The next day Karen was informed of the victims' status. It seemed that Natalie Garner had had a lucky escape with just a broken arm. When Karen saw her she was surprisingly calm and was asking about her colleague. It fell to Karen to tell her that Frank had been hit in the shoulder with a high caliber bullet and had undergone emergency surgery to save his arm.
During the attack five of the security guards had lost their lives, half a dozen were injured, including the commander, but the rest of them had survived. None of the mercenaries had escaped. They had come with a formidable arsenal, and thirty-eight bodies were found. The European Bureau of Investigation agents, Crime Scene Investigators, and military intelligence officers that were at the scene were identifying them. An unprecedented global investigation had begun with agents from all over the world working together to uncover and dismantle an entire criminal organization, starting with the names in the TV interview. Even states where terrorist organizations were notoriously strong also participated in facilitating the investigation. Nobody wanted to be the black sheep, despite the fact that the witness had already named names.
As for Karen, she was forced to move into the public eye, holding press conferences and taking over the management of company affairs while Steersman was fighting for his life.
Even after two days she still hadn't been able to get to the hotel where her parents were staying, so that morning she met them for the first time after the attack a few blocks from the office. They hadn't even been able to speak by phone and all she had been able to do was to leave a message for them at reception.
When they finally met, her parents were obviously trying to hide their worry, but they greeted her warmly.
“Hello, darling, at last!” Mrs Colella hugged her daughter warmly. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, Mum, I wasn't there myself. I was at home.”
“Thank God! Otherwise … how could something like this happen?”
“I don't know, Mum. I haven't got all the information yet.”
“I knew something was going to happen,” said Mr Colella, turning to his wife, “remember? I mentioned seeing helicopters flying around the towers, and lights flashing.”
“Yes, I know, dear … I thought that it was part of the spectacular,” she replied.
“Well, some sort of party at least,” said Mr Colella, smirking and trying to hide his own fear.
“Very funny, Jason.” Mrs Colella slapped her husband on the arm. “You know, sometimes his cynicism drives me mad,” she said turning to her daughter.
“I am not happy that you have to be involved in all of this. You weren't there this time, but next time you could be at the wrong place, in the wrong moment, and ….” Her father paused, looking at her intently.
“There won't be any more trouble, Dad. I was always exposed to risks in my last job, around the labs. There was always the risk of an explosion, or of an infection.”
“Karen, that's not the same and you know it! It was a military attack, dammit!” Mr Colella exclaimed.
“It's going to be okay, don't worry.”
“I would like to have met your boss. I was hoping you would introduce him to us at the festival,” said her mother, changing the subject.
“I will, Mom … I hope,” said Karen unconvincingly.
“After all the excitement, I am even more curious to see what kind of man he is,” he growled.
“How is he doing?” asked her mother.
“Not too well. He is still unconscious. He was badly injured.”
“So, darling, what are going to do?”
“Well, I have to carry on with work. I have to meet people and give a formal statement to the companies affected.”
“Karen, honey, you need to rest too. You look exhausted.”
“I'm fine. How are you both doing?” Karen changed the subject. “Do you need anything?”
“No, sweety, don't worry. Your dad and I are doing just fine.”
Karen had been considering all of the ways she could help her parents. She had been thinking of asking them to move to Excolopolis, but after the terrifying events of the past few days, she'd begun to think that maybe it wasn't such a great idea. It wasn't because she considered the city unsafe, rather, it was that she didn't want to cause her parents unnecessary worry. It would best for them to know as little as possible. Everything is going to be fine.
In the hospital
The gentle sweetness of perfume caressed his nose. It seemed real. It was first thing that he sensed. His chest was buzzing and something was lifting it up and down as he breathed. Breathing exhausted him. He strained his eyes open, just a crack, enough to let the light in. He wanted to find the source of the scent: magnolia, lily of the valley and citrus, such a vibrant blend of aromas. He felt himself analyzing his senses, breaking things down into their component parts.
The pure white light that attacked his vision slowly began to split into shades. Chartreuse green and beige, colors that he recognized immediately, from which he deduced that he was in the city hospital. He turned his head to the side and saw the source of the enchanting fragrance.
“Good day, Karen,” he croaked painfully.
Karen smiled reassuringly, with her hand on his arm.
“How are you feeling, Sean?” she asked.
“It seems that I'll live,” wisecracked Steersman, the painful grimace behind his smile giving lie to his levity.
“The surgeons weren't too hopeful … you were lucky,” Karen told him bluntly. “Not many people recover from head shots.”
Steersman froze, shocked. He had no idea what had happened. He closed his eyes as pain shot through his head.
“Sorry,” murmured Karen.
“What, that I stayed alive?” Steersman smiled again.
