“How far is it?” whispered Sam, as they crept past a massive double-doored portico that he was sure must be Matheson’s lair.
“Here,” whispered Rob, pointing at a small, unmarked door.
“Are you sure?” asked Sam. “It looks like a broom closet.”
“Will you two shut up!” hissed Alma. “Open the door, Sam.”
Sam took out the keys again, holding them tightly to try to prevent them rattling. This time he found the correct key quickly and the door swung slowly inwards. They darted inside and closed it softly behind them.
The room was pitch dark and it seemed to take Rob forever to find the light switch, but when he did their mouths dropped open.
It wasn’t a broom closet.
As each of the fluorescent lights flickered and glowed, more and more of the massive warehouse was revealed. The front half of the room was packed with old fashioned metal filing cabinets, but most of it was floor to ceiling shelves crammed with cardboard file boxes and ranks of black binders.
“Oh, crap,” said Sam.
“Jackpot!” crowed Rob.
“I’ll keep a lookout here,” said Alma, sheathing the knife. “You two see what you can find.”
Rob slapped Sam on his back and ran down the nearest aisle. Sam looked around—he needed a more measured approach if he was to stand any chance of finding the information he was looking for.
“There has to be a catalog,” he muttered. “There’s no way they’d store this much stuff without knowing how to retrieve it.”
He examined the area near the door and found a small bookcase blocked by a four drawer lateral file cabinet.
“Help me move this.”
Alma grabbed one side and they heaved the cabinet out, revealing three shelves of large binders. Sam pulled one out at random.
“Okay,” he muttered, scanning the contents. “They’re organized by year, then project.”
“What year were you born?” asked Alma.
“It had to have started before that,” said Sam. “Research usually begins with a hypothesis, then years of experimentation before they get to human subjects.”
He picked a date ten years before he was born and scanned the projects. Nothing. He pulled out another binder. Nothing.
“Let me help,” said Alma, grabbing a binder. “What are you looking for?”
“I’m not sure. Something with the words ‘Sam’ or ‘locule,’ I guess.”
“How d’you spell that?”
“L-O-C-U-L-E.”
Alma nodded and turned to the index as Sam selected another binder. Most of the early projects seemed to have something to do with hyperspatial mechanics, as if they had been searching for a way to make adjustments to Mutha, but the direction seemed to gradually change toward genetics and population.
They were still poring over the catalog when a distant thrumming began to shake the building. Rob emerged from one of the aisles of shelves, holding a stack of files and looking worried.
“What’s that?”
“Chopper,” said Alma. “Sounds like it’s landing on the roof.”
“Here! I found it!” Sam snapped the binder shut and ran down the furthest aisle, scanning the boxes.
It didn’t take long to find the right one and pull it out and onto the floor. He sat down, removed the lid, pulled out the first thick folder…and hesitated. Did he really want to know? What if it turned out that Matheson and the doctors were right?
Sam stared at the folder. Beige, worn and slightly grubby. It had clearly been handled a great deal, the sweat of decades worth of fingers rubbed into its ragged edges. There were notes, hastily scrawled by one hand, then scribbled through and more notes written by another, only for those in their turn to be impatiently crossed out.
He took a deep breath, opened it and saw his father’s name.
It was an email, so they’d still been connected to the plex when it was written. His father’s name was one of about fifteen people who had been cc’d. There were some familiar names: Matheson, Wilson, and Chen, among others. The actual content was difficult to understand, but as he read through more emails, memos, letters and transcripts it slowly became clear what they had been trying to do.
“Have you found anything?” Alma’s voice sounded tense. “I don’t think we’ve got much more time.”
“What is it?” he asked.
“People. In the corridor outside.”
Sam nodded and started flicking through the pages more quickly. What did any of this have to do with him? There began to be reports of human experiments, all of which ended in failure and death. As the body count mounted, Sam became increasingly disgusted. How could his parents have been involved in this? They’d made such a point of teaching him the importance of human life and of empathy toward the less fortunate. It was as if…
And then he saw it.
“Samuel.”
Not a name, but an acronym. What was it with scientists and acronyms?
Series Alpha Molecular Human Encasement Locule.
He turned the pages slowly, his need to know being slowly overwhelmed by his disappointment, revulsion and fear.
“Sam? Sam!” Alma had her hand on his shoulder. How long had she been saying his name?
“What?”
“Are you alright?”
“I’m…yes…I’m fine.”
“We have to go. Bast is here.”
“Bast?”
“I recognized some of her men. They’re in the corridor. We have to get out of here. Take what you need, I’ll find Rob.”
Sam grabbed some of the later documents that he hadn’t had time to read, rolled them up and returned the file box to the shelf.
“There isn’t any other way out,” whispered Rob, running up from the far end of the aisle. “I’ve been right through the place. That door’s the only way in.”
“Maybe we can just lie low until—”
Alma was interrupted by the unmistakable click of a door handle being turned.
“Is this supposed to be unlocked?” said an unfamiliar voice.
“Shit!” whispered Rob.
