Hunter was dead-steady. "It's a fantasy, Hamilton. Nobody lives forever."
"Oh, on the contrary, Mr. Hunter, I believe that our species is capable of exceeding long life spans. We have simply not isolated the means of rejuvenating cellular structure as the body ages. An enigma since, scientifically, there is very little definition except the loss of cellular modules to explain why we age at all past maturity; an unexplainable phenomenon. And for many years now it has been my goal to uncover that mystery. You see, I am almost sixty years of age. Not old by any means. But I am haunted, more and more, by the specter of my mortality. It is an old story: a young man thinks not of death, the old think of nothing else. And you would represent yourself well if you did not consider me a monster, Mr. Hunter; a man who betrayed his oath and his profession to cheat death. Or, if not to cheat, then to delay interminably."
Hamilton hesitated, and some of his arrogance seemed to subside, as if the contemplation had made him more honest. Hunter allowed him to ponder in silence while he slightly bent his head, observing the exact location of the guards.
Still ranged in a tight semicircle, they held M-16's at port arms. Each of them wore black battle-dress uniforms with black balaclavas that hid everything but their eyes. For a surreal moment, Hunter wondered if it was their duty to keep intruders out or the research personnel inside.
Hamilton beheld him with eyes that seemed strangely more pale. "In truth, those of us who have crossed this ethical and scientific void to realize what has escaped man since Eden should be lauded for our courage, our vision, and our sacrifice. For not in a thousand years, since man accepted that he is not the center of the universe, has the world faced so great a revelation as we have unveiled. Yes, I know what you are thinking, Mr. Hunter. Quite probably, there is nothing you can say that has not already crossed my mind. You are thinking that the loss of that young woman, as well as the deaths at these installations, were too great a price for success."
Hunter was stone-faced. He revealed nothing in his expression as he unblinkingly held the older man's gaze.
"But I tell you that all of these people, to the last one, would have died within the next one hundred years." Hamilton held himself as if the incontrovertible statement would settle the dispute. "And the scientist that was dispatched at your institution because of security reasons ...well, the loss of life is always tragic. But that situation was, in truth, beyond my control. Really, how long do you believe it would have been before that woman would have succumbed to the ravages of old age or some vampirish illness that leeched the strength from her soul? How long before she would have prayed for death to cease the multitude agonies? Ten years? Twenty? Fifty?" He shook his head. "You know the answer as well as I. But what if that same woman could have been given the elixir of eternal health and life? Would she have refused? No, Mr. Hunter, I sincerely doubt that. No, she would have gratefully accepted the gift of the gods; immortality, for all practical purposes, and eternal health. Of course, no one, not even with the elixir, truly lives forever. But a life span of a thousand years is incomparably better than a life span of a hundred."
Hunter gazed up somberly at the muted giant, monstrous head bowed so that the square chin rested between huge pectoral muscles thick as armor. "And him?" he asked. "You call that human?"
"No," Hamilton answered frankly. "It was a beast. Half man, at best. And, in truth, we never categorized him. Once his fantastic qualities of rejuvenation and enhanced longevity were discovered, a classification became needless. It was enough that within his bones lay the remnants of heme units that provided the magical coding, which we attempted to duplicate. It was only Luther, the fool, who moved too quickly, precipitating this incident."
"Incident?" Hunter asked coldly. "Several hundred men and women are dead, Hamilton. I wouldn't call that an 'incident.' I would call it a disaster."
"And that is where your mind fails to seize the opportunity for turning a disadvantage into an advantage." Hamilton's tone was dead-steady, certain, and convinced. "You see, in any experiment there is always the danger of compromised security. It wasn't until the creature had struck for the second time that I was inspired to turn this ... disaster ... into a positive force."
Hunter was appalled. Feeling a rush of warm blood to his face, he spoke: "You let them die." It wasn't a question, and he repeated it. "You're worse than your monster. When you got what you wanted, you let those people die so you could contain your secret."
Hamilton's expression was bland.
