The Xactilias Project

by RJ Lawrence

  "What have you done?" He whispered to the Asian.

  The elevator hum fell silent as it settled to a stop. At last, the doors separated and revealed a long, narrow room covered with polished onyx tile. The four peered out curiously from inside the metal box. The long room was dimly lit and mostly featureless, save for a bright silver door ensconced within the opposite wall and no less than 100 feet away.

  Claire crept to the edge of the elevator and saw the room had no floor, but instead, a 300-foot drop to what appeared to be a collection of moving gears and metallic parts, which droned and murmured like the inner workings of some immense clock. She turned to Romero.

  "What is this place?

  Romero shrugged.

  "I've never been here before."

  He looked at the Asian man.

  "He has."

  Claire approached the little man.

  "What is this place?"

  The Asian fell backward against the corner of the elevator and put his hands out.

  "I don't know," he said. "I've only been to the testing areas, and they make up a fraction of the entire level."

  She turned and eyed the shiny metallic door across the void.

  "How do we get over there?"

  Romero looked at the Asian and shook his head.

  "There's a retractable walkway," the little man said.

  Claire plucked him up by his shirt collar and set him before the wall panel.

  "Withdraw it."

  The Asian tapped the panel and waited, while a thin metal platform sprouted from beneath the silver door and raced with great speed toward the elevator. It affixed itself with a high-pitch clench and the entire thing illuminated from the elevator to the door. Claire stepped out and looked back.

  "Let's go."

  The others stood up and followed, their eyes peering into the low, where all the whirring mechanisms spun, spiraled and rotated together, like a roiling ocean of serrated metal. When they reached the other side, the Asian tapped another wall panel and the bright silver door opened from the bottom to the top.

  With great haste, the Asian man dove forward through the entry, as if fleeing an imminent explosion. By instinct, the others looked back to see the metal platform release its hold on the elevator and shoot backward toward them. Claire forced Romero through the passage and the two found footing on the other side. They turned to see Gretchen stumbling behind, the walking bridge swift in its cold, uncaring pursuit.

  Within her simple, terrified mind, swift calculations of distance and speed were at work, and her face advertised the disappointing results.

  "Help me!" She demanded, as the platform exceeded her.

  Claire and Romero leaned forward and watched, as the great woman tumbled into the low, where she was consumed by the grinding machinery, which revolved crimson for a time and then not at all.

  Claire turned to assault the little Asian man, but two dozen ample-eyed faces gave her pause. She looked about the room. Men and women of all ages and nationalities watched her with terrified expressions. They wore short-sleeved t-shirts with ties and khaki pants, and they sat at small metal desks, peering out from behind computer monitors, like typical worker drones at any Fortune 500 operation.

  "Can I help you?" A man asked. He stepped from behind his desk and eyed her from head to toe. He was short and thin and he wore thick, black-rimmed glasses on his tiny nose. Claire glanced over her shoulder at Romero, but he said nothing.

  "What is this place?" She asked the man.

  "Level Four," he said. "I'm sorry. Do you have clearance to be here?"

  Claire started to tell the man she didn't need clearance to be there, but before she could, siren blasts filled the room and red flashing lights illuminated the walls.

  "Evac!" Someone yelled, and the people fled their desks and scattered about. Claire stumbled backward and watched as the men and women rushed to the far side of the room and jumped through tiny vacuum shoots positioned along the wall. With "shoomp" after "shoomp" the vacuums sucked them all down and away until the room was empty, save for the desks and the computers and some papers, which flittered in the air like the loosed feathers of shot birds.

  Claire addressed the Asian man.

  "Take me to the testing area."

  The man stumbled to his feet. He nodded without looking at her.

  "This way."

  The Asian rushed toward yet another door, while Claire ushered Romero along with a forceful hand. They waited for the little man to do his thing, as the blaring sirens bored deeper into their skulls.

  "Hurry up, for God's sake," said Romero, hands flush over his aching ears.

  At last, the door opened and they all funneled through. The Asian quickly shut the door, and the quiet eased over them.

  On the other side, they found a bright, white hallway that stretched at least 100 yards before terminating at yet another door. On either side of the hallway, there were a number of evenly-separated, black tinted glassed panels. Claire approached one and cupped a hand over her eyes, but even she could not see inside.

  "What's in there?"

  The Asian furrowed his brows.

  "Show me," Claire said.

  The man cleared his throat and approached one of the glass panes. He flipped open a small wall panel and applied his thumb. The panel turned green and offered a soft tone. The Asian man stepped back and waited, while the glass slowly grew transparent to reveal what couldn't be anything else but a holding cell.

  Inside, a gaunt young man sat alone on a bed, his dark skin laced with tribal tattoos that rippled awkwardly over his protruding ribs. He looked up and out through the glass, his eyes dark and receded within his sunken orbital sockets. He watched Claire put her hand against the glass, and then he lay down on the bed and turned away. Claire looked toward the others, her eyes awash with tears and rage.

