by Ann Williams
Life for the most part was simple as long as you obeyed the rules. If you obeyed them, you could live a hundred years in good health and reasonable comfort.
If you disobeyed—which he’d learned to do at an early age—you were likely to be arrested and never heard from again. Unless you were very resourceful. And he’d been very resourceful all his life. Especially since working in the lab at Government House. He’d had to be in order to remove documents from the archives and steal parts to advance MDAT beyond the limits of its twin at work.
Sammell didn’t kid himself that he’d been particularly clever in what he’d done. It had been relatively easy to find a way into the locked rooms where all knowledge of the past was stored, because the armed guards never really expected anyone to try to get inside. And it had been no problem to hide folded plans and a book or two among similar items when he left work. Bartell was concerned about who and what came into the lab but showed very little concern about what went out of it.
Sammell studied the Recep and its contents. The squirrel would be no trouble. He knew about squirrels, because there were plenty of squirrels in the public gardens.
His gaze edged toward the woman. But there was nothing like her in his world. Hiding her was going to be a bit tricky.
Marina stirred, stretched, yawned and sat up. She hadn’t meant to fall asleep. No, wait a minute, she hadn’t fallen asleep….
“What in the world…?” she murmured aloud, looking around the room in confusion.
Where was she? Frowning, she tried to identify the place, but it was completely foreign to her. How had she gotten here? The last thing she remembered was the park.
She’d been in the park, the one she visited daily on her way home from work. Putting a hand to her head, she tried to think. What had she been doing in the park? Had she been alone?
The last thing she remembered—the only thing she could remember at the moment—was a kaleidoscope of color racing toward her as though down a long dark tunnel.
So how did she get here? Marina balanced herself with her hands against the floor and twisted to peer around the room. It looked…sterile was the only word she could come up with. Like a lab—no, a hospital.
That’s it, she thought in sudden relief, this must be the emergency room at County General. She had probably passed out and that couple had heard her and called an ambulance.
Her glance rested on the squirrel. Why would a squirrel be sitting on the floor of the emergency room watching her? Shouldn’t it have gone to a veterinary hospital?
Her eyes slid to the floor. Why was she on the floor? It was too much of a stretch of the imagination for her to believe that a hospital would have placed a patient on the floor—even if the hospital was overflowing with patients—without the benefit of a mattress and blankets.
All at once she became aware of a splitting headache. Had she fallen and struck her head? Is that why she was here and why nothing seemed to make sense?
Concentrating, she finally got a picture of herself sitting down beneath her favorite tree in the park—that’s it—now she remembered.
She’d sat down beneath her favorite tree and opened the sack of peanuts she always brought the gray squirrel she’d made friends with on her first visit to the park. All of a sudden she’d heard him chattering excitedly and looked up to see him acting very strangely.
At first she’d thought he was ill. But the longer she’d watched his antics, the more she came to realize that he was struggling against something—something that allowed him to move so far in her direction and no farther.
Without really giving it much thought, she’d put the sack of nuts on the ground and stood up. She was going to find out what was wrong with her little friend and help him.
Moving across the springy grass, arms swinging at her sides, she’d felt the warmth of the sun on the top of her head and given a passing thought to the hat she’d left lying on the ground beside the nuts. The sun’s rays brought out the freckles on her creamy skin and she already had her fair share of them.
With her next step, she’d felt as though she’d walked into an invisible curtain. It flowed back and around her just enough to let her pass through. But in sudden apprehension, she’d hesitated on its threshold and tried to withdraw. It wouldn’t let her.
Eyes going wide, she’d wrenched at her arms and feet, trying desperately to disengage herself. She was stuck fast. Panic seized her in its powerful grip. She couldn’t get loose! Nothing visible was holding her, yet she couldn’t move.
Except for her head. She could move her head. She stared around her, seeing only grass and trees and the snow-capped peaks of the San Francisco mountains in the distance.
What was she going to do? It felt as though she’d stepped into a huge invisible spider’s web. And the more she struggled, the more entangled she became.
And then she’d realized not only was she unable to withdraw, but she was being pulled inside it—whatever it was. Twisting her head, she looked back over her shoulder and spied a couple strolling among the trees.
Opening her mouth, she’d prepared to let out a blood-curdling scream. Suddenly the thing around her shifted—like a pair of powerful jaws suddenly opening wide—and she’d felt herself sucked inside.
Releasing her own breath in what should have been a terrified shout, she’d been shocked to realize that no sound at all came from between her lips. The couple in the trees had disappeared without ever having become aware of her existence, and Marina had quickly discovered there was no air to breathe in whatever this thing was that she’d gotten caught up in.
Her thoughts had become chaotic, her vision blurred. Dropping to her knees, she’d clawed at her own throat, struggling for air. Random pictures had flashed through her mind like scenes on a roll of film stuck on fast forward, making her feel dizzy.
Putting a hand to her head, she rubbed at her temple. In her dream—my God! That was it! She was dreaming! She’d read about a study conducted by the government on people who dreamed crazy things and knew all the time they were dreaming.
