by Ben English
Moving downslope from the towerless hill, he noted two patrols moving below. They carried lights and rode fast—all-terrain vehicles? Jeeps? Satellite surveillance didn’t show a large motor pool building at the main compound, so that meant the guards’ vehicles were kept at the runway, in a hanger. An armed response by Raines’ security team would therefore be on foot at first, until they had time to retrieve their faster transportation. He filed that bit of info away for later.
Felt good to have the sea behind him.
It was one of those perfect Caribbean nights when the light hangs in the air just so—a factor of the lower latitudes, he supposed—and the moon had already set. The underbrush was light, allowing for a run, loose and easy. He’d spent his childhood at the very edge of a deep, old forest, and it pleased him that while the names of the trees were different and the species of undergrowth (almost literally) poles apart, the patterns of the night and the forest remained unchanged. He ran. It was as easy as it had been as a child, long ago. Seemed a hundred years if it was a day.
The sensors were mounted well back from the edge of the tide, at the treeline, where the jungle gave way to sand. The two he could see had slanted aluminum roofs to prevent damage from falling coconuts and sloughed palm fronds. Thick cables fell from the back of each box and vanished into the sand—no doubt each sensor pack also had a wireless connection to the compound and an internal battery. The first sensor would have to be destroyed quickly, before the second had sufficient time to turn its array of lenses and detection equipment around far enough to observe the cause of the damage.
Alonzo was riding a fine line, he thought, imagining that he heard the engine of a helicopter above the hiss and roar of the surf. He looked out into the night, but Alonzo would have turned the navigational lights off, and the clouds fully blocked the stars.
The storm was roaring in. They were all riding a fine line.
The sensors were built to withstand the elements. Each rested on a carbon-fiber tripod, and was further anchored by three long, tight chains which terminated in a mechanized winch-and-pulley system under the main box. Remembering the treacherous clamber up the cliff face, he had an idea.
Would have to be careful not to damage the cables or the tripod base when he disabled the sensor. He looked down the beach at the next sensor box, judging the distance. Wondered if he could run fast enough to reach it before it turned to investigate the loss of its brother.
It was time to blind the giant.
The Falcon and the Falconer
“I can’t wait to show you. You’re going to love this, Mercedes, just love it.”
Soft, colorless light lingered in the air above the trees. Raines’ voice held a note of guarded delight as they approached the source of the glow. The slope gradually leveled.
She had no trouble finding her way, or keeping up with his long-legged stride. The path they followed through the trees was lined by softly glowing coral pebbles, green, pink and blue. No vegetation grew on the cobbled path. The interlacing jumble of the tropical forest seemed to hold back.
More conventional mercury vapor lights appeared. Abruptly the jungle gave way to a manicured lawn and a series of modern structures behind an old, mortared wall. The wall looked as old as the island itself, and the building beyond—well, these were obviously what she’d glimpsed before the plane touched the runway.
The other passengers trailed behind them at some distance. She and Raines had gradually outpaced them, leaving behind all the guards. Raines apparently didn’t fear her in the least, or feel the need for an escort.
She did her best to mirror his friendliness, though she doubted her ability to display the same poise. “It’s always impressed me, Aleks. All you’ve done with the work that you and my Mom and Dad started.”
Raines glowed. “It was your father, it was his dreams that pushed me. Here, have a look at this place. This facility—a large part of it—functions as a collection station for indigenous cures. ”
The grounds beyond the wall were lush, cultivated. Subdued lighting from cunningly hidden sources in the earth cast green shadows upwards into the night. Overlapping gardens divided the areas between the buildings.
Here and there, small groups of workers dressed in lab coats and overalls with nametags gathered plants, meticulously placing them in perforated cases before carrying them toward what looked like a reinforced greenhouse.
“Gathering them against the storm,” said Raines. “Those are some of the more delicate species we’re working with. You should see how they grow in this soil.” He pointed out the different buildings dedicated to botany and horticulture. These were new structures, but care had been taken to give them the same overall appearance as the older parts of the compound. Same red tile roof, same steeply pitched gables and large windows. At the highest points of each building, soaring finials graced the apex, pointing heavenward.
“Seems to be quite a few people,” she said.
Here and there she spotted armed guards dressed in a variety of military garb, wearing fatigues in various designs and styles. She knew a mercenary army when she saw one.
There was a second set of personnel, they seemed to be in charge of the others. They wore what Mercedes could only describe as ‘business tropical’; slightly oversized, flowing shirts embroidered with the corporate logo on breast and shoulder. Though the clothes varied in color and comfort, there was a uniformity to the people themselves.
“We do much work here, believe it or not,” Raines said. “This is only one of our research stations, but we process most of the pure research from the labs here.” He smiled at her. “We try to make sense of the data before pushing it out via satellite to the different applied science divisions.”
She’d noticed the numerous satellite dishes on each roof. One building had the most antennae and uplink masts of any; Raines led the way toward it.
