by Todd McAulty
“She received new orders this morning. She and her team have been posted to Danville, effective immediately. She has already left Fort Wayne and is en route.”
“They can’t do that! What about monitoring the reactor?”
“We must make do with remaining staff.”
I chewed on that for a moment. “Did we lose her entire team?”
“Dr. Lark is staying and several technicians. Thibault will delay their reassignment as long as possible.”
“Can we still distribute the antivirus without Thibault? Or even complete the purification process?”
Sergei rubbed his face. “Possibly. Seed batch injection was successful and bioculture is developing to profile. But team will have to tend to reactor around new assignments. It will mean much less sleep for team.”
“I wasn’t aware you did sleep.”
“New operation could make things . . . very difficult.”
“New operation? What new operation?”
“I do not know yet.” Sergei seemed exhausted and frustrated—and seeing him like this was a little alarming. “But it is major mobilization.”
“Damn.” The last few weeks hadn’t exactly been restful, but I considered myself lucky there had been no major engagements since the Juno incursion on March 8th. A mobilization meant all that could change—and not for the better. “What about the sick soldier?”
“He is in isolation on third floor. With two others.”
“Others? There are two more cases?”
“Yes, as expected. And there will be more.”
I bit back what would have been a loud curse. Sergei had been right, of course. Keeping that sick soldier out of the hotel would never have kept us safe. It was only a matter of time until everyone, everywhere, was at risk. Our only hope of stopping this was the reactor.
“I have put Dr. Lark in charge of their care,” Sergei said. “She will be vigilant for new infections and keep unit as isolated as possible.”
“Joy? Good. I’ll go check on her later. How else can I help?”
“You? Nothing. I would advise you to stay in your room. Keep as far away from Hayduk as possible.”
“Yeah, that’s good advice. But if you need help keeping the reactor operating—anything—you’d let me know, right?”
Sergei nodded. He sat quietly for a moment, then seemed to compose himself. “Your underground expedition with pretty Venezuelan sergeant . . . it went well?”
“Oh, yeah. Great. We held hands while we pulled a couple dead bodies out of the earth. How the hell do you think it went?”
“Did you locate colony?”
I told Sergei what we’d discovered—the missing colony, the wreckage of the Pebble, and the Godkiller.
“You saw Godkiller?” Sergei sat up, clearly incredulous.
“You’re damn right I did.”
“You are lucky to have survived.”
“I did get shot.” I told him the details of how Van de Velde and I had survived our encounter and showed him my wound proudly.
“It looks fine,” he said, after a quick look. “She did good job dressing wound.”
I was a little affronted by how quickly he dismissed my first bullet wound. “I walked two miles,” I said. “With a bullet hole in my hip. Can’t you at least make sure it’s not infected?”
“It is too soon to diagnose infection. Come back tomorrow.”
“I’ll probably be dead by tomorrow!”
“Not from infection,” he said confidently. “Do not be baby.”
“Shit. Fine.”
“What about robot colony?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” I said. “And I’m worried about them, to be honest.”
“Do you think Godkiller destroyed them?”
“I think it certainly tried to. The only way to find out is to explore deeper into the tunnels. The colony was pretty damn big; they could still be hiding down there.”
“Did you see evidence Godkiller found them?”
“No. It for sure destroyed the Orbit Pebble, but I think the Pebble died defending the colony. I didn’t see a single dead robot. It’s possible they were warned and escaped in time.”
“Escaped where?”
“I don’t know. Deeper into the tunnels, maybe. That Godkiller was big—there were lots of places it couldn’t go.”
“But almost nowhere its scouts would not go. If Sentient Cathedral has found them, it will likely not rest until they are destroyed.”
“Speaking of which . . . I brought the circuit core of a scout drone out of the tunnels with me.”
“You salvaged intact core?”
“Mostly intact, yeah. I was hoping you could have a look at it. Maybe determine for sure who sent it—the Sentient Cathedral, or someone else.”
