by W D County
I pressed my thumb on the scanner and tapped in the access code. She followed me inside the hexagonal room. I turned and said, “Zita! Don’t. Touch. Anything.” The words came out harsher than intended. My annoyance with Kingpin still simmered below the surface.
With exaggerated obedience, she clasped her hands behind her back and proceeded to inspect the layout of the room, looking like Napoleon reviewing the field of battle. She paused before the wall of monitors. “The residential rooms aren’t surveilled. Good. Surprising, given that the government believes its role to be Big Brother and we are deep inside its domain. They probably didn’t feel the need to monitor themselves and didn’t anticipate the presence of civilian interlopers.”
“I’m not a voyeur.”
She raised a brow. “You keep a close eye on me. Two eyes, in fact.”
I steered her to a chair behind the small desk, which held a computer and monitor. She quickly mastered the keystrokes required to pull up the archived videos. “Are you looking for something specific?” I asked.
“Of course, but I won’t know what it is until I find it.” She cued the video files she wanted—those of the patient from his day of arrival until yesterday—and began watching them with myopic intensity. The silence wore on.
I grew bored and tried to make friendly conversation. “I looked over the video where the patient tried to kill himself. The camera angle isn’t ideal. You can’t tell for sure if the glass goes through his throat.”
She replied without looking up from the screen. “I’ll get to that video in a few minutes.”
“The camera didn’t get any shot of the glass going through his arm, either. Without proof, we made fools of ourselves.”
She sighed noisily. “You’re a distraction, Mr. Reardon. I need to concentrate. Go away.”
“Can’t leave you alone in here. Regulations.”
“Then be quiet, okay? And stop staring at me.”
I swiveled my chair to face the security monitors. Inside the vault, a person shrouded in white—undoubtedly Mopes—stood talking with Choirboy. No sign of Kingpin. The observation room was deserted. I gritted my teeth at his display of irresponsibility. If a problem arose inside the vault, it’d take at least two minutes for me to get there. If Choirboy broke free of his cuffs and attempted to kill Mopes, I’d arrive one minute and fifty seconds too late. Orders were orders, but when shit happened the blame rarely fell on the bosses.
In Physics Lab One, Brainiac seemed to be poking holes in the sides of a shoebox and plugging the holes with flashlights, camera lenses, and other stuff. Seemed quirky, but quirkiness might be a trait common to all geniuses. Didn’t matter as long as she didn’t blow up the lab.
Another camera showed Doc in Biolab Two, working remotely on a monkey in the hot lab. Still another showed Slick clutching his precious psychic cards as he hustled down the corridor toward the observation room. I snorted at the idea that ESP was real. Zita told me to be quiet.
“Zita, I’m sorry about the... the misunderstanding earlier.”
“I need to concentrate.”
“I didn’t ask if you have a boyfriend, or a girlfriend for that matter, and should never have simply assumed...”
She favored me with a frown. “Let me work, Sergeant.”
Ouch.
“Do you have a printer in here? I’d like hard copies of some screen shots.”
The printer sat on a cart nestled under my desk. I wheeled it out and showed her how to access it from her computer. Dozens of sheets emerged, mostly close-ups of Choirboy. One caught my eye and I nearly choked. “You printed a picture of his penis?”
“I need to study all his tainted areas. This is a rainbow penis.”
We jumped as the Klaxon blared. I spun to the monitors showing the vault. Choirboy remained cuffed to the bed, but Mopes pounded frantically on the airlock door. I didn’t bother turning on the audio—every second counted. I grabbed Steampunk’s arm and shoved her toward the door. “Go!”
***
Nearly all scientists reject the existence of paranormal abilities, steadfast in their belief that incidents which initially seemed to defy explanation ultimately have a rational, natural cause. Nathan’s own investigations bore that out time and again. But not this time.
Barry was the real deal. Furthermore, the growth of the taint—Barry’s aura—implied that his psychic abilities were increasing. The only troubling detail was the draining of color from surrounding material. Nothing like it had ever been recorded in any paranormal investigation. But then, no one had ever manifested abilities this powerful.
