H.A.L.F.: The Makers

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H.A.L.F.: The Makers Page 24

by Natalie Wright


  The Regina reached out and grabbed Erika around the neck. Her hand was dainty, but her grip was unnaturally strong. Erika tried to pry the Regina’s fingers loose from around her neck, but her bony fingers closed tighter around Erika’s windpipe.

  Ian raised his rifle again, but before he could get off a shot, the robotic arm with the scalpel swung toward him. He ducked just in time to miss it slicing his face.

  A shot echoed off the stone walls of the room. The Regina’s grip was still tight around Erika’s neck, her eyes staring into Erika’s like two black mirrors.

  Another shot was fired and then a third. The Regina screeched and loosed her grip on Erika’s throat. Erika coughed and gulped for air.

  Dr. Randall fired another shot, and the Regina’s head whipped backward as her arms flailed. A bloom of purplish-red stained the chest of her otherwise immaculately clean silver tunic. Dr. Randall shot her in the chest again. Blood sprayed and spattered Erika’s hands and face.

  The screeching stopped, but her eyes were still wide and her hands flailed at them. Dr. Randall fired at her one last time. She gasped for air and there was a gurgling sound.

  The stone chair reclined again of its own accord as the Regina’s mouth moved like a fish out of water, gasping for air. Blood bubbled out of her open mouth.

  “Come. Let’s leave this place,” Dr. Randall said.

  He got no argument from Erika or Ian. Erika followed Dr. Randall back through the room filled with the Regina’s clones. Even through the glass and viscous liquid that held them, their chilling screams could be heard. The nearly full-grown ones jerked and flailed in their containers, their eyes now open and wide with terror.

  Erika ran as quickly as she could past them, her heart heavy with guilt. What have we done?

  38

  JACK

  Thomas rifled through the papers spread across his computer desks. He pulled a packet of pages stapled together and handed it to Jack. “I hacked into Croft’s security system while you and Anna were on stakeout. Probably what triggered them to nab Anna,” he said ruefully.

  “But also what gave you the information we need to get in there and get both Alecto and Anna out,” Jack said. He inspected the papers.

  It was a chain of emails that had started a little over a week ago, with one from Croft’s personal assistant in London to the ‘head of staff’ in New York. Croft apparently wanted changes made to the fire-suppression system in the west wing of the apartment.

  “Sprinkler system, huh. Alecto?”

  Thomas nodded. “Read on.”

  The command was passed by email from head of staff to head butler, who tossed it to the chief of security with a note at the top that said simply ‘Take care of this’.

  The security chief apparently didn’t want to be at the bottom of the dung pile, so he passed it on to the security officer below him, who did the same until it landed in the inbox of one ‘R. Price’. Price appeared to be the lowest man on a very long totem pole. He was likely unaware of the purpose of the project or that the order had originated with Croft himself.

  To their great fortune, Price didn’t have a clue how to go about finding someone to modify the sprinkler system so it could be manually operated by a switch or remote control. He’d contacted a local labor agency a few days ago. At least Thomas claimed it was fortunate.

  “How, exactly, does this help us?”

  “Because now we have a way in. I answered the ad two days ago and got the call yesterday that we’ve been hired.”

  “Hired to rework their sprinklers? And we’re qualified for that how?”

  “Well, you’re not at all qualified. But it operates on a computer system and I happen to be more than qualified to complete the task. Of course, it’s a moot point. They want to modify the sprinkler system so they can operate it by switch to turn it on. That way they can douse Alecto if she proves too difficult to handle. But since we’ll be taking her off their hands, they won’t have need for it anyway.”

  Jack made a T with his hands. “Time out. One flaw with your plan. A big one, actually. They’ll recognize you. And even if we get in, there’ll be guards all over that place. We’re not just going to waltz in there, say ‘Hey, we’re taking Anna and Alecto for a walk’ and get them out.”

  Thomas was apparently done talking about it. He swung back to the keyboard and commenced typing, his fingers a blur on the keys. “Fear not, Jack Wilson. I have command of the situation.”