Sam stood up as Alma looked around, her dark eyes taking in every detail of the place.
“Right,” she said. “Follow me.”
She moved quickly and silently down the aisle toward the back of the room, then climbed up the shelves to the ceiling like a spider moving through its web, before easing a heating grid out of place and swinging up into the vent.
“Impressive, isn’t she?” said Rob.
“Get a move on!” she hissed, leaning out.
Sam shoved the rolled up papers into his shirt and clambered up the shelves after her. It was much more difficult than she’d made it look and by the time he hauled himself into the vent he was gasping for breath.
A few moments later, Rob hoisted himself in and Sam was relieved to see that he hadn’t found it any too easy either. Alma shook her head in disgust at their lack of acrobatic skills and quickly replaced the grate, just as the sound of booted feet echoed through the aisles.
“Anything?” said a gruff voice near the entrance.
“Negative!”
“Yeah, negative down here too!”
“Okay. I guess some dumbass just forgot to lock the door.”
Sam listened as the guards, or whoever they were, stomped out of the room and the door closed.
“Now what?” he whispered.
“We have to find another way out,” said Alma. “There’s too many people around out there.”
Sam and Rob nodded.
“Right,” she whispered. “We’re going to move through the vents as quietly as we can. No talking, no whispering, no breathing. Got it?”
They nodded again, and she turned and began crawling through the metal vent as silent as a shadow. Sam did his best to do the same, but was painfully aware of every creak and groan of the old shaft as he inched his way along.
“Sam.”
“What?” said Sam.
>
“Quiet!” hissed Alma. “I said no talking!”
For a moment Sam was confused. Was it Rob that had said his name?
“Hey, Sammy, where are you?”
Sam stopped.
It wasn’t Rob. It was inside his head.
“Keep moving!” whispered Alma.
Sam started forward again, but the buzzing was back and with it a headache that grew more intense the further along the vent they went.
“I know you’re there,” wheedled the voice. “I can feel you.”
Sam shut his eyes and tried to concentrate on just keeping going. He tried to think of something else and began silently reciting the only poem he knew by heart:
‘Twas brillig and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe
All mimsy were the borogroves
And the mome-rath outgrabe
Beware the—
“Oh, I know this one!” crowed the voice. “‘Beware the Jabberwock, my boy; The jaws that bite—”
Someone tapped him on the shoulder. He opened his eyes. Alma was looking at him and pointing down.
They were over another grate, which was set into the ceiling of an absolutely palatial office. There was a huge oval desk on one side, behind which sat Dr. Matheson, his hands clasped on the blotter in front of him and his posture exuding irritation. Opposite him, reclining in a large leather chair, was Carolyn Bast, and standing next to her a stocky man that Sam didn’t recognize.
“You’re lucky I agreed to see you,” snarled Matheson. “This is hardly business hours.”
“Well, my dear doctor, if you actually conducted yourselves like a business, it wouldn’t have been necessary,” cooed Bast.
“What do you mean by that?”
“It is very difficult to embark on negotiations with a company that isn’t even connected to Mutha. So here I am. I’m rather busy at the moment, I’m afraid. This was the only time I could squeeze you in.”
“Negotiations? What dealings could we possibly have with…with a mercenary?” Matheson spat out the word like it was the worst kind of obscenity.
Sam couldn’t see Bast’s face, but he knew she’d be smiling. It would take more than some suit behind a desk to faze her.
“I’m here to discuss the Paradigm Device.”
The words seemed to suck all the air out of the room. It was as if the whole scene were frozen in aspic, a recreation of something for a museum some time in the distant future when “offices” had long since ceased to exist.
“I said—”
“I heard you!” snapped Matheson. “It was destroyed.”
“Destroyed?”
“Yes. There. That’s an end to it. You can go back to your little war now.”
Sam felt almost sorry for Matheson. The doctor might be the biggest wig in his world, but he had almost certainly never had to deal with anyone quite as reptilian as Carolyn Bast.
“I’m afraid you’re mistaken, doctor. It was not destroyed. It was hidden, and now it is found.”
“What?”
“I have the Paradigm Device.”
Sam was almost as stunned as Matheson. How could she have it? It was in the trunk of the GTO!
“But…How do you know about it?” Matheson was genuinely shocked. “The whole project was—”
“Secret. Yes, I am aware of that,” said Bast, in a tone most people would use for discussing dinner plans. “As you pointed out so…energetically, my company is in the business of providing services for money. The box was acquired for a client.”
“Who?”
“I am not at liberty to say.”
Matheson stared at her for a moment, then leaned back in his chair and chuckled. Sam could almost feel the smirk as the doctor spoke.
“Well, Commander, I’m afraid your client will be disappointed. The Paradigm Device doesn’t work. Never did.”
“On the contrary. It does work. Well, to a point. I’d like you to meet my associate, Mr. Hamut.”
“Watch this, Sam,” whispered the voice in his head, gleefully. “It’s going to be good.”
“Hello, Robert,” said Hamut. “Long time no see.”
Sam’s mouth fell open. It was the same voice! The voice in his head belonged to the man in the room.
