Refraction

by Christopher Hinz

The insider pushed a button and the door slid open.

  The Marine on duty in the Security vestibule was on his feet, futilely trying to reach the main station on ground level on his landline phone. But the virus had taken out local telecom access as well.

  Héloise faked a terrified expression and lunged through the door. Michael heard her panicked screams. It was just as they’d planned.

  “Chet, run! It’s come alive!”

  That was Michael’s cue. He slipped through after her. The young Marine took one look at his hazy demonic figure with its glowing blood vessels and dropped the phone. He tore off down the corridor on Héloise’s tail.

  She reached the far doors, whirled to face him.

  “Chet, shoot it!”

  The Marine recovered his poise. Whipping out his sidearm, he turned and took aim at the slowly approaching monstrosity.

  “Stop or I’ll fire!” he warned.

  Michael ignored the warning and kept coming.

  The Marine fired. Five bullets went through Michael’s vaporous chest, ricocheted off the anteroom door behind him.

  Chet froze, astonished his gunfire was having no effect. Héloise took the opportunity to jab the hypodermic needle into the side of his neck.

  The anesthetic was fast-acting. Chet didn’t even have a chance to make a grab at the needle. He crumbled to the floor, unconscious before he hit.

  Héloise dragged him back to his station and shoved him under the desk. He wouldn’t be immediately noticed by anyone passing through this corridor unless they actually walked behind the console. She retrieved her handbag, tucked the quiver canister inside and dashed up the emergency staircase. The door closed behind her.

  Michael’s work was done here. He could make several jumps with a single shadow within an hour or so of its formation as long as he returned to his point of origin between them. After that, a shadow would lose strength and dissolve. But an hour was more than enough time to induce terror in the nuclear reactor’s control room.

  FIFTY-FOUR

  Héloise ascended to ground level, a curving hallway flanked by maintenance closets and storerooms on the inside wall of the circular core building. The corridor was deserted. Ceiling lights continued to flash yellow, signifying the situation was serious but noncritical.

  She walked at a normal pace a third of the way around the circle. By design, the virus hadn’t crippled the surveillance cameras up here. A calm demeanor was needed so as not to alert the main Security station. Adhering to protocol for a yellow emergency, she headed to T-wing to await either an all-clear or further instructions.

  The first door on the outside accessed the walkway to T-Wing, where the train would be prepping for its scheduled departure at 1700 hours. Unknown to the locomotive crew or anyone else, they’d be leaving a bit earlier.

  She glanced at her watch. 16:22. The virus should be attacking its next target.

  Héloise heard footsteps behind her. She opened the door to the walkway but paused to allow Elias and a pair of female techs to catch up. Other than the unconscious Chet, they were the only other people who’d been down on lab level this afternoon. The women had been doing experiments in an adjacent module dedicated to metamaterials research.

  “Any idea what’s happening?” Elias asked.

  Héloise shrugged. “I’m guessing some kind of minor glitch.”

  She held the door open and allowed the three of them to proceed along the walkway ahead of her. They were halfway down the windowless corridor when the yellow lights turned red. Critical emergency klaxons wailed.

  Elias froze. “That’s the radiation alarm!”

  Right on time.

  A robovoice accompanied the alert. Considering its message, the gender-neutral tone was surprisingly serene.

  “A reactor malfunction has been detected. All personnel must proceed immediately to T-wing. This is not a drill.”

  The warning repeated on a loop. Elias and the techs sprinted toward the closed door at the far end of the walkway. Héloise followed, knowing the riskiest part of the plan was about to unfold.

  FIFTY-FIVE

  Michael returned to his basement lab and tuned himself to the second set of coordinates provided by the insider. His shadow was instantly transmitted into Tau’s reactor control room, a compact chamber at the deepest level of the complex.

  His devilish figure took shape behind three male techs. They occupied wheeled bucket seats facing a wide curving console. The klaxons bellowing throughout Tau Nine-One had been silenced in here; only flashing red beacons signified the ongoing alert. The men were accessing data from their computers while scanning a large widescreen TV on the wall beyond the console. Colorful graphs and morphing data readouts indicated reactor status. An urgent message scrolled across the bottom of the screen.

