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Emmanuel's Seed

By: Karen Kraft



All characters in sexual situations are over the age of 18.

*

Prologue 

Within a year after they met each other at Brown University, Joey and Mairwen knew that they wanted to do good for the world's disadvantaged. Resolved and courageous, the winter after their graduation from Brown they joined the Peace Corps, and received their first-choice assignment, South America. They were sent to aid a group of indigenous people who lived between Tabatinga, Brazil, and Leticia, Colombia. The people they came to serve were not accustomed to outsiders but they quickly grew to respect Joey, as he was industrious, hardworking, and strong. He also had an even disposition and angered rarely. He mastered the art of stick-fighting, a ritualized group fight that was more of a dance than a fight, where the object was to show off your power and ferocity without actually hitting anyone with your stick. 

But it was Mairwen the people really loved. She worked well with the other women of the tribe and was not above doing the daily routines expected of all the tribal women. When it was time for the women to strip naked and wash the men's backs in the river, for example, Mairwen never hesitated to participate along with the others. She would gently make her hygiene and sanitation suggestions in a way that never challenged tribal customs and beliefs. Her skill as a nurse and her black medical bag were revered, almost worshiped by both the men and women of the tribe. Her ability to seemingly miraculously cure the sick and relieve their suffering were, in fact, nothing but basic, elementary first aid and medicine. The only universal complaint, voiced from time to time by the tribal men and women, was that Mairwen was too skinny. She was nearly flat-chested and soon was given the nickname Qikitani, which more or less meant "pubescent boy without penis."  

After their first year, Mairwen and Joey had sought permission and funding to start a pig farm on the highlands occupied by the tribe. The plan called for a three-hectare farm to eventually house eight thousand pigs. Being so close to the river, however, their first step was to design appropriate pig-waste facilities. The government would not approve any plan that resulted in any farm materials reaching the river or its tributaries. Because of the heavy seasonal rains, an elaborate design was created by Joey and eventually approved by the government. Since the pig-waste would be nearly as lucrative for the tribe as the sale of meat and pork byproducts, treating the pig-waste made sense.

Part One

Mairwen and Joey got permission to extend their second two-year Peace Corps commitment for a third term, in order to allow the pig farm to reach full capacity and establish sales contracts with the government, the farm's principle customer. As Mairwen could better articulate the health and sanitation features to the government officials, and she had better business negotiation skills, she was the one who had to travel the long distance to the government's district headquarters. Whenever she had to conduct pig-farm business, she brought Chippie, the tribal chief's oldest daughter and Mairwen's pig-farm protégé. Chippie was a cheerful fifteen-year-old, who was married to Springtide, Chippie's twenty-year-old cousin. Springtide had become irritated with Chippie's adoration of Joey; he could see her face light up whenever Joey spoke to her, and it made him furious. Although it had never happened, it would not have been against the tribal customs for Joey and Chippie to have sex, and Springtide knew that. But Joey had always been faithful to Mairwen, his first and only love, and she had never had sex with anyone but Joey. But Springtide could not control his jealousy, which had grown from irritation to frustration to rage in the past year or so. 

Springtide was too frightened to confront Joey since he knew that Joey would patiently listen to him and convince him that there was nothing inappropriate going on between himself and Chippie. Springtide did not want to be reassured; he wanted vengeance. Confrontation between grown men was almost unheard of among the tribesmen. When someone thought that he had been wronged, it was customary to take vengeance on the alleged wrong-doer's livestock or possessions. Since Springtide saw Mairwen as Joey's possession, when a band of Venezuelan diamond hunters came through the village, Springtide arranged for them to exact retribution on his behalf. 

When Mairwen and Chippie stopped to get some supplies about fifty miles down-river, the diamond hunters attacked the two women and carried them off to their encampment, about a mile off the main trunk of the river. Although Springtide had only bargained for the men to attack Mairwen, the diamond hunters found Chippie to be as enjoyable a victim as Mairwen. Both women were brutally raped and tortured, but only Mairwen survived the ordeal. Where Mairwen's attack had lasted a few hours, the men did not finish with Chippie until she expired, two days after the start of her ordeal. The men put Mairwen and Chippie's body back on their boat and set it adrift on the river. Some neighboring farmers discovered the boat and returned Mairwen and what remained of Chippie to the tribe.

Unaccustomed to such violence, the tribe became hysterical when Mairwen and Chippie's body arrived. Both grief and anger were growing very quickly and, true to character, it was Joey who calmed the tribesmen, reminding them that so long as the band of evil diamond hunters were still at large, it made no sense for the strongest and bravest of them to leave the women and children unprotected whilst they wandered through Amazonia looking for the perpetrators. Springtide, who now had two good reasons to be particularly enraged, volunteered to locate the perpetrators and report their location to the government authorities. The older women took Mairwen away from Joey and would not let him see her for four days, while they took care of her. Mairwen herself, and the other women who had worked along side her when she had nursed the members of the tribe over the years, mended the places on Mairwen's body where she had been tortured and, with the help of some antibiotics from her medical bag, she gradually healed and recovered. 

A few weeks later, while she was still living with the woman and had not yet been allowed to return to Joey and her place, the oldest of the woman, the chief's sister, finally said what Mairwen had known – or at very least suspected – that Mairwen was pregnant. Although abortion was uncommon, it was not forbidden. Her first night back with Joey, Mairwen told Joey of her pregnancy. He said that they should immediately return to Boston and get "real" medical care for her condition, but Mairwen disagreed. She said that she was strong, otherwise perfectly healthy, and that she did not think of the fetus inside her so much as the product of her rape, but a reincarnation of Chippie. Joey would have none of it. He said that he would never be able to look at the baby without thinking of his wife being raped and tortured by grubby diamond hunters. He said that no good could possibly come from such a horrible violation. After three days of arguing about it, Mairwen finally agreed to have the women "treat her living sickness," a euphemism for termination of unwanted pregnancies, the traditional tribal way.

The woman sequestered Mairwen again, keeping her away from Joey and all other men and boys, while they treated her living sickness. The oldest woman sent one of the young boys to a plateau where unusual lichens grew on a certain rock, and to one of the more remote river tributaries where a tiny and unique fish spawned. The boy was to return with the spawn of the tiny fish and eight of the male fish, alive. The old woman mixed the fish eggs with the lichens, although the lichens that the boy had brought were not exactly like those the old woman had seen before. When the noxious paste was thoroughly mixed, she gutted the eight fish and carefully removed their livers, discarding the rest of the fish and awful into the fire. The fresh livers were quickly mashed in a stone mortar and pestle, and the lichen and fish-egg paste was added to the mix. Mairwen was to douche with the resulting mixture. This process, using new lichens and fresh eggs and fish, had to be done for eight consecutive days. Mairwen found the entire process disgusting, but knew that if she didn't go through with it, Joey would insist that the couple return to Boston.

The tribal women assured Joey that the herbal cure would work, but that it was not like an abortion that terminates a pregnancy right away. It was something that took weeks to work. Joey spent his time soothing Mairwen and assuring her of his love – which built her spirits and helped her to overcome the psychological trauma of her ordeal. 

Unfortunately, the lichens that the boy had brought the old woman were not the right kind, and when that was finally discovered, the time for the herbal cure to work had come and gone. During the weeks that Joey and Mairwen were waiting for the pregnancy to terminate, Joey had lessened his focus on the rape and increased his focus on Mairwen, finally agreeing that it might be best to allow the pregnancy to go to full term. 

By the time baby Emmanuel arrived, Mairwen and Joey had quit talking about Mairwen's rape; instead, they made plans for the new member of the family. He was a beautiful baby and, along with the boy's loving parents, the members of the tribe accepted and welcomed him as one of their own. 

Emmanuel was an unusually good baby. He rarely cried and never got sick. Mairwen had taken him to the capital to get the regular shots, vaccinations, and well-baby examinations. He fell right in the middle of the growth-curve and, but for the fact that he never coughed, sneezed, spit-up, or got sick, was essentially normal. With the other boys of the tribe, Emmanuel learned to hunt, fish, and play with the other children. 

When the time finally came for the family to return to the United States, Joey and Mairwen were concerned that Emmanuel might not be able to adjust to life in America very well. Although Joey and Mairwen taught him to read, write, and cipher, using home-schooling books and materials send to them from Boston, Emmanuel was accustomed to running around naked and playing like all of the other children, all but two or three hours a day. 

The Peace Corps rejected the family's plea to stay in the village, noting that the number of years they had already been allowed to remain there was unprecedented. Their visas to remain in the country were dependent on their status as Peace Corps volunteers. So, it was only through the intervention of the local district government that the family was granted special-resident status, partially due to the government's embarrassment over Mairwen's rape, partially because Emmanuel was a citizen, but of even more significance was the local district deputy telling the central government that the pig farm would not run as efficiently without the family being there. The tribe members voted unanimously (with Springtide saying that he didn't want to vote at all) to allow Joey and Mairwen to have an aggregate 10% interest in the profits of the pig farm. The tribal elders had opined that, were they to lose the work, wisdom, and business savvy Joey and Mairwen brought to the venture, the loss would more than likely exceed the percentage they were to receive. Also, the whole tribe loved Emmanuel, and he was especially admired by the girls, who found his physical attributes enchanting and captivating. Emmanuel had gotten several of the girls pregnant and, true to form, the tribe found that news joyous and a cause for celebration. 

The family had taken trips to America from time to time. A few times these were simple vacations, so Emmanuel could visit Washington D.C, New York, and so on, and four times to attend his grandparents' funerals. It was not until after Emmanuel had celebrated his eighteenth birthday with the tribe that Joey had become ill, requiring them to return to the United States permanently. In exchange for the family's ownership interest in the pig farm, the tribe agreed that the girls Emmanuel had impregnated would be cared for by the tribe collective and that the girls would be free to pick new husbands after the family left. 

Emmanuel had lived such a sheltered life that, when Joey died and then shortly thereafter Mairwen passed away, when Emmanuel was in his mid-20s, he felt abandoned and terrified. He had never left his parent's home, and although he had dated through his college years, he never developed any significant love interests in the U.S. Joey's father had left a huge estate, which passed from Mairwen to Emmanuel. There were large real estate holdings in several East Coast cities' business districts as well as an enormous portfolio of stocks and bonds.

Wandering around the inherited mansion, just outside Boston, Emmanuel busied himself redecorating, adding unnecessary rooms, pools, tennis courts, and so on. Eventually, however, he became bored with these kinds of projects and remained secluded. He had made several visits back to his birthplace, but each time that he did he felt that he had less and less in common with the other members of the tribe.

