by W D County
Cautiously he replied, “For medical use.”
He expected her to plead, but haughtiness filled her face. “The lab’s magnet was the wrong shape and not as powerful as I required. I know now to use only fully grayed material. My calculations show the main field of the MRI should provide adequate strength and symmetry. You have nothing to fear.”
“Fear isn’t the point. Have Gordon order another magnet. He could probably get it here by tomorrow.”
“I was afraid you’d say that.” Her smile curled in a not-so-pleasant manner. “Gordon said I could use the MRI. I’m on the verge of accomplishing something truly incredible, and he agrees that my experiment shouldn’t wait.”
Blame your ambitions on Gordon, but I see through you. He realized Gordon’s quick acquiescence on the supercomputer was intended to soften the resistance on use of the MRI. “Fine,” Doc said in a tone that conveyed it was anything but fine.
Twenty minutes later he and Sonja stood near the MRI, now recalibrated to her specifications. Sonja insisted the first test would be on one of Doc’s gray rats, which now lay tranquilized inside the bore of the MRI. In a cage next to the machine, a grayed Rhesus monkey waited its turn to be tested. Doc wondered what the MRI would reveal about the skin, fur, and internal organs. Depending on the results, he might ask Gordon to have Barry undergo the same MRI exam. The monkey chattered softly under mild sedation. Doc would immobilize it for the actual test.
“Here we go,” Doc said, finger on the button. Sonja shifted from one foot to another, practically dancing with excitement.
The MRI hummed to life, electricity coursing through its super-cooled, superconducting cables to generate a magnetic field 30,000 times more powerful than the Earth’s field. The machine emitted a characteristic hammering sound. The monkey’s chatter changed to a terrified shriek. Doc felt an unpleasant tugging sensation on his head and hands. The MRI shuddered and emitted what seemed like a sonic boom accompanied by a burst of light.
Doc turned off the machine and blinked in an attempt to clear his vision. A high-pitched squeal filled the air. He confirmed that the MRI was turned off before inching toward the machine. The squealing came from the rat, who writhed in pain. Its legs were embedded in the carbon-fiber bed of the machine as if the material had liquified and then solidified again. Doc tried to free the creature, but its limbs hadn’t merely sunk beneath the surface; they had somehow fused with it.
“What the hell?” he said.
When Sonja didn’t answer, he turned and saw her staring at the monkey’s cage. The cage, still latched, now sat empty. A silent, blank-faced monkey stood beside it.
“Success!” Sonja said with evident delight.
“Not entirely,” he replied while placing the unusually pliant monkey back into the cage. “Look at the rat. I’ll have to amputate its legs.”
Sonja studied the unfortunate animal. “The focal point was off by about a meter. I can correct that. Is the MRI still functional?”
He fixed her with a glare. “Not until I’ve checked it thoroughly and removed the rat. It’ll take hours. Go back to your lab.”
After she left, he anesthetized the rat, amputated its four legs, and cauterized the stumps. He wondered if Barry’s blood would improve the speed and extent of healing for the quadriplegic rodent. The question held more than academic interest. Given Sonja’s less-than-accurate calculations, it could have been his own body embedded in a wall.
Chapter 26
An hour after the unfortunate fire, Zita switched partners and plodded down the bare whitewashed hall (the government should invest in some artwork) toward the observation room with Nathan beside her and Miles following close behind. Their footfalls conferred sound to the butterflies battering the walls of her stomach—dangerous threatening butterflies like those in her dream but worse because she’d fed them with her guilt. She might as well be trudging through a prison corridor with Nathan as her accomplice, heading toward permanent incarceration for the crime of treason against the United States for the destruction of top secret records. Sleeping in Miles’s bed afterward made the guilt worse. Thank God she hadn’t slept with him. He probably thought she was a tease but that wasn’t true, at least consciously. It did ratchet her guilt up another notch, though. She hoped he didn’t blame her for the fire in the lab, too.
