20

Ganston seethed as he watched Stemple manhandle Treva. Her father had died days before her second Birth Remembrance, and a month later Ganston had vowed to her mother, on her deathbed, that he would protect Treva to his last breath. After what he’d just witnessed, that time might be now.

Ganston waited for Treva to turn the second corner on her way out of the security station before he confronted Stemple. He didn’t want her involved in his tirades. She’d probably know soon enough.

Stemple moved farther into the station toward the holding cells. That seemed odd in itself, but Ganston disregarded it as he wove among the merchants. Stemple stopped at the security station. The officers were both occupied with other tasks, so he waited, allowing Ganston to catch up to him.

“Stemple, I want to talk to you about the way you touched my niece,” Ganston said in a loud voice.

The man turned slowly to face him with disdain. “What are you talking about, old man?”

Ganston frowned. “Your behavior was rude. It seems you only act civil when you’re around Everling.”

“I act civil when the gesture is reciprocated. You seem to have an overly active relationship with one of our key researchers, and I’m sure Dr. Everling would find it a cause for concern.”

Was he trying to intimidate by threatening Treva’s job?

“I couldn’t care less what Everling worries about, but I do worry about the display I witnessed. I don’t want you putting your hands on my niece again.” Ganston glared at Stemple, who moved closer.

“You need new glasses, old man. I didn’t hurt Treva in any way. The discussion about her work requirements and what she needs to do to accomplish them was very civil.”

At that moment the officer who’d brought Ganston the tablet to sign for the chip procurement spotted him and approached. “Mr. Ganston, can I be of further service to you?”

Ganston sputtered a resounding no and waved the man off. He looked in the direction of the containment cells. The walls were no longer transparent, so he couldn’t tell if the subjects had been released, and he dare not ask. He needed to leave before the guard chose to call him back with any other questions about the detainees. It wouldn’t do to have to explain to one of Everling’s stooges why he was giving payment chips to merchants.

He turned to Stemple and leaned in close. “You just stay out of my way.”

Everling stood between two of the check-in stations at the near end of the security station, watching Stemple and Ganston. He’d hurried down here because of the alert code for interlopers. Or at least he thought that was why he came down. Was that today? Or yesterday? His vision blurred and he shook his head. The days were running together.

No overly excited guards. Everything seemed normal. He lost interest and turned his attention to his assistant and his enemy.

Both Ganston and Stemple had walked past him without noticing. The noisy crowd congregated in the area helped, but the dramatic change in his looks took center stage for his open-faced deception.

The regression had continued. In the last twenty-four hours he’d lopped off at least another ten years from his appearance. Not bad. But he’d begun to worry. The shots he’d administered to himself and Bethany were designed to slow down the process but didn’t seem to be working fast enough. Or maybe they were. His thinking was muddled. Anger surged. Was it because he couldn’t remember details or because he was seeing the men colluding?

Stemple and Ganston stood with their heads together, deep in conversation. He wasn’t stupid. He knew what they were up to—taking control of the Mountain from him. How long had they planned an overthrow? How many others had they convinced? Maybe Bethany? No, never Bethany. His mind raced with thoughts of betrayal.

A sharp twinge coursed through his side. Everling flinched and pressed his fist into the spot. He backed into the singular security room between the stations.

The guard looked up at him. “Sir?”

Everling held his breath at the pain. He ran his ComTex over the security scanner, which registered his name and level of clearance. The guard didn’t know him by sight. He looked at the screen and nodded.

Everling managed a few words. “I need to use the section office.”

The guard hit a switch and Everling heard the door unlock. As he lurched toward the door, sweat poured from his brow, soaking his collar. Breathing hard, he closed the door and leaned against it. He rummaged in his pocket for the vial and needle, then pulled off the cap with his teeth. With shaking hands he filled the syringe with pale yellow liquid, the elixir of life responsible for slowing down the process. A laugh pushed from his lips. What should he call aging in reverse—unaging?

He flicked the cylinder and pressed the plunger to remove the air. A squirt of the precious liquid jetted from the tip of the needle. He pushed up a sleeve. Tremors wracked his hands, but he remained steady enough to plunge the needle into the muscle of his arm.

The liquid pulsing through his muscle tissue felt like a searing knife cutting through flesh. Everling leaned back against the wall and took a deep breath. Steadiness returned to his hands and the wobble left his legs. Fresh and renewed once again, he rose to his full height. It was time to take care of Ganston and Stemple once and for all. He would put them both to death if they wanted to thwart his programs. Perfectly logical and acceptable. Anything or anyone defying his authority would be squashed.

