Light Play: Book One of The Light Play Trilogy

by N. D. Hansen-Hill

  * * * *

  Jace, hearing it, jumped and looked back the way he'd come, into the darkness. He was suddenly sure he could see her, coming at him out of the squiggly black. At that moment, he didn't care what weapons the guys with the flashlights had. Because he didn't have any.

  His eyes wide and terrified, he ran towards Cole and Eric—bowling them over before they had time to react. Once he'd started running, he couldn't seem to stop his feet: they just kept going until he'd pounded over the two men and slammed out the door.

  He clambered over the fence and made a beeline for the Rumbler. As he went, he fumbled for the keys. “I can't leave,” he whispered over and over, almost like a mantra. But he could sure as hell hide from Security—for a while anyway—within the relative safety of the Rumbler.

  He turned his pockets inside out, then dumped the contents of the rucksack on the ground. No keys.

  Some rescue. What the hell am I going to do now?

  * * * *

  Phillip Rutgers observed Richard Lockmann as he paced nervously. Lockmann had been terribly distressed by the knowledge that his friend had been shot, but it made him sick to watch what they were doing to Kerrington's shoulder. Rutgers avoided telling him that it had been one of his own staff who'd fired the gun—that kind of knowledge wouldn't exactly encourage Lockmann to save their hides.

  Rutgers glanced around the room. Lockmann was the focus of all eyes. He hoped the mouths that went with those eyes had the wisdom to stay closed.

  He'd developed a lot of respect for Richard Lockmann. He didn't know how the man really felt about his mutation, because he didn't talk about it. He kept his fears, his horror, his foreboding, well-hidden.

  Oh, the fears were there, all right. Rutgers had heard him ramble on in his delirium, and now realised that most of what he'd thought were nightmares was actually his patient's realisation of his own transgenic status. Lockmann just didn't want to share those fears with anyone else.

  Rutgers knew part of the man's reserve revolved around revealing too much to those who had, in a sense, inflicted his misery upon him. But, there were other reasons as well. Lockmann was naturally reticent, basically decent, and couldn't really understand how someone could deliberately inflict suffering or unwanted change on someone else. He also didn't believe everyone should have to suffer because of his problems.

  Lockmann knew far more than he'd ever reveal. Vizar's and Hylton's best source of information about this entire situation resided behind a pair of crystalline green eyes.

  Rutgers studied Lockmann's swift movements. Lockmann was worried far more about his friend Simon, than he was about himself.

  But, Simon Kerrington would survive what had been done to him. Rutgers wasn't so sure about Richard Lockmann.

  He frowned. He'd mechanically rendered medicine for so long, that he almost didn't recognise the emotion that made him feel so uncomfortable. He was actually concerned about what was going to happen to his patient—to the man.

  The DSO had the balance of power right now, but Genetechnic might easily get back their advantage. Raeiti had lost a few people to Denaro's advance, but there were still fifteen of his mercenaries under guard on the roof—unless Hylton had gotten smart and had them removed. Hylton had four on the roof, and five in here—one of them seriously injured; another unconscious. And Rutgers knew better than to count the loyalties of the virologists.

  If the DSO retained their edge, then Phillip was certain Hylton would use Richard Lockmann for his own purposes—just as Vizar would have done. Rutgers saw the way Hylton watched him—assessingly—and smiled. But if Lockmann was to be taken away, then someone needed to be warned about his physiology. Rutgers felt more comfortable trusting Rodrigal than Zeneeba. Especially since Zeneeba had appeared to comprehend the warnings about Denaro, then openly advised Hylton differently. No, Rodrigal was a far better risk.

  Now, as he and Denis Rodrigal worked to stop the bleeding on Kerrington's shoulder, he spoke softly to the other man. “Lockmann's not as tough as he seems,” Rutgers told Rodrigal softly. Simon Kerrington's eyes opened swiftly, and Rutgers deliberated the wisdom of speaking in front of a DSO agent.

  Kerrington was obviously Lockmann's friend, however, and Rutgers knew this might be his only opportunity to speak with any confidentiality.

  Kerrington decided the matter for him. “If you're revealing Rick's weaknesses, I'll tear out your tongue, Doctor,” Simon warned.

