"I found it -- Huckleberry Finn, first edition." Harry DeWitt perused the private collection in the study of a Caribou Island estate. He had heard of its richness, but never had the chance to explore Her Excellency's library in full, until now.

Caribou Island lay at the eastern end of Lake Superior, twenty-five miles south of Michipicoten Island, a stone's throw from the Canadian border. Overlooking crystal clear waters, a two-story cabin of glass and wood nestled among tall pines on a hundred-acre island property that sloped toward the crystal-clear lapping water. Past the shoreline, a private dock moored a catamaran yacht and a motored skiff. A flattened courtyard doubled as a wide heli-platform which could accommodate two heavy helicopters or half a dozen personal aerial vehicles.

"You can borrow it," said the handsome matron, seated legs crossed in a high-back chair near the fire. A crystal snifter of dark amber brandy warmed her hands. The late afternoon sky was sinking into a dark blue band, bringing in a deep chill. Winter had arrived early.

A purring fire crackled in the hearth underneath a striking wall arrangement made up of 18th Century flintlocks. Modeled after European splendor, the study carried among its curious items a set of English and French armor used at the battle of Agincourt, Napoleonic furniture and a Raphael Madonna and Child. Overhead, a catwalk reached the second level bookcases under a vaulted ceiling of over forty feet in height.

Three people occupied the mahogany study in this corner of the estate.

Devlin Augustine sported a recognizable trademark hard to dismiss -- her platinum coif, hence her nickname, both a ridicule and one of respect -- the Snow Owl, a wise and deadly predator. Her adviser, Harry, was a different creature, lower on the rung, more like a crow finding snails to peck. Crows were crafty and smart.

The third man sitting across Augustine was an unknown quantity to her.

She watched him with care, never taking her eyes off him.

"Impressive library you have." The visitor, Ian Moreau, made small talk, waiting for his chaperon to come down and smooth things out. Harry had brought him here.

"The collection has been in my family for three generations," Augustine said.

"Magnificent European decor, your Excellency." Moreau was effusive, gauging the splendor. "Some people may have great wealth but no account for culture or taste, slapping gold on everything they see, even toilet seats. How gauche."

Augustine strained to smile.

Moreau waved a hand. "And the island too, c'est incroyable. Wise to be in Canada -- less scrutiny."

"Polite, Ian," Harry said in jest, joining the pair at ground level. "You are addressing the Honorable Augustine. Don't make me look bad bringing a ruffian here."

He laughed. Augustine didn't. The pleasantries were one-sided.

"My apologies if I came across as churlish," Moreau said. "I'm used to certain liberties granted me in TexPax."

"So, what can I do for you, Mr. Moreau?" Augustine said, getting down to business. "Harry insisted that I should listen, so I'm curious."

Moreau opened, "I came here in good faith -- because our agendas are aligned."

"You presume to share an interest with me?" she said, clasping her hands together and resting them on one knee. "Do tell."

"You know my background, Your Honor and the work I do for National Defense."

"Harry has briefed me," she said without emotion.

"I'm Technical Director of TexPax-Yokohama's Biotech Division. Carnivora 8, our marquee project had been approved for distribution."

"Had been?"

He looked pained. "I'm here to offer it to you."

"And why would we be interested in something so proprietary, knowing it would worsen an already sticky situation with TexPax?"

"This is a breakthrough in genomics you cannot afford to ignore."

"Which you'll offer to us for a considerable sum, no doubt."

"That . . . and asylum in Midland with full Affiliate status. Once I commit to this, I would be persona non grata everywhere else."

Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

"I'd say that will be the least of your worries, Mr. Moreau. They would charge you with federal theft for crossing fief lines. We couldn't give shelter to a fugitive fleeing from federal prosecution, can we?"

"You see my dilemma then."

"I see more than that. You've brought me a poison pill, Harry," Augustine said giving Harry a frown.

"With my help, Your Honor," Moreau continued undeterred, "you'd leapfrog years ahead over your rivals in myogenesis R&D."

"And how would your fief feel about that? You overlook many things, Mr. Moreau -- TexPax is the current PIP. We don't need Fednik agents breathing down on us. Talk to me when they're out of the Oval Office."

Moreau settled into his chair and sighed. "You remind me of a cartoon I once saw, Your Excellency, a knight about to go into battle with a sword while refusing a merchant trying to sell him a machine gun."

"Are you calling me a cartoon, Mr. Moreau?" Augustine said with one eyebrow raised, her neck discolored to a shade of red.

"Nothing of the kind, madam." Moreau backtracked. "Forgive my choice of words but I'm desperate to present to you a primum vultus -- the first look. You can't afford not to."

"So says the salesman," she scoffed.

