Blood Crimes Book One

Chapter 2

When Metcalf left the modest three-bedroom ranch-style house he was decked out in a lightweight trench coat, Indiana Jones-style felt hat complete with rattlesnake-skin band, dark shades, chinos and racing gloves-all of which he needed to protect himself against the oppressive Southern California sun. Like every other infected vampire, his body had gone through radical changes since his infection-losing all body fat and becoming leaner, narrower, his face more angular, but even with these changes he was still massive. Six and a half feet tall and two hundred and twenty pounds of muscle and tendon. A thick scar ran from his right eye to his chin, and stood out against the paleness of his skin. His shades hid the same dead pale blue eyes that he had since birth.

He moved quickly across the field that separated the house from an equally modest looking barn, his head turned down as if he were racing against hurricane gales even through the air was dead still. Although he was covered head to toe, the damn sunlight still made him nauseous.

The inside of the barn held a tractor, some standard farming tools and bales of hay. On the other side of the barn were the stables holding four beautiful golden Palominos. While the altered blood chemistry of a vampire secreted an odor that was noxious to most animals, especially dogs, horses didn’t seem to have a problem with it. Metcalf loved grooming and riding his horses. It probably seemed crazy for an infected vampire to move to Southern California and the intense sun, but for Metcalf, once he decided to split from Serena and open up operations on the West Coast, the spot proved ideal. He had access to all the transients and other such disposable people that he needed and the farm was situated in an isolated rural area seventy miles outside of Los Angeles giving him total privacy. He could still get into the city at night for the music scene or to the beach for surfing. And he had all the space he needed for riding his horses.

Metcalf took off his shades. Once his eyes adjusted to the darkness he walked to the back of the barn where he crouched so he could fit his fingers between the wall and concrete flooring. Straining, he lifted up a twelve-hundred pound slab of concrete flooring that exposed a well-lit staircase. The concrete slab had been reinforced throughout with steel to keep it from breaking apart. None of the other infected vampires at the compound had the strength to lift the slab which was the way Metcalf wanted it. He held up the flooring until he could get onto the staircase, then he lowered the concrete behind him with one hand.

The staircase led thirty feet below ground level to an eighteen thousand square foot compound that had been separated into four areas: the “cattle” pens, a research lab, Metcalf’s own private lab and living quarters for the fifteen vampires who were housed there. The cost to build the compound came to over six million dollars, but money was not an issue, not with the amounts that Serena was able to get her hands on. The owner of the construction company Metcalf had hired to do the job was later found brutally murdered, as well as his family, several months after completion of the compound, all of the bodies drained of their blood. The construction crew had been made up of illegal immigrants and all of them disappeared at the same time also, at least as far as the authorities were concerned. Of course, the police were still looking for them thinking that one or more of them might’ve had something to do with the massacre of their boss and his family, but the authorities weren’t going to find any of them. The ones that were still living were “guests” within Metcalf’s private lab, the others were long since dead and disposed of. As far as Metcalf knew, aside from Serena and her people, no one outside of the compound had any idea about its existence, and he was going to keep it that way.

The walls leading down the staircase were covered with two-inch thick sheets of titanium. It would take two of the other vampires to lift the cement slab that he had just lifted, and that would only be if they could get the proper footing to support themselves which they wouldn’t be able to do on that narrow staircase. Any of the other vampires that found themselves in this area would be stuck. They wouldn’t be able to lift the slab, nor would they be able to tunnel through the titanium walls. He had made it impossible for any of his staff to leave the compound unless he let them out.

Metcalf reached the bottom of the staircase and unlocked a four-inch thick titanium-reinforced security door that led into the compound, then entered the “cattle” pen area. This was where they housed their collection of transients, hookers, runaways, street people and illegals for daily milking; a total group of ninety such disposable people-or livestock as he thought of them. They were kept nine to a pen, with each pen being fifteen by fifteen feet and containing three army cots, along with a toilet and water faucet. The “livestock” were milked twice a day, taking a pint of blood during each milking. The average stay in a pen was six months-once they got ill or became too anemic to milk they would be drained of whatever blood they had left and disposed of; the same if they showed a hint of belligerence or disobedience. After each restocking there’d always be a few demonstrations needed before the rest would fall in line. Over time, though, they’d give up whatever faint hope they held and become merely ghosts-nothing more than shadows of their former selves. They’d never utter a word or dare to meet Metcalf’s eyes or show any resistance. Like cattle they would leave their cells when commanded and lie quietly during their milking.

