Light Play: Book One of The Light Play Trilogy

by N. D. Hansen-Hill

  Jace set the crowbar down and dug around in the knapsack for the mask. Then, he took a deep breath, like it was the last clean air he was ever going to inhale. Holding the mask against his face, he resisted the urge to run from the sound of car tyres on gravel, and fumbled his way under the “Danger” warning tapes. Cringing slightly, with his eyes squinted up against the dark, Jason Stratton stepped into the dark entry, and pushed the broken door closed behind him.

  * * * *

  “No.” Hylton gestured for Angsley to cover Lockmann. “Dr. Zeneeba?” he called to the virologist. “What do you think of this transfusion business?”

  Zeneeba glanced at Rutgers, then said, “I think it's a waste of time. The only way to control this situation is to develop the antiserum, then eliminate all sources of infection.”

  Hylton nodded. “That's what I thought.” He didn't even give the “out-of-body” theory the credence of mentioning it.

  “She'll kill us all!” Vizar said. He sank into a chair and buried his face in his hands.

  “You don't know what you're doing!” Rutgers said. “I found this business as hard to accept as anyone else, but I've seen her—”

  Rick remained silent. He didn't dare do anything else. The man, Angsley, had a gun levelled at his head.

  Simon was already on his feet, and beginning to edge his way towards where Angsley was standing. Angsley's eyes flickered in his direction, then back toward Lockmann. He'd been expecting something like this. “I wouldn't, Kerrington,” he warned.

  “You heard what they said,” Simon said calmly. “Lockmann's the only one who's had this virus and survived.”

  “Rutgers is going to make antiserum from his blood,” Angsley replied, with a matching coolness. “We don't need him any more.” He glanced at Simon again and smiled, apparently amused by the other man's reaction. “You need to harden up, Kerrington.”

  His eyes flicked back to Lockmann, and widened. Simon, who'd been gauging Angsley's readiness to act, hadn't even looked at Rick. Now, he turned to see what had so startled Angsley.

  Richard Lockmann was gone.

  * * * *

  Hylton's laughter was genuine. “I was wondering when you'd notice, Angsley,” he said beratingly.

  The assassin saw Lockmann lounging in a chair at Hylton's back, and swiftly aimed his gun in that direction.

  “Hold it,” Hylton ordered.

  At the same moment, Simon jabbed a large needle through Angsley's isolation suit into his right buttock, and pushed the plunger on the syringe.

  “You fuckin’ bastard!” Angsley screamed. He brought his arm around in a powerful sweeping blow that caught Simon right on his injured shoulder. As Simon dropped to his knees, Angsley lashed out with a powerful kick. Simon was in too much pain to even see it coming.

  It never got there. Geraldo dove at Angsley from the left, and flattened him, pinning his arms. Jamaal put his gun against Angsley's nose.

  Jamaal looked at the needle on the floor. “Where'd you get that needle, Kerrington? A vet's office?” He shot a glance at Simon. “Are you okay, man?”

  "What the fuck are you doing?" Joseph Angsley screeched, trying to kick at them with his feet.

  “How long's that stuff gonna take to work, Kerrington?” Geraldo asked.

  “Any minute now,” Simon muttered. He was still on his knees.

  Rick squatted down on Simon's left. “You could have given me a hint,” Rick scolded. He gripped Simon under his good shoulder, and lifted him up. “I never would have pulled that stunt if I'd known he meant it.”

  Simon glanced at him askance. “What would you have done, Dr. Dung?” His attempt at coolness was undone by a groan as Rick hauled him over to the bed.

  Rick smiled at his use of the name. “That's easy,” he said. “I would have taken away his gun.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Now that the door was closed, all Jason could see was squiggly darkness. The kind you get when you're straining so hard to see that your eyes make up something, merely to satisfy your mind.

  Jason turned around, to head up the hall, and tripped over the rucksack. He'd set it down to use both hands on the door. Then, he'd forgotten where he'd put it.

