| |
––––––––
HUGH SAT ON his mat in the room pretending to study his reports while he waited for Parson to finish his shift. He was going to have to help the other Almighty with his project. It was the only way to get the equipment he needed for the pinpointer.
Parson came into the room and sat at the table, pulling a bag of chips from his stash of snacks and drinks. Hugh glanced at him as the other Almighty crunched away on his treat. Parson never offered him any. He was given a sack of food every week—bread, fruit, vegetables and dried meat. It was plain, tasteless food and there wasn’t much of it, especially since he refused to eat the meat. His eyes drifted back to the chips and he reminded himself that he wasn’t there for the food.
“Did you still want some help with your project?” He tossed his papers aside.
“I thought you were too busy.”
The other Almighty was suspicious and he should be, but Hugh had dealt with craftier men than Parson. “I am but I’m also stuck. I can’t figure out...something and working on something else might help clear my head.” The most believable lies had a basis of truth. Working on other projects had helped him figure out troublesome issues in the past and he was confused about the serum.
“Hmm. I do that too.” Parson nodded. “Yeah, I’d appreciate your help.” He pulled out a large file stuffed full of papers.
Hugh moved to the table, pulled up a crate and sat. Parson’s eyes narrowed but he didn’t say a word. Hugh wasn’t allowed at the table so this was the perfect move to alleviate Parson’s suspicions—act cocky like the other Almighty expected.
“What’s the purpose of your project?” This would determine if his suggestions would help or hurt Parson’s task.
Parson lowered his voice. “It’s top secret. I have to deliver a device that’ll be implanted under the skin, like your tracking device, but it’ll secrete medication on—”
“What kind of medication?” Something scurried around in his subconscious, making him shift in his seat and glance at the door.
“I don’t know. I didn’t ask. I’m not exactly given choices on what I work on around here.”
“Well, you should’ve. The distribution method will depend on the viscosity of the fluid.” Not being given enough details was typical of many labs but this one reminded him too much of Conguise’s—too many secrets. A chill ran through his body, but he kept his face impassive. Now he remembered. He’d been working on something like this for Conguise years ago, before he’d quit and started his own business.
“I hadn’t thought of that.” Parson pulled a notepad from his shelf. “I’ll find out the viscosity.”
“How big does this device need to be? Will it be attached to an organ or in tissue?” He continued his questions, praying this project wasn’t for Conguise.
“Small, imperceptible under the skin and it’ll go in tissue if possible. They don’t want to have to perform major surgery. They prefer delivery as a shot or if necessary a minor surgery like used in your tracking device.”
“My device doesn’t require surgery any longer, just a cut in the skin.” Unfortunately. “May I see the requirements document you were given for this project?”
“Why? I can tell you everything you need to know.” Parson pulled the folder closer.
He didn’t have time to play games. “Because before I created my tracking device, before you were promoted to the fifth floor, Conguise had me working on a prototype that is eerily similar to this one.”
“Conguise.” Parson’s white face paled to an almost blue hue.
“Is that who you’re working for?” His legs shook with the desire to flee, but he wouldn’t be safe anywhere with a tracking device inside of him.
“No. No!” Parson stood and began to pace, his long arms flailing around. “Conguise is not the Chapman.” He laughed a little hysterically.
“Why is that funny?” Nothing that had to do with Conguise was funny. He grabbed the folder and started flipping through the papers.
“The Chapman is involved in things that the professor...” Parson shook his head. “Conguise is not the Chapman, trust me.”
“Then he must’ve hired the Chapman to find someone to build his device because these”—he held up a pile of papers and waved them at Parson—“are my notes for my prototype. The one Conguise wanted me to make.” He wasn’t helping with this project. He’d pretend, but he’d steer Parson in the wrong direction.
“I have to get this done as quickly as possible.” Parson sat down, his face sober and scared. “I don’t want to be involved with Conguise in any way.”
“You’re lucky I’m here and have some time, because I’d been almost ready to build the prototype.”
Parson dug through the papers and found the drawing of the device. “This won’t work. I tried—”
“It’ll work but we need to order the parts to build it.” And he needed to sabotage it when they put it together.
He began rattling off the materials they’d require, adding in what he’d need for the pinpointer.
It was late morning when Parson gathered his papers and notes, yawning. “We need to get some sleep.”
“Yeah. Order the parts and let me think on this for a few days.” He rubbed his eyes, trying to stay awake. He was torn between building a model that actually worked and sabotaging it. It’d be perfect for the Trackers. They wouldn’t have to take the serum every month. With something like this they’d only have to come in once every couple of years for a shot that was filled with a new device and several years’ worth of serum.
He stretched out on his mat on the floor. He loved this kind of work and he was a lot better at it than Parson which had allowed him to sneak the items he’d need for the pinpointer onto the list as things that might work for the device. It hadn’t always been an easy sell. Parson still wasn’t sure that metal was the best material for the subcutaneous device, but he’d finally won the argument, convincing the other Almighty they needed to test a lot of materials before they’d know exactly what worked best.
Now, all he could do was wait for the parts to arrive.