Sergei shook his head. “I do not have time. Perhaps after reactor is completed.”
“Yeah, I understand,” I said. “I’ll look into it myself. I have another favor to ask you, though. Mac is in my room. She got drunk last night—drunk and very sick. Maybe she just drank too much. But it could be something worse. Can you swing by and have a look at her?”
Sergei considered. “Yes. But not right now. I need to prepare for briefing. I will meet you in lobby . . . at eleven a.m.”
“Eleven. Perfect. See you then.”
The restaurant was open by then, so I walked down. There was no sign of Martin, so I got two coffees. I brought them back to my room, my mind preoccupied. Could Hayduk be deliberately trying to sabotage our work on the bioreactor? Could he suspect us of the theft of the data drive? And were his agents sniffing around, even now?
Or was this all a cover for Hayduk’s hunt for the combat suit? Could he have tracked me here, to the hotel? Had I been careless somehow in my underground excursion? God knows that was a possibility, with all that had happened the last time I wore the suit.
I opened the door to my room quietly, trying not to wake Mac. But a glance at my bed showed me it was empty. I heard water running in the bathroom.
I was relieved to see her up, although I was a little apprehensive about our coming conversation. I had no idea how I was going to explain how she woke up in my bed, wearing my clothes.
I didn’t have much time to think about it. A moment later the bathroom door opened, and Mac stepped out, drying her face with a towel. She was still wearing the T-shirt I’d dressed her in last night. She stopped dead when she saw me.
“I brought you coffee,” I said, holding up one of the cups.
“Oh.” She made no move to take it. “So this is your room.” She didn’t sound very pleased.
Yeah, this wasn’t going to go well. “Yes.”
“Damn. I had absolutely no idea where I was.”
I chuckled. “I can imagine. How do you feel?”
“God-awful.”
“I’m glad to see you up and around, anyway. I have to tell you, I was pretty worried about you.”
That was an understatement. It was heartbreaking to be in the same room with her, knowing what I did about her fruitless search for Anthony. I wanted to comfort her, let her know there were resources we could tap to expand her search . . . but that meant admitting that I’d read the message about her son.
I was ready to make that confession, but right this moment probably wasn’t the perfect time. She’d just woken up disoriented, in a strange bed. She radiated distress. Step one was to make her feel safe. I put the coffee by the bed where she could reach it, and then retreated to give her plenty of space.
“The hotel staff knows you’re here,” I said. “They’re the ones who contacted me when . . . when they found you.”
She was still standing in the bathroom door, her expression somewhere between confused and angry. “How did I get here?” she asked.
“You were in the hotel kitchens, making a bit of a disturbance, from what I understand. Then you passed out. Boone, the night security man, came to get me.”
“You? Why you?”
�
�Boone said you asked for me.”
“I don’t remember doing that.” Her tone was suspicious.
I felt awkward looming in the doorway. I grabbed a chair and pulled it over, but not too close. “Well, I wasn’t there,” I said as I took a seat. “All I know is what Boone told me.”
“Why would I ask for you?”
“I have no idea. I was going to ask you.”
She moved away from the bathroom at last, sliding onto the bed. The towel was still in her hand, and she pressed it against her face.
“God, my head is pounding,” she said into the towel.
“I’m not surprised. What’s the last thing you remember?”
She let the towel drop to her lap. She looked out the window. “Drinking,” she said.
“Alone?”
“What does that matter?”
“Forgive me, I don’t mean to pry. But for a while last night, we were concerned someone might have slipped you something. A drug, maybe.”
“Why did you think that?”
“Frankly, you weren’t in very good shape. You threw up, a couple times. Once in the elevator, when we were taking you to your room. I got worried enough that I decided someone needed to watch you, so we brought you here instead.”
“I’m not surprised I threw up,” she said. “I know it probably doesn’t look like it right now, but I’m not much of a drinker.”