Feeding color to Barry’s aura should result in additional paranormal abilities and strengthen those powers already being exhibited. The possibilities were staggering: psychic surgery, precognition, remote viewing, telepathy, perhaps even teleportation.
Clutching the fresh deck of Zener cards, Nathan hurried back to the observation room, eager to run a few tests from outside the vault. He sat at the command console and glanced at the surveillance monitors. What the hell? A stranger stood inside the vault. He appeared to be in his mid-forties, dressed in a gray suit and striped tie. No protective clothing at all. A second person, encased in protective gear, stood next to the man. Barry sat on his bed, still in cuffs.
Nathan turned up the volume and heard Laura say, “John, I’ve missed you so much.”
“I’ve missed you, too,” said the man in a soft, clear voice. “Death was an insurmountable barrier, until Barry opened a path.”
Nathan shivered, more from excitement than fear.
“I’m... imagining this,” Laura said.
“Maybe I am, too,” John replied.
“Oh!” Laura grabbed her wrist. The stranger vanished. She nearly fell into the empty space. “No. No! Come back.” She spun to face Barry. “You did this! You tricked me!” She ran to the airlock door and pounded on it. “Let me out. Let me out!”
Laura hit the alarm button and a Klaxon blared. Nathan waited a full thirty seconds before thumbing the mic. “Laura, are you all right?”
“Let me out of here.”
“I don’t have the code.”
“Gordon said he’d come. Or Miles. Doc. Somebody. I need to get out. Out!”
Gordon rushed into the observation room and shoved Nathan aside. He stared at the monitor for a second and punched a series of numbers into the pad on the console. The inner door of the vault opened, and Laura rushed into the airlock. After it cycled, she stumbled through the outer door.
Gordon rushed to her side. “What’s wrong?”
Laura ripped off her hood, glasses, and face mask. She leaned against the railing surrounding the vault, breathing heavily. “Nothing,” she said. “I was finished. Got a bit claustrophobic.”
“Why didn’t you use your cell?”
She looked flustered, then chagrined. “I forgot about it. Sorry. No emergency, but I needed to get out and no one was here.”
Nathan observed the interaction with interest. She didn’t mention the stranger.
“Next time, use the phone.” Gordon moved toward the exit.
Miles and Zita dashed into the room, with Doc and Sonja close behind. They all spoke at once, demanding to know what happened. Gordon raised his hands and said, “False alarm,” before pushing past them and out the door. Doc, Sonja, and Zita followed, still pestering him with questions.
Miles remained, casting dark looks at Laura. “What did he do to you?”
She proceeded to remove her protective clothing.
Miles moved closer. “You were pounding on the door.”
“Nothing happened. Claustrophobia.” She shed the outer clothing and hurried to the exit.
Miles walked over to Nathan. “You see what happened?”
He shook his head. “Just got here a second before Gordon.” He opened the box of Zener cards and shuffled the deck. “I need to do an outside test. You want to stay and watch?”
“Maybe I will. For a while.”
&nbs
p; Nathan shrugged and spoke to the mic. “Barry, I’m back, and we’re going to do another round with the cards, this time with me outside. Ready?”
Barry’s voice came over the speaker. “I didn’t intend to upset Laura. Quite the opposite, in fact.”
“She’ll be fine.” Nathan turned over a card. “First card?”
“She needs to trust in God, not in her wristwatch.”
“I’ll ask Doc to check on her, okay? What is the card?”
“Work on your compassion, Nathan.” After a pause, Barry added, “Blue waves.”
“Good. Again.”
Barry rattled off the answers as quickly as Nathan could flip the cards. The answers were one hundred percent correct. Was it telepathy or clairvoyance? Nathan closed his eyes and turned over the next card. “Card?”
No answer.
“Barry, what’s the card?”
“I can’t get a clear impression.”
“Just the color then.”
“I can’t tell.”
“Guess.”
“Blue?”
