Separation by J.S. Frankel Page A

imagine what you are thinking. You
are thinking some of us will fight against this injustice,
yes?”
    “It crossed my mind.”
    Carlo gave a hmmphing sound and crossed his
massive arms over his chest. “It has also crossed my mind. However,
Monsignor Morello and others in the church are working on our
behalf. The religious and relief organizations in other countries
are also working to aid us. We must be patient. There are not
enough of us, and we have no power. As I said before, we need
leadership.”
    He said nothing more. Once they reached the
main chamber, Anastasia met them. Even in the dim light, she looked
pale. “Are you okay?”
    “I tossed everything up for the second time
since we got here.”
    She threw up again... He didn’t want
to believe it, but it had to be true. Just to make sure, he asked,
“Uh, how long have you been feeling sick?”
    Anastasia blinked. “It started a few days
ago. I...”
    Seconds later, her voice died away, but a
faint smile spread across her face. “I’m also late. Maybe I should
have told you?”
    She was late... late as in...
    With a sense of realization that bordered on
shock—almost—Harry whispered, “You’re pregnant?”
    “It seems to be that way.”
    Suddenly at a loss, his mind whirling, he sat
down. Carlo gave him a pat on the shoulder. “It happens,” he said
in a deadpan manner which provoked a giggle from Anastasia.
“Congratulations... Papa.”
    “Yeah...”
    Harry couldn’t think of anything else to say.
Carlo excused himself, and once they were alone, Anastasia took a
seat, her legs folded underneath, and her hand upon her flat belly.
“Are you happy?”
    How was he supposed to feel? Shocked,
surprised, awed... and yes, he was happy. Reaching out to touch her
stomach gently, she guided his hand to where she said she felt it
most. “I sometimes feel a twinge here. I’ve never been pregnant
before, but I guess I’ll learn.” Her gaze met his. “You are happy,
aren’t you?”
    “Well, yeah, but when, I mean, how...”
    Anastasia arched her eyebrows upwards in
disbelief. “If you don’t know, then you need to reassess your
life’s priorities.”
    Harry felt the blood rush to his face. “I
know how,” he stumbled out. “But I mean, are you sure?”
    She nodded. “What else could it be? I didn’t
have time to take the pregnancy test. Anyway, I can still help you
out. Did you send the message?”
    Putting aside the concept of becoming a
first-time father for the moment, Harry filled her in on the
details. “Yeah, I heard about a guy named Allenby. He used to work
for ASR.”
    Anastasia blinked. “Weren’t they working with
the FBI before?”
    “Maybe this guy Allenby is behind it.”
    He then went searching for Leo, and found him
in an adjacent chamber, feeding his face on a pile of pasta and
slabs of cheese. He looked up, his cheeks bulging like a squirrel
storing up nuts for the winter. “What is it?”
    “What did the American say to you?” Harry
needed to know everything in as much detail as possible. “Did he
give you a name, tell you anything? We need to know what he looked
like.”
    After chewing and swallowing, Leo painted a
most impressive description that would have made a police artist’s
job easy. The man in question was in his forties, short and stocky,
with a head of thinning blond hair and an authoritative manner. He
had no distinguishing marks, save a birthmark running from the top
of his hairline to his right eye. “It was red, very red, like a
scar, but not a scar.”
    The doctors called it a port wine stain,
Harry recalled. The next time he was on the surface, he’d try to
get a picture from Maze. “Did he say anything about creating other
transgenics?”
    Leo chewed on his lower lip in a slow,
thoughtful manner. “He no say much. He point and gesture at the
other changed people. It is like he is master and they are slaves.
He point and they do, or he get very angry.”
    Power trip, he’s into control.