Michaels had grown accustomed to getting his way in the OHU camp. He didn't care that most of it related to no one wishing to be brow-beaten by him. It made things quick and simple in the majority of cases.
However, most individuals were on edge from the apparent attack that no one bothered to mention to him.
Claudia's lab has been utterly ruined, he thought. The biochemical agent, whose manufacture was concluded by my efforts, is all but destroyed. Part of him felt comfort at the thought. But the Institute...
"I hope you understand, you knuckle-dragging simpleton... I am the only person who claims even the loosest affiliation to the Old Haven Union who actually belongs in this place. The rest of you drooling morons would do well to keep me aware of any situations which could threaten the knowledge and power of this building."
"Sir, I apologize, but I don't know why you weren't informed. There have been a lot of people in and out of here." He swallowed hard, starting at Malcolm. "Anyone who could've told you anything probably assumed you knew."
A flimsy excuse, but Michaels chose to let it slide. His wishes were always accommodated, but no one ever went out of their way to assist, inform, speak with, or look at him. This had been just fine, in his opinion.
"Whatever." Michaels waved a hand and moved off.
A fair amount of chaos scattered about the Institute lobby, dozens of lesser OHU members crowding around the soldiers and guards perceived as higher-up in the chain of authority. Unfortunately, though closer to the top than anyone else, they had no information to dispense.
Michaels walked off toward the wing he used to be in charge of. A significant part of him wanted to sprint, to make a fool of himself in desperate running. The Institute had been attacked. Claudia had been inside it.
The guard he had yelled at had assured him no damage or casualties occurred in the Natural Philosophy wing. Even so, too much had happened for him not to be worried about her.
His pace quickened once inside his wing of the Institute. Through the halls he moved, Malcolm trailing behind. Arriving at the door, he took a deep breath and hesitated. Pointing at the captive Malcolm carried, he said, "Take her to my lab and make sure she is restrained. If you can recall how and are confident in doing so, you may sedate her."
Malcolm moved off.
The researcher took in another deep breath, reaching out to open the door.
Claudia lay on her bedding, facing away. Dim light displayed the curve of her form and soft motion of her breathing. Michaels breathed an internal sigh of relief to see her fine and sleeping. He swore, for the thousandth time, an oath to bring her back.
Equal parts not wishing to disturb her and not wanting to see her as the lifeless dullard, he gently closed the door.
Nigel's follower was already strapped to a bed in Michaels' lab by the time he arrived. The weak stirring of her sedated form, showing her anger but to a much lesser degree, proved Malcolm retained a few of his former self's abilities. Michaels checked her pupils with a penlight before taking her blood pressure and pulse.
"It seems you remember how to do a few things, eh Malcolm?"
The creature, squatted on the bench at the edge of the lab, gave a noncommittal grunt. Michaels wondered at how deft the large hands were, but considering the subtle agility Malcolm had, decent manual precision didn't seem unlikely.
Whatever the case, the researcher enjoyed a brief satisfaction; he couldn't recall the last time he had a competent lab assistant. It provided a bit of a role reversal, considering the hours in Michaels' early career spent helping Marcus in this very lab.
"Adult female. Early forties. Approximately sixty-six inches tall, weighing one hundred and seventy pounds," he muttered from habit; any recording equipment had been redirected to OHU surveillance long ago.
"Sixty-eight. One ninety-nine," Malcolm spoke.
Michaels cracked a smile. Always correcting, no matter what you look like, he thought. "Just seeing if you were listening," he said untruthfully, "and did you say she's nearly two-hundred?" Malcolm nodded. Frowning, Michaels tilted his head, peering at the woman. She appeared a bit larger in body shape, but nothing about her form suggested so much extra weight.
I suppose Malcolm did carry her; he must have some idea. Michaels considered the possibility of Malcolm simply being wrong. As he is so ready to express, he's not Marcus any longer, but enough of the old man seems to be present for him not to throw out incorrect data.
Stepping around the table, he decided to file away the strange detail in his mind and continue with full objectivity. "No identity or available medical history to speak of. Observations include erratic, violent, and manic behavior. Symptoms could potentially fit a fair number of medical conditions: epilepsy, bipolar disorder, some manner of mild traumatic brain injury, physical addition and withdrawal..." he trailed off, raising an eyebrow at Malcolm. The creature gave a nod, adding nothing more to the list.
He kept speaking, talking through the possibilities for his own sake as much as any other reason. There were numerous measurements to take, blood to draw, and plenty to do, so he articulated his thoughts out loud.
"Other possibilities include any number of infectious or otherwise diseases related to neurological degeneration. Even tumors in a proper location could in theory cause such a problem, or tertiary syphilis."
"However," he continued, moving to her side to draw blood, "similar symptoms were noted in a moderate population of other individuals. Numbers are vague, but best guess suggests somewhere around two to three hundred." He looked over at Malcolm for confirmation, but the creature didn't confirm or deny.
"Considering they shared living space, association, and..." Michaels winced, "particular activities, one might suggest an infectious bacteria. Mass hysteria could be another explanation, but it appears to be sustained over a long period of time."
