“I’ve been told to keep my hands off of Dr. Blair,” the colonel said grimly. “But if this goes on much longer without any rational reasons for what happened, they won’t have any choice.” He sat down across from her. “Susan, can’t you just give me a better explanation of what happened here? This story of floating shadow-monsters just isn’t going to fly in Washington, and you know that.”
She grimaced. “What rationale are they giving right now, Colonel?” Rationale” was not the first word that came to her mind. She wanted to say “fairy tale,” but the tape was still running.
He shrugged. “So far, the only explanations are mass hysteria and some kind of mass hallucination, combined with the kidnapping, defection, or mislaying of fourteen Lab employees. Once the alarms went off, everyone headed down their safe routes to leave the building. The ones who didn’t are either completely non compos mentis or missing. I think the Agency boys are still searching the lower levels, in the hopes of finding more of those people.” He shook his head. “The current theory is that some kind of toxin might’ve escaped from one of the sealed rooms and gotten into the air vents, though we all know that can’t happen, because of the security design.”
She refrained from snorting. Nerve gas, you mean. Or an air-born hallucinogen. And sealed-room protocol doesn’t mean squat when you’re dealing with people who might have been hit with it themselves and have just gone off on their own private trip to Oz. And sealed-room protocol won’t work with something so new the filters can’t catch it. A micromolecule, or a virus, maybe. But you can’t say that, because of the tape.
The colonel continued, blithely unaware of what she was thinking. “So they’re saying it could’ve been deliberate, but there are only ten or fifteen people with security access to all levels, and they’re all accounted for. Another theory is mass food poisoning, but that really doesn’t hold water, either. So far no one is talking about the Japanese, or terrorists, but that can’t be far behind. This whole thing is giving me an awful headache,” he concluded, rubbing his temples.
“At least you weren’t here last night,” Susan said quietly. “I keep wishing I’d kept to an earlier plan of going to the San Francisco Opera with some friends last night, instead of running the data correlation tests.” She allowed herself a single outburst of anger—in part, to help cover her grief. “Why can’t you just put down what I saw to a mass hallucination, if you won’t believe me?”
The colonel wasn’t going to be sidetracked, even though she had given him a decent out. “All right, Susan. Let’s go over it one more time, just to see if there’s anything we missed. You were in your office, waiting for the computer to run the comparison tests on the last experiment…“
She nodded, wearily. “It was our first verified successful run. We recorded an energy release with a Richter equivalent of zero point nine, just enough to tap the needles on the seismograph. If all hell hadn’t broken loose afterward, I would’ve been at your office door at eight a.m. this morning, waving test result printouts at you and screaming wildly. Happily, but wildly.” Why didn’t I go watch Tosca fling herself off a bloody building? Why couldn’t we have run the tests this morning? But she knew why: because she’d been too excited, too impatient… nothing could’ve convinced her to leave the lab at that point. Finding the exact resonant frequency for that rock stratum and pinpointing the fault… no, leaving the lab at that point would’ve been inconceivable.
The colonel nodded. “After the test, what happened?”
She continued her recitation. Same words, for the benefit of those who would be listening to the tape, hunting for discrepancies. “Frank started to power down all the machines, and that new lab tech, Dave, was helping him with that. That’s when the alarms went off. I knew we couldn’t leave, not until all the equipment was secured, so I told them to keep working, that we’d still have time to clear the building.” She could feel her hands trembling, and fought back tears. “I wish I could go back in time and tell them to get the hell out, screw the equipment. So we were still in there when that first thingcame through the doorway, oozing right around a closed door. It opened up in front of us, going from a thin shadow to a huge billowing shape. I don’t think Frank even had time to blink, it just fell over him and he screamed, and then he was gone. The kid and I were standing there in shock, and it drifted toward him next, moving slower. I threw something heavy at it, I can’t remember what—probably an oscilloscope or something. That fell right through it, but it paused long enough for both of us to get to the door.”
If I’d gone to listen to an aging diva play an hysterical diva, they’d still be alive.
She heard a rising note of hysteria in her voice and quelled it. “In the hallway, I saw Mira Osaka from Dr. Siegel’s team, just sitting on the floor and staring at her hands, like something was wrong with them. I tripped over her—that’s when the creature killed Dave, it just slid over him like a wave. He was screaming, and I was trying to get free from Mira, because she’d grabbed onto my wrists. I think I hit her, trying to get away, and then the thing was coming after me. It seemed to ignore Mira. I made it into a storeroom, and it followed me in, but couldn’t find me in there. I don’t know why. Then it suddenly turned and left, and I followed it out, and that’s where I saw the guy with long dark hair, the one who was in my apartment this morning.”
