by George Wier
“I have two gentlemen here,” the guard said into the phone. He took the clipboard. “A Mister Bill Travis and a Mister Henry A. Sterling. And good penmanship,” he added.
A glance at Hank revealed a relaxed pose, but with his hands hooked into his pants. He could have his gun out in a split second, if needed. The back of my neck itched. This was one of those moments where it could go either way. I don't like those kinds of situations.
“Yes, sir,” the guard said. “Yes, for Dr. Hague.”
We waited.
“Yes, sir,” he said again.
“Very good, sir,” he said and hung up.
He stood looking at us for a moment, appraising. He sighed.
“And?” I asked.
“And... you two gentleman please have a seat over there. Someone will be down to fetch you. Here are your badges.” He placed two plastic VISITOR badges on the counter and made a show of jotting down the numbers on them. “One forty-one and one forty-two,” he mumbled.
I took them and handed one to Hank.
“Thanks,” I said.
“If you fellows want some coffee, I've got a pot back here. It's only a few hours old.”
“Hank?” I asked.
“I'm fine,” he replied.
“We'll pass,” I said. “But I appreciate the offer.” At the moment, the thought of coffee alone was enough to make me nervous. With actual caffeine coursing through my veins I'd be bouncing off the ceiling tiles in no time.
Hank and I took a seat in the middle of the vast and empty reception area.
“This place ain't all that swanky,” he said, finally.
“No?”
“Yeah. No magazines.”
And damned if he wasn't right.
*****
Five minutes later a man walked towards us. He was dressed in a pair of plain black slacks and a starched white shirt. He looked young and fit—or at least younger and fitter than myself—but the skin below his bored brown eyes sagged.
“Gentlemen,” he said, not offering to shake our hands. “My name is Dr. Archer Daniken. If you would follow me, please.”
“Thank you,” I said.
*****
“I noticed there's only the front door to this place. What if there was a fire?” Hank asked. We followed Daniken down a long, wide corridor.
Dr. Daniken turned his head and replied: “In a glass and steel facility? I don't think we need to worry about that.”
“Still,” Hank said. “It's awfully odd.”
“I take it you're either an architect or a safety engineer, then, Mr. Sterling,” Daniken replied.
At that moment I knew that Daniken had been observing us, probably from a closed-circuit television. Also, he knew who one or both of us were, as he had correctly singled out Hank. We weren't being led through the complex by one of the lackeys. This fellow was someone important.
Hank chuckled. “No. Just a busybody.”
“I thought as much,” Daniken replied.
Daniken led us down the long central corridor from the front entrance to what appeared to be a large, central hub. We emerged into an open atrium area complete with tall banyan trees and a glass skylight beneath cold, bright moonlight.
“Now that's dramatic,” I said.
“Thank you,” Daniken replied. “This way.”
He led us around the stand of trees and down another wide, branching corridor—one of the tentacles of the octopus as seen from above. About fifty feet on he stopped at a large door, removed his clip-on badge and ran it through a card reader. A red light on the wall plate beside the door turned green, then Daniken placed his right forefinger against a small black glass plate—a fingerprint reader. The door clicked in response.
“This is some set-up,” Hank said, and I nodded in agreement. At the moment I wished fervently for the ability to communicate with Hank telepathically, but I had to make do by nodding toward where he kept his pistol and got a wink back from him by way of reply. Hank was ready for action.
“Thank you,” Daniken said, and held the door open for us. “After you, gentlemen.”
“That's okay,” I said. “You first.”
“Alright,” he said, and entered.
Hank stepped up and ahead of me quickly, and I followed.
*****
We entered a corridor beyond which was a ramp leading up and into an open room. Beyond was something right out of one of the modern Star Trek re-dux TV serials.
“Now this is more like it.”
“This is where we make them,” Daniken said.
“Make what?” I asked.
Daniken stopped and turned towards us. He had something in his hand, pointed at us. It could have been a gun, but I wasn't sure.
“The nanites,” Daniken said.
“I thought this was about radiation,” I replied.
“I know,” Daniken said. “That was the official line.”
“Nanites?” Hank said. “I've read about that. It's all science-fiction.”
“What is science-fiction but tomorrow's science-fact?” Daniken said. “But when Hague and I built this place, they weren't science-fiction. We had already made them in a laboratory.”
“Nanites,” I said. “You mean microscopic robots. I've read about them. They haven't been invented yet. This is a bit far-fetched.”
“Not as far-fetched as selective radiation.” Daniken chuckled.
“Or dirt-covered zombie men,” Hank replied.
“Wait a minute,” I said. “We came here for Hague and Keithley. And we aren't leaving without Keithley.”
“No,” Daniken said. “You're not leaving at all.”
Hank laughed. “What the hell is that thing, anyway? A pop-gun?”
“No. It's a nanite gun. And unless you want to start eating a lot of dirt very soon, I suggest you stop laughing at me.” Daniken's jaws clenched. No, I would say the man did not have much of a sense of humor.
“About that,” I said. “What's the deal with all the dirt?”
