He smiled weakly at her.
"Are you scared?" she asked quietly.
Sabre shrugged. "No, I'm bored."
Justine stood up. "I'll bring you some books from the training facility. Mr. Vermeer is coming to check on you soon, okay?"
"Okay."
Justine slipped out of the room.
__
Dominic stopped by Saber's solitary dormitory to read through Justine's morning examination. Saber and Justine exchanged glances, and the MFP gave him a slight nod. Justine had relayed the plans like she said she would.
He made a loop through production on his way back to the airlock. He paused to let a single file line of MFPs walk past, guided by two grey-garbed operators, and followed by two armed guards. Dominic turned and watched them disappear through the blue roll-up door into the warehouse. They were ready for shipping.
Dominic sighed.
He turned, but before he got three steps away, he heard a yell. He paused. Another yell. Dominic walked up to the door and peered through the plastic window. He saw rows of MFPs standing in front of the shipping dock, and then he saw an operator run past, followed by a guard. Dominic pressed the button, and the door whooshed up.
Two of the MFPs glanced his way, then straight ahead. Their faces were tightly controlled. He caught a glimpse of Caspian-issue shoes and grey pants—two operators knelt just beyond the assembled MFPs. Dominic slipped past them.
An MFP lay sprawled on the ground with blood splattered around his head. One eye was wide open, and the other was swelling shut. Crimson blood streaked down his cheek toward the concrete.
A guard stood over them, his gun still clutched in both hands.
"What the hell?" Dominic sprung toward them and pushed the operators aside. He shoved his face in front of one of the operators, a young man with a pale baby-face. "What happened?" He jerked around to look at the guard. "You?"
"I - he was -"
"He did nothing," the op said, "The MFP did nothing."
Dominic turned on the guard. "Do you have any idea how much this product is worth? Any idea at all?"
"You should have seen the look in his eyes, Sir. He was going to..." The guard's eyes flicked between the operator's faces and Dominic's eyes. "No."
"Has your supervisor been called?" Dominic's mind spun. There was no way the MFP would live through the morning inside Caspian, but if he was brought to the hospital he could easily be treated.
"That would be me." A slight man in a blue hairnet pushed the guard aside.
"The product is reject. I'll take him. Make sure I get the paperwork." Dominic slid his hand behind the MFP's neck. Warm blood smeared against his fingers. "Easy," he whispered to the MFP. "Easy. It's okay. We'll take care of you."
The guard snorted. Dominic swallowed his burst of anger and said softly to the MFP, "I'm going to help you sit up." He stabilized the MFP's head with one hand, and motioned to the baby-faced op with the other. The young man eased the MFP into a sitting position, and then helped him stand on shaky legs. "Help me walk him. We'll take him to one of the solitaries until I can get the order." Stall, in other words.
Damn it! How the heck would he get this bloodied MFP from the facility?
__
Khalia dropped her bag and coffee cup on the desk and turned slowly, taking in the lab—the green-white fluorescent light, the faint chemical smell that circulated around the whole lab, and Jennifer’s shrill voice clear as day even though she was all the way across the lab complex.
Barjinder stood up from his desk. “Welcome back, Khalia.”
She smiled weakly at him. “Thanks, Barjinder.” She glanced at Dominic’s desk. By the half-full coffee cup and the open laptop, he was here.
“Dominic is just on the floor. He just called in, saying he was needed for a last minute rejection.” Barjinder walked around the desk. “How are you feeling?”
Rejection? She wanted to tell Barjinder ‘he’s going to steal it’, but she couldn’t form the words. Instead she said, “Not too bad. Normal, more or less.”
“Good. Good. We were all very worried.”
I’ll bet. Oh, she didn’t doubt Barjinder was worried. He was a good guy. But Jennifer? Meena? Adam? Like hell they were.
Khalia sighed and sat down. “Let me guess. I have a lot of reading to do?”
“Yes.” Barjinder grabbed two folders of paper from his desk and handed them to her. “I think Dominic sent you the condensed version of these, but here is the detailed reports. We have the recipe for the next prototype nearly compiled, but we’re awaiting your assessment.”