Dating was frustrating for him as well, for several reasons. He was always suspicious that women might be interested in his fortune; he had no childhood experiences in common with anyone he ever met, and his sexual appetites were more appropriate for the jungle than the lovers' bedroom. In addition, he was going through something akin to a second puberty – a second coming of age. He could sense his hormones changing and his sexual interests becoming more and more predatory. 

Emmanuel used his good looks and charisma, as well as his fame, to attract woman after woman, and a fair number of girls as well, until he began to realize that these conquests were fulfilling only part of his needs, leaving an ever-increasing hunger unsatisfied. About two times a year, he would rent a car and go on a sexual predator's road trip, leaving abused bodies in his wake. On his fourth such road trip, he had finally blossomed into a full-blown psycho-sadistic sexual predator, raping, torturing, and killing his sexual contacts, without exception. The more he did this, the more he felt compelled to do more. 

Scores of his rape victims, who had kept silent over the years, finally came forward and told their grisly tales to the police and then to the State prosecutors. Because his latest, and most horrific crimes had taken place on a trip to Texas, he was extradited from Massachusetts to Texas, where he stood trial for eight murders and twenty-six sadistic rapes. He had had the bad judgment to videotape some of his torture and rape sessions for later amusement, but he never found them as satisfying as the acts themselves. As his conviction on all counts assured a sentence of death, he asked to address the court during the sentencing phase of his trial. Rather than show any contrition or remorse, Emmanuel held forth for nearly two hours (the maximum time the court would grant him to speak), lecturing the packed courtroom on the shortcomings and failures of the American way of life. His attorneys had hired four psycho-chemists who did a full analysis of Emmanuel's blood, DNA, and hormone values, in an effort to somehow paint him as "a sick individual who simply cannot control his behavior." 

Nobody cared to listen the experts' testimony. An understandable mob-mentality had developed nationwide, and all but the most ardent anti-execution candle-holders, were calling for blood. Every anti-death-penalty organization found it nearly impossible to recruit candle-holders, and many of these organizations' leadership decided to "sit this one out." 

Part Two

All but one of the labs that Emmanuel's attorneys had hired tested the same sorts of samples of his blood. Some was taken after fasting, some was taken after large amounts of sugar or protein were ingested. They all got the same results, which essentially showed that Emmanuel's blood and hormone levels were more or less within the range identified as "normal." 

The three crime labs the Texas prosecutors had hired tested the blood Emmanuel left at his crime scenes, and then only to obtain the requisite DNA match. They matched each other, and Emmanuel's attorneys had not allowed a DNA sample from their client himself. The blood samples confirmed that the same person had committed every one of the crimes, and Emmanuel had proudly admitted that he had done the crimes. 

Karen Kraft, a Baylor University Medical student in Houston, and a part time lab technician at the one lab that tested both kinds of blood samples did not stop her research after Emmanuel had confessed his crimes. She was fascinated by a series of experiments she had performed after the confession stopped the other tests, where she made a serum out of each sample of blood and injected the serum into laboratory rats. This was not done as part of the work contracted by the attorneys, but was part of a personal interest she had as a medical student. Her personal budget only allowed her to use a limited number of lab rats, so she decided to inject the serum into rats she was supposed to destroy, which had already been used in previous experiments by other technicians. About half of these had been infected with various carcinogens and had developed malignant tumors, both on their surface and internally. When she noticed that the rats injected with one of the Emmanuel serums she made showed no change, while the rats injected with the other Emmanuel serum showed an immediate reduction and elimination of the tumors, she reported her findings to her boss. Her boss scolded her for not destroying the rats as she was told, and that the lab could lose its grant if people were permitted to engage in freelance experimentation using other people's tissue samples. Undaunted, she took it upon herself to call the lead attorney in Emmanuel's murder trial.

Karen refused to tell the receptionist why she wanted to see the attorney, but said that she had worked on the Emmanuel blood samples and that she wanted an appointment. She got as far as the attorney's secretary, who said that the attorney was unavailable, having moved on to another criminal case in another state. She agreed to meet with an associate from the law firm, Kevin Stature, a young man about her age, late that afternoon. Although the secretary told Karen that she would only be granted a fifteen minute consultation, when Kevin met Karen, he liked what he saw and decided to let her explain the tests, the results, and what she opined were the implications of her findings.

Karen explained that for reasons unknown to her, the serum made from Emmanuel's crime-scene blood had the ability to eliminate cancer, while the serum made from Emmanuel's blood taken under normal laboratory conditions did not affect the cancerous rats at all. She figured that the same hormone that was causing Emmanuel to become sadistic and predatory also caused a change in his blood, giving it the cancer-curing attributes. Kevin listened politely as Karen spoke, but was actually thinking about asking her out to dinner. 

At dinner that evening, Kevin explained that he was not involved in the details of Emmanuel's case at all, but merely helped organize the exhibits for trial. Karen seemed disappointed, but was happy she and Kevin had gone to dinner. He was charming and gentle, and Karen could see that he liked her a lot. 

"So, you're telling me," Kevin asked in summation, "that when Emmanuel is doing his thing, and ONLY when he is doing his thing, his blood becomes cancer-curing? I sure wouldn't want to explain that in court."


Emmanuel's Seed



"Well, it's only one experiment, and it would have to be studied for causation and be able to be replicated by other labs, but it is something I thought you people should know about. I am very good at what I do, and I wouldn't waste your or my time if this were just bullshit."

"I bet you are good at what you do," Kevin smiled.

"You know what I mean."

"Yeah, I know what I mean too." They laughed.

Kevin told Karen that he thought her discovery was worth mentioning to his boss, the lead attorney in Emmanuel's criminal case and his appellate team, but she had to find some way of duplicating the experiment and confirming that it provided some promise for higher levels of life, e.g., humans. 

"If we want the courts to commute his death sentence, we have to have more than "a couple of rodents losing their lesions."

Karen decided not to involve her lab from that point on, since they had made it clear that they had no respect for her or her hypothesis. She asked Kevin to get the remainder of the samples released to his law firm and get Emmanuel to sign permission for Karen to use whatever tissue and blood evidence she could obtain for further experimentation. In order to get additional crime scene blood evidence from the prosecutors, however, Emmanuel and his attorneys had to abandon their appeal of the case in chief, and only pursue the appeal of the death sentence itself. 

With everything in place, Karen approached Baylor University Medical School in Houston. Her advisor was impressed with her tentative report on the results of her limited experiments and said that she would take Karen's project to the "powers that be who make this kind of decision."

Karen's first experiment involved aged dogs and cats who had been given to local vets or to the animal shelter for disposal. Some, but not all of the animals had cancer. Many had heart disease or debilitating arthritis. She was assigned three assistants to help her, and a professor to oversee methodology and to write the final report in his name, listing Karen and her assistants in the report. The team divided the animals into variable groups and control groups; Karen and her assistants did not know which animals were in which group. When the results of her initial rat experiment were validated by the cat and dog experiments, her professor arranged for Karen to interview several patients at the Medical Center Hospice. 

She selected four patients who volunteered to participate in the experiment. Rather than repeating the double-blind experiment, however, Karen decided to give each of the volunteers the crime-scene serum, with no control group. All four of the patients recovered from their life-threatening illnesses and reported that they were, for the first time in years, pain-free. A biopsy of their tumors showed that the ones that had not shrunk or totally disappeared were no longer malignant. Armed with these data, the professor submitted his paper for publication. Once the proofs of his article came back for the professor's review, Emmanuel's attorneys approached the governor to have Emmanuel's sentence commuted to life-without-parole. The governor granted their petition. Due to the nature of his offenses, Emmanuel was kept separated from the other prisoners, for his own protection.

Part Three

1- Bonnie Dancer entered her password to download her email one summer morning to find a communiqué from her department head informing her that she had been transferred from her Center for Disease Control job in Atlanta to the Department of Homeland Security at Groom Lake, Nevada. The message told her not to discuss her departure with anyone and to take nothing but her personal effects from her office. She left her office, telling her staff that she would be back later, and got in the government car waiting for her in her building's parking garage. She was taken to her apartment where she packed several belongings; the car took her to Reagan National Airport where a helicopter took her to Andrews Air Force Base. Another plane took her to Nevada.

"Dr. Dancer, it's so good to see you again!" The Colonel lied. "I would like you to meet Laura Vade, the CEO of Fitzer-Rheem Pharmaceuticals. Ms Vade has contracted with DHC and the Pentagon to work on developing a vaccine to be administered to U.S. security forces and top-level officials."

"Yes, Colonel, Laura and I have known each other since college. How have you been, Laura?"

"You haven't changed a bit, Bonnie."

"Nor have you," Dancer replied, adding to The Colonel, "Thank you Colonel; we can take it from here."

The two women sat in Fitzer-Rheem's enormous motor home parked inside the empty airplane hanger. Vade explained to Dancer that Fitzer-Rheem had obtained some of Karen Kraft's crime-scene based serum samples and discovered that animals first injected with the serum exhibited a total immunity to even the best toxins the military had in its arsenals. She explained that the idea of a General Immunity Vaccine, or GIV, had eluded researchers, with many of them believing that such a thing could not exist, due to the unique causality mechanisms of various pathogens: Some were bacteria or virus driven, while others attacked the nervous system. 

She explained that Fitzer-Rheem had studied Karen Kraft's serum and found that it did not really work as a cure or antidote at all. What the serum did was to trick any cells that came into contact with it to function in their original forms, whether they had mutated or had otherwise become unsound. Were a pathogen to attack a neuron, for example, causing it to no longer transmit signals properly, the damaged neuron would mimic its original configuration and immediately start to function properly while it repaired itself to match its original structure. In some cases, cells reconstruct if they are able and, if they are not able, they replicate themselves, but the replications are of the original configuration, not the damaged or mutated configuration. Rogue cells, like cancer cells, do not match the original DNA configuration so they were identified by the body as an infection to be destroyed by the immune system. Once the immune system has come into contact with a foreign substance it not only destroyed it but remembered the errant configuration and prevented similar cells from reproducing in the future. People who have organs or tissues transplanted from anyone, even an identical twin, may not be exposed to the serum because it will cause an immediate rejection of the non-original cell configuration. 