  "What is this?"

  The Asian man stared at the floor.

  "Answer me."

  "It's the testing floor," Romero said. "He's a subject."

  Claire looked down the hallway and counted out four dozen dark windows.

  "How many more of these rooms are there?"

  She took the Asian up in her hands.

  "How many?"

  The little man remained mute.

  "Many more," Romero said. "More than you can count."

  Claire dropped the Asian and turned toward Romero, who met her at the eye without blinking.

  "You should have left when you had the chance," he said. "You're a fool."

  She extended her arms and gathered him up by his head, his mouth mumbling a litany of curses, while his feet kicked the air. She held him high for a moment and squeezed until he wept blood. Then she tossed him down the hallway with such violence, his bones shattered apart beneath the skin.

  The Asian man cried out and fell backward onto the floor.

  "Please," he said. "I'm a good person. No one here as any choice."

  She stood above him, her chest expanding with heavy breath.

  "I want you to find someone for me."

  He looked up at her.

  "Can you do that?"

  "Maybe," he said. "Yes."

  She took him up by his arm and set him on his feet.

  "This way," he said.

  She followed him down the hallway, the two stepping around Romero's body, while his dead eyes gawked up with frozen surprise. As they passed all the dark windows, Claire considered the faces on the other side. Were Nathan and Alfred among them? Were they still alive?

  "Here," the Asian man said. He pointed to a door.

  "Where does it lead?"

  "System access," he said. "I can use it to probe the database for subject profiles."

  She nodded.

  "Do it."

  He tapped a wall panel and the door opened vertically from the ground. Claire held the man back.

  "I'll go first."

  She entered the room and found two soldiers standing before her. They aimed their we
apons and watched her nervously.

  "You're free to leave the facility," one said. "Please do so."

  She approached them and they retreated a few steps.

  "You should go," she said.

  They exchanged looks and took another step backward.

  "Where is your prisoner?" The other soldier asked.

  The Asian peered around the corner and the soldier's face lit up. He aimed his rifle at the little man's forehead and squeezed the trigger, the bullet flaming forth and piercing the air on its way to its target. Claire moved suddenly and the metal squashed against her flesh. The Asian man vanished from the entryway, as the other soldier opened fire in his direction.

  Claire quickly closed the distance and dealt with the men.

  "You can come out," she said.

  The little man glanced around the corner.

  "It's alright?"

  "Yes."

  He entered the room and surveyed the dead soldiers.

  "You have to take me with you," he said. "When this is over."

  She shoved him toward a computer panel.

  "We'll see."

  He turned toward the computer and fired it to life.

  "What's the name?"

  "Nathan Clark."

  His fingers tapped the keyboard and the system did its thing.

  "Deceased."

  Claire fell silent.

  "I'm so sorry," said the Asian.

  She turned away and crushed the tears against her eyes.

  "Is there another?" Asked the little man. "I'm sorry, but we must hurry."

  She straightened her posture and faced him.

  "Alfred Fernsby."

  The Asian tapped the appropriate characters and waited with great hope.

  "Asset."

  Claire spun the man around and held him by the shoulders.

  "What does it mean?"

  "He's alive," he said. "He's still alive."

  Claire released him and enjoyed the moment.

  "Please," said the man. "We must hurry."

  Claire looked at him.

  "Where is he?"

  "Not here."

  "Then where?"

  The Asian manipulated the computer.

  "I don't know."

  Claire held his shoulders.

  "Find him."

  The Asian put his hands up.

  "I can't. He's been transferred."

  "Transferred where?"

  The Asian shrugged.

  "Another facility? I don't know."

  Claire pushed him away and took several steps back.

  "What other facility?"

  "I don't know."

  She placed a hand against her head.

  "How many of these places are there?"

  He shrugged.

  "I don't know. A dozen. More perhaps."

  She fell silent while the significance of his statement permeated her brain. For the past several weeks, she'd defended herself against killers, and in the process became one herself. Each night, she would hole up in a dark nook and weep at the loss of her soul. At the troubling satisfaction of her change. And she raged against the entity that had corrupted her. And within the fertility of this grief, a purpose took root. She would destroy those who had destroyed her. She would destroy the Xactilias Project and all those responsible for it. But that seemed impossible now.

  "We must leave," said the little man.

  She looked around the room.

  "I'm not leaving until all these people are free."

  He shook his head.

  "That's impossible."

  She put a hand to his face.

  "You're going to die. Here today or sometime later, far away from this place. Do you think they won't find you? What will a few weeks or months be worth? With all you've done, what would it matter?"

  He looked at the floor and wept.

  "I have a family."

  She pulled his chin upward.

  "Then protect their safety by dying here today. And honor them by saving these people."

  His weeping ceased and his face hardened.

  "Ok."

  She stepped back from him.

  "What can we do?"

  He collected his thoughts.

