Gottfried gave a nod. "The digging equipment was collected and is being moved as we speak. More of my people were required for transport than I initially indicated, but I expect they should begin their return within a few hours."
"Excellent. I assume there is no hypothesis for a timeframe as of yet?"
"Correct," Gottfried replied. "At this moment, the possibility of excavating an escape route under the wall is not certain. Any number of obstacles could prevent even the mildest success in such an endeavor, the least of which is insufficient or improperly maintained equipment. Much of the salvage was in simple tools: sledgehammers and shovels, but we did discover a couple of pieces of powered equipment."
Davidson made a small note on one his pages. The odds of success for the excavation team seemed slim. However, with much of the labor conducted by people outside of his influence, it didn't bother him to use them in such a fashion.
Still, the escape notion became less of a serious option or necessity in his mind. The OHU position held substantial weakening, potentially enough to be entirely quelled in one swift action.
"Hm. Very good then," Davidson said. "The second matter: no doubt you have... already heard about the intention to press our advantage to an efficient victory."
Gottfried provided no expression or answer for a moment, but he then gave a short nod. Unsurprising, Davidson thought. "In the interest of... maintaining an environment favorable for Citizens and Inquisitors, I would like to formally ask for your input on such an endeavor."
He carefully watched Gottfried for a reaction. The slightest flicker of surprise crossed the High Inquisitor's face. A minuscule widening of the eyes and a twitch near the jaw, but Davidson detected it in the instant before it was buried.
"Dangerous," Gottfried spoke in a level tone. "High-risk."
"Indeed?" Davidson allowed himself a slight smile.
Rather than continuing to stare off at attention, Gottfried looked directly at the Citizen leader. "Too many unknowns. Too many variables."
"You... disapprove?"
"Not precisely. I assume this renewal of effort is related to success in the sabotage?"
Davidson saw no reason to deny it. "Yes."
"And you're preparing an assault based upon the assumption that the majority are scattered, confused, and vulnerable without the devastating weapon at their disposal?"
Davidson folded his hands. "The contingency was never a terribly heavy concern. We only wished to eliminate it as a... last ditch effort for them."
"Yes, of course," Gottfried agreed. "Your current motives toward attacking is utilizing their current turmoil for advantage, correct?"
Folding his arms, Davidson replied, "Is this somehow an error?"
"The ideal moment for pressing the advantage has passed. You aren't aware of how quickly they will recover or what action they will take when they do."
"We have superior numbers. Victory is all but certain."
"At what cost?" Gottfried asked, a hard edge crawling into his voice.
"Do you possess information we do not about their capabilities or numbers? We have every possible advantage in this situation. I understand your... efforts have been towards leaving Haven, but would it not be better to reclaim and rebuild what was lost?"
Gottfried resumed his passivity. "Constant underestimation is what created the conditions for the uprising."
"Yes, underestimation motivated by ignorance. The information we have-"
The High Inquisitor interrupted, "Is insufficient, leaving a position little different than that of those who came before you."
"Need I remind you, High Inquisitor, that you are one of the few individuals who was present and partly responsible for the catastrophe?" Davidson's voice rose.
Jaw tightening, Gottfried replied, "You do not. I hold accountability with a number of others, but mine holds no majority. I am merely expressing what appears to be reckless aggression against unknown foes. What is the purpose in destroying our enemies if none shall remain to claim victory?"
"You assume them capable of too much," Davidson said, the slightest doubts beginning to form.
"You assume them capable of too little," responded Gottfried without hesitation.
"And what is there to be done, hm?" Davidson stood and paced, his voice changing from its accustomed halting pace to one more harsh and rapid. "Shall we live in slow attrition until our supplies disappear? Shall we engage in base brawling to decide the victors?" He gave a sharp laugh. "Shall we attempt to reconcile with those who wish us tenfold the harm we wish them?"
The Citizen leader continued, "No. I'd follow such a course without hesitation if I thought there to be the slightest possibility of success, but action must be taken now, and never will we retain better opportunity."
Gottfried opened his mouth to reply, but Davidson held up a hand. "No, there is no need. I understand our dissenting viewpoints. The two options at present are to end the fighting with victory or hold our foes off and multiply the efforts towards escape. You yourself expressed the difficulty in the current best plan of excavation. What if that fails?"
A frown developed on the High Inquisitor's face.
"There is great risk, but choice and opportunity dwindles as the days pass without action. You are not without forethought. You understand this."
Drawing in a deep breath, Gottfried nodded.
"So you... agree that this is our best course?"
"No," the High Inquisitor replied, "but it appears we have few other choices."
"Good." Davidson seated himself. "I am pleased we can discuss matters openly without being required to waste time on posturing and mindless doublespeak."
Gottfried said nothing, his expression troubled.
Davidson folded his hands and leaned forward. "Now... since our assault is going to occur, and you appear to have concerns about how our foes may prepare and react... Tell me what you believe they will do."
