Disclaimers and author's notes are at the end of chapter one.
Sleeper
By: Masked Maiden
Prologue: 1999
In essence, it was the most unusual place for a business meeting. Yet because
of their surroundings, they were merely an addition to the madness. New York
City's Time Square was packed with multitudes of people from all creeds,
colors, and backgrounds, celebrating the coming new millennium. They cheered
and grew ever more restless as the clock started to count down the remaining
ten minutes of the 20th century.
Then there were the two businessmen, the ones no one thought about noticing.
They stood on a patio adjoined to a hotel suite on the top floor, observing
the celebration going on below them.
One man offered his associate a glass, which he accepted. No toast was made,
not even a silent resolution. The crowd's roar was all that existed until
the men took their drinks into their luxurious room and closed the glass-paned
doors behind them.
"These Americans are so easily amused," spoke the associate, a slender and
short middle-aged physician who was a native of China. His English was nearly
perfect, though his accent was distinctly heard with his tendency to pronounce
every vowel. "They stand there, crammed in the streets, make noise, and watch
a gaudy ball fall. It's pathetic."
"Could we please return to the matters at hand, Dr. Li?" the second businessman
requested. He set his glass down on the bar and filled it with champagne
once more. He sat down on a barstool and waited for his associate to
respond.
Dr. Hu Yen Li hid his disdain towards Stephen Lehmkuhl. The man was a South
African with ancestral roots from Europe that dated back to the 1600s. His
intentions were as mysterious as his demeanor, but Hu Yen wasn't the least
bit concerned. There was no need to be concerned. If this pale-skinned,
moderately bulky and balding foreigner could show off his riches with his
$2500 suit, his expensive champagne, and this hotel suite fit for royalty,
then he was of importance to Hu Yen. It was about the money – who had
it and who wanted to spend it. Always. Nothing more and nothing less.
"Of course, Dr. Lehmkuhl," Hu Yen replied. "I will permit you to have full
access to one of my laboratories in China for 20 million American dollars.
10 million in my account by next week and 10 million once your crew has settled
in."
Stephen agreed to the conditions. "Consider it done."
"Excellent, but might I ask a question?"
"Of course."
"What do you intend to use my laboratory for?"
Stephen downed the last drop of his champagne and set his glass on the bar.
He arose from his seat and walked toward the Chinese man, keeping direct
eye contact as he did so.
"I will not tell you," Stephen pointed his finger. "My purpose for using your laboratory is none of your business."
Hu Yen made no attempt to disguise his anger. "I see," he snorted. "And what
if I were to cancel our transaction because I felt I had the right to know
your intentions?"
"You wouldn't. You're desperate for the money, which will help further your
own research projects and keep your doors from closing. But if you were to
do such a thing, I have many friends." Stephen pointed to the glass doors
leading to the patio. "The Americans are very big on human rights. Perhaps
I should inform the Army of God about your chain of women's clinics that
are suspiciously linked to your research labs and to several labs in Oregon
and Vermont."
Hu Yen laughed in Stephen's face and waved his threat away. "I thought you
were an educated man," he derided. "You are suggesting that the Chinese
government should close their abortion clinics because a few fanatics on
the other side of the world want it to happen? My country is smarter than
that. It would never work."
"Oh, I see Then perhaps this will change your mind."
In one swift movement of the hand Stephen produced a handgun from the back
of his pants and pressed the barrel against Hu Yen's forehead. The Asian
man now shook with fear for his life as he kept his wide eyes on the handheld
weapon. He should have known from the beginning that this man was not to
be trusted. But he was in too deep now and he needed the money.
"I don't care how much it costs," Stephen snarled, as if reading Hu Yen's
mind. "Double the fee. Triple is if you so desire to. Just stay out of my
way. What I would like to use your laboratory for is my business and my business
only. Is that clear, Dr. Li?"
Hu Yen vigorously nodded. "H-How long do you need it?" he inquired.
In a maddening motion Stephen raised his handgun to the ceiling and fired
a shot as the fireworks from out started to explode. Patches of powdery fixture
fell to the floor like racing sparks. Hu Yen covered his ears at the contiguous
sounds, the fireworks, the gunshot, and the crowd at Time Square. It all
seemed to blend into one accursed roar.