“Okay, then I better get reading.” Khalia passed her hand over her eyes and settled in her chair.
Half an hour later, Dominic sauntered into the lab and dropped a mug of coffee in front of her—just like old times. There was nothing about him that was out of the ordinary—same immaculate dress under his lab-coat, same calm expression, and same coffee as every morning.
Just think. Two weeks ago this was the way it was.
I guess it still is, and I’m the messed up one.
“Thanks,” she said, because that was what she had always said. “I’m just getting into these reports. What was the rejection?”
“Officially, he fell down the stairs on the way to the training facility and bashed his head open.”
“What?” The file dropped out of her arm.
Across the room, Barjinder hadn’t even looked up. This was old news to him, apparently.
Dominic lowered his voice. “One of the guards beat him with the butt of his gun. Apparently he looked at him funny."
She had to know. “So, did you…?”
“He was rejected because of his injuries." Dominic’s jaw clenched hard, but his gaze remained impassive. “The guard will be disciplined for destroying company property.”
She looked sharply at him. You’re making this up, you bastard. What really happened to him?
“The guards are a bit on edge these days.” Dominic dropped into his seat and sipped his coffee. He slipped his phone out of his pocket and set it beside the computer. “But there hasn’t been even a hint of rebellion. MFP1 isn't MFP2.”
As Dominic turned back to his computer, a muffled siren sounded.
Khalia cranked her head around, but nothing could be seen through the lab door. Wait a second. She looked back at Dominic just in time to see his lip curl.
She leaned in and hissed: “What the hell, Dominic?"
Dominic glanced at Barjinder’s desk, but it was empty. “Khalia, please.” He lowered his voice. “One of the ladies in the manufacturing office has food poisoning. Didn't you hear it on the radio?”
Tell me you didn't poison her just to get an MFP out of here. She turned back to her sheaf of papers and turned the page. “Fine."
“Thank you,” he breathed. Barjinder walked back in, and they both put their heads down.
__
Casey sat in the driver seat of Dominic’s Mercedes, stroking the edge of the leather seat in tight circles. His eyes never left the emergency room door of Sector 514 General Hospital, waiting for Sebastian to emerge.
Sebastian and he had been about to leave for the woods when the apartment phone had jangled—something it rarely did, and Dominic had been on the other end.
“How fast can you get to Caspian?” he had said in a soft voice, without announcing who he was.
“About forty-five minutes,” Casey said. He motioned to Sebastian to put on his boots. “What do you need?”
“An unscheduled rejection. I’m going to leave my keys in my car with my I.D. I need Sebastian to be me.”
“Be more specific.” Casey gripped the receiver.
“An ambulance will come to pick up one of the workers here. Justine will get the injured MFP into the ambulance. Follow the ambulance to the hospital in my car, and go in and pick up the MFP. Sebastian can use my I.D, otherwise they won’t even let you into the hospital. He'll pass as me, I'm pretty sure.” He'd paused and sighed
. “Casey, it’s not much of a plan, so if you don’t want to…”
His mind's eyes skittered from the walls of Caspian to the hospital and everything in between. He turned to look at Sebastian.
"Seb?" he whispered.
Sebastian nodded. “I’ll do it.”
Casey's heart sank. "We'll do it."
Casey knew how to drive, but all he’d ever driven was a farm truck. The Mercedes was something different entirely. "Just tell it where to go," Dominic had said. Casey's hand had remained, white-knuckled, on the steering wheel as the car drove itself to the hospital. If he hadn’t been ready to throw up, he would have enjoyed it.
He eyed the clock. Sebastian had been gone fifteen minutes.
You can’t go in there.
No. No, he couldn’t, and it was killing him.
He’s young. He’s never done anything like this. He’s never even been in a hospital.
The automatic doors of the hospital slid open. Casey straightened. He caught sight of Sebastian’s dark head, and two grey-uniformed men.
Oh, dear Jesus.
For an instant he thought about driving away and saving himself.
