Pecos hastily introduced himself.
They proceeded from Tina clockwise around the table to Aaron, Jade, and all too soon, Lacey. “Ms. McHenry,” Swain said, making a point of showing her and everyone else there that he knew her name already, “what is it that you would most desire to research?”
Since she’ d not come up with a single clear thing all day long, she’ d been striving to come up with something intriguing before he got to her. Now that his attention was upon her, her mind went absolutely blank. Moments stretched by, and then, right out of the blue, words: “I think right now I’m mostly interested in the factors that direct growth. Particularly accelerated growth.”
She heard her own voice with a measure of horror. What in the world was she saying? Was she deliberately trying to provoke him?
She was relieved when he simply lifted a brow, seeming more amused than annoyed, and said, “Well, now. That just happens to be an area that K-J is actively pursuing, as, of course, you know.”
Touché, she thought.
Swain held her gaze. “And where do you see yourself five years hence?” he asked.
“Why, right here, I hope.”
“No thoughts of running off to get your doctorate?”
“Well, if an offer came, of course, that would be great. . . .” But there was no chance of that. She suspected he knew it.
Finally he smiled, as if she had passed some sort of test, and said,
“I’m delighted you feel that way, Ms. McHenry. You wouldn’t happen to have come up with any specific project ideas in line with your interest in accelerated growth, would you?”
“Project ideas? I . . . no, sir. Nothing specific.”
“No? Well, why don’t you see me after dinner and we’ll discuss it further.”
His attention moved on to Mel, sitting to Lacey’s left. But the poor girl was so disarmed by what he’ d just said to Lacey that she stumbled and stuttered her way through whatever it was she said. Lacey herself was so stunned she hardly heard her.
Did Director Swain really just ask me to see him after dinner to discuss a potential project? she wondered. When it finally penetrated that, yes, indeed, that was what he had done, she wanted to leap up and shriek, except . . .
Except she wasn’t entirely sure it was for real. Perhaps he’ d been annoyed by her comments about the ATR and was simply baiting her. He probably suspected she’ d not been serious, given the thoroughness of the profiles he compiled on his employees. When she admitted as much, he’ d send her back to Reinhardt and that would be the end of it.
Nevertheless, she could not extinguish the hope he’ d birthed in her.
They continued around the table and, once the introductions were completed, had embarked on a lively conversation. Swain was engaging, generous, and funny, and by the end of dinner, she was utterly enthralled with him. That he’ d take the time to sit with them, talk to them in such a respectful way, not as peons but as equals, blew her away. Every time she had any personal dealings with the man, it seemed, she just got more and more impressed.
The only weird part of it was that during the conversation he did not speak directly to her again, or even acknowledge her presence. His eyes would fix upon each of her tablemates, but would jump from Jade on Lacey’s right straight over to Mel on her left, never again making eye contact with Lacey herself. It left her feeling quite confused, unable to celebrate, unable to lament, unable to do anything.
Even at dinner’s end, as he’ d left them and her cohorts gathered around to congratulate her in surprise and apparent joy, she couldn’t shake her ambivalence. All he’ d promised was a discussion. Congratulations seemed entirely premature.
Indeed, he’ d left the table so rapidly, she wasn’t sure he even remembered he’ d asked her to talk to him afterward. At first she thought he’ d left the room entirely, but then she saw him, locked in conversation with the head of Chemical Engineering. Not knowing what to do, she drifted in his direction, and as the others left to attend the evening forum, she waited in his periphery, slowly talking herself over to the view that he had forgotten what he’ d asked of her, or she’d misunderstood, and even if he did mean to discuss a project with her he’ d not meant that evening.
“Ah, Ms. McHenry.” His smooth and pleasant voice broke into her dismayed rationalizations. “I’ve been making a few inquiries over the weekend, and it looks as if we may be able to get you into the U of A graduate program.”