Stephen jerked one hand from Hu Yen's ear and yelled into it, "That is also
something you do not need to know!"
Hu Yen wriggled away from Stephen's grasp and stepped back until there was
an acceptable amount of space between the two of them. "Fine!" he snapped.
"But I raise the price to 60 million!"
"Done."
"And I want it all by next week."
"Now you're pushing it, Dr. Li."
"I don't care! No money, no laboratory! Have 60 million in my account by
next week or the deal is off!" The South African shrugged. "Have it your
way." He tucked his gun inside his suit jacket and showed Hu Yen to the door.
Their meeting was now adjourned.
Before the Asian physician left Stephen cordially bowed and offered his hand.
Hu Yen stared at him with narrow, scornful eyes for a moment before shaking
his hand. "I better not regret this," he told his associate.
"Do not worry," Stephen said to Hu Yen. "When all of this is over you
will not have time for any regrets."
======
End of Prologue
Sleeper
By: Masked Maiden
Chapter One: Good News
Four Years Later
Fall, 2004
It was an odd sensation. The erupting chaos surrounded Dr. Furuhata Motoki,
and yet he stood in stillness. It was as if he were detached from the world,
watching everything happen on a grand stage as he sat on a star in the abyss
of the universe. Then a surge of emotions swelled in his heart and Motoki
was back in reality. He felt incompetent, unprepared for something that wasn't
predicted or even thought of. It didn't matter, however, if he was ready
or not. Devastation struck Tokyo that afternoon, and Tokyo Memorial Hospital
was in the center of it all.
The trauma center at Memorial had been informed minutes ago that a 20-car
pile up had occurred only four blocks away from the hospital. A road-raged
driver swerved to the right lane to pass a car in front of him and collided
into a charter bus filled with members of a high school marching band headed
for a competition. Neighboring medical centers would relieve Memorial as
much as they possibly could, but most of the casualties would be transported
by ambulance to Memorial's facilities. There was little time to warn the
staff members. Fire alarms were initiated throughout the hospital. The
switchboard operator made the announcement of a Code Blue over the intercom
and for the occupants in other departments to remain stationed unless told
otherwise. Each member of the emergency medical staff scurried in an "orderly"
fashion to their positions. And among the staff was Motoki, a third year
resident at the hospital. He stood outside the emergency department in the
harsh winds, waiting with several other physicians and nurses for the first
batch of casualties to arrive.
A nurse happened to ask, "Where is Dr. Chiba?"
At that very moment two ambulances arrived at Memorial. The driver of one
of the ambulances hopped out and hurried to assist her co-workers in the
back of the vehicle. The doors flung open and the paramedics burst forth.
Motoki and the chief physician for the emergency department rushed over to
help. The gurney was lowered to the ground. Motoki immediately recognized
the patient.
"Oh God"
It was Mamoru.
One of the paramedics started rambling off medical jargon as he and his
co-workers wheeled the patient into the emergency room. "Patient is an
unresponsive 28-year-old male involved in an MVA with seat belt on. Severe
head trauma due to massive concussion with noted skull deformations. There's
lot of bruising and scrapes and deformities noted on the ribs along with
a deformity of the right brachial. BP is 165 over 80, heart is tachy, Glasgow
level of two and pulse/ox of 96 with slight hyperventilation."
To Motoki the hastened information nearly went through one ear and out the
other. He was frozen in space once more as he stared at his best friend,
Mamoru, who must have been coming back to the hospital after his lunch break.
When the road-raged driver crashed into the bus, it caused a chain reaction.
Mamoru and 18 other drivers crashed as well. Now Mamoru was strapped to the
flat board, a brace around his neck to prevent mobilization in case of spinal
injuries. A mask covered his mouth as the nurse pumped a plastic bag attached
to it to steady his breathing. And the blood the blood seemed to be
coming from everywhere, a flowing red stream running down the side of his
head and stains all over his white and ripped shirt. It was a nightmare come
to life.
And then like popping a balloon, Motoki was back in reality once more. "Any signs of internal bleeding?" he asked one of the paramedics.
"It's possible, but none that we could tell."