Vanessa was taking a pint from one of the livestock. She nodded at Metcalf as he approached, he nodded back. She had been a prostitute before he infected her. Originally he had picked her up to be a replacement for one of the dead livestock, but he liked the way she looked-long red hair that fell halfway down her back, sultry lips, almond-shaped green eyes and a thin waist with near perfect legs. Her breasts were smaller than what he typically liked-no bigger than what would fit in a champagne glass, but they had a perky quality to them so he decided to overlook that flaw, and besides, the infection would shrink them anyway. The infection had since bleached out her hair and had shrunk her tits to the size of small apples, but she dyed her hair the same reddish color as before and even with the changes to her body that the infection caused, he still liked the way she looked. There was something else about her that he found himself instantly attracted to. It took him a while to figure out what it was, but he eventually understood it. In her own way she was as ruthless as he was, even reminding him a bit of Serena, although she wasn’t nearly as cunning or as crazy. Since the other vampires were complaining about how overworked they were-and because of his immediate attraction to her-he infected her and added her to the staff. He was glad he did. Unlike the others, she accepted her situation and never showed any self-pity. As far as her competency, well, she never really developed a touch for drawing blood and was rough with the livestock, but it didn’t much matter. She’d get a pint out of them regardless of how many times she had to poke them searching for a vein. And it was not as if any of them were going to complain. All in all, Metcalf was glad he chose to infect her instead of making her one of the livestock.

“I thought you were going to take me riding last night,” she said, not bothering to hide the hurt in her voice.

“Later this week maybe.”

Every Tuesday night he made it a habit to take her to the main house for sex, and he’d been hinting for a few months now that he’d take her riding soon. He had given her a tour weeks ago of his private lab so he knew she wouldn’t try escaping-she understood full well what the cost would be if she tried and was unsuccessful. Still, though, it was always a balance. He needed to give the staff occasional respites from the compound to keep them from going stir-crazy, or worse, to keep them from getting desperate enough to try breaking out, but on the other hand he couldn’t afford even a single rogue vampire on the outside. The mathematics of it were staggering. One vampire infecting the population would lead to a disaster of momentous proportions. If not carefully controlled by someone like Metcalf, the disease would spread exponentially and would eventually leave the ever-growing population of vampires with no livestock to feed from. His methods might be cruel but they were necessary.

“I really want to go riding with you,” she said with a half-pout. She looked up to meet his dead pale eyes and smiled in the well-practiced way she would with any other john. “I’ll make it worth your while tomorrow night if you take me.”

“What? You’ve been holding out on me?”

“No, I wouldn’t say that, but I’m sure I could come up with something creative if you gave me the proper incentive.”

“We’ll see,” he said, his voice turning gruff. “How’s the milking? Any of them dried up?”

“I’m still getting pints out of all them. This one’s been a stubborn fucker, though. It took me five minutes to find a vein.”

Metcalf looked down at the livestock. The near-ghost must’ve been a vagrant before he’d been picked up. His face was now as thin as a railroad spike, his beard sparse, his cheeks hollowed out and his eyes small as they remained buried within dark circles of ruined, grayish flesh. There wasn’t much left of him, another week or two of milking at the most. Metcalf scanned the glass walls separating the cattle pens from the milking area and spotted several other livestock who looked like they were going to need replacing soon. He felt no emotion about it-to him they really were never anything more than livestock to feed off of and dispose. Whatever empathy a normal human being was born with had always been missing from his makeup. That part of him hadn’t changed because of the infection. He knew Vanessa was the same-that was really the thing about her that he had felt instantly attracted to even if he didn’t understand it at the time, and it was why he’d been feeling more of a bond with her. It was also why she was the only member of the staff that he still had assigned to milking. The compassion that the other vampires showed the livestock made him sick. Because of this growing bond he’d been considering moving her to the main house permanently. It seemed to make sense, and besides, she was far better at sex than the other female vampires. Even before he brought her back to the compound, he’d been gradually losing interest in the others. Their constant sadness was becoming a real turn-off.

“We’re going to need to restock some of them soon,” Vanessa said. She hesitated for a moment, then somewhat boldly asked, “Maybe I can go with you?”

He nodded. These disposables were so damn plentiful in LA-picking them up was like shopping for a carton of eggs at the supermarket. So, why not.

