At least that was the intent.
He had kept the team together during the first few days, until he felt confident they wouldn’t get separated and suddenly find themselves scattered to alternate worlds. He then sent them out in two-person teams to different directions on the compass, each day shifting the direction slightly; each day pushing several blocks further out, and then further out still.
He frowned now as he studied his maps, gripping the pencil and absently tapping it on the table.
Something was very odd.
It wasn’t coming out right. He couldn’t get his maps right.
It was as though the teams were going out further each day, but the distance they were travelling each day was actually less…
And no one was noticing.
Either he was doing something wrong, or every team was consistently providing inaccurate data, which seemed unlikely.
But whichever it was, it didn’t bode well.
“Sir?” Costa had just come into the park. She stood beside the lieutenant. “Is everything all right?”
Quinn continued staring down at the maps that were scattered across the table.
“Yes. Everything’s fine,” he said at last. “What do you need, Sergeant?”
“We’re back, sir. The others should be back shortly.” Costa had been out on recon with Dr. Asher. They had met Church and Susan Bautista coming back in.
“Very good,” Quinn said distractedly. “I’m on my way.”
Costa waited a few moments for something more; there was no more. The lieutenant stared at his maps, tapped his pencil, and said nothing further.
She turned away and started back across the neighborhood park.
Quinn glanced up once, just as his sergeant stepped off the grass and started along the side street.
Solid, efficient Sergeant Costa. He could count on her. He could rely on her.
She would do well in his place once he was gone.
Quinn turned his attention back to his maps.
What am I doing wrong? What am I not seeing?
§
The small café had a row of booths set along the windowed wall, a handful of tables in the center of the room. Several of these tables had been pushed together for the daily team meetings and the occasional get-togethers.
Peter Asher, Susan Bautista and Dr. Church sat at the tables, absently drinking freshly brewed coffee, snacking on cookies.
Elizabeth Owen watched in silence from a nearby booth, forever unseen, unheard. She showed no emotion. She was there. She observed.
Church set his white ceramic cup onto the table in front of him and leaned back in his chair.
“Very much in spite of myself, I could get used to this.”
“Take advantage of it while it lasts, Nate,” said Asher. “I wouldn’t go getting used to it.”
“Oh, dear Peter…” Church sighed contentedly. He grinned. “That won’t be easy. That won’t be easy at all.”
Asher thought a moment about the very nice day he had had so far. An enjoyable morning walk from his house, breakfast with the team, an uneventful recon. He and Sgt. Costa had even grown their supplies.
He had needed this timeout. He was almost back to himself.
“I totally get that, Doctor,” he said. “It’s the first real break we’ve had in six months.”
“After twenty seven floors, we certainly deserve it,” said Susan. She didn’t look or sound at all content with their situation. When she let her comment hang there in empty space, both Asher and Church subconsciously leaned a little bit closer to Dr. Bautista.
“What is it, Susan?” asked Church.
“Don’t misunderstand, Doctor; I do enjoy the break. But there is something so… haunting— about this place.”
“Yes. The citizenry can be rather unsettling,” Church said softly. He had done his best to set aside his feelings regarding these motionless people while at the same time trying to understand what they represented, what they meant to the larger picture.
“And the silence,” said Susan. “And beyond that… what is to follow the silence.”
They all appreciated the quiet, Asher as much as anyone. He also understood where Susan was coming from.
The other shoe would most assuredly fall.
That was why he was not going to get used to this. He would take it while it lasted, and all the while would stand ready for whatever was to come.
His own bit of discomfort lay in the fact that he was having trouble anticipating what that might be. They all were.
The front door opened and Sgt. Costa came into the café.
“The Lieutenant is on his way,” she said.
“Very good, Sara,” said Church. He indicated an empty chair. “Have a seat.”
“Don’t mind if I do, Doctor.”
Once settled in, she asked Church and Dr. Bautista about their morning. She had gotten a quick brief when they had met coming back in, and would hear the details once the meeting got going. At the moment, she was just looking for general impressions.
She too was waiting for the inevitable. She was looking for a sign that might tell them that it was coming. She didn’t expect the forewarning to be written across the sky, but there might subtle indicators. If they were there, she wanted to find them.
Costa and Asher had seen nothing out of the ordinary. Other than those weird, motionless people, the world was totally pleasant.
Too pleasant. Too quiet. Costa was getting jumpy.
Church was telling her about his own totally wonderful morning when Lisa and Ramos came into the café. They were just finding their way to their chairs when Quinn followed them in.
“Good afternoon everyone,” he said. His maps were stuffed into the large portfolio that he had tucked under one arm. “Let’s get this meeting going.”
Dr. Owen settled back in the booth, what she thought of as her own personal booth. The others seldom used it. She tapped her fingers on the tabletop. God, she hated these meetings. Actually, she hated any meetings, but poor ol’ Quinn had a way of taking the most interesting fact and making it dull.