  Lying there like he was, the warning didn't carry much strength, but nevertheless Rutgers smiled. “I'm trying to save his life, Kerrington,” he assured him. “You'll notice I'm not telling Zeneeba.”

  Simon nodded and closed his eyes—but not his ears.

  Rutgers went on. “His metabolism is totally messed up. He's gone into coma on us twice, and we were lucky to bring him back.” Hylton wandered past, and Rutgers waited until he'd looked in and moved on. “The biggest thing is his sugar imbalance. A little dextrose and he can go into hyperglycaemic shock. He also needs copious amounts of water, and if he starts to shut down, get him on an IV—of straight water if you need to.” He shook his head. “He's going to kill himself if he doesn't learn to control his surges of activity. He burns himself out, and each time he recovers, he's lost more body mass.”

  “What about the lights?”

  Rutgers refused to explain. To openly admit that Lockmann was a mutant might be enough to seal his fate. “Let's just say it wouldn't be smart to keep him under the light all the time. He'd fade away in no time.”

  * * * *

  Sterner was making some kind of muffled snorting noise that made Cole wonder if all the excitement had triggered an asthma attack. Then he realised it could be something worse. “Did she get you?” he asked fearfully.

  After that, it sounded like Sterner could barely breathe. His asthmatic snorts were interspersed with shuddering whoops. Cole shone his light directly in the other man's face. It was all scrunched up, and he had tears running down. “Are you in pain?” Cole asked worriedly.

  It only made it worse. “I'm going to get help—” Cole told him reassuringly, and wobbled to his feet.

  Sterner gripped his good arm. “Don't—” he managed to get out. He made a conscious effort to get control of himself. Wiping the tears away with the back of his arm, he finally got the shuddering down to the occasional uncontrollable quiver. Knowing it would only set him off, he avoided looking at Cole.

  Cole was shaking, too, but it wasn't with amusement. Sterner flicked his own light into Calloway's face, and what he saw there sobered him the rest of the way. Cole's face was so white that it ought to have glowed in the dark.

  “Sit down,” Eric ordered. He shone the light down on Cole's arm. The sweatshirt sleeve was wet. That meant the bandaging had soaked through. I knew this rescue thing was crazy, Eric thought. Aloud, he said, “This friend of yours is a doctor, right?”

  Cole nodded. “Sometimes,” he said. “When he isn't busy being a car thief.”

  “I'm going to find him. What's his last name?”

  “Stratton. But if this is for me, don't bother. I'm fine.” He hid his injured arm under his other one.

  Sterner didn't say anything. He stood up and headed for the door. “That's the wrong way—” Cole tried to tell him. But Sterner either misunderstood, or he wasn't listening. He offered Cole a quick wave, then went out through the door.

  Cole sat there for a moment before it hit him. Jace was somewhere here—in the building. Where Denaro had been. Sterner was right, but for the wrong reasons. They needed to find Jace right away.

  Cole didn't jump to the same conclusions Sterner had. The conclusions that had triggered Sterner's bout of nearly hysterical mirth. All Cole could think of was the danger Jace might be in, if he'd already had a run-in with Denaro. Cole grabbed his crowbar, pushed himself to his feet again, and headed down the hall.

  “Jace!” Cole called out in a whisper. “Jace! Where are you?"

  At the base of the stairs, Cole
found a piece of bandaging that Jace must have dropped. He flicked the light upwards. “Why the hell did you have to be up there?” he groaned. Remembering what Jace had told him before, he stuck his bleeding arm up in the air. Then, with the crowbar in his pants, the flashlight in his teeth, and his good arm on the banister, he started up the stairs.

  * * * *

  “The one on the left,” Shaine whispered, indicating with a tilt of her head. “He's the one who brought them here.”

  Tazo Raeiti nodded to Bockett. The man, who'd appeared to be fettered like the rest of them, slid behind the rear tyre of the helicopter, then disappeared underneath. His movements were so swift and quiet, that none of the DSO people even noticed.

  Raeiti had no intention of being arrested, or taken away before he could get compensation. Despite what he'd said to the DSO, Raeiti had already committed too much time and energy to the situation to merely surrender and be shuttled away. There were many ways this situation could work in their favour.