No. No, I can’t.
Then he saw Sebastian point toward the car. The three men rounded the corner of a silver sedan, and Casey realized that one of the men in grey was pushing a wheelchair, and the other was carrying a bag.
Sebastian opened the back, passenger side door, and the orderlies assisted the injured man into the back seat. “Thank you,” Sebastian said.
“Not at all, Mr. Vermeer.” With that, they turned and pushed the wheelchair toward the door.
Sebastian got into the passenger seat. As soon as the door shut, he blew out a long breath and sagged. “Good thing Dominic keeps a lot of cash in his wallet, because I’m not sure if I could have figured out the credit cards. I hope he doesn’t mind.”
“Sebastian, he sure as hell better not mind!” Casey grabbed his arm. “What, you had to pay?”
“And fill out a lot of paperwork, but I got all the information off his identification.” Sebastian rubbed his hand together and blew on them before pressing one to his chest. “Oh dear God, I can’t believe it.”
"I sure am glad you are a smart man." Casey reached to start the car and announced to the car where they were going. It rolled slowly from the parking space. A wheel crunched over some lump of snow, and Sebastian jumped.
“S’all right, little brother,” Casey said. His pounding heart hadn’t slowed, though. He glanced back at the MFP in the back seat. The man’s head was swathed in white bandages, and he had lolled over onto the headrest. But he was out, not rejected.
The rolled up to a stop light, and the car stopped itself. Casey laughed. "You're going to drive one of these someday, Sebastian."
"I don't... think so." Sebastian chuckled, but his hands clutched at the seat.
"Yeah, when you're a doctor." Casey glanced over and saw Sebastian's tight jaw. His own throat constricted. He didn't want to think that far into the future. Sufficient for the day was the danger therein.
__
"Dominic."
Dom paused in unzipping his jacket and looked up. Khalia stood beside her desk, her fingers entwined in the hem of her sweater, lab coat tossed over her arm. Her brow was furrowed.
"Dominic," she said in a low voice, "I need to talk to you."
Dom laid his jacket over the back of his chair. Despite the warm, spring-like air outside, he felt suddenly cold. "Yes?"
She glanced past him. "Adam is just out there, and I don't want him to hear this. Sit down."
Dominic sat, and she slipped into her seat beside his. She ducked her head and spoke under her breath. "I was called in early today because Adam wanted to talk to the rest of us before you got here."
Dominic swallowed, but said nothing.
"He said that you are connected to Jacques Chassagne."
"That's true," Dominic whispered, "He was my uncle's friend—my uncle raised me. Why?"
"Because," she bit her lip, "because he is starting his own MFP facility in China, so... so they're concerned you may be secretly in league with him."
Dominic opened his mouth, but she cut him off, "I know—" she glanced over her shoulder again, "I know that you're stealing MFPs, and I just wanted to know if they are for him, because if they are, then I have to do something about it."
"No," Dominic said, "No, I'm not stealing them for him, I swear. I just don't want them to be harmed. They aren't for him."
She frowned down at her lap, not asking the obvious question—but are you working for him?
An hour later, Dominic was discussing the final prototype summaries with Khalia. A last minute press conference to tell the representatives about the proposed changes had been ordered, and they were finalizing their plan. Dominic was to head the conference this time. It was scheduled for Friday morning, the same day that 202 was to be rejected.
As Dominic turned the page, Adam came to the door and waved him over.
“I’ll be right back,” Dominic said.
Khalia's eyes flickered nervously and remained fixed on the papers.
“At my desk.” Adam turned and let him pass by, and then walked behind him all the way to the desk, like he was a condemned criminal.
He doesn’t know anything. Play him like a stringed instrument. You know you can.
Dominic sat across from Adam and felt a deadly calm settle over him.
“We got a bit of a strange report,” Adam said. He leaned back in his chair—the sort that allowed him to tip way back—and looked at Dominic under his eyelashes. “Miss Oliver—that being the chick who left by ambulance on Monday—she said that there was another person in the ambulance with her—an operator with a head injury.”