Thus, she continued, the procedure would be to inject combatants, for example, with the serum, wait about eight hours, and then expose them to every known pathogen, such as Anthrax, Smallpox, Influenza, and so on. As for the aging process, they would need to do more studies in that regard, but it looked like the presence of the serum made it difficult for mutant cells to survive in the body, while it forced all subsequent cells to conform to the original (healthy) configuration. 

Bonnie blinked. She understood the mechanism perfectly well but was overwhelmed by its implications. "This could eventually spell the end of disease as we know it, in all its forms, for everyone," Bonnie said, almost to herself.

"I'm sure you understand that we can't survive in a world where nobody dies and everybody lives forever, right?. So, Fitzer-Rheem is trying to modify the Karen Kraft serum so that its effective life was limited to, say, four years."

"Right. So people would have to buy booster shots from F-R every four years, right?"

"That was one of the reasons, yes; after all, we do operate a business, not an eleemosynary institution."

"Look, Laura," Bonnie replied, tensing up a bit, "I don't care if you sell each shot for a million bucks or give it away. Our concern here is that the right people, and only the right people get the treatment, and we are perfectly happy if it is permanent, not requiring booster shots."

"That isn't going to happen. There is no way that we will put this stuff out unless we can develop some sort of sunset feature in it; it's just bad business."

"Would you consider two variations on the serum – one for the leadership, of government and industry and another for the military and general population?"

"I'll have to get back to you on that," Laura replied, "Right now our government contract only requires us to make an effective vaccine in reasonably large quantities; it is silent as to its longevity. And anyway, Bonnie, your job is not concerned with the finished product. Your job is to get enough of the raw material for us to work on."

"You mean Emmanuel's blood, right?"

"Well, sort of. Just the right kind of blood from him; his usual samples are not effective at all. We tried to work with them but they are no different from any other person's blood unless he's ..." 

"Doing his thing, I know," Bonnie smiled, "I was briefed about that on the plane out. I am responsible only for getting the right kind of samples from the donor."

"Oh!" Laura laughed, "Is that what you call him now? A donor? From psycho-sadistic rapist-murderer to Good Samaritan? That was fast!"

"He has what we want, and he appears to be the only source, so we will be treating him with kid gloves – as long as we need him."

"Won't that be forever, if he is the sole source?"

"Not really. We find that minuscule quantities of what we call his 'good blood' are sufficient to inoculate or cure thousands of people."

"Right. His 'good blood,' Laura smirked, "That's the stuff his body generates when he is raping and torturing people. And I suppose his 'bad blood' would be the normal variety. You people really are highly skilled at turning the world upside down."

"It's what we do best. What can I tell you?"

Both women laughed and began eating their lunch. "So, Bonnie," Laura smiled, "How do you plan to get the 'good blood' from this guy?" 

"You don't want to know, Laura; you have always been the squeamish type. I will let you know what I come up with; give me a week or two to set things up."

"No," Laura sighed, no longer smiling, "I don't want to know... ever."

2- Emmanuel studied the relocation agreement, periodically glancing up at Kevin, his new and obviously nervous attorney. "You think I should sign this?" he asked.

"You have no choice, Manny."

"Emmanuel; never "Manny."

"Emmanuel. Sorry. I had a friend named Emmanuel and we called him 'Manny'; it won't happen again. Ummm, yeah, it's sort of your only choice."

"I'm not that guy, you know; I'm not your friend, and I honestly don't see that my choices are all that limited: my sentence has already been commuted by the governor, so I am not under the gun to do anything; nothing to change the status quo. Things aren't bad here. I have my own TV, limited internet access, four hours a week in the exercise yard. I'm okay."

"Do what you want, Emmanuel," Kevin said. "Under the relocation agreement you will have a lot more freedom. They don't see you as an escape risk, and you essentially you would be able to have all your belongings – all the comforts of home, so to speak – out there with you."

"And what is it that I have to do for this."

"It's all right there in the document."

"This thing weighs five pounds. You just tell me what it says, and what it means to say. I ask you again: what do I have to do to get this 'relocation'?"

"You will be housed and protected by the government; you will be under routine surveillance, of course, and you will have to be available for medical testing and research."

"Like some baby pig they burn with blow torches to see if their new ointment works? No thanks. I'm not going to be their lab experiment, their science project."

"No. Nothing like that, Emmanuel. They just want to take your blood. That's all. Like maybe a eight times a year."

"Like going to a medical lab for a blood test?"

"Not exactly." Kevin cleared his throat. "More like going to the blood bank and making a donation – as often as once every six weeks – like giving a pint of blood."

"So, why can't they just come here and do it? Why someplace in the middle of the Nevada desert?" Emmanuel raised one eyebrow and studied the attorney's face.

"The conditions have to be right for the harvesting," Kevin half-whispered.

"Harvesting. Is there some special class you guys take where you learn to call things what they aren't? I'm not a freaking apple tree. I don't need harvesting."

"Sorry. Bad choice of words."

"What?"

"What, what?"

Emmanuel sighed, getting annoyed with the conversation. "What conditions?"

"As a condition of the agreement, you ..."

"Stop it!" Emmanuel shouted, causing some of the sleepy guards to momentarily look the general direction of his cell. "Under what conditions will I be 'harvested'?"

"Just your blood, Manny, not you; just your blood."

"Are you trying to bait me or what?"

"Okay," the lawyer began slowly, "You know how you get, right? Well, the idea is to recreate that sort of thing under controlled circumstances."

"What do you mean? What are you talking about?" Emmanuel was starting to calm down. 

"The plan is to try to induce that changes in you that make your blood change."

"How are they planning to do that?" Emmanuel said suspiciously.

"I don't really know," Kevin replied, "That's not my department. I'm just here to show this document to you and see if you want to sign it. It's a good deal for you; it really is."

"And if I don't sign?"

"You sort of have to, like I said," Kevin said softly, signaling to the guard that he was ready to leave.

"And if I don't?"

"These things aren't up to me, of course, but I believe that you would be transferred into the general prison population if you don't agree to relocation."

"When?"

"Now."

"Now?"

"Well, after my car leaves the parking lot."

"Where do I sign?"

3- Emmanuel surveyed his new quarters. The room was essentially a blend of the master bedroom and study from the mansion. His favorite things were there: his books, pipes, pictures, even the spears and slings from his childhood with the tribe. His clothes were neatly organized in his six Eighteenth-Century armoires. 

"You look surprised, Emmanuel," Bonnie said, signaling for the guards to remove Emmanuel's shackles. "I even recreated your bathroom; I hope you feel at home here. I'm sorry there are no windows, but there's nothing to see on the other side of these walls but the rest of the building we are in. I'm sure you understand."

"Everything is fine, I guess. Better than my prison cell." Dancer signaled for the guards to leave. They hesitated but then did as she said. "You aren't afraid of me?" Emmanuel said, taking a step toward Bonnie.

"Not in the least, Emmanuel. I am your only friend in this new world of ours and I know what makes you tick," Bonnie said, standing her ground and looking defiantly toward Emmanuel.

"So you don't think that I am a monster?"

"Of course I do! Clearly you are a monster. My job is to harness your monstrosity for the benefit of mankind."

"Mankind. To hell with mankind, and to hell with you too; you're full of shit, Miss..."

"Dancer," Bonnie said.

"You are a dancer?"

"That's my name: Dr. Bonnie Dancer. I am your hostess while you are here with us. If you need anything, just let me know; if it is within my powers, I will see that you get it."

"You figured it out, didn't you?" Emmanuel offered.

"That you only become a predator when you sense fear? Yes, I know that," Bonnie replied.

"It's a smell. As sweet a smell as nature has ever produced. It is a lovely pungent fragrance that words cannot describe."

"I can't smell it, but I understand that you can."

"So, what do we do now, Bonnie?"

"Call me Dr. Dancer."

"Okay, Dr. Dancer."

"Well, you get settled in for a few days, become accustomed to the routine, tell me anything you need – that I might have forgotten, okay."

"Alright," Emmanuel smiled, noticeably relaxing.

4- Norman Colossian, who used the moniker "Brother Normy" in what he called his "ministry," looked out at the vacant faces filling the pews at his Midnight Rescue Mission in downtown Los Angeles. "For all of you have sinned, and you have come up short of the glory of God. You can be justified by His grace through the redemption that is in Him; whom God hath set forth to be an offering through faith in His blood, to declare His righteousness for the remission of sins that are past, through the forbearance of almighty God." 

Bonnie looked at Brother Normy with contempt. "You can't even get it straight, can you?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Romans 3:23-25. The word is 'propitiation' not 'offering'," Dancer snarled.

"And I'm supposed to be impressed that you can quote the Holy Scripture? We are in the same business, you and I. Anyway, what you want, what you came here for is out back and I don't want to be here when you take them, so don't fuck with me lady; just give me the money."

Dancer handed Brother Normy a briefcase. "Feel free to count it if you want," Dancer offered.

"That won't be necessary," Brother Normy smiled, "If it isn't all straight inside here, there won't be another shipment ready next month."

"It's all there."

"Thanks."

"Oh, and Brother Normy: next month, could you throw in some runaways from Hollywood too?"

"All girls, like the others?" Brother Normy affirmed, starting back toward his tabernacle. 

"Yes, only younger next time; that would be just great!" Dancer smiled her phony smile and left through the alley exit. She held up a laser pointer and sent the beam down the alley, across the street to a car parked in the next block. When the car reached her, a young man got out and nodded her direction. The man then signaled the car to drive away. She nodded back and the car drove off.

Dancer handed the man an envelope and a set of keys. "The van is over there," Dancer said, gesturing the direction of a shiny black van with opaque windows. "It's filled with gas; don't speed, and there's a map in case...."

"I know where I'm going," the man interrupted her, "Don't worry." With that, the man walked down the alley to the van, got in, and drove away.

5- "So, what is this place?" First Girl asked nobody in particular, swinging her legs over her bunk bed.

"Must be some kind of mission or halfway house, like Brother Normy said, I guess," First Woman in her mid-twenties opined.

"I wasn't paying attention until he said the part about free food and a place to stay," First Girl said, inspecting the green examination gown. "And they said we would get some new clothes too. I hope this isn't them." She laughed at her own joke. The others ignored the conversation and continued reading, listening to music, or sleeping. They had all arrived very late the night before and, after showering and a cursory health exam, some blood and urine tests, they were given a simple but tasty snack before going to bed. "It's hard to tell when it's night or day in here," First Girl mumbled to herself, "I guess when they turn the lights out it's nighttime."