"Your Honor," Harry interceded gently, "an open mind, you promised."

"Go on." Augustine exhaled, rolling her eyes at Harry DeWitt for a waste of her evening. "Tell me why I should care. From what I hear, it's another generic gene project with vanilla results -- like your other projects. The market is awash in bio-replacement parts, synthetic plasma, gene doping, and printed organs. Your work is superfluous and redundant."

Moreau's face flushed but he managed to control his tone. "Do you know each time a body undergoes replacement, it gets a little weaker. Something is always off. Eventually, even the richest of people like yourself, who could afford to replace decrepit organs indefinitely, will succumb to necrosis."

"The indignity."

"But true."

"Scare tactics. There are Methuselahs over a hundred fifty years old."

"With an army of medical staff working to prop them up. I offer you a better way, a cheaper way."

"Cheaper," Augustine snarled her words. "Now you think we are misers?"

"Please," Harry said, coming in between, urging him to finish. "Go on, Ian."

"Imagine a car," Moreau continued. "The more mileage you run, the better it gets and the longer it lasts, we call this process sustained-genesis."

She set her snifter down. "Is this what you told the Fedniks when you sold them your snake oil program?" Moreau's mouth twisted the more she continued. "By next week, there's another program with another fancy name that's just a derivative of the previous."

"Most inventions begin from military necessity," Moreau said, fighting to keep his composure. "In applying myogenetic therapy to enhance soldiers' musculature, we stumbled upon very rare recombinant nanites whose replicating stability outlast previous models and offer great possibilities."

"English," Harry said, approaching the hearth to warm his hands.

"The subjects had no signs of instability or degeneration, provided the patient takes autoimmune suppressant serums."

"Otherwise?"

Moreau grinned. "That's one drawback. We can perfect it -- if your fief sponsors my work and offer protection to my project and my staff."

"Why did they pull your project, Mr. Moreau, if it is so promising?"

Moreau sighed. "I offer you this technology on a silver platter -- terabytes of trial data, proforma tests, the baseline package you could replicate and further the study, something you'd never hope to have without me."

"My question remains," Augustine demanded. "Why did they shut you down?"

"Caracas," Moreau uttered with reluctance. "My guys were the ones there."

Augustine guffawed, astonished at the absurd truth. "Then it's true. The White House was complicit. They lied about using observers when in reality, they're human weapons." She pondered for a moment. "Which means your Program has gone beyond mere trials. It's fully operational, yes?"

"My project is to be purged. This latest generation is the best specimen I've come across."

"Specimen?" She raised one eyebrow. "Are you Darwin or Frankenstein? People are not specimens, Mr. Moreau."

"Of course not, Your Honor." He winced at the sting.

"This is worth examining, ma'am," Harry urged her.

"And if I decline your offer?" Augustine said.

"Then I take my proposal to Pacifica or Gulf-Con or EEL, or any international economic fief. There are plenty of takers, I'd think. Even the Chinese would want to hear about Carnivora."

"Why do we deserve this dubious generosity, I wonder?"

"Because you have the greatest need. It's an easy sell."

She chortled at his bravado.

"Let me put it another way -- can you afford not to have the technology once TexPax assumes it and claims it proprietary, Your Excellency?"

"All right, you've piqued my interest, Mr. Moreau," she said at first. The technocrat delighted with a broad smile. "But not in this terrible project of yours."

Moreau blinked rapidly, his posture slumped as if some puppeteer had cut the strings that held him up. He wasn't the only one confused. DeWitt sighed, stymied, not knowing where the Regent was going with this. Was this a tactical counter or a flat rejection?

"Left as it is, TexPax will sit in the Executive chair for another four years," she explained. "I need to upset that prospect anyway I can . . . So, Mr. Moreau, I am very interested in one thing of value tonight -- your knowledge of Caracas. Testify publicly and you'll have our protection. No one could accuse you of being a thief then, or us of harboring one."

"And in the meantime, you acquire my project without any skin in the game." He flashed Harry a displeased look. "You told me she would be sensible."

She shrugged. "As you wish."

"Let's not be rash," Harry said. "There is a way we could kill two birds. Your Honor, may I?"

Augustine motioned her adviser to approach. He bent down and whispered into her ear. She glanced up at him, then nodded. Harry straightened up.

"Well, do we have a deal?" Moreau asked, disliking being kept out.

"This meeting is over," Harry said. Before Moreau could mouth another word. "We cannot accept your offer in its current form. I will fill you in on your return."

"Good luck to you, Mr. Moreau," Augustine said with a polite smile. "Hope we see you again."

Moreau stood up. He glanced at Harry, expecting some answer but bowed his head and settled with, "Your Excellency."