No, Ma’am. Not yet."
"Then shut down your baby and go eat."
"Okay." Leann kept pressing keys.
"Now, Leann! You need to relax. Jerico will still be here when you return. The tour doesn’t start until nine so I don’t expect to see you back at this desk until eight-thirty—and I’m not leaving this spot until you disappear down that corridor over there. I would suggest you don’t make me wait too long, I have things to do." Ellery gathered up the stack of notes and stepped back from the desk. Sighing, Leann put the computer on alert status, and ambled off toward the dining room. She glanced back once and waved.
Ellery strode down the hallway to her office. In the silence of the empty building, she could hear the almost inaudible whir of the surveillance lenses hidden behind the wall turning in her direction, silently reading her retinas. As long as the system remained operational, neither she nor Leann was required to use the palm print ritual to enter this office.
She glanced up then focused her attention on the unlatching door. She had exactly four seconds to enter before the door relatched. Such nonsense, she thought. Surveillance cameras to monitor hallways, dock areas, and lighthouse. Rooms wired for sound which she had long ago had Charles disconnect. Tunnels—three in all—twisting their secret way through solid rock until massive doors, wheel-locked against the bay, were reached. As a child, she had turned on lights, turned off sound, played in the tunnels, and made faces at the cameras—until Papa threatened to leave her home if she didn't behave. A prospect worse than anything she could think of. The memories brought a smile tinged with sadness to her lips. A playground built by paranoia. What was Papa Dakota so afraid of when he had it all installed? Her mother once said he'd surrounded himself with so many safeguards because he was afraid he'd gone too far with the three thousand. He had of course, yet it didn't stop him, she thought. Like a child who rips gears from a clock, searching for the tick, Papa cracked open life, destroying the very thing he sought.
"Thank God research today is conducted in a civilized manner," she muttered to herself. "If legislative controls had been in place a hundred years ago, perhaps the cloning scandals, or the womb tanks, or an abomination like the three thousand would never have occurred."
Forget the skeletons, Ellery. Who knows? A hundred years from now, someone else may be making the same kind of judgment about how we do things at Tartarus today.
Inside, Ellery laid the notes on her desk then removed her coat and hung it in a small closet beside the door, her thoughts still free-flowing. What was there about plumbing the secrets of creation that sent so many outstanding minds down aberrant paths? Wasn't it enough to accept the wonder of what was already there?
Settling down into her chair, she picked up the pages and began to read, occasionally referring to the previous days notes. At last, she drummed all the pages together, put them into a folder in her bottom desk drawer, and turned the key in the desk lock. She leaned back in her chair.
"She must think me a fool," Ellery said aloud. "Well, so be it, Doctor Raborman. So be it." Her console buzzed.
"I’m back, Doctor Jensen. His Holiness was waiting in the vestibule."
Ellery's glance flicked to the clock. Eight o'clock. He was early. "Please bring him to my office, Leann."
She strode into the anteroom and held open the security door until Raphael Munoz entered. "I apologize, Holiness. I didn't realize you were waiting," she said. "Please." She motioned towards soft, oyster white leather.
"No problem, Doctor Jensen. I had an early breakfast. Doctor Raborman came in just as I was finishing and was kind enough to keep me company over coffee." He looked around the room. His eyes widened. "Isn't that a Renoir?"
"Yes, it is," Ellery replied. "From my grandfather's estate."
"Ahhh, yes. Doctor Victor Dakota. Correct?"
Ellery nodded.
Munoz strolled to the walnut display easel standing in the corner and stroked its satin finish. "Most fitting. An antique easel for an antique painting. Are they originals?"
"Yes. Both have been in the family for many generations." A tinge of sharpness edged her voice.
"I didn't mean to offend, Doctor Jensen, but since the replicate dating process was developed, it's impossible to tell anymore. Take the Turin shroud for example. There are three in existence. Did you know that?"
"No, I didn't."
"There are. We believe Ours is the original, but then, the other two owners make the same claim for theirs. Our most sophisticated science can't identify the forgeries." He shook his head. "It's sad, really."
"Yes, it is."