“It's technical,” Daniken said.
“Maybe Dr. Hague could explain it to me,” I replied.
“Now there's a thought.” Daniken motioned with the gun, and as he did I figured out what I was looking at: the thing reminded me of one of those pistol-shaped garden hose sprayers, but this one had an ugly look about it I didn't much appreciate. Also, it had a small compartment beneath it with a golden-brown fluid that flowed back and forth behind clear glass like the oil in a lava lamp. “Over there, gentlemen.”
Hank and I moved ahead of him.
“Go to the first door on your right.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
I kept expecting Hank to do something; some karate move or something. That never came.
In the remaining moments before Hank opened the door and stepped inside, I gathered in everything I could about the large chamber we were in.
In the center was a huge cylinder turning slowly about. My first thought was that it was some kind of large centrifuge. That had to be where the nanites were made, if there was indeed such a technology. Thus far I had trouble believing anything.
Around the cylinder were four other men, all wearing lab coats and monitoring various instruments.
I tried to remember about how many cars I had seen in the parking lot before entering the facility, but I hadn't counted them. Estimating, and aside from the two motorcycles, it felt like there had been close to ten. Ten people, and maybe a few more, on the late shift, including the security guard and Daniken. One of them glanced our way and then quickly turned aside. I was reminded of the See-No-Evil monkey.
On the wall ten feet down from the door we approached was a large blue schematic diagram. It could have been the plans for a forklift on steroids, but this one had arms that looked like something out of a Transformers movie. There were scribbles and markings all over it, as if it was in the process of being annotated for a later version. Alright, so maybe I was coming to believe.
Hank opened
the door, sauntered through, and I followed him. He never looked back.
In the otherwise spartan room beyond were Bertram Hague and Moe Keithley.
The door behind us closed and an automatic bolt slammed into place inside the door. We weren't leaving anytime soon.
*****
Hague was bent over Keithley, who lay on the floor curled up in a ball. The man shivered and shook. The room looked like it had once been a conference room. There were some nice wall-hangings, yet another set of plans for what Daniken had termed a 'nanite,' this one under glass, and two chairs.
“Well,” Hague said. “Bill Travis.”
“Bertram Hague,” I said. “Tell me, are you a real doctor?”
“I am. I have degrees in both medicine and in molecular biology. Believe me, I've spent more time in school than you have. Who's your friend?”
“Hank Sterling,” Hank said. “So you're the idiot who pulled a fast one on Bill.”
“That's a matter of opinion. But I did what I had to do,” Hague stated. He stood up.
“Alright, Hank,” I said. “Don't haul off and break his neck. Yet. Hague, you have, as my daughter would say, an ass-load of 'splainin' to do.”
Hague crossed his arms and regarded us. “Okay. You've got questions. I suppose I can answer some of them. Shoot.”
*****
“I want you to start,” I said, “with that big rotating cylinder out there. What is it?”
“That's the core. Daniken's core.”
“The what?” Hank asked.
“The core,” Hague said, “is Daniken's attempt to replicate my experiments on a grand scale. It's sort of his answer to the Henry Ford production-line version of what I was able to do on a much smaller scale. Instead of creating a few hundred million nanites, he wants to make trillions in each batch. That's why it looks like something from a brewery. But his brewery spins at very high rates of speed while the inert particles—the liquid crystal forms—are released from the hub shaft. When they strike the inside of the wall, they are shaped by the force and heat of the impact into their matrices.”
“Like how perfectly spherical beads of glass used to be formed by dropping molten glass into vats of cold water,” Hank said.
“Exactly,” Hague agreed. “You're not nearly as stupid as you look, Mr. Sterling,”
“Well thank you right kindly,” Hank said.
Hague stood back and away from us. “Around the core are the computers and relay equipment that control the nanites. Give them orders. I disapproved Daniken's plans for the core early on. He wanted to mass-produce the technology before it was even perfected and sell it to the highest bidder.”
“The United States Government,” I said.
“It didn't matter to him. He had other ideas for my creation as well, other... applications, you might say.”
“Military ones,” Hank said.
“That's right. He's a greedy, power-hungry madman,” Hague stated.
“I did gather that you don't like him,” I replied. “And thus far, it appears the feeling is mutual. But I still trust you about as far as I can throw you.”
“I didn't know you all that well,” he said. “I had no way of knowing what you would do when it came down to the...”
“Nut-cutting,” Hank said. “That's the word you're looking for.”
“Fine,” Hague stated. “The nut-cutting.”
“You didn't even give Bill a chance,” Hank said.
“He's got one now.”
“Now?” I asked. “Now? You seem to forget we're in here and Daniken's out there holding a gun to spray your creation at us. The only man I trust is standing right there.” I pointed to Hank.
“Fine,” Hague said. “You can be that way if you want to. But the fact remains. I don't see us getting out of here and to my equipment.”
“There's too much that doesn't make sense for me to trust you,” I said. “The files, for instance. You switched the contents with blank paper somehow before I had a chance to study them. What was in them?”
“Not much,” Hague said.
