Blood and Fire (McClouds & Friends #8)(142)

Bruno recoiled. “So this is all about your sick ego?”

“I had to see what you were made of! I’d already begun my training programs. I had four pods going already. Zoe was in training, with three of her podmates. She’s my oldest living alum, from my second generation. But I couldn’t resist seeing what my own flesh and blood was capable of! With the cognitive enhancement drugs and my subliminal training techniques, I was sure that you could surpass—”

“Pods?” Bruno broke in. “What the f*ck are pods?”

King looked irritated. “I grouped infant trainees into units of four,” he explained. “Results are better when trainees are raised in a family-style setting.”

“Infants?” Bruno looked around at the young people that were staring at him, with fresh chill. “Oh, my God. You mean, you’ve been f*cking with these people’s heads since they were babies?”

“Cultivating them,” King corrected. “I’ve been cultivating them, exactly as you were not cultivated. What you could have been, what you might have accomplished, if I’d had you since birth!”

Yeah, he’d be as crazy and twisted as these wretched robot f*cks. He jerked his chin in their direction. “Are they all, ah . . . your—”

“My genetic offspring? Oh, certainly not.” King chuckled. “That’s just a pet project of mine that sprang to life when I discovered you. Only Julian is related to you, of the operatives gathered here.”

Bruno shuddered, tried to drag his mind into focus. “So where did the other ones come from?”

“Various sources. I’ve tried many things over the years. Some I bought outright from pregnant girls—screened for their mother’s intelligence level, their births never recorded. Some are children of catastrophe, like Zoe. A war, an earthquake, a tidal wave, and you have hundreds of thousands of displaced people, and presto, there are already child brokers on the scene, scooping up orphans for instant resale. I tried buying them from the sex traffickers, but that’s problematic. So difficult to control prenatal care, nutrition. Many specimens were damaged. The cull rate was too high. My best results came after I found you. I decided to use Magda’s genetic material, since our combined genes had already yielded an exceptional specimen.”

But Bruno’s mind had glommed on one scary phrase, with a piercing stab of dread. “Cull rate? What’s the cull rate?”

King looked annoyed. “Don’t be dull, Bruno. It’s just as it sods. Not all of my attempts prove to be valid. Some just don’t work out.”

“So it’s kill rate, then,” Bruno said flatly. “Not cull rate.”

“Not at all,” King snapped. “It’s very civilized. Gentle euthanasia, not killing. A painless injection or a bit of gas, and they drift away.”

“Great,” Bruno muttered. “So you’re a mass murderer, too.”

King made a frustrated sound. “Exactly like your mother. Fixating on irrelevant details. Deliberately missing the point, just to irritate me.”

“How many were there?” Bruno asked. “Of Mamma’s babies?”

“I had dozens of embryos to start with, but we trimmed down to sixteen of the best,” King said. “Of those that were gestated, only six made it through the cullings over the years.” He looked wistful. “Three of those operatives died this week. One at the diner, then Reggie died immediately afterward, as a result. Then Nadia, killed by your friend Aaro. Then there’s my Julian. And the very last two. The little ones.”

Bruno just stared at him. “Little ones,” he repeated. “You mean . . . you mean . . . oh, Jesus, don’t tell me you’ve made more of the—”

“Yes!” He beamed. “A boy and a girl. Twenty months old. Their test scores are off the charts. More promising than their predecessors, even you, Bruno, but don’t be jealous! Hobart, hook up to the Pod Fourteen-Twenty-two webcam and show Bruno his little siblings. I can hardly wait to start programming, but DeepWeave prelim begins at twenty-four months. I’ve discovered that beginning earlier causes . . . well, let us just say the results have proven to be unfortunate. One simply must be patient.”

Hobart clicked onto the pad. He held it in front of Bruno’s face.

He saw a bright, colorful room, like any day care center, full of toys. Two children played there, dressed in identical blue smocks. The boy, racing around on a toy motorcycle, looked like his own baby picture. The girl, playing a xylophone, looked like his mother. His throat ached. His numbed hands clenched against his bonds. “She knew, right?” he asked. “Mamma found out about you messing with helpless kids. She knew you were growing her embryos in vitro. She was trying to stop you. That was what she was doing when she sent me away. That was the evidence she was gathering against you.”

King looked wistful. “I gave her the option of joining me. Once I realized the potential in our genetic combination, I wanted to continue the classic, old-fashioned way.” He leered. “She was lovely, after all.”

“Don’t go there, ever, unless you want me to vomit on you.”

King’s brows snapped together. “Magda was limited, though. Like you. I wanted to create supremely realized human beings, and she wanted to stop me. I did not see it coming, when she started gathering information on me through Rudy. I wouldn’t have thought she’d have the stomach to get so close to such a brutal thug. But she managed it.”