  * * * *

  “Are we ready to load?” Chandler, one of the four DSO people, asked. “It's going to take two trips.” On Hylton's orders, the virologists’ helicopter would remain.

  Chandler didn't like the idea of being closed in with these people, but there really wasn't much choice. Hylton wanted the mercenaries removed to free up both resources and manpower. He'd requested that the helicopters be cleared as soon as possible.

  “Ready.” Fliss wasn't any happier about piloting this lot out of here than Chandler was about acting as escort.

  “Let's do it.”

  Raeiti and his people were to be processed, with photos, fingerprints, and retinal scans taken for the record. Neither Chandler nor Fliss had any idea what Hylton intended for them after that. Prosecution or persecution—it didn't really make much difference, as long as they could turn the activity over to someone else.

  * * * *

  “Jason Stratton!” Eric Sterner called out, as loudly as he dared. Guessing correctly, he headed toward the Rumbler. “Jace! Is this what you're looking for?” Sterner let Jason hear the rattle of Cole's keys. He figured if the nickname hadn't been enough, his possession of the keys might.

  That and the fact that Stratton, like Calloway, was incredibly naive. Calloway's version of this evening was caught somewhere between detective stories he'd read, spy and action flicks he'd watched, and his own craving to do something heroic. Eric was sure that Stratton functioned on a similar level but with one difference: his medical experience had probably exposed him to the seamier side of life, while to Cole this was still an adventure. Both of them would have been hopeless alone, Eric had already decided. They both wanted to trust too much. Believing in basic human goodness could be a serious failing in a situation like this.

  But, that trust worked for him now. Jason poked his head around the car and stared at Sterner. “How did you know my name?” he asked.

  The temptation to invent some answer was almost overwhelming. To go on about cameras and tracking him and thick dossiers. But, Calloway needed a hand—Stratton's hands, to be precise. “I came here with Cole Calloway,” Eric told him. “He's bleeding again.”

  “I'll be right with you—” Jason tried the door to the Rumbler again, then—somewhat shamefacedly—turned to Stratton. “If I could have the key—”

  “What's that green stuff?” Eric sniffed the air.

  “Broccoli and aged dumpster. Don't ask.”

  Jason grabbed out a second satchel that had fresh bandaging. “How bad's he bleeding?” he asked, following after Sterner at a jog.

  “Not spurting—but I didn't know how much he could spare.”

  * * * *

  It only took a moment for Neils Bockett to get a headlock on Fliss. He forced him into the cockpit of the helicopter, and tied him to the seat—securing his hands and feet so he couldn't move. By then it was too late for the others.

  As good as the DSO people were, they'd been taken by surprise. Raeiti's people struck with swift, silent brutality. In seconds, Roland Chandler, Marise Chan and Ed Lowerby—the other three DSO people—had been ejected off the roof.

  Raeiti then ordered his crew to be seated and wait. He knew it wouldn't be long before Vizar was informed. The fact that Hylton hadn't been similarly notified, would no doubt clarify the situation for him. Genetechnic Security would want to know how to handle it, and whether to bring in the authorities. When the call came, Vizar could decide how and when to implement Raeiti's help. In the meanwhile, Raeiti opted for patience.

  Not all his people agreed with him. “I say we leave.” Tom Nesbitt was face-to-face with Raeiti. His gun angled between them, heavy and threatening.

  Raeiti smiled. If Nesbitt had been watching Raeiti's encounter with Dr. Sandler, he would have recognised the look in the man's eyes. “It makes more sense to wait,” Tazo told him quietly. “Until Lockmann, Vizar, and Hylton have resolved our problem.”

  It took Nesbitt a moment to understand. “Then we go in, eliminate Hylton, and collect our fee.” His face creased in a smile that matched Raeiti's own.

  “Yes.” Raeiti turned the gun around and used the man's own hands to pull the trigger. “It's a shame you won't be with us,” he said.

  * * * *

  They'd just cleared the fence when the first body missiled through the air and thunked into the ground near the door.

  “Holy shit!” Sterner yelled. “It came off the roof!”

  “My God!” Jason exclaimed in horror. “There's another one!” He ran over to see what he could do. “What the hell is going on up there?”