The pain in her head became worse and her mind became fuzzy. It must be the aftereffects of whatever they’d given her when they’d brought her to the emergency room—no, wait a minute—she’d already concluded that this couldn’t have been a hospital.
The pictures returned in living color, but this time she viewed them as though down a long dark tunnel. Tunnel? What had she read about flashes of light and long dark tunnels?
A tremor of fear shook her. Oh…God…no…what if this was the morgue…?
Chapter 2
Sammell strode briskly down the wide granite walkway toward the angular, two-story building constructed of pure white yule marble. The first floor of the spare structure was without windows. It housed labs like the one where Sammell worked.
The top floor contained the offices of the Western Zone of the World State Government, headed by ancestors of the original Founding Fathers with Carson B. Wyndom at their head. The offices located there had a wraparound view of the countryside from large smoked-glass windows. From these offices every aspect of life in the Western Hemisphere was carefully scrutinized and manipulated, according to the Wyndom government standards.
Government House, as it was called, stood atop the highest peak of the Solvo Mountains. Sammell and the other scientists who worked there were transported from the small village located at the base of the mountain range by horse-drawn carriage.
He didn’t like working at Government House, preferring the smaller lab closer to his cell. But every day he walked to a spot at the edge of the village and waited for the carriage that would take him up into the mountains.
There was one good thing about the transfer. It had given him access to data he’d never imagined to be still in existence. He’d always thought the government had destroyed all records of the world’s history to prevent someone’s finding them. It had also given him access to components he needed to work on his secret project in
his home lab.
Taking his place in line, Sammell studied the neck of the man in front of him, wondering what project he was involved in. Discussion between labs was forbidden by law, but Sammell was well aware that there were projects in the building ranging from genetic restructuring to the creation of black holes for waste-disposal purposes.
He knew this because he made it a point to listen to everything. The state guards sometimes talked among themselves when he was within hearing distance. And since they were convinced he was under the influence of the Wyndom drug, they occasionally divulged information Sammell would otherwise never have learned.
When his turn finally came, Sammell stepped up onto the dais, stuck his head into the Ident Casque and waited for the all-clear signal. Every citizen had an identification code. It was laser-tattooed into the frontal bone of each newborn seconds after birth. It could only be read by a government Probe computer. And all those who worked at Government House were put through an ID check before being allowed to enter the building.
The all-clear sounded and the black energy curtain divided. Sammell always felt a slight tremor of uneasiness and walked a little faster as he passed through it. He’d never forget the first day of his reassignment to the new lab. The Probe computer had malfunctioned, trapping a man in the curtain. His screams had been instantaneous and terrible and then they’d abruptly stopped. No trace of him was ever found.
Quickening his step, Sammell entered the long corridor down which his lab was situated. Stepping into the empty room, he moved to his desk, where a pile of work from the day before awaited him.
At the end of each day, all members of the scientific team placed the work they’d done that day on Sammell’s desk for analysis. Everyone on the project worked independently, each on a small area involving their own special field.
Sammell, as project head, had a working knowledge of all scientific fields involved in the work. Each morning he pieced together everyone’s work from the previous day into one formula, adding his own notes before passing it along to Bartell, the project director.
Bartell wasn’t a scientist, he was a government coordinator. But still, he made all decisions on the project, relying on Sammell to explain what he didn’t understand.
Sammell understood, if no one else did, the reasoning behind this careful division of labor. It kept everyone, except Sammell and Bartell, from having a complete picture of the end formula. Bartell was a loyal subject to the House of Wyndom, and Sammell was supposedly under the influence of their carefully developed drug and that made him powerless to do anything on his own.
Still, because of Bartell’s paranoia, Sammell was plagued with unannounced visits to his cell from Government Inspection Squads. It was because of those visits that he’d had to waste precious time, which he could have been using on further development of MDAT, to develop an EWS, or Early Warning System, that would alert him in advance and allow him enough time to prepare his lab for police inspection.
“Good day, Sammell.”
Sammell glanced over his shoulder with a slight nod of recognition. Larkin, another scientist on the project, and a man with whom Sammell felt a growing kinship, stood directly behind him.
“Good day to you,” Sammell replied.
“Yesterday’s work?” Larkin asked, his glance resting on the pile of papers lying at Sammell’s elbow.
Surprised by the question, Sammell responded with an automatic “Yes.” Curiosity among employees was not encouraged in the lab, and Larkin had never evidenced any before now.
“I think I have found the solution!” the other man suddenly burst out, casting a furtive glance over his shoulder.
“The solution to what?” Sammell asked in surprise.
“To the problem that has been plaguing this project.”
Sammell studied the man’s overbright eyes, becoming uneasy. “Is it in your notes from yesterday?” he asked tautly.
“No,” Larkin answered, without looking at Sammell.
“Why is that?”
Larkin inched closer. Dropping his voice, he murmured, “I would speak with you alone—if that is possible.” He eyed Sammell sharply.