"He said we would earn money at some sort of job," Blonde Girl announced, looking to the others for validation of what she thought she remembered they were told.

"Telephone calls," Third Girl added, putting down her paperback book. "I think we are going to be those people who call you at supper time to try to sell you stuff."

"I don't care what they want us to do," Second Woman said, not really in reply, "Free food, bowls of fresh fruit everywhere, candy bars and cigarettes in the snack area over there (gesturing with her chin toward one end of the dorm). Now, if they only had some Southern Comfort, I'd be set." Second Woman clearly amused herself with that.

"I heard a couple of the guards, oh that's right, umm, "hosts," saying that once we have been here for a while then they move us one by one to different housing where we will learn something about computers," Fourth Girl perked up, taking the earphones from her head, "You know, like a skill we can really use."




Emmanuel's Seed



"I have all the skill I need for what I do!" chuckled First Woman.

"You're a fucking whore; big deal." Third Woman snapped, not opening her eyes.

"Well, I think it's great!" First Girl bubbled.

"Idiot," mumbled Third Woman. 

With that, the room grew quiet for a while, broken by Blonde Girl: "And they said that we would be shown some sort of a movie or training film after we are ready to move on to the other housing."

"Whatever," Third Girl said, "It's gonna be telephone sales."

The next day, the group was taken outside, behind the building, where there was an Olympic size swimming pool and lounges with cloth-covered cushions on them. The girls were told to swim and sun themselves for a while, but to come back inside for lunch when they heard the bell. 

Bonnie came out in a two-piece swimsuit and placed herself on one of the lounges, a diet Pepsi and a stack of magazines in tow. In her early 30s, Dancer was much older than the younger girls, but still had a teenage figure. Once she has settled in, the girls, now all naked in the pool, gradually coalesced at the far end. They began looking Bonnie's direction and whispering to each other.

Dancer put down her magazine. "In case you are wondering, I am the only one who wears a swimsuit around here. That's not because I am modest, but because I am the director, the person in charge of this entire compound, and I prefer not to have my employees see me naked. Everyone here works for me."

Like a group of baby ducks, the girls in the pool gradually paddled over to the edge of the pool nearest Dancer, lining up next to each other and placing their chins on the edge of the pool. Bonnie sensed their presence and put down her magazine. "Yes?" she asked the group, "What's up?"

The girls looked at each other and began asking questions. Bonnie smiled at them and told them that all of their questions would be answered by the training film when they are selected to move into the new housing. The girls got out of the pool, each selecting a plush white towel and a lounge.

"Don't burn, girls," Dancer said, not looking up from her magazine, "If you are prone to burn, please move to one of the lounges under the canapé on the far side of the pool.

"Umm, Ms. ..." First Girl began.

"Doctor Dancer." Bonnie helped.

"Oh yeah. Dr. Dancer, maybe they have some sunscreen or lotion or something."

"I'm so sorry," Dancer replied, knitting her eyebrows, we don't allow any of that sort of thing here – no lotions, oils, makeup, perfume, etc. Only toothpaste, mouthwash, non-antiperspirant deodorant." Bonnie sipped her diet Pepsi and returned to her magazine. The girls looked at each other and some of them shrugged. 

By the time the cook came out of the building to pulled the chain, ringing the old bronze bell on the lawn next to the pool enclosure, Bonnie and all of the girls had moved into the shade. At lunch, Bonnie said that she intended to get to know each of the girls personally, learning as much as she could about their lives, their hopes and their dreams.

That night, the girls enjoyed a first-run movie, had some hot herbal tea and cookies before bed. 

First Girl was gently awakened by Bonnie, who whispered that she had been selected to begin her training in the morning and she needed to wash up and get ready to go. First Girl showered, washed her hair with the apple scented herbal shampoo, then dried herself with a couple of the plush white towels. When she was ready, she put on a fresh examination gown and went into the hallway, where Bonnie greeted her with a warm smile. "You look wonderful, dear," Dancer whispered.

"Thank you, Dr. Dancer," First Girl said, almost melting with appreciation, "And also thank you so much for helping me and the other girls out like this. I don't know what charity you work for but if I ever make it rich I would give a lot to it."

"That's so sweet of you to say, dear. I think they're ready for us in the Green Room."

When they reached the soundproof door of the Green Room, Bonnie entered a code into the keypad and the door clicked open. "You are in good hands, my dear," Bonnie said, giving the girl a warm and reassuring hug."

"You don't come in with me, Dr. Dancer?" First Girl asked, her accepting eyes wide with inquiry.

"No, I have to get some sleep. I have a lot to do tomorrow. But don't worry, I will see the entire process on video tape tomorrow. Have fun!" With that, Dancer closed the door, leaving First Girl to wander down the hallway into the large theater-like staging area.

"Hello!" chirped a warm, friendly voice, "It's great to see you. My name is Gabriel, but people call me Gabe. Are you ready to begin?"

"I guess; what am I to do?" First Girl asked, looking around at staging area, noticing that there were several cameras positioned about the circular stage, and some theater seats on risers on one side. She couldn't see the theater seats very well, as there appeared to be some sort of glass partition between them and the center of the well-lighted stage. In the center of the stage was a large object covered by a green cotton cloth, similar to the material used to make the examination gowns. 

"Don't worry. This isn't a test or anything; I'm sure you'll do great!" said Gabe, "Here, let me take your gown. I'll set it right over here for you later, okay?"

"Umm, I have to be naked for the training?" First Girl asked, just a slight sense of worry audible in her question.

"Oh, it will be just fine; I am a doctor, you know. Things are very professional around here. But if you would prefer to work with someone else, I can call Dr. Dancer in and tell her that you would be more comfortable with a female instructor. Really, if that's what you want, I can call Dr. Dancer right now; she can reschedule you for another day with a different doctor." Gabe removed the cell phone from its clip and flipped it open. 

"No, no!" blurted First Girl, "She is super tired and said she was going to bed; she has been so sweet to me; I don't want to disturb her. I guess it's okay." First Girl removed her gown and handed it to Gabe, who snapped his cell phone closed and returned it to its belt clip. He folded the examination gown and placed it on a lectern about six feet from where they were standing. 

Gabe took his cell phone off his belt clip again, flipped it open and punched in two numbers. "Could we have Rachel and Rebecca come help us, please?" Gabe flipped his phone closed and explained to First Girl that she would be given an injection, nothing harmful, that would help her training go more quickly. Then she would watch a movie that would explain everything. He said that the movie would last about ten minutes.

"What's in the shot?" First Girl asked.

"It's called Torcain®; it's kind of like adrenaline; it helps make your training more intense, so it goes much quicker." In fact, the injection contained a birth control agent as well, in case the girl did not die during the pre-harvest, and they wanted to use her again. Rachel and Rebecca came in, wearing their nurses' uniforms. Gabe pulled away the green cloth in the center of the room and told First Girl to "hop up here."

First Girl did as she was told. Rachel and Rebecca moved to one end of the table, as Gabe gently had First Girl lie back. When First Girl was lying all the way back, the two assistants reached under the table and slid padded extensions with a stainless steel snap-shut restraint sleeves at the ends. They each took one of First Girl's arms and placed them at the ends of the extensions. As soon as her wrists touched the center of the sleeves, they snapped shut.

"Dr. Gabe?" First Girl said, "Why do they have to do that?"

"Relax now," Gabe said from the foot of the table, "It's because of the injection we are going to give you; you don't want to fall, do you?"

"What?" asked First Girl, as Rachel and Rebecca slid out the extensions at the foot of the table and secured her ankles with the snap-sleeves.

Gabe inspected the restraints; satisfied that First Girl was properly secured, he waived the assistants off, pressed two buttons on his cell phone, and said, "Okay, Bonnie, we're all set here."

The room grew silent for a moment. Then, Rachel returned with a hypodermic needle and syringe and gave First Girl an injection in her arm. Almost immediately, First Girl could feel the effects of the injection. Her senses became much more acute, her sense of panic escalating. 

The entire table tilted from horizontal to vertical as First Girl futilely began to struggle. A large panel on the wall she was facing lit up and the film began. There was some close-ups of Emmanuel's face, taken from news footage. First Girl didn't recognize Emmanuel's face at first. As the silent news footage continued, she realized what she was watching. She felt wave after wave of panic sweep over her, partially from the drug and partially from her recognizing Emmanuel. Suddenly, there was sound! Not high quality sound like one would expect from a production film, but the tinny on-camera sound one gets with home movies. 

First Girl watched as Emmanuel began torturing a woman he had drugged and taken back to his mansion. Her deafening screams of terror and agony filled the staging area. After three or four minutes, the film suddenly stopped and a dozen klieg lights flooded the room. First Girl was consumed with terror, her senses were peaking, and she was barely able to breathe. She saw some movement to one side of her and snapped her head around to see what it was. A couple dozen men and women, dressed in street clothes, medical uniforms, business suits, and military uniforms filed into the theater seats. One woman was wearing an evening gown with sequins sparkling along its trim. It was Bonnie Dancer. 

Dancer grabbed an FM microphone and exited the theater seating room and walked onto the center of the stage. She stood on the far side of First Girl and pivoted the table so First Girl was facing the theater seats. She rested her hand on First Girl's shoulder and spoke into the microphone. 

"Good morning ladies and gentlemen. I'm sorry that this presentation must be conducted in the wee hours of the morn, but I know most of you have jobs you have to be at and it's a long way to anywhere from here. This girl here was a piece of trash picked up along the side of life's road. Until this point, her life has been meaningless."

Dancer looked over at First Girl's terrified face and whispered to her, "You're dong just great! I'm so proud of you." But First Girl was too frightened to understand what Dancer was saying.

"She will be our first subject. It will take approximately two dozen like her, some older, some younger, over a two-year period, to generate enough serum for our sponsor and partner, Fitzer-Rheem Pharmaceuticals, to produce enough serum for every worthy man and woman in America! This project is proof that this great nation of ours can, when we set out minds on it, accomplish nearly anything! And the key is to our success here is the cooperation of government and industry, working together to solve the great challenges of our time. What you are about to see is not pleasant. But neither is cancer. It will not be pretty, but neither are the ravages of disease. It will be bloody, but not as bloody as the horrors of war. This process will create super-soldiers, and super-statesmen, committed to bringing peace and prosperity to all."

Beaming with pride, Dancer returned to the theater room, shook hands with a few people, hugged some of the other women, and took her seat.