"As you said, Mr. Hunter, no one lives forever."
***
"This is ungood," Taylor muttered.
Bending his head inside the listening post they had established in the motor pool, Takakura spoke in a low tone. "Use your night visor. You should be able to see easily in the shadows."
"The night visor don't see through solid steel, Commander. I've already checked the treeline and the rocks, and it ain't there, far as I can tell. But I know it's somewhere. I can smell it."
Takakura held the M-14-A1 close, a pistol on his chest and thigh. Anti-personnel grenades and extra clips for the M-14 were staggered on the left side of his gun belt. Taylor, as always, was armed with a variety of shotguns. The street-sweeper was loaded with twelve depleted-uranium shells. It fired as fast as the trigger could be pulled. It would be his primary weapon.
The headphone Takakura wore suddenly squawked with a static burst before the Japanese frowned. Watching, Taylor listened to the muted replies: "No ...no, we have not observed him ... Hai ... I will inform you." He returned to observation.
"What was all that about?" Taylor asked.
"It was the marshal, the one called Chaney." Takakura frowned. "It seems they are looking for Hunter. They do not know where he is."
Studious, Taylor squinted. "You know, now that you mention it, I haven't seen him around. That ain't like him. Usually he's on the front line. Where's the wolf?"
"Guarding the professor. I stopped in ICU and checked on them before we took listening-post duty." Takakura’s pause was long. "You are correct. It is not like Hunter to vanish."
Taylor didn't like it either. "Maybe we oughta’ go find him," he muttered, but even as he said it, he realized it was impossible. Every listening post was vital; it was the first line of warning, and their best defense. Plus, the CP didn't have either the time or manpower to reassign the duty. An alarming thought settled over Taylor as he pondered possibilities.
"You don't think Hunter went into the woods, do you?" He hesitated. "I mean, like he did before?"
"No," Takakura answered with confidence. "What he did before, effective as it may have been, was from desperation. Hunter is a brave man, but he is also wise. He does not risk his life unless it is necessary, or unless he consciously forfeits it for what he has decided is a greater good. No, he would not have gone out alone. For with this electrified fence and this much armament, we might have a chance of resisting the beast until dawn. Then, hopefully, we will airlift from this facility and leave it to the creature."
"We should have done that today," Taylor grunted. "But so what. They ain't gonna do it tomorrow either, Commander. 'Cause they're stuck between a rock and a hard place. They have something to do with that thing out there, I guarantee it. And they can't let it roam around killing innocent folk. Word might get out, and then they'd be toast. No, they gotta kill it or capture it before the press and public get wind, one way or another. And that's what all this is for. Man, the brass is briefed on the fact that we don't stand a snowball's chance. But that ain't their problem. 'Cause we're just grunts; we're the ones who are supposed to be doing this stuff while they sit on their butts making their oh-so-smart political decisions. And plus that, we know too much. I don't know what's going on here, but I know it's heavy. And if I know those buttheads in Washington, they ain't gonna want too many witnesses walking around when this is over. Heads have a habit of talking." Anger shook him. "No, they're gonna leave us hanging here until that thing's dead or we'r
e dead. I know that score."
Frowning, Takakura nodded. His expression was stoic, the image of a man who accepted pain without complaint, a professional soldier, a man who intelligently measured risks before a battle yet joined the battle nonetheless. When he looked back at Taylor, his expression altered slightly, and there was a glint of humor in his dark eyes.
"You know, there was a time," he remarked, "when I dreamed of honor in battle."
Taylor stared. "And now you don't?"
"Not for armies," the Japanese whispered. "Just for men."
Quiet for a time, Taylor finally added, "Well, we might be able to put its face in the dirt. We're loaded for bear, we're rested, and we've got the home-court advantage. It won't be easy to take this place."
A grunt, and Takakura glanced at him, the frown returning.
"We shall see."
***
Words in a moaning wind floated to him as he lay concealed behind more rocks, almost lost to air that vibrated with the roaring engines contained within the building.