  A scary thought. The guy had gone from manic to sobbing to catatonic to productive in the span of less than an hour. Jack couldn’t imagine what would happen inside the guy’s brain if a gun was pointed at it.

  Jack flung the pages of email printouts onto the nearest stack of papers.

  Thomas didn’t look up or stop typing as he talked. “And you caught the other good news in that memo, didn’t you?”

  It had looked like corporate buck-passing to Jack. “Missed it.”

  Thomas turned his head toward Jack long enough to roll his eyes at him. “The first one. It’s from London.”

  “And?”

  “And, since it came from Croft’s personal assistant in London, that means that Croft isn’t here. He’s across the pond. We’ll have only Lizzy to deal with.”

  Thomas thought it was good news that Lizzy was in charge of Croft’s New York operations instead of her father. But Jack wasn’t so sure. On his road trip with Anna, she’d given him an earful about Lizzy Croft. There was bad blood between the two women. Cousins, it turned out. Anna had described Lizzy as ‘pathologically set on proving herself’ and referred to her as a loose cannon. If Anna Sturgis was wary of the woman, Jack figured Thomas shouldn’t be too quick to assume she’d be easy to get past.

  Jack’s stomach began its now familiar twitching. It was a feeling he had come to recognize meant bad things were likely to happen.

  For the next twenty-four hours, Jack became an errand boy. His first stop was to meet a guy at a parking lot a few blocks away. He waited in the chilly November morning, shuffling his feet and blowing into his hands to keep them warm. A few minutes past what was supposed to be the meeting time, a middle-aged man waddled up to him and handed him a set of keys. “The van,” he said and walked away.

  The keys opened a nondescript white van. It was at least ten years old and a basic model without many amenities. But it started on the first turn of the key and ran smoothly.

  Jack picked up blue uniforms at a uniform supply store with names embroidered on a patch on the chest. One said ‘Ed’ and one said ‘Steve’. Jack was glad Thomas stayed with the Steve identity for Jack. He wasn’t inclined to be yet a third person.

  He dropped off his first round of parcels to the house. Thomas immediately handed him a list that required another trip to the hardware store, one trip to the drugstore, a jaunt to a gun shop and a pickup in an alley behind a Chinese food restaurant. Jack had gotten used to not asking too many questions. His last pickup of the day was no exception.

  The air was chilly and damp. The potholed alley glistened black from the light drizzle that had fallen all morning.

  A man in a waiter’s uniform was waiting for Jack beside the back door of the Chinese restaurant. He was smoking a cigarette he’d rolled himself, and the smoke mixed with the vapor of his breath as he spoke in heavily accented English. “What are you planning to do with so many canisters of Zissnine?”

  Jack told him the truth. “I have no idea. I’m just the errand boy.” Jack held out a paper bag filled with cash.

  The waiter handed Jack a green duffle bag. It was lighter than Jack expected for the bulk of it.

  “Make sure you don’t break any of those open by accident. Very nasty for you,” the man said and disappeared through a rickety wood door.

  When Jack finally got back to the apartment, Thomas wasn’t at his computer station. Jack’s heart skipped a beat. He called out, “Thomas?” as he dropped the bags onto the couch.

  “I’m in here,” Thomas calle
d back from the bathroom.

  Jack sighed with relief then set about unpacking the bags and parcels he’d toted in. He carefully opened the duffle and stared at the canisters. There were eight. Each was about six inches long, aluminum and had a pin at the top. They looked like oddly shaped grenades. Jack had no idea what Zissnine was, but he assumed the gas masks that Thomas had him pick up at the guns and ammo store were a clue.

  Thomas had Jack purchase enough ammo to arm a small militia. How many security guards does he expect to run into? Jack hoped he had the stomach to pull the trigger if it came to that.

  When Thomas finally emerged from the bathroom, he was a different person. He’d cut his hair into a neat, tightly cropped cut and died it so black that it looked blue. His scruffy beard was gone, revealing deep hollows beneath his high cheekbones. He looked at least five years younger and less like a vagrant. Jack could now see his resemblance to his sister.