"Perhaps, some day, we'll come up with a new method to determine age." He rocked gently heel-to-toe with his hands clasped behind his back as he peered at the painting. "Beautiful."
He stopped rocking. "Rare, you know. I wouldn't let them out of my sight if they were mine," he said, returning to Ellery's side. This time, he motioned her to the soft chair while he sat in the wing-back opposite. Leaning back, he clasped his hands behind his head, stretched long legs forward, and crossed his left foot over the right.
Unease flicked through Ellery's mind, disappeared. A sensuous man, she thought. She flushed. Good heavens, Ellery, he's the Bishop of Rome, for God's sake. She leaned forward. "The tour, Holiness, are you interested in anything particular?"
For a moment, he watched her discomfiture. His black eyes glittered with laughter. Like a cobra rising, he pulled his legs back, and his arms down; his torso seemed to lengthen as he straightened.
"The tour won't be necessary, Doctor Jensen. We had a most enlightening conversation last night—the other gentlemen and myself. Which brings me to my early arrival. I'm sure you are aware that funding to Tartarus has slowed considerably."
"Yes." Ellery smiled wryly. "No one likes additional taxes, Holiness, least of all the working man. Especially if they see it as unnecessary. I have heard the thunder."
He nodded. "Exactly. So let me bring you up-to-date. Your government approached the Church of Universals with a proposal We find agreeable. The Church will provide the dollars Tartarus requires. In return, the Transnationals will no longer be burdened with having to make time-consuming decisions on policy directions. That now falls under Our jurisdiction. We hold approval rights on all research, be it Transnational or otherwise, as well as royalty rights to the dollars that may be derived from preeminent discoveries."
"I see," Ellery said. "The scientist?"
"Rewarded properly, of course. Recognition as befits the discovery, lifetime security, unlimited funds to do what scientists love to do—explore all their what-ifs." He relaxed and his body seemed to shorten.
"Your goals, Holiness? What direction will the Church approvals take?" Ellery leaned back, pressed her fingers into a church steeple, and rested the two index fingers against her chin, her watchful gaze focused on his face.
"We want to start with serious research into disease elimination—life extension with healthy bodies. You also have climatologists on your staff and We would like to see some hard-line recommendations on workable ways to bring our atmosphere back into line."
"You might consider trees, Holiness," she said wryly.
"Trees?"
"Yes. Nature requires balance to function properly. You can't remove 85 percent of that balance—the trees—and expect to have everything remain status quo, regardless of how many machines you install to compensate. Our past governments tried that technique. It failed."
"Then why the organic homes?"
"Our contribution to the illusion. They will help some, but even those will not suffice for long. You need to restore balance first and then pursue safeguards."
"I see." He leaned back in his chair. "Well, I'll give that some thought. Meanwhile, We also think a few little fashion items might help. Fun things that will provide some relaxation for the minds here as well as give young people an interest in science. Things that will encourage them to be aware that technology is for everyone." A gr
in stretched his mouth. "Besides, We have kept sight of the fact that harmless fads can bring in many dollars."
Ellery's lip twitched. She remembered the time she had come home to find that Vickie had shaved her entire head except for a fringe of bangs across her forehead, and two days later bawled her eyes swollen closed because she wanted that same hair back on her head where it belonged. Ellery chuckled out loud.
"You're right about that, Holiness." She rolled her eyes upward. "Children do like the unusual at times. The rite of passage I believe it's called."
Munoz laughed comfortably. "Speaking of the unusual, Doctor Raborman was telling me about an experiment she's completed that produces coruscating eye colors. Totally reversible, I understand, when one gets tired of having friends shield their faces from the barrage of sparks."
Ellery sobered at Bianca's name.
"Doctor Raborman is a gifted scientist, Holiness, but I'm not so sure she knows how to handle that gift."
"Oh?" Munoz said.
Ellery pursed her lips. Her brows pulled together. "She is delving deep into the realm of irreversible genetic alteration, Holiness. It is but a short step from miracles to madness, and aberrant alterations are expressly forbidden by the United World Research Agreement."
"Hmmm, you're referring to the twenty-sixth amendment that was enacted because of the fiasco with the three thousand, correct?"