  Nice going, Jace, he berated himself. For my next trick—

  It was then, as he lay there in the dark, with the odd sounds of swirling, ticking, and whining machinery in the distance, that he remembered the crowbar. He'd had plans for carrying it—like a weapon. Instead, he'd left it sitting somewhere in the shadows outside the door.

  Nothing like subtlety, Jace. They might not notice the door unless they trip over the crowbar first.

  He lay there for a moment, wondering whether he should risk a run-in with the security people outside. Do I really need a weapon? he asked himself. It was so damn dark in here that no bad guys would be able to find him, let alone attack him. Besides, the door had been sealed, so he really didn't have anything to worry about until he'd ascended seven or eight floors. That's where the lights he'd seen from the outside had started. Feeling a little safer, he pushed himself up onto his knees.

  What were the chances of them finding the crowbar? He shrugged. Not likely. Unless he gave them a reason, like poking his head out the door.

  Jason dug around in his bag, extracting his coat and gloves, and hanging the goggles around his neck. Accustomed as he was to latex gloves, he still found it damned awkward to put them on in the dark. He kept getting his fingers in the wrong holes because they were so stretchy, or two fingers in the same hole. By the time he'd donned both gloves, and his coat, he realised he'd dumped some of the bandaging out of the bag. With the gloves on, his touch wasn't that sensitive, and he didn't know whether he could find it all.

  And, if it's been on the floor here, I damn well can't use it either.

  Jason was seething with frustration.

  He made his way down the hall, moving like the blind man he was, with his arms extended out in front, sweeping the air. The first thing he discovered was that he had one loud shoe, but he didn't dare take it off in case there was broken glass or some contaminant on the floor.

  Once he'd forced himself to ignore his squelching shoe, he kept hearing small skittering noises that gave him the creeps. He didn't know whether it was machinery or foolish mice, but his brain invented a few things based on the grim details Cole had supplied.

  He went past the stairs three times, before he realised where they were. He climbed up two levels, and thought he was handling things fairly well, until he saw the door. Its location was marked and lighted by a low amperage bulb, that had seemed like a beacon to heaven, when he'd climbed toward it out of the dark.

  A steel door, latched fast with three heavy bolts. The centre one had a lock to hold the bolt in place. Biohazard, Warning, and Danger signs were plastered across the surface.

  Jason sat down on the stairs to think. He should've known his relief at finding a light was too hasty. Now, he'd be forced to re-enter that creepy blackness all over again. The “key” he needed—in the shape of a bent crowbar—-was still lying where he'd left it: outside the building. Jason frowned and started back down the dark stairs.

  * * * *

  Hylton was furious. Ever since the DSO had become involved in this, there'd been one incident after another to undermine his authority. Discipline was in a shambles, Kerrington was bleeding badly, Angsley was unconscious, and Lockmann totally out of control.

  It wasn't even the authority aspect that bothered him the most. It was the hazard inherent in the lack of unity; the concern that his lack of leadership might cost lives.

  He understood why Kerrington, Geraldo, and Jamaal had acted as they had. Geraldo had even warned him about the resentment Kerrington—and, apparently, some of the others—held for Angsley. But Hylton also knew he'd been right to include him. The outcome of Genetechnic's mistakes might not have been so positive. If Vizar was right about Denaro, it would have been wise to have Angsley available.

  But, they weren'
t talking wisdom here. Friendship, loyalty, justice, courage.

  Hylton's anger cooled, and he glanced over at Daniel Vizar. For the first time, he felt a trace of pity for the man, and saw a parallel with his own efforts. Vizar had attempted to control the situation he'd created. With guns, and medics, and machines.

  Hylton sighed, and wondered whether he should start listening to what Vizar and Rutgers were saying. He looked up, and his eyes met Richard Lockmann's worried crystalline gaze.

  Just like Vizar, Hylton thought. I'm not really in control of anything.

  * * * *

  As Eric Sterner drove slowly past the Genetechnic complex, Cole spotted the Rumbler. “That's my car!” he exclaimed.

  “That's impossible,” Sterner told him reasonably. “It didn't drive itself here.”

  But, Cole wasn't listening. “Dammit if that fool Jason isn't planning something!” he said angrily. “I loaned the idiot my keys,” he said, by way of explanation to Sterner.