“See?” Hank said. “That's why he can't trust you. You're not saying anything.”
“Alright,” Hague sighed. “What do you want to know?”
“Oh boy,” I said.
“Bill's got a list,” Hank laughed. “Rattle them off, Bill.”
“Okay, for starters, according to your bosom buddy, Daniken, the radiation was all camouflage to go looking for the nanites. I can see how that might work. But what about the aging stuff? Freeman was supposedly about thirty-five years old.”
“Thirty-eight,” Hague corrected. “Daniken's nanites strip the body, speed up the aging process. I tried to tell him a very long time ago that you couldn't mass-produce something so delicate. Each individual nanite drone requires its own power source. I tried to tell him that. But his start to die and so they begin feeding on the system they are supposed to be rebuilding. It's an example of what happens when you try to shortcut research and go directly into development.”
“According to Ranger Johnson,” I said, “this whole place was your idea.”
“It was. But it's five times the size it was three months ago. All those sections out there? Some of them I've never been down. Look, let me explain. Daniken is trying to rein-in his nanites, bring them under control. My experiment stayed here, close to home. His have been tested on Nanotech employees. He obtained their consent, and they're supposed to be compensated monetarily.”
“No one on Earth has enough money to pay me to be your guinea pig,” Hank said.
“Not my guinea pig. Daniken's. Daniken's newest generation of nanites, he conceives, will kill off all of his first-generation nanites, the ones causing all the problems, and begin doing what he wants them to do. But all that is off the rails now. The truth is, he doesn't have a clue what he is doing. He's compounding his error, but on a huge scale.”
Hague paused for a moment and I let everything he'd thus far said sink in.
“Look,” Hague said. “He's attempting to give his nanites the ability to reproduce themselves. If he succeeds in that and at the same time fails to control them...”
“A mass epidemic of zombies,” I said. “Is that what's happening to Keithley? Is that why he's like that? Daniken's little monsters?” I stepped over to Keithley and knelt over the white-haired man's thin form. He was curled in a fetal position. His body quivered and shook and his mouth opened and closed as if he were mouthing words that no one but he could hear.
“The fever is my nanites fighting Daniken's. Mine will win, though.”
“What's the deal with all the dirt?” I asked. “Why did that fellow come in the bar covered head to toe in dirt?”
“Because Daniken's nanites don't have their own power source. They leach off of the cells of the body, and to do that, they strip them of their minerals. That's the only thing that makes sense to me, although I've not had access to the equipment I would need to fully verify that hypothesis. Still, the body needs the minerals and in eating them up the nanites basically strip the brain of its ability to function properly. The end result is—”
“Zombies,” I said. “Or their living equivalent.”
“That,” Hague began, “is very crude and wholly unscientific, but it fits.”
“So the guy goes out in a field and starts eating dirt as though he's a two year-old child whose been left to fend for himself,” Hank said. “That's pretty grisly.”
“But better than dead,” Hague said.
“Not by much,” I stated.
I stood up. Keithley's body continued to shake, but there was little I could do for him.
“My nanites were made... more carefully than Daniken's,” Hague explained. “Although mine are much fewer than his, they are far, far more intelligent. That's what I was working on. Intelligent disease fighters. So, no. I'm not the horrible monster you think I am, Travis. Daniken has no clue what he is doing, and he's far more dangerous than I ever was.”
Hague sighed and scratched his head. “You're right about that,” he said, “but I've been trying to undo the damage. Which is why I need to get to my equipment. I gave Keithley the first dosage back in Leakey, right about the time I convinced him that he needed help and to ride along with me. But I need to get him to my make-shift lab. There I can give him what he needs to win the rest of the battle going on inside him.”
“Where is your make-shift lab?” Hank asked.
“In a cave. A sandstone cave just outside the complex. There is a door from the complex to the cave, but it's where no one else is able to find it. There's an entrance outside the complex at the edge of the sand dunes that recently opened up after an earthquake. I was trying to get there when Daniken caught us.”
“A secret door,” Hank said, and laughed. “And a cave out in the sand dunes. I don't swallow any of this bullshit. You being stupid enough to park right in the parking lot, that I'll buy. The rest of it? Nix.”
“It's true, though,” Hague said. “We've got to get out of here and get Keithley there. I can feed more nanites into him. My nanites. The battle going on inside of him will be over that much more quickly.”
“Alright,” I said. “Maybe I believe you, and maybe I don't. So I've got one last question. What does 'The Falling' mean?”
“That's simple and stupid,” Hague shook his head. “Look. The first symptom of Daniken's nanites is extreme thirst. Dehydration. When the body electrolytes begin falling dramatically, there's not much hope. When Freeman walked into that bar, he was wearing a bracelet on his wrist. Like this one.” Hague held up his arm. There was a watch there with no face, no dials, nothing. It's color was a kelly green. “When it changed color to red, Freeman knew his electrolyte balance had fallen below the threshold. Of course, he was already out of his mind by then. He had no memory of going out in a field somewhere and wallowing in the dirt, to say the less for eating it. I removed his wrist strap in the bar.”
