Light Play: Book One of The Light Play Trilogy

by N. D. Hansen-Hill

  “It's us,” Eric called to Simon as they came around the corner. After all this, he had no intention of being blown away by accident. The first thing he noticed was that they'd been joined by another man.

  “Finlay,” Simon said, by way of explanation. He looked beyond the two of them to the darkness, then met Cole's eyes. “Where's Jace?”

  “With Rick,” Cole said bitterly. “I'm going back—”

  Eric Sterner had finally had enough. He jerked Calloway around to face him. His delivery was icy, but it was obvious he was raging. "Don't you get it?!" he asked. “He—this Rick Lockmann of yours—doesn't want you there! You're a millstone around his neck. He even told me to shoot you—if that's what it takes—to get you out of his hair.” He shoved Cole against the wall, and gripped his shirt at the neck to hold him there. He had this nearly overwhelming desire to flatten him. “He doesn't want to have to worry about your shit, when he's got that—that—Thing—at his throat!” He released his grip and took a step away, trying to regain his self-control.

  Cole nodded and sighed. “You're probably right,” he admitted, undaunted. “Rick never knows what's best for him. Does he, Simon?”

  Simon smiled coolly, glad to see that Cole hadn't been crushed by the other man's remarks. Then he looked at Sterner, to see how he was taking it.

  The policeman was staring at Cole in disbelief. Either the man had the thickest hide he'd ever seen, or an ego the size of Manhattan.

  It was obvious to Simon that Sterner had never met anyone like Cole. What Sterner would probably define as thick-headed persistence or egomania, Simon—who knew Cole better—defined as resilience and loyalty.

  Simon saw Sterner lift the gun, to take aim at Cole's other arm. “I wouldn't,” Simon told him quietly. His gun was aimed at Sterner's head. Something in his eyes told Sterner he meant it.

  Sterner lowered his arm. “Let's go,” he said. “While we still can. Are you coming?” he asked Phillip Rutgers.

  Rutgers shook his head. “I don't think I can walk. Denaro did something to my spine.” He offered the other man a regretful smile. “Besides, I told Rick I'd be here to back him up.”

  “How?” Eric asked in disbelief. “By dying?” He said to Finlay, “In or out?”

  Finlay looked at Simon, who jerked his head at him to go. Gabriel grinned. “Out. Kerrington thinks he's got everything under control. I need to show him he's wrong.” He sobered. “Besides, the rest of our team is missing. We need to find them.”

  Eric Sterner slammed his fist against the wall. “I give up!” he said. Turning to Rutgers, who seemed to know a lot more about this than the rest of them, he said with a sigh, “Tell me what needs doing.”

  “Go upstairs and find the grow lights in the lab.”

  “I know where they are,” Finlay said. “Do you want them brought down?”

  “As many as you can carry. Lockmann's going to need them.”

  “What about the power?” Eric asked.

  “That's my job,” Cole said. “I'll get it back on.”

  “A portable computer should do it. There might be one downstairs on four, where they kept her before she broke away,” Phillip Rutgers said. “Either that or you'll have to get an override from another building.”

  “Down is easier at this point than up,” Cole admitted. “I'll try the lab idea first. If I see any of your people—”

  “Finlay.”

  “—Finlay,” Cole continued, “I'll tell ‘em you're okay.” He asked Simon derisively, “What're you going to be doing? Taking a nap?”

  Finlay's eyes widened at that one, and he glanced quickly at Kerrington, only to find he was smiling. “Shut up, Cole,” Simon said.

  Simon struggled to get up, and Finlay helped him to his feet.

  “I was only kidding, Simon,” Cole assured him. “If you want to spend the rest of the night playing with your gun, I'll understand.”

  Simon ignored him. “I'm going to find Rick and Jace,” he said.

  “That's stupid,” Cole muttered. “I came here to save you and Rick. I don't want you dead.”

  “Don't worry, Little Man,” Simon said. “Mr. Gun and I will do just fine.”

  * * * *

  Tazo Raeiti came back to his senses with a skull-jarring headache. He opened his eyes to blackness, and—for one gut-tightening moment—feared he was blind. He quickly snapped his lids shut.