“It’s an idea,” he agreed.

That brightened her up. The pint bag had filled. She pulled the needle from the livestock’s arm. His face screwed up for a moment as if he were going to start bawling, but he controlled himself and instead rubbed his arm as he walked lifelessly back to his pen. Vanessa handed the pint bag to Metcalf. He made it a habit of having a freshly drawn pint when he entered the compound each morning. The sweetness of the blood-at least to his taste-seemed to degrade quickly, usually within minutes of being taken. He squeezed the blood into his mouth as if it were a pouch of wine. During the course of the day he would consume another six pints, and while it would leave him craving more, it would provide him the energy he needed. What he wouldn’t give to be able to eat a steak instead. Or a rack of ribs. Or a pint of ale. Jesus, just the thought of a warm pint of Guiness made his mouth water. But for the time being this was what he was stuck with.

“Do you want another pint?” Vanessa asked eagerly. “I still have a dozen more to milk. If you’d like to wait…”

He shook his head. “Not right now.”

“But you will take me riding later?”

“Yeah, I will.”

“And when you pick out more livestock?”

“You’ll come along.” He looked away from her. “I’m thinking of other changes. Maybe moving you into the main house permanently.”

Her face flushed a light pink with the news. Without a word she crouched so that she was nearly sitting on her heels, then undid the zipper of his chinos and pleasured him with her lips and tongue. The fact that the livestock might’ve been watching was of no consequence to her, nor for him. The fact that she looked at them the same as he did excited him. When she was done she wiped her mouth and asked him whether she could move to the house that night.

“Let me think about it.” He fingered his scar as he considered her. “You’re still going to be assigned to the milking.”

“That’s okay. I kind of like it.”

“And you know what will happen if you cause any problems?”

“I won’t cause any problems.”

His eyes held steady on hers.

“I have a spot in my lab reserved for you if needed,” he said.

“I know that.”

He zipped up and told her to finish her milking, that they’d talk more later. He watched as Vanessa took another of the livestock-a teenage girl whom Metcalf vaguely remembered picking up months earlier while she was hitchhiking. The girl now looked haggard and had aged well beyond her years. She would need replacing soon also. Metcalf watched for a minute as Vanessa probed several times for a vein within the teenage girl’s withered arm before hitting pay dirt. Once the blood was draining into the plastic bag, he left to check on more of the staff.

Juliet and Maritza were working in the kitchen preparing oatmeal for the livestock. Juliet had been a pert blonde with a slender athletic body before her infection, Maritza a dark-haired illegal whom Metcalf had found living out of a back seat of a rusted-out Dodge Polaris. Both of them had since let their hair go white with seemingly no interest in dyeing it. In both cases their tits had shrunk up even smaller than Vanessa’s. With Juliet, the infection had narrowed her body to the point where she looked more like a teenage boy than a woman, and her arms had become almost like gristle. Before her infection, Maritza could’ve passed for Eva Longoria’s younger sister. Now she looked like an old woman. Metcalf didn’t like the fact that neither of them were even making a pretense of keeping up their appearance, and was thinking that if this continued their roles within the compound were going to be changing quickly. If they were complaining now with their saunas and swimming pools and large-screen home theatres, just wait. They didn’t have an inkling what hell really was.

Juliet heard him approaching and gave him a slow disapproving look. Maritza didn’t bother acknowledging his presence. Making a face, Juliet said, “If we gave them some meat occasionally, maybe they wouldn’t get so anemic so fast. Maybe they’d be able to last longer.”

Metcalf forced a smile.

“Fuck that. If I can’t eat steak, neither can they.”

“I’m just saying-”

“Your suggestion is noted. Okay?”

Juliet’s brow furrowed, her eyes turning to hard angry slits.

“I’m just trying to be practical,” she said. “They need more iron in their diet. It doesn’t have to be steak. We could feed them liver.”

Metcalf stared coldly at her. Without being aware of it he was clenching and unclenching his hands, the annoyance building up in him. Months earlier he had given in and started buying them bushels of apples because Juliet claimed they needed the extra vitamins. He figured he’d be magnanimous-if he were willing to feed his horses that, then okay, he’d feed the livestock the same. Oats and apples, a few carrots. But this was fucking ridiculous. Maybe before being infected he wasn’t a big fan of liver, but he’d cut off his right hand now to be able to enjoy a plate of it with some bacon and onions.