  Sterner turned away to hide his smirk. “Is it likely that this damned-fool-idiot Jason would go it alone?”

  “He wouldn't even know where to start,” Cole admitted. “He must be in it with ‘Simon the Spy’.” He opened his car door, causing Eric to slam on the brakes.

  Nothing like discretion, Eric thought. “Hold on,” he said quickly. He slid the car into a parking spot, and Cole climbed out, without waiting for him to turn off the car.

  Cole poked his head back inside the open door. “It looks like I might not need you after all,” he offered apologetically. “I'll have Simon and Jace to back me up. You can leave now if you want.” He leaned against the car for a minute and glared at the mass of buildings.

  Eric Sterner climbed out, and casually placed his arms on the roof of his car, then leaned his chin on his hands. He joined Cole in assessing the site.

  Then he realised Calloway wasn't assessing anything. He was fuming over his friends’ actions. “I can't believe they'd leave me out of it,” he complained. “I'm in a lot better shape than Simon.”

  “But he has all the contacts,” Sterner argued.

  Cole glanced at him and frowned. “It always comes down to who you know, doesn't it?”

  Eric nodded, and his lips creased in a smile. “Usually.”

  “Then I damn well want to ask Simon why he chose to ‘know’ Jason and not me.” He slammed the car door and stomped off into the night.

  * * * *

  Jason reached the bottom of the stairs, took an extra step, then moved forward to the doorway. Once there, however, he couldn't figure out which way to go. In his search for stairs or an unlocked door, he'd gone back and forth so many times that he'd gotten turned around. He had no idea in which direction the exit lay.

  He forced himself to think confidently, and took firm steps off to his left. After about ten paces—just when he was becoming sure of himself—he walked into the wall with a loud smack. As he rubbed his nose, he wondered where all that instinct was that must once have guided cavemen in the dark. He'd heard blind people talk about that sixth sense, that would warn them of their approach to a solid object. It must only work if you're really blind, he decided. Maybe instinct is one of those things that's triggered by need, rather than circumstance.

  Or maybe my instincts are just exceptionally dull. Drowned out by the stench of rotten broccoli.

  Jason, growing more discouraged by the minute, turned around, and headed back the way he'd come.

  * * * *

  "Why did you do that?" Sterner asked incredulously. He was finding it hard to yell in a whisper.

  “Do what?” Cole asked, genuinely curious.

  “Stomp away like that. Didn't you ever think that it might draw just a little attention to us?” he asked sarcastically.

  “With all the cameras and security systems these people must have, I figured we'd already drawn attention. I threw in a little attitude so they might think we'd had a lovers’ tiff or something.” Cole grinned.

  “That's the most disgusting thing I've ever heard,” Sterner told him.

  “Think about it: you in that sleek black ensemble of yours, and me in my baggies—” He sniggered. “They might think we've got a real thing going.”

  “The only real thing you're going to have going is a flight over that fence,” Sterner told him.

  “Maybe you'd better check it for high voltage,” Cole said in a warning whisper.

  Sterner sighed. “Let's fling you against it and see if you start smoking,” he said.

  “Thanks, but I've quit.”

  “It's not electrified,” Eric told him.

  “How do you know?” Cole sounded almost disappointed.

  “Because someone's recently climbed over it.”

  “How do you know?” Cole repeated. It bothered him that he couldn't see what Sterner could.

  “Because he dropped something.” Sterner pointed to the keyring on the other side of the fence.

  “That clumsy ox. He lost my keys. Remind me never to let him operate on me.”

  “Let's go find your clutzy friend. If he's as good at subterfuge as you are, he's probably already been caught by the security people.”

  “Hey, look,” Cole told him, grinning. “I offered you a chance to go home. I never promised you a picnic.”

  Sterner grunted as he gave Calloway a boost up onto the fence. Besides his injury, the guy was still so weak that Sterner hoped he wouldn't end up having to carry him before this was over. “Is that the best you can do?” he complained.

  Cole clambered over the fence and fell down on the other side. He tried to catch himself and land on his feet, but didn't make it.