  His brain started to work again after a minute or so, and he realised he could find out about his eyes, easily enough. All he had to do was push the button to illuminate his watch. With shaking fingers in gloved hands, he fumbled for the button. The light was only a hint of brightness in the dark, but the relief it brought was like a cool, soothing wave. Tazo realised he was close to loosing consciousness again, and forced his eyes to focus on the watch face. Then, he stripped off a glove, to find and feel his injury.

  Someone had shot him in the head. It must have been deflected off his skull, and Tazo gave thanks for the hard head his mother had always accused him of having. He was lucky to have escaped with his life.

  He knew he probably had a concussion, but it wasn't his first, and he didn't think he was doing too badly. He didn't even feel nausea—at least, not until he looked around at what remained of his “team".

  Shaine was dead. Someone had shot her in the chest. Some of the others, like Giltser and Bockett, were bloated and tumorous. He did a count. Five people were missing, but everyone else was either injured, dying, or dead.

  He turned and stumbled away. The injured didn't interest him, nor did the dying. All that really interested him right now was locating Vizar, and finding a way to get his money. Compensation for effort; compensation for lost time; compensation for indignity and abuse; compensation for the time it would take to build up and train another team.

  If he encountered Denaro? Or Lockmann? Or someone from the DSO? Raeiti had already decided. Anyone who crossed him—or his path—was dead.

  * * * *

  Denis Rodrigal went from desk to bench-top to bench-top. His problem wasn't a lack of equipment; it was the overwhelming amount of it. Most of the machines he recognised, but a centrifuge or a PCR machine didn't help when you were looking for a lap-top computer. They only got in the way.

  If this were my lab, where would I put it?

  The desk was the obvious answer, but it was already equipped with a full-sized PC. No, it would be more personal than that. If there was one, it would most likely be in the doctor's quarters; somewhere he could get to it easily, for personal memos. For those things he wanted on disk, but didn't want on the network.

  The doctor must have been lodged somewhere along this corridor, and Rodrigal considered the layout. The observation area, above Denaro's isolation chamber; the anteroom, where the videos had shown two men lying dead; the lab; what would be next? The doctor's quarters? Rodrigal used the benches to feel his way toward the door he guessed was at the other end of the room.

  He almost missed the small box lying on the end of the lab bench. He'd almost knocked it to the ground before he realised what it was. If he hadn't headed for Solomon's quarters, he would never have found it.

  It was lying there at an angle, as though someone had casually dropped it on the counter, fully expecting to pick it up the next day. For a moment, Denis was spooked. There'd been no next day for whoever it was. Just like there'd be no next day for a lot of the people upstairs if he couldn't get back on the lights. Denis rather gingerly picked up the laptop.

  He carried it back to the desk, to where the other computer was hard-wired into the wall. Then, he hesitated, uncertain. He had no idea how to connect this little one to the big one, to get into the network. No idea at all.

  He lifted the lid, gratified to find it was still charged. Maybe with the light from the screen, and instructions from the “Help” files, he could figure it out. In the meanwhile, he just needed to figure out how to get into the files.

  He stared at the screen. It had all seemed so basic
when he'd thought of it. Find a portable, go into the network, turn on the power in the building. Save the Day.

  Reality check. Unless he could guess Solomon's access code, his idea wasn't worth the electrical synapses it travelled on. He sat down at the desk, and began to type in what seemed like an endless stream of words.

  * * * *

  Jason took as much blood from Rick as he dared. He knew it was probably less than Rick would have wanted, but he wasn't about to take a chance on removing any more. Considering his condition, Jason would've been a lot happier giving him blood, than removing it.

  He clamped off the line from Rick's arm, and opened the one into Denaro. For a moment, he was tempted to include an air bubble or two in the stream, to make certain Denaro was finished off, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Rick had insisted they needed to do this first—to draw her rotten spirit back into her body.

  Jason tried to understand it, but the only analogy his mind could accept was that of drawing off the poison from a suppurating wound—but in reverse. Putting the poisonous entity that was Caroline Denaro back where she belonged.

  Jace laid a hand on Rick's shoulder, just to remind him he wasn't alone. That a friend would be with him, no matter what. Then he turned to watch Rick's life essence flow swiftly under Denaro's skin.

