Dante's Equation Part 18

Calder felt a flash of irritation. Sloppy, very sloppy. "I want you to send personnel into the fields. Sweep the area. I want afull count . They're to put flag markers next to the bodies so we can see them from here. I want to define a solid perimeter around the effect."

Ingram's mouth tightened. "If you think the situation warrants it."

Calder didn't bother to answer that. He changed his tone. "Any theories on the cause?"

"No. This is a HAARP facility. We don't work with gas or chemical weapons of any kind. There's nothing like that within a hundred miles. There were no accidents in Gakona, Guikana, or Chistochina, nothing. We've swept the area for radiation; it's clean. We checked with civilian and military flight command: there was no traffic through this airs.p.a.ce last night except for a few small civilian craft, none of them carrying any kind of chemicals or reporting anything usual. There's been some mild stomach upset among our personnel, but nothing you can put your finger on. No ill effects reported in the neighboring towns. The birds were migrating, so something might have happened further up the line. We're checking on it."

Calder nodded, deciding Ingram wasn't a slouch after all. He wasn't surprised by anything Ingram said. If it had been a matter of gas or radiation, he wouldn't be here. They wouldn't discover anything farther up the line, either. A flock of birds wouldn't fly a hundred miles while poisoned before all collapsing simultaneously . . . at a HAARP facility.

Calder felt excitement stirring in his groin. f.u.c.k. Avery would have loved this.

"I want ten of the bodies packed on ice and shipped to D.C. Here's the address." He took a card almost as plain as his own from a pocket and handed it to the colonel. "I want them there by tomorrow morning."

"We do have some medical personnel here, if you'd like us to-"

"No.Thank you. The rest should be collected and buried. And if you don't mind, I'd like to go over the details of your HAARP transmissions for the past few days."

"That can be arranged." Colonel Ingram hesitated. "But, begging your pardon, the HAARP broadcasts wouldn't have anything to do with this. They're just radio signals."

Calder pretended to think it over, turning his head to survey the scene once more. In reality, he was buying time to swallow the antic.i.p.ation he knew would be audible in his voice.

"Quite right, Colonel," he said flatly. "Could you introduce me to your head physicist now please?"

Ingram hesitated, trying again to read him, but Calder gave back nothing. Ingram nodded and took Calder over to theNorthern Exposure clones. They stopped in front of a man with John Lennon gla.s.ses and longish gray hair pulled back in a ponytail. The man looked at Calder with bored, disrespectful eyes, as if thinking,Oh, great, a jarhead .

Calder smiled.

"Lieutenant Farris, this is Dr. Serin," Ingram said.

8.2. Jill Talcott

SEATTLE.

THE NEGATIVE ONE PULSE, 50 PERCENT POWER.

Things started going bad in October. The summer had been blissfully uneventful, with no one disturbing them and so much work getting accomplished. Of course, the campus was mostly dormant during the summer months. It couldn't last.

They had finished with the one pulse in mid-September, just before the start of the new quarter. Jill had a bet going with Nate that the effects of the negative one pulse would mirror the effects of the one pulse, that the one-minus-one's crests and troughs were two ends of energy in the same force. Nate disagreed; he thought the negative one pulse would have the opposite effect.

It looked like he'd win that bet. They reset the transmitter for the negative one pulse at 50 percent power. After only six days they started to see a definite decline in their daily "health and well-being" numbers. The virus stopped growing, then began to shrink, dying off around the edges. The mice were lethargic. The fruit rotted.

Deep in her own little world, Jill hadn't bothered to read departmental memos lately, including one requesting research plans for the quarter. On a cold and rainy autumn Wednesday, d.i.c.k Chalmers called her into his office.

"Shut the door, Jill."

She was vexed to see Chuck Grover. He was seated in a cross-legged Alan Alda kind of pose, not unlike a probation officer at a hearing. She frowned at him and he met her gaze with eyes as remote and cold as a Himalayan spring.

Chalmers motioned her to take a seat. He was not sitting behind his desk but on a padded chair in front of the desk, like Grover. A third, empty chair had been arranged so that the three roughly formed a circle. Jill's hackles were up at once.

"What are you working on, Jill?" Chalmers asked.

"What is this, d.i.c.k?"

"Thisis a civilized discussion." Chalmers spoke in that heavy, paternal, Marcus Welby way of his. "I haven't had a research plan from you in six months. I want to know what you're doing."

"What'she doing here?" Jill looked daggers at Grover.

Chalmers neatly picked some lint off his slacks, giving her time to fully comprehend the seriousness of his expression.

"Chuck would also like to know what you're doing. He asked me, which made me realize I haven't a clue. I don't like not having a clue about my staff, Jill."

Her hands found each other in her lap and began entwining. "You do know what my work is about."

"I know what itwas about, but no, I haven't the foggiest idea what you're working on now."

"Well . . ." She was going to say she was still working on the same old wave mechanics equation; that's what she'd led Chalmers to believe. But she'd told Grover she'd abandoned that. It takes social dexterity to be a very good liar, and Jill didn't have a prayer. "Um, well, I'm still working on wave mechanics, but we've had to go back to scratch and try a new angle on it. And . . . uh . . . well, it's just a different approach."