“Long time? I’ve never met you before in my life!” Matheson sat up and stared at Hamut. “Is this some kind of joke?”
“Not at all,” said Hamut. “You were a little young when we last met, though. It was your father I had dealings with.”
“My…father? But you’re not old enough to…to…Oh, my God.”
Hamut looked up at the grate in the ceiling and smiled at Sam.
“You flatter me,” he said, turning back to Matheson. But this time his voice sounded odd, as if he’d suddenly developed a sore throat.
“See you soon, Sam!” said the voice.
“How did you—” began Matheson, but before he could complete his sentence, Hamut made a gurgling sound and crumpled to the floor, his body racked with seizures.
Sam watched with horror as the man’s eyes rolled back into his head and bloody foam bubbled out of his mouth, ears and nose. In a few moments he was dead, and the buzzing and headache were gone.
“Sorry about the mess,” said Bast, calmly. “But you understand that I had to make a point. I know exactly what you were doing and I have the ability to replicate your work precisely.”
“But…but…you can see. It didn’t work.” Matheson’s voice sounded suddenly hollow.
“Yes. It seems it’s too much for the human brain to take,” said Bast. “They generally last about thirty-six hours. But you didn’t leave it at that, did you?”
“I don’t know what you—”
“Doctor Matheson,” said Bast, leaning forward. She was clearly beginning to lose patience with the blustering fool. “This is the sixth man I have tested your little device on. Thirty-six hours may not be long, but it is more than enough time to discover exactly what your company was up to, and to learn that you found a solution. I want a locule.”
Alma glanced sharply at Sam.
“We don’t have one,” said Matheson.
“I know HIR made it its business to catch the strays,” said Bast. “And that you brought them back here and removed the offending chunks of neural matter.”
“But that was years ago. The last one was…I don’t know, two years ago.”
“That may be true. However, you offered a very large bounty indeed just a few weeks ago. So where is he?”
“You’re insane, you know that?” Matheson’s irritation had given way to incredulity. “You think you can stroll into a Hermes facility and just make demands? One call, that’s all I have to do. One call to head office in Seattle and you’ll have a company gunship raining down hellfire on you and your whole sorry organization.”
“Really? It was my understanding that this project was exclusive to the research wing. Did you ever tell Seattle about it?”
Matheson stared at her. Sam couldn’t see her face, but he was sure Bast was smiling her lizard smile.
“Right. So I’ll say it again: give me the locule.”
“We don’t…” Matheson sat back in his chair and threw up his hands. “He got away. Just before surgery was scheduled. We’ve got no idea where he is.”
“Then I suggest you offer another bounty. Hermes Industries has been collecting fees on something over which it has had no control for nearly fifty years. Your bank balance must be quite something to behold.”
She stood up and pulled on a pair of red leather gloves.
“But my colleagues won’t…”
“I have no pretension to be other than what I am,” she said, briskly. “Hermes, on the other hand, has been living a very public lie for a considerable number of years. Now, I am more than willing to keep that information confidential, in return for a small monthly retainer and a locule.” She stepped forward and leaned across the desk, her voice suddenly cold, and sharp as
steel. “Because make no mistake, Dr. Matheson, I am more than capable of making sure that everyone on the planet knows exactly what your company has been up to. Do we understand each other?”
“I…yes. Yes, we understand each other.”
“Good. Let’s stay in touch. Ciao!”
She straightened up and swept out of the office. Matheson pressed a button on his desk and Dr. Wilson came through the door.
“What did she want? Oh, shit! What’s that?”
Wilson recoiled at the sight of Hamut’s body slowly seeping blood and brain matter into the carpet.
“It’s the remains of a shell. Bast’s got hold of the box and she’s made it work. She’s been experimenting with her men, but, of course, it always ends up like that.”
“How long did it last?”
“Thirty-six hours, but this was the sixth attempt.”
“More than enough time to find out what she needs,” sighed Wilson. “Hell and damnation! I thought we had a lid on this.”
“Yeah. But we don’t, and now she’s looking for the locule.”
Dr. Wilson sat down with a thump.
“Crap.”
“We knew this day would come.”
“The hell we did! Where did she get it from?”
“She wouldn’t tell me who her client is, but I can guess.”
Wilson looked at him and shook his head.
“What d’you want to do?”
“We have to tell them.”
“You’re not serious?”
“Better they hear it directly from us. The alternative doesn’t bear thinking about.”
“What d’you think they’ll do?”
“I think they’ll send a gunship after her and wipe her whole operation off the face of the earth. As for us…we might survive, if we play it right.”
Wilson didn’t say anything for a few moments, then he stood up.
“I don’t know about you,” he said. “But I need a drink.”
Chapter 23
THEY STAYED IN THE HEATING DUCT until the building throbbed with the whap-whap-whap of Bast’s departing helicopter, then inched their way along until they reached an empty room.
Alma dropped down first, silent as a cat, with Sam and Rob clunking after her. She glared at them, then crept to the door, eased it open a crack and led the way back to the elevator.
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