Everling opened the door and walked through the small security room without acknowledging the guard. He looked to the place where Ganston and Stemple had been conspiring against him. Ganston was nowhere in sight, and Stemple was talking to a guard in the area of the containment cells. Everling strolled in that direction. He would have to be cunning and sharp to catch a prey such as Stemple. The man was very good at hiding his game face, the one that colluded with Ganston.

He walked up behind Stemple. “Why are you here and not working on the important task I gave you to complete?”

Stemple swung to face Everling and flinched. He stared into the man’s enraged eyes. Fear and wonder fought to overtake the top spot in his brain. Everling had clearly regressed further in the aging process. His fresh younger features were unrecognizable as the older man who had been his boss just a week ago.

“Answer me!” Everling shouted. Spittle formed at the corners of his mouth, and his eyes darted wildly like fleas dancing on a dog.

“I-I’m sorry, sir. I’m not sure what you’re asking me,” Stemple said in a calm tone, trying not to elevate the man’s reaction any further.

“Do you think I didn’t see you talking to Charles Ganston? I suppose now you think it’s time to move on to greener pastures.”

Stemple frowned. What is he talking about?

“Oh, that. I was talking to him about T—” He stopped. If he let it slip Treva was the man’s niece, his career would be over.

“What? Talking about what? Helping him to take over the Company?” Everling turned, pacing from side to side in the hall. “So he thinks he’s found the chink in my armor that will allow him to wheedle his way in like the burrowing insect he is.” He screwed his index finger into the air to illustrate.

Stemple’s heart pounded as though trying to get out. He wanted to crawl inside himself to avoid this madman. Everling was clearly having a psychotic break. Maybe it was a reaction to the new drug cocktail to slow the biological change.

He glanced around. Everling’s voice was beginning to attract attention. He needed to get him back to the lab where he could do tests and review the latest findings of the tox panel he’d started running before he came down to security.

“Uh, sir.” No response. “Dr. Everling.” Stemple touched his arm.

Everling swung around with hands raised. Stemple grabbed Everling’s fist before it connected with his face.

“Doctor, take it easy. It’s me, Drace Stemple.”

A moment of clarity registered on Everling’s face. It was quickly masked by the wild-eyed slobbering wreck of the younger man he had become.

Stemple took him by the arm. “Sir, we need to go back to the lab.”

“Yes, yes we do. I have some very important business to take care of right away,” Everling said with a gleeful sneer. His steps faltered.

Stemple reached out and steadied him. Everling brushed away his hand. He searched the doctor’s face. There was no recognizable ounce of Everling. Not appearance or attitude. Stemple steered him through the merchants. He needed to find Bethany. Maybe she was in better shape and she could help him. He hoped he could find something to alleviate the man’s stress.

Stemple cringed as he listened to Everling’s ramblings. The stress was beginning to take its toll on his stomach. Bile rose in his throat as they approached the lab. The more the old man’s—well, to be precise, the younger-looking old man’s—rhetoric intensified, the more Stemple regretted his part in the program. Why had it taken him so long to see the error in his judgment?

They stopped at the entrance. Everling’s hands waved about in jerky movements as though he were conducting an orchestra. He’d expounded on every conspiracy theory he’d ever thought of, going back to the debacles at the time of the Sorrows. By the time he’d exhausted his speech, the words were beginning to slur.

Stemple’s concern heightened as Everling coded the door twice and got it wrong both times.

“Dr. Everling, maybe you should think about taking the rest of the day off. You could go home and enjoy a restful evening with Bethany.” Where had that woman gone? Lately she’d been hovering everywhere. Now that he needed her, she’d disappeared.

Everling swung around with eyes ablaze and came within an inch of Stemple’s nose.

“The world decreased so we can increase. We are the new world that will rise from the ashes to claim immortality!”

Another filament of bile snaked up Stemple’s throat. This was the second time the doctor had spoken like that in the last few days. Was it symptomatic of a psychosis? Were there hallucinations involved? This could become dangerous.

Stemple smelled a fruity sweetness on the deranged man’s breath. It appeared his body was trying to get rid of excess acetone. It must be ketoacidosis. His body functions were out of whack, so the psychosis could just be a chemical imbalance. Stemple needed to get him inside and start testing.

He went through the motions to get them into the lab. Everling watched with disdain.

“You do that all so easily, as though you’re entering your own lab. What about me? Nobody cares that I’ve dedicated my whole life to this Mountain. Even you! You’ve always wanted my job and my position in this community. I’ve always known what you were striving toward.”

Stemple ignored the ranting and led Everling toward his section of the lab. Everling pulled free and strode quickly toward Lab Section Ten. Stemple dropped his head in resignation. He’d have to follow the man around until he could guide him in the right direction.