******
Everything was a mess. With Sergei dead, a hole in the side of the Institute and heavy damage to everything else in the lab, and the complete loss of the bioagent containers, the situation in the Institute appeared bleak.
Dozens had been killed, including scouts and sentries further out. Though inquiries began regarding how a crack team of Citizen insurgents snuck through everything so easily, too many other issues required attention.
In addition, it seemed as though every individual affiliated with the OHU engaged in an attempt to crowd into the Institute for answers.
Finally, and worst of all, Isaac hadn't the slightest idea how to fix any of it. Managing the day to day had always been Sergei's task. Hell, organizing troops, planning patrol routes, and more or less everything else had always been Sergei's task. Isaac, though sharing the title of leader, came to the realization that he never did very much in the way of leading.
I gave balance, he told himself, seated at Sergei's desk in the Inquisition lobby. Dozens of papers were scattered about, none of which had relevance or made much sense. He had his paranoia, his crazy. I kept him from doing irrational things, right?
His own lack of confidence depressed him even further. How can I tell those people what to do if I can't even figure out what purpose I served in the first place?
Part of him wished Rick was around, in spite of the ill feelings brought forth by thoughts of the man. His jaw clenched in remembering the angry lecturing and insults while they scurried about the interior of Heavenly Bodies, but now Isaac wondered if Rick had been right.
"What am I going to do?" Isaac asked himself, under his breath so that the individuals in the room wouldn't hear him. Not that it mattered; his lack of instructions and nervous tension clearly enough displayed his state of mind.
Options cycled through his head, clouded by fears and concerns. Did we eliminate all of the Citizen forces in this area? Do they know how chaotic our base is? Do they know Sergei is dead?
A single factor appeared certain to him; the Citizens weren't
going to settle back into attrition. This served as the first strike, and many more were sure to follow. He clung this idea, a terrible lifeline of impending pain and death, but with only one aspect to confident of...
He took in a deep breath, drawing the attention of the other individuals in the silent room. Many appeared more worried than Isaac himself. Rightly so. Their remaining leader is almost useless. I don't even have my goddamn gun anymore. Maybe I should've told Rick to come back and help with all this shit. He's got the knack for it, and I don't.
"The are two things we can be sure of right now," Isaac tried to make his voice sound strong. It worked, for the most part, but strain could be heard. "The first is that we of the Old Haven Union are facing a serious problem. Sergei is gone." Isaac stood from the desk. "I know I'm a poor substitute, but there's not much we can do about it except pick up as best we can."
"The second is related to the first," he continued. "The Citizens aren't going to stop with this one assault. If we don't pick ourselves up and get ready, then this fight of ours is already over."
A murmur of assent swept across the room. The atmosphere and attitude remained dismal, but at least a conversation formed.
"What are we going to do?" someone asked.
Isaac folded his arms, stepping around the desk. "I'm open to suggestions."
A few chimed in; various methods of running, hiding, and fighting were mentioned. An honest discussion arose from it, including bits of heated argument.
"...hide where? Shall we crawl back into the decay of Old Haven? If we consolidate our forces in fleeing, we remain an easy target for the Citizens. If we disperse, we pose too little danger to them!" One of Sergei's high-ranking men continued on a loud tirade. "Shall we all return to groveling beneath their rule? I'd rather die with honor!"
Another individual argued, "Is a glorious and worthless death the best option you can come up with? Do you expect all of the people relying on us to do the same and die for a meaningless cause?"
"Killing Citizens is hardly meaningless."
"There are other ways besides suicidal assault!"
"Coward!"
"Idiot!"
More individuals, more arguments, numerous insults. Isaac expressed opinions every so often, but he engaged more in considering each argument from an objective standpoint. After a while, when the volume in the room sharply increased for the fifth or so time, he felt a little closer to a solution.
"All right..." he said, unheard. Raising his voice, he shouted, "All right! That's enough. Obviously things aren't so good right now. We've got hard choices to make and not much time. The Citizens got a solid first strike in, but this doesn't mean we're just going to give up and let them slaughter us, right?"
No one in the room gave an answer; there were a lot of frowns and shifting glances.
"We can't fight them head on, but we can't just run away. One is fast and the other is slow, but either choice ends up with us not being too hard to take down."
The individual who argued for head-on assault, a long-time member of Sergei's camp, stepped forward and pounded his fist on the desk. "Why is that we suddenly feel as if our strength is not good enough to defeat the Citizens? Why do we go from equal combatants to nothing in the span of one evening?"
Because I don't know how to wage a war, even a small one, Isaac thought. Out loud, he said, "Because Sergei is gone. He had the ideas, the plans, the contingencies. He's the one who knew how we'd wage a full-scale fight."
"So since he is now no longer with us, and since it seems he was the one who handled all of the work," the man leaned in, "what purpose do you now serve to the Old Haven Union?"
Uh oh. Isaac clenched his jaw but otherwise managed to keep composure. "Look, this isn't the time to be arguing who gets to lead what. We have to keep a strong, familiar voice at the top to make sure we don't split loyalties. I'm here for a reason-"
The man gave a wicked grin. "And I find myself wondering what the reason was and if it remains valid."
