“I don’t know, Whispr. I don’t know what it’s all about. If they are making something here—I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Just like, she told herself, she had never seen anything like metastable metallic hydrogen. Her hand went to her chest and the precious storage capsule secured inside her brassiere.
“It’s only a guess, but maybe this is where they make the metal that the storage thread is fashioned from.”
She could see him frown in the light coming through the screen. He gestured toward the activity on the other side. “All this to turn out storage threads the size of a hair?”
“Not the threads, no,” she corrected him. “The material from which the thread itself is made. And the implants, too.”
He remained doubtful. “Awfully big setup for making nanoscale mechanisms.”
“Maybe those are made elsewhere, from the metal that’s fashioned here.” Gathering excitement banished some of her exhaustion. “In the research lab! If this is where they make the metal, maybe the research center is nearby.” She peered intently through the mesh. “I can see doors off to the left, on at least two levels. The ready, finished MSMH could go straight from here to a lab to be formed into threads, or implants, or—other things.”
Very reluctantly he allowed himself a modicum of optimism. “If we go back and try your staff doctor bluff, at least now we know what direction to go.” He nodded toward the screen and what lay in the immense room beyond. “Anybody starts questioning us, now you have a place, something specific, you can talk about, even if in general terms. Description validates presence.”
She nodded, her eyes shining in the dim light. “As long as nobody asks me for details.”
They started back the way they had come. Not only did it feel as if they were making better time retracing their steps, the lure of discovery helped to motivate them both.
“I didn’t recognize anything in that room,” she told him as she crawled. “I didn’t see anyone, either. Not a mechanic, not a supervisor, not an equipment operator—not a soul.”
Whispr was less perplexed. “So the operation, whatever it is, is fully automated. As advanced as that complex looked it wouldn’t surprise me if that was the case.”
“Still …” She sounded dubious. “It’s a strange kind of setup. I can’t imagine something that big and important being run without any supervision whatsoever. Remember what Morgan Ouspel told us? He said, ‘I’ve seen the Big Picture. It’s real, and it moves.’ ” She looked back the way they had come. “I guess he was talking about machinery. But I didn’t see any moving parts, either. Didn’t he also say, ‘I’ve seen the Painters of the Picture, and they move too—they are not of God.’ I still don’t understand what he meant, and I don’t see how he could have had a reaction like that to what we’ve just seen.” She shook her head. “There’s got to be more to it.”
“When we’re stopped in a corridor by a security tech who sticks a gun in your face,” he muttered back at her, “you can ask them in person.”
Muscles shouting and knees aching she waited patiently inside the duct at the end of their interminable crawl while Whispr climbed out the service hatch and checked the subterranean corridor where they had started. Confident it was as deserted as when Gwi had first brought them there he murmured an all clear and she stumbled awkwardly out to rejoin him. After so many hours spent moving in a hunched-over position it took several minutes for her body to reorient itself, for muscles long unused to unwind, and for those that had been overstressed to relax. There was much to be said for the quadrupedal San Meld.
She sat and drained the remaining, carefully conserved contents of her water bottle. Meanwhile Whispr was slowly working his way up the corridor, pausing occasionally to ensure that the way forward remained empty. Each time he came to a steady drip from a valve or the underside of a conduit he would cup a slim, splayed hand beneath it until he had gathered enough of the liquid to smell. Invariably making a face, he would then move on to the next. From where she was seated and resting, Ingrid quietly tracked the experienced scavenger’s progress.
Retracing his steps, he paused beneath one drip already sniffed. This time he cupped both hands beneath it, waited until the fleshy basin was half full, and drank. Slowly at first, then with increasing satisfaction. Content, he let the remainder splash to the floor, returned to her side, and extended a hand. She passed him her empty bottle.
“Are you sure it’s potable?” she asked him.
“I’m no chemist, doc, but I’ve had to drink a lot of bad water in my time. This tastes fine, and it’s nice and cold. That doesn’t mean it isn’t nice and cold and full of arsenic or heavy metals or who knows what. But I think it’s okay. Right now I’m more afraid of going thirsty than being poisoned.” He smiled. “I figure I can afford to take a chance because if anything goes wrong I know where to find a good doctor who works cheap.”
After refilling both bottles to the brim he returned and handed hers back. When she slipped hers into a pocket of her pants, he eyed her questioningly.
“Not thirsty?” He nodded toward the conduit they had recently exited. “After all that crawling?”
She smiled. “I think I’ll wait to see if you bend in half in the next thirty minutes.”
He responded with a lopsided grin. “How very scientific of you. How noble.” Fumbling with his too-large pants beneath the overgown he took out a couple of the nutrient paks he had pocketed from his backpack. “Even if you’re gonna wait on the water you better have something to eat. No telling when we’ll have the next chance.” He looked up the dank, dim corridor, back the way he had just come. “After that I think we should get some sleep. We’re overdue.”
She protested. “I’m fine. I’m wide awake and I’d rather keep moving.”
He considered. “Okay. We’ll just lie down here and rest for a few minutes. Just long enough to let the kinks in my legs go away.”