Croaker padded into the room. She leaped up onto the bed, and Mac jumped back, startled.
“Croaker—down, girl. Leave her alone.” I nudged her off the bed.
Croaker looks a hell of a lot better now than she did when Black Winter and I first found her, but she still doesn’t look good. Her skin still hangs off her bones like a rumpled blanket, and her fur has numerous scabby patches. At least the raging infection in her eye has cleared up.
If Mac noticed the rough shape the dog was in, she didn’t comment. She reached toward her hesitantly. “How the hell did you get a dog? Does the hotel know?”
“It’s a long story,” I said. “You’re the one who told me about her, actually.”
“What?”
“A week ago. Do you remember when you mentioned a dog you heard, howling on the eleventh floor of the Continental Building? Black Winter and I went to investigate, to see if we could find her. And we did.”
Mac was staring at me uncomprehendingly as I tried unsuccessfully to nudge Croaker away from the bed. Croaker’s tail was wagging like crazy, and she desperately wanted to investigate this newcomer into our space. She maneuvered around me and got close enough to sniff at Mac’s toes, where they dangled over the edge of the bed. Mac let her sniff.
“This is the dog I heard?” Mac said. She didn’t sound convinced.
“I think so. It took a while to find her. I’ve been meaning to thank you. If you’d mentioned it a day or two later, it might have been too late. It was almost too late as it was.” I scratched Croaker affectionately. “It’s okay,” I told Mac. “She doesn’t bite.”
She stroked Croaker’s head, and I thought I saw some of the tension leave her shoulders. Croaker put her paws on the edge of the bed and licked Mac’s hand.
“She seems okay,” Mac said. She sounded—understandably—rather distracted.
“She’s better now,” I said. “She was in rough shape when we first found her—”
“What happened to my clothes?” Mac asked abruptly.
“Oh, yeah—sorry.” I walked into the bathroom and came out with her jeans. They’d been hanging in the bathroom, and they were still damp. “My apologies, I didn’t get a chance to wash them.” I laid them out on the bed.
“Why are they so wet?” she said, as I collected the rest of her clothes.
“Sorry about that. We just threw you in the bath. I didn’t know what to do with you, to be honest, so we sort of hosed you off. Kind of a dumb idea, actually. I probably should have just wrapped you in some towels and put you to bed.”
“You gave me a bath?”
“Kind of. Mostly I just cleaned you off and put you to bed.” I brought her shoes out of the bathroom, and then her blouse and camisole. Mac picked up the camisole. Holding it aloft with one hand, she gave me a rather cold look.
“Who is ‘we,’ exactly?” she asked.
“Boone and I put you in the bath. And then Boone left.” I took a sip of my coffee.
“And you gave me a bath.”
Her tone had become rather icy. Not that I blamed her. I wanted nothing more than to put her at ease, let her know that nothing had happened, but for now it felt best to keep my mouth shut, stay on my side of the room, and let her drive the conversation.
“Yes.”
“Well, I hope you had a good fucking time,” she said.
“Not really.”
She had crumpled up the camisole and was clutching it tightly. “What does that mean?” she said.
“It means I couldn’t put you to bed soaking wet. You were covered in vomit and pretty out of it, and I was chiefly concerned with what drug cocktail you’d been slipped. I’m sorry to say, the bath wasn’t much of a good time for anybody.”
I’d meant that last to be lighthearted. But it was the wrong thing to say. She stood up abruptly, started sorting through her clothes.
“I’ve asked someone to come by and check on you—” I started.
“Forgive me for being a disappointment,” she said. “Next time you arrange to have an unconscious woman in your bath, I’m sure it’ll work out better for you.”
“Mac, I didn’t mean—”
“I would like to get dressed,” she said. She stood ramrod straight by my bed, and her gaze was fierce.
I could have handled that better, I thought. I had more to say, but despite my best efforts, it was pretty obvious I hadn’t managed to make her feel safe. And until she did, there wasn’t anything I could say that would offer much comfort.
