Chromatophobia

by W D County

Chapter 9

  Everyone at the mess hall table wore a thin layer of cheerfulness to camouflage their true feelings, although Slick seemed genuinely happy. Hard to be sure with Asian faces. The unexpectedly good food—steaks for all of us except Steampunk, the vegetarian, who got a grilled portabella—seemed designed to disguise the military function of the facility. Everything had to be delivered, which meant the meals came down the elevator on a cart, seven porcelain plates under metal lids, fancy flatware, and linen napkins. No wine, though, and no beer. Hauser knew where to draw the line.

  The special meal didn’t extend to Choirboy. Most food had color but his had to be white. Mashed potatoes. Cauliflower. Rice. That kind of crap. His meals were stored in the freezer, ready to heat and eat. Doc usually took care of it, with me as backup. That would change starting tomorrow. Kingpin had assigned me permanent KP duty, both for Choirboy and the entire team. Said it would give me something to do. What an asshole.

  A month’s worth of team meals were in the freezer and pantry. Hauser considered the elevator a potential security breach and therefore limited its use. The Joes upstairs had orders not to open the elevator without double confirmation: Hauser, plus either Kingpin or me. Kingpin must have pulled rank to get something this fancy.

  We sat at a round table like King Arthur’s knights celebrating possession of the Holy Grail locked in our vault. Trouble was, nobody could agree on what to do with it.

  Slick lifted his water glass. “To a momentous, and hopefully short, collaboration.”

  With wary acceptance, we raised our glasses in response.

  Steampunk said, “Momentous? The government will spin any information that leaks out, so there’s no fame or fortune or career advancement waiting for any of us no matter what the color thingy is, except maybe for Gordon since his job is managing secrets.”

  The girl had a nice voice when she didn’t clutter it with words. Nice figure, too, when it wasn’t covered up in protective clothing. I wondered what she’d look like with nothing on, and immediately shook off the thought. Never get involved with someone you may need to kill.

  Slick said, “Paranormal abilities can’t be permanently hidden. Once we understand and harness Barry’s powers, it’s the dawn of a new world.”

  Brainiac grimaced. “Paranormal abilities do not exist.”

  Slick looked at her as if she’d sprouted horns, a tail, and a forked tongue. “You saw it. Barry knew colors without being able to see them. Telepathy or clairvoyance, take your pick.”

  “Meaningless without adequate controls.” Brainiac gave a dismissive wave. “The test wasn’t double-blind. You picked the colors. You administered the test, you evaluated the results. Shall I go on?”

  Slick’s voice rose a notch. “Everyone saw it on the video.”

  “Stage magicians do it all the time. You had a similar act in Vegas, as I remember.”

  His eyes blazed. “I did not fake those tests, nor could anyone else have done so. I personally checked the room. It was clean.”

  Brainiac shrugged as if none of that mattered. She pivoted toward Steampunk. “Lucky guess about the phenomenon exhibiting magnetic properties.”

  “Oh, it wasn’t a guess, exactly. The tesseract appeared at the south magnetic pole, so magnetism must fit somewhere in the puzzle and Barry’s color patterns are too similar to the hypercube’s patterns to be merely coincidence.”

  “Yes, well, further study along that line should be done by a physicist.”

  Kingpin said, “I think we need to talk about color. It seems to be the defining attribute of whatever is happening to the patient.”

  “Grayness is what’s happening to everything exposed to it,” Doc said.

  “Fine, we’ll start there. So, the phenomenon releases some sort of... bleach? That drains color from its surroundings?”

  “Almost right,” Doc agreed. “The color drain is a two-part process. The rash emits some new type of radiation, which then interacts with the environment to release a gas. The gas is what causes the bleaching effect.”

  Brainiac shook her head. “Radiation alone explains the effect. The way sunlight can bleach material through a window.”

  “No, it doesn’t,” Doc insisted. “The bleaching effect isn’t limited to straight-line exposure. It spreads out to affect everywhere within an enclosed space.”

