City of Golden Shadow (77 page)

Christabel didn't say anything, then she nodded her head Mister Sellars smiled, but he still looked sad.

"You know I'd never do anything to hurt you, little Christabel. But I am going to ask you to do some things, and I want you to keep them secret." He leaned forward, his funny melted face very close to hers. "Listen to me. I'm running out of time, Christabel. I'm ashamed at having to ask you to break your parents' rules, but I'm truly desperate."

She wasn't quite sure what "desperate" meant, but she thought it meant in a hurry. Mister Sellers had sent her a secret message on her desk screen at school asking her to come over today. Christabel had been so surprised to see it where her subtraction problems had been a second before that she almost hadn't noticed that her teacher was coming over. She had just managed to turn it off before Miss Karman reached her, then had to sit quietly while her teacher scolded her for not working.

"If you don't want to do them," the old man continued, "then you don't have to. I'll still be your friend, I promise. But even if you won't do these things for me, please, please don't tell anyone I asked you. That's very important."

She stared. She had never heard Mister Sellars talk like that. He sounded scared and worried, like her mother when Christabel fell down the front steps in their old house. She looked at his yellowy eyes, trying to understand.

"What do you want me to do?"

"I'll tell you. It's just three things-like in a fairy tale, Christabel. Three tasks that only you can do. But first I want to show you something." Mister Sellars turned in his chair and reached for the table. He had to push the thick leaves of one of his plants out of the way so he could find what he was looking for. He held it out to her. "Now, what's that?"

"Soap." She wondered if he was going to eat some. She'd already seem him do that.

"Ah, yes. In fact, it's one of the bars that you brought me. But it's more than that. Here, see this?" He tilted the bar and pointed to a hole in one end. "Now, look." He took the bar in both of his shaky hands and pulled it into two pieces as though he were taking apart a sandwich. Nestled in the middle of the soap bar was a gray metal key. "Pretty good trick, isn't it? I learned it from watching a prison movie on the net."

"How did it get inside the soap?" she asked. "And what's it for?"

"I split the soap in half and made a carving of what I wanted," Mister Sellars explained. "Then I made this hole, see? And put the two halves together, then poured in some hot metal. When it cooled, it made a key. And I'm about to tell you what it's for. That's one of the three tasks I have for you, Christabel. Well? Are you ready to hear them?"

Christabel looked at the key lying on the soap like it was a mattress, like the key was sleeping until she woke it up, like Prince Charming. She nodded.

She had to take her bike because it was a long way. Also, because she had heavy things to carry in the bike basket.

She had waited until Saturday, when her mother and father went to the football game-Christabel had gone with them once, but she had asked so many questions about what the little tiny men down on the green field were doing that her daddy had decided she'd be more comfortable staying home.

On football game days Mommy and Daddy left her with Missus Gullison. On this Saturday, Christabel told Missus Gullison that she was supposed to go over and feed her friend's dog and take it for a walk. Missus Gullison, who was watching golf on television, told her to go ahead, but to come right back and not to look in any of her friend's parents' drawers. That was such a funny thing to say that Christabel had to stop herself from laughing.

It was starting to get cold. She wrapped her scarf tight around her neck and tucked the fluttery ends into her coat so they wouldn't get caught in her bike wheels. That had happened once and she had fallen off and skinned her knee. She pedaled hard down Stillwell, then turned across the little bridge and headed past the school. Mister Diaz the nice janitor was dumping a bag of leaves into a trash bin, and she almost shouted and waved until she remembered that Mister Sellars didn't want her to talk to anyone.

She went down the streets just the way the old man had told her, lots of streets. After a while she came to a part of the Base she'd never been to, a group of low huts made of wiggly curvy metal surrounding a field of grass that hadn't been mowed in a long time. In a line behind the farthest row of huts stood another group of boxy shapes that were a little like the huts, but lower and made of cement. They seemed to have been buried partway in the ground. Christabel couldn't figure out what they were for. If they were houses, they were very small ones. She was glad she didn't live in something like that.

