Separation by J.S. Frankel

one. “What are you going to do?” he
whispered.
    The answer came back in the same soft voice.
“I do not know if Signor Morello told you or not. There is no
central leadership. We are trying to link up with our other
comrades in France and Spain. Those are the two main countries
where our brethren have settled. They were forced out of the other
European countries.”
    “Forced out?”
    A sad smile accompanied the words, “You do
not know. I shall tell you.”
    A few months back, when the first transgenics
had come from various countries in the European Union, the rest of
the world didn’t know what to do with them. Those hybrids had come
from the laboratories of the scientists responsible for the
transgenic program, mainly Kulakov. They’d escaped from the
laboratories, found one another, and linked up.
    From there, they’d willingly come forward,
asked for jobs, and presented their skills. Some of them had
university educations, while others possessed knowledge in the
manual arts. Still more had no special abilities at all, save
youth, strength, and the desire to do an honest day’s work.
    “They were denied,” Carlo said with a trace
of bitterness. “They were called abominations and affronts to God,
they had their passports revoked, and they were given the choice of
leaving their homeland or going to jail.
    “They took the former choice, most of them.
Those that stayed were either jailed or shot, at least here in my
country. In Germany, while they were not deported, they were also
not accepted. The authorities there said they already had too many
refugees from the Middle East.”
    At least they hadn’t been killed. In the
Baltic countries, most of the transgenics had been massacred.
Russia had been especially ferocious in hunting them down.
Switzerland had refused them sanctuary, and Great Britain had
accepted only a handful. Most of the other pro-Western countries
had followed the same pattern. “We are not wanted, no matter how
much we wish to contribute.”
    Seeking a place of safety, they’d turned to
the various religious organizations and those sympathetic to their
cause. There weren’t many willing to help. “In Italy, our churches
have helped, but not all of them. In France and Spain, the Jewish
and Muslim relief groups have combined forces, but they, too, have
been shunned, as they are the religious minority. It seems,” he
said with a sigh, “there are no safe places for us to go.”
    Harry listened, attempting to digest the
facts at hand. Where could they go, what could they do, and what
would their future be? “What do you guys really want?” He hoped
they wouldn’t go radical in the same manner as Szabo and his ilk,
but the possibility existed.
    The answer came out simply and yet it carried
great emotional weight. “Our rights,” Carlo answered in a grave
voice. “What else do we need? I know about engineering. I know how
to operate heavy machinery. I do not remember much about my family,
even I had one, but I do know about my abilities.
    “Others here are knowledgeable about using
computers, have medical training, understand the ways of chemistry
and more. Many of us have had our minds invaded and our memories
stripped away. As for our families...” his voice trailed off a
moment and he gave a helpless shrug.
    “We are not animals in spite of how we look.
We are different, yes, but we are still people, and our
basic personalities remain. We only want the same chance as our
Italian brothers and sisters and nothing more.”
    Simply and yet eloquently spoken, his words
gave Harry a sense of hope... but at the same time, reality reared
its ugly head. Carlo had just mentioned the other countries’
governments being unwilling to help. It would be a long, arduous
road to acceptance.
    More telling, though, was that if rights to
the transgenic population were not accorded, where would the
transgenics go? More importantly, what would they do? As if reading
his mind, Carlo nodded. “I can