"One possibility I am reluctant to grant excess consideration is," he sighed, "religious fanaticism, but it very well could be the situation. The individuals appear to be a part of some death or blood-worshipping cult, and it may be the desires and goals of this organization which fuels their behavior. However, their activities and contact with deceased individuals point to the most likely culprit of infectious disease."
He set about preparing the blood samples for examination. "It could even be a variety of transmissible spongiform encephalopathy. Early records and history predating the city's isolationism suggest it existed as more of a problem for livestock, sheep and goats, but no particular research indicates similar proteins being incapable of affecting humans as well. Regardless, it causes serious degeneration of brain tissue, and their particular habits could point to a method of transmission."
The high-powered microscope wasn't actually in his lab; the administration decided having sensitive equipment near the conditioning subjects could pose expensive problems.
It waited in a room close by, and after a short walk, Michaels flicked the switch to warm up its lighting and image capture functions. He resisted the urge to express some kind of smug thought or comment on how obviously superior this equipment was, but the comparison to a middle school science lab was not exactly fair. He also didn't wish to tempt fate by having the fairly common power fluctuations prove the device useless.
The hair rose on the back of his neck, the sensation of being observed. True enough, out of the corner of his eye, Michaels caught sight of Malcolm standing in the doorway.
"Well now, let's find out if this poor woman has anything crawling about inside."
He switched on the adjacent monitor, peering through the eyepieces first. Michaels drew in a sharp breath, entirely stunned by what he saw. "My God," he whispered. He hadn't expected it to be so easy, and certainly not...
Malcolm crossed to his side in an instant, pushing the researcher back and looking through the eyepieces himself. He pulled back, dialed a few settings, and looked again.
"What does this mean?" Michaels asked, voice distant and a creeping chill rolli
ng through his body.
The creature clenched his gloved fist. "Bad. Very bad."
Chapter 12: Undying
The day passed in long meetings and preparation. Somehow the word of their budding relationship had instantly spread to certain people. Olivia had smiled warmly upon seeing them, Desmond offering sincere congratulations. Quinton had told Rick not to screw it up.
"You'd think we got married or something," Rick mumbled.
So far as they knew, no one had been around during the barren hallway conversation. Aside from the mild intimacy of that moment, their behavior hadn't changed. They didn't hold hands and hadn't expressed any obvious fondness. Indeed, they returned to the constant banter of mixed sarcasm and mockery.
"Don't get your hopes up. Even if either of us had religious ideals, I'd think we'd have a hard time finding a priest," Kaylee replied.
"I wasn't actually saying anything about..." Rick started to protest, trailing off when she snickered at his expense. He frowned, wondering what he was getting himself into.
Boredom, he thought, but not because of her. After extracting themselves from too many subtle smiles and fond congratulations, Kaylee and Rick went about scouting the southwestern edge of the city.
Before that had been a long discussion with Desmond and Olivia regarding the events of the previous night. Rather than horrified by the sadism and brutality of Nigel's cult, both schoolteachers had found the information rather intriguing...
"A fascination with blood you say..." Desmond said. "And, what was the chant again?"
"Fear in their hearts, fear in their blood," Olivia replied, her eyes glittering with interest. "Blood and emotion must have high significance. You mention they didn't attack outright, and of course they spared Kaylee and Sergei..."
Ignoring Rick and Kaylee all but to ask for specific details, the schoolteachers debated the complex psychology behind Nigel's cult. Rick found it bizarre and macabre, and from Kaylee's expression he knew she agreed.
The discussion turned toward the pictures and drawings on the wall, the faces of those claiming even the mildest of leadership roles. "Except for Kaylee," Desmond pointed out, "but she held some amount of importance in Nigel's life; a face remembered from his days of torture. Perhaps a spark of beauty in a long existence of anguish?" He grinned. "Tell me, do you think the artist captured my good side?"
Desmond and Olivia continued discussing the cult, their habits, and possibilities behind their ritual. Citing important business and growing ever more uncomfortable, Rick and Kaylee had extracted themselves from the married couples' company.
Thus they began the scouting trip, trying to find the ideal location to start tunneling under the city and hopefully out the other side.
"Have those two always been so weird?" Kaylee asked when they were far from earshot.
Rick laughed. "I dunno. I guess a little bit, now that I think of it. They have the academic viewpoint, but they also have the benefit of outside perspective and didn't actually have to live through last night. Not that I think they'd have been incapable, but..."
Discussion on the odd married couple fell off as they walked, neither wishing to dwell upon the events of the previous evening. Varied periods of talk and silence ensued, and hours went by while they scouted.
The more time they spent searching, the less confident Rick felt in the excavation plan. He hadn't any experience in such a field, but part of him wondered how severe the danger could be in digging blind. First among concerns would be sections of wall collapsing and potential live energy sources. Also the field itself: a technological mystery to most anyone alive, Rick knew it capable of dealing irreparable damage from minimal contact.
