With the stations ready to go, she started checking the equipment. For once, the night crew had done a good job of cleaning up after themselves. They usually left the lab somewhat clean, but far from spic and span. More than once, she, Jay, and Kate had had to clean equipment before beginning their daily runs.
Marie examined each of the analyzers. The digital readouts informed her the night crew had even run calibration tests before leaving. She smiled. When Kate’s team got the call for a hot-shot, everyone pulled together. Yet another thing she loved about working at HAL.
She sat at one of the work stations and pulled up reports from the previous night’s work. The night crew had been running tests on some oil captured from one of the seemingly million fracking operations in North Dakota. She wrinkled her nose as she went through the report. H2S levels? Off the scale. Gravity? The same as absolute sludge. Refining it would be expensive. And given the price of oil was sure to drop to $40 per barrel by year’s end, said fracking operation should just close up shop or they were going to lose their ass.
Marie closed the report and sighed. She pulled out her phone and checked for notifications. Nothing. Her phone had dinged nearly an hour ago that the M2 PPE sample was en route. The driver was supposed to call or text the moment he arrived. But at 1630 on a Friday afternoon, he was no doubt caught in hellish traffic.
The weather app on her phone said the polar cold front was stalled out near Austin, but was expected to drift east and south by midnight. Marie clucked her tongue. November in the Houston area rarely brought cold weather, but it often brought big storms. Wind, rain, hail, and fifty degree temperatures. Perfect, she thought. All we need is the power to go out too.
Marie’s phone buzzed in her hand. A text message appeared. “Five minutes out” it read. She recognized the phone number as the courier’s. She blew a sigh between her teeth. The lab was cold. At least getting out on the deck would warm her up for a few minutes. She cast a glance at the hand truck in the lab’s west corner. Hopefully, she wouldn’t need that old thing.
She walked to the side door and flashed her card at the card reader. A green LED lit and the lock banged in the slot. She swiveled the handle and walked into a wide, dimly lit hallway. Her footsteps echoed off the concrete walls as she made her way to the loading dock.
One of the few things HAL had done right when they designed the building was making it easy for the labs to take possession of potentially hazardous chemicals. Instead of the labs connecting directly to the outside, chemical shipments were unloaded at the dock and then moved into a containment area. Marie hoped the courier brought his own hand truck and knew how to use it. Otherwise, she might have to get some help.
The wide hallway led her to a large sliding door. Instead of opening it, however, she went left to the door marked with a glowing neon red “Exit” sign. She flashed her card to disable the alarm and then pushed on the solid bar. The door opened on to the thick, concrete dock.
The smell of exhaust and cigarette smoke stung her nostrils. Chuckles stood in the center of the concrete platform, a Pall Mall dangling from the side of his mouth. He glanced at her and nodded.
Marie’s face flushed. “Hello, Stephen.”
The corners of his mouth twitched upward. He exhaled a cloud of smoke and tipped his cap. “And how are you, Ms. Krieger?”
She swallowed hard and tried to say something, but her throat locked up. His subtle grin faded into a look of concern. She waved a hand and cleared her throat. “I’m ready for the hellish weekend, I guess.”
“You getting a cold?” Chuckles’ face was stony once again.
Marie shook her head. “No. Just— Been a long day.”
“Hope not,” he said. “You’re going to be up for a long time.”
She nodded. “How goes the new building setup?”
“Good. With any luck, we might be sharing the new network by next week. If,” he said, “I can get some help from Stevo. And maybe Mark.” Chuckles shook his head. “Goddamned lazy bastards.” He blew smoke out of his nostrils, rolled his eyes, and then shrugged. “Sorry. My mouth tends to forget when a lady’s present.”
Marie smiled. “It’s okay. I’m really not easily offended.”
The corners of Chuckles’ mouth twitched again. “Still ain’t right,” he said.
“So you’re going to be here all weekend too?”
He nodded. “Unless we somehow manage a miracle.” Chuckles dragged again on the cigarette, his nicotine-stained fingers seeming to glow in the wan sunlight. A slight gust rushed by and obliterated the tendrils of smoke flowing out of his nostrils. “I imagine we’ll run into one another in the break room. I do plan on taking breaks occasionally.”