Colonel O’Neill reached over and switched off the tape recorder. “We have to talk, off the record. You know what’ll happen if I give this tape to the FBI, don’t you? They’ll listen to it for five minutes, and then cancel your clearance. I don’t want that to happen.” He glanced down at the tape recorder. “All right, this is what we’re going to do. Susan, you’re going to tell me that story again, and it isn’t going to include anything about shadow-monsters or people disappearing into thin air. Or a hippie in your apartment. I’ll rewind the tape, as a friend and someone who wants you on that damn project, and you give me the edited version three times. Here’s what happened. The alarms went on. You tried to get out of there, Mira was in the hallway, you didn’t see what happened to Frank and Dave. They just never came out of the lab.” He paused for a moment, as if in thought. “And while the Feds are going over this report, I’ll send someone over to your apartment to dust for fingerprints. If we get any that aren’t yours, I have private accesses to the national print banks. People who owe me favors. Maybe we can find this mysterious long-haired boy, and when we do, we can get some better answers to all of this out of him instead of you.”
She was stunned. “Steve ... that’s illegal.”
“I know, I know.” He shrugged. “Call it a command decision. I’m not going to let this sink your career, not when you’re so close to doing something meaningful on this project. You’re a good scientist, Susan. In all senses of the word.”
She slumped a little, relief making her want to cry again. “Have I ever told you how glad I am that you were assigned to helm this project? I’ve been so afraid of the military applications of this, but you’ve always had the view that we could use this to help people, not kill them. Thank you for that, Steve. Thank you for having ethics.”
“Not a problem.” He smiled. “When we’re done here, take the rest of the day off, Susan. Medical leave. Go shopping, go into the city, do anything you want. Just don’t go home for a few hours, okay? Now, go to the lady’s room. Have a cry. Come back here and we’ll do the tape, then you take the day off.”
“Okay. Thanks, Bossman.” She stood up to leave, and impulsively hugged him.
* * *
Colonel O’Neill smiled at Susan as she left the room, then his face went flat and impassive as the door closed, as though he was only a puppet, with no puppeteer to animate his movements. That was how he felt, when he thought about it… when he was given the license to think about it. Like he was watching a puppet show from within his own mind, seeing himself move across a stage. All he could feel was that strange feeling of distance, of emptiness, as though all of this was happenin
g to someone else. He thought he ought to be terrified, but he couldn’t be, because the emptiness left no room for anything else in his mind, even fear.
A few moments later, he glanced at his watch, then rose from his chair and walked briskly down the hallway. Beyond another door, Warden Blair sat silently at a computer console, not even bothering to look up as O’Neill entered the room.
“Did she believe you?” Blair asked.
“I think so,” the colonel replied woodenly. “At least, she said she wouldn’t go back to her apartment, so I shouldn’t have any problems sending a team over there to scout for prints and fibers. Maybe we’ll find her mystery boy, maybe not.”
Blair shook his head. “The boy doesn’t matter—my people can follow him like a lighthouse beacon, anywhere in the city. What matters is that there is no interference with this project, at least for several days. And that no harm comes to your Dr. Susan Sheffield for those several days. After that, she won’t matter at all. In fact, you’ll probably need to kill her. Do you understand?”
“Of course.” Something shifted in the emptiness of his thoughts, at the idea of harming Susan. I… I don’t want to do that, he realized.
Blair continued, coldly, with calculation. “I can’t control her, not without damaging her ability to complete the project. We’ll need her technical expertise to complete the Breakthrough, the work that she hasn’t completed yet.” Blair seemed to be speaking more to himself than to O’Neill.
For a moment, O’Neill felt that strange emptiness lifting from his mind, the fog clearing slightly. His fingers strained, touched the flap of the holster at his belt, the .45 automatic nestled within. It was so difficult, harder than anything he’d ever done… he unsnapped the flap, wrapped his fingers around the grip, tensing…
“Don’t do that,” Blair said absently, and Colonel O’Neill screamed inside, in fury and hopelessness, as his disobedient fingers rebuttoned the holster flap, then clenched into a fist in his lap. “I still need your services, Colonel,” the thing that had been Warden Blair said in a serious tone. “I can’t let you kill yourself yet. And as far as killing me… if this body dies, I’ll simply take yours instead. Keep that thought in mind, if you think you might be able to break free.”
“I’ll ... kill you,” O’Neill said in a strained voice. “Don’t know… what you are, but I’ll kill you.”
He felt Blair’s attention focus on him, pressing down upon him like a great weight. It was more difficult to think, more difficult to focus on a single thought—he clutched desperately at the hatred, the last emotion being slowly stripped away from him.
But he couldn’t fight it; it was like fighting the tide, or the turning of the planet. When it was over, there was only a small part of him left, locked deep beneath the waves of emptiness. A tiny scrap, able only to watch and weep, without acting.
Something like a smile passed over Blair’s lips. “Much better. Now, your next assignment… I need competent laboratory personnel to replace the lost Poseidon Project team members, so we can reschedule the project. Despite the presence of the Federal officers, we should be able to resume work sometime tomorrow.”
“I’ll take care of it,” O’Neill heard his own voice say, and he rose to leave the room.
“I’m sure you will, Colonel,” Blair said, smiling.
I’ve seen that kid before, I know I have, Susan thought, walking past the opulent displays at Macy’s and into the women’s shoes department. That handsome face, the long dark hair… I know him, I know that I know him....
She paused in front of a display of sequined shoes, momentarily distracted by the thought of finding shoes to match her favorite black sequin dress. Attack sequins. Guaranteed to stop traffic. Shopping was excellent trauma therapy, a new idea for medical treatment, she thought, eying the sequined shoes and then deciding to pass on them, at least for now.