  * * * *

  Hylton, Geraldo, and Jamaal squatted in the dark on level two. There was too much noise and activity at the other end of the corridor. Vizar's Security people were uneasy. That meant they were likely to shoot anything that moved—and didn't have the benefit of Vizar's or Sacchara's voices.

  For the first time, Hylton realised how much they were all crippled by their own technology. His agents were taught to be self-sufficient, but in actuality, they were terribly dependent on communication devices, computer chips, and weapons. Not to mention lights and transportation. A hi-tech non-war with hi-tech devices.

  Genetechnic's Security staff was similarly “untrained". They were accustomed to knowing the numbers and faces of their enemies with the aid of their video system, and being in the dark made them feel as insecure and out-of-sync as cave people would in an arcade. A trip down this corridor would be an invitation to destruction. Hylton wasn't willing to risk it. He had only two men left.

  “If Raeiti's behind us, that may mean the roof is clear. Or under minimal guard,” he whispered.

  “None of us know how to fly a helicopter!” Geraldo whispered back.

  Steven Hylton thought of the vicious phantom who'd exploded out of the wall, sending fragments of herself flying across the corridor. He'd never forget the way she'd deliberately infected the others with her saliva. “If it's a choice between Denaro, and learning to fly,” Hylton told them, a hint of wry humour in his tone, “I'll damn well learn to fly.” He elbowed Geraldo and they edged back the way they'd come.

  * * * *

  It didn't take Simon very long to find them. Jace glanced up, his expression grim. Simon nodded toward the bag of blood and tubing. “How's it going?” he asked.

  “Lousy,” Jason admitted. “I think I may be killing him.”

  Simon frowned. “What'd you do? Take too much?”

  “Any would be too much.” He showed Simon the bruising on Rick's abdomen. “Denaro reached inside him and tore him apart.” Jason turned away, unable to talk about it any more.

  Simon put a hand on Jason's back. “Finlay and Sterner are bringing the lights. Rutgers says it'll help.”

  Jason's eyes met his. Their expression was bleak. “Who's bringing the crystals, aromatherapy bottles, and voodoo dolls?” he asked bitterly. “Or did Rutgers forget about those?”

  Simon said, “I know, Jace. I didn't believe it, either. But Rutgers told me to take a look at Rick's tracheotomy scar.”

  Jason shone the light on Rick's neck. He blinked, then shoved the bag of blood into Simon's hand. “Hold this.” He brought the light in closer, then rubbed his gloved hand across the skin. Only a faint scar remained, and he guessed even that would be faded in a day or two. “He said he healed fast, but I didn't know what he meant.”

  “Does this mean he has a chance?” Simon sounded hopeful.

  “If we can get him to a hospital.” Jason explained, “Healing fast isn't the same as healing right, Simon. Remember the scar tissue in his lungs? I sure wish we could get an X-ray of his abdomen.”

  * * * *

  It was easier for Cole to find Rodrigal than it had been for Rodrigal to find the laptop. Not only did Cole have a flashlight, but he had terror at his heels. By the time he'd jogged lopsidedly down the hall, slid down half a flight of stairs, and found the broken glass and locks, he was moving nearly at top speed.

  It was one thing telling them he'd get the power back on, and another doing it. Eric and Finlay must be upstairs by now, on their way down with the lamps. It wouldn't do Rick or the rest of them any good if he couldn't get the electricity going.

  There was a man at the desk already, and Cole nearly jumped out of his skin.

  For Rodrigal's part, his eyes were drawn by the glare of the flashlight's beam. When he spied Cole, with his arm tied to his chest, he did some jumping, too.

  “Who are you?” Cole asked bluntly. The man hadn't shot him, so Cole decided he wasn't armed.

  “Denis Rodrigal.”

  “What are you doing?” Cole attempted to sound intimidating. If the guy attacked him right now, Cole would have about as much resistance as a wet noodle.

  Denis sighed. What the hell. “I'm trying to get the lights back on.” He looked up to see his visitor's reaction. What he saw surprised him. The bandaged man was practically beaming.

  “Why don't you plug it in?” Cole suggested.

  Denis looked embarrassed. “I don't know how. Know any computer whizzes around here?”