“Do you remember when I used to help you with your physics homework?” he asked.
“That was the year you were taking Italian,” she replied. “You didn’t fail, thanks to Mom and me.” He had been a spare, gawking young man. Like the Pumpkin King from the Tim Burton movie, all head and long, thin hands.
“I received an A, thank you very much.” He switched languages, not missing a beat. “Italian classes are difficult at Stanford. And you know,” he paused at the steps leading up and in, “Ever since then, I try to hire tutors rather than translators.” He switched back to English. “Do you still like history? I recall your parents never really understood why you enjoyed the social sciences more than honest—”
“—Honest, hard lab work, clean hands.” she finished, and he laughed. It was one of her father’s lines.
“The island has had people on it a long time,” he said. “It was supposedly a pirate holdout off and on, then became an estate. The volcano you see at the top of the island hasn’t erupted in years. These buildings,” he gestured around them, “were used as a casino and a resort, then the U.S. military took over for a number of years. You’ll like the main house. We even had several photographers out after the last renovation; they put a coffee table book together about the architecture.” His voice trailed off. “I’m boring you.”
“Not at all,” she said. “I’d like to see their work.”
“You should see some of the pictures they made of this place. The master’s quarters are beyond description. ‘Opulent’ is how the book describes it. The entire wing was built during the early Castro years as a reward for one of Fidel’s cronies. He didn’t even use Cuba’s money, but funds funneled sideways from the Soviet allowance.”
“And now it’s yours.”
“I bought it from the Cuban government years ago. Restored the grounds. Now we use it to house virologists, anthropologists, and research scientists.”
The main house was enormous. One part Hearst Castle, two parts Star Trek, and three parts . . . Hearst Castle again. All the power lines seemed to be underground.
She fou
nd herself memorizing details without really knowing why. Escape, perhaps. The gardens were beautiful, even as the wind continued to tear the petals from the blossoms, a fistful at a time.
Finally she thought of something to say. “I’ll bet it didn’t look this good when you first got here.”
“One of the things I learned from your father, Mercedes. Nature is wasteful at its core. So much potential energy goes unused. Most of the world’s engines—natural and man-made alike—rely on simple chemical and electrical processes to generate and control energy. Take the human process, for instance. Metabolic reactions, breaking down food for its nutrients, proteins, and stored energy. Pathetic. It’s a wonder we even exist, considering how inefficiently we use energy. Shuffling it around from one set of sugars and alcohols to another.” His satisfaction and joy at sharing this with her was nearly a physical thing.
“Your father’s work led me toward the solution, Mercedes. When we look past the level of the human cell and take a look at the molecular and subatomic level, that’s where real power is. In the strong nuclear bonds which hold the physical world together. Why, each and every humble atom floats suspended in a sea of clean energy, almost all of it unused. Never reaching its potential.”
His voice changed slightly, taking on a hint of her father’s timbre. “’In a single cubic meter of tap water lies dormant sufficient energy . . .”
She remembered. “... To raise all the oceans of the earth past the boiling point. But potential, if it remains dormant—”
“—is nothing,’” he finished. “Your father had some great lines. He gave that at the commencement speech when I graduated.”
Mercedes remembered her father, crisp and vivid, practicing that speech every morning for a week as he shaved and made faces at her through the bathroom mirror.
Her mind on energy, another thought occurred. “Is that what you were doing last week in London? Raising things to their proper potential?”
Raines blinked. For the first time since they’d struck up their conversation, his annoyance surfaced. “Jack Flynn told you that.” He sighed. “I suppose it’s to be expected. You’ve put your faith in a man unworthy of you. Your parents would be disappointed.” He said it matter-of-factly, but his tone was unmistakably sad. Forlorn, with a dash of pity.
Raines withdrew a small computer from an inner pocket, and tapped the screen. “George, send me the file on Jack Flynn. Better yet, bring it to the lobby yourself. I have a surprise for you.” He gave her a cheerless smile and gestured towards the front door. Then a thought seemed to occur to him, and he paused, inches from her face.
“Remember how I mentioned that this place is dedicated to researching native cures and health benefits? I think I can do it, Mercedes. More than just . . . I can probably even fix what killed your parents.” He met her eyes, triumphant.
She wasn’t sure how to respond to that.
The gusts of wind grew strong enough to test them both as they pulled the large glass door open. Raines held the door for her, then turned back to address the passengers from the plane, most of whom had already straggled into the courtyard.
The doors shut behind her without a whisper, cleanly killing the sound of the rising wind. Mercedes stepped through another set of glass panels into the lobby, and entered a photographer’s Eden. The room was gorgeous. A combination of deft artistry and minimalist style. The floor and walls were teak and rosewood, and every angle and point served to draw the eye toward the artwork in the center of the back wall, a bas relief sculpture of the Raines corporate icon, the famous falconer and hunting bird. It was done in brass and steel, and showed more detail than the two dimensional logos she’d seen everywhere else. A double stairway spiraled up around the sculpture, winding like a double helix toward a second and third floor.