She gaped at him. He held up a cautionary finger. “Before you protest, hear me out. I spoke to Dr. Essex yesterday, and today he has agreed to approve on a trial basis your admission into the university’s doctorate program. I will serve as your adjunct doctoral advisor, though officially it will be Dr. Essex who mentors you.”
Her ears were roaring, and she wondered if she really was hallucinating this time. “I hardly know what to say, sir.”
“How about, ‘Thank you. I accept’?”
“I would love to. . . . I would say yes in a moment, except I—”
“Your funding problem,” he guessed, cutting her off. “No worries. I have secured you a full sponsorship from among our many donors, one who has asked to remain anonymous.”
“Estelle? Is it Estelle?”
“Now, now, Ms. McHenry.” He smiled. “You can’t ask me to betray a confidence. You have only to say yes.”
“Well, then . . . yes! Of course I accept. I—” Words failed her as her throat closed up and tears blurred her vision.
“I’m transferring you out of Applied Genetics and into Human Resources for the time being. That’s where we’ve located our other independent researchers. You’ll be directly answering to Dr.Viascola—though, as I said, I will be your advisor. Anything you need, anytime you wish to talk, just let me know. For now, report to Dr.
Viascola tomorrow at nine, and she’ll get you settled into your new office.”
“Office?”
He smiled. “I told Essex you could have a rudimentary proposal ready by the end of the week, so why don’t we set up an appointment for ten-thirty Thursday morning. You can bring in what you’ve got and we’ll go over it. Then I’ll fax the final version on Friday.” He paused and smiled again. “I consider it a matter of honor to see that my loyal employees are very well treated, Ms. McHenry. Anything you need, just let me know.”
“Yes, sir.”
He said good night and left her there, too dazed to move, reliving the encounter in her mind, certain she must have misunderstood. To have her chance at a doctorate after all? Practically handed to her, money and all?
Eventually she ended up back at her room, which she had to herself, since Jade had gone to the forum. She shut the door and began to squeal and jump around with glee, reveling in the astonishing change in her fortunes. Soon enough, however, her ambition superseded her rejoicing, reminding her that if she had nothing to present on Thursday, the offer could well be retracted. She’ d best get to work. Today’s effort had been playtime. Now she needed to get serious.
As she sat down and powered up her laptop, Swain’s parting words returned to her: “I consider it a matter of honor to see that my loyal employees are very well treated.” This time they struck her with a significance that her high-running emotions had blinded her to earlier, and she wondered suddenly if Swain’s offer was not as much happenstance as it had appeared. Maybe his offer was not made because he’ d noted potential in one of his young employees and wished to develop it, but because he was rewarding her for her silence regarding the events surrounding Frogeater. His way of making up for that small black spot she would always carry on her record.
It rankled a little, for she’ d rather be promoted solely on the basis of her own work. And yet . . . after all the trouble she’ d had, all the grunt work she’ d put in, all the embarrassment and mental trauma she’d suffered, perhaps it was only fair she be recompensed in some way. Besides, it was only the opportunity that was being offered, not full-fledged success. That she would ha
ve to earn by her own merits. So why not take advantage of this opportunity to show him what she could do?
Her eyes drifted to the black box sitting on her desk. Strangely unreflective in the overhead lights, it looked more like a cube of shadow than obsidian or plastic—or whatever it was made of.
She picked it up and sat on her bedside. “I don’t suppose you have the answers, do you?” she asked it jokingly, as if it were a Magic 8 Ball. Maybe if she turned it round she’d find the solution in a little answer box: Signs point to yes. Reply hazy, try again. Without a doubt. My sources say no. . . .
She did turn it round, but no answers appeared. Then a wave of dizziness swept over her and she plummeted through blackness. The sensation was so startling she dropped the box with a gasp. But as she stared at the cube on the floor, fear beating irrationally in her throat, nothing further happened. After a moment, fear turned to amusement—sleep deprivation and stress were no doubt rearing their ugly heads again.