  "I can free them, but they'll never let them leave the facility."

  She looked at the computer panel.

  "Can we access the intercom?"

  "Yes."

  "Do it."

  He turned and tapped buttons furiously.

  "They control everything from a mainframe, but I can override it for a moment. It won't last long. They'll regain control within a minute or so."

  "A minute is all I need."

  He worked through the process and stopped.

  "As soon as I hit this button, speak into the microphone here. Are you ready?"

  She nodded.

  "Go."

  She put her lips to the microphone.

  "Demetri," she said. "Listen to me. I'm coming to kill you. I'm coming to kill all of you unless you do as I say. I'm releasing all the subjects. Send escorts to safely move them out and off the facility. Provide visual evidence of your cooperation and I'll leave. You can have your facility. You can have your life. This is the only way."

  She nodded at the little man and he shut off the intercom.

  "Can we access the security cameras?" She asked.

  "Only if they allow us to."

  She nodded.

  "How do we release the people?"

  "I can do it from here."

  She looked at the time.

  "Wait five minutes and then do it."

  They waited and watched, while the clocks seemed to resist time. And then, the moment arrived and the Asian did his duty.

  "What's your name?" She asked the Asian.

  "Cho."

  She shook his hand.

  "Claire."

  They waited for a moment.

  "Alright, Cho, bring up the security footage."

  He did so and they watched, as hundreds of staggering bodies crept from the openings of their cells. At first they all moved cautiously, their eyes wide and wild and unbelieving. Soon, however, they found confidence in their growing numbers and at last became a hoard that flowed collectively like a great liquid mass. As the liquid moved forward, the doors opened automatically to allow passage from room to room.

  "They're letting them go," Cho said. "It worked."

  Claire watched silently as the people moved forward.

  "Wait," said Cho. "Look."

  He pointed to another monitor, which showed a group of armed soldiers exiting the elevator. They summoned the walkway and crossed it, their weapons raised.

  "What are they doing?" Claire whispered.

  She turned to Cho.

  "Pull up the intercom."

  Quickly, he tapped the buttons.

  "We're locked out," he said.

  They both turned back to the monitors and watched as the two parties moved toward one another on separate security monitors. In the people's faces, they saw hope and fear in a tangled, ungiving struggle, with each emotion exchanging advantage over and over, and over and over again.

  At last, the soldiers settled at the neck of the bottle and waited, while the people collected in the room on the other side.

  "I've got to stop this," Claire said.

  She raced toward the door.

  "Wait," said Cho. "Look."

  Claire raised her face to the monitors and stopped. The door had opened and the people had begun to leak through.

  "What's happening?" She whispered.

  "I think they're letting them go."

  She joined Cho and watched as the soldiers coaxed the mob forward, their faces offering expressions of kindness and decency. Cautiously, the people moved, their arms clutching at one another in reassuring embrace, despite age, religion, race or foolish barriers otherwise. Soon, the soldiers had them divided into groups of six, which they took in turn up the elevator and out onto the top level.


  Hours passed before they'd finally cleared the bottom level, and now Claire and Cho watched as the people were fed and watered in the first floor cafeteria. A separate security monitor showed the exterior of the facility, where the soldiers prepared a number of buses. After a time, they led the people outside and placed them on the vehicles. Then Claire and Cho watched as the buses pulled away.

  "Where will they take them?" Claire asked.

  "Back to their villages perhaps," Cho said. "We can hope."

  They watched the monitors for a while longer, but there was nothing left to see.

  "What now?" Asked Cho.

  "Now, we make sure they don't bring them back."

  "How?"

  She approached a faucet and released a pillar of running water. He watched while she stooped and drank.

  "What are you going to do?"

  She rose up and ran a sleeve over her mouth.

  "I'm going to make sure there's nothing left to come back to."

  "But you said you'd leave."

  "Not just yet."

  He rubbed his head.

  "You lied?"

  "I made a tactical misrepresentation," she said without looking at him.

  She rubbed her hands together as if preparing for an act of great athleticism.

  "Which way, Cho?"

  He pointed to the door.

  "Only one way."

  She looked at it and then at him.

  "Good luck to you."

  He nodded.

  "And to you."

  With that she struck out, obliterating the door with a single outstretched palm and making her way through a half dozen hallways more. Finally, she arrived at a monstrous steel door that looked like the entrance to a great vault. Forty feet high and several more thick, the door blocked a passage wide enough for a dump truck. Claire balled her fist and pounded the structure. The great door jazzled around its edges as vibrations shocked its surface. She took a step back and waited for what? She did not know.

  Again and again she struck the steel, punching and kicking, until she'd forged a two-foot-deep cavity in the center. She jabbed in the edges until the hole could accommodate her entire body. Then, she began pounding again. An hour later, she breached the other side, the steel bowing and exploding outward with an obscene noise that reverberated for a long while before drowning in the vastness of the room. She stepped out from the tunnel and dusted her pants.