  Sterner asked quickly, “Are you okay?”

  Cole stood up and leaned against the fence. “Right as rain.”

  Sterner climbed over and stood beside him. “Did you say, ‘world's greatest pain’?”

  “Very funny.” Cole looked at the ground and followed Jason's trail of squashed grass and scraped dirt. “Jace isn't very good at this,” he muttered. The trail led up to a multi-storeyed building.

  Eric Sterner spotted the warning signs and grabbed the back of Cole's shirt to stop him. “Don't the words ‘Biohazard’ and ‘Danger’ mean anything to you?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” Cole agreed, seriously. “It means we're in the right place.”

  * * * *

  “How long has Windromere been on break?” Derek Ainsley, from Security, was on the phone.

  Kefra Morrison shrugged. She was just completing the hourly scans. “I don't know. Twenty minutes, maybe half an hour. Why?”

  “Is anyone monitoring the fences?”

  Kefra flicked the visual over to the perimeter. “I have it now. Is there a problem?”

  “Locomotion's been triggered three times now. We were expecting you guys to notify us.”

  “You know we're short-staffed. Since Morgan ‘left’, five people have taken annual leave.”

  “Yeah, I heard.” Ainsley was silent for a minute. “What's your visual like on Section 14?”

  “Mr. Sacchara ordered all those visuals routed to that section. I can't access them—at least, not without an authorisation code. Do you want me to take a look with one of the exterior monitors?”

  “Probably a good idea. My staff have reported a lot of activity in that zone.”

  “Too much activity for a restricted area?”

  Kefra could almost hear the smile in his voice. “Either way too much, or the right amount, depending on how you look at it.”

  “I'll take a look at the perimeter fence line, then hone in on your building. I'll even take a peek through the windows, just to let you know if Mr. Vizar has any bogies up his nose.” She chuckled.

  “Spare me. Just warn me if he gets an itch up his ass.”

  * * * *

  “I'll go first,” Sterner told Cole.

  “Bullshit!” Cole argued pleasantly. “This is my rescue. You're just along as a helping hand.”

  “Then let m
y helping hands go first.”

  They were nearly to the door when Cole tripped, and landed heavily against Eric's back. “Ouch!” he complained, cradling his injured arm.

  “My sentiments exactly. What happened, anyway?”

  “I tripped over something.” Cole stooped down and picked up something off the ground. “Goddamn it!” he complained. “It's my crowbar! And that damned fool bent it. How will I get her hubcaps off now?”

  “Did anyone ever tell you you're a fanatic about that car?” Sterner went on, “That kind of fixation is twisted.”

  “The Rumbler is a precision instrument. You can't use just any tools on something like that.”

  * * * *

  Jason was almost back to the door when he heard the men talking in whispers. Jason knew at once it was the Security people. He made out the words “crowbar” and “car” and realised they were looking for him. Panicking, he started back down the hall, but his left shoe was still squishy from his minutes in the dumpster, and it made too much noise when he walked. So he crouched down, halfway into a doorway, and hoped they'd somehow overlook him. There was nowhere for him to run.

  * * * *

  “Does Jason own a gun?” Sterner asked.

  “Hell, no. He figures too many people are caught dead with one.”

  “Good.” Eric didn't like the idea of being met at the door by gunfire.

  The first thing Cole noticed when they entered was the smell. There was a sour-cabbage pungency to the atmosphere that made him sick. “Talk about your stale air,” he muttered. He wondered if this was how Gabriel Finlay had felt about hauling his bedpan with its pungent aroma.

  * * * *

  Of course the bad guys will find me, Jason realised. They're not afraid to switch on the lights. Just as he thought it, a flashlight glared in his face. Jason flinched away from the brightness.

  * * * *

  “Point it down!” Sterner started to complain. “You'll give us away—”

  But Cole had just caught a glimpse of a ghoulish green face speckled with dark flecks. The distortion of the flashlight was added to by the smeared green and gooey fragments of the broccoli. Jason, in wiping his face, had taken off the chunks, but left the smears. “It's Denaro!” Cole exclaimed in horror.