With a grimace she replaced the cube on her desk, then pulled out her chair and reached for her laptop, because she’ d just gotten the perfect idea for a project.
Chapter Twenty-Two
New Eden
Neos was right in his prediction that Zowan would be discharged from the infirmary on Monday afternoon, seventy-two hours after his exposure to the toxic wind surge. Though he felt fine—one hundred percent normal again, except for his buzzed-off hair—he was forbidden to go outside again for a year, due to his now-increased sensitivity to the toxins. Thus he was to be reassigned from the goat barn once he’ d trained his senior assistant to take over his job, a task he had begun that afternoon.
And that same Monday, in the evening, as Neos had instructed him, he headed for the Star Garden shortly after dinner. He went alone. There was to be a performance of a string quartet that night, and he wanted to get to the fifth level before the place got too crowded. Plus, he didn’t want to talk to his friends just now. Not only had his ordeal with the toxins left him shaken and emotionally brittle, but he’ d learned that day—for real—that Andros had indeed died while Zowan was in recovery, the result of his inability to withstand his punishment in the Cube. His body had been cremated while Zowan was still in quarantine. Because he’d died as a result of his punishment, there would be no memorial service.
The news hit Zowan hard, all the grief and guilt he’ d suffered during his time in quarantine returning tenfold, his pain no longer blunted by a drug-induced haze or confusing hallucinations of Andros’s voice begging him to find him and free him. One moment he was on the verge of tears, the next boiling with anger over something petty and insignificant. He’ d been snappish and impatient and downright mean to his poor senior assistant in the goat barn, and just trying to be civil and normal at dinner had been a challenge. It was hard to function properly when he felt as if his life had been turned upside down and shaken into a disorganized muddle. Reality had blended with fantasy, and he struggled now to pull them apart.
He’ d told no one of the things he’d experienced during his recovery—not the pink ants, not his exchange with Gaias, not the strange visitation from the one who called himself I Am, and especially not his encounter with Neos. Dr. Xavier had cautioned him upon his release against giving credence to anything he might recall of his time there because the toxins had caused him to hallucinate various visitors with whom he’ d spoken. But the truth was he’ d had no visitors.
Perhaps. All Zowan knew was that he’ d first learned of Andros’s death through Gaias. And so far, everything Neos had said would happen had happened. Moreover he’d not been able to get the memory of the one who’d called himself I Am out of his mind, nor his command to leave the Enclave. Nor had he forgotten Neos’s promise that if he came to the Star Garden tonight, Neos would set him free. Maybe it really was all hallucination, manufactured by his deepest dreams and desires, but in case it wasn’t, he’d be here. If nothing happened, then he’d know for sure. . . .
The Star Garden’s lights were always kept low to highlight the artificial stars in the night-sky dome overhead. As Zowan arrived, the musicians were unfolding their music stands and setting them before the four chairs clustered to one side of the garden’s central fountain. Chairs and benches had been set out on all the levels for the people to sit on, the first level already completely filled.
Zowan made his way to the top level and around to the side opposite the stairs, where two empty padded benches flanked the golden portrait panel of the ancient Sumerian queen Summat-rama. The same place he’ d sat with Andros the two times they’d engaged in heretical conversation. Had Neos known that somehow?
As he approached he eyed the panel, in case his brother had left a clue or sign to reassure him, but saw nothing. Turning his back on the benches and panel, he braced his forearms on the railing and watched the crowd grow beneath him.
Of course, Neos’s instruction had made more sense when Zowan hadn’t known there’d be a special function going on in the garden at the same time. Tonight would be a difficult time to make contact, with so many people, including Enforcers, packed into the place. And meeting at the highest level, with five flights of spiraling stairs to descend to the exit, didn’t make very much sense, either.