Ellery's eyes went wide, her pupils dilated. "I don't believe that particular horror was ever laid before the public, much less aired as the primary reason for the amendment. How did you know?
Munoz rose from his chair without effort. "The Church has been around for hundreds of years, Doctor Jensen. We have records on many things, among them the Dakota saga. The forced insemination of three thousand young women with Victor Dakota's enhanced zygotes was covered up by governments everywhere. It seems no one wanted to step forward and admit that they had demanded their share of the Dakota super minds. After all, such predictive accuracy can be useful in many situations. We have a complete record of the experiment as well as the disastrous results." He rocked gently, hands clasped behind his back. "No, Doctor Jensen, such a failure won't happen again. It will be your job to make certain of that."
"My job?" Ellery felt the color drain from her face, felt it return with a flush of heat as she struggled to keep her composure.
Munoz nodded. "Doctor Raborman shared some of her thoughts with me last night on her current research. Which, by the way, sounds promising now that I understand the concept a little better. It has potential to go out of bounds of course, but it also has potential to produce some extraordinary medical benefits."
"But—"
"No buts, Doctor Jensen, unless you have proof of illegal research. In that case—" His words chopped off as he stared at her. "Do you?"
"No." Ellery looked down at her lap. "Except her notes and her result summaries don't match. The procedures outlined in Bianca's initial reports are too complicated for mere beauty patches of scaled flesh, or clawed fingernails, or fluorescent eye colors—the reversibles. The DNA carried by her vector virus is too sophisticated, too adept at vitalizing the primary undifferentiated cells. Bianca has gone much further than mere cosmetic enhancements. I'm sure of it. Furthermore, there's the—" Ellery's voice trailed to silence. She spread her hands, palms up. Best to leave that secret lab exactly that—secret. It might be empty now, but it wouldn't stay that way long; she would get her proof.
Munoz stood still. "Furthermore there's what?" His eyes clouded.
"I started to say and then there's the summaries, but I realized I was repeating myself."
His melodious laughter resounded through the room. "Notes mean nothing, Doctor Jensen. It's the results that count. You, of all people, know that. Doctor Raborman has an outstanding future with Tartarus if her energies are funneled in the right direction. You will be Our watchdog. I don't want her creativity stifled but neither do I want it corrupted. Humor me on this, Doctor. I feel it's only fair that We get what We're paying for or We would be foolish to do so." His smile fell short of reaching his eyes. "Agreed?" He extended his hand.
She did not miss the veiled threat of funding cutoffs. Such an action would cripple the Foundation; she could not allow that. The scientists at Tartarus had worked too hard to make life easier for the many. She would not let their dedication come to naught.
"Agreed," Ellery said calmly, reaching for his hand. Until I find what I know is there, she thought.
An alarm shrieked through the building.
"Oh my God." Her hand dropped. "Fire!" Ellery whirled, ran to the door, and jerked it open. She raced down the hall with Munoz beside her. Leann stood in the middle of the vestibule, hands to her mouth.
"Construction, Doctor Jensen," she yelled.
Ellery charged down the corridor, turned left, and ran out a side exit door. The cobbled expanse between the main building and the maintenance building was filled with personnel. From the roof of the maintenance building, thick, black smoke laced with crackling flames boiled upward.
She shuddered to a stop next to a brown-uniformed man, on his shirt the maintenance insignia. Grabbing his arm, she spun him around.
"Torrel, the pumps!" she screamed. "Why haven't you started the pumps?"
The man stared at her with blank and lashless eyes. Across his cheek, a zigzag patch of blackened skin had already blistered.
"The pumps?" she screamed again.
He mouthed without sound.
"Where are they?" Munoz grabbed her shoulder.
"Follow me," Ellery gasped. "Get Torrel to a medic," she shouted to a bystander as she sprinted toward the far end of the building where two massive, black motors stood silent like great dumb beasts.
"Get back," Munoz yelled to the milling staff. "This isn't an amusement park." They obediently pressed up against the walls of the main building.