If Nathan felt guilty he certainly didn’t show it, but then he wasn’t aware of the magnitude of her computer sabotage. Hopefully no one would ever know, since she’d been careful not only to erase the original images of the taint, but to replace them with almost identical images that bore no hidden messages. Had she saved the world or totally overreacted? The taint might not contain any messages... except she knew it did even if she couldn’t prove it. Like Spider-Man, she trusted her tingly sense of danger.
They entered the observation room and donned protective clothing in near silence, although she caught Miles scowling at Nathan when the magician handed her a pair of glasses. Miles turned to her and when he saw her watching him, he promptly turned away and pulled the hood over his head and the mask across his face. He’s jealous. The internal butterflies eased a bit, and she smiled even though no one could see it because the smile was for her, not them.
The airlock barely fit three people. Nathan suggested that Miles wait outside and observe remotely on the monitors. Miles growled. “After the stunt you pulled? I ought to check your pockets right now.”
“What stunt?” Zita asked, suddenly worried.
“Last night I caught Slick here feeding the taint a wad of stickies.”
She turned on Nathan. “You what? You don’t have any idea how dangerous that is, nobody here does, and you decide to risk it biting the hand that feeds it.”
“I had my reasons.”
The flippant attitude angered her. “If Gordon finds out...”
“If Gordon finds out,” Nathan echoed sarcastically.
Miles growled again. Did the mean dog need a puppy treat? “Gordon knows. Wouldn’t give Nathan so much as a slap on the wrist.” He yanked viciously on the outer door, pulling it shut with a jarring clang.
Nathan tapped in the code for the inner door and swung it wide. “Because you overreact to everything, Miles. Loosen up. Let us do our jobs.”
Nathan entered first. Zita followed reluctantly, acutely aware of being sealed inside a windowless metal cylinder with three men she didn’t completely trust who exuded toxic levels of testosterone, irresponsibility, and religious fervor.
Barry sat motionless on the bed as they surrounded him. His eyes tracked her. “You’re afraid,” he said. She heard a sudden intake of breath from Miles and felt the tension rise.
“No, I’m fine,” she answered. She stared at the taint, which now covered over sixty percent of Barry’s body. The shifting, flowing colors captured her attention and threatened to capture her mind. She looked away, blinked a few times to clear her thoughts, and then resumed observation of the taint, this time at a different area of his body. She hoped this methodology would prevent illusions and delusions from insinuating themselves in her consciousness.
Barry opened his Bible, seemingly at random, and his index finger slid to a passage. Without looking at the page, he began to read. “Isaiah chapter forty-three, verse one: ‘But now, this is what the Lord says: Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have summoned you by name; you are mine.’”
Miles said, “Are you threatening her? Zita doesn’t belong to you or anyone else.”
“Ease up,” Nathan said. “He’s reading the Bible. Just a verse in the Bible.”
“Yeah? Why did he choose that particular verse?”
Barry smiled up at Miles. “I didn’t choose the passage, God did. He works through me, as He does with all people. I’ve simply been blessed with a deeper awareness of His purpose, and granted such powers as are needed to fulfill my part.”
“What part is that?” said Miles, malice in his voice. “What surprises do you have planned? Tell me, Barry.” His ha
nd drifted to the Taser on his belt.
“I do have one, but it’s not for you.” Barry reached beneath the sheet and pulled out a rumpled gray shirt. He held it out toward Zita. “Did you and Sonja lose this recently?”
Miles tried to take the item but Barry snatched it away. “Sergeant, your skills are in security, not research.”
Zita froze in shock. Her eyes darted to Miles and then to Nathan. She wished she could see their faces but knew intuitively that they both recognized Barry’s words as an exact quote from Gordon. Barry had no way of overhearing that breakfast conversation. Laura and Doc had been his first visitors of the day, but they had no reason to tell him. How did he know?
She pretended a calm she didn’t have and reached for the shirt. Doc’s gray shirt. Her eyes locked with Barry’s. She couldn’t turn away.