  A reactor malfunction has been detected. This is not a drill.

  “Are we absolutely sure it’s not a drill?” the tech on the left asked. “How do we know it’s not another psych test to trip us up?”

  “Not a chance,” the tech in the middle said. His name was Tompkins and he was the oldest and most seasoned of the trio, and the one in charge.

  “But something’s screwy here,” the left-seated tech continued, his voice rising in urgency. “Primary annunciators 12B through 17C show coolant leakage and possible exposure of the core. But the aux system registers all-clear.”

  Tompkins remained calm. “Doesn’t matter. The manual says we treat the worst-case scenario as authentic until evidence proves otherwise.”

  Michael was no expert on nuclear reactor operations. But he’d educated himself enough to understand the disparity the techs were referring to. Although the multi-target virus implanted by Héloise was incredibly sophisticated – Michael had hired top-tier hackers to design it – it couldn’t cripple the auxiliary readouts. Safety protocols rendered them a backup system on a segregated, air-gapped network.

  The techs followed a list of emergency procedures. Soon they would perform an emergency reset of the problematic annunciators and realize the entire incident was based on computer error. Michael’s task was to drive them out of the control room before they came to that realization.

  He moved his shadow closer. He was now only a few feet behind them.

  “Anything yet on com?” Tompkins asked.

  “Not a goddamn word.” It was the tech in the third chair and the tension in his voice was palpable. “Can’t reach anybody upstairs, not even with my cell. We’re completely cut off.”

  The third tech’s name was Kapolardi. He was Michael’s first target. Not only a new addition to the reactor team, he was a devout churchgoer, which the insider had learned through an overheard conversation. Already under stress due to the emergency, his reaction should be the most intense.

  Michael moved the shadow forward until he stood right behind Kapolardi. He raised his arms, an effect that made him appear larger and more threatening.

  The tech’s peripheral vision sensed the shadow’s presence. Kapolardi swiveled his head.

  Michael couldn’t have hoped for a better reaction. Kapolardi took one look at his devilish figure and unleashed a terrifying scream. Lunging from his chair in panic, he crashed into Tompkins, who was also starting to rise.

  The two men went down in a heap. The first tech gasped when he saw what had frightened them and erupted from his seat as well.

  The control room manual stated that at least one tech had to be seated at the console at all times. Pressure sensors on the chairs reacted to the sudden noncompliance, triggering another alarm and incessant beeping.

  The virus had been crafted to anticipate just such a reaction by the techs. A subroutine of its main program initiated, activating a recording of horrifying guttural noises akin to what the designers felt a rampaging devil might sound like. The noises poured from the room’s speakers at max volume.

  That was too much for Kapolardi. Scrambling to his feet he raced to the exit. Frantic fingers punched in a code. The door unl
ocked and he raced through. It automatically locked behind him, which triggered another subroutine, permanently sealing the door. Anyone trying to enter or leave the control room from here on out would require a cutting torch.

  Tompkins grabbed the arm of the remaining tech. “Into the bunker!”

  Perfect, Michael thought. There was no specific procedure for the appearance of a devilish monster but they reacted as anticipated. He moved toward them but at a snail’s pace, making sure they had enough time to enter the bunker, a shielded chamber with radiation suits and other survival gear.

  They ran into the chamber. The door slammed shut. They stared wide-eyed at him through the bunker’s small window, no doubt wondering what hellish thing had invaded their domain. They’d be trapped in there for a while. As with the exit door, the virus would assure a lockdown.

  He checked the wall clock. 16:27. Tarantian was right on schedule, nearly down to the second. His rout of the control room personnel had gone off without a hitch. The false emergency would prompt Tau Nine-One’s evacuation.