  Brainiac countered. “The graying effect follows an inverse-square law, which means we’re dealing with an energy field, not a gas. Your so-called rash behaves more like a film than a living organism.” She leaned back in her chair as if she’d explained everything.

  Doc slammed his hand on the table. “I’ve been with the patient longer than any of you. I’m telling you the growth pattern matches that of a viral—”

  “Easy!” Kingpin said, raising a hand. “Easy. I’m after initial thoughts, not final reports.” He smiled like some benevolent king. “Focus on the point of consensus. The spread of the coloration on the patient’s skin correlates with the draining of color from his environment.”

  “Not draining,” Brainiac said. “Let me explain the nature of color. ‘Chromophores’ is the name given to molecules that determine the color of a substance. Chemicals, radiation, temperature, and a few other factors can break down or alter chromophores. In the case of the phenomenon, the result is a uniform color distribution.”

  “Infection,” Doc muttered. “Not phenomenon.”

  “Don’t you mean a lack of color distribution?” Kingpin asked.

  “No,” she said. “Gray, like white, is a combination of photons of all wavelengths in the visible spectrum. The relative brightness, the shade of gray in other words, is determined by the number of photons being reflected. Color, on the other hand, is perceived when photons of a certain wavelength are being preferentially reflected, while other wavelengths are not.” She paused. “What’s happening is that the phenomenon adds and subtracts colors to external objects in just the right amounts to come out gray.”

  Doc said, “I’m focusing on detecting the gas, since I can use the mass spectrometer to analyze samples.”

  Steampunk asked, “If a gas is altering chromophores, you should have found new or altered chemicals in objects that have turned gray. Have you?”

  Doc frowned and turned to Brainiac. “How’s the hand, Sonja?”

  She smiled and lifted her arm, displaying the bandage. “Stings a little, but no real pain.”

  “Keep an eye on it. If you notice any discoloration—”

  “There won’t be. This isn’t an infection. Radiation isn’t alive.”

  Steampunk speared a chunk of mushroom and waved it like a bee flying through the air. “I’m sure it’s alive or at least directed by an intelligence. Maybe ‘they’ is a better word than ‘it’ because the colors resemble a swarm of insects behaving with a hive mind.”

  Brainiac said, “The segments of color are too small to be individual life forms.”

  Doc disagreed. “Not for a virus. The evidence I’m compiling is convincing.”

  “We’ll see.” Brainiac turned to Slick, but his attention was focused on the puzzle girl.

  He flashed a smile to Steampunk and said, “Your intuition regarding the magnet was amazing. Have you ever been tested for psychic abilities?”

  She smiled back. “If you consider intuition to be a measurable psychic ability, then I’m probably off the charts.”

  He plucked a silk handkerchief from his breast pocket and folded it into a rose. He handed it to Steampunk, but she discovered a real rose in her hand. Slick acknowledged the squeal of delight with a theatrical bow of his head. “Some scientists believe the Earth’s magnetic field ties into powerful ley lines of supernatural power. Do you think that’s a factor?”

  “Maybe,” she answered. Slick’s smile broadened at her one-word answer. He looked lecherous.

  Brainiac rolled her eyes. “There’s no need to invoke supernatural forces. One of the fundamental natural forces of the universe is the electromagne
tic force, which provides not only electricity and magnetism, but light and other forms of E-M radiation. The fact that the anomaly affects both light and magnets is hardly surprising. What’s more intriguing is that the coloration exhibited such powerful diamagnetism.”

  Steampunk turned to the shrink. “It looked like you were falling into a trance. Did you get the impression that the colors were trying to communicate with you?”

  Mopes toyed with her watch and made an attempt to chuckle. “I was tired, that’s all. Started to nod off.”

  “Yeah, well maybe it’s trying to hypnotize us, but that would be only the first step, because there needs to be understandable communication, which hasn’t occurred, and beyond that the third step is the purpose of the communication—benign contact, intelligence gathering, or hostile takeover.”

  Mopes smiled. “Where do you get your energy? I’d love some of it.”

  Doc said, “In the case of our patient, I’m hopeful that he will develop antibodies to the infection, which will provide another avenue to understanding the biology of the rash.”