But what made it just about unbearable for Owen was that she couldn’t participate. She could do nothing but sit quietly and observe.
Oh, please… just once… just one of my classic retorts…
§
Dr. Banister had spent the morning reviewing data with Dr. Lake, and the meeting had lasted well into lunch. After a sandwich in the mess, he had gone for a long walk, giving him a chance to clear his head and take in the nice afternoon.
He found himself walking along the tower wall near where the door into the structure had once been, the only access in gone now for nearly half a year. A month or so ago someone had put a bench and long planter box there. The flowers were in bloom.
Major Connelly was sitting on the bench. She appeared to be lost in thought… but then, who knew where she was when that happened? Banister sat down beside her and waited, letting the warm afternoon seep in. He was content to let the day pass as it would.
“Hello, Doctor Banister,” said Connelly, easing out of her reverie.
“Good afternoon, Major,” said Banister. “How are you this afternoon?”
Connelly smiled gently as she came fully back to the moment. “I am well,” she said. “Thank you for asking.”
There were a few more pleasantries exchanged, which was the normal protocol whenever they met, whatever the circumstance. Banister held no illusions about Major Connelly’s loyalties, but he also appreciated her value to the mission.
He would weigh carefully every item of information she offered. The validity, accuracy, even the very color in which the information was provided was always to be questioned. Some still doubted that Major Connelly was actually in communication with Elizabeth Owen. But after having key questions answered, Banister accepted that Dr. Owen had somehow found herself in a median plane between the tower floors and the command center.
Unfortunately, Owen was
unable to communicate directly with those in either. The one positive they had going for them was that Elizabeth could witness the events occurring on the floors and could communicate with Major Connelly.
This was of course not an accident of circumstance. This was undoubtedly a creature of the Adversary or of his acolyte.
Very well. Bannister would take it.
“Thank you for your input this morning, Major,” he said.
“Of course, Doctor Banister. I wish I could do more.”
“Yes, well, we work with what we are given. Do we not?”
“That we do,” said Major Connelly, accepting the statement at face value.
Banister leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands together.
“Very little news regarding Nate of late,” he said quietly.
“I believe that may be due to the rather tranquil situation in which they currently find themselves. Be assured, Doctor Church is well.”
“I suppose so,” Banister sighed.
Major Connelly sat forward now, edged closer to Dr. Banister. She placed a comforting hand on his arm.
“I understand that this must be frustrating for you.”
“To be observers only.” Banister shook his head despondently. “Second-hand observers at that.”
More frustrating still, he thought, was that the team inside the tower had no way of knowing they were being observed. If they had known, there could at least be one-way communication. As it was…
“Second-hand observers,” he said again.
§
Church sat down on the park bench with a soft, tranquil sigh. He leaned back, placed an arm on the back of the bench and glanced over at the figure sitting on the bench beside him.
Carl, that’s what Church called him, showed no sign that he recognized he had company. He was an elderly gentleman, probably retired. He had a small paper bag in his lap. From his earlier visits with Carl, Church knew the bag contained a handful of bits of bread.
No doubt for pigeons, although Church had yet to see a single bird.
“Good evening, Carl,” he said. He looked out across the park. It was a wide expanse of lawn, bordered by trees on three sides, opening to a quiet street on the fourth. The picnic table over to the left was where Lt. Quinn spent many an hour sweating over his maps.
“Oh, Carl, Carl, Carl,” droned Church. “What does it all mean? What are you not telling me, my friend?”
That this was a test, he had no doubt.
And the impending doom and gloom? After the first few dozen floors, one came to expect that.
But what was the test? And what form would the threat take?
“Don’t take this the wrong way Carl, and please don’t say anything to Banister, but I do miss the old man.”
Church looked over at Carl. “You’re good company, dear sir, but to be perfectly honest, you’re not much for scientific discourse.” He looked back out across the park. “Wes is an annoying old fart, but the back and forth had its merits.”
Church leaned back until he felt the wooden slats of the bench against his back. His pleasant evening was losing its pleasantness, and he wasn’t happy about that. He was annoyed with himself. This morose tone was gaining him nothing.
“The old man doesn’t even know whether we’re alive or dead,” he said. “And that’s the worst of it, Carl; the absolute worst. I can’t even let him know we’re okay.”
Episode Eight / Chapter Two
Dusk… that quiet time just before the fall of night when it isn’t yet dark, when the world gradually fades to a calming, restful gray. Here in the neighborhood it seemed to hang on a lot longer than Owen thought normal. Not that she minded, really. It was kind of nice.
She strolled along the sidewalk that ran between the wide strip of parkway and the lawns of the middle-class homes. She passed by the first house, the windows warmly glowing from the light of life within. Church lived there with his young associate Susan Bautista.
A bright enough girl, Owen supposed, though she was certainly no Ray Do.
Owen missed Ray much more than she would ever admit.
The next house held the military team: Quinn, Ramos and Costa.