Nathan opened his eyes and stared at the yellow circle. Interesting. He flipped several more cards, but Barry scored no better than random chance—unless Nathan could see the card. Telepathy, not clairvoyance, when outside the vault. “Good job, Barry.”
Barry laughed. “You think you can lie to me? Come inside, where nothing is hidden.”
Nathan was uncomfortably aware of Miles listening. “There’s been enough excitement today. I need a break.”
“Don’t be afraid, Nathan.” Prayers and offerings are in order, said a voice in his head.
He glanced at the soldier, who clearly hadn’t heard the telepathic words. Later, Nathan thought.
“Now,” Barry said. “Come to me.” His stern expression stared out from the monitor.
Nathan turned to Miles. “Probably best if I go in for a few minutes.”
Miles grimaced. “Don’t let him call the shots. It feeds his ego.”
“I need to run these tests. No time like the present.”
They suited up. When the soldier’s back was turned, Nathan grabbed a handful of pads, each holding twenty small colored sheets. He stuffed them in the pocket of the coveralls and headed for the airlock. He craned his neck hoping to see Miles enter the numeric code, but the soldier concealed his hands.
The door opened and Barry flashed a charming smile. You brought an offering for me. Put it under the Bible. “Come here. Let me show you a particularly relevant passage.” Barry held the Bible in his right hand, close enough for his chained left hand to turn the pages. He stopped at the gospel of Luke.
Give, and it will be given to you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together and running over, will be poured into your lap. For with the measure you use, it will be measured to you.
Nathan reached into his pocket and pulled out a pad of stickies. He leaned forward as if reading the Bible with Barry, keeping his hands under the book and hidden from the cameras. He felt confident that Miles didn’t have a clue; Nathan had been practicing misdirection and sleight of hand for years. Nathan pulled off one tab, then another and another, until the pad was empty. He started on another pad and repeated the process while Barry turned to the book of Malachi.
“Bring the whole tithe into the storehouse, that there may be food in my house. Test me in this,” says the Lord Almighty, “and see if I will not throw open the floodgates of heaven and pour out so much blessing that there will not be room enough to store it.”
Nathan started to pull out another tab, then hesitated. The taint had spread across most of Barry’s face; the colored bits crowded together and jostled one another like hungry carp being fed from a pier. What exactly did Barry mean by opening the floodgates of heaven?
“All will be revealed in good time,” Barry said, turning to Proverbs. Do not withhold good from those to whom it is due, when it is in your power to act.
The taint peeked out from the sleeve of Barry’s left arm, a few inches from the metal cuff circling his wrist. The colors beckoned silently, and the unused packets in Nathan’s pocket pleaded for release. The floodgates of heaven... Noah and the flood? Worldwide destruction?
Nathan concentrated on a thought: You owe me.
Barry’s smile faded. Look at me, a prisoner, a lab rat, a would-be weapon for a government bereft of compassion. This you and your kind have done to me, rejecting God. Pray for my blessing, do not demand it. “Get out.”
Miles stepped forward, hand on the butt of his gun. “What’s going on?”
With his hand hidden by the Bible, Nathan scooped up the gray paper tabs, turned, and stuffed them back in his pocket. “Nothing. Let’s go.”
Chapter 17
As dinner wound down, Kingpin asked for verbal reports. I studied faces while pouring a cup of joe. Brainiac and Slick displayed an eagerness reminiscent of high school honor rollers about to blurt out the answer to a tough question. Mopes looked like the dog ate her homework. Doc fit somewhere between the extremes. Steampunk appeared to be lost in thought.
Doc pushed back from the table and gazed at the ceiling as if collecting his thoughts. A few seconds later he lowered his head. “Evidence continues to indicate the taint is biological in nature. Not only does it spread like a rash, we all witnessed the almost instantaneous healing it generated when I took the skin sample.
“That sample, as well as earlier ones, shows powerful antiseptic and antibiotic properties far superior to any drug on the market. The taint is analogous to penicillin mold, churning out a healing salve of enormous benefit to humanity.”
Brainiac said, “Radiation can produce antibiotic effects. And treat cancer. Radiation burns can mimic a skin rash.”
