by Rob Horner
You’re not really going in there, are you? Sherry asked, alarmed.
Why not?
What if you’re seen? By the camera?
Don’t worry about that, Travis said, trying to reassure her. It’s set on the same wall as the door, so there’s no way it can see me if I don’t go too far into the room. Besides, he added thoughtfully, I need to see it again.
Why?
So that you and I can try to trace its signal or change it somehow.
But— Sherry started to protest, then let her words fade. Travis was right, and they would do what they had to do.
We’ll beat this, Travis assured her.
The couple entered the building and approached the room Travis shared with Chris.
The barracks was assigned to personnel E-5 and above, men and women capable of handling a modicum of responsibility. There were no restrictions on having visitors; no need to sign in and out. Travis assured Sherry that her presence wouldn’t be questioned, though he delighted in adding that it would probably feed the rumor mill.
Let it, she replied. After all, what can they possibly think but the truth, right?
Travis smiled at that, fond memories of the previous night flitting through his mind.
There’s more where that came from, Sherry said, picking up his thoughts.
Promise?
Well, if you insist.
In the way that all high school gyms look the same, all military buildings share similarities. There was a nice entry foyer, then long corridors with locked doors on each side. All the barracks doors were secured with older model Cipher locks. They were reliable but nowhere near as strong as those on the doors in the AIMD building. Travis punched in his combination rapidly, simultaneously twisting the doorknob and pushing the thick door inward.
Stay outside, but keep in contact, he cautioned Sherry as he leaned into the room.
Sherry looked through Travis’s eyes. The room was empty—apparently his roommate had slept out again—and sparsely furnished. There were only the two beds, two dressers, and two wardrobes.
Is that the grill? Sherry asked, spotting the heat vent high up on the wall to Travis’s right.
Yeah.
Can you see anything inside of it?
Not without turning on the light, Travis replied. Which we don’t really need to do, since we already know it’s there.
What do we need to do? Sherry asked.
Can you see what I see?
Yeah.
Then you should see the green line flowing out the camera.
If her hand hadn’t been trapped in Travis’s, Sherry might have slapped herself in the forehead. Of course, she could see the faint line of energy indicating the camera’s transmission. She could also see that it followed its own path for only a few feet before it hit the outer wall of the heat duct. Presumably it went outside, on its way to whomever was receiving it. It shouldn’t be that hard to follow, she thought.
Look again, Travis replied.
What do you…oh.
It wouldn’t have been that hard to follow if it were the only line of energy flowing through the wall to the outside.
Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case.
Sherry soon lost count of the dozens of green lines filling the air of the room, some brighter than others, all of them penetrating one or more of the walls.
You see the problem? Travis asked.
Sherry did. She also saw what she hoped was the answer. After all, everything was a matter of perception, right?
What was that? Travis thought at her.
Just that, if we perceive the lines because of our powers, then we should be able to influence how we see them, Sherry replied, thinking quickly.
Such as?
Well, such as this. Concentrating, trying to feel the energy as it left her, Sherry forced the transmission wave coming out of the camera to change colors, willing it to alter from green to red.
Well, I’ll be damned! Travis thought. The line is red now.
And only the one we want.
So I noticed.
Sherry flushed as his pride in her came through their bond.
The couple sprinted for the glass doors that led outside. “My room is against the back wall,” Travis said, pulling Sherry around the side of the large building.
They saw the wavy red line before they turned the corner. Like a weird, oscillating line of laser light visible because it’s seen through a haze of smoke, the red transmission flew straight out and away from the barracks, cutting across a short field of open grass, then across an area under construction, angling northeast, before entering another barracks building.
“Odds are it doesn’t stop at that barracks,” Travis said.
“No bet,” Sherry replied.
“Think we’ll lose it if we go back for the car?” Travis asked.
“If we do, we can get it back again” Sherry replied, moving with Travis back to the Ford.
As they exited the parking lot the line stayed visible. Apparently, once Sherry decided the line would be perceived red, it stayed that way. Travis turned right onto D avenue, driving slowly. They passed the construction site on the left, which would eventually be a new set of four-story barracks. As they approached the four-way intersection with 3rd street, Travis slowed, stopped, then turned left. Angling across the street before them, still heading off to the right, was the line of red. Travis followed the light back to Hornet Drive. A left turn here would have them out the back gate and away from the base. But the light ran to their right and they needed answers.
“We have to see,” Sherry said, feeling his hesitancy.
Travis turned right, following Hornet Drive until it met Tomcat Boulevard at a roundabout. The red light continued through the roundabout, running up to the top of a large, two-story building, and disappearing into what looked like a small, satellite dish. As Travis followed the curve, taking the second right to stay on Hornet Drive, he looked for a place to park where they could get away if needed. Hornet Drive came to a T just ahead, with left and right turns leading to various squadron parking spaces.
“Looks like an old aircraft hangar,” Sherry said, indicating the building where the red line terminated.
“Small parking lot, maybe five cars there,” Travis said.