  Michael couldn’t resist a final scare. Spinning toward the bunker, he lunged at its door. The techs, glued to the window, backed away so fast they nearly tripped and fell. He permitted himself a grunt of laughter as he dissolved the shadow.

  Full consciousness returned to his body in the chateau. He stripped off the scare suit, locked up the lab and headed upstairs. A quick change into regular attire and he was dashing for the helipad. Next stop: ground zero. By the time he arrived, Nobe and his men should have secured the quiver.

  FIFTY-SIX

  T-wing was packed, and the crowd on edge from the wail of emergency klaxons and looped warnings. Héloise estimated a hundred-plus workers and a dozen Marines on the platform. Anxious muttering filled the air. The process of boarding the four passenger coaches was functioning at a crawl. Guards funneled everyone into a single line to pass through the array of detection gear: holographic imagers, backscatter x-ray scanners, trace portals and more.

  Héloise scowled. During a reactor emergency, the gate separating the platform from the train cars was to be opened, freely allowing workers to board, but with the understanding that upon arrival at the Churchton Summit station they would have to pass through similar detectors. But apparently the guards hadn’t received a specific order authorizing emergency boarding.

  It was a glitch in the plan. Héloise hoped it wouldn’t be a fatal one.

  The crowd was getting antsier. Angry voices were shouting at the guards, urging them to use common sense and let everyone leave.

  “What are you waiting for, a goddamn meltdown?!” one man hollered. His words incited a swelling outcry that rippled up and down the platform. The guards looked sympathetic and equally concerned but followed orders and held their ground.

  Héloise casually drifted to the back of her line. No way could she get the quiver in her handbag past the detectors. When she reached them it was all over.

  Salvation came. A Marine lieutenant dashed onto the platform and ordered the guards to unlock all the gates and allow unfettered boarding. The workers poured through.

  Héloise selected the third car and the last row of seats. In theory it was the safest place to be when the train reached the bridge. Besides that, she could keep her eye on everyone and not worry about being observed from behind. The Marines would be one car back, but Unit X had special plans for them.

  On a normal return trip, the front cars disembarked first, giving those up front a slight headstart to the Security exit turnstiles and the parking lot beyond. But with today’s evacuation, the Churchton Summit station would go fully active, forcing everyone to pass through the detectors. Because of the emergency situation, the exit screening would be more thorough and take longer, which prompted the evacuees to scramble for seats closest to the front of the train. The first two coaches filled quickly – only half a dozen workers spilling over into Héloise’s car. All took seats up front. Several cast curious glances back at her, wondering why she’d chosen isolation. She ignored them.

  The engineer blew the first locomotive’s air horn, signifying imminent departure. Everyone apparently was onboard except for emergency personnel and two special squads of Marines whose duties required them to go down with the ship.

  The gentle tug of forward movement ended the babble of nervous conversations. They were on their way to safety.

  The train passed through the exit portal, which was ringed by motion detectors to prevent anyone from slipping through. Héloise gazed out her window as the coach transitioned from T-wing’s overhead fluorescent lights to cloudy late-afternoon skies. The curving rails passed through an automatic gate in the outer fence and across a grassy expanse that the maintenance staff kept trimmed to golf course standards. Her mother had told her that when her father was base commander, he used to come out here to practice his swing. The thought brought a swell of bitter memories.

  The train reached the track switch that formed the end of the connecting loop. A familiar vibration came through the flooring as the coaches passed over the switch. She turned to the windows on the right side facing the loop and glimpsed the edge of the complex. It would be her final look at Tau Nine-One.

  She’d done her part. Now all that remained was to endure the assault and hand over the prize. The next potential crisis would come when she encountered Unit X’s men. The possibility of being double-crossed had never been far from her mind.

  Tau Nine-One disappeared from view and, with it, most of the daylight. Wilderness enveloped the train, the tree canopy dark and heavy. It felt as if they were gliding through an oppressive tunnel.

