The baby slept for only a few moments. Then it opened its eyes and watched in silence the weeping man.

Chapter Two

CHAPTER TWO

JUNE 13, 2002

“Tom?”

Dr. Turner heard her but he didn’t. He read the letter again, but the words didn’t change, and his horror at them didn’t change, either.

“Tom, our test results are in, and you wanted to review them with us.”

He looked up at Gamma. Her vivid, complex face revealed a twinge of concern in the slight knit of her porcelain-white brows.

Generations one and two had appeared entirely human, but also contained too many human genes. To cut that back, he’d had to use scales on generation three. They were tiny, but noticeable, and they were white. He’d made the choice of scales because in the next generation he could use the Slc7a11 gene to control melanin, enabling them to camouflage themselves with colors as needed, like lizards.

But it didn’t matter now. Incredibly. Horribly.

“Is something troubling you, Tom?”

Gamma was programmed as a medic, and her mind contained all medical knowledge. She was far more capable than any human doctor, including him. He had planned to use her to assist him—or, more probably, lead him—in the design of the next generation.

Using the sensors in her long, tapering fingers—truly the fingers of a surgeon—she touched his temples.

“Temp ninety-seven point seven, normal for you. Pulse eight-eight, BP one seventy over a hundred. Abnormal readings. You’re in a stress condition, Tom. Let me suggest diazepam, two point five milligrams. I can get it now.”

“Do it.”

She turned, her scales shimmering in the bright artificial sunlight that flooded his office. Another of her innovations, artificial sunlight in the facility to ward off depression and insure adequate vitamin D levels.

Although the first- and second-generation hybrids appeared entirely human, these were smarter and more powerful. They had good skills, such as an ability to jump hundreds of feet, and the bone strength to sustain the impacts involved.

All three generations could enter a high-speed mode that would enable them to approach and kill an adversary a hundred yards away before signals from his brain could reach his trigger finger. For this, they were programmed in knife combat, because no firing mechanism could keep up with their hands.

They were such a wonderful tool, by far the most advanced tool that human science had ever created. He deserved the Nobel Prize, not this miserable, stupid letter.

Maybe he could salvage something, though. Generations one and two appeared human, so maybe he could hide them and at least save that much against a future with a more sane Congress.