hyperventilating then suffocating. He was about to pass out when Kilbert grabbed him and brushed the seed off his tongue. He tried to force Gabriel to drink water, but he couldn’t—he was convulsing. The kid was going into an anaphylactic shock. Kilbert put him on the floor and rummaged through a drawer for a syringe. He jammed it into Gabriel’s arm. As the anti-allergy compound worked its way into Gabriel’s blood, his convulsions stopped, air made it to his lungs and he gradually returned to his normal self. Kilbert helped him get back on his feet. Gabriel brushed off his clothes and looked calmly into Kilbert’s eyes.

              “Was this a deep enough analysis or do I need to go further?”

              “Yes, Gabriel, we all know you have this stupendous gift. You were born allergic to every possible genetic modification. You are an example of the beauty and mystery of nature, of how it gives us a way to survive the myriad of horrid diseases we get from consuming altered food. It is a natural protection for you and for us. This is a powerful gift for survival, but not for impressing girls or screwing around with your pals.”

              “I am not screwing around, I am using it for what I am supposed to. I’m the seed detector. I show up, I lick a seed, I turn purple, people are saved. Give me a break if I slack off learning the phone book of altered protein traits and what ‘wonderful’ things they can do to you.”

              “It’s an allergy, Gabriel, and you’re still a kid. You might outgrow it. What happens when one day you wake up and it’s gone?”

              “I wish.” Gabriel caught Quinn’s blazing eyes. He knew she was a hundred percent behind Kilbert. But he wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of shutting up and bowing down to the old man.

              “What are you going to do, Gabriel McKenna?”

              This time Gabriel spared him the shrug and gave Kilbert his full-blown defiance. “I don’t know. I’ll deal with it when it happens.”

              “This is a sure way to guarantee yourself an early exit from the world, kid.”

              “Fine by me.” Gabriel hadn’t realized he’d been dying to say this for a long time.

Kilbert chose to ignore the retort but stored the alarming information to deal with later. “We don’t wait for things to happen. We anticipate, we plan, we are one step ahead.”

              “Well, maybe I don’t want to anticipate, maybe I want to be a few steps behind, all right?”

CHAPTER FOUR

              Nico rode his bike into a part of the Sanctuary he didn’t visit frequently. The Sanctuary was the most dangerous section of the city, its name an ironic inversion of its “Anything goes” motto. “Let’s go out with a bang” was the essence. Bangers could do anything short of murder down here without fear of prosecution. Rome had had the Aventine. The town Nico inhabited gave sanctuary to those unable to contain their feelings. As the city had decayed and people’s lifespans decreased, more and more of them were compelled to show how they felt about their fast-burning candles of existence. The politicos built a wall around it, monitored who came and went, and looked the other way.

So it wasn’t that Nico didn’t fit in here; this was his universe, but it was somebody else’s territory. That somebody was Julius. Julius had the size and temperament of a bear, so when he had called and suggested – okay,
demanded
– that Nico meet him and someone important, Nico had pulled on his thickest skin and set off to meet Julius and the mystery man. Nico tried to remain hopeful. He’d been light on his feet lately; he’d done a good job and there was an outside chance that Julius intended to reward him with a bonus of some kind. And then he saw him.

For a big man Grisner moved with surprising grace. Head the size of a basketball, a shock of blazing red hair, and the stone-cold eyes of a man who’d seen it all, it was clear that hurrying was not in John Grisner’s disposition. Nico observed him from the safety of an alcove across the road. It was remarkable. Whatever life had been on the street retreated as Grisner made his way along. The vermin hustled back into the safety of their lairs. The very shadows seemed to melt into the cracks in the pavement. Nico knew who he was, of course. As sly as he was cruel and cold-blooded, the reputation of the head of Grant Hughes’s security force preceded him. Nico did not rush across to meet him.

He watched as Grisner’s assured gait carried him to a brownstone swarming with people: mothers with their children, tough teenagers, the flotsam and jetsam of a lost society. Grisner paused at the foot of the stoop. Within seconds, the people had scattered and in the pause that followed, Julius emerged. Julius was even taller and thicker than the armoire associate he’d sent to take care of the Neo-Spartan Nico had supplied a few days before. He also provided an answer to the long-asked question of just how many rings could be fastened to a human being’s skin. There were hundreds of them, all shapes, sizes, and colors, festooning every inch that it was possible to pierce. Grisner and Julius sized each other up. Julius opened his arms for a bro-embrace and as he grinned, the light glinting off gold-capped teeth, his laugh echoed in tones as deep and dulcet as an opera singer’s.