"Shove off, Dmitri," someone grabbed his shoulder. "The Citizens aren't going to have any trouble if we start fighting amongst ourselves. Besides, no one in their right mind would want to follow you."
Another individual chimed in, "We're as good as dead if we don't keep it together." Isaac closed his eyes and professed a silent and relieved thanks when the antagonizing Russian scowled and stepped away.
Isaac took in a deep breath and drew himself up. Trying to appear and sound confident, he said, "We've always had a good chance here. We just gotta do it right. We have to do everything we can to survive, no matter what it takes. If we can manage to get this all figured out-"
"Then all of you will still die horribly," a sharp voice interrupted, "just like the Citizens, just like everyone else."
Flanked by the hulking creature, former Citizen Michaels stood at the entrance to the room.
******
Checked, rechecked. Tested, retested.
Michaels drew blood from the woman five different times, scrutinizing the results over and over in stark disbelief. This must be why she's stronger, heavier.
Small confirmation was not comforting or sufficient. What the woman carried in her blood, how it arrived there... Too many questions raised; small theories only created a thousand others without answers.
The former Citizen scurried about for hours upon hours, half in panic and half-thrilled about the inevitable, monumental discovery he perched upon.
More brow-beating and irritable than usual, nearing forty hours without sleep, he took blood samples from another twenty individuals throughout the Institute. Cursing himself endlessly for doing so, he went into Claudia's room, gently woke her, and whispered soft comfort as he drew blood from her as well.
He checked his own blood. Three times.
Every single sample confirmed one simple truth.
"You're contagious," he said to Malcolm. "Do you have any idea what this means?"
The creature didn't answer, absorbed in what appeared to be heavy brooding.
Over the course of the day, Michaels had discovered that the tiny biomechanical organisms in Malcolm's blood, the ones which resurrected the charred corpse of Marcus Lexington Coleman, were evidently infecting what he postulated to be all of the individuals in Haven. He wished he had apparatus to test the air to see how transmissible they truly were.
Though concentrations of the organisms varied in the different individuals' bloodstreams, every single person he tested had a fair amount: including himself, including Claudia. The original subject, Nigel's female follower, appeared to have the largest amount outside of Malcolm himself.
The familiar desire for knowledge and research clawed at Michaels. He wanted very much to poke, prod, scrape, pull apart, and test every inch of the woman to see what changes had been made. He wanted to do the same to Malcolm, to discover precisely why he, as patient zero, exhibited much more prominent and obvious physical changes.
"Was the woman ever dead?" he wondered aloud, caught between professional curiosity and an impending sense of horror and dread associated with a city, a world full of Malcolm-creatures. "Is Malcolm so different because the organisms adapted to our physiology, or because so little of his was left when it found him?"
Malcolm remained quiet, in deep and concerned thought.
Michaels flicked the sanitary gloves he wore into a receptacle, stepping back. Rubbing his eyes, his mind mulled over the best course of action to take.
"The cult ritual involved the drinking of blood," he said. "Do you think it's possible that this increases the organism-count in their own bodies? It would validate the cult practices, as they grow stronger with every drop. Furthermore, it would explain their resilience. Or..." he tapped a finger on the side of his cheek, "perhaps this woman serves as an anomaly. What do you think?"
"No," Malcolm finally spoke. "All bad like her. Some worse, but all like her."
The researcher swallowed hard. "Then the situation is much more grave tha
n we realized. No one else knows. They think the problem with Nigel is over. Gottfried, Rick, even Isaac. We have to tell them; they must be warned."
Immediately they departed after finding a holding cell in which to deposit the woman. Malcolm appeared quite troubled, but he followed along without hesitation.
Finding where Isaac hid proved no challenge. However, there were a hundred other individuals in the main lobby, the southern hub of the double-armed, cross-shaped Institute. Each person appeared to be vying for attention, information, and access.
Malcolm's presence proved very helpful, no one wishing to get into the freakish creature's way. The longest lack of advance came with the several people guarding the hallways doors leading to the Inquisition lobby, the north hub of the Institute.
Several minutes of arguing ensued, followed by Michaels expressing distasteful and anatomically improbable threats. Still getting nowhere, the former Citizen had been tempted to encourage Malcolm to force the fools out of the way, but no good could come from such hostility. Either the bystanders would object and try to stop them, probably only succeeding in tearing Michaels apart, or they would join in the frenzy and start a riot or revolution in the OHU ranks. Neither solution seemed intelligent.
Finally, the key to getting them to pale in terror and move to the side arrived in telling the truth. Michaels simply pointed to Malcolm and told the guards and everyone in earshot that the entirety of Haven was in danger of turning into something like the creature. Since he had been scurrying about taking blood samples and wasn't known for embellishment or talking to anyone unless he needed to, the guards took this to be honesty.
Exodus (The Fall of Haven) Page 26