The Torcain® in First Girl's body was at full force. She could feel every hair on her body; her nerves were hyper-sensitive. She did not feel delirious at all; just the opposite. She was more alert and aware of things around her than she had ever felt before.

The large flat screen monitor withdrew into the rafters, the large green curtain behind the monitor opened, and a set of double doors snapped open, revealing only a dark hallway. Suddenly, from out of the darkness came Emmanuel, naked and shiny with sweat. He looked around the stage area, walked around First Girl, and then over to the glass partition separating the theater seats from the stage. He pounded his fists on the glass, frightening the people in the seats. When they realized that they were safe from him, they all laughed off their fear and joked about the start he had given them.

Emmanuel walked over to First Girl and stood directly in front of her with his back facing the visitors; a few of the women commented to each other on his nicely shaped butt. His face less than an inch from First Girl's. "Hello," he said softly, "To get to heaven you must first go to hell. I am going to take you to hell. Right now."

He began to run his hands all over her outstretched body; First Girl screamed in terror when he roughly squeezed her breasts. Emmanuel arched his back and breathed deeply through his nostrils. "The smell, oh my God, that smell!" The sound of her scream and the smell of her fear drove him wild. He grabbed some of the instruments left on a table for him a few feet away and began to torture the girl with forceps, hemostats, and a cattle prod. The more she screamed the more wild and excited he became. When he was fully ready, he entered her vaginally and also began to strangle her. Every few minutes he would stop her strangulation to allow her to revive, and then he would begin again. 

After twenty minutes of this, as he began to climax, he plunged a metal dowel into her neck, killing her. At that instant, a shot rang out. From a catwalk high in the rafters, a sharpshooter had shot a tranquilizer dart into Emmanuel's buttocks. As he collapsed, half a dozen technicians rushed into the room, quickly released First Girl's corpse from the table, returned it to it's horizontal position, and put Emmanuel onto it. He was secured with the snap-collars and a long tube was placed in an artery in his groin area. A suction device then withdrew two pints of Emmanuel's blood. The bags of blood were placed in foam-lined stainless steel carry boxes and removed from the room.

Emmanuel was transferred to a gurney, covered with a white cloth, and wheeled back down the hallway to his quarters.

The stage and instruments were cleaned up, the green cloth that had covered the table was neatly folded and draped over the lectern, and caterers wheeled in carts with triangular finger-sandwiches, cookies, bowls of fresh fruit, and silver urns of hot coffee. Dancer led the visitors onto the stage, where they looked around, inspected the torture instruments, and chatted about what they had witnessed.

"I know it is hard for some of you to deal with the loss of human life, particularly the life of such a lovely young girl, but it's important to keep this sort of thing in perspective," Dancer said, having requested the group's attention. "Suffering is a fact of life, is it not?" 

Laura Vade was the first to speak. "Dr. Dancer, was it necessary to kill the girl? Couldn't you have achieved the same results without allowing Emmanuel to actually kill her? My company has received a lot of bad press over the years about the way we have treated laboratory animals in our research, and I don't think..."

"Thank you for the question, Laura; I'm glad you asked that," Bonnie began. "We considered the idea of not allowing Emmanuel to actually kill the volunteers, and we think you might be right. Maybe we could just let him torture and rape them and still achieve the same positive results. But since we are totally out of crime-scene samples, we had to be sure we had a couple of pints of fresh material for Fitzer-Rheem's lab to work on while we consider the options open to us with respect to the harvesting. The materials harvested this morning will provide ample time for us to re-evaluate our procedures in that regard."

"Dr. Dancer," a voice from the back of the group called out, "You said that the girl was a 'volunteer;' she didn't act much like she had volunteered for anything. What accounts for that?" The voice belonged to attorney Kevin Stature.

"I knew someone was going to mention that, Kevin. Thanks. Everybody, Mr. Stature is Emmanuel's attorney. To answer your question, Kevin, what you witnessed was merely the girl's reaction to the injection she was given. She was very happy to have volunteer for our project and she knew the risks involved before she started."

"Are you saying she knew she was going to be killed?" Laura Vade asked, tilting her head to one side to indicate that she thought that was not the case.

"Her release form, drawn up by Mr. Stature as a matter of fact, clearly stated that there were substantial risks associated with our experiments – risks of discomfort, injury, or even death." Dancer smiled back at Laura challengingly. "You can't make an omelet without breaking some eggs. As our premier omelet maker, Laura, I'm sure you understand that."

A Catholic Bishop from an East Coast archdiocese asked if the experiment was going to involve only girls or if boys would also be able to participate.

Kevin emitted a derisive laugh but quickly stifled himself. Dancer confirmed that they were going to be experimenting with 'a couple of boys' but thought that Emmanuel might not be as interested in them, adding rhetorically, "But it's worth a try, right?"

The Bishop looked over at Kevin. "Young man, I noticed, as I'm sure some of the others did, that you found my question humorous. Would you care to explain?"

Kevin was going to say that he found the Bishop's question very funny since he used to be an alter boy, but instead he said, "Oh, no disrespect, Father; I was just wondering how the church would stand on this whole thing, you know, as a moral question – a question of ethics." The Bishop didn't miss a beat. "As our Lord had suffered and given His blood for our Salvation, so might others sacrifice their blood and their bodies for the greater good. History is replete with examples of suffering in the name of Salvation and our faith." Nodding, Kevin had to agree with that.

Dancer decided that the conversation was going where it ought not go, so she thanked everyone for attending and reminded them that their support for the project was greatly appreciated and that each of them, and their immediate family members, would receive the life-long permanent immunization shots, once the new batch of freshly harvested serum was processed by Fitzer-Rheem. The theater lights began to dim and the huge doors to the parking lot opened; the visitors headed out of the building and into the pink desert dawn.

6- Emmanuel was still tired when he woke up. Chuck Chipwall, his main guard, explained that he had received two units of saline intravenously before bed to replenish his vascular blood volume, but that Emmanuel's red blood cell count was very low. He was told to rest and not exert himself too much. Emmanuel sipped his orange juice and nibbled on the chocolate chip cookies left for him on his bed stand. 

When the remaining girls in the dorm woke up, they asked about First Girl and were delighted to learn that she had been chosen to be trained and moved to new housing. Even the girls who had not particularly liked First Girl admitted that they were pleased had been selected, as she was always so cheerful and eager to help everyone. The hosts suggested that the girls play some badminton or volleyball, and then take a swim after breakfast. 

After badminton games, the hot and sweaty girls headed for the swimming pool area, but stopped short when they saw a sleek naked male figure swimming laps in the pool. "It's okay, ladies," called out Bonnie, as she headed toward the girls and the pool area, with her diet Pepsi and magazines. "It's only Kevin Stature; he's a guest here, like yourselves. He's okay; don't worry about Kevin."




Emmanuel's Seed



His back to the approaching group, Kevin gracefully hopped out of the pool and wrapped a towel around himself. "Oh!" he said with surprise, "I thought I was alone out here!" He smiled at the group; they looked at him gave a few little waves of acknowledgment, grabbed some towels, and headed toward the lounges. Kevin turned his back to the others and toweled his hair dry, smoothing it back a bit with his fingers. He picked a lounge on the other side of the pool from the group and removed his towel, placing it on the lounge. He placed himself face-down on the lounge and began soaking up the warm rays of the desert sun.

The girls were impressed by Kevin. The began giggling and commenting in hushed tones to each other. Dancer pretended to ignore both Kevin and the girls' reaction to him, sipping her drink and staring at her magazines. 

The girls were waiting for Kevin to turn over, to tan his front, but it was taking too long. They decided to go in the pool. Kevin heard them laughing and splashing in the pool and looked back to see what was going on. He gracefully got up from his lounge and, in a swift, smooth, single motion, snatched his towel from the lounge and wrapped it around himself. He walked over to Bonnie and, gesturing toward an empty lounge next to her, asked if he could join her.

"Sure, Kevin, be my guest," Dancer gushed, unable to hide the fact that she was smitten by Kevin. "What did you think of the show last night?" 

"Grisly," Kevin replied. "I'm glad I witnessed it but I found the whole thing really disturbing."

"I would be horrified if you didn't find it disturbing, Kevin."

"Don't you get nightmares doing this kind of work, Dr. Dancer?"

"Call me Bonnie."

"Bonnie."

"No, not really. I keep my attention focused on the good that comes from it, rather than the somewhat unpleasant means of production."

"Yeah, okay. I guess in your line of work that happens a lot."

"It does. What do you think of the other girls?"

"I am trying to pay no attention to them, truth be told," Kevin adjusted himself and looked at Dancer's body.

"You like what you see?" Bonnie smiled.

"Oh, I'm sorry; was I staring? I am so sorry, Dr. .. umm, Bonnie."

Dancer laughed. "No, I meant the girls; how do they look?"

Kevin blushed. "They look fine. Are they all going to be... used ... in the project?"

"No. As a matter of fact we are only going to use one of them; the rest will be told that we lost funding – they will be returned to Los Angeles in a few weeks."

"Why?"

"Why are we not going to use them or why are we returning them to Los Angeles?" Kevin didn't reply; he just continued to stare at Bonnie. "We have decided to use the youngest one there, the blonde girl, and not let things go too far. Not like last night, I mean."

"Will that work?" Kevin asked, seeming relieved that he might not be involved in another killing.

"It should, according to our research. You know we have been testing your client a lot lately. We find that his chemistry maintains normalcy in the presence of eucalyptus oil. It stops the reaction."

"Is that why his room smells like a cough drop?"

"Yeah, we put the oil lamps around, but had to take them out a few days before we were ready for the harvest."

"So all of the horrors associated with Emmanuel could have been avoided simply by having his house smell of eucalyptus?" 

"That's what it looks like." 

Kevin leaned back on his lounge, allowing this news to soak in. He was thinking that he might be able to work this information to his client's advantage. Maybe Emmanuel could have some sort of medication or implant or something that would render him normal. But he knew better to discuss all that with Dr. Dancer.

"You going to swim?" Kevin asked, changing the subject and once again admiring Bonnie's body. "The water is cool and refreshing." 

"Nah," Bonnie said, "I only swim at night; when the girls are out here I like to keep an eye on things."

"Well, tonight it is then." Kevin said to her, eager for her response, "I'll join you if I may."

"Sure. That would be nice," Bonnie smiled.