“Well that’s—” The roar of a labored diesel engine with a less than adequate muffler split the relative silence. They both turned. A large panel truck bounced up and down as it navigated the speed bumps and uneven pavement. “Finally,” Marie said under her breath.
The truck, its sides a mix of faded yellow paint and the nearly imperceptible remains of a company logo, turned around until its rear faced the concrete dock. A belch of black smoke erupted from the tailpipe. Marie wrinkled her nose at the exhaust’s stench. The grind of old gears slipping into reverse echoed off the buildings. The truck paused, and then began moving backwards to the dock.
Marie and Chuckles watched in silence as the vehicle slowly reversed until its rear nearly kissed the waist high concrete wall. The gears ground again and then the engine shut off. She felt Chuckles looking at her, but didn’t turn. She knew he did that from time to time and it always made her smile.
“This your barrel?” he asked.
“Think so.” Marie watched the driver open the cab door and step down to the broken and cracked concrete. He walked toward them, clipboard in hand. Streaks of sweat riddled his grey uniform. His eyes drifted upward to regard Marie and Chuckles. “Is this HAL?”
“Yeah,” Chuckles said. “You got a delivery?”
Without answering, the man headed to the stairs and took them in a fast cadence. His feet hardly made a noise as he approached them. Marie glanced down at the heavy work boots. Despite the construction attire, the man moved with the grace of a predator.
When he was only a few feet away from her, he stopped. Chuckles had already moved closer to Marie. She was barely aware of his presence, but somehow felt better for it.
“I have a delivery for Kate Cheevers of HAL,” the man said without glancing at the clipboard.
Marie tried to smile, but feared it looked more like a grimace. “She’s not here yet. But I’m on her team.”
The man grunted. “May I see some company ID?” Chuckles moved close enough to Marie to nearly touch her shoulder. “Ma’am?” he asked.
Marie struggled with the badge clipped to her white, spotless lab coat. Her finger finally found the fastener and lifted up the badge. It clicked as it slid off the tab and into her hand. She held it out toward the driver.
He plucked it from her fingers and held it nearly at arm’s length. He squinted at the letters. Without a pause, he pulled the pen from the clipboard. The pen scratched the paper with a barely audible sound. When he was finished, he offered it back to her without looking up. His eyes focused on Chuckles.
“Sir?” the driver said.
Chuckles blew out another puff of smoke and pulled his badge from his shirt pocket. “After I show you mine, you’ll show me yours.” The words came out in a measured growl.
The driver’s lips twitched into a smile. “Of course, sir. No need to get upset.”
“Just want to see what you wrote and know you ain’t a grifter,” Chuckles said.
The driver laughed. “Grifter? I haven’t heard that word in a long, long time.” He took the card from Chuckles and wrote while his eyes scanned the letters and numbers. “You from back east then?”
Chuckles nodded. “Got here as fast I could, though.”
“I know the feeling.” The driver handed back the
security card and turned the clipboard around so they could read it. Marie’s eyes just saw lines of numbers and their names. It was all written on the “receiver” lines of the freight bill. “Okay?”
“Okay,” Chuckles said. “ID?”
The driver grunted and pulled his own badge from his shirt. He handed it to Chuckles. Marie watched the man’s eyes instead of the card. The driver looked tired, hot, and amused. But the uniform also didn’t look like it was his. The fit around the arms and the shoulders was wrong. She shook her head. Paranoia. Hardly her best trait.
Chuckles handed back the card. The driver took it and put it back in the plastic protector on his shirt pocket. “Everything good?” he asked.
Chuckles nodded with a grunt. “Guess so.”
“Good,” the driver said. He stepped back down the stairs, placed the clipboard back in the cab, and then headed toward the rear door. He produced a key from his pocket and unlocked the heavy padlock. Chuckles and Marie shared a glance. The driver raised the door.
The remaining sunlight drove away the shadows revealing an orange barrel of oil secured within a rope nest. “Well,” Chuckles said, “doesn’t look like it moved much.”
