Free 4 Rainy Days and Monday by Robert Michael Page A

family affair, then. Are you related to any of the others?” he asked, staring out into the room with mild interest.
    “No. Of course not.”
    Andronicus looked back at him. Doctor Spreckles continued to stand.
    “You know why I am here?” Andronicus asked.
    Spreckles frowned.
    “No more than I know who you are.”
    “We will keep that a mystery for now.”
    “Money buys anonymity,” he said, a bitter tinge in his German accent. His English was masterful.
    “It has nothing to do with your compensation, doctor. It is a matter of respect and your personal protection.”
    “That sounds ominous. It was supposed to sound ominous, wasn’t it?”
    Andronicus allowed a genuine smile creep up his face. Meanwhile, he gripped the arms of the chair hard enough to make the wood creak beneath his massive hands.
    “I am here to determine how you will be able to help our cause,” Andronicus announced.
    Spreckles looked confused and put out at the same time.
    “You mean you do not know why I was hired? Then why are you wasting my ti—”
    Andronicus exploded out of the chair, grabbing the doctor by the lapel of his lab coat. He lifted him up and swung him around, slamming him into the window. It rattled against its frame, the glass bowing out and flexing, sending the doctor sprawling to the floor at his feet.
    Andronicus stood over him. He could hear the shouts of dismay from outside.
    The doctor crawled up into a fetal position, wiping blood from his lip.
    Andronicus felt the blood pumping in his veins. Strength in his hands, his arms, his core. The blood of nobles pumped through his heart, the sinews of Kings graced his form. Beneath layers of fat and excess was the body of a ruler. The mind of a conqueror. Born to rule.
    A petty man of stature was no match for his power, his will.
    The door opened and Veronica Spreckles poked her head in, tears flowing from her eyes, fear, and anger radiating from her. She avoided his eyes and stared instead at her “uncle.”
    “Uncle Bernie, are you alright? Should I call the authorities?” she asked in clipped English.
    Spreckles raised his hand and shook his head.
    “I am fine, Veronica. Please leave me with the gentleman. We were discussing something important when I believe I lost my balance. I will be fine.”
    She looked dubious, but nodded and slowly closed the door, her eyes burning holes into his chest.
    Andronicus ignored her, panting heavily. He allowed his anger to wash over him, to dissipate through his pores.
    “Tell me of your operation, doctor,” he said through clenched teeth.
    Spreckles put one hand on a knee and used the table to pull himself to standing once again. Andronicus refused to assist him. He stood over the man, reminding him who was in charge.
    “We are all experts in synthetic genetics. We are at the leading edge of technology and biology. Where they intersect, we have found that we can code genomes,” Dr. Spreckles managed while gathering himself. His voice was shaky, fear and shock showing in his eyes. His hands shook as he adjusted his coat.
    “You can create life.”
    “That would be a stretch of our true abilities. Algae, simple organisms, yes. And not without the expenditure of enormous amounts of resources.”
    “Is it not true that this science has been capable of creating new organisms capable of curing the hunger problem by providing protein?”
    The doctor shook his head.
    “I was involved with that project. We were working directly with the NSA, CIA, the UN, and WHO as well as funding provided by some of the largest humanitarian organizations globally. We managed to produce a sheep. At the cost of millions of tons of water, as well as other, more costly resources. The project shuttered after six years. My colleagues still believe it is possible. I believe it is too over reaching.”
    “So you are not here to create an army. No clones, no genetic enhancements, then?”
    This had been his guess when he had observed all the equipment, the