Emmanuel had slept most of the day, and by sundown he was hungry. He enjoyed a steak and some fries, a green salad, and a glass of beer. Then he fell back to sleep. Kevin and Bonnie had dinner in her quarters. After eating, Bonnie reminded Kevin of their swimming date. They headed out to the pool area, stripped down and swam for a while. Kevin was impressed that Bonnie had maintained her excellent figure into her 30s but was smart enough not to say so. Kevin pressed his body against Bonnie's and began to grow hard. They kissed. Then Bonnie pushed him away a bit and said that they should return to her place. 

She made two Mojitos and gave one to Kevin, leading him into her bedroom. He sipped his Mojito while she went into her bathroom and showered off the pool water. When she came back to the bedroom, she tossed her towel on the floor and lay down on the bed. Kevin laid beside her and ran his fingers from her face, along her neck, and around her breasts.

"You are very gentle, Counselor," Bonnie grinned.

"Your skin is so soft; I love your look." Kevin had no idea what to say, so he decided to shut up.

Bonnie reached over and grabbed the TV remote. She pressed a button and the television burst into action. As she went down on Kevin, a DVD of First Girl's rape and torture came on the screen. A sense of revulsion threatened Kevin's hard-on, but Bonnie managed to overcome that. He tried not to watch the screen but he couldn't help himself. "Is that supposed to turn me on or what?" Kevin finally asked.

"No, not at all. It turns me on to know that you are watching it."

Kevin was disgusted but finished anyway, and turned the video off. He clicked off the TV and began to perform cunnilingus on Bonnie. He was surprised how receptive and loud she was; he got the impression that it had been a while for her. As the waves of her climax began to grow, she reached for the television remote control again. Before she could press the buttons, however, Kevin slapped it across the room and pinned her hands, with his, on the sides of her buttocks, holding her like that as she came and came again. 

After sharing a cigarette with Bonnie, Kevin said that he had to get back to Los Angeles in the morning. "I do work for a living, you know."

"I know," Bonnie pouted, "When will you be back?"

Kevin was both apprehensive and annoyed by Bonnie's adolescent change of comportment. 

"I'll see you when I see you, okay?" he said, being cute and charming, masking his claustrophobia. 

"Okay," Bonnie giggled girlishly, "I'm going to sleep now."

Kevin decided not to wait until morning, but quickly packed his overnight bag, chewed a couple of Adderall® tablets, and drove his car back to L.A. After showering and changing into his business suit, he drove to his office and flipped through the pink message notes his secretary had left on his desk. Most of the messages were routine and Kevin made a few phone calls to deal with the issues they presented. He saved one message for last. It was from Karen Kraft. He called her but got her machine. At first he was not going to leave a message, but then thought that she might have Caller ID, and decided just to say that he returned her call and that the best way to reach him would be on his cell phone, leaving her the number.

Within five minutes, his secretary beeped his intercom, telling him that Karen Kraft was on the line.

"That was fast; are you at home?" Kevin asked, instead of saying hello.

"No, I'm at school; I get a beep when someone leaves a message for me on my home phone," Karen said. Kevin looked at his monitor and noted the Texas area code and number. From the noise in the background, he could tell that she was walking outside and was probably calling him from her cell phone. He jotted down Karen's home and cell phone numbers on his calendar and on a small slip of paper he put in his wallet.

"Great. How's Houston?"

"Can we meet sometime real soon?" 

"I'm not scheduled to be in the Houston office until later this week. And when I arrive in Houston I have to head out almost immediately to Austin. I will be there a few days; can we meet in Austin?"

"Okay."

"What's this about, Karen?"

"Can't say. We'll talk when you are here." They said goodbye and hung up. Kevin thought about the phrase, 'can't say' and figured that Karen must have wanted to talk to him about Emmanuel or experiments relating to Emmanuel and was nervous about talking about it on the phone. A wave of dread came over him. He was already paranoid about being involved in "The Project," as everyone now called it. He really didn't need Karen Kraft's paranoia adding to his own. But Karen didn't seem like a "stress-adder" to Kevin. He figured she must have something important to talk about.

The next week, Kevin and Karen met at Ruby's Barbeque on Guadalupe Street in Austin. Kevin had made an appearance that morning on behalf of the firm's client and did not have to return to Houston right away.

"Now that I am able to do the research I want at Baylor Med., I have been thinking of different ways to approach this whole blood serum thing, you know, with Emmanuel and all," Karen started. 

"Okay," Kevin listened, wondering how such a great looking girl could also be so smart.

"So, what I did was take some of the serum and modify it a little, and then inject it into newborn rabbits, about a dozen of them."

"Bunnies!" Kevin exclaimed, in a childlike voice.

"C'mon, Kevin, this is serious."

"Okay, I'm sorry, please continue."

"You don't have to pout about it; just listen to me."

"Not pouting; please continue."

"So, we understand the effects of prostaglandin F2α and its analogs on plasma estradiol 19-Β and progesterone levels in rabbits, right?"

"Oh yeah, that's what I always say! Took the words out of my mouth! Look, Karen, if I could understand that shit I would have been a doctor instead of a lawyer. Just give me the big picture – you're wasting your time trying to explain science stuff to me."

Karen stopped talking and took a long hard look at Kevin. "You know you're cute, don't you?"

"Yup, adorable. Let's go back to my hotel room."

"Stop it!" Karen laughed, although the thought of being with Kevin had crossed her mind more than once. "Okay."

"Really want to go back..."

"No! Well, yeah, but the 'okay' went with giving you the big picture. See, the serum-injected, ummm, 'bunnies' possessed all of the curative traits that Emmanuel has, but exhibited none of the aggression."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah!! Isn't that great?"

"Oh, my 'yeah' went with the 'go back to my hotel room' part. But sure, umm, so, in terms of helping Emmanuel, what does your experiment mean?"

"How should I know? You're the attorney!"

"We're not getting anywhere. Let's get back to the going back to the hotel room part."

"Look, if your guy can be shown not to be aggressive or a threat to anyone, then doesn't that help him out, you know, jail-wise?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"The only reason he is NOT in jail is because he is 'donating' his blood for the vaccine. He says thanks, by the way." Karen shuttered.

"You don't talk about me to him, do you?"

"Can't say. Attorney-client privileged communication – what we talk about. [a beat] Sure I did; gave him your picture, home address, cell phone number... No, of course not, but everyone connected with the project, including Emmanuel, knows who you are and what you discovered."

"He's creepy."

"Really? Hadn't noticed. Seriously, 'creepy' doesn't begin to describe it. Anyway, they found out that if they keep a bunch of eucalyptus crap stinking up his place out there, he doesn't go nuts – at least not so far."

"Wait. When were you going to tell me this?"

"What?"

"About the eucalyptus thing."

"Didn't think to mention it. You're blood-girl, not control-girl."

"I have to get back to the lab," Karen said, obviously distracted.

"No, no, no. You came all the way up here from Houston so we could discuss the rabbit thing and hang out, right? Well, we discussed the rabbit thing..."

"Yeah, but you just mentioned something important to my work."

"Right. You are going to drive all the way back tonight so you can inject your rabbits with eucalyptus leaves or something. Forget about it; they're sleeping now, all in a big lump in one corner of their cage, dreaming of fluffy clouds and carrots." Karen laughed and began to relax.

"Okay," Karen agreed, "work can wait. Let's go back to your place." 

"Really?" Kevin knew he shouldn't have said. Karen just laughed and downed her large glass of Merlot. 

"C'mon, counselor, let's see what you got."

Karen took her purse into the bathroom and, after washing her face and gargling with some mouthwash, she inserted her spermicidal-slathered diaphragm and met Kevin on the bed and started pulling at his clothes hungrily. Kevin was surprised how passionately they made love. It seemed to be much more than just sex. "I thought doctors and lawyers weren't supposed to get along – like cats and dogs." Kevin was playing with Karen's belly button ring.

"The cats and dogs at my parents' house always got along just fine."

"So do we, so far." Kevin smiled.

"Why 'so far'?"

"You haven't seen me drunk and belligerent."

"Are you a mean drunk, Kevin?" Karen knew he was bullshitting. 

"Terrible. I get thrown out of Irish bars." They both laughed, and then they made love again – and fell asleep in each other's arms.

Late one night, Bonnie Dancer had come down to the kitchen area, just outside the girls dorm area to find a green apple. She had told the staff to buy some boxes of pippins but they had bought granny smiths. She hated granny smiths, but she grabbed one to eat as she strolled the grounds, something she did almost every night. When she neared the pool area, she heard some plashing around and saw that Emmanuel was taking an evening swim. She quietly returned to her room and put on her bathing suit. Before she got to the pool area enclosure gate, a guard came up to her and said good evening. They exchanged some pleasantries and she said that she was going to take a swim. The guard said that Emmanuel would be finished in a few minutes and she could either come back then, or he would buzz her to let her know when the pool was available. Dancer told the guard that it was okay, and that she would take her swim right then. The guard had started to warn her about Emmanuel but then realized that she probably knew more about the man than he did, so he simply advised her that he would keep an eye on them while they were both in the pool. 

"Good evening, Emmanuel," Dancer chirped cheerfully, "Another great evening."

"Hey, Dr. Dancer!" Emmanuel said, "It's amazing how many stars you can see out here, compared with the city."

"You grew up looking at the stars, didn't you?" Bonnie said, pleasantly.

"Yeah. It was spectacular down there, when there wasn't too much water in the air, you know, humidity makes them hard to see."

Dancer dropped her towel onto one of the lounges and went into the pool. "Do you miss it?" she asked him.

"Living there? Yeah, sometimes. It was fun growing up in a Tarzan environment, swinging from tree to tree on the vines." 

"Don't patronize me, Emmanuel," Dancer teased, "I know there was no vine-swinging where you were." Emmanuel chuckled.

"I was just messing with you a bit. Hope you don't mind. I'm amazed that you are not afraid of me in the least. I know we had gone over that when I first arrived here, but it still amazes me."

"Perhaps that's because I know what makes you tick. Maybe it's because I can handle myself. Or maybe it's because the guard over there is watching us." Emmanuel strained his eyes but couldn't see anyone there.

"It's a fallacy, you know – that we psychopaths can see in the dark, fly through the air and rip people's faces off like Hannibal Lector."

"You're not a psychopath, Emmanuel." 

"Well, some may say otherwise; you have to admit I tend to go overboard sometimes."

"We think that it has something to do with some sort of early trauma shortly after your conception."

