THE BUILDING LOOKED LIKE SANDPAPER, BUT THE APPRENTICE COULDN’T REMEMBER WHERE IT HAD EVER SEEN SANDPAPER. There was some hazy recollection of a man with dark hair and rough hands working on an old boat, sanding down the rough surfaces. It remembered using the coarse material to work beside the man. But it couldn’t recall much more than that. It couldn’t connect the man with itself. The memory was like a light bulb that had been pulled from its socket. Without the connection, it was useless.
It walked up to the service entrance of the sandpaper building and swiped the stolen keycard that had been given to it by the master. The master had stressed how to behave in this place. It replayed the words in its head.
The master had said, People ignore and tolerate weird, but they pay attention to fake. In this politically correct world, if someone thinks you’re strange, they immediately wonder if you have a disability. And it’s repugnant to harass someone with a disability. So if anyone questions you, just stare at your shoes and mumble and say, “I’m sorry.”
Luckily, it was able to pass by security with ease while wearing the stolen janitor’s uniform and pushing the trash cart. There was no need for staring or mumbling.
It entered the empty courtroom through a door that read 16th Judicial Circuit Court of Missouri. Then it moved to the hidden spot near the center of the room but close to where the judge would sit. It found the spot exactly as the master had described. It reached into its cart of supplies and retrieved the two liquids disguised as gallon jugs of cleaning fluids.
But it knew that these were not for cleaning. The master had used the words binary liquid and said that these were part of the bomb. It knew that word. Knew that a bomb was bad in some way. But it couldn’t remember why.