Chapter Twenty-Eight: Deal with the Devil
They had escorted him back to the little piece of earth that Van Kleiss so brazenly called Gat. He would not look in the direction of the containment tubes and the gross, mutated victims within. Dexter had no love of spiders or vermin, but to see them turned to EVOs and Fusions was, to him, grotesque in the extreme. He kept his back to the vat of Fusion Matter as well, revolted by the green glow and the stench of the stuff. Left with few options, he studied the banks of machines set about the cavern, trying to occupy his mind by determining their functions and ignoring the Pack.
"Refreshment?" asked Van Kleiss pleasantly, handing him a glass of pink liquid.
Dexter looked at the stuff, suspecting strawberry lemonade. Michael certainly knew he liked it, having drugged his lemonade at the conference down in Florida. In the flattest tone imaginable, he made no effort to keep his derision from showing as he said, "The last time I consumed anything in close proximity to you, I woke up a drug-addicted brunet with separation anxiety and a very bad haircut." He held the glass out at arm's length and dropped it, letting it shatter on the stone floor before turning back to study the – in his opinion – outdated computers.
"Ah, yes," said the man, acting as if Dexter had politely refused the drink. "That was not my intent."
"And somehow that makes it all right?" snapped Dexter. He looked at Van Kleiss, a tall and colorful blur. "What was your intent? To kill my father?"
"Hardly. The dosage simply would have incapacitated him long enough for my plan to succeed. Things, however, did not go as smoothly as I intended that evening. What happened to you was an unfortunate accident."
"Which you tried to exploit. How disappointing for you. You didn't get the new toy you wanted."
"I have you now."
He snorted. "For the moment . . . however long it lasts." Impatiently he demanded, "Where are my glasses? Breach lost them. I require them back now."
"You," and Dexter was made aware that Michael Van Kleiss was only tolerating him and his attitude and less-than-polite conduct, "are in no position to give orders."
"Aren't I? Do you have any idea of what you've made a deal with, Michael?"
"The devil, perhaps?" suggested the EVO with a smirk, saluting with his own glass of lemonade.
He was too far away for Dexter to see his expression, but he heard the sarcasm. "Worse. Far worse. Unlike my Fusion, the devil, at least, knows what goodness is however distasteful it might be to him. He's not your ally. He's using you. My Fusion is not human. His standards and emotions work very differently from anything you know."
"You should have tried this. It's quite refreshing," said Van Kleiss. "I've known many people that aren't human, then. Isn't he simply a copy of you, Dexter?"
"Yes. And you've already underestimated him, just as you underestimated me."
"I'd prefer to think otherwise because . . . here you stand."
He smiled faintly. "For now."
"So very confident," mused Van Kleiss. "You haven't changed much."
"Why should I?" Dexter snapped.
"Same clothes, same haircut, same attitude."
"Is there something wrong with being comfortable in my own skin?" was his flip response.
"Absolutely not. But you have proven to be a remarkably elusive study, young man. If I hadn't known better, I'd have to say you didn't exist."
That, at least, was quite satisfying to hear. For his thirteenth birthday, General Shaan had given him a most unusual gift – the means to erase his existence from any computer connected to the internet. It was a remarkable program, a virus of sorts, one the Plumbers had used before to protect alien refugees and their own agents living on earth. It scoured the internet and databases and deleted anything referencing Dexter directly – school records, photographs, newspaper articles, blogs, emails – anything. The program was almost impossible to detect and even if it was removed from a computer, it would simple re-infect a system as soon as the computer accessed the internet. With no means of tracing or identifying him, Dexter had never been safer, and great care was taken at DexLabs to insulate him from the world and keep him from being mentioned in interviews and articles and research. He was smugly pleased to know Shaan's present was so very effective, and he smiled his most infuriating smile and said nothing to enlighten his captor.
"However, surveillance has paid dividends. Here you are." Van Kleiss gestured expansively, as if welcoming a guest to his home.
He rolled his eyes, folding his arms. "Converted to currency and standing at the bottom of a defunct mine surrounded by freaks and a pool of snot. Pathetic. This is your view of heaven?"
He smiled, affecting amusement. "This is merely a lab, one of several I have available to me. I certainly wasn't going to risk bringing Fusion Matter into Abysus."
"Fusion Matter," he echoed softly, giving voice to his doubt. "If you say so."
He could feel Van Kleiss' suspicious glance and knew his scorn had piqued the man's curiosity. Good. Let him wonder. Dexter waited, fairly certain of what was going to be offered to him before long.
"What were you doing at Providence?"
"Visiting," he answered glibly, in a tone pitched to annoy.
"Visiting."
"Mmm," he nodded. "I was invited."
"For tea?" was the disbelieving inquiry.
"No. Cheese steak sandwiches."
"White Knight wasn't interested in the disruptor field you're wearing?"
"What? This old thing?" Dexter replied, lifting his left hand. A slight bulge was visible under his glove, reaching from wrist to forearm. "It came up."
"Breach has told me it was highly effective in blocking her."
"Yes, I know. I built it for that purpose."
"Quite brilliant, too."
He nodded his agreement. "Smarter than stealing anything from DexLabs."
Van Kleiss drew a deep breath, his patience wearing thin. "It presents an interesting problem for me."
"Does it? I'm delighted to hear it. Please, do go on."
"You're well aware that your Fusion twin intends to remove you in exchange for this Fusion Matter. He must, of course, be paid. However, since I assume you don't like the notion of falling into his gentle custody -"
"You're proposing I remove the disruptor field and allow Breach to snatch me out of his hold and right back to yours, which was your plan all along."
"In summary, yes."
"And I profit by this . . . how?"