"Yeah, that's what they say, but I don't remember; I was very young at the time. I can control it, you know. I don't like to admit that to everyone. That whole thing about my not being able to control it is bullshit. When I smell fear, though, I get waves of erotic compulsion that demand to be satisfied. But I can think myself down if I have to, want to."

"And the eucalyptus?"

"It works really well. How did you come up with that?"

"Laura Vade's team did the work on that."

"Yeah, she's hot."

"You like her?"

"Sure, she's great looking and really smart, like you are; I'd fuck her," he smiled.

"We don't need her splattered all over the walls, Emmanuel; she's too important to The Project," Bonnie said.

Bonnie Dancer took off her bikini top and pressed herself against Emmanuel. He put his hands on either side of her head and gently kissed her lips. She raised her legs and wrapped them around his waist, feeling him start to grow hard. Emmanuel slid his hands down to Bonnie's bottoms and coaxed the garment off of her. She kicked her leg a couple of times and they floated free. She put her legs back up around his waist and leaned back until her back was on the water, her firm breasts glistening in the ambient light. Emmanuel moved the couple over to the far edge of the pool and hoisted Bonnie out of the water, to sit on the pool deck at the corner farthest away from the enclosure gate. He placed her legs along the right angle sides of the pool corner and buried his head in her groin. She leaned back, propping herself up on her elbows while Emmanuel's tongue did its work. When she was ready, she slid back into the water and guided him inside her. She pushed her tongue inside his mouth as he gently pivoted his pelvis and thrust back and forth. She could see the periodic sparkle as the light reflected off the night goggles the guard at the entrance was wearing. When Emmanuel finished, the two of them swam around a while, toweled off and said good night.

When she got back to her quarters, she collected some of the semen he had left inside her and put it in a small vial, then placed the vial in her refrigerator. Later that week, her lab technicians told her that the sample exhibited none of the "special characteristics" needed to make the vaccine. She shrugged.

7- Bonnie had decided to return all but the youngest blonde girl to Los Angeles, telling them that the funding had run out but that she would keep their contact information in case she could use them again. She told the others that Blonde Girl was going to stay with her, "to help out in the lab." 

Blonde Girl was flat-chested and boyish in many respects; she had a firm, slender, athletic body, a glorious smile, and lovely sparkling eyes. She was eighteen but looked and often acted twelve. In her questionnaire, she had stated that she was bisexual, but Bonnie suspected that she was a virgin. The girl was afraid to sleep alone in the dormitory, so the second night after the other girls had been returned to Los Angeles, Bonnie decided to have Blonde Girl sleep with her. Blonde Girl told Bonnie her family had come from Russia but that she was born in New York. 

Her father abandoned her mother and her when the girl was three or four, and she had no idea who or where he was; she and her mother had wandered from place to place for years, often staying in homeless shelters or, weather permitting, in the national parks and forests. Her mother had "home schooled" her in reading and arithmetic. 

Her mother "entertained gentlemen" for the two of them to survive, but had always protected the girl from the seedier sides of life. One night, when the girl was fourteen, her mother did not come back to the San Antonio shelter where they had been staying. After a week had gone by, the middle-aged woman who operated the shelter told the girl that the authorities needed to be notified that the girl's mother was missing and that Blonde Girl needed to be "taken over by the state." 




Emmanuel's Seed



Not knowing what that might entail, and having been taught by her mother to avoid "official people" at all costs, the girl hitchhiked West on Interstate 10, eventually ending up in Santa Monica, California. In Topanga Canyon Village, she had met a boy who was searching for his escaped Labrador retriever; when the pair found the dog, the boy introduced the girl to his "family." She wasn't sure that all the people were related to each other, but they nevertheless called themselves a "family." She traveled up the Coast with the family, spending a couple of years at the family's "farm" in Oregon, which they called "Homestead." It wasn't a farm at all, she told Bonnie; they just liked to call it that. By the time she had turned seventeen, Verna Osckay, the "spiritual leader" of Homestead, told Blonde Girl that the girl was to "marry" Verna's son, Barkley, who was forty years old and retarded. That night, Blonde Girl quietly packed her belongings and hitchhiked to Los Angeles, where she lived at Brother Normy's Mission, earning her keep by washing dishes and making the lunchtime sandwiches.

Bonnie discovered that Blonde Girl slept best when they cuddled and slept like spoons in a drawer, with Bonnie's arms holding the girl close to her bosom. The first night they had slept together, Bonnie was both touched and amused to see that Blonde Girl sucked her thumb when she slept. Bonnie found the girl adorable.

After about a week, Bonnie took Blonde Girl with her to visit Emmanuel in his room. The three of them chatted pleasantly for a while, as Bonnie studied Emmanuel's reaction to Blonde Girl. She seemed to arouse him noticeably. Whenever Bonnie and Blonde Girl walked around the complex, Bonnie allowed the girl to wear a pair of white shorts and a tube top, rather than one of the otherwise mandatory green examination gowns. 

Bonnie had taken the girl with her to visit Emmanuel several more times the following week. On their final visit, Bonnie had told Blonde Girl to remove all of the eucalyptus oil lamps from Emmanuel's quarters. When he heard that, Emmanuel raised one eyebrow and stared at Bonnie with an inquisitive look. Bonnie instructed the girl to take the lamps back to the kitchen area and prepare a can of tuna for the two of them. With the girl out of the room, she told Emmanuel that he would have a couple of nights without the eucalyptus oil and then he would be brought back to the stage to be harvested again. Emmanuel stared at Bonnie for a while, then asked if Blonde Girl was going to be the one chosen to "help" him.

"Yes, I have selected her for our next volunteer, Emmanuel, but the rules have changed. You may torture her all you want, but you are not to cut her or damage her in any way."

"Okay, but do I get to fuck her?" he asked with all the innocence of a boy.

"Sure!" Bonnie replied cheerfully.

"Alright. Here's the deal," Emmanuel offered, "If I agree not to cut her, strangle her, or really damage her, will you keep the guy with the tranquilizer gun away?"

"No, he will be there watching you, but if you act properly, he will not shoot you with the dart."

"Good," Emmanuel sighed. The last time I had a splitting headache for two days and my eyes were super-light-sensitive."

Two days later, after lunch, Bonnie and Blonde Girl made love in Bonnie's bedroom and then the two of them cuddled and slept. "I think I love you, Dr. Dancer," Blond Girl said sheepishly, "I really do."

"I know Sweetie, I love you too." They fell back to sleep in each other's embrace and did not wake for hours. 

They slept until Bonnie's cell phone rang. It was Kevin. Dancer went into the bathroom to take the call. Kevin told her that his plane had landed earlier that day at Las Vegas, he and Karen had rented a car, and were headed toward the compound. 

"Do you think Karen Kraft would enjoy watching the harvesting tonight?" Bonnie asked Kevin.

"Oh, God, no!" Kevin blurted, almost awakening Karen from her slumber in the passenger seat.

"Alright, then. You should stay at the motel outside Area 51 until dawn."

"That's fine. We will do that."

"You fucking Karen?"

"Not right now, Bonnie. I could wake her up and have her give me some fine desert road head while we chat if you want."

"Very funny," Bonnie said sarcastically, completely unamused.

"We will wait until we get to the motel to start the fucking in earnest." Kevin continued, not realizing that Bonnie had already snapped her cell phone shut.

Once the Green Room was prepared, Bonnie took Blonde Girl by the hand and led her down the hall, through the green door, and around the corner to the stage area.

"What's this place, Dr. Dancer?" Blonde Girl asked, searching Bonnie's face with her innocent and trusting gaze.

"It's the center of The Project, Sweetie," Bonnie told the girl, "It's where I do my work. It's why we are all here."

"Wow, this is really cool," gushed the girl. 

"I'm glad you like it, dear; want to see how it works?"

"Sure! I'd love it!" giggled Blonde Girl.

Dancer removed the green cover from the table and pulled out the arm and leg extensions. Then, patting its padded leather surface, she told the girl to hop onto the table and lean all the way back. Blond Girl quickly spread herself out on the table and stretched her arms and leg out as far as they would go. In the shadows at the far end of the room, the other people remained silent and motionless, watching Dancer work.

She put the girl's wrists and ankles in the snap-sleeves, and kissed her passionately on the lips, pushing her tongue in and out of the girl's mouth, stroking her bare midriff with her fingernails. Dancer walked over to the instrument table and selected a pair of 5 ½ inch chrome bandage scissors and cut the front of Blonde Girl's yellow tube top and pulled it off the girl, tossing it onto the floor.

"Wow, Dr. Dancer," Blonde Girl said, showing some signs of confusion, "This is what you do for your work?"

"This is how it starts. Soon we will be joined by another. Just relax now, okay?"

"Another?" asked the girl, "Who?"

"Emmanuel."

"The guy with the oil lamps, right?

"Yup; the very one."

The girl was startled by the voice from the overhead speakers: "Dr. Dancer, will you be wanting the medication now?"

"Yes, Gabe, and I will give it to her. But we will skip the movie this time."

Dancer took the prepared hypodermic syringe and gently injected it into Blonde Girl's immobilized left arm. 

"All set, ma'am. Just let me know when you're ready."

Dance walked over to the instrument table and removed several of the tools and straightened the remaining ones in neat rows. She picked up the cattle prod, pressed it's button and tapped the silver-tipped bright red horns to the palm of her hand.

"Gabe?" Dancer called out into the darkness, "These rechargeable batteries just don't do the trick; can we have six fresh regular batteries, please?"

"Yes ma'am."

The lights went up to full power as Gabe walked out of the shadows, holding three unopened packages of batteries. Gabe and Dancer ripped open the packages and placed the fresh batteries into the handle of the prod. Dancer inspected the device carefully and then pressed the button and slapped Gabe's forearm with the prod. He yelped in pain and gave Dancer a hurt look, but said nothing. Snorts and giggles came from the rest of the "harvest team," back in the shadows of the room.

"Gabe?" Dancer called out once again.

"Yes, ma'am?" Gave answered.

"Do we have two of these?"

"Yes, ma'am. You want to use the battery packs or put ..."

"No, Gabe, put in regular batteries, not rechargeable, and bring it down, please."

Blonde Girl was watching all this but did not say anything. Eventually, she said, "Pssst, Bonnie! Come here a second, okay?" Dancer walked over to the table and put her head down near the girl's face to hear what she wanted to whisper to her.

"Who are those other people I hear? They can all see me like this! Is that okay?"

"Yes, dear," Bonnie said reassuringly, "we are all professionals here. It's just fine."

