Стефани Перри - Caliban Cove

It had only taken him an afternoon to get the mix the way he’d wanted it, just as he’d hoped. Then he’d waited, much as he was waiting now....

The day before his plan was to unfold, he’d watched a Trisquad processing and then asked Tom Athens to come to the lab after dinner to privately discuss some thoughts he’d had on intensifying the suggestibility factor. Athens had been only too happy to accept, had listened eagerly to Griffith’s description of the strain he’d already created—couched in hypothetical terms, of course—and after a nice, hot cup of laced coffee, Athens had become the first to experience Griffith’s miracle.

Griffith smiled, remembering those initial glorious moments, the very first—and truly the most impor-tant—test of the strain’s effectiveness. He’d told Athens that the only voice he could hear was that of Nicolas Griffith, that all others would be meaningless babble—and the suggestion had taken as easy as that. In the early hours of that fateful morning, he’d played a tape of one of Athens’s own lectures for the compli-ant doctor—and the doctor had heard nothing but gibberish.

If it had failed, Griffith would have aborted the takeover, no one the wiser. He’d had an unfortunate accident in mind if the strain hadn’t worked the way it was supposed to; Athens’s body would have been found the next day, washed up on the rocky beach. But the incredible success of his creation had proved beyond doubt that it was meant to be, that he really had no choice but to continue. . . .

. .. and so, the kitchen. The drops of sedative in the coffee cups, on the pas tries, injected oh so carefully into the fruit and dissolved into the milk, the juices . ..Of the nineteen men and women who lived and worked in Caliban Cove, only one regularly skipped breakfast and didn’t drink coffee, Kim D’Santo, the ridiculous young woman who worked with the T-Virus; Griffith had sent Athens to slit her throat as she lay sleeping, before the sun came up—

• and it was a bright and sunny day, cloudless and clear as they gobbled their breakfasts and swallowed their coffee, walking out into the cool morning air, collapsing to the ground, many of them not making it out of the cafeteria before they stumbled and fell, a few crying out that they ‘d been poisoned as the words failed them and the drugs sent them to sleep—

Griffith frowned, trying to remember what had happened next. He’d selected Thurman, unable to resist the petty pleasure of showing the good doctor what he’d created. Then Alan Kinneson, although he hadn’t given the gift to Alan until later, keeping him sedated...

He knew the facts: Thurman and Athens had dis-posed of the workers and piled them in block A. Lyle Ammon had managed to keep himself hidden for a time, but had been found by the Trisquads later that evening. Griffith had eaten a late supper and gone to bed, waking up early to move papers and software

to the lab. These were facts, things that he knew—but for some reason, the reality had blurred and he couldn’t actually remember what he had seen, what had transpired for him the rest of that day. Griffith searched through his thoughts, concentrat-ing, but could only find the same hazy and uncertain images: a blinding mid-day sun, bathing the sleeping bodies in red. The scream of a gull over the cove, relentless and wild, calling to the hot wind. A coppery smell of dirt and, and—

• blood on my hands, on the scalpel that glittered wet and sharp and plunged into soft, yielding flesh of faces and bellies and eyes and later, the thundering crash of waves in the dark and the spool of fishing line and Amman, Amman, waving—

His eyes snapped open and the nightmare was over. Shaken, Griffith looked around at the cool, soft light of the laboratory. He must have dozed off for a moment, must have. Yes, that was it. He’d fallen asleep and had a terrible dream.

He looked at the clock, saw that only a few mo-ments had passed since he’d sent the two doctors out. He felt a rush of relief, realizing that he hadn’t been asleep for very long—but as the relief ebbed, he felt the nervousness slip back into his body, jittering and pulsing anxiety about the intruders that had come to his facility.

They won’t stop me. It’s mine.

Griffith stood up and started to pace restlessly, back and forth, waiting.

The “time rainbow” test, number seven, took only a moment longer to complete than test number four, what David had started to think of as the “chess test.” John and Karen had shown him to the small table in the big room, standing behind him as he’d uprighted the colored tiles and laid them out. Beneath the heap of nine rainbow-shaded pieces was an elongated in-dentation, perhaps a foot long and two inches across; it was clear that just seven of the tiles would fit. Seven colors in the rainbow, seven tiles. Simple. So why are there nine of them?

David ordered the pieces by their colors, placing them in a row beneath the indentation. Each bore a different letter on the top, inked in black. Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo—

• and three violet tiles with three different letters.

“Is it supposed to spell something?” John asked. Going from left to right, the first six tiles read, J F M AM J.

“Not in English,” Karen said mildly.

The three violet pieces were J, M and P. David sighed. “It’s one of those where you have to figure out the next in the series,” he said. “Apparently relating to time. Any thoughts?”

John and Karen both stared down at the puzzle, studying the letters; he wondered if they were as tired as he was starting to feel. John seemed distinctly less chipper than usual, and Karen looked fairly wiped out, her skin pale and gaze somewhat distant. Of course they’re tired, but at least they’re making an attempt. . .

David looked back at the colored pieces and tried to focus, but couldn’t seem to manage a single coherent idea. It had been an awfully long day, periods of intense concentration interspersed with violent rushes of adrenaline. He’d run through fear, self-doubt, deter-mination and then fear again, plus a handful

of less clear-cut emotions. Now he just felt frazzled, waiting to see what would come next....

John grinned suddenly, a triumphant light in his eyes. “The letters stand for the months—January, February, March, April, May, June—July. It’s J, the last letter is J.”

“Brilliant,” David said. He started to place the tiles in the indentation as John nudged Karen with his elbow, still grinning. “And you thought all I was good for was easy sex.”

As usual, Karen didn’t bother answering. Relieved to be through the second test, David pushed the last piece into place. There was a faint click and the rainbow lowered very slightly, perhaps a millimeter.

From above them, a gentle chime sounded from a speaker, this one hidden by a fluorescent bar. “That all I get?” John quipped. “No parade?” David stood up, smiling tiredly. “I felt the same way with the other one. We should get moving, see how Steve and Rebecca are making out—“ “Interesting way of putting it, David,” John said, chuckling. “Nice one.”

It took David a moment to get it, though Karen rolled her eyes almost immediately—then scratched at them. When she took her hand away, David saw that her right eye was extremely bloodshot. The left was also slightly discolored, though not as badly. She noticed his scrutiny and smiled at him, shrug-ging.

“I irritated it somehow. It itches, but it’s fine.” “Don’t rub it, you’ll make it worse,” David said, leading them toward the door. “And have Rebecca take a look when we get across.”

They walked back into a connecting corridor and started for the back exit, David steeling himself for another dash across the compound. By his count, they’d managed to take down three of the Trisquads in full; three men outside of the boathouse and a fourth on the run to the first building, then John and Karen’s five between blocks C and D.