Starting from the side she'd come in, she counted just like Mister Sellars had told her, one, two, three, until she reached the eighth cement box. It had a door in it, and there was a padlock on the door just like he'd said there would be. Christabel looked around, worried that people might be watching her, just waiting for her to do something bad before they came running out at her, like in a police show she'd seen the other night, but she couldn't see anyone at all. She took out the funny rough key that Mister Sellars had made in the soap bar and put it in the lock. At first it didn't quite fit, but she jiggled it a few times and it slipped all the way in. She tried to turn it, but couldn't make it move. Then she remembered the little tube Mister Sellars had given her. She took the key back out and squeezed some goo from the tube into the hole in the lock. She counted slowly to five, then tried again. The lock snapped open. The sound and the sudden aliveness of it in her hand made Christabel jump.

When no policemen with guns and armor ran out from behind the metal huts, she pulled the door open. Inside was a hole in the cement floor and a ladder leading down, just like Mists Sellars had said. The ladder was rough beneath her fingers, and Christabel made a face, but she had promised, so she climbed down. Even though she had seen nothing down in the hole, she still didn't like going into it-Mister Sellars had said there wouldn't be any snakes, but he might be wrong. Luckily it was only a short ladder, and before she had a chance to get too scared, she was on the floor again. When she looked down beneath her foot, the little room underneath the ground was empty of everything, snakes included, except for the thing she was looking for, a square metal door set into the wall.

Christabel squatted beside the door, which was wider than she was and half as big as the entire wall. On one side of it was the bar of metal that Mister Sellars had called the "bolt." She tried to wiggle it, but it wouldn't move. She took out her tube and squeezed some more goo. She couldn't remember exactly where Mister Sellars had said to put it, so she kept squeezing all over the bolt until the tube was empty. She counted five again, then tried to wiggle it once more. At first it didn't seem like it was moving. After a while she thought she felt it quiver just a little, but it was still stuck.

She sat and thought for a while, then climbed back up the ladder. She peeked out the door to make sure there was still no one watching, then climbed out of the cement box. It only took her a few moments to find a big enough rock.

Christabel only had to hit it a few times, then the little sticking-out-piece on the bolt suddenly tipped down and she could slide the whole thing back and forth. She pulled it as far back in its slot as it would go, like Mister Sellars had told her, then clambered back up the ladder toward the afternoon sunlight.

Pleased with herself for being brave, and for successfully doing the first thing the funny old man had asked, she stood beside her bike and stared at the cement box. It was locked again and the key was back in her pocket. It was a secret thing that only she and Mister Sellars knew about. It gave her a tickly, excited feeling. Now there were only two more jobs left to do.

She put on her Storybook Sunglasses for a moment to read Mister Sellars' list again. She looked at her Otterworld watch-Pikapik the Otter Prince was holding the numbers 14:00 between his paws, which meant she had fifteen minutes to get to the next place. She checked the grocery bag in her bike basket to make sure the bolt cutters were still there, then climbed onto the seat and pedaled away.

Except for the tip of his nose and the tops of his cheekbones, Yacoubian's face had gone pale with fury, a full shade lighter than his normal olive complexion.

"Say that again. Slowly. So I can tell your next-of-kin what you looked like just before I tore your face off and ruined any chance for an open-casket funeral."

Young Tanabe showed him a cool smile. "I'll be happy to say it again, General. All non-Telemorphix personnel going into the lab-all-will be searched. Period. By orders of Mister Wells. If you have a complaint, sir, you should take it up with Mister Wells. But you aren't going into this lab complex any other way. Sorry, General."

"And if I don't consent to a search?"

"Then you either wait here, or if you become too disruptive, we have you escorted out . . . sir. With respect, I don't think you want to mess with our security people." Tanabe casually indicated two very large men standing beside the doorway, who were listening to the conversation with a certain professional interest. That part of their bulk was due to the rubberized electro-catalytic body armor under their casual suits did not lessen the effect. "In fact General, here at TMX we've got at least a half-dozen security men who are veterans of your command. You would recognize the quality of their work."