Scouting possible locations filled the hours with tedium, but it provided decent time spent together. Their usual behavior, aside from the occasional fond glance, didn't alter, but for once there was no oppressive sensation of certain death looming around.
"This sucks," Kaylee said. "Can't we go back to the school and wait for Gottfried to show up with the equipment? I'm sure there's something we can do to occupy the time while we wait."
Rick flushed, trying to decide how serious she was and how bad it'd be if they didn't bother picking out a decent site. Base desires argued against images of electrocutions and collapsing walls, further convoluted by a sense of duty and strong urge to ignore it. Finally, there existed the terrible prospect of insulting Kaylee by refusing.
"Before your head explodes from the very idea," Kaylee said, eyeing his frowning expression, "I'll just go ahead and say that we should probably keep at it."
He breathed a sigh of relief. "I didn't know how serious you were. Nothing would please me more than to blow off all of this crap for some quality necking, but..."
"Hey, I'm not some air-headed floozy here," she gave him a gentle shove. "I understand how important all this junk is, even the minor stuff. We've survived this long because we don't drop our guards or skimp on planning."
Rick peered at the next stretch of similar decaying wall structure. "Yeah, I guess. Not that there's been opportunity before. You know what they say about temptation..."
"No, I don't."
"Oh, uh, something about productivity being easy when there isn't any."
"Any what?"
He scowled. "Temptation."
"Well no shit. Who are they anyway? And do they say anything besides incredibly obvious statements?" Kaylee asked.
"I don't know," he replied with a sigh, "I just made the thing up on the spot."
"So you like to say incredibly obvious statements."
He turned away from perusing the wall-structure, deflating when he saw Kaylee's wide grin. "Yeah," he said in a resigned tone. "I like making obvious statements as much as you like to mock me."
"Hey, I think it's my turn to torment you for a while, but if you want I can kiss it, make it better?" She batted her eyelashes.
"Really?"
"No." She stifled a laugh.
"You're really enjoying this, aren't you."
Kaylee nodded. "Loads. I still have a lot to pay back."
"No chance I could get a pardon, maybe shave off a few years of this torture?" He brandished his most charming smile.
She tossed her head back and laughed for a moment before patting him gently on the shoulder. "Nope."
His shoulders sank even further. "All right then... How about unloading a fair deal of that scorn while we're out here and bored. Not like I've got much better to do than lament past stupidity anyway."
Tilting her head, Kaylee pursed her lips. "Sure, why not? But only because it's you, understand?"
"Of course," he gave a theatrical heavy sigh. In truth, he didn't mind the banter even if primarily on the receiving end.
It felt nice to have everything in the open. No dull and half-pointless scouting missions, potential retribution from any number of foes, or anything else could tarnish the simple enjoyment of being with an individual he liked very much.
They searched and spoke. She made fun of him often, and he tempted fate by getting in a few of his own jabs. It was all quite nice.
******
Citizen Davidson rose from his desk after hours of listening to and reading reports, dispensing instructions, and considering plans.
The entire attack group appeared to have perished the night before. Regrettable. However, scouts and surveillance had been able to determine the success of their mission. Excellent.
He sent several runners to various sectors with instructions to prepare for a large-scale assault, requiring all command-oriented personnel to come see him right away. Careful planning needed to be conducted to ensure a swift and easy victory. Strength in numbers did not equal strength in experience or survival instinct, so he hoped potent strategy would make up the difference.
Gottfried received instructions to return as well. Though much of the High Inquisitor remained a rogue element, Davidson felt the recent conversation had established a small level of mutual respect.
As well as who holds authority, he thought. He couldn't be sure; Gottfried displayed few readable traits and retained a decent number of subjects loyal to him.
The notion brought a slight frown to Davidson's face. The Inquisitors were well-known to operate according to their own goals. Gottfried appeared more level-headed than what Davidson had heard about his predecessor, but having someone capable of heavy influence with a skilled set of loyal individuals made the Citizen leader nervous.
He has his uses, many of them if I am not mistaken, he thought, not for the first time. It remained prudent to keep the High Inquisitor nearby. The man was intelligent, clever, and careful, but these facets made him dangerous as well.
Davidson, having little trust for any individual, could not help but see Gottfried as some manner of adversary. It might be that their goals would never clash, that they could manage their individual tasks and possibly cooperate given proper circumstances. However, Davidson remembered his time in the detention facility, and even more so the situation which landed him there.
Gottfried walked into the room, crisp and passive as ever. I'll not allow you the opportunity to slip a knife into my back, whether or not it is or becomes your intention.
"High Inquisitor, good. Thank you for responding so promptly."
"Of course, Citizen Davidson. How may I be of assistance?"
No hint of a servile attitude, Gottfried remained stiff and without expression. However, he also displayed no arrogance or any notion of disobedience. Davidson received the very clear impression that Gottfried was indeed willing to assist in any fashion.
Provided it suits his needs, or at least doesn't go against them. Davidson seated himself at the desk. "Two matters to discuss. First, I assume the materials regarding our earlier discussion were transported."
Exodus (The Fall of Haven) Page 25