He still had a short distance to crawl before he was close enough to vault the fence—he knew from the distinctive feel of invisible fire in the surrounding air that the barrier was dangerous—and the battle would begin.
There was something familiar in the subdued tones that reached out to him over hundreds of feet; a tone or...emotion. He could not be sure, except to know that he had somehow known the tone before. The sensation caused him to lie very still. But he heard the voices no more.
Scowling faintly, he gazed up, staring through spaces in the rocks, watching the patrolling guards. Their weapons were meaningless. He did not see the woman, whose weapon had blasted the breath from his lung and ripped open his ribs, allowing the black blood to flow hotly over his side. Yes, the woman could injure him, and the fact that he did not see her aroused his anger.
But he was not afraid. He would never be afraid. And if she challenged him again he would hunt her down with singular, undaunted rage and kill her quickly, for she had injured him enough. For the pleasure of that blood, he would ignore the rest of them, would ignore what he sought until it was finished. Then he would continue as he had continued before, stalking, slaying at will, enduring their pitiful resistance until they fled screaming into the roaring night, where he would hunt them down still, slaying one by one.
A growl that began deep in his chest was choked in his throat, because he was too close. He would make no sound until he struck, would give them no warning until he was among them. Then their fear would be his ally, his weapon.
Moving only a muscular forearm and foot, he inched forward. He did not feel the impulse to rush, so complete were his stalking skills. Just as he knew he had the patience to wait for days, if necessary, waiting for a single chance to ambush his prey. With either means of attack he was skillful, though he enjoyed much more the glaring triumph of descending from above, beholding the terror in their eyes as they screamed and raised hands for mercy ...before he feasted on their brains.
***
"So it was Luther who injected himself with the serum," Hunter said, unimpressed by the egomaniacal arrogance. "And that thing out there . . ."
"Is no longer Luther," Hamilton added without emotion. "No, I'm afraid that nothing of poor Luther remains. But it was his own hand that destroyed my colleague. I shed no tears. And it was not a complete failure, in any case. For although Luther's physicality was monstrously transformed into the living representative of this unknown species, he also retained the healing and longevity factors. Yes, Luther—or whatever remains of him—will live for quite some centuries, although in that irreversible, bestial form. And since his impertinent adventurism, which ended so tragically, we have gloriously completed what he began. For we have isolated and removed the genetic transmitters that allowed the creature's DNA to transform Luther into a likeness of itself." Hamilton's eyes gleamed. "Yes, we have the serum, Mr. Hunter, and the long night is at an end. We have the sentient qualities, those that grant immortality without the lamentable curse of the primitive mind. And soon a select few will be ...immortal." He smiled.
Unimpressed, Hunter asked, "You never really planned to kill the creature, did you?"
Hamilton blinked. "Hmm? Oh, yes." He placed hands behind his back, as if lecturing. "Yes, Mr. Hunter, at one point it was considered. And, for prudence and diplomacy, we were certainly required to display some confusion and concern about the recurring attacks. But before your team was dispatched we had already decided to let the creature do our work for us in order to ensure containability of our secret enterprise. By that, of course, I mean allowing the creature to silence the research and military teams, an unexpected effect. And then ... who knows? Perhaps we might have terminated him, and may yet do so. Or we might attempt to capture him. Frankly, I have not turned my mind to the matter in some time."
Eyes narrowing, Hunter saw a shadow move—or seem to move—on the far side of the room. He didn't look toward it again as he took a wild chance, moving slightly to the side. Hamilton angled his eyes to follow Hunter's slow step, but he did not reposition. And none of the soldiers advanced, though Hunter saw hands tighten on rifles.
"No more secrets," Hunter said, facing Hamilton squarely. "I know what it's looking for. And I know you could have stopped the killing at any time. But you didn't."
Hamilton displayed rare surprise.