She reluctantly agreed. Selecting a flat-topped conduit nearby she stretched out atop it. The inner pipe that the outer insulation protected generated an audible hum. Lulled by its soft thrumming and the slight vibration of the smooth surface she lay down carefully and closed her eyes. But only for the few minutes rest they had agreed upon, she told herself steadfastly.
Within five minutes she was dead to the world.
· · ·
SHE WAS RUNNING AS fast as she could; arms swinging, legs pumping, chest heaving. Behind her the hideous cackling laughter of the pursuing magified hyenas was growing progressively louder. No matter which way she turned, no matter what thrust of stone she tried to hide behind or stream she crossed, she could not shake them. Terrified, she looked back, only to see slavering muzzles trailing spittle that were like streaks of mercury and eyes burning with expectation drawing closer and closer.
A ravine lay just ahead. Its sheer-sided walls were unclimbable by man or beast. In her youth she had been a decent athlete and she felt she could leap the gap. In any event she had no choice. The nearest hyena, a big male, was snapping at her heels. Gritting her teeth, tensing her muscles, she reached the edge and kicked hard, scissoring her legs and windmilling her arms to gain distance. As she began to descend she saw that she wasn’t quite going to make it. Arms extended to the utmost, she reached in desperation for the far rim.
Her bare hands slammed into the gravel-edged far side of the gorge, sending a shock wave of pain all the way up to her shoulders. Her fingertips dug into the rock and dirt. Straining, digging her feet into the side of the drop, she fought to pull herself up. Behind her she could hear the pack croaking its frustration as its members halted on the far side. She had won. She had beaten them, beaten the odds, beaten …
Something heavy slammed into her back. She could smell its thick scent, a combination of raw animal musk and the lingering stink of dozens of scavenged carcasses. Wrenching her head around she found herself looking directly into the eyes of the alpha male hyena. Its wet nose was streaking her neck. When it
opened its jaws, jaws powerful enough to crack bone and draw out the marrow, she could see right down its throat.
As it snapped at her face she screamed and lost her grip, sending the two of them plummeting toward the boulder-strewn bottom of the gulch. Missing her face as she jerked back sharply, the ragged carrion-stained teeth slammed into her shoulder and bit deep.
Whispr pulled back as she swung wildly at him. He had been shaking her shoulder, trying to wake her up. Now he stepped away, his eyes wide. As she panted hard and sucked at the damp air the last vestiges of the nightmare wisped away like bits of shredded tissue.
“You were dreaming.” Laconically he added, “Bad dream.”
“I know, I know.” Hands braced against the cool conduit atop which she had been sleeping, fingers pressing tight against its waking-world solidity, she sat there while her respiration returned to normal. “Thank—thank you for waking me.”
His expression changed abruptly, as if he had suddenly realized that he had dropped his characteristic sheath of sarcasm and indifference like a medieval knight shedding his armor.
“Yeah, well, I have to admit it was entertaining while it lasted, but I didn’t want you rolling off your first-class bunk and busting your nose on the floor. We got enough to do without having to spend time on cleaning up blood.” He looked away from her and back up the corridor.
Still seated on the conduit she stared at his back. For the briefest of moments after awakening from the unnerving nightmare of pursuit and death, she’d had a glimpse of him with his guard down. In his expression she had seen real concern and genuine alarm. Fear not of her but for her. And there had been something else. Something deeper and more profound and far more agonized.
It left her unsettled.
The awkward silence lingered and grew until she finally spoke. “It’s okay, Whispr. I’m fine. It was just a bad dream.” She pushed herself off the conduit. “It wasn’t all bad. I actually slept some.” She looked around at their surroundings. In the dark tunnel it was impossible to tell how much time had passed, how long she had been asleep.
Had he slept? Or had he stood guard the entire time, watching the corridor. Watching over her.
“We’re not getting any closer to our goal by sitting here,” she pointed out.
He turned back to her, recloaked in full facial mask and emotional armor. “Was wondering how long you were gonna sit there and mope. Let’s get with it. Doom awaits.”
Back to normal, she thought. She was not sure if she should be relieved or disappointed.
They consumed the remainder of the nutrition paks Whispr had brought from his backpack, washing them down with cold water collected from the comparatively unpolluted drip he had found. After drinking they washed their faces and hands as best they could to remove not only the grime they had acquired while crawling through the seemingly endless conduit, but also the dust and dirt that had accumulated during their long trek through the desert. As for their new clothing, thanks to the electrostatic repulsion that was a standard component of all professional medical attire, it remained relatively clean. When Whispr had finished, she gave him a hurried once-over.
“You’re the skinniest medical orderly I’ve ever seen, but I think you’ll pass casual visual inspection. Remember, deportment is everything. Just act like you know what you’re doing and keep your mouth shut.”
“First one’s easy. The second—I dunno.” Had the circumstances not been so serious he would have grinned. Turning, he started off up the corridor once more. Hurrying to catch him, she put a hand on his arm.
“You can’t lead. It won’t look right. I’m the doctor. You can walk next to me or behind me, but you can’t lead.” She waited for the expected sardonic comment.