"All right." He addressed the RN next to him. "Red-tag him, have a CBC, chem.
7 and type/cross-match ordered along with an IV solution and O negative blood.
Also I want head, chest, and neck films taken to check for any more deformities.
Let's intubate him and check for any signs of internal bleeding. Which trauma
rooms are open?"
A nurse informed, "Room Three is open."
"Then let's wheel him in."
As the paramedics left, the two doctors and two nurses each took a corner
of the gurney and wheeled their patient into the closest trauma room that
was vacant. One the count of three they lifted unconscious Mamoru from the
gurney to the table and unstrapped him, though the neck brace remained.
30 long and unproductive minutes passed. The nurses soon left the trauma
room, snapping off their vinyl gloves and throwing them into the biohazard
wastebasket. The second doctor patted Motoki on the shoulder and followed
the nurses right afterwards. That left Motoki alone in an unnatural silence.
He stared at his best friend lying lifelessly before him, and he wondered
what he was going to do next.
"Boy I'd hate to know you were my doctor if this actually happened!"
Motoki, somewhat ticked off, stepped closer to the table and kicked under
it. "You know," he fumed, "you could have told me you were doing this today!
I almost had a heart attack when I saw you!"
Chiba Mamoru laughed without hesitance at his friend. He sat up, bloody mess
and all, with a large grin on his face. "I wanted you to get the full
experience," he explained. "You know, get a reaction out of you; make it
more realistic."
Gradually the news wafted through the emergency department like a sweet aroma.
Tokyo Memorial Hospital's biannual disaster drill was officially over. Everyone
soon resumed their usual activities.
Mamoru arose and took off the neck brace, laying it on the table. "I happened
to think it was hilarious," he said. "When your face turned white it took
all the strength I had not to laugh."
"Well call me a bit absurd, but drill or no drill, I find no humor in seeing
a friend near death," Motoki pointed out. "You could have at least warned
me."
"It's not like it's the first time I've been dead."
"No, nor the second time, or the third time, or the fourth"
"I get the picture." Mamoru handed the neck brace to Motoki and walked toward
the door.
"Hey, where are you going?" Motoki inquired.
His friend answered, "I'm going home."
"What for?"
Mamoru shrugged his shoulders. "I honestly have no idea. Usako called me
this morning and said she needed to talk with me in person. So I'm
using my lunch break to go home. I'll probably be back in an hour, though."
Motoki raised an eyebrow. "If Usagi-chan called you and said she had to speak
with you, you're going to be gone for more than an hour. She wouldn't call
you unless it was serious."
"I know, and that's made me worried."
"Well, perhaps it's not as terrible as you think. Who knows? Maybe she has
good news instead of bad news." Motoki said goodbye to Mamoru and then left
the trauma room, continuing with his afternoon rounds.
Mamoru watched Motoki turn the corner and then headed for the doctor's lounge,
closing the door behind him. He took out another set of clothes from his
locket. When he changed Mamoru grabbed his wallet, car keys, and cell phone
and left Tokyo Memorial Hospital. He had lied to Motoki. Or at least, he
gave Motoki the parts of truth that he wanted him to know. Usagi did call
him that morning, but he knew the reason why. He was leaving early, but he
had no intentions of returning until tomorrow at the usual time. Mamoru wanted
to spend the rest of the day with his wife, no matter what they found out
when he arrived home.
~*~*~
1990 marked a milestone for the populace of South Africa: the walls of apartheid began to crumble and fall down. Inequality, the savage beast that fed off its hosts' hearts and clawed their innocent victims, was finally put to death. The oppressed, the persecuted, and the imprisoned were all liberated and freed from their bondage, a bondage that lasted for nearly 300 years. All citizens were now seen equals under the law, regardless of their skin color. And most importantly, they were gradually being seen as equals through the eyes of those that once bound them. It was the miracle so many had prayed for. And without faith, it would have been impossible.
After apartheid's fall, great changes were promised to the black communities.