  “Your turn,” Thomas said. He tossed a package of hair dye to Jack.

  “Nope,” Jack said. He put the box of hair dye down on the coffee table. Jack wasn’t particular about his appearance. He generally chose comfort over fashion. But Erika liked his hair longer rather than shorter, so he wasn’t thrilled about cutting it. And he’d worked hard to master the messy beach-hair look. “It’s not like they’ll recognize me. Messing around with a hair disguise is a waste of time for me.”

  “No, it’s not. My company would never hire you looking like that. I run a wholesome, clean-cut organization.” There wasn’t a hint of sarcasm in Thomas’ voice.

  “You are talking about a fake company, right?” It was hard to say how good a grip Thomas had on reality.

  “Yes, but for any lie to work, it has to be believable. The liar must commit to the lie one hundred percent.”

  Psychopaths make the best liars. He wasn’t sure yet whether Thomas – or Anna, for that matter – fell into the category of psychopath.

  Thomas picked up the box and shoved it into Jack’s hands. “Follow the directions precisely. I left a timer in there for you. And if you like, I will cut your hair when you’re done with the dye.”

  “That’s okay. I think I can handle it.” The idea of Thomas holding scissors close to Jack’s head creeped him out.

  An hour later Jack too looked like a different man. His wavy, sun-bleached locks were gone, replaced with a mop of chocolate-brown curls. He didn’t go as short with his hair as Thomas had wanted, but the color made a dramatic enough change. He was glad Thomas had picked a different color for him. He didn’t think he could pull off black hair with his coloring. He ran his hands through his shortened hair. I wonder what Erika would think about this?

  Jack tried to sleep but mostly tossed and turned. He and Thomas had gone over the plan again and again. Thomas grilled him until Jack could recite the plan backward and forward. Now Jack couldn’t turn it off. He lay on his back, staring into the dark, his mind unable to stop running through the steps and worrying over what could go wrong. The list of potential missteps was long. What if Thomas is wrong and Alecto isn’t even there? Or worse, what if she’s there but she’s now aligned with Croft and won’t help us? Without Alecto’s help in the final stages of their plan, they’d be screwed. But the most distressing thought was that they could be too late to save Anna.

  In the morning they donned the blue uniforms and loaded their toolboxes. Thomas had crafted a false bottom in Jack’s toolbox. It was large enough to fit two gas masks, a gun and a silencer.

  “What happens if they have a metal detector?” asked Jack.

  Thomas ignored the question and continued packing.

  Thomas made Jack practice putting his gas mask on and tightening it then putting a mask on Thomas to simulate getting a mask on Alecto. Thomas was cooperative in the undertaking. Jack couldn’t be sure that Alecto would be.

  They crammed their toolboxes and several duffle bags into the back of the van. They’d stuffed as much of Thomas’ stuff into the duffles as they could and cleaned out Anna’s car too. Even though he’d never be able to come back, Thomas showed no emotion as he pulled the door shut behind him. He didn’t bother locking even one of the locks.

  “Aren’t you going to lock it?”

  “No point.”

  “But all your computer stuff?”

  “I can buy more. Besides, it’s worthless now.”

  Jack got into the passenger seat. “Why’s that?”

  Thomas slid into the driver’s seat. He adjusted the mirrors and looked nervous about driving. “I uploaded a zombie file. It’s eating the computer’s brain as we speak.” Thomas looked at the ignition switch but made no move to start the engine.

  “You do know how to drive, right?”

  “Of course I know how to drive. I’ve misplaced the key, that’s all.”

  “Your left front pants pocket.”

  Thomas fished the key out and put it into the ignition. He cranked the key and kept turning it even after the van started. The engine groaned with displeasure.

  “A bit rusty is all,” Thomas said. He eased the van slowly onto the road.

  Jack hoped they lived through the drive to Croft’s penthouse.

  39

  TEX

  Tex did not need to hear the gunfire or see the blood to know that the Regina had been shot. He sensed the ripple of confusion pass through him, reflections from the Conexus hive mind. Xenos fell to the ground, her fingers at her mouth, a simpering pile of flesh.