His gaze caught on the tall, lanky form and dark face of his friend and sleepcell mate Parthos, climbing the spiral stair between the second and third levels. He was one of a continuous moving line heading ever upward through all four levels. Erebos, their third cellmate, followed Parthos, and after him came Terra, dressed in a white linen tunic and dark ankle-length skirt, her two red braids tied together at the middle of her back. Two young men followed her, and then, sure enough, little black-haired Helios appeared around the curve.
Zowan watched Parthos reach the third level and step immediately onto the next spiral to the fourth. When the others came right after him without hesitation, Zowan knew they were coming up to join him—despite the fact he’ d been a cranky pain in the neck today, and that he’ d told Parthos he didn’t intend to come at all.
But they were his friends, and they had been Andros’s friends, too, and they were grieving as badly as he was, so how could he drive them away? Parthos reached the fifth level and for the first time made eye contact with him, then led the others around the railing to where Zowan stood. Without a word they took up flanking positions, Terra to his right, Parthos to his left, the other three at the ends of the row. Not one of them said a word.
Well, this would certainly put a new wrinkle in whatever plans Neos had for contacting him. He wanted to tell them all to go away, that he didn’t feel like having company right now. But he couldn’t make himself utter the words. Maybe they would all lose interest and go off to bed before time for his meeting. Maybe his meeting would never happen, and he’ d have driven off his friends for nothing. And the truth was, he welcomed their presence, even if he didn’t want to talk.
Finally the Star Garden was filled with listeners, and the string players who had spent about ten minutes tuning up their instruments stopped and waited. Two Elders pressed their way through the crowd below, followed by several Enforcers. The Elders took their reserved seats immediately across the fountain from the quartet. Some of the Enforcers took up positions nearby, while four headed for the spiraling stairway in the corner. Seeing them approach, those on the stairway increased their pace to get out of their way.
“Yup, that’s Gaias, all right,” Terra remarked, her arm pressing against Zowan’s as she leaned toward him. One of the four Enforcers heading for the stairway had stopped to look around. Despite the milling people, he stood in a well of space, the others unwilling to come too close to him.
“You know, they talk about Andros malfunctioning,” Terra said quietly. “I think they should take a look at Gaias. He’s become obsessed with you. Every time I went to the infirmary this weekend to see if they’d let me visit you, he was there. Asked me what I knew about Andros, you, your times in the ravine—all kinds of weird questio
ns.”
Having scanned the main floor, Gaias now lifted his gaze to each successive level, eyes carefully cataloguing each person standing in his view at the rail. Zowan gave thought to stepping back for a moment and taking a seat on one of the benches behind him, just to make things more difficult for his brother—if Gaias didn’t see him, he’ d inspect each floor on foot—but he did not act on it.
“He even asked if you’d ever talked about seeing or talking with Neos. After his death, that is. I thought he was trying to make a case for you malfunctioning, too.”
He listened to her with half an ear, eyes upon his brother, who was just about finished with his scan of the fourth level. Now his eyes lifted and . . . sure enough, they fixed almost immediately on Zowan, the third eye gleaming phosphorescently in the low light. With a small smile, Gaias turned abruptly and headed for the spiral stairway. He cut across the open area where the musicians were playing, forcing at least one of them to miss a few notes when he passed a bit too close. Beyond the clear space, he pushed easily through the spectators, who parted before him like water under a boat’s bow.
Terra was leaning even more closely against him now as she murmured, “But then yesterday I heard a rumor that you’d actually seen a man out there when you were in the ravine with the goats. Right before the winds came.”
Zowan turned to look at her in surprise. “Who told you that?”
“One of the girls I’m working with.”
“How would she know?”
“Did you see someone?”
He shrugged and told her how they’d said he was already being affected by the toxin spike at that point and must have hallucinated. She snorted her disbelief.
Gaias had reached the fifth level and now emerged from the stairway’s shadows on the opposite side, gaze fixed on Zowan. As he started around the level, Zowan dipped his head toward the Enforcer and said to Terra, “Maybe you should ask Gaias, since he was out there, too.”