Society supposedly erased and washed its background, but just how much change
could is sustain? Yes, promises were fulfilled for many, but a ten-fold more
had yet to receive any reparation. Really, what was to be expected? For three
centuries the whites oppressed the blacks in their own native land. It would
take more than 14 years for all the wrongs to be made right, which in reality
wasn't even remotely possible. If things got to the point where only small
pockets of intolerance existed, then perhaps all was not done in vain. But
the lives of the innocent that died for what they believed in, or for whatever
the reason, could never be replaced.
Dr. Thilivhali Krynauw knew that too well. He lost a brother and an uncle
in the fight against apartheid. His mother and his father were beaten by
local authorities during a protest rally they weren't even a part of. And
he, a quiet and reserved young man, spent five years in prison for publishing
an underground newsletter. All of this, and he was one of the millions of
blacks waiting for reparation. It infuriated him. He suffered like everyone
else. He deserved a better life as much as the next person, but if he didn't
then his family certainly did. Where were those changes and why were they
happening to everyone but him? Where was his reward?
Oh, but he did receive his reward! It was too small and insufficient for his expectations, though. With a slightly higher salary, Thilivhali was able to afford the rent for an apartment in an overcrowded, lower-middle class neighborhood. The bathroom facilities were shared by all the residents in the building, but there was running water and electricity in all apartments. And just three to four miles away from his home were people living in poverty that wanted the luxuries he possessed. Thilivhali wasn't impressed, and he certainly wasn't satisfied.
Thilivhali brushed the cloth curtain away to peer out the small bedroom window.
He shook his head grimly as he looked down at a neighborhood infested with
filth and violence, the neighborhood he called home. Just last night two
teenagers murdered a 10-year-old that was walking home from a friend's house.
He couldn't stand it. Thilivhali wanted more out of life, not just for himself.
He despised the fact that his wife and two small children were subjected
to live in such an environment. But as a family practitioner for the local
free clinic that paid him once every two months, he could do no better.
Thilivhali felt stuck, trapped in his own life. If this was the change that
was promised to him, they could take it and shove it. He didn't want it anymore.
Thilivhali turned away from the window and finished getting dressed. He tucked
in his shirttail, straightened his tie and grabbed his car keys form the
bureau. His wife and children were still asleep, so he was careful to not
wake them. After all, it was a Saturday. Everyone slept in on Saturday. Everyone
except Thilivhali, that is. He usually went to the clinic, where he worked
a 12-hour shift, and returned home with enough energy to eat and go to bed,
only to repeat everything the next day.
Not today, though. Without mentioning it to his wife, Thilivhali took the day off to drive to Cape Town University Medical Center and meet his friend for for something. He wasn't quite sure why his friend wanted to have a secret meeting. But from the sound of his friend's voice during their phone conversation two nights ago, Thilivhali could tell it was important that he meet with him. He just hoped it wasn't anything too serious.
Before he left for the university, Thilivhali kissed his sleeping wife's
cheek. "I love you" was the last thing he said to her.
It was close to a two-hour drive to the university, so Thilivhali had to
leave. He walked out the apartment building and climbed into his mound of
battered red metal, better known as a car in its past life. As he was about
to pull out, a meaty fist tapped the driver-side window. Thilivhali looked
out and noticed a well-dressed *white* man standing by his car. He rolled
down the window to find out what the man wanted.
"Good morning," the man greeted. "My name is Dr. Stephen Lehmkuhl. I work
with a friend of yours at the university. The virologist, Dr. James Sexwale
I believe is his name. Could I have a moment of your time?"
Thilivhali was unnerved by the gentleman's courteous smile. It was vogue,
a tailored mask that poorly hid his egotistical self-esteem. Without any
words, the man practically voiced, "I'm so much better than you, and I am
doing you a great favor by allowing you into my presence. So please, indulge
me." Thilivhali was ready to label him as another racist pig (which his friend
would agree with) but for some reason he knew the man wasn't the typical
bigot. He had a feeling that Dr. Stephen Lehmkuhl smiled like that to everyone
he met.
"Funny, James never mentioned you before," Thilivhali lied, his voice void
and even toned.
"Ah, well, Dr. Sexwale has told me much about you," Stephen grinned. "Do
you have a moment?"
"I'm sorry, but I'm late for an important meeting." Thilivhali abruptly stopped
the conversation. He didn't even bother to roll up his window as he drove
off toward the clinic.