The driver ignored the comment, walked back up onto the platform and headed inside. His dexterous fingers quickly undid the knots and released the barrel from its rope prison. Without saying a word, he unhooked the hand truck from its resting place and moved it to the barrel. The arms slid into place and the truck’s forks lifted the barrel a few inches off the ground.
He moved the hand truck out onto the platform. Marie studied the wrapping on the top of the barrel. The stress strips were in place and untouched. If someone had tampered with the barrel, the strips would have flooded the plastic with red paint.
“Now,” the driver said while he rubbed his shirt sleeve against the beads of sweat on his forehead, “if you would lead me to the destination?”
Marie exchanged a glance with Chuckles. “Um, only authorized personnel are—”
“Allowed in the lab. Yeah, I know.” The driver pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and offered it to her. “Is that your CEO’s signature?”
Marie read the document and blinked. “Yes. It is.”
“What’s it say?” Chuckles asked.
She locked eyes with the driver. “We’re to escort him to the lab. HAL has agreed to it.” She handed back the paper and sighed. “Follow me.”
Marie walked down the platform to the delivery door. She touched her card to the reader and the heavy sliding door banged as the bolt slid back. She touched the green button on the wall and the door slid up with an echoing metal creak.
Strong fluorescent lights burst to life and dispelled the darkness. The hand truck squealed slightly as the driver followed her inside. Chuckles tossed away the filter of his cigarette. The breeze made it waver in the air before it landed in the butt bucket.
She led him to the west wall. A cylindrical stand sat beneath a number of rubber hoses. The driver stopped pulling the hand truck and stared up at the ceiling. “Doesn’t oil eat through rubber and plastic?”
Marie nodded. “Yup. The rubber is just covering Pyrex tubes. Put the oil drum there please.” She pointed at the stand.
The driver shrugged and pushed the hand truck to the metal cradle. He pressed a lever on the mechanized dolly and the forks lifted the barrel another two inches. When he was sure it was up high enough, he pushed the oil drum to the stand.
“There you go,” Marie said. “Go ahead and lower it. I’ll take care of the rest.”
The driver pressed the release and the barrel slid into the cradle with a metallic clang. The oil inside the barrel sloshed against the metal. Something inside banged. Marie leaped back from the barrel and traded stares with the driver. “What was that?”
The driver shrugged. “Did that when I put it in the truck too.”
Marie looked back at the barrel. “You’re sure that’s what came from the rig?”
He nodded. “Absolutely. I triple checked the paperwork and the serial numbers. This is what Leaguer sent you.”
A prickle of gooseflesh covered her skin. The orange barrel didn’t look so innocuous now. Something about it frightened her, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.
“You done, sir?” Chuckles asked from behind them.
Marie blew a surprised sigh out of her mouth. “Yeah.” She turned around and regarded the two men. “We’re done.”
The driver pulled the hand truck away from the barrel stand. “I’ll see myself out. Sir. Ma’am.” The driver pushed the cart back out to the dock. Chuckles followed until he was outside the rolling door. He pressed a red button and the door unfolded. It hit the concrete floor with a bang.
“Fucking douchebag,” Chuckles muttered. He turned away from the door and blinked at Marie. “You okay?”
She rubbed her hands against her bare forearms. “Yeah,” she lied. “That was weird.”
Chuckles nodded. “Yeah. Think maybe PPE takes their security a bit too far.”
“Maybe. Or that Simpson guy is certifiable.”
“Ain’t all executives sociopaths?” he said.
Marie stared at him and then started laughing. Chuckles’ mouth twitched. “You know, you are the only man that can make me laugh when I feel like crying.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Why you feel like crying?”
“Guy scared the hell out of me,” she said. “Not sure what I would have done if you hadn’t been here.”
Chuckles’ cheeks flushed. “Guess I’m glad I was here then.”
“Thank you.” Marie fought the urge to step toward him. What she wanted to do was hug him. “Stephen?”
He raised his eyebrows and the corners of his mouth twitched. “Yes?”
“You really are a nice guy. And I hate your nickname.”