“Hmm, maybe …,” Karen teased, smiling.
Steersman began to laugh but it turned into a groan.
“No, I'm sorry that I told you so suddenly,” she finished.
“It wasn't a such a great welcome for your parents, was it?”
“You could say that.”
“Well go on, tell me! What have I missed since … how long have I been here?”
“The attack happened fourteen days ago,” Karen began. “The whole world is in shock, as usual. There is a steady military presence in the city now, which is a good thing because I have fired the security company.”
“Good,” Steersman agreed, “We'll need someone to replace them, though.”
“Yes,” Karen nodded, trying to think of a way to stop Steersman from thinking too much.
“By the way, how are you?” he asked.
“Fine … could be worse,” she answered shortly. “I don't have to give any interviews, but the investigating officers always seem to be able to find me when I least need them around.”
“Investigating officers, what …?”
“The EBI. They are showing great interest in your unorthodox investigation methods … well, amongst other things. You can count on them appearing here fairly soon. They found some sort of mechanism in your office, completely destroyed of course, but they haven't got the slightest idea what it is. The upper part of the building is in ruins. It looks like the attackers didn't plan on taking hostages.”
“How's the factory going?” Steersman asked, changing the subject.
“We had to stop because of the investigation, but Jim Hols and his team have been working full on since Tuesday. According to him, we can start in two weeks time.”
“Great! I want to speak to him. Could you please send him in tomorrow?”
“Sean, isn't it too soon? I mean, you've only just came round.”
“That's why I need to see him tomorrow,” Steersman said, faking petulance.
Karen shook her head, smiling humorlessly.
“You've done well, Karen!” he grabbed arm and tried to sit up a little. “I am so sorry to have put you into such a terrible situation. As soon as I get out of here, we'll start again from scratch, what do yo
u say? And pretty soon we won't need soldiers anymore.” He fell back, resting, his eyes closed.
Karen waited awhile, watching him as his breathing grew more regular and he went to sleep. When she was sure he was sleeping, she got up and softly left the room.
*
That evening, the EBI paid a visit to Steersman, who was still lying in his hospital bed. The fact that he was still breathing via machine didn't seem to bother them for even a second. The news of him regaining consciousness had reached them almost immediately, and they needed information. They had waited long enough while he was unconscious, but now that he was awake, no one was going to stop them. Not even the nurses in their tight white uniforms
The two agents were chiefly focused on the unknown device found in Steersman's office and its implication for national security. Even an army of specialists hadn't been able to work out its purpose, and the fact that it was smashed up wasn't helping matters. They had plenty of questions that still needed answering.
“I am special agent Olafson, and this is my partner, special agent Henderson.” Steersman nodded and Olafson continued.
“During the investigation we took into our custody a device that was found in your office. We'd like to ask you couple of questions regarding this device.”
Steersman nodded again.
Olafson paused, then asked blandly, “What role did the device play in the terrorist interrogation?”
“None,” said Steersman, weakly.
“How were you able to make him answer your questions, answers he paid for with his life?” Henderson edged in. Definitely the bad cop.
“Why do you think I made him speak?” asked Steersman, looking confused.
“Come, Mr Steersman. Please don't feel that you need to play us. Just tell us: what was the purpose of the device?”
“It's just a kind of processor.”
“It is a little more than that, wouldn't you say?” Henderson said quietly, changing tack. “Our technicians have already established that it was built with unknown technology and materials. Although we know that, we also know that neither the configuration nor the operation principles are like any computer on this planet. Did you built it?”
“Yes,” Steersman croaked.
Surprise flickered briefly across the agents' face, then disappeared.
“Why don't you help us? If you have a device that can be used to gain information from criminals simply and easily, don't you think it would be fair for the authorities to use it as well? Think about it, what a leap forward it would mean for crime prevention,” reasoned special agent Olafson.
“The device is not capable of anything like that. I have no idea where you got that idea from, but it's simply not true,” Steersman refuted.
The two agents looked at each other, their eyes narrowing. It seemed that this one wasn't going to give in to charm or reason.
“You think you'll get away from all of this? Look at yourself. It is a bloody miracle that you're still alive!” said Henderson, baldly.
Steersman stared back, silently.
“Look, think about it, and we will talk later. We can negotiate, figure something out. Let us know what you want. We are not the bad guys here. We are risking our lives being here and we are on your side … let's help each other out,” said Olafson, simulating resignation. He put a card onto the bed side table.
“Call us when you change your mind,” he said, and both of them went to the door without another word. Then Olafson stopped, and turned.
“By the way, I almost forgot to tell you. The leaders of the largest crime organization to ever exist have been arrested, along with fifty other members. They were tried in a special court hearing. Those assholes are going to sit behind bars for a long time.”
Steersman looked up at him.