To the right of the intersection was another small building with a parking lot just past it. There didn’t appear to be any white lines painted on it, or they were so faded with time that it didn’t matter. The lot was empty except for a piece of construction equipment, a front-end loader, standing abandoned at the rear. The building looked unused and in serious disrepair, another leftover from the days when Oceana was the undisputed king of the F-14 Tomcat, playing host to over a dozen squadrons.
“I think,” Sherry said, surprising herself with how steady her voice sounded, “that we can park over there and sneak around behind that old building. Maybe we can get close enough to, you know, hear something.”
“We’ll have to keep our eyes open for cameras. God know what kind of protection they have,” Travis said.
“We’ve come this far. Let’s at least take a look.”
Smiling grimly, Travis turned right then took an immediate left into the small parking lot. Taking his time, he turned and repositioned the Focus so that it was facing back toward the roundabout, wanting an angle of escape…just in case.
Chapter 20
First Encounter
1
At 8:10am, Captain Ortega mounted the stairs inside Watchtower to the second floor, where he presumed Agents Travers, Black, and Kirkson, as well as the weekend observer Ms. Lisa, would still be trying to figure out where the subjects had gone to ground. The first large room off the catwalk housed the monitoring station, which would be extremely crowded with four people inside, even more so after he entered. Further down, another door opened into the server room, the true nerve center of the building, regardless of what the technicians with their ridiculous names might think.
Turning right and opening the door to the monitoring room, Ortega was greeted not with the sight of four people diligently working the computers, but instead by the sight of Agent Travers sitting morosely in one chair, his attention fixed on the monitor showing X-22’s barracks room. Lisa and the other two agents were standing closer to the door, chatting amicably.
“—don’t know how you can eat that,” Agent Black said, shaking his head and smiling.
“Once you bread it and fry it,” Agent Kirkson started.
“It takes like chewy chicken,” both Lisa and Kirkson said together.
Their conversation stopped as Ortega entered. Travers didn’t so much as glance away from the monitor.
“Lisa Pearson,” the Captain began, “you are excused from duty. Please contact Lawrence, Harry, and all the other technicians assigned to this station, and advise them that your assignment here is concluded.”
“But what about—” Lisa began.
“The security office will contact you all for reassignment within a few days.”
“I…all right, sir,” Lisa replied, already looking for the handbag that might have doubled as luggage for anyone else. Retrieving it from under the monitoring bench, she glanced around the room. Even though it should have been obvious she’d done nothing wrong, her sudden dismissal had both Black and Kirkson reluctant to meet her eyes. “Bye, guys,” Lisa said finally, walking out onto the catwalk. Silence reigned in the room as her heavy footfalls descended the metal stairs, followed by the sound of the outer door opening. Captain Ortega waited until he heard her car start up before speaking again.
“Agent Travers, if I can have your attention, please?”
Travers’ eyes closed, and for a moment, it looked as if he might be trying to suppress a near-uncontrollable rage. His hands fisted on the countertop. His forearms shook, and his knuckles whitened. Then he let out a sigh, blowing out his anger. His shoulders relaxed, his head came up, and he swiveled the chair to regard the captain. He didn’t rise, but Ortega felt better with the large man seated.
Keeping his voice neutral and respectful, suddenly very aware that he was in the room with a cold-blooded killer, Captain Ortega said, “I know you’re the lead agent on this project. As such, it’s my duty to let you know whenever any information comes to me through military channels that might affect your assignment.”
Agent Travers’ expression didn’t change. He maintained a look of studied indifference. Did he see others as human beings? Or were they all potential targets?
Ortega cleared his throat. “You should probably hear what I have first, then decide what your other agents need to know.”
Both the powerfully built Agent Black and the shorter Agent Kirkson turned to look at the senior agent. “Go on downstairs,” Travers said, his deep voice slightly above a whisper. The other agents left the room immediately.
“Okay, Captain. We’re alone. What’s so damned important?”
Ortega swallowed his initial reaction at being spoken to in such a manner. Gathering his thoughts, he said, “I noticed when you had Mrs. Galer transferred, you never mentioned the name of the facility or where it’s located, not in front of Black or Kirkson. I assume that means they’re not fully briefed, and I didn’t want to give them more than they need to know.”
“You assumed correctly. Now, did you just want to verify your knowledge of my operation, or do you have something more to add?”
“Are you aware of the…problems we’ve been having at the facility?” Captain Ortega asked.
Buck looked down for a moment, then said, “I’m aware of almost every aspect of this project, Captain. I’d like to remedy that almost, with your help.”
Though not a direct answer, Captain Ortega took it as a request to press on. “Around oh-five hundred hours, our time, Mrs. Galer was removed from the facility.”
That got the agents attention.
His head snapped up even as he lurched from the chair to his feet. “On whose authority? I was ordered to send her there for reprogramming!”