“I know many things, Zita Ferrari,” he said. Without breaking her gaze, he flipped to a new page of the Bible. Again his finger scrolled down and he read as if the letters on the thin flat pages were Braille. “Job chapter four, verses thirteen through sixteen: ‘Amid disquieting thoughts from the visions of the night, when deep sleep falls on men, dread came upon me, and trembling, and made all my bones shake. Then a spirit passed by my face; the hair of my flesh bristled up.’”
Barry closed the holy book. “Just look at you now, wide-eyed and trembling, the hair of your neck and arms standing up beneath that white, protective cocoon. Are you afraid of butterflies, Zita? Afraid of becoming one?”
A veil of kindness suffused his face and a tender, comforting presence wrapped around her. She backed away. “No,” she said. “No!” As if transported back to her dream, she felt sunshine warm her skin. She smelled the flowers. A silent voice said, Let me in. I can answer all your questions.
Her legs weakened. An arm gripped her shoulder. “You all right?” Miles asked.
“No!” she blurted as an unseen presence tightened around her mind like the coils of a python. “We have to go. Now.”
Nathan laughed. “Nonsense. We’re perfectly safe.”
Miles helped her to the exit as she sent her mind on an evasive maneuver in hope of losing the insidious alien presence. She composed the Declaration of Independence using letter names of musical notes and adding sharps and flats as needed to represent missing letters of the alphabet. She adjusted the timing and the sharp-flat assignments until it sounded inspiring and powerful and overwhelmed everything else in her head.
“Zita,” said a deep voice. A genuine caring voice.
She blinked, surprised to regain consciousness that she hadn’t known she’d lost. Miles sat beside her at the console of the observation room. Her hood, mask, and glasses had been removed, though he remained in full protective garb. Her mind was mostly clear and, more to the point, alone.
“Where’s Nathan?” she asked.
Miles grimaced. “He refused to come out. I’m keeping tabs on the monitors in case he or the patient tries anything funny.” He put his hand gently on her shoulder. “What happened? Are you all right?”
“I’m too fast for the taint. My mind, that is. But the taint’s gotten stronger. Don’t let Nathan feed it any more color.”
Miles looked at the monitor and swore. “Too late.” He reached for the button that would flood the vault with cyanide gas.
“No! Don’t kill them.”
“This has to stop.” The edge in his voice cut through her residual fuzziness.
“Can you kill the vault’s interior lights from here?”
His arm froze and then shifted to a different switch. Zita let the tension ease from her muscles. Thank goodness he remembered the taint can’t grow in the dark. The monitors went dark except for a camera set for infrared. The speakers vibrated with Nathan’s cry of frustration.
Chapter 27
Nathan paced the length of his room for the umpteenth time, threatening to wear a path in the industrial grade carpet. He stopped at the door and delivered a viscous kick that sent a flare of pain blazing through his foot while not damaging the door in the slightest. The Neanderthal in a uniform would pay for that, would pay for arresting him like some common criminal and marching him to his room in cuffs.
The cuffs were nothing; he had them off seconds after Miles left the room. The door lock, however, proved resistant to his best efforts. Stripped of his phone and keys, escape seemed impossible. Shouting didn’t help. The door’s thickness and flush fit muted sounds, and few team members would pass by his room until heading for lunch. Then, if not sooner, someone would notice his absence, and soldier-boy would pay for his cruelty and abuse of power.
He hobbled to the bed, took off his shoes, and massaged his aching foot. As the pain eased, he became aware of a presence, familiar and powerful, hovering in the back of his mind. The same presence that spoke directly to his mind while inside the vault. He called to it. Barry, I need your help.
The world needs my help, Barry answered.
Miles is a problem. You saw what he did. He has to be stopped.
Who is Miles? What does he matter? Micah, chapter seven, verse eight: “Do not gloat over me, my enemy! Though I have fallen, I will rise. Though I sit in darkness, the LORD will be my light.”
He has me a prisoner, Barry. Get me out of here!
Laughter echoed in the hallways of Nathan’s mind.
Barry, I’m your friend. I’m helping you, feeding you. Surely you can help me.