  “I just might.” Cole wobbled slightly. His adrenaline rush was beginning to run out. “Can I have your chair?”

  Rodrigal gladly relinquished it. Cole dropped into it, then took a few deep, shaky breaths.

  Rodrigal shoved his head between his knees. “People are always doing that to me,” Cole complained. Rodrigal checked his pulse and Cole asked him, “What are you, anyway?”

  “A virologist.”

  “Not another one.” At Rodrigal's curious look, Cole asked, “Do you know someone named Rutgers?”

  The other man nodded. “What happened to you?” he asked, pointing at the bandages.

  “Someone shot me. But it was only in the arm,” he said. “Jace did this to stop it from bleeding.”

  “It's not working.” Blood was seeping through the bandages again. Rodrigal borrowed Cole's own flashlight and shone it at him briefly. Then, he took Cole's hand and pushed on the nail. Jace had done something similar, so Cole put up with it. But, when the guy tried to pull down his eyelid and check on the colour under the lid, Cole decided enough was enough. He pushed the other man away.

  It didn't particularly faze Rodrigal. “Lost a lot of blood, didn't you?” Rodrigal said, almost conversationally.

  “Can we just do this light thing?” Cole asked impatiently. “I'll worry about my health later. There's a monster attacking people upstairs.”

  His words jarred Rodrigal back to the task at hand. “Ready,” Denis told him. “I'll be your hands. You just tell me what to do.”

  * * * *

  They were nearing the upper levels when they saw the glow of a flashlight above them on the stairs. At a movement from Hylton, the three of them fanned out, prepared to either trap or avoid the people descending the stairs. Geraldo and Jamaal didn't know which—they intended to follow Hylton's lead.

  The descending pair were carrying something, and it took a moment for Hylton to recognise the lamps from upstairs. The man in the front seemed unaware of their presence, until Hylton jumped out in front of him. Eric Sterner, however, had spent a lot of years entering buildings with hostile inmates. When Hylton jumped, Sterner brought the lamp around and knocked him to the ground. Holding it across t
he man's chest, Sterner pinned him with it.

  Geraldo and Jamaal jumped out of hiding, and dove at Sterner from both sides. “Hold it!” Finlay yelled. Geraldo couldn't stop his forward impetus, and caught Sterner in a sideways roll, but Jamaal deflected his dive—landing instead on Hylton and knocking the wind out of him.

  Finlay helped the other men to their feet. “Hello, Boss,” he said.

  Hylton sat there for a moment, sucking in great gasps of air. “Who are you?” he asked Sterner.

  “Eric Sterner. Police,” he replied.

  Hylton frowned. “We met at the hospital, right?”

  “Right. And you're Hylton, from the DSO.”

  Hylton nodded, then turned to Finlay. “Nice to see you, Finlay.” He gestured at the light. “Are you acting as Mr. Sterner's attack caddy, or does that have some other purpose?”

  Gabriel Finlay grinned. “The lights are for Lockmann.”

  Hylton reached out a hand, and Finlay helped him to his feet. “Jamaal, continue up and see whether there's transport for us. Hold it until we get there.” Jamaal nodded and took off upstairs, two steps at a time.

  Hylton asked Finlay, “Do we need any more of these?”

  “Rutgers said to bring as many as we can carry.”

  “Geraldo, help Officer Sterner with these. Finlay, you're with me.” He took off up the stairs, with Finlay at his back.

  “Right,” Eric Sterner called to their backs as they were leaving. “See you in hell.” For a second, the thought crossed his mind that maybe he'd spent a little too much time with Calloway. Some of that levity had really rubbed off. He yelled, “Just ask Finlay. He'll tell you exactly how to get there.”

  * * * *

  Tazo Raeiti knew someone was just ahead, where the corridors intersected. The glow of a flashlight gave him away—flashing and wavering eerily with the person's movements.

  Then he heard voices. Not one person: several. He hoped one of them was Vizar.

  If not, it made no difference. One or several, he had the advantage. Lacking scruples and morals was always an advantage.

  At the last moment, though, it wasn't any unexpected twinges of conscience that deterred him. It was a dark billowing of movement that erupted in the wall to his right. A seething of the air that warned him Denaro was practically in his face. A few more millimetres of wall and she'd have him.