"You are an exceptionally astute individual, Mr. Hunter." For a moment, he appeared to regard Hunter with awe. "Yes, exceptionally astute. What was your first clue that it was searching for something? It could have been wreaking vengeance, you know. Moreover, it could merely have been exercising animal savagery against the only populations that its diseased human mind could recall. And yet...your certainty is complete. You know, indeed, that it was searching and, even, what it was searching for. But how? Would you tell me? I am most curious."
Even without looking for it, Hunter saw a shadow on the floor adjacent to a large computer terminal. But there was no sound. And he tried to follow the almost imperceptible shifting with peripheral vision because he didn't know whether it was Chaney or Bobbi Jo or the creature.
There was always a chance the military might have missed something, some hidden tunnel or gateway that wasn't recorded on the blueprints. His toes curled slightly down within his moccasins as he tensed, preparing to move in any direction at a split-second's warning. And in the short pause he decided to tell Hamilton what the scientist so badly wanted to hear, buying precious time, finishing the charade.
"It was at the research station," Hunter said, with the faintest shadow of a mocking sneer. "That was your first mistake."
Hamilton stared. "Yes? Well, what was there to find? Our sanitation team, and this is no empty boast, are quite thorough about removing evidence, ensuring our secrecy. We use them all over the world for a number of situations. And they thoroughly swept the station long before you arrived."
"I know," Hunter said, unimpressed. "And they did a good job; there was nothing to find. And that was their mistake, Doctor. They did too good a job. And in the wrong places."
"What do you mean?"
"It's the same with men as with animals, Doctor. Nothing moves in the world, anywhere, without leaving a sign—a trace of itself. The same rules apply in civilized environments." Hunter searched for the shadow, saw nothing. "This creature attacked the station, the soldiers, and he left traces of himself. Then he attacked the personnel, the lab techs, and left more traces. Tracks, claw marks, blood that told me where he was going, where he'd been, what he was thinking. And then he attacked the installation it-self, leaving even more traces. All of it like pages in a book. Everything that happens is told in the tracks, or in the pages. All you have to do is know how to read them."
"Yes," Hamilton responded, "I follow your reasoning. But that still does not explain how you deduced that the creature was searching for something, which I myself find quite fascinating.”
"It's just like I said, Docto
r. Every room in every installation told a story." Hunter paused. "Except one."
Hamilton seemed to perceive it.
"The vault," the scientist said simply, with a faint smile.
"Yeah. The vault. The only chamber that that thing didn't destroy. And yet it destroyed everything else. So there was a page missing from the story." Hunter caught a glimmer of response in the doctor's eyes. "It's fairly simple to follow a track, once you know where to begin," he continued. "So after I searched the vault and didn't find any traces of the creature, I knew something was wrong. So I searched it again, and found some lines where your crew, probably wearing biohazard suits, had worked the most diligently at sanitation. I suppose you know where that would be."
"Oh, yes." Hamilton smiled, clearly enjoying the endgame. "At the refrigeration module."
"Where your crew removed every trace of its entry," Hunter continued. "And I wondered: why remove traces of this thing's entry into that one chamber while ignoring what it did throughout the rest of the complex? And the answer seemed fairly obvious."
Hamilton almost spoke, some fevered dimension of his personality taking pleasure in this spirited contest of intellects, but with visible effort he restrained himself.
"So I located the module's manifest and ran an inventory, and I located all of the serums that were supposed to be there," Hunter continued, allowing Hamilton the juvenile pleasure of finishing.
"Except one," the scientist contributed magnanimously.
"Yeah. Except one."
"HD-66." Hamilton shook his head, a slightly satisfied smile.
"Exactly. Which didn't mean much to me at the time. But I knew it would mean something sooner or later. Then, when the third facility was destroyed, it was the same thing. HD-66 was missing from the serum module with the area swept clean. No traces, no tracks. Another missing page. So I knew that this entire scenario somehow revolved around HD-66. But, still, I didn't know what it was. I didn't even know enough to run it past the professor because it was just numbers on a page. Its existence had been erased." Hunter stared evenly. "Sometimes by erasing tracks, Doctor, you make them more visible."
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