You gave an offering to me, and in return I promised you the power of telepathy. The soundless words took on a sense of sternness. Your tithe was short by half, so half the power I give to you. Prepare yourself.
Half? He’d figure that out later. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The expected calm fled in panic as a spectral bolt slammed into his mind like an asteroid hitting the earth. One of those killer, extinction-level asteroids. His scream emerged as a strangled squeak. Unseen fingers probed his brain, more blunt and painful than in his dream.
Still your thoughts, Barry ordered. Keep your eyes closed.
Nathan thrashed on the bed, only gradually realizing he was still alive. He fought back the panic and stumbled through the mental holocaust of not-quite-rightness, grappling with a sense of awareness that didn’t depend on ears, eyes, or any other sensory organ. His shocked, bewildered brain insisted on processing the new sense through old pathways. Suddenly wide-eyed, he stared at the distorted room now superimposed on an entirely different image.
Close your eyes. He did, and the image gained clarity and resolution. He stood in a waiting room at a train station, empty except for a few people sitting on benches and reading newspapers.
What is this, Barry? Am I... dead?
Eventually you’ll be able to read thoughts, images, and emotions directly without losing your own sense of identity. Until then, scenes like this are training wheels for your mind. They’ll keep you from tumbling headlong into another person’s reality. Psalm 94:11: “The Lord knows the thoughts of man, that they are but a breath.”
Barry’s presence faded away.
Was this telepathy? It bore no semblance to the cold readings Nathan included in his Vegas shows. He peered over the shoulder of the nearest person and discovered the man’s thoughts appeared as articles in the newspaper.
I need something concrete to offer the brass. Something more than the ability to predict what card shows up next. If only Nathan could demonstrate actual mind-reading ability, then I’d have something. Fat chance of that. The card reading was probably fake. The guy knows how to blow smoke.
“Gordon, you’re wrong. I can read minds. I can. Do you hear me?”
My best bets are the physicist and the shrink. Teleportation is a long shot but the payoff would be enormous. A more likely outcome is Laura figuring out how to generate coherent hallucinations in an enemy’s mind.
“Can’t you hear me? I’m locked up in my room.”
The man showed no awareness, and Nathan moved to the next person, a woman. The headline of her paper
read “Animals Vanish,” and in smaller print, “Just like the Antarctic explorers.” A rat and a monkey disappeared, but they couldn’t have gone far. A series of equations followed, their symbols and significance beyond Nathan’s grasp, but clearly important to the woman. Her excitement hummed in the air like a high-voltage transmission line.
“Sonja, can you hear me?”
I hope the animals are alive. Even if they missed the walls, trillions of air molecules would end up embedded in their bodies. Unless the process somehow compensates for that. Teleportation! I’ll get a Nobel for sure.
Nathan moved on to the next man, whose paper also contained an article on the missing lab animals, although a more prominent article dealt with healing compounds derived from grayed organic material.
“Doc?” Nathan reached out to shake the man out of complacency. His hands passed through the doctor as if one or the other of them were a ghost. No one could hear him, or rather, hear his thoughts. He remembered Barry’s words: Half the power I give to you.
A rumble in the floor announced the approach of a train. Nathan hurried to the platform to see who would disembark, but the train rushed by without slowing. A dozen versions of Zita filled the window seats of the passenger car, each woman reading a different paper whose text flashed by too quickly for more than glancing impressions: an editorial cartoon showing Miles as a stubborn mule, captioned “The longer you wait—” ... a crossword puzzle that covered an entire page, partially completed in an assortment of colored pencils... Barry’s face, captioned “Whatever you ask for in prayer, believe that you have received it, and it will be yours” ... a stuffed animal wearing an eye patch... Miles wearing boxer shorts... Doc’s gray shirt Barry gave to her.
The train moved on, dragging a transparent boxcar filled with butterflies.
Disturbed by some of the images, especially Miles in his underwear, Nathan returned to the waiting room. Oddly enough, Miles wasn’t there, and had not been there earlier. Was the Marine immune to telepathy? Or were lower-level brains unable to generate a signal? It didn’t matter.