Dominic narrowed his eyes. “All…right. What are you saying?”
“There’s no incident report.”
“So no incident report was filed. Why are you asking me about this?” Sloppy! Sloppy work on his part.
“Because according to the hospital report, you picked up said operator at about 12:15 from Sector 514 General Hospital.”
“That’s ridiculous.” Dominic did his best to look insulted and alarmed. “I was here at 12:15. I was on the floor. How can I have picked him up?”
Adam pushed a paper toward him, bearing a photocopy of his ID and an invoice stating that he, Dominic Vermeer, had paid for the ambulance and hospitalization of one patient, unnamed. “That’s you, isn’t it?”
Dominic leaned in. “Oh my. That is me. That’s impossible, Adam. I was here. You can check my key swipe records—the cameras, whatever. Someone has—I don’t know—stolen my identity." He slapped at his pockets, as if expecting to find his wallet, or something.
Adam stared at him. “All right. I will check.”
“You have to believe me. I was here!” Dominic injected as much sincerity and fear into his voice as he could. “I need to make a police report, or a report with the identity issuance commission. I don’t know how this could have happened.”
“Well, make your report now, then, and talk to your bank also. Bastards will be draining you dry, if they haven’t already.” Adam leaned in and said in a low voice, "Dominic, don't bullshit me. I know about Chassagne."
"Chassagne?" Dominic drew back, "What are you talking about?"
"Jacques Chassagne. Don't deny you know him."
"Yes, I know him, he was my uncle's friend. I went to school with his son." He blew out a heavy sigh. "This is because of the MFP plant in China. I knew someone would bring it up. I don't know anything about it, I swear. I'm insulted that you'd ask."
"Oh, so management is just supposed to ignore that little connection. Why they hired you is beyond me."
"The relationship between me and the Chassagne family is hardly friendly. Just ask Andre Chassagne."
Adam sneered. "Money tends to smooth over those things."
A wave of disgust washed over him. It wasn't money, it was fear of de
ath. It was time he got over that fear. "Maybe for you, Adam. Maybe for you." He lifted his chin. "What evidence do you have on me, besides this supposed trip to the hospital? Look at the videos, the tracking chip in my card, my computer. You tell me if I did anything wrong." He stood up so swiftly that the flimsy chair toppled, and rattled against the ground. "May I go?"
Adam didn't meet his eyes. "All right."
Adam would find that he was, indeed, in the building at 12:15. It didn't take a card to get out of the building.
"Are you in trouble?" Khalia looked up from her computer as she passed.
"It was as you suspected." Dominic sat down and rubbed his chin and feigned weariness, though truly he felt sick. "But there is nothing for him to find, so let him look."
"Listen," she lowered her voice and leaned close, "I don't care if you steal my MPs once we're through with them. They're reject anyway. But I beg you not to throw this project. I don't have anything else, and I need you to work with me. I need..." She looked up. Her big brown eyes filled with tears. "I need you to be my ally, Dominic, even if we cannot be friends, or..."
If she'd meant to manipulate him, her tears were the perfect strategy. They pierced him to the core. He said what he could not promise - "I will not sabotage the project." He reached to touch her hand, but she jerked it away.
"Dom," she breathed, "Be careful, please. No one knows better than I do what Caspian will do if crossed. Chassagne better watch his back."
Chassagne would have to watch his own back. Dom would be occupied with his own.
Thirty minutes later, one of the IT guys came and took his laptop and his phone and two people from human resources escorted him to an office where they grilled him for two hours. Dom stuck to his story: Chassagne was his uncle's friend and parishioner. He'd gone to school with Andre Chassagne, but they were not friends.
Had Chassagne paid for his aptitude testing? His schooling?
His uncle had paid.
Had Chassagne consulted him about the MFP project or approached him to hire him for the facility?
No, and Dominic wouldn't work for him if he did.
Then they sent him home and told him to wait for a call before he returned. They were postponing the press conference. They were even postponing the rejection. Had Khalia done that for him? Who knew.
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