  PART 5

  THE TRAIN

  FIFTY-SEVEN

  Aiden and Keats lay face down on a summit, hidden behind a cluster of bushes. They’d been at the vantage point for two hours, overlooking staggered rows of hemlocks, just out of sight of where the tracks crossed the bridge. Too close and they risked being spotted by the mercs. But so far there’d been no sign of their quarry.

  Visible through the trees to their left was a steep ravine. Keats’ attention kept darting that way. Aiden knew it was holy ground, the place where Nobe had murdered his son.

  Rory and Chef had taken up flanking positions ten yards away, while Bling and Toothpick served as eyes and ears on the front line. Having donned ghillie suits – cloth netting covered with foliage and burlap strips – the pair had slunk around the target perimeter to plant the ground sensors and cameras. Task accomplished, they’d selected positions with unimpeded sight lines to the bridge and hunkered down, Bling was buried in a mass of shrubbery. Toothpick was fifteen feet up on the thick branch of an oak. Both were armed with the scope-fitted M16 rifles.

  They’d likely draw first blood.

  Jessie returned from a nature call and crept back into position beside Aiden. He could feel her warmth and smell her aroma, a blend of honeyed cologne and sweat, oddly pleasant in spite of the circumstances.

  He studied her profile. She seemed ablaze with excitement, eager for the action to begin. Aiden wished it was over. Yet a suspicion had been growing that even if he survived this day, it was just an opening salvo. Once again he had the sense of being on a lifelong journey toward some uncharted destiny, a destiny entangled in quiver’s true nature… whatever that might be. And as much as he tried not to dwell on it, he suspected that his fate lay on the other side of a cleaving.

  Singularity beguiles, transcend the illusion.

  The phrase increasingly coursed through him, its meaning still agonizingly cryptic.

  Stay focused, he told himself. Concentrate on not getting killed.

  He turned his attention to Keats’ laptop. A split screen displayed views from the two cameras planted by Toothpick and Bling. On the left was a panorama from high in a tree. It showed the railroad track as it approached from the direction of Tau as well as the truss bridge and the S-curve through the rock cuts. On the right, the second camera offered a tighter, low-angled view of the strea
m and bridge in profile. The cameras occasionally cycled into heat-signature modes, rendering their imagery into multicolored smears ranging from cool violet to hot crimson. But other than the occasional bird or darting squirrel, no interlopers appeared.

  At the bottom of the screen, a quintet of green lights indicated the ground sensors were online. They would blink red if substantial movement was detected nearby.

  It was closing in on 5pm. Aiden was getting antsy. Could they have made a mistake about the site of the attack?

  Another unsettling idea occurred. He turned to Keats.

  “The sensors, the cameras, our radios… when the mercs jam the signals from the train, won’t they get knocked out of commission too?”

  “Doubtful. Wide-range jamming could jeopardize their own comms frequencies as well.” Keats shrugged. “But if it does happen we’ll just have to play it by ear.”

  The answer wasn’t reassuring. Keats apparently noted Aiden’s growing stress and repeated his instructions.

  “You and Jessie hang back. We’ll call when it’s clear.”

  The soldiers formed a well-oiled combat unit, albeit one out of practice, not having fought together in years. Nevertheless, Keats didn’t want a pair of clueless civilians messing up his firefight.

  Jessie’s expression indicated she wasn’t happy about being relegated to a secondary role. Armed with her shotgun and a pistol taken from one of the dead mercs, not to mention her projectile manifestations, she was gung-ho to be in the thick of it.

  Keats, Rory and Chef bore three of the H&K submachine guns. Aiden had the fourth one. Keats had given him a quick primer back at the hotel.

  “On full automatic it’s a room broom,” Keats explained. “Sweeps an area clean. I tricked out yours for three-round burst fire only. That way you won’t burn through a mag too fast. If you have a clear shot, take it. Keep firing until your man’s down. Aim for center mass. If he’s in hard body armor you might not get penetration so strafe below the waist. No fancy head shots, they’re harder than they look. And know your target before you pull the trigger; there are friendlies on that train. And make goddamn sure you’re not shooting at one of us.”