“Of course,” I said. I took my key out of my pocket and placed it on the table. “This is my room key. It’s the only one I have. No one will disturb you until you’re ready to go. Feel free to take your time. If it’s not too much trouble, please leave my key at the front desk when you go.”
As I left, I grabbed the bag with the circuit code of the scout drone on my desk. At the door, I tried to give Mac a reassuring smile, but she was studiously avoiding eye contact. I closed the door, cutting off the sound of Croaker whining at me.
Well, damn. I hadn’t handled that the way I’d wanted to. I admit that as I’d curled up on the couch last night, I’d fantasized about nursing a grateful Mac back to health for a day or two and seeing what developed. But the look in her eyes just now made even those innocent fantasies seem presumptuous.
My own fault, of course. And things weren’t going to get any better when I told her that I’d accessed the message about her son. I really didn’t look forward to that conversation.
With everything that had happened in the past few days, I was really looking forward to a peaceful breakfast with Martin and our fellow residents. But before I got in the elevator, I stopped to knock on Rupert’s door. He opened it almost immediately. He had a dish towel over his shoulder.
“Come in, come in,” he said. He walked on ahead of me, back into the kitchen. I followed him, past all the live data feeds displayed in the living room. I tried not to be too nosy, but it was hard.
He was cooking something on the stove. “What are you making?” I asked.
“Well, it was an omelet, until the second time I flipped it in the pan. That failed spectacularly. Now it’s scrambled eggs, I’m afraid. With ham and Swiss. You want some?”
The smell was tantalizing, and it reminded me that I was supposed to meet Martin for breakfast. “No,” I said reluctantly. “I’ll eat in the restaurant.”
“Nonsense.” He scraped the eggs onto a plate and dropped it on the table in front of me. “Happy to have someone get rid of my mistakes. I’m going to try an omelet one more time.”
It was
hard, but I forced myself to wait until he’d finished his omelet and sat down next to me. We ate together. The eggs were excellent, mixed with a generous amount of sliced ham and melted Swiss cheese.
“Man, that was terrific,” I said, pushing the plate away.
“The trick is just the right amount of olive oil,” he said with satisfaction.
“Where do you do your shopping?” I looked around his kitchen. It seemed surprisingly well stocked.
“All over. There’s an outdoor market in Millennium Park, two mornings a week. You’d be surprised what you can get.”
“Fresh bread?”
“Of course!”
Hadn’t Mac mentioned something about a market when she’d brought me tacos two days ago? “I’ll have to check it out,” I said.
“I think you’ll enjoy it. But for now, if you don’t mind my saying so, you look like a man with something on his mind. How can I help?”
I reached down into the bag at my feet and wordlessly pulled out the circuit core of the scout drone and placed it on the table. Rupert picked it up, clearly curious.
“What is this?”
“It’s what’s left of a scout drone.”
“What happened to it?”
“It got shot.”
Rupert’s eyebrows rose. “By you?”
“No, by a Venezuelan soldier who was trying to protect me.”
“You do contract work for the AGRT?”
“No. Yesterday morning, I volunteered to assist in the recovery of two fallen soldiers in the old coal tunnels under the city.” I gave Rupert a cursory summary of my adventures this morning, glossing over the more sensitive details. I kept the focus on Van de Velde and the appearance of the Godkiller.
“Holy cow,” said Rupert. “A Dieu Tueur? You saw one, up close?”
“A lot closer than I would have liked.”
Rupert was examining the fragment with a lot more interest. “So you want to know who made this.”
“Ideally, yeah. I’d love to know if my theory is right, that it was manufactured by a sovereign prefecture for the Sentient Cathedral.”
“Well, for an analysis you can have real confidence in, you’ll need a decent microscope and a circuit concordance, to map the chips to a manufacturer. But if you think you might be satisfied with the general impressions of an experienced eye, I can give you an assessment right now.”