Dancer picked up the scissors again and cut away the girl's shorts. She bent down and cranked the leg extension adjustment wheel until the girl's legs were spread nearly 180 degrees.

Gabe came running onto the stage and gave Dancer the second cattle prod; she placed it on the instrument table and inspected things one last time before leaving the stage. Gabe looked around the room to see if everything was in place, and then walked to the bottom end of the table. 

"Hello there!" he said to Blond Girl, "How we doin'?" Blond Girl became uneasy as Gabe admired her exposed genitalia. She yanked on her restraints as Gabe smoothed the girl's pubic hair to each side of her labia with his thumbs. She twitched and tried to pull herself free, to no avail. "You look very pretty like this."

"Dr. Dancer?" Blonde Girl called out, a quiver of worry and fear causing her voice to crack. "Dr. Dancer?" she called out again.

"I'm here, Sweetie," Dancer said, but her voice came over the speakers.

"Okay, everybody!" Gabe hollered, "Show time!" Gabe jogged off the stage and joined the others in the safe room, back in the shadows. Even more lights came on. "Here we go!" Gabe shouted.

Emmanuel came out and stared at the girl on the table for a moment. Then he walked over to the glassed-in theater area and saw that it was empty. Returning to the table, placed himself between the girl's outstretched legs as he rested his elbows on the edge of the table, on each side of the girls rib cage. Her midsection was quickly moving up and down as she panted in terror, feeling the first effects of the Torcain® injection. Leaning forward, he asked Blonde Girl if she was a virgin. Her eyes wide with panic, she started sobbing but managed to squeak out a "Yes."

Emmanuel went over to the instrument table and selected two bright blue plastic four-inch T-Clamps, then returned to the table to place one on each of the girls nipples. She began screaming and writhing around as he pulled on them a couple of times and twisted them from side to side. Emmanuel could feel himself starting to get hard as he watched her jerk and buck from both the fear and the pain. "Oh, you are a good one!" he growled, in a voice that sent shivers even down Bonnie Dancer's spine.

He picked up the two cattle prods and, holding one in each hand, walked around and around the table, poking the girl in nearly every part of her body. He removed the T-Clamps so he could get better access to her nipples. He worked her belly button ring and nipples for a long time, and then directed his attention to her groin area.

Blond Girl could only hiss at this point as she rolled her head from side to side desperately trying to break free. When he was fully erect, Emmanuel entered her with a single swift thrust. Blond Girl screamed and screamed as he roughly thrust himself in and out of her, continuing to hit her neck and breasts with the cattle prods. It took him a long time to climax, and by the time he did, Blonde Girl was delirious, her mouth opening and closing like a fish dying on the wooden planks of a fishing pier.

Suddenly, the room was filled with a fine mist of eucalyptus fog, and Emmanuel dropped the cattle prods and wandered deliriously back toward his room. Once he had cleared the giant double doors, they snapped shut and the entire crew came onto the stage to start the clean up. Rachel and Rebecca, accompanied by two guards, went into Emmanuel's room to make the blood harvest.

Blonde Girl was unable to walk, so Gabe carried her down the hall to Dancer's room, where he gently placed her on the bed an covered her with the soft white blankets. Blond Girl looked at Gabe and blinked.

"You did really well, dear," Gabe said, feeling quite paternal.

Dancer was ecstatic with the success of the evening and gave Gabe a big bear hug as he left her quarters. She stripped down and climbed into bed, holding the shaking and whimpering girl close to her. As she tightened her loving embrace, Blond Girl started to cry. "There there, Sweetie. It's okay. It's all over now. You did a super job. What a good girl you are!"

Blond Girl rolled over to face Bonnie and buried herself in Dancer's chest.

Two hours later, Dancer was awakened by her phone ringing. "This is the lab."

"Yes?" Dancer replied, "How did we do with the new procedure?"

"Great, Dr. Dancer! Just great!" the technician told her, "We centrifuged the blood to get the plasma out and mixed Emmanuel's blood cells with saline and put them back into him; the plasma has all the attributes of the whole blood samples!"

"Christ! That IS great news!" Dancer gushed, "So we can do the harvest with the same girl every two weeks, right? Have your analysis and report on my desk by ten, okay?"

"Sure thing, Dr. Dancer. Oh, and congratulations!"

"Thanks." Dancer flipped her phone shut and snuggled closer to Blond Girl, who was fast asleep, sucking her thumb.

When Blonde Girl woke up, she could hear water splashing about as Bonnie took her morning shower. Blonde Girl through off the blanket and top sheet and inspected her body. There were a few marks here and there and some very minor bruising around her wrists and angles from the snap-collar restraints. Her belly button ring was sensitive to the touch but the girl decided not to take it out. She placed her fingers flat against her chest and made a few circular motions and decided that, although they were a bit sore, her nipples seemed okay. Her inspection complete, she got out of bed and went into the bathroom, and sat on the toilet, which faced the glass shower door. As she peed, she watched Bonnie rinse the shampoo out of her hair and apply some conditioner. The girl thought of Dancer as a mother figure and felt guilty that she had let the woman down in some way. 

"I'm sorry, Dr. Dancer," Blonde Girl whimpered as she peed, "I'm sorry I let you down last night."

"Wait a minute, I can't here you with the water." Dancer rinsed the conditioner from her hair and reached over for a towel. She briefly damp-dried her hair and made a turban-wrap. Having finished peeing, Blonde Girl flushed the toilet, but continued to sit there. 

"What were you saying, Sweetie?"

"That I am sorry that I was bad last night, Dr. Dancer, I know that that guy is your friend and he's like some sort of special rich guy or something and everybody has been so nice to me here and ..."

"Don't worry about it," Dancer laughed. "You know that, from all the girls we could have chosen to help me in my work, I chose you. You will do much better next time."

"Next time?" Blonde Girl asked, very quietly, trying to control the catch in her voice.

"Yes, dear," Dancer said cheerfully standing directly in front of Blonde Girl, looking down at her angelic face, "Every two weeks, for about a year or so." 

Blonde Girl shuttered and she could feel tears welling up in her eyes but looked down, so as not to disappoint Dancer. Bonnie took a step forward and straddled the girl as she sat on the toilet. "You know you can be taken back to Los Angeles anytime you want." 

"I don't know what to do," Blonde Girl started to weep. "Tell me what to do."

"I love you, Sweetie; you're my best girl!"

Blonde Girl stopped weeping. Dancer took the towel from her head and raised the girl's chin to see her face. "You are a lovely child," Dancer said, looking down at the girl's tear-filled eyes. She took another step forward, placed her left hand under the Blonde Girl's chin, her thumb and index finger just behind her jawbone and guided the girl's face into the woman's groin, gently moving her jaw into the right position. Dancer leaned forward a bit, now straddling the girl's upturned face. After several seconds, the girl's tongue finally emerged and went to work. Blonde Girl was happy; knew she was forgiven. 

8- After responding to several phone calls, reviewing some spreadsheets, and filling out some government forms, Dancer returned to her quarters and told Blonde Girl to get ready for a swim. The girl withdrew a fresh examination gown from what had become "her drawer," but Dancer said, "Wait, Sweetie, I have a present for you."

Blonde Girl had never received a present in her life. Well, actually, her mother would give her presents, but they were always things like pretty pinecones or sea shells, never anything store-bought. Dancer produced a small gift bag and handed to the girl.

"You bought this for me?" the girl said, starting to fall apart again.

"Open it," Dancer grinned. Inside was a blue and orange print bikini. "From now on, when we go to the pool, you will wear a swimsuit."

"Oh, Dr. Dancer!"

"Sweetie," Dancer smiled, "I think you can call me Bonnie when we are alone together, okay?" With that, Blonde Girl totally broke down and, wrapping her arms around Dancer and sobbed.

"You are so wonderful to me! Nobody has ever ..."

"Hush, now, Sweetie," Dancer soothed, "We don't want the others to see that this pretty little face of yours has been crying; let's go."

When they got to the pool area, they saw that Karen Kraft and Kevin Stature were lying on a couple of lounges, wearing swim suits. When Bonnie and Blonde Girl passed through the gate, Kevin stood up and smiled at the approaching pair. Karen shielded her eyes and examined the two as they walked toward them. 

"Kevin, Karen, I would like you to meet Blonde Girl; she is my special assistant," Dancer presented. Blonde Girl looked up at Bonnie, surprised to hear that her title was now "special assistant."

"Nice to meet you, Blonde Girl," Kevin and Karen said, more or less in unison. 

Karen figured the girl was about fifteen years old, obviously not Dancer's daughter, and too young to be a Project employee. She thought the girl had a fine looking body but could use some breasts. She watched the girl's eyes carefully to see how she looked at Kevin. As the girls eyes went from Kevin's eyes to his chest and then to his groin, Karen spoke. "What does a special assistant do around here, Blonde Girl?" Karen asked, distracting the girl from Kevin for the moment as she focused on Karen's question. Kevin was gulping down his diet Pepsi.

"Well, last night I helped with the harvesting!" 

Kevin choked on his Pepsi, which came dribbling out his nostrils. "Shit, I hate it when that happens," he covered. When he had regained his composure, he stared at Dancer, looking for some validation of what the girl had said.

"That's right, Sweetie," Dancer said to Blonde Girl, actually directing her comment to respond the Kevin's look of dismay. "And you did an excellent job; you were perfect!" 

Blonde Girl beamed with pride, clasping her hands behind her back and twisting her torso back and forth as a praised eight-year-old might do. "I did good, huh, Dr. Dancer?"

"You're my special little girl!" Dancer responded affectionately.

A wave of nausea came over both Kevin and Karen but for different reasons: Kevin because he had some idea what the girl must have gone through – lucky to be alive; and Karen because the interaction between Dancer and the girl was sickening and revolting. Without comment, Karen stood up and dove into the pool. When she reached the bottom, she screamed out in disgust. Her scream went unheard, of course. Since she was little, Karen knew that was a great way to let off steam without anyone knowing about it. When she resurfaced, she saw that Blonde Girl had chosen the lounge on the other side of Kevin and had taken off her bikini top. Without drying off, Karen returned to her lounge and began several conversations at once with Kevin, distracting him from the girl on the other side of her. 

Sensing the tension, Kevin got up and dove into the pool and when he returned to the surface, he signaled for Bonnie to come in to join him. Karen was beginning to regret her decision to come to the compound. She liked Kevin a lot, but all of the people he interacted with seemed extremely creepy.