In the next department, she considered a new British trenchcoat, perfect for foggy San Francisco mornings. It looked like a good buy, especially with the matching scarf a warm and comfortable coat, as comfortable as an old friend.
Hands in the pockets of her old coat, listening to flute music, surprisingly lovely and unexpected…
And connected with that boy, somehow.
Susan shook her head, trying to remember. A concert… no, she would’ve been wearing better clothes, probably her black wool wrap over a dress, not the old worn jacket with holes in the pockets. But if it wasn’t a concert, where would she have heard him play music before… where?
She paid for the new coat, and left with the package under her arm, back toward the parking lot. The wind had picked up, swirling leaves around her feet as she crossed the street. Near the parking lot attendant’s booth, a gray-haired man with his cap on the ground was singing Gershwin to the street, mostly ignored by the pedestrians. And that was when it came to her.
A street musician! That boy is a street musician!
Elation hit her in an adrenaline rush; she laughed out loud, and began to think back of all the times she’d seen street musicians in San Francisco, the different corners and tourist areas and business districts… down near the Pier, maybe? Or Ghiradelli Square? Maybe at the cable car station, where the crowds of tourists waited in endless lines to ride the cable cars? Fog, cold, wind… where would she find those at an hour when she wouldn’t be at the lab?
“Now the quest begins,” she said under her breath. Unlocking her car, she sat down in the driver’s seat and reached for the stack of maps in the glove compartment. With a map of San Francisco spread out in front of her, she plotted out the best approach to the Pier area, then folded up the map and started her car, carefully backing out of the parking lot and into the late morning traffic.
Maybe this is crazy. Maybe I’m searching for someone who’s nothing more than a hallucination… maybe we all really were poisoned by the cafeteria meatloaf last night at the labs, and I only imagined the guy. Then again, maybe he‘s real… and if he‘s real, he‘s the answer to all of this. If I can find him, the bastard who’s responsible for what happened to Frank and Dave and all those others, then maybe I won’t be afraid to go back to the Labs anymore, afraid to go home to a silent apartment and afraid of trying to sleep tonight… afraid those things are going to come back for the one that got away.
At first, her quest seemed hopeless—on a chilly San Francisco morning, very few street musicians were at the Square or Pier 39. She asked at the Pier management office whether they might have a list of the musicians who regularly played there, and had to listen to a serious-eyed woman take ten minutes to explain that except for the performers who did shows on the small stage at the center of the Pier, they had no way of tracking the street musicians.
She stopped at Pier 45 for a quick lunch, then went back to Ghiradelli Square for another attempt. This time she hit paydirt: a quartet of musicians playing wild Celtic music for a small crowd. She waited until a lull in the music, then asked them about her mysterious musician.
“Sounds like someone I’ve seen at the Renaissance Faire, last few weekends,” the male guitar-player said. “He’s not a regular, but I’ve seen him there with some friends.”
“You were just watching the red-haired girl,” one of his female companions teased him. “He was with a woman with bright red hair,” the musician informed Susan. “And another man, a blond hunk of a guy. I’d bet they’ll be back at the Faire on Saturday.”
Saturday… too many days away, by Susan’s reckoning. “Do you have any idea where I could find him before the weekend?”
“Try the Embarcadero,” the man suggested. “I think I saw him there once, playing for the business lunch crowd.”
Susan thanked them politely, and headed back to her car. She drove back to the Embarcadero, within walking distance of where she’d started this odd trek, parked and walked to the open plaza.
Too late for the lunch crowd, she realized as she walked up the concrete steps. The plaza was mostly deserted except for b
usinessmen apparently hurrying to meetings and such stuff, and the food stands were obviously shutting down for the afternoon.
She asked the proprietor of a hot dog stand about the street musician, and was rewarded with the man’s big smile. “Oh, yes. Beth and Eric and Kory. They’re going to play for my daughter’s wedding next month.” The man fished in his wallet, and pulled out a ragged business card with a number scribbled on the back. “This is their phone number. They live somewhere off Geary Street, maybe on the top of the hill near Broderick? Anyhow, here’s the number.”
If they take my clearance away, maybe I have a future as a detective, she thought, smiling. “Thank you,” she said, writing down the phone number and the street information. Anyhow, that’s enough detective work for one day, she decided. Now it’s time for combat shopping…
She made it home before the afternoon traffic began, the long slow trek of cars going across the Bay from the city, in time to see the last of O’Neill’s cleanup crew leaving her apartment.
“Find anything interesting, boys?” she asked.
The youngest of the colonel’s agents gave her a shy grin, and his superior chivvied him out of the apartment, nodding once to Susan.
She sat down on the couch and thought about the impossible, and what had happened last night. Suddenly she was consumed with the desire to know more, to find out what O’Neill and the other honchos had discovered while she was merrily spending money at Macy’s.
Five minutes later, she was on her way back to the office. The gate guard checked her I.D, more carefully than she usually did, but let her pass in without any problems. She was on her way to O’Neill’s office when two business-suited Federal agents caught her by the elbows and escorted her in another direction.
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