Yacoubian glowered, then seemed to make a visible effort to disengage. "I hope you enjoy this. Go ahead."

Tanabe summoned the guards with a flick of his head. While they made a quick and thorough investigation of the general's person, Wells' assistant stood back, arms folded. "Enjoyment has nothing to do with it, sir. I have my job, just like your men have theirs."

"Yeah, but I can have my men shot."

Tanabe smiled again. "Maybe my boss will give you an unexpected Christmas present this year, General."

One of the guards pulled Yacoubian's gold cigar case from his pocket. "Not this, sir. Unless you want to wait half an how while we have it and its contents checked out."

"My God, is the crazy old bastard even afraid to have an unlit cigar in the same room with him?"

Tanabe took the cigar case. "Your choice, General."

Yacoubian shrugged."Jesus. Okay, little man, you win. Take me in."

Wells waited with some amusement until Yacoubian had finished swearing. "I'm sorry, Daniel. If I had known you'd be so upset, I would have come out and searched you myself."

"Very funny. After all this bullshit, it'd better be worth it." The general's hand strayed to his pocket, but finding no cigar case, retreated like a hibernating animal wakened too early. His scowl deepened. "What could you possibly have ready after only a couple of weeks? I mean, come on, Bob. Even your brainboys can't be that quick."

"Boys and girls, Daniel. Don't be so antediluvian. And, no, we haven't done it in two weeks. More like two years-but we've put in thousands of work-hours altogether during these last two weeks to finish it" Something chimed softly inside the wall. Wells touched the top of his desk and a drawer slid open before him. He withdrew a dermal patch and placed it carefully in the crook of his elbow. "Just my medication," he apologized. "So if you've calmed down, I'll show you what we've come up with."

Yacoubian stood. He was quieter now, but there was a tightness to his posture that had not been there before. "This whole thing was your idea of a joke, wasn't it? Keeping me waiting, then that search thing you knew would piss me off."

Wells spread his hands. Despite the ropy muscles and prominent bones, they did not tremble. "Daniel. That's a little wild."

Yacoubian was across the office and into his host's body-space in a moment. He pushed his face to within an inch of Wells' own, then reached down and lightly finger-touched Wells' hand as it trailed toward the desktop security alarm, arresting its progress. "Just don't ever dick me around . . . Bob. Remember that. Our relationship goes back a long way. We've been friends, even. But you don't ever want to find out what kind of enemy I can be."

Yacoubian stepped back, suddenly smiling, leaving Wells groping for the support of a chair arm. "Now. Let's go see this little toy of yours."

The general stood in the middle of the darkened room. "Well? Where is it?"

Wells gestured. The four wallscreens blazed with light. "This is a lab, Daniel, but it's not the Frankenstein kind. We work with information here. The 'toy,' as you called it, isn't the kind of thing I can put on a table and point at"

"Then don't be so damn theatrical."

Wells shook his head with mock-regret. "My people have put a lot of time into something we can't show anyone outside the company. Surely you won't begrudge me a little bit of showmanship." He waved his hand and all four screens darkened. A hologrammatic display of small white dots formed in midair in the center of the room. They seemed to move randomly, like fast-motion bacteria or superheated molecules. "I'll feel more comfortable if I can give you the context, Daniel, so I'm going to explain a little bit of the history of this project. Feel free to stop me if I tell you too many things you already know."

Yacoubian snorted. "Stop you? How? Your security boys took my gun away."

Wells favored him with a wintry smile. "The problem seems straightforward on the surface. The Grail Project is at bottom a simulation environment, although wildly more ambitious than any other thus far. As part of the experimental procedure, a subject chosen by our chairman-we'll call the subject 'X' for convenience's sake, since we still haven't been told his real name-was placed into the simulation." Wells gestured. An image of a coffinlike metal cylinder festooned with cables appeared momentarily displacing the dots. "It hasn't been easy getting any information about the subject, by the way-the Old Man is playing everything close to the vest-but apparently X was subjected to various conditioning techniques to alter or efface his memory before they delivered him to us."