Chalmers and Grover were both looking at her with slack faces. Chalmers shook his fleshy head. "I'm sorry, but that simply doesn't cut it. What about this lab you've requisitioned down in Smith Hall?"

"Yeah. What, exactly, are you doing down there?" Grover added.

She swallowed, not knowing what to say.

"I had a call from the HAARP program in Alaska," Chalmers remarked. "Apparently, someone calling herself Dr. Alkin and claiming to be from our department contacted them last summer about high-energy wave experiments. I've asked around, but none of the other professors know anything about it."

"Well, I certainly don't," Jill lied. She could feel her face heating up and got irritated. She might as well have a nose that grew, for G.o.d's sake.

Grover's eyes narrowed. He leaned forward, practically sniffing her. "What about that book on radio generators I saw in your office?"

"That was . . . Nate's. My grad student's. Hobby."

"Dr. Talcott . . ." Chalmers shook his head again and took off his gla.s.ses. Jill knew she was in trouble then. He never called her Dr. Talcott. "I'm mystified as to why anyone needs to waste a single second speculating about what you might or might not be doing. You told Chuck you'd keep him up-to-date on your progress after using Quey, but he says you've refused to even be civil."

That p.i.s.sed Jill off, big-time. Not civil! She'd been perfectly civil to the creep the day she showed him the sim program. She'd lied her head off, but she'd been civil.

"That's absolutely not true," she said in an icy voice.

Grover started to argue, but Chalmers held up a mediating hand.

"What concerns me is your secrecy. We are ateam in this department, and that includes every single person. I know that I've been busy the past six months and I haven't pressed you as hard as I should have, but youhave been d.a.m.ned illusive, Jill."

"That's not my intention. I just get focused." Jill's hands were wrenching each other like wrestlers in her lap. She noticed it and made them unclench, placing them loosely on her thighs.

"If it's not your intention, then you won't object to showing Chuck and me around your lab." Chalmers rose to his feet as if to say that settled that.

"Next week I have some time-" Jill looked at her watch helplessly.

"Right now."

"Right now? But I have to prepare for-"

"Rightnow ."

Grover stood up, smiling nastily, as if to say,Boy, are you going to get it.

As they left Chalmers's office, Jill wracked her brains for some way out. Pa.s.sing by the corridor to her office, she said, "Just a second. I need my briefcase," and ditched in there, closing the door behind her. She raced to the phone, picked it up, and dialed the lab. She was relieved when Nate answered on the first ring. "Nate," she hissed, "Chalmers is on his way down. Hideeverything !"

She put the receiver down just as Chalmers cautiously opened her office door, scrutinizing her suspiciously. Thank G.o.d she was a female. Worries about indelicacies had probably given her one moment of privacy at least. She picked up her briefcase from beside her desk. "Coming."

She led them over to Smith as slowly and circuitously as she could. Even so, it only took about five minutes. While they walked she thought over her options. As much as she bristled under the scolding, she knew Chalmers was right. Shedid have an obligation to the university to keep them informed. But the memory of Ansel inhibited her, and beneath that were memories of her own, older scars. She would not be laughed at. Besides, she didn't want to spill it under the gun like this; it ought to be a planned, triumphant moment. And she wasn't at her best, had felt muddled and tired all week, with the sharp edge of a headache pressing into her brain. No, she needed time to write up her findings professionally, the breathing room to present them with clarity and confidence. And she certainly didn't want to try to explain her work to Chalmers in front of Chuck Grover. Her only hope of saving the one-minus-one from his clutches was to publish her findings before he heard anything about it. Then again, she might not have a choice.

"Here we are," Jill said lightly. She opened the door.

The rubber curtain sucked toward them as they pushed through. Nate was seated at the long table with his computer. He looked up at them casually. "Oh, hey, Dr. Chalmers, Dr. Grover." Was Jill the only one who could see that he was breathing hard?

Chalmers squinted at him, confused by the hair. "Um . . . Good morning, uh . . ."

"Nate Andros."

"Ah! Yes, of course, Mr. Andros."

Jill couldn't believe what she was seeing-or rather, not seeing. The middle of the room was entirely bare except for the subject table. On top of it was one of their old charts that Nate had taken down from the wall. It was laid flat, pencils on top of it as though in recent use. The white board (and the grid) was covered up by another of the huge charts. On the folding table where the mice had been there was only their old coffeepot, dying a slow death. The radio equipment was gone; the subjects were nowhere to be seen. Jill was caught in a surprised smile when she saw several of the platters of fruit near Nate on the equipment table, as though they were for eating. She lifted her eyes to Nate, who was sipping a cup of coffee and looking doggedly at his computer screen. His collarbone rose and fell and his nostrils flared as he tried to catch his breath without being obvious about it. He looked up. Their eyes met.

"What on earthare you doing down here, Jill?" Chalmers sounded perplexed. Grover was stalking the room's perimeters like a drug-sniffing dog at an airport.

Jill waved an unsteady hand at the charts. "We needed room to spread out. You know how tiny my office is."