Tapping men on the shoulders, he jerked his thumb to the nozzles attached to the pumps. "Grab and hold on. When that water comes through, you're going to know it. If you don't grab, you're out of a job at Tartarus."
Men leaped to obey and Munoz dashed to the pumps. Ellery lay on her back, her arms and head thrust under one of the silent beasts.
"Now. Punch it," she said. Arms and face slick with organic slime, she rolled her body away from the coughing motor and jumped to her feet.
With a soughing hiss, both machines burst into life, pulling sea water up long black tubes, thrusting it up the line where men stood braced.
Ellery wiped her hands on her skirt. Frowning, she turned to Munoz. "Looks like some damn fool tried to feed the gears and activated the protect override on the simul-arc command," she said. "Without the arc jump, neither motor could start. It isn't like Charles not to have rechecked that."
She turned to stare at the spraying water. "We'll never save that building, but we won't lose anymore." She headed up the line, directing the men to spray the surrounding buildings and yelling at those pressed against the walls. "Either help, get inside, or get a water drubbing. Your choice." Men and women scattered.
In the distance, Ellery heard the wail of sirens coming across the bay. The fireboats were on the way—too late to save her building.
Two hours later, with blackened rubble standing in place of a maintenance building, and two charred bodies stowed in a fireboat that was on its way back across the bay, Ellery punched the "report" button. Chimes resounded through twelve cream colored buildings. Every staff member knew what that sound meant—collect in the main lobby.
Eyes wet with tears, Ellery addressed the assemblage. "We lost a building which can be rebuilt. We lost two friends who cannot—Martin Abelso and Charles Lakeland. Ellery looked down, her mouth working. "However it started, it was fast and hot. That will be under full investigation. If anyone here saw anything, or heard anything that seemed out of order, please come forward with your statement. Each of you will be questioned separately by the Federal Bureau of Fire Investigation within the n
ext few days. I'll be in my office if anyone would like to speak with me. That's all." She turned to leave and saw Bianca leaning against Leann's desk.
"Did you want something, Bianca?"
The woman shoved away from the desk. "I was just thinking, Ellery. All of the construction records—weren't they stored in Lakeland's office?"
"Mr. Lakeland, Bianca. Yes they were."
"You do have copies, though. Right?"
Ellery shook her head. "I never felt a need to have duplicates. I always had Charles."
"That's a real shame, Ellery. A real shame," Bianca said, her tone flat. "How will you ever know what's been done where?" Bianca whirled and started down an intersecting corridor.
Ellery thought she saw a smile flit across the olive face. Her eyes followed the scientist's back until she disappeared around a corner. Enjoy these halls while you can, Doctor, she thought. I can’t get you removed from this establishment until I can prove your guilt, but I’ll get that proof. Sooner or later, you will make a mistake. Greedy people always do. She twisted on her heel and headed for the ladies lavatory. She needed to scrub away the smell of death.
Three hours later, His Holiness and entourage boarded the Pelican, and Ellery—numbed by the day's events—sat exhausted in her office. She watched shadows gather in the corners of the room oblivious to their gradual disappearance as darkness fell. Twenty years of memories played their tune in her head.
All these years we shared the secrets of Tartarus, she thought. He was my friend, my confidant when Clint died, and now he's gone. Charles is gone. "What happened in that building? What happened?" she said through clenched teeth. Her ears strained as if expecting an answer from the silent room.
A sliver of light danced across her desk. Startled, Ellery whirled toward the window. The edge of a full moon glowed against the darkness; a full moon visible at this time of year was a rarity. She stood, stretched her arms high to pull the tiredness from her aching back, and strode to the window.
The night sky sparkled with stars. In the moon's silver rays, Concentration Point looked like a winter fairyland. Ellery inhaled deeply. It's as if nature knew I needed this breathing space, she thought. From the corner of her eye she caught a shadow creeping from the edge of the building and instinctively stepped to the side of the window. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. Someone was out there in her garden. Her eyes flicked to the muted blue of the wall clock. Ten-thirty. I didn't realize it was so late, she thought with surprise. Everyone should be gone by now—or in quarters, including me. Who could be creeping around at this time of night? And why?
Shadows in the House With Twelve Rooms Page 13