Owen held a grudging respect for Sgt. Costa. She had found her to be most efficient in her duties.
Cpl. Ramos, on the other hand, annoyed her no end. Always did, always would. It didn’t matter that she was now, well… as she was.
She still wasn’t sure about Quinn; even after all this time. The lieutenant seemed sincere, and to his credit he was not your typical gung-ho, by-the-book, just-following-orders-sir type. And he had done all right by the team. She’d give him that, if she was forced on the matter.
Lisa Powell lived on her own in the small house directly across the street. Dear, sweet Miss Lisa Powell. A bit of a dove in the beginning, working in Ray’s shadow and happy to do so from what Owen could tell.
The girl had come such a very long way in twenty-seven floors; still a dove, perhaps, but starting to stand on her own.
Good. The team would need that.
Owen heard someone coming up the street behind her. Turning about, she watched Asher approach. He passed by her, oblivious to her presence, and continued on to the house that he called home here on this floor.
Peter was doing much better these days. This floor had been a great healer of whatever psychological wounds he had suffered on those earlier floors.
Owen was glad to see it. She had always liked Peter. Though they had never worked together out in the real world, their paths had crossed a number of times and she had always enjoyed their interactions, however brief and trivial. She had been delighted to see him on the team, and his presence had helped make her time in the tower just a little more bearable. Excepting Ray, Peter had understood her like no other.
She knew she needed handling. She had been okay with that.
Now of course, things were very different. How many floors had it been since her sudden departure? Six? And she still didn’t know how to deal with it.
When she was on a floor in the tower, she was totally on the floor. She could hear things, smell things, could feel the wind against her face. She could touch things; most things.
She couldn’t touch the other members of the team. And of course they couldn’t see, hear, or touch her.
Such was the same when she was at the command center. She could sit at the table with the staff there, could smell the coffee they drank, could hear their inane banter, but they couldn’t see or hear her.
That drove her batty. They needed some serious talking to and she would have been quite willing to provide that talk.
But only the creature that was Major Connelly could see and hear her. This was both a curse and a blessing. Whoever or whatever Connelly was, at least she was someone Owen to talk to. Owen wasn’t totally alone. Connelly was less than the ideal target for Owen’s sharp repartee, but at least she could hear her and could talk back.
Connelly no doubt had many secrets, but there was at least the illusion of openness within their relationship. Owen appreciated that. And she understood that it was a very narrow path Major Connelly must walk.
Still, the one question Elizabeth Owen wished Connelly would answer but would not, or could not…
What was to come of her?
§
Major Connelly stood near the coffee station in the command center. She leaned against the counter, arms folded, and watched as Cpl. Johansen finished up another unsuccessful session at the radio. On schedule every thirty seven hours twenty minutes, the corporal attempted to contact the team in the tower. This, despite the fact that Connelly continued to advise that Cpl. Ramos had not yet been able to put together another radio on their end.
Johansen slid back from the radio, glanced over at Major Connelly as he slowly turned about in his chair. She gave him a supportive smile. He gave her an acknowledging nod in response.
The door opened and General Wong came into the Quo
nset hut. Johansen spun about another quarter turn and stood up. The general waved him back down as he crossed the room.
“No contact, sir,” said Johansen.
“Thank you, son.” The general reached the command center’s main table and turned his attention to Major Connelly. He indicated a chair as he pulled one out for himself and sat down. “And what do you have for me, Major?”
It was time for the daily update. Connelly relayed Elizabeth Owen’s latest observations of the team’s activities as had been recounted to her during their periodic exchanges over the previous day.
Of late there had been very little new information to pass along. The team in the tower continued to go out on their daily recons in search of the portal to the next floor. There was nothing new on that front, no sign of the gateway, though in truth the general was more concerned with the lack of news regarding what threat lay in store for them on this floor than he was the portal. The portal would come. It always did.
It may not have been a matter of choice, but the team was walking a fine line. Yes, since arriving on this floor there had been very real healing happening, both physical and mental. The team had needed this period of recuperation. This should not be minimized.
But while this healing progressed, the unknown threat continued to close in. Of this, the general was certain. The threat was certain.
Everyone knew it was coming.
How seriously are they taking this imminent danger, he wondered.
“I do not know,” Major Connelly had told him.
They must feel some sense of relief each day they return from their recons without finding the portal, he thought. Another day away from the nightmare of the floors.
“I do not know,” Major Connelly had repeated.
Each day the threat didn’t reveal itself was another day they dodged the bullet. Was it not?
Major Connelly held her silence. General Wong wasn’t looking to her for answers to any of these questions.
Wong felt the same frustration as Dr. Banister at having to play the role of observer. He had never been comfortable with command being so apart from the team on this mission. He, and command in general, had been relegated to the role of spectator. Since the loss of the radio, the title of observer had taken on a whole new meaning.
The Black Tower: The Complete Series Page 24