  Eric Sterner could hear the whine of the Security siren. “Come on, Dr. Stratton!” he urged.

  Jason knew it was too late to help, but he went to each body in turn. “I just have to check—” he said. He was terrified he'd discover one of the bodies was Simon or Rick.

  Eric finally figured out what he was doing. “Recognise anybody?” he asked quietly.

  “No.” Jason shook his head, then immediately felt guilty for his relief. Someone would be in mourning tonight. “Can't we do anything?”

  Eric Sterner's first impulse had been to rush up to the roof, to put a stop to the massacre that was taking place there. After all, he had surprise on his side. Surprise, but—he looked at Jason's horrified expression, and thought about Cole's white face—two damned heavy anchors.

  * * * *

  Kefra Morrison's face was white, and her hand was shaking so badly she could hardly pick up the phone. “Derek?” she said, her voice quivering. “This is Kefra—in Video.”

  “What's wrong?”

  “Some people have been thrown off the building—in Section 14.”

  "Off the building?" Ainsley asked incredulously.

  “It's horrible. There are at least three bodies on the ground.”

  “Is Windromere back?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Kefra, I'm sending up Wattreau to spell you.”

  “Thanks,” she said, genuinely grateful. Seeing the bodies plummet like that had nearly cost her her dinner. “There's something else you should know. We've been compromised. There are people going back and forth over the fence. I'm sure they're not any of ours.”

  “Where are they now?”

  “I think they've gone into the building. I'll trace their steps and let Wattreau know when he gets here.”

  * * * *

  The phone began to ring in the lab.

  Hylton nodded to Vizar. “Answer it.”

  “This is Ainsley from Security, Dr. Vizar. We have a situation down here. What do you want us to do?”

  “Situation?” Vizar repeated.

  “Yes.” There was hesitation in his voice. “It appears that three people have fallen from a roof.”

  “Which building?” Vizar tried to keep his side of the conversation fairly innocuous. He knew Hylton was listening.

  The one you're in, you idiot, Ainsley thought. But, aloud he said, “Section 14, sir. We haven't been able to ID
any of them. They're not ours.”

  “I thought that might be the case, Mr. Ainsley. I'll take care of it. Just keep me informed.

  “But the bodies, Mr. Vizar?”

  “C block. Wing 3.”

  “Do we notify the police?”

  “I'll handle that when I'm finished here.”

  “Another thing—”

  “Yes?”

  “We have unauthorised entry into your building.”

  Vizar glanced at Hylton. How many people did he have on the site? Or was this more of Raeiti's doing? “That's all right, Ainsley. I can take care of it on this end.”

  Vizar laid down the phone and Hylton looked at him expectantly. But, Vizar didn't explain. He was having too much trouble absorbing what had happened. Rather than the relief Raeiti had expected, Vizar was horrified at the spilt blood.

  For just a moment, he wondered if Hylton and the DSO might be responsible. But, it seemed unlikely they'd try to maintain their low profile by flinging people off the roof. No, that was something Raeiti would do. Something the man would even enjoy doing.

  He could order Raeiti to stop all bloodshed, but he doubted the man would listen. With his own employees, there'd always been the threat of termination to give him ultimate control. Raeiti would interpret a threat of “termination” entirely differently. If Vizar were to tell him he was jeopardising his money, Raeiti would come down here and deal with him on a personal level, in a way that would ensure his co-operation.

  No, Vizar had imbued his monster with all the financial backing and omnipotence his miniature kingdom possessed, and now that monster was breathing down his back while demolishing his front. For the first time, Daniel Vizar was glad that the DSO was here.

  “Hylton,” he said, “it's time we had a talk.”

  * * * *

  Cole was puffing by the time he reached the locked door. “Bloody hell!” The complaint was garbled, issued as it was around the flashlight in his teeth. Could Jace still be hiding somewhere on the floor below?

  Cole looked from the locked door to the crowbar in his hand and back again. Dammit, if it wasn't tempting to just go ahead and pry the thing open, while he was standing right here. A lot more tempting than making another trip down the stairs. I'll just open this door, then go look for Jace again. Cole justified his efforts with the thought that Rick was somewhere on the other side of the door, and that he was actually helping by anticipating their next move.