“What would be the point of having them last longer?” he asked, his tone artificially flat and even-keeled. “Would that be doing them any favors?”

Juliet’s mouth closed as she tried to think of an argument. Maritza stood quietly stirring the oatmeal, her eyes cast down and staring into nothingness. Metcalf noted how she pretty much had the same look about her as the livestock.

“I need to get outside,” Juliet muttered at last. “It’s been over four months…”

Metcalf saw nothing but a flash of red. He’d been hearing hints of her grumblings for a while now-and not just hers but others too-and this was the final straw. The red flashing inside his brain blew up into something raging. Deaf and dumb to her, he grabbed her by the wrist and jerked her off her feet. Maritza started to cross herself but caught herself midway. She stared back into the pot and continued to blindly stir the oatmeal as if nothing out of the ordinary were happening. In his mind’s eye, Metcalf spat fire as he dragged Juliet out of the kitchen area and into the vampires’ housing quarters.

“This isn’t fucking enough for you!” he roared, waving a hand at the Olympic-size swimming pool and three Jacuzzis that he dragged her past. She pleaded with him to stop but he didn’t hear her over the inferno burning inside him. He dragged her along the Italian marble tiles as if she were nothing but a bed sheet.

“Everything I bought you fucking ingrates is top of the line!” he continued to roar as he dragged her through the gaming area which had a simulated golf course, two racquetball courts, ping-pong tables and pool tables. Several of the vampires were watching the movie Sideways on one of the large-screen home theatres and looked over with a mix of curiosity and alarm. None of them bothered to get involved. They knew better than to try to calm Metcalf down.

“There are people spending a grand a day to stay at spas not as nice as what I built for you fucking ingrates, but nothing’s ever enough, is it?”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean anything-”

“Shut up! You’re so fucking anxious to go outside, well fuck you, I’m taking you outside!”

He bent her arms behind her back and dumped her on his shoulders, carrying her as if she were a sack of grain. Moving fast, he ran through the compound and then out the titanium security door. Juliet was wailing, trying to fight back, but in the position she was in all she could do was kick harmlessly. Metcalf raced up the stairs with her on his shoulders, and with the adrenaline pounding within him, lifted the concrete slab as if it were cardboard. With her still on his back, he sprinted through the barn, then dumped her outside. She had little protection other than a tee shirt and shorts, and the sunlight hit her hard. Within seconds she was writhing on the ground desperately trying to shield her face from the sun. Metcalf ripped off the little clothing she had on and that left her shrieking. Every time she tried to get to her feet, Metcalf kicked her back to the ground. After ten minutes of that she quit fighting and lay curled up in a fetal position, her thin leathery body wracked with sobs. Metcalf slowly calmed down and became aware of where he was and what he was doing. He realized that there was a remote chance someone driving by with a pair of binoculars could spot them. While it was highly unlikely it wasn’t worth taking the risk. He flung Juliet over his shoulder and carried her into the barn and back to the compound. Vanessa was still milking the livestock and raised an eyebrow as he brushed past her. Whatever she said Metcalf didn’t hear. He carried Juliet into the kitchen area and dumped her by Maritza’s feet.

“She finishes her shift or she becomes one of my private projects. Make it both of you. Understand?”

Maritza nodded, her face blanching to the same shade of white as her hair. She kneeled down and sprinkled water into the other vampire’s face to revive her. Juliet started to mutter gibberish, her eyes fluttering weakly, her mouth a gaping hole. Metcalf watched disinterestedly. From his own experimentation he knew how painful unprotected exposure to the sun could be, but he also knew it caused no lasting damage. At one time he had taken several of his experiments to a remote area of the Mojave Desert where he chained them spread eagle between cactuses. While Metcalf spent twelve hours shielded by a tent, his experiments were left to wither under the full exposure of the desert sun. Over those twelve hours they all dried up like prunes, but feeding them an ounce of blood restored them back to their previous state. Throughout the twelve hours they howled as if their skin were being peeled off, but they survived it.

If it had been any of the other vampires than Juliet giving him lip, he would’ve made them one of his private experiments. In her case, he’d give her this warning. She was well-liked among the other vampires, and it would cause more problems than it was worth if he acted too hastily with her. Besides, it never hurts to occasionally show one’s benevolent side.

“I was in a good mood before she started her shit,” Metcalf complained peevishly.