"You said yourself he's not human and knows nothing of goodness. Wouldn't it be preferable to live in Abysus over wherever he would take you to?"
"And what, work for you?"
"Better than working for a monster that's trying to destroy the world!"
Dexter shrugged. "I don't know. I haven't worked for him yet. And monster," he added with a meaningful look, "is a relative term."
"You're very stubborn."
"Thank you."
"I could call Biowulf in and have him remove the disruptor from your arm."
"You could try. There are several factors to consider, however. One, it can't be removed by anyone but me. I took a cue from the Omnitrix and it employs a genetic seal similar to that device. A simple bit of biometric engineering I devised with my father's help. The patent should come through any day now. Two, if Biowulf," and he made sure to massacre the pronunciation once again, just in case the EVO was eavesdropping, "lays a paw on me again, I'll make very certain my Fusion knows that your dog hurt me. Since he is me, Michael, he won't take kindly to anyone touching me." He glared. "That goes double for you."
The tall, severe scientist drew himself up, his anger evident. He was about to speak when a deep, rough voice said, "Master! We found it."
For a moment he seemed annoyed, then satisfaction replaced the emotion. Skalamander lumbered up to their little piece of heaven and handed something to Van Kleiss.
"Well done," he said, looking at Dexter's glasses where they rested in his palm. "Back to guard duty."
"Yes, Master." The EVO departed, heading back toward the mineshaft and trailing mud and dirt.
"Your glasses," said Van Kleiss, holding them up to the light to examine them. He frowned at the strength of the prescription and wiped a bit of dirt off the frame. "One of the lenses is cracked in the corner but they seem otherwise undamaged."
"I'm very glad to hear it," Dexter said in all honesty, though he didn't move. He was glad to hear it, knowing that his father would be able to track them down from the built-in homer.
"Would you like them back?" asked the scientist.
Dexter made a face, not fooled. "Tch. And what is the price you're charging for the return of my own property?"
"Remove the disruptor field."
He laughed and shook his head. "Too expensive. You priced yourself out of the market. Keep them, Michael. They're my gift to you. A memento of me."
Van Kleiss glared and slid the glasses into his coat pocket. "For now, at least. Change your mind, and you can have them."
"Why don't you hold your breath until then?" suggested Dexter pleasantly.
"Charming," Van Kleiss snapped, though it was evident he though Dexter was anything but. "Well, since you won't be persuaded yet, perhaps you can offer some insight to the workings of Fusion Matter."
"My father knows more about it than I."
"I doubt your knowledge is a distant second," he said. "For example, I'm sure you saw my experiments with the EVOs before."
"Back when I could see, yes."
He tried to ignore the interruption and continued. "They seem to lack the vitality and violent tendencies one associates with Fusion monsters."
"I already told you! That stuff is snot."
There was a pause as the Englishman fought his way through the Soviet Bloc accent that somehow added a syllable to so short a word. "Is not? Is not what?"
"No!" exclaimed Dexter, convinced he'd been captured by an idiot. "Snot! Boogers! Mucus!"
"Ah," said Van Kleiss. "Not above vulgar terms, are we? What makes you say as much, Dexter?"
Quoth the Boy Genius, "They seem to lack the vitality and violent tendencies one associates with Fusion monsters."
"You indicated something of this nature earlier. Explain."
He pointed at the vat of green gel. "That is the weakest Fusion Matter I've ever seen. Everything about it is wrong – the color, the viscosity, even the stench is weak."
"Interesting," was the quiet response. "Please, do go on."
"What more can I say? You got ripped off."
"What color should it be?"
"Closer to Skalamander is normal." He looked around at the colorful computer screens and lights, trying to find something comparable. "There. That light . . . or whatever it is. I can't tell. A rough gauge for Fusion Matter seems to be the darker, the stronger, which is why you really need to be afraid of my double. The Pentagon sent us a video a few weeks ago from when he targeted the nuclear sub Minnesota at Groten, Connecticut. He is . . . a force to be reckoned with."
"Tell me more."
He shrugged, delighted to spread a bit of propaganda. "What do you want to know?"
Van Kleiss worded his question with care, obviously aware he was interviewing a hostile witness but unwilling to pass up the opportunity Dexter offered. He was doing a good job of hiding his concern about the Fusion Matter being far less than he'd expected, but Dexter knew he'd hit a nerve.
"What effect would normal Fusion Matter have on a living organism?"
"It depends. Most often it serves to animate otherwise inanimate objects and give them a form of intelligence and limited emotional range. Less often it combines with living creatures to enlarge and mutate them, as you demonstrated."
"What of Fusions?"
"So far as my father's been able to tell, the Fusion Matter used to create dopplegangers is more . . . refined. DNA is introduced to the Fusion Matter versus it combining with a live subject, resulting in what is essentially a clone."
"Fascinating."
Dexter snorted. "You would think so. They're horrible and very difficult to destroy. They carry over a lot of abilities of the original person, plus some of them add a few powers of their own." As he spoke he thought of Professor Plutonium, his father's Fusion double that was smart, ruthless, and came complete with tentacles.
"Why doesn't Fuse build whole armies of them, then?" asked Van Kleiss, giving voice to a question Professor Utonium had been asking since the start of the invasion.
"We don't know. They might somehow be self-limiting. They seem to be able to make just one Fusion for each sample of DNA collected."
"I'm surprised they managed to get a sample from you," said the Englishman.
"Violence, greed, and brute strength can take a plan very far, as you well know."
"Just as progress can be stymied by stubbornness."
"That depends on how you define progress. I will not help you, Michael Van Kleiss."
"What are you doing now?"
"I haven't said anything you couldn't have figured out on your own." Folding his arms before him, he smirked. "I'm just passing the time."