Excitement stirred Sammell’s blood. If Larkin had stumbled upon the correct answer…
“I would speak with you, too,” Sammell murmured in barely audible tones.
Larkin’s work on gravity and its effects on a body traveling at the speed of light was astounding. His help with the problem that now faced Sammell, due to the unexpected results of his experiment with MDAT in his home lab, would be invaluable.
Many times in the past few months he had wished that he dared discuss his secret work with the man. Yet caution and the fear of betrayal at the man’s hands that he couldn’t quite cast aside had always held him back.
Sammell studied the keen look in the dark eyes above him. Were Larkin’s body and mind free of the effects of the Wyndom drug? Had he, too, discovered it in his nutrient injections and taken steps to remove it? The clear look in his eyes almost convinced Sammell that he had.
“There is something—”
“Sammell!” Bartell bellowed from the doorway across the room. “I wish to speak to you.”
Larkin froze, and for a moment Sammell thought he saw a look of anger enter the dark eyes before he turned away to head to his own desk.
“You, too, Larkin,” Bartell added, stabbing a finger in the other man’s direction. “Both of you, come to my office immediately.”
Without looking at Sammell, Larkin changed course and walked toward the empty doorway. Sammell waited a beat before following. How he resented the peremptory command from Bartell, though there was little he could do about it at the moment.
Larkin was standing to one side of Bartell’s desk, hands clasped behind a rigid back, when Sammell entered the room. Taking up a stance of pseudo respect at the other side of the desk, he waited with an outward show of calm for the project director to tell them why they had been summoned to his office. But underneath that calm exterior, he was very conscious of the armed guards standing outside the door. And considering what lay hidden in his lab at home, Sammell had to beat down a persistent voice that urged him to run from this office and from this building as quickly as possible.
“It has come to my attention,” Bartell began in guttural tones, “that you are both approaching an unprecedented birthday.
“Is that not correct?” he asked, spearing each man in turn with a cold blue razor-sharp glance.
“Yes, Lord Bartell,” Larkin answered respectfully.
Sammell gave a slight nod, silently heaving a sigh of relief. He had not been summoned for arrest.
“It is time to prepare yourselves for marriage,” Bartell thundered as though they were standing in the next room instead of on the other side of the desk. Picking up a thin sheaf of papers, he thrust them at the two men. The thick gold-crested ring with a solitary ruby at its center glittered at them like a baleful red eye.
The ring was a symbol of Bartell’s high rank. Only those who were direct descendants of the original pact-signing coalition responsible for the present government wore the ring.
Other government employees were recognizable by their triangular-shaped silver lapel pins with the dove of peace at the top, the lightning bolt of power on the left and the silhouette of the masses on the right with the motto Peaceful Power to the People below.
Sammell sneered inwardly at the thought of the motto, knowing it for the lie that it was.
“These papers must be filled out,” the director continued, “and returned to me by the end of the day.”
Sammell reached for the paper with his name at the top, noted the official government seal and turned to leave. He couldn’t get out of there fast enough. He neither liked nor respected Lord Bartell.
“Sammell—stay!” Bartell ordered. “Larkin, go.”
When they were alone, Bartell pointed to a chair. Sammell lowered himself onto it reluctantly, keeping his expression neutral a
nd his eyes on the face of the man sitting behind the wide glass-topped desk.
“Why has another test not been scheduled?” the older man demanded abruptly, eyeing Sammell with shrewd blue eyes set beneath thick black brows. “It has been more than a week since the last one. What is the holdup?”
“We have made no progress, my lord, in solving the problem with the plasma jet,” Sammell responded, nearly choking on the term of implied deference. “I can let you know by the end of the day if recent work indicates another test.”
The director stared hard at Sammell, his thoughts carefully shielded from Sammell’s own veiled scrutiny. Abruptly he nodded, making a peremptory gesture of dismissal.
Sammell was at the door, his hand on it, when Bartell’s voice stopped him cold. “What was Larkin doing in your work space just now?”
He should have known the question was coming. The man missed little and what he missed his spies did not.
Sammell thought quickly and answered, “He wanted to go over some of the notes he made yesterday.”
“I see.” The silence lasted an eternity, but Sammell knew he had not been dismissed. “Have you noticed anything—” Bartell hesitated “—unusual in his manner of late?”
Sammell turned around. Was the question a trap?
“He works hard, my lord,” Sammell responded, meeting the other man’s narrow gaze with a bland expression. They all did—Bartell saw to that.
Bartell’s sour expression said that wasn’t an endorsement of the man’s allegiance. “I want you to watch him carefully in the coming weeks. Report anything odd in his manner directly to me. Is that understood?”
“Yes, my lord,” Sammell replied, once again turning away.
Here was the proof he’d been looking for. Obviously the government was gathering evidence against someone on the project. And despite Bartell’s cunning pretense, Sammell didn’t think it was Larkin they were after. His own time on the project might be shorter than he had previously thought. And there was research yet to be done, which he could only do as long as he had access to the Government Archives housed in this building.