Several possible photographs immediately suggested themselves to her. She couldn’t help it.
A curved desk for a receptionist stood to one side, but at this hour the lobby was empty. Multiple arches led to brightly-lit hallways, but her attention was pulled toward the burnished metal plaque at the base of the statue, and the verses graven there.
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the center cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand.
Assuming she remembered correctly, there was more to William Butler Yeats’ The Second Coming, but Raines hadn’t seen fit to include it.
He still addressed the small crowd.
Mercedes stepped closer to the statue, for the first time noticing the fatigue and defeat in the posture of the man. Even his shoes were shabby.
She heard a step on the staircase above, and looked up to find George Marduk, another one of her father’s assistants, gaping at her like a startled fish. Marduk twitched, dropping a computer which bounced and clattered down the entire curve of the stairs to land at her feet.
Swearing to himself in amazement, Marduk skittered after it, his eyes never leaving her face. When Mercedes handed him the computer, he nearly dropped it again. He attempted to swallow, and finally managed to blink, hard.
“Hi George,” she said, patting him on the hand. The computer seemed to be okay.
Marduk flinched at her touch, but didn’t flee. “Mercedes,” he nodded, slowly. “That was you, on the plane? Miklos said he brought some—that was you?”
“You look the same,” she said, but it really wasn’t true. He’d aged, in the eyes and expression. Physically he was much the same—more patches of his hair had gone prematurely white—but behind his eyes he looked—well, small. Contracted would be a better word, much like the statue of the falconer, recoiling under the power of the leaping falcon.
“Thanks,” he said, finding more of his voice. “You’ve, ah, gotten better. If that were possible. How did you get on the plane? You weren’t on the flight records.”
The doors moved behind her, and Raines said, “George forgets sometimes how things can go our way. Synchronicity. I wasn’t at all surprised to see you. The universe can be tremendously helpful.”
He joined them at the foot of the shining, melancholy statue.
“You and George Marduk are the only ones alive on the planet who can even come close to understanding what’s going to happen today. Everyone else, even the engineers working on their pieces of the project, they can only see their portion. Had to do it that way, for safety’s sake. But you two . . .” His hands found their shoulders. “It just fits that you’d both be here. It’s the way things are supposed to be.”
“What did you say about . . . fixing my parents?”
“Let me show you.” Raines led the way down one of the wide halls, passing several doors. Mercedes caught glimpses of technicians and others in lab coats in the rooms they passed. In answer to her unspoken question, Raines said, “We run in four shifts of six hours apiece here.”
He eyed her blue jeans and blouse. “Are you comfortable in those clothes? I can have something else made for you. Anything you want. Won’t take but a few minutes. Here we are.”
They entered a room with windows on three sides, looking down on other laboratories full of workers. An electron microscope sat in a corner, along with other instruments. An operating table stood in the center of the room, under hard lights. Its sheets were almost too white to look upon.
A computer readout played on a large screen above the operating table. Mercedes couldn’t make sense of most of it, but the screen seemed to display the vital signs of an adult. She looked through each of the windows, but only saw workers testing samples of various tissues. No operations currently in progress.
She didn’t look directly at the bone-white g
urney. Something about it made her skin crawl.
Raines cleared his throat. “It’s part of the human condition, I suppose. We’re all in flux. Changing constantly, never faithful to a single design. Finding cures is difficult, Mercedes.
“A person’s immune system evolves continuously. There is no one single medicine or even genetic therapy scheme which heals everyone equally. Healing everybody is a big idea. George and I have always had luck thinking big first, and then thinking little. Really, really little.”
He stepped to a sealed container and input a code on a keypad. The container opened, revealing a set of syringes identical to the one she’d been injected with on the plane. She involuntarily touched her neck, but found Raines’ hand there already.
“May I?” He pulled her collar back a few degrees and peered closely at her skin. “I don’t imagine Miklos was very gentle with the needle.”
The syringe had been a violation. Her memory tinged as an echo of the pain from the injection passed through her. She’d had enough experience with needles to know the man’s roughness would result in a scar. Raines was another matter. Aside from the light pressure of his hands on her body, Mercedes felt nothing from Raines. Not warmth nor coolness. He cast no shadow of body temperature.
Marduk held a mirror at shoulder height. She angled it to look at the area Raines probed. There was no mark whatsoever on her skin.
Raines smiled at her surprise. “You’re seeing the baseline effect of the devices. They’re small, Mercedes. Tiny, measured on a nanoscale. They’re designed to customize themselves to their host.”
She remembered something one of Jack’s team had said (It seemed like weeks ago, rather than a few hours), “Nanodevices, released by microcapsule into the bloodstream.”
“That’s right. Because each person is unique, the first thing the devices do when they’re activated is to learn the particular genetic pattern of their host. That takes a few seconds.”