Two more tries and Everling accessed the lab. He staggered and Stemple lurched to catch him, but the doctor turned on him with a demonic growl. He backed off.

Everling lunged for the control console. Stemple glanced toward the containment cells and did a double take.

The normally opaque wall stood transparent. Glade Rishon’s cell was empty. Stemple hurried to the cell’s open door. Logic said he could see there was no one in there but he ran inside anyway. Looking around the empty space, he turned to face Everling.

The door slammed shut. Stemple rushed to the clear partition. “Dr. Everling, what happened? What have you done? What did you do to Glade? Open the door.”

Everling’s eyes danced. “You thought you could outsmart me, didn’t you? Don’t act so surprised. I see what you’re trying to do. I’ve decided I’ll just have to take care of things myself.”

“What I’m trying to do? What are you talking about? Open the door. We need to discuss—”

“No more discussion!” Everling screamed. His hands moved across the control panel. “You thought you could destroy my work. Well, I’m smarter than that. You have to get up pretty early in the morning to get ahead of me.” His words slurred as his hand missed the controls.

Stemple’s throat tightened. A madman stood in front of him. What had Everling done with Glade? Where was Bethany? Did he do something to her too? “Please, sir, you need to open the door and let me out of here. Let’s talk to your wife. Where’s Bethany?”

Everling ignored him. No reaction to anything he said. If all else failed he’d have to wait until Treva showed up. She should be back any minute. But then how was he going to handle Everling? There weren’t many checks and balances in the Mountain to control him.

The motor on the wall units cycled on. Stemple looked behind him. The wall screen lifted into the ceiling and the panel closed. The wall unit slid open and the furniture retreated into their holders.

Stemple’s eyes widened. “Dr. Everling, what are you doing? Stop this madness and open the door.”

“Madness?” Everling mimicked him. “Madness. Stop this madness.” He pointed at Stemple. “You should have thought of that before you disregarded my direct orders.”

Stemple shook his head. He pounded on the clear wall with both hands. “No, no! This is a misunderstanding!”

Everling lifted the square crystal cover and smashed his fist onto the red button.

Jets of fire shot from every part of his prison. Stemple screamed. The walls, floor, and ceiling turned into blowtorches of death.

Stemple ignited. He flailed as though the movement would ward off the hungry flames that licked at him from every direction. The whooshing sound and pain lasted for agonizing seconds that felt like hours. The flames seared beyond the pain receptors. Flesh melted into his eyes. For a split second his head protected his brain . . . before it boiled in his skull.

Bethany tucked the halo-tablet under her arm as she raced into the Prison Control Center. She’d gotten an alert that the JetTrans patrol had returned. She practically salivated at the thought of starting the DNA splicing with Glade Rishon’s child.

“What do they have for me?” Bethany asked as she leaned over a security console. Years ago Noah had created his own security center separate from Mountain security. At the time he didn’t trust the way the operating Board was treating his father, and he felt having a security force loyal to only the Everlings was desirable. Over the years it had proved profitable.

The technician at the console looked past her to the next station. The next person turned away as though he didn’t want to be involved.

Bethany snapped her fingers. “Hello! Are you going to answer me?”

The young man averted his eyes. “They don’t have the subject, ma’am.” He flinched as though expecting retribution.

Bethany straightened up. Her voice lowered. “Why not?” Her heart rate shot up twenty beats a minute. She reined in her composure, but she wanted to kick something, or someone.

“There is a complete AirStream and JetTrans grid from the Mountain to Dominion Borough. There are no bio-signatures matching the child,” the tech said.

Bethany closed her eyes. “Technically it would seem impossible to miss a complete bio-reading. The only way I could see that happening would be if she was underground where our sensors couldn’t reach her.” She walked away from the console. “But since there are no great caves between here and there, I’d say it’s just rank incompetence. The grid needs to be tightened.” She turned and slammed her fist on the console.

The technician jumped and so did those at the next three stations.

“What JetTrans teams are available in the Mountain?” Bethany asked. She had to keep reminding herself to stay calm, but in the face of abject failure it felt daunting. At least one of these teams would produce the desired results, or she’d keep them out there indefinitely.

“There’s only one team not on patrol at the moment. They are being interviewed about an altercation outside the Mountain with several interlopers.”

“Forget interviews! People trying to break into the Mountain are not my problem. Get me that team in the air ASAP,” she said through clenched teeth.

“But ma’am, their unit was damaged,” the tech said.

“Does it fly?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Bethany glared at the tech. “They’ve got ten minutes to get in the air . . . or else.”