Stephen watched the car disappear in a cloud of dust trailing from behind.
His smile intensified, personifying the very depravity and corruption that
roiled within him.
His plan was in progress.
~*~*~
For the life of her, Usagi could not understand it. She was Sailormoon, the
champion of love and justice who righted wrongs and triumphed over evil.
She was the last princess of the Silver Million, and in 1000 years would
become the first queen for the utopian kingdom called Crystal Tokyo. She
defeated countless numbers of youma. She saved Earth more times than there
were fingers on her two hands. She even sacrificed her well being and died
a couple of times in the process. All of that and yet and yet
She couldn't even take a simple pregnancy test.
Luna couldn't understand it either. She had reminded Usagi over and over again that it was just a test. Using a pass/fall metaphor made the feline chortled, for it reminded her of Usagi's junior high school days when most of time she did fall. Usagi would just glare at her and shout, "It's easy for you! Cats take care of their kittens for about two months and then they don't have to worry about them anymore!"
The pregnancy test remained in its original box, left untouched beside the
bathroom sink. Usagi wanted nothing but to take it and watch the pink line
appear in the small white square. She reached for it dozens or dozens of
times, only to withdraw her hand at the very last minute and huddle back
into the corner. She was scared beyond death and why shouldn't she be? It
was a big step for her, for any woman. That pregnancy test would unlock a
truth that could change her life forever. What if it said no? What if it
said yes? Or what if it said, "Reply hazy. Try again later?"
Usagi was startled by a soft knock at the door. She immediately felt guilty.
While she was in the bathroom doing her best chicken imitation, Mamoru was
on the other side of the door in their bedroom, waiting for the results.
And he was just as nervous as she was.
"Well?" he asked.
Usagi stammered, "I-I don't know yet."
"What do you mean you don't know? It's been 15 minutes already!"
"Mamo-chan, what if it says no?"
She heard her husband give a loud sigh. "Usako, you're going to have to do this," he reminded. To lighten the mood, he added, "You know I can't do this for you"
Usagi hung her head. I wish you could! She took a deep breath and
said a silent prayer as she reached for the pregnancy test. She opened the
pink box and followed the directions scribed on the back panel. One minute
past, two minutes, and then three. By the fourth and final minute, Mamoru's
ears were suddenly exposed to a joyous, high-pitched proclamation that cued
the bells in his head to ring.
"YES!"
Yes?
Usagi burst forth from the bathroom and wrapped her arms around her husband's neck. Mamoru started with wide eyes as his wife jumped up and down, repeating over and over in an enthusiastic voice, "Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!"
It took Mamoru's brain a long instant to comprehend what it all meant. His
eyes grew even wider. "You're kidding," he almost disbelieved. "Pregnant?
You're pregnant?"
Usagi could no longer speak because of the tears streaming down her face.
When she nodded her head to confirm his question, Mamoru fiercely hugged
his wife and kissed her passionately. After four wonderful years of marriage,
they were finally receiving something they'd truly longed for.
They were having a baby.
~*~*~
Dr. James Sexwale was the man who knew too much. For nearly three years he migrated back and forth to Beijing, China as he partook in a classified research program. It was privately funded by Dr. Stephen Lehmkuhl, the head geneticist at Cape Town University Medical Center in Cape Town, South Africa. James knew Stephen before the research program, for they worked at the same hospital, but more as an acquaintance. Yet he was invited by Stephen to become the chief virologist for the program after the previous one un-expectantly resigned. During the three-year course he helped to unlock the some of the mysteries behind a few of the world's most deadly viruses: Ebola, Rift Valley Fever, Junin, Mar burg, and even the newly discovered Sabia Through it all James never realized Stephen's true intentions.
Now James stood by the entrance of the university's Medical Center, flicking
his cigarette lighter. He remembered that he promised his fiancée
that he would quit smoking, especially as he lit his ninth cigarette that
morning while he waited for Thilivhali to arrive. He simply concluded that
it wasn't time to give it up, not when he knew the human race was on the
brink of extinction.
A voice called out, "Hey, James!"