It was not forthcoming. He simply nodded, looked uncharacteristically sheepish, and fell into step beside her.
“How do I look?” she asked him.
“Leading question,” he murmured. “Without going into pleasurable detail, I’d say good enough and determined enough that I don’t think the CEO of SICK itself would challenge you.”
She ignored the compliment. “I mean, do I look like a physician? Or more like someone who’s just trying to look like a physician?”
“I dunno what a physician is supposed to ‘look like.’ Lemme put it this way: if I met you in a hall and you offered me a pill, I’d take it.”
Her mouth twisted slightly. “Why do I have the feeling that if you met any woman in a hall and she offered you a pill, you’d take it. But I’m going to take that as a yes.” She nodded forward. “Is that a lift over there?”
He scrutinized the rectangular recess in the wall they were approaching. “Looks like it. Better hope it’s not key or security-coded or we’ll be stuck down here for a day until Gwi comes back.”
Halting in front of the elevator threshold he examined the door as well as the wall on both sides. There was no sign of a keypad, security swipe, or retina scan. Just a single simple unmonitored contact pad. At his touch, the door slid to the left and they stepped inside. Ascending one stop, they found themselves staring out at a virtual duplicate of the service corridor they had just left. Ingrid nodded at her companion, Whispr slid a finger across the lift’s control pad, and they ascended another level. Though more brightly lit and not as crammed with machinery, the second floor up presented yet another, cleaner version of the two levels they had already visited.
It was when the lift door slid aside to allow them egress to the third level that they were shocked by such unaccustomed brightness they had to fight not to turn away or reach up and rub at their eyes.
When her vision finally cleared, Ingrid saw that one corridor ran straight away from the elevator while another crossed from left to right directly in front of them. In contrast to the dank warren of automated maintenance passageways they had just scrutinized these halls were teeming with people. Naturals and Melds alike moved purposefully in all three directions. Preoccupied individuals strode past conversing couples or small groups with the ease of experience, secure in the knowledge that they would find their intended destinations without even having to look up. Their confident attitudes stood in contrast to those of a doctor and her assistant who remained standing in the elevator. Ingrid and Whispr had not seen so many well attired people in one place since leaving downtown Orangemund.
Nearly as slenderized as Whispr, a Meld clad in loose gray engineer’s coveralls stepped into the lift. Giving the motionless Ingrid a furtive nudge and following close behind, her companion edged her out into the passageway. When the engineer did not bother to look in their direction as the lift doors slid silently shut behind them, Whispr realized they had passed their first test.
Unmoving among dozens of pedestrians the two intruders stood bewildered, uncertain which way to go. Realizing this was bound to lead to awkward questions the longer they lingered, Whispr leaned down to murmur in her ear.
“Move, doc. Start walking. It doesn’t matter which direction. We can’t keep standing here with our thumbs up our asses. Somebody’ll notice. Then somebody’ll comment. Then …”
He did not need to elaborate further. Striving to make an educated guess based on the direction of the lowermost service corridor they had just left and the climate duct through which they had recently crawled, Ingrid turned to her left and broke into a slow but even stride.
After the long days spent traversing the Namib, every face was a surprise, every sound a revelation, every smell a shock. She had to force herself to avoid making eye contact. She didn’t know any of these people and she didn’t want them to know her.
“Any idea where we’re going?” Whispr had adopted the perfectly blank expression he utilized when in the presence of police.
“North,” she told him. “I hope. If this passage doesn’t break off at an angle or start to curve we should be walking in the same direction as the big room we saw from inside the duct.”
“And if we’re not?”
“We’ll stop
someone and ask for directions to the main research center.” She was only half joking.
Several hundred meters on, the corridor she had selected was still running straight and true—and hopefully in the right direction. While she continued to avoid looking directly at any of the facility staff she was well aware that a number of them had glanced in her direction in hopes of establishing a connection. Each time this happened she found herself damning her most recent and excessively colorful cosmetic meld.
Two approaching men were not to be denied. One was a science Meld. Maniped neurological storage created a smooth but not unsightly bulge on the back of his neck while each of his fingers boasted an additional joint, the better to help with manipulating intricate scientific equipment. His associate was a Natural, middle-aged and mildly attractive. It was he who confronted her, sidling sideways just enough to block her path. Behind her, Whispr tensed. Though they had no weapons, as a professional riffler he was confident he could handle these brainjuicers without so much as a knife. The problem would not be putting them down: it would be what to do with them afterward.
As was often the case, it developed that he was worrying overmuch.
“Afternoon, Red.” An engaging grin revealed that the Natural was not as pure as he first appeared. He had undergone at least one detectable cosmetic manip: he’d had his teeth pearlized. When he smiled, small rainbows flashed between lingering bits of breakfast.
At least now we have confirmation of the time of day, Ingrid told herself. She smiled back.
“Good afternoon.” She tried to go around him. He was having none of it.
“Hey, why such a hurry? I don’t think I’ve seen you around the clinic.”
“Been sick recently?”
“Well, no.” The wattage of his dentition increased. “I don’t get sick.”