“She was out of line,” Maritza agreed under her breath.

The bitch was humoring him. He stood silently tracing the outline of his scar before deciding to let it slide. The morning had been eventful enough.

“The next time I see you I want you to be a brunette again,” he told her. “You tell her she better damn well be a blonde. And I want to see makeup on both of you. For both your sakes I’d better start seeing some effort.”

She nodded, stone-faced.

“And for Chrissakes, just give her some blood,” he said, not bothering to hide his disgust. He left her and headed to the research lab that was located past the housing quarters. A corridor had been built that ran past the kitchen to the lab so he didn’t have to cut through the housing quarters, which was just as well. He wasn’t up to any more bullshit.

He stopped outside the lab, collected himself, and when he felt like he could breathe normally again, entered. The scientists that he had cherry picked over the past two years were all at work, either bent over research equipment or studying simulation results on their computer screens. These included several of the leading AIDS researchers in the country, along with top immunologists and experts in bioengineering and computer modeling. Metcalf had bought them all of the equipment they’d asked for. All of it state of the art, all of it damn expensive. After two years of them working sixteen-hour days they were still no closer to understanding the vampire virus than when they started-which was a source of constant irritation to Metcalf. He damn well wanted results, and if not an outright cure for the virus at least a way to mutate it so that an infected person could eat normal food and not be affected so severely by sunlight. Was that so fucking much to ask for?

Dr. George Chabot led the team. In his previous life he had been a Nobel Prize-winning immunologist. Before becoming infected he was a good-natured roly-poly man in his early fifties who wore thick soda bottle-type glasses and had long sideburns that blended into an old-fashioned style of whiskers-almost as if he were a playing a doctor in a 1950’s Three Stooges short. Like all other vampires he had since lost his body fat. He was now a stick figure compared to what he had been. Also, consistent with the virus his facial hair had fallen out and his skin was now smooth, although in his case his complexion had a waxy unnatural quality to it. The infection did nothing to improve his eyesight and he still wore the same soda bottle glasses as before. With his changed appearance he gave the impression of a turtle that had been removed from its shell.

Metcalf walked behind Dr. Chabot, who continued to sit hunched over a computer screen, trying hard to pretend he didn’t notice his visitor. Tremors shook through Chabot’s body, and after a minute of this he gave an act of looking startled.

“Oh, it’s you,” Chabot said.

Metcalf didn’t bother responding. His eyes narrowed as he squinted at the scientific data Chabot had been studying.

“I thought I heard a commotion earlier?” Chabot asked.

Again, Metcalf didn’t bother to answer his lead scientist. Chabot and the other scientists, as well as the rest of his staff, probably already knew about his incident with Juliet. They were like old women the way they spread gossip. Chabot in particular had to be nervous. For months he’d been dropping hints how he’d like to spend a few hours on the outside so he could visit his wife and children.

“Any progress yet?” Metcalf asked dryly.

“It’s only been three days since you asked me that last.”

“I’m asking again.”

Chabot shrugged. “This virus…it’s unlike anything ever seen before. It defies scientific explanation.”

“That’s not good enough.”

Chabot shrugged again, his neck disappearing. “We’re working as diligently as we can.”

“Again, not good enough.”

“What can I tell you. This virus…the effect it has on the skeletal structure and muscle tissue…its regenerative properties…this is a whole new area for us. At the moment we’re only children groping stupidly in the dark.”

“I want results.”

“We all do, sir. We all do.”

Metcalf stopped for a moment to run his thumb along the full length of his scar.

“Maybe I’ve been working you too hard,” he said. “Maybe all of you need a break. Some rest and relaxation.”

“That would be helpful,” Dr. Chabot conceded cautiously.

“It would give all of you a chance to clear your heads.”

“Sometimes that is what is most important in solving this type of problem,” Dr. Chabot agreed, nodding. “Yes, a chance to take a step back, to catch one’s breath. Many times that leads to fresh, innovative thinking.”

“In your case why don’t we arrange a visit with your family.”

Dr. Chabot licked his lips, his head involuntarily nodding up and down as if he were a bobble-head doll.

“Then it’s settled,” Metcalf said. “I’ll bring them here for you. Their accommodations will be up front. There should be several openings in the cattle pens soon.”

Dr. Chabot’s mouth dropped.

“Please no…”

“Isn’t this what you’ve been asking for?”