James crumpled the empty Marlboro pack, tossed it in a nearby trashcan and
dropped his cigarette butt to the ground. He searched for the source of the
familiar voice and soon saw his friend walking towards him from the parking
lot, waving at him as he did so.
"So you're still smoking," Thilivhali pointed out. "I thought that woman or yours had talked you into quitting."
James snatched Thilivhali by the sleeve of his jacket. He jerked him forward
until they were within whispering distance of each other. "This place has
ears everywhere," James told him. "It's not safe to talk with you out here.
Let's go to your car. Don't say a word to me and don't even act like you
know me. Just walk. I'll wait a couple of minutes before I go to your car.
You got it?"
Thilivhali wanted to protest. "What are you--?"
"Do you *understand*?"
"Yes, but I--"
"Then shut up and so as I said."
Thilivhali reluctantly complied with his friend's outlandish request. He went back to his car and there he waited with much infuriation towards James. James did not move from the entrance until Thilivhali was inside the vehicle and he finished another cigarette. He then walked as casually as he could (which was not saying much) to the parking lot. When James was inside and closed the door, Thilivhali had nothing but questions for him.
"What is wrong with you?" he inquired. "You're acting like a paranoid maniac.
And what is this all about? You just came back home from China last night,
you called me and said you needed to talk with me. Now you're I don't
know what you are! Are you in some kind of trouble?"
"Thilly," James addressed his friend, "Just hear me out on this. T-There's
something going and it's really important that I tell someone. I-I know you
probably won't believe me at first, but I have proof! So just--"
Using his hand Thilivhali covered James' mouth to silence him. He stared
at him with irritable concern. "When was the last time you slept?"
James removed Thilivhali's hand. "I'll get enough sleep when I'm dead."
"Oh? You keep this up and you will be dead."
"I probably will. Or I'll die along with the rest of the world, and that may be very soon. Everyone will perish. That includes you and your family, Thilly, and I know how much you care about your wife and kids."
Thilivhali finally saw the terror manifesting through James' blue eyes. That
immediately unnerved him. Here was a man who, before the fall of apartheid,
was one of the few white men who fought for equality. It was how the two
met, when they started the underground newsletter. To Thilivhali, James was
someone who feared nothing. The secrecy, prejudice, violent protests, jail
nothing ever fazed him, or at least until now.
"Okay, okay, I'm listening," assured Thilivhali. "Just explain everything
to me."
James leaned into the passenger seat, collecting his thoughts before he spoke.
The two physicians would be there all day if he started from the very beginning,
so he chose to start where his troubles emerged. "My last business trip to
China was supposed to be routine. I was to go over the cultures that were
taken a couple of weeks ago. Everything was according to what I expected,
but then I noticed a culture of a virus that I was unaware of. Well, I asked
Dr. Lehmkuhl. Maybe I just forgot about it. But he said it was a special
project he'd been working on, and that he wanted me to be one of the first
outsiders to see his breakthrough."
James changed his seating position and looked directly at Thilivhali. "A
virus, it enters the body and attaches itself to a host cell. DNA from the
virus also enters the host cell and it generates replicas of the disease.
Once they are mature the new batch of virus pods then exits the host cell
and more than likely kills it. And then the process starts all over again
until it's a full blown case. It could be anything from influenza to HIV,
and the most frightening thing could be the potency, whether it kills the
person it's infected or not."
Thilivhali wanted to roll his eyes. "I know that," he declared. "Is that
what you dragged me here for? Biology 101?"
"Listen, this breakthrough virus Dr. Lehmkuhl asked me to see is unlike anything the world has seen. It's one of the most potent viruses, or probably the most potent virus, that exists."
"What? Are you talking about something similar to a biological weapon?"
"What I'm talking about is a biological kamikaze. Once this virus enters
a person's body, it has an incubation period of two months before any symptoms
ever appear. Then in another two weeks or so the infected person starts showing
symptoms and could possibly be diagnosed. That is, if there are enough people
worldwide who are suffering from the same virus to cause any suspicion. It
then takes another two weeks or so for the virus to run its full course.
Then depending on the person's immune system, he will either die or enter
a comatose state before he eventually dies. And by then, considering the
fact this virus has spread across the world, millions of people have been
infected and quarantine is basically useless. Even the person who releases
the virus will die, for there isn't an antidote for it."