"Well, this is a ridiculous waste of s.p.a.ce!"

"No one was using this room, d.i.c.k. It was full of old junk. We cleaned it ourselves."

"It's still a waste! I'm sure there'ssomeone who could put it to better use."

Grover had reached the equipment table. He looked over the top of it, paused where the transmitter had been, looking at the oh, so vacant tabletop. Jill watched him, wondering if there were dust outlines there. She glanced at Nate. He looked worried, too.

"Dr. Grover, how's it hanging?" he asked.

Grover ignored Nate utterly. His face was a blank. He moved toward Jill and Chalmers at the door.

"Well, Chuck?" Chalmers asked.

Grover fingered the rubber curtain. "What about all this insulation?" He looked up toward the ceiling, pulled the rubber curtain toward her. "Jill? Could you explain why you'd need all this if you're doodling equations? This looks like sound insulation to me-for radio waves, perhaps?"

"Radio waves!" She huffed, as if this were the silliest thing she'd ever heard. "No, of course not. It was here when we moved in." She couldn't meet Grover's eyes, so she looked at Chalmers instead. She tried to act normal, but "normal" for her meant hardly any facial expression at all and that didn't seem quite right. She smiled.

"Really? That can be verified, you know. Who had the room before you?"

"I just said; it was empty."

"Ah! Still. Someone would know. A janitor. Acquisitions."

She could have socked good old Chuck. He was right. The acquisition of the insulation could easily be traced to her, but she couldn't back down now. She bit her lips.

Grover turned to Chalmers, his face hard. "You must see this is bulls.h.i.t, d.i.c.k."

Chalmers grunted. "Jill, I want a full-and I meanfull-report of everything you've done for the past six months, and I want it on my desk by Friday."

"But that's only two days!"

"FiveP .M. Friday. And I think you should consider the kind of unproductivity your reclusiveness provokes. Really, this is untenable! From now on I want everyone in the department to knowclearlywhat you're doing, even if they don't care. And that goes double for Chuck. When someone in my department makes a commitment to a fellow faculty member, I expect her to keep it."

Chalmers put a hand on Grover's arm supportively. "Let's go, Chuck."

They left, but not before Grover shot her a venomous look, a look that said,I know you're lying, b.i.t.c.h .

Jill locked the door behind them and collapsed into a chair. She hid her face in her hands. "Oh G.o.d! What ana.s.s hole!"

"Are you okay?"

"Ithink we survived. Thank G.o.d for you, Nate. How'd you do it? Where is everything?"

Nate didn't look relieved. His dark eyes were full of concern. "There's a storage closet across the hall. Jill, this is not good. They're going to find out sooner or later and Chalmers is going to bep.i.s.sed . I really don't get what you're afraid of. This is great work. Brilliant, actually."

Jill couldn't help feeling a rush of pleasure at the compliment. And he was absolutely right. She'd just outright lied to her department head. She felt sick about it for a moment, a swimmy light-headedness like she was looking over the edge of a precipice. She could visualize getting fired, being thrown out of university life forever.

But surely all would be forgiven if she pulled this off. It would be so huge they'd have no choice. And she could explain to Chalmers about Ansel, about Chuck's blackmail, about how she'd wanted to besure before she spoke out. He might understand.

She still had her eye on the prize.

She smoothed her wool slacks. "You're right, Nate. It's time to start writing our first major article. We can include everything we've done so far. By the time we're done, the negative one pulse tests should be finished, too."

"And you want this by Friday?"

"G.o.d, no! Wemight be ready by January, if we bust tail through the holidays."

"But Chalmers said he wanted it by Friday."

Jill rattled her fingertips on her collarbone. Yes, he'd been very clear on that. "d.a.m.n it," she muttered. "I'll have to waste at least two precious days."

"You're going to write a bogus report." Nate sounded really upset. He moved his hand to touch her knee but withdrew it under her frowning gaze. It was a gesture of concern, and she realized it at the same instant she realized why he withdrew it. She'd been looking downward and frowning, and she wanted to say,No, I was just frowning about the situation, not at you . But what wouldthat mean? That she was asking him to touch her knee? And then would he feel like he had to? And would it be awkward because the moment had pa.s.sed?

She avoided the issue by standing up. "It's all in the timing, Nate," she heard herself say, and she sounded so frighteningly like her father that she had a startling moment of self-doubt.

But it was only a moment. January wasn't all that far away, she reasoned. And with Thanksgiving, then Christmas, Chalmers would be too busy to worry about her. It was ideal, really, because while everyone was absorbed in turkey and caroling, she'd have extra time to get her ducks in a row. It was, as her father might say, an advantage, and even a small advantage could matter if you were smart enough to utilize it just right. And even if Chalmers never would forgive her for lying now, for submitting a phony report, she wouldn't need Udub after she'd published, not with Harvard and Oxford knocking. But Chalmerswould forgive her-look at Chuck:he was an a.s.shole and they kissed his shorts-wearing b.u.t.t because he was valuable. That's the way things were in the fast lane, and if you couldn't play hardball you'd just get crushed by the people who could.