Alien Research

CHAPTER 35

“YOU’RE SURE?” Gower asked, as we approached my least favorite area in any Centaurion Division facility.

“Yes.” I was nervous because I hated this area and was already expecting something to jump out at me. Switched my music to my Action Rock mix and put it on random. Proving that we were really one with the Crüe, “Primal Scream” came on.

“It makes sense,” White agreed. “This is where everything changed for my half brother the last time.”

“Mister White, why do you call him your half brother? I mean, I know he is, but it’s not like you were raised together, clearly, and he’s not exactly brimming over with brotherly love.”

“I say it to remind myself that even though he’s my enemy, he’s still my blood. He’s not a random individual—he’s someone who, if we’d known about him, found him when he was young, might be a very different person today.”

It was never confusing to me, how White had kept the A-Cs on the path of right, why Algar would choose to tell White of his existence, or why our enemies always somehow had White in their sights—he was, quite frankly, the moral ideal, and that meant that he was a target.

Gower, by having worked and learned under White for years and now being the current Pontifex, was also a target. The wisdom of storming the Science Center with two of the most likely Bad Guy Targets Du Jour was in question. However, presumably everyone was a target right now. So, better to storm with two guys who knew what the situation really was than not.

Minor leadership dilemma over, we reached what I thought of as The Chambers O’ Doom but was commonly referred to as the Isolation Area.

The isolation wing was large, in part because we had a lot of empaths, and Jeff wasn’t the only one who would push too far and then basically collapse. Also, while the empaths and imageers both used blocks—mental and medical—to keep from being inundated by the reality of their powers, the onslaught of human emotions was a lot harder to deal with than the information gleaned from an image. An imageer could choose not to touch a picture. An empath couldn’t choose to not feel the people around them.

The Science Center being the size it was meant it housed well over a hundred isolation chambers. The empaths, and sometimes the imageers and others, were put into the chambers to regenerate in a safe place.

According to Jeff, who spent more time than anyone in isolation, the isolation chambers were wonderful safe havens. To me, who usually spent my time in an isolation area on the outside looking in, they looked like a cross between an Iron Maiden and a sarcophagus, with a lot of extra tubes and needles added in just for fun. The Science Center’s isolation area always reminded me of a cross between Frankenstein’s lab and a haunted Egyptian tomb.

“I don’t hear anyone,” Gower said quietly as we listened at the stairwell’s door.

“This level is quite soundproofed,” White said. “Though I hear nothing as well.”

I didn’t either, but I was sure Algar wanted us down here. “Paul, the last time, you held out against the mind control. You and the others who could were locked into isolation chambers. What are the odds that’s happened again?”

“I’d think high,” White said.

“But that was a last resort,” Gower said. “And he was keeping us in there to use us. I don’t know that we should count on our people being safely locked away.”

“True enough. Though it was hard as hell to get you guys out because Gladys changed all the security codes. Which she’s probably done again.”

“We’ll deal with it as we have to,” White said.

“I have a question,” Adriana said before we could do anything else. “Why haven’t we been intercepted yet?”

“How do you mean?”

“No one has come to stop us. If the facility is under siege, where are its guardians? Are the only guards the ones we saw at the top level? That seems remarkably . . . trusting, and I doubt these enemies are trusting. And where is our other team?”

“Maybe our other team has already handled everything else?” Gower asked. He didn’t sound like he thought that was a real possibility, but the hope was definitely there.

Considered this as “Bite the Bullet” by Motörhead came onto my personal sound system. It wasn’t the same listening to them at low volume, but I did kind of have to be able to hear what my team was saying. “Or the bad guys know we’re here and know we’re coming, and are lying in wait, not making any sound.”

“You’re really sure this is the place for a standoff?” Gower asked.

“I’m really sure that Ronaldo almost won last time, in this area, and that Jeff beat the crap out of him, in this area.”

“And you made your first decision as Pontifex in this area,” White added softly. “I’m with my partner—we should be prepared for attack the moment we go through the door.”

“Let’s weapon up, gang. And remember,” I added as everyone pulled out guns, “the majority of the targets are going to be our own people being mind controlled. We have no idea who’s under control or not right now, and Ronaldo Al Dejahl is a strong enough imageer that he can change to look like anyone he wants to. We can’t shoot to kill, even if we want to.”

“We’ll shoot to wound then,” Adriana said calmly. “If needed.”

“Let’s prepare for the worst and hope for the best,” White said. He nodded to Gower, who grabbed Adriana’s hand while White grabbed mine.

“Ready, ladies?” White asked.

“As we’ll ever be, Mister White. Let’s go see what bizarre form of Mexican Standoff we’re dealing with this time.”

With that, White opened the door.