“Radiation requires time and cumulative doses to be effective. The taint is instantaneous. Besides that, radiation wouldn’t produce a contiguous rash. Its effects would manifest as separate patches spread over his whole body.”
“Not necessarily. If—”
Kingpin lifted his hand. “Sonja, let’s hold off on rebuttals and alternative theories and let Tom finish his report.”
Doc nodded in appreciation. “Maybe it’s worth reviewing the characteristics that differentiate living from non-living things. The list includes cellular organization, reproduction, metabolism, response to stimuli, and growth. There is some debate as to whether viruses are alive, since they don’t have a complete cell structure, nor can they reproduce without hijacking the cells of another organism. However, for the purpose of this discussion we’ll assume they are alive.”
Steampunk said, “Reproductive hijacking takes place on a macroscopic scale, too. Certain species of wasps bury their larva inside a spider, where it serves as a living host until eaten by the growing larva. Less gruesomely, the females of several cuckoo species lay eggs in nests of other birds to be raised surreptitiously.”
“Which has no bearing on my report,” Doc said. “The taint is composed of millions or billions of discrete, microscopic color segments, clearly analogous to cells. These cells clearly reproduce, as both the number of segments and the surface area covered by them has grown from sixteen square centimeters five days ago to over seven thousand square centimeters today. The growth of the taint as it feeds on color suggests both metabolism and reproduction in conjunction with the graying of its environment.”
“Inanimate crystals will grow in a saturated solution,” Brainiac said dryly.
“Sonja...” Kingpin said in a warning tone.
As Sonja turned her verbal gun sights from Doc to Kingpin, Slick scooted closer to Steampunk and tried to draw her into a side conversation. His left hand rested on Zita’s shoulder while his right gestured in counterpoint to his murmurings. I racked my brain trying to come up with a suitable form of discouragement. Flinging a bone at his head seemed childish. Shooting him seemed over the top.
Mopes joined the three-way fray. “I thought we were through the norming phase, with all its inherent conflict.”
&
nbsp; “Apparently not,” Kingpin said. “Doc, finish your report. Everyone else—shut up.”
With great care, I stumbled on the way back to my seat and managed to spill hot coffee on Slick without getting a drop on Steampunk. He jumped with a curse and dabbed himself with a napkin. “Sorry,” I muttered. He left the room to change. Mission accomplished.
Doc resumed his talk. “I hoped to graft a sample of taint onto one of the lab animals, but the taint—”
A chill ran down my spine and burrowed into my gut. I kicked myself for not paying closer attention. “Is it secure? In a colorless environment? What precautions are in place?”
Doc blinked. Kingpin leaned on the table and said, “Whoa, Sergeant. Hand off the gun.”
Damn. My right hand rested on the butt of my gun. Funny how some actions are instinctual. I let my hand drop to the side. “We need to ensure safeguards are in place.”
Doc spoke in a defensive tone, his gaze unable to leave my gun. “As I was about to say, the taint turns gray immediately upon removal from the host. A graft is impossible, so I tried skin to skin exposure with a rat and a Rhesus. No luck with either, although the monkey did become quite frantic when it saw the taint.”
Brainiac seemed less belligerent. “Maybe you need a magnetic field.”
“Or a colder room,” Mopes added.
Steampunk said, “Rats have dichromatic vision—they see in two colors whereas monkeys have trichromatic vision and see like us so the rat never saw the taint, but the monkey did and that’s probably why it became upset.”
I brooded over her words. Even monkeys could see better than me. No wonder she preferred Slick’s company to mine.
She continued, “Photographs that I took of the taint today showed subtle changes in its patterns which seem to vary in step with changes in the conversation I had with Barry. The patterns may be an attempt to communicate so I’m working on a translation. The original tesseract may also have tried to communicate because its patterns were similar to those of the taint. That’s all I have for today.”
Brainiac rolled her eyes and said, “I have something of real significance to report.” She launched into an esoteric monologue about K-radiation and reflections and other stuff I found impossible to follow. Everyone else nodded as if they understood the geek language.