“Not for long enough, though,” he said blandly.
A muscle in Olafson's temple twitched. He hated it when someone tried to pull one over on him.
The place
The hospital staff seemed unusually calm. Cleaners quietly worked up and down the corridors and only night nurses walked past Steersman's window. No one bothered him. He closed his eyes but he didn't want to sleep.
On the contrary.
Steersman's genius was from a place that he had been visiting ever since he could remember. Some of his earliest memories were of that place; of his first visit there. He still had the same feeling of liberation as he did that first time, but there was one side effect he had to take into consideration: he had no concrete memories of his past before his thirties. Then he went there less often and only after that could he remember of his real life.
He didn't know anything about how the place had come into existence, or why it was him who found it. This place didn't seem to exist under the usual laws of physics; there were no boundaries or limits. The whole place seemed to be constructed from an energy that pulsed with concepts. He'd soon realized that he'd found information and ideas that he never knew could exist, and that it wasn't purely a construct of his own brain. It was more that that. He found himself making more and more discoveries as he traversed the unknown.
He called it simply: ‘the place’.
Sometimes he would measure the time he spent there. Each time it was different varying from a couple of minutes to sometimes days. Once, his body had nearly died from starvation while he was there.
In the place something always seemed to begin, or to be more precise, was begun automatically. At moments like those he could see plans, solutions and observe processes that seemed millions of years away from the primitive technologies of Earth. Of course, most ideas were limited by physical barriers such as lack of tools, tools that did not yet exist on Earth. Of course, the tools could be made by other devices, which in turn were made by more primitive devices, thus bringing into existence the equipment he needed. Then there was the question of raw materials. That's why he had constructed the molecular neutralization plant, where waste from all over the planet was brought; waste that was not recyclable to others, dangerous industrial and domestic waste. In this facility, waste wasn't destroyed, burnt or melted down. It was broken down into its separate components using a mysterious technology.
The molecular level! In the place events flowed with such depth. New materials could be created at will, new applications found for them, new ways of processing information, processing molecules … the possibilities were endless and ever growing.
Steersman knew that he had to find new paths and new discoveries because, sooner or later, the options would run out. So, he ceaselessly and tirelessly explored areas where the events happened at the smallest unit levels of matter, at the atomic and sub-atomic levels.
Future plans were already revolving in his head and they all demanded more and more raw materials, and in addition, they demanded more knowledge and even more highly skilled experts. What was also needed, in ever increasing quantities, was money, a whole ocean of money. The good news was that he had found a money cow to milk. Dark Gravity Core technology was going to change everything! It was going to write a new chapter in the history books.
First of all, however, he had to survive, had to solve mundane daily problems and remove the threat of attack for good. He had to battle the entrenched limitations of human societies. His mental breakout could allow him to detach himself from the physical world, but his body couldn't.
Steersman's most pressing problem was his personal safety. Something like this must never be allowed to happen again. He could no longer afford to be absent. If he were to die, his plans would die with him. He had to prevent anything that might harm him physically. If he could pull that off, then what could they do to him?
He closed his eyes, pressed his head into the pillows so that his chin touched his upper sternum. It had always been the easiest way to initiate, and he managed to do it quickly this time.
As he floated through the inner galaxy of the place, he saw contexts and consequences as complex and seemingly random equation pr
ocesses that expanded and contracted down to solutions that were either useful or not. At the source he moved through formulas with such speed that his physical processes began to lag, his breathing became shallow and began to speed up. His heart faltered.
Back in the hospital bed, his body was suffering, his breath coming in shallow gasps and the hospital monitors responded with a sharp squeal, followed by an urgent beeping alarm.
Hospital staff rushed in. ”Wake up! Mr Steersman …! COME ON, wake up!!!” voices shouted, as if from a distance.
Steersman opened his eyes. The night duty matron and a nurse were standing over him.
He smiled. He had seen what he was looking for.
Resumption
Steersman signed a disclaimer early the following morning, taking personal responsibility for any complications he might experience, and left the hospital. He couldn't stand lying there any longer. He had things to do.
If needed he would personally take charge of the plant project. It had to be up and running within the week, no matter what, so his first stop was Jim Hols' office at the construction site.
He was forced to ask a helpful paramedic to secretly get him out of the building, as the press were lurking at all of the entrances. The assistant found him a driver in the depot, who was reading and quietly chewing on a ham sandwich which he nearly choked on when he saw them coming.
“You in charge of this vehicle?” Steersman asked, pointing at an ambulance.
“Ah, yeah.”
“Do you know who I am?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good, then would you mind helping me slip out of here without anyone noticing?”
For a second the ambulance driver seemed to hesitate, but he had nothing else to do so he quickly nodded and said, “all right, let's go.”
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