  Brainiac’s brows came together. “Antibodies? You said you were working on detecting the gas.”

  Doc waved his fork in dismissal. “The gas is a by-product of the virus. Haven’t you been listening?”

  “I’ll detect the radiation before you find the gas. Or the antibodies.” Brainiac oozed equal parts self-confidence and external scorn.

  Doc set his fork down. “I doubt it. Gases have a finite combination of elements. The radiation is entirely new, with no hints on emission, transmission, or absorption, let alone detection.”

  “It’s too soon to start sticking pins into each other’s theories,” Kingpin said. “Each of you will have a laboratory or an office and whatever equipment you need to study this phenomenon. You’ll have time with the patient. We’ll have a round table discussion at dinner each evening to share discoveries and insights. In a few days, I’m confident a consensus will emerge.”

  Steampunk nodded. “Gordon’s right. I mean, it’s only our first day here, I don’t even know what room I’m sleeping in, or anyone else’s either, not that I need to know who is in whose room. The colors on Barry aren’t just colors, they’re patterns, fractal patterns, that contain subtle variations that shift in a manner that suggests intelligence. If they mean something, I’m sure of it I’ll figure out what, but maybe I shouldn’t say that out loud, because then I’m just tooting my own horn like everyone else, except Miles. Not that self-promotion is bad, of course, but maybe this isn’t the time for it.”

  She hadn’t taken a breath during her ramble, and it crossed my mind that she may have studied with yogis or monks who practice breath control until they can go for minutes at a time between inhalations.

  The shrink said, “Forming, storming, norming, performing.”

  “Beg pardon?” said Brainiac.

  “Ah,” Kingpin said. “Stages of team behavior.”

  Mopes smiles patiently, like a schoolteacher on the first day with a new class. “We’re in the storming phase, with each member venting due to the stress inherent in dealing with a new location, new people, new expectations.”

  A fancy way of saying people were drawing battle lines to protect their turf. Mopes was probably right, but what came to my mind was nobody here knew squat, and nobody realized the potential danger.

  Brainiac looked at me expectantly. “You’ve been quiet.”

  I grunted and took another bite of the steak before it got cold.

  “Probably out of guilt.”

  I stopped chewing.

  “After all, you nearly killed the subject.”

  “The patient,” Doc said.

  Tension hovered in the air like darkening clouds. Steampunk tried to pierce the overcast with a ray of sunshine. “Miles saved my life.”

  I turned from Brainiac to lock eyes with Steampunk. We hadn’t told anyone about the sword-in-the-stone weirdness of Choirboy’s arm. My reason was simple. I didn’t want people to think me crazy, which was how I felt since my head couldn’t wrap around what happened. Ferrari had her own reasons, and I wasn’t inclined to pry, since we were on the same side of an invisible fence.

  Brainiac continued to jab. “You practically electrocuted him. Doc found electrical burns when he removed the barbs.” Her face had a Medusa-like quality, as if expecting me to turn to stone.

  I spat a wad of gristle onto my plate. “Look, lady, I’m here to protect you. All of you.” A white lie, but one they’d believe. “I carry a Taser, a knife, and a gun. Would you prefer I shoot him the next time he threatens someone? I’m fine with that.”

  Brainiac sputtered. Kingpin frowned. Tough shit. None of these people were brave knights on a quest—they were kids playing jump rope with live power lines.

  Mopes said, “One way to get past this storming phase is to work together on something simple. I suggest we come up with a name for Barry’s condition.”

  Brainiac turned her glare to the shrink. “What’s wrong with calling it the phenomenon?”

  Doc said, “Because it’s a virus.”

  Steampunk shook her head. “That’s not what jumps out at me. The fractal color pattern has an intelligence, a collective mind like the hive mind of bees or ants. I think we should use ‘It-they’ to reflect the coordinated, multifaceted intelligence. Although I admit that term doesn’t provide any connotation of colors and patterns. Maybe ‘Confetti Hive’ works better, at least until the It-they tells us its real name.”