  One moment Tex was ready to cry too. The next his tears dried unfallen. He felt … numb. He supposed it was his A.H.D.N.A. training kicking in. He had been taught to compartmentalize. To push painful experiences of war aside. To put fear, worry and sadness into a box and shove it down and away. He recalled Commander Sturgis’ words. “On the battlefield, if you don’t move forward, you die.”

  Or perhaps the alien part of his DNA afforded him the ability to deny his emotions naturally. The Conexus preferred logic and reason. Tex considered the possibility that his emotions were fleeting. Perhaps I am simply unable to sustain long-term human relationships. The thought also occurred to him that his time of interconnectedness to the Conexus had rewired him. I need to consider this further when I have more time.

  He helped Xenos off the ground and held her by the shoulders. “She is gone. There is nothing you can do. Push it aside. We must continue on if we are to leave this place.”

  Xenos stared into his eyes and sniffled. “But what will become of them.”

  As if to punctuate her question, the clones began caterwauling and flailing. It was an unsettling scene that even stoic Tex had difficulty ignoring. He pulled Xenos out of the room and into the hall, away from the tanks of confused Conexus clones.

  It was not much better out there. Though he could not hear them with his ears, his head hurt from the chaotic buzz of the Conexus hive now in turmoil.

  The humans spilled out of the clone room in a rush. Erika’s cheeks were wet with tears. Ian’s face was pale.

  Dr. Randall wiped his eyes with his dingy sleeve. “I want you to know that I took no pleasure in terminating her.”

  Tex tried to keep his emotions in check. Move forward. But knowing that it was Dr. Randall who had pulled the trigger … At least it was not Erika.

  Tex sucked in a breath and forced his feelings deep inside to roil away in his gut instead of flitting through his mind. “They are confused. There is no better time than the present.”

  “Let’s go, then,” Ian said.

  “The Conexus ship is in the old pool room. They are off balance, but we may still encounter hostiles on our way there. I suggest you be at the ready,” Tex said.

  Dr. Randall handed Tex the extra gun he had hung on his back. “I know you probably won’t need this to defend yourself, but you’re still tired. This may come in handy.”

  Tex accepted the weapon. He did not relish the idea of shooting one of his Conexus cousins. But they knew he had left the collective. He was with the humans who
had wreaked havoc on their environment and killed the Regina. They would consider him an enemy. He was more glad than Dr. Randall could know to have a gun in his hands. Without it, he was nearly defenseless.

  Tex led them back to the wide arched doorway to what used to be Aphthartos. Xenos clung to his side as if she were his shadow. The humans were at his back in a tight group.

  The lights of Tro had been a bright beacon leading away from the dark hallways of the former A.H.D.N.A. But as they approached, the high, overhead lights of Tro that had simulated sunlight flickered, creating a strobe effect.

  “The water must be shorting out the lights,” Dr. Randall said.

  “The lights are not powered by electricity generators,” Tex said.

  “Then what powers them?” Erika asked.

  Tex ignored the question and crossed the threshold into Tro. As he feared, Conexus were abundant in the streets. They wandered as if searching, their eyes wide and darting frantically. Occasionally they ran into each other as if their eyes were open but unable to see. Though Tex and the others stood just inside the doorway and were clearly visible, the Conexus did not attack them.

  “Do you think they don’t see us?” Erika whispered.

  Tex reached out to the hive with his mind. The virtual doors were wide open. Their telepathic firewall was down. Tex was no longer hooked by a machine to the collective, so he was unable to understand all that was happening. But he sensed that they were aware humans were present. There was the idea that they should do something about it, but they were without consensus and there was no one to command them. Without the Regina to coordinate and mediate the multitude of thoughts, they were a thousand discordant beings without a single objective.

  “They know we are here but unable to process how to proceed,” Tex said.

  Dr. Randall’s voice was a whisper. “Like a broken computer. Fascinating.”

  Tex had the urge to slap Dr. Randall. It was all one big experiment to the old man, but to Tex, who had shared consciousness with these beings, even if against his will, it was torturous to watch them struggle.

 

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