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and charts, as if he could reduce us to just statistics. Or Dr. O’Neil? Aren’t you sick of his fumbling attempts at taking serum samples? Maybe Dr. Fletcher. He tries to poke around in our heads with all the subtlety of a linebacker. Or Theena…?”
    Manny’s eyes got wide.
    “Maybe I should pick up your Theena.” David rubbed his face, as if mulling it over. “We could have some fun together. I bet she’s a real tiger.”
    Manny tried to raise his arm, but it was taped to the rail so the saline drip IV wouldn’t pull out. This greatly amused David.
    “Yes, I think Theena it is. Unless you’d prefer someone else. Who should I kill instead of Theena? I’ll let you pick.”
    Manny stared at his brother with tortured eyes. This was worse than being attacked. David was going to kill someone, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.
    But at least he could save Theena…
    “Townsend.”
    David’s smile was ghastly.
    “The computer geek. Excellent. I’ll come back later with the details. Maybe even some pictures. See you, bro.”
    David left. Manny looked at the phone. He had to talk to Jim Townsend, warn him what was coming.
    He called DruTech and got the number from Barry, the head security guard. Barry attempted to wish him well, but Manny hung up on him, anxious to make the call.
    Townsend wasn’t home. His machine picked up. Manny left a message.
    “Dr. Townsend. This is Manny. Your life is in danger. The same people that killed Dr. Nikos are going after you.”
    Manny squeezed his eyes shut at the lie. How could he still be protecting David, after all he’d done? He swallowed hard, and continued.
    “You have to go away for a while. Don’t tell anyone where you’re going. These people—they can’t be stopped. They’re maniacs. Please believe me. I don’t want anyone else to get hurt.”
    He gently set the receiver in its cradle and laid back down. Outside, clouds had covered the sun, turning everything gray.
    Manny closed his eyes and wished, for the thousandth time, that he could just go to sleep.

D r. Jim Townsend hated days off. The call from Rothchilde’s secretary came while he was in the car and already halfway to work. He’d briefly argued with her, insisting on coming in anyway, but she told him security had been informed not to let anyone in.
    Irritating.
    He was essential to the project. Without his organizational skills the experiment would be all over the place, untamed. Townsend had been the one to lay out the plans, run the schedule, catalog the results. His conclusions dictated what would be tested next. Though he didn’t invent N-Som, it would never be ready for FDA approval if he wasn’t on the team. The Nobel Prize people had better be aware of that when the time came.
    Faced with the ugly prospect of nothing to do, Townsend pulled the Hundai into a supermarket parking lot and weighed options. A frown creased his doughy face. He scratched at a spot on his glasses, pushed the comb-over back on his balding head, and tried to think of something to kill time until tomorrow.
    Movies, and all forms of media entertainment, bored him. There was nothing to do back at the apartment; the little amount of time he spent there was for sleeping, dressing, and washing. Eating was a joyless necessity, usually something quick and convenient. His burgeoning stomach was a testament to this, but exercise bored Townsend as much as anything else.
    The library? He needed to catch up on his reading; many of his subscriptions had run out, and prestigious scientific journals didn’t send you a little card to fill out as a reminder.
    A search of his wallet revealed his library card was expired. To get a renewal meant lines and hassles. The library was out.
    Museums? It seemed a chore to go into the city, search for parking, fight the crowds of school children.
    He thought, enviously, of his computer at work. When the strain became too great, he’d play a chess program to help ease his mind. It was