“Please not that. Please, no…”

“I thought this is what you’ve been sniveling about for the last six months.”

“Please, I beg of you. Not that. Not my family.”

“But you keep asking for it…”

“Not another word from me. I promise.”

A shadow fell over Metcalf’s eyes leaving them deader than they were.

“I’ve given you and your team everything you’ve asked for.”

“You have,” Dr. Chabot agreed.

“Computers, centrifuges, fluorescent microscopes-”

“True, true.”

“Incubators, cell harvesters… I can’t even pronounce the names of half the shit you’ve had me buy. But everything you’ve asked for I bought.”

“That is all true. Although…”

“What?”

“I could use a confocal microscope. And I’d like to upgrade our flow cytometer.”

Metcalf lowered his head into his hand so he could rub his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. He shook his head. “How much is this going to cost?” he asked in a soft whisper.

“What?”

“How much!”

“Oh. Not much. No more than two hundred thousand dollars.”

“Two hundred thousand…”

“If we buy it used.”

Metcalf stood rigid for a long moment before removing his hand from his face. His eyes pale blue ice as he looked at his lead scientist.

“Alright,” he said. “Fine. Write me down the model numbers, I’ll order it. But I need results.”

“You will get them. Eventually we will crack this.”

“You’re not listening to me. I need results. Now.”

“We’re doing everything we can.”

Metcalf waved Dr. Chabot closer with his index finger. When the immunologist got off his chair, Metcalf took hold of the doctor by his skull and pulled him towards him so he could talk with his mouth inches from the doctor’s ear.

“You need to listen carefully to what I’m saying. When I tell you I want results now that is exactly what I mean. In one month I want to be able to enjoy a steak dinner.”

“B-But it’s not that simple. We can’t solve these digestive issues until we better understand the virus. It’s all tied together, you see. The virus-somehow it feeds on the digested blood. No other virus acts this way. And just as it does that, it similarly prohibits the generation of any digestive enzymes. More than just that it actively attacks and destroys any artificial enzymes that may be entered into the digestive system. It is as if it doesn’t want any competition for the digested blood. It’s quite amazing, really. We will solve this, but only after we successfully model and understand this virus better. Patience is of utmost importance.”

Metcalf let go of the doctor, who fell back into his chair and nearly toppled over before righting himself. Rubbing his eyes and then staring bug-eyed at Dr. Chabot, Metcalf asked him what else he needed.

“Nothing else right now, no.”

“How about more test subjects?”

“Not now, no.” Dr. Chabot rubbed a hand across his lips, his expression turning queasy. “When we do I’ll let you know.”

Metcalf continued to stare bug-eyed at his lead scientist. “I’m losing confidence in you and your team,” he said finally.

Dr. Chabot shrugged, showing an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, what more can I say?”

“You’d better say something because if I don’t have confidence in you and your team, then I might as well start over and build a new one from scratch.”

“What do you want me to say?” Dr. Chabot asked, an urgency creeping into his voice. The other scientists in the room were looking over at them and paying attention to their conversation.

“All I know is you need to say something to help rebuild my confidence. Maybe there’s someone out there who could make a difference?”

Dr. Chabot squeezed his eyes shut. A pained expression screwed up his turtle-like face. His complexion changed from waxy to an ashen gray.

“I don’t know what to tell you,” he said.

“How about Dr. Ravi Panjubar,” one of the other scientists volunteered.

Metcalf stared hard at his lead scientist. A vein had started to beat along his right eye.

“Well?” he asked.

Dr. Chabot nodded, his face now a mask of pure agony.

“Dr. Ravi Panjubar could be of help,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “He is doing exciting work in the use of nanotechnology to alter the DNA structure in mice. Yes, he could be of help to the team.”

“Significant help?”

Dr. Chabot nodded.

“Where is he?”

“Stanford.”

“No one closer? Maybe someone at USC or UCLA doing similar work?”

Dr. Chabot looked away. “Just him.”

Metcalf clapped the scientist on the shoulder and nearly knocked him out of his chair.

“Alright then,” Metcalf said with a cheerful smile. “If it’s just him then it’s him you’re going to get. And for Chrissakes quit fretting. Think of it this way, you’re giving him the opportunity of a lifetime. Isn’t that what you scientists are all about? Challenges? None bigger than this one. Someday he’ll be thanking you.”

Dr. Chabot nodded dismally and turned back to his computer screen.