“Where’s the man I talked to?”
“You’re looking at him. Throw it.”
David pulled out his wallet. He slid it across the floor.
“Nice gun,” he said, as she scrutinised the ID. “Who are you going to shoot in a deserted tomb like this?”
She smiled and threw the wallet back. He caught it awkwardly. “You, maybe.”
David forced a laugh and stepped into the room. He pulled his eyes from the gun and gazed at the familiar-unfamiliar laboratory. This had been his workplace for a number of years. From here, he and his research partner, Bruce Shimoda, had programmed the software that took advantage of the massive computing capabilities of the storage device. Three doorways led from the room. One went to the corridor, one to a computer suite and one to overnight living quarters.
“Beautiful, isn’t it? We used to call it the fish tank.”
“I told you to stop where you are. I want to ask you some questions. You don’t seem too concerned about the colonel’s death.”
“Neither do you, young lady,” he snapped.
“Did you kill him?”
He noticed that the gun was tracking him. “Absolutely not. He died when the ceiling caved in. A tricky way to murder someone, wouldn’t you agree?”
She didn’t lower the gun. “Yes, it would be tricky.”
“Young woman, please move aside. I have work to do.”
She lowered her rifle and watched as he walked into the living quarters.
He used Ego to view the room and remained near the doorway. McWhirter’s death had made him cautious. Not scared, exactly; not yet. But he checked the ceiling and walls.
The room was comparatively tidy. Most of its furniture had been destroyed by fire. There were pipes that terminated in a filthy sink, a torn mattress, blackened plastic chairs and some unidentifiable debris. The walls were crumbling and the interior partitions, which had divided the area into a dining room, bedroom and bathroom, were gone. David held his light on a shape in the corner. He felt the guard enter the room.
“Perhaps I should introduce myself,” she said. “I’m Caroline.”
“Hello, Caroline. Call me David. Never Dave.” They shook hands and David had the fleeting impression of participating in something utterly absurd. “Shine your torch over here.”
He knelt alongside the mattress and tugged carefully at the zip of a sleeping bag. When the zip was open he flung back the fabric to reveal a body.
“And this,” he said, “is Doctor Bruce Shimoda.”
Though David had not seen that face in the flesh for twenty years, he recognised his old friend immediately. Bruce appeared to be dead. His oriental, sunken face was lifeless and curiously lopsided. He wore two or three jumpers, a scarf, and there was a blanket around the legs. Nevertheless, his body looked small and vulnerable. His hands were drawn against the chest, little more than claws. Two rolls of fabric, which cushioned his head, aroused David’s interest. They had been placed either side of a device that resembled a neck brace. David checked between the rolls and saw, sure enough, the wet-wire connection. He sighed.
“Is he breathing?” asked Caroline.
“Yes, he’s alive. But barely.” David ripped open the Velcro cover of his first-aid kit. “Couldn’t you have done something for him?”
“I’ve only been here a few hours. McWhirter couldn’t get a medic down. It was too dangerous. I thought you were a medical doctor.”
“Like I told the colonel, that was a long time ago,” he said, but he examined Bruce thoroughly. He had lost a great deal of fluid from bedsores. They were badly infected. “He’s been inside for two or three days, I’d guess.”
“Inside what?”
“See the cable?” He pointed at the wet-wire connection that led away from Bruce’s head. “This plugs into his brain stem. The connection leads to the computer. The computer is running a virtual universe. As far as Bruce is concerned, he’s now inside that universe.”
Caroline smiled. “Weird.”
“Weird and, as it happens, fatal,” David said sharply. “The connection can’t be removed.”
“Why not?”
“We were never sure. When we unplugged the rats, they died. Same with the chimps. Apart from one. He had a series of strokes and slipped into a permanent coma.”
“Well, then,” she reasoned, “just cut it.”
“That had the same effect.”
“Or turn off the computer.”
“That too.”
“Oh.” Caroline stared at the sleeping face and the room around them. She waited while David applied fresh dressings. She said, “It’s funny.”
“What is?” said David, not looking up.
“The lights are off, even though this section has power. How did he connect himself in the dark? He doesn’t have a torch. There was no fire. Do you think there’s someone else down here? Someone who turned off the lights after?”
David’s hands froze. “He did it in darkness – the same way he did everything in life. He’s been blind since the age of ten.”
“Oh.” She watched as he opened Bruce’s eyes and cupped his hand over each. “What are you doing?”
“He’s had a minor stroke already. He’s got two more days left, maybe three.” David took a syringe from the first-aid kit, attached a needle, drew some liquid from an ampoule and injected the sleeping form. “I’ve just given him some antibiotics. Help me set up a drip. He needs fluid.”
He went about his work efficiently and calmly. A saline drip in one arm. An antibiotic drip in the other. But it was impossible not to think of former, better times. They had been best friends. Impossible not to think of Bruce living like a rat in the darkness, preparing his nest, preparing to die. David was coping well until he found a note in his trouser pocket. It read:
Well well well after all these years! I’m looking forward to seeing an old friend. Come into my parlour and let me take a look at you...
“Aw, shit,” he said. Then he sat back, hugged his knees and wept. Caroline nearly touched his shoulder. A moment later, she left.
David emerged after fifteen minutes. Caroline was watching the patterns inside the liquid storage device. She felt him stop behind her.