Chuckles smiled. It showed off the missing molar on his left side and his nicotine-stained teeth. On another man, it might look like a sneer, but on Chuckles, it was the brightest smile she’d ever seen. He cleared his throat and pointed at the barrel. “You need any more help with that?”
She shook her head. “No. Thank you. The machine will pretty much do everything else.”
He nodded. “Have to get back to the NOC.”
“Right,” she said. “Big network switchover this weekend.”
“Yeah.” His smile disappeared, lips curling back down into a thin line. “Ya’ll going to be here all weekend.”
She wasn’t sure if it was a question or a statement. “I think that’s the plan.”
“Okay.” Chuckles cracked his knuckles. “Guess I’ll see you around supper time.” He tipped his cap and headed back into the main hallway.
Marie watched him go and let out a long breath. The man was enigmatic. He wasn’t cute or handsome. And she had no idea why she was attracted to him.
Yes, you do, a voice said in her mind. He’s always polite and only smiles for you.
Grinning, Marie turned to the oil barrel. Her smile disappeared. That creeping feeling started at the bottom of her spine and quickly rose to her neck. She bit her lip and walked to the stand. She pulled on an L-shaped piece of metal and it swung outward to the stand.
The rubber-coated steel led up to the ceiling and a series of pipes. The bottom of the L had a steel cap attached to it. When it was just above the cap, she let it go, and stared at the plastic shrouding the barrel’s top.
Oil. All the way from M2 halfway across the world. She pulled the tab on the wrapping and ripped it forward. The shroud parted and exposed the metal cap. She frowned. The steel was dented outward as if it had been hit by something from inside. More likely, a roughneck hit it with a tool before realizing it was upside down. Or maybe a wave had rocked the rig while they were capping the barrel. No telling.
She walked to the shelves beside the barrel stand. A cylinder with a handle jutting from one side sat on the middle shelf. She picked it up and placed it over the cap. Three quick turns of her f
ingers and the cylinder snapped around the cap. She pumped the handle until she heard the barrel’s cap snap.
Marie slowly unscrewed the remover from around the cap, but didn’t raise it up. The design, one of Jay’s, was nearly flawless. Except for this part. The magnetic bottom of the remover held the top of the cap, but she had to lift it in order to expose the hole in the barrel. In order to lessen any chance of contamination, she had to move the suction end of the L and place it over the hole as quickly as possible.
In the past year, she’d done this dozens of times. It was routine. The hairs on the nape of her neck stood on end. Her fingers trembled as she reached and lowered the L just above the remover. She took in a deep breath, moved away from the device, and then slammed the L metal coupling over the open cap. Metal clanged and the barrel seemed to groan.
She blew out a hiss of air and tightened the pump connection. When it was as tight as she could get it, she walked back and placed the removal tool back on the shelf. Marie returned to the barrel with a torque wrench and tightened the metal pump gasket until the wrench clicked.
Finally, she said to herself. Marie walked to the wall behind the L. She checked the vacuum gauges. No warnings. Smiling, she pressed a green plastic button. The pump started. She listened as the liquid flowed up the metal tubing and into the Pyrex rat’s maze in the ceiling. The tubes led over the wall and into the chemistry lab. The chemists would then use the instrumentation to distill the exact amounts they needed for the tests.
Marie started to walk away from the barrel and then stopped. She turned and faced the shelf. She’d dropped Jay’s famous removal tool before removing the lid cap from the barrel. The strong fluorescent lights showed her the muted gleam of oil stained metal. She could leave it there with the piece of metal still in the receiver end. She could. Marie sighed and walked back to the shelves. Get it done right, Jay always said.
She picked up the removal tool and moved her thumb to hit the button for the release. Something gurgled in the barrel. She whirled around as the lid popped from the tool. A jagged edge from the pierced metal cut into her skin. Marie yelped and studied her hand. The edge of her palm had a tiny cut. A thin streamer of blood welled out. The barrel gurgled again. She looked back at it. It wasn’t moving. Nothing was banging to get out. It was just oil.
The Black: Arrival Page 4