Thilivhali couldn't believe anything his friend told him, yet he knew it
was all true. He began to realize the risk James was taking to tell him about
this super virus. With realizing that, he considered the fact that his life
was now endangered as well. That angered Thilivhali. Didn't James care about
his well being, his family's well being? If what he said was true and if
someone was actually following him, Thilivhali was just as much as a target
as James.
"So" Thilivhali finally spoke. "What's this virus called?"
James leaned forward so he wouldn't speak as loud. "Sleeper," he whispered, "a genetically engineered version of the Lassa Fever. Some of the researchers liked to call it Lassa X."
"Why are you telling me all of this?"
"I need you to somehow make sure that this leaks into the public. That Internet
pen pal of yours, what's his name?"
"Dr. Chiba? Hey now I can see where you're going with this but there is no way I'm going ask him or anyone for help. The media hounds are the ones who should know about this, not anyone else. But if this makes the six o'clock news, how do you know Dr. Lehmkuhl hasn't already released Sleeper?"
"Well, it's not completely finished. Dr. Lehmkuhl argues that it needs some
*adjustments*. The expectant release date is six to seven months from now.
I couldn't collect all the data from the Sleeper experiments, but"
James reached inside his coat and took out a manila envelope. "What I do
have is in here. No one but you knows I have this."
Thilivhali opened the envelope and reviewed some of the documents. "A good
idea would be to contact the CDC in the United States. Perhaps contacting
them would be better than handing this into a reporter. If the CDC read over
this, they could release it to the media and the evidence would be more
substantial. What do you think?"
James ran his fingers through his hair. "I don't know. I don't know anything anymore." The fear was now slipping through his voice. "All I know is that the world needs to be told. If I don't do something, the world is going to end."
Thilivhali was at a loss of words to comfort his friend with, but then there
possibly were no comforting words that could soothe him. Thilivhali patted
James on his knee and asked him, "You want to grab some coffee?"
James nodded. "That sounds fine with me."
Thilivhali dug into his pants pocket and found his keys. As he turned the ignition key and started the engine, the bomb implanted under his car was immediately triggered. The car exploded, killing the passenger and driver and destroying all evidence of the existence of Sleeper. For that, Stephen was thankful.
======
End of Chapter One
06.17.02
Disclaimer: Sailormoon and the characters of "Bishoujo Senshi Sailormoon" are property of Takeuchi Naoko, Toei Animation, Kodansha, etc. "Sleeper" is inspired by the novel "The Most Important Little Boy in the World" written by Dean Briggs. It is property of the author and Word Publishing. I do not have ownership and I do not make any profits from the use of Sailormoon or the novel in this fan fiction.
Author's Notes:
Just so you're told, the prologue was heavily influenced by one of the first
scenes in the novel. Though both versions of the scene have the basic plot
-- two big-shots make a business deal and one uses violence to get what he
wants -- they have their differences. This scene was NOT plagiarized
so please don't accuse me. ^^;;;
Now you understand why I spent more time on the new characters than the original
characters: it was necessary because most of them died in the end. From now
on, you'll see much more of Usagi, Mamoru, Motoki, the Inner Senshi, and
even the Outer Senshi. (If you've read any of my other stories, you know
I don't write about the Outer Senshi much.) Haruka, Michiru, Setsuna, and
Hotaru all have important roles in this story, but it will be halfway or
near the end of the story before they're heavily mentioned. Sorry, Outer
Senshi fans.
I know 99.9% of you did not understand the medical jargon used in this chapter. It's okay that you didn't. It was used to set the mood for the scene. A quick summary to the paramedic's medical "speech" is: "This guy was in a car wreck and unconscious. Thank God he had his seatbelt on. He still has a crack in the head, though. Lots of bruises and scrapes, some broken ribs and a broken arm. His heart's beating irregularly, and his oxygen level is low." Motoki's response is: "He's a patient in critical condition, so we'll take him first. Do all these tests on him and order an IV and blood. Get x-rays of his head, check, and neck to see if he has any more broken bones." Heheh, I watch too much ER
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