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|Payback (standard:science fiction, 2511 words)|
|Author: Saxon Violence||Added: Dec 03 2012||Views/Reads: 3070/967||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|Connor is a mad scientist bent on revenge, but the form that his vengence takes will surprise you.|
Payback Connor stared at the vial. The vial was almost mystical. The vial held the means to balance the scales, to attain retribution. The Vial held the fruit of seventeen years of dogged research. Connor was a top rate biochemist and geneticist. In his own mind, he was the best geneticist of all time—and didn't hesitate to say so loud and clear, if pressed. He worked for a large Pharmaceutical Manufacturer. He had access to some of the best laboratory equipment to be had. Some of his undercover work, what his blue-collar father had called “Government Work”, had been done at work, right under their very noses... But there was a limit to what even the brightest and best PhD could hide from other competent geneticists. It was fortunate for Connor that his income was well into six figures. He had no wife, no surviving children and no other interest except payback. His house was well out of town and it had been built to Connor's specifications. There was an ample basement and a sub-basement. In fact, the signature of his basement was about fifty percent larger than the house that topped it. His garage also had a basement and there was a tunnel connecting the house basement to the garage basement. The tunnel was nice and wide. One could have parked an automobile in it, if he could have gotten one there. Connor had let the contractor think that he was some sort of Survivalist or Prepper—nothing to get excited about. The place was high, dry and tight. He'd had green tiles laid on the floors and he kept them clean enough to eat off of. He even had a full-sized industrial buffer in his basement lab. It was a bit demeaning for a PhD, who lived in a half-million dollar home to do his own sweeping, mopping and buffing—but cleanliness was important in a Genetics Laboratory and Mad Scientist types couldn't very well allow servants into the covert workplace. Connor had bought much of his gear from laboratory supply houses. Some of it he'd liberated from work, or gotten permission to salvage instead of throwing it away. Some of it he'd built and cobbled together himself. Some of the online sites devoted to Genetic Hacking in the Home Laboratory had been most helpful. He was fifty-four years old but he looked twenty years younger. Staying in top-notch physical condition was one of his most important disciplines. One's brain worked better when one was in good shape and he hadn't known how long it would take to develop his virus. He couldn't have his vengeance foiled by a middle-aged heart attack or stroke. Seventeen years ago, his fifteen-year-old son had committed suicide. A few months later his wife had been killed in an automobile accident. The other driver had been at fault but Connor was convinced that his wife's state of mind had contributed to the accident. At any rate, both his wife's life insurance and the driver's insurance company had paid off quite handsomely. Shortly after he had the money in hand, Connor had resigned from his teaching post, moved to Atlanta to take a very high-paying job in research and development and started on his master plan. He'd driven a very hard bargain with the company. He cared nothing for money. He didn't care about anything except getting his own version of payback against the type of folks who'd taunted his son until he'd felt low enough to take the Suicide Express. Maybe, he thought, if he'd paid more attention to the boy or been more tuned into his inner moods—maybe he could have done something. But primarily he blamed his son's peers for their cold-hearted insults and jokes at his son's expense and secondly, he blamed mankind, or at least modern civilization for creating a society where such activities were allowed. He blamed himself only a very distant third. Click here to read the rest of this story (262 more lines)
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