  Slick said, “The colors are just an outward manifestation of what’s happened internally to his mind.” He spread his arms as if making a profound revelation. “It’s an aura.”

  Mopes spread her hands in mock exasperation. “See? If we’re to work as a team, we need to come together, to reach consensus, not play a game of last man standing.”

  Kingpin agreed. “Laura, do you have a suggestion for how to proceed?”

  She did, and she acted as scribe while we brainstormed a couple dozen names. She then guided us through a few rounds of voting until we eventually agreed on a name. It hinted at most of the characteristics identified by the team, and it felt appropriate for an enemy I couldn’t see.

  The taint. I nearly busted a nut laughing. It felt good to ease the tension, and the quizzical looks I got just made it funnier.

  Kingpin graced us with a benevolent smile. He must have figured it was time to start winding down. “Good food, productive conversations, and a wonderful start for our project. Miles will show you to your quarters, but before you retire, spend some time thinking about what to do next. In the morning, give me a list of the tests you want to run, what hypotheses you’re trying to prove or disprove, what supplies and equipment you need, an estimate of how much time you need to spend with the patient, and when you expect to have results.”

  “Results seldom conform to a schedule,” Doc said. Kingpin ignored him.

  “Who gets first dibs with Barry?” Slick asked.

  “I’ll determine the optimal order based on who needs to see the patient and why, with the goal of getting the best explanation of the phenomenon in the shortest amount of time.” He cleared his throat loudly enough to capture everyone’s attention. “All right, team. That’s it for today. Breakfast will be from seven until eight-thirty, self-service. I’ll assign time slots then.”

  Mopes asked, “Where is Barry’s Bible?”

  Kingpin shrugged. Doc said, “Biolab Two. Why?”

  “He wants it. He should have it, if for no other reason than to build trust.”

  “We can use it as a bargaining chip,” Kingpin said. “Hold off on giving it.”

  Mopes said, “At least unshackle him. It’s bad enough he’s in an isolation chamber.”

  Kingpin shook his head. “He’s a suicide risk. Next time he might do more than just threaten.”

  For once he and I were in full agreement.

  An hour later Colonel Hauser called me on the cell to get my impression of
day one of the full team. I gave a brief summary, knowing he had access to most of the video feeds on this level. He probably knew more than I did about the team’s activities.

  “How is the patient holding up after being zapped?” he asked.

  “Doc says he’ll be fine. So does the shrink.”

  Hauser nodded. “Smart to use non-lethal force, Sergeant.” He let me absorb that for a second, then asked about Ferrari.

  “She’s holding up well, too.” I didn’t mention the glass shard, embarrassed my voice would betray how frightened Choirboy made me feel. Instead, I said, “Dr. Kapoor had a briefcase that looked a lot like the one carried by the woman in Hobart. Sir, did someone else complete that mission?” Leaving a little girl without a mother. Stop it, Miles.

  Hauser’s response was a few heartbeats late in coming. “Stay focused on your current mission, Sergeant. Don’t discuss the Hobart fiasco with anyone. Including Maxwell.”

  Chapter 10

  Laura knocked on the door to Biolab Two. A few seconds later Doctor Harrison invited her inside. Tom’s gray face reminded her he’d been with Barry longer than anyone. Hopefully the experience hadn’t turned him bitter. She needed his help.

  The lab contained centrifuges, racks of test tubes, gas chromatographs, refrigerators with transparent doors, workstations with sinks and hoods, microscopes—both optical and electron—and tons of other equipment could have supported five technicians with room to spare. The same overkill was reflected by the entire facility. Seven people in a base built for forty? Something felt wrong—wrong with the base, the team composition, the bizarre nature of the taint.

  “Tom, I’d like to visit the patient this evening.”

  He shook his head. “No visitors until tomorrow.”

  “He’s being treated like a lab rat instead of a person.” She noticed Tom glance toward a transparent glass wall. A glovebox penetrated the wall, giving access to a stainless steel table on the other side, the hot lab. On the table was a transparent cage with a white rat inside, probably the one he’d exposed to Barry’s taint earlier today. She pointed to the rat. “Any findings?”