“You didn’t know,” Captain Ortega whispered, somehow holding his ground despite the large agent towering in front of him. “That facility has been targeted numerous times by a terrorist group, like some upgraded PETA squad that’s decided freeing our subjects is just as important as getting monkeys out of product-testing labs.”
Agent Travers took a menacing step forward, bridging the distance between the two of them. Looking down at the captain, he said, “So she’s free, and I don’t have any leverage on those two rejects?”
“It’s highly unlikely they’ve managed to contact each oth—”
Agent Travers shoved Captain Ortega back against the door to the catwalk.
“You,” Travers said, again closing the gap between them, “are going to tell me how to activate the kill codes so I can bring this to an end.”
“I…the kill codes?” Ortega asked, one hand reaching behind him for the doorknob. “The only codes involved are the subject’s X numbers.”
“So how do I use them?”
“It can only be done from a terminal at the facility. But it’s accessed with a hand scanner and—”
The captain was interrupted by the sound of an electrical short, a characteristic sizzle-crackle, like metal run in a microwave, only a thousand times louder. The lights in the monitor room, from the overheads to the blinking indicators and the monitor screens themselves, all brightened, then blew out. Screens popped out of casings, falling to the floor. Plastic safety coverings over bare-bulb indicators cracked open. Noxious brown and black smoke poured out from behind the screens; a pressing wave of heat washed over them as something under the counter caught fire.
“Shit!” Agent Travers said, casually swatting Ortega away from the door, grabbing the handle and rushing out.
Ortega pinballed off the counter, somehow able to keep his feet. He turned to follow, dashing through the open door.
“They’re out here!” someone yelled.
2
But why here? Sherry asked, as she and Travis crept around the backside of the unused building. Only a short walk through a sparsely treed area separated them from the warehouse with the satellite dish.
It makes sense, doesn’t it? Travis replied. It’s an old warehouse, probably from the F-14 era. Seems like it would be a simple enough thing to appropriate. Besides, that camera was small, and even with an amplifier attached to it, it wouldn’t have a huge range.
So, they had to watch us from here? Our own military?
Maybe not the Navy entirely, Travis said.
But even if this isn’t their doing, Sherry reasoned, they’d want to know what was going on.
Most likely, Travis responded.
From the back of the unused building to the side of the warehouse looked like a quick jog of less than fifty yards. Travis and Sherry crouched, ready to sprint the distance, when suddenly a door on the side of the warehouse opened and a large woman emerged. Travis waved his back hand at Sherry, which she grabbed. As the blue and green lines—and one bright red—popped into his vision, Travis strained, reaching forward, struggling to hear…
—three years and then sent home—
—to call Harry, and Lawrence and—
—food, don’t forget cat food—
…the thoughts of the woman as she walked to a square box of a car.
She certainly doesn’t seem dangerous, Sherry thought. Maybe there’s more to this building than just watching us.
We’ll see, Travis said, waiting until the woman drove away in her car. Taking a deep breath, Travis led Sherry in a sprint across the small field, heading for the side of the building closest to them, o
ut of sight of the parking lot to their left. Maybe Sherry was right, and none of the cars in the parking lot had anything to do with them. None of them looked official--a black SUV, a silver Honda, a long, white Cadillac, and a red Mustang, which was more powerful than his Focus RS, but not as quick off the line.
Are you planning to drag race? Sherry asked humorously.
Just thinking things out if we need to run, Travis replied.
Reaching the side of the building, they saw the blue lines flowing through the walls. The second floor was alight with them, like a rats’ warren of blue. There were large upright rectangles of blue light, so many lines they seemed almost a solid mass, in a room directly above them. Slightly to the left was another area, also outlined in blue, with a smaller mass of lines.
It’s a control room, Travis thought. Look at it. Don’t think of it as lines making shapes, think of it as shapes made of lines.
That makes a lot of sense, Sherry thought sarcastically.
Travis snorted. Then think of it like you’re wearing X-ray goggles, but instead of white bones, those blue lines outline shapes.
Sherry struggled for a minute, working out what Travis said. Then, You’re right, those would be computer monitors. The thick lines below them are probably power cables.
Yeah, Travis continued, and those flat things, kind of sitting above nothing, are probably keyboards on a counter or desk.
Okay. Then what are those big things up there?
Travis looked back at the room above them, piecing together what he knew and what he surmised. The red line hitting the satellite dish, blue lines running down to the room with the large blue rectangles, which in turn fed massive lines of blue to the room on the left.
It’s a server farm, he said, a small one, looks like only two towers, and behind them, shorter, on the floor…
Sherry focused, thinking, some kind of power junction?
Exactly! Travis thought.
Okay, but is there anyone in there? Sherry asked.
We can find out, Travis replied. He did something with their power, forcing their awareness outward, seeking to breach the walls. At first there was nothing. No one occupied the space on the other side of the ground floor wall. Travis pushed harder following the blue lines beyond the first room, but still heard nothing. It was a narrow-focused search, like a sniper staring into a fogbank, vision limited to what his scope could show while he searched for a target.