The Fold: A Novel Part 13

"All the questions you already know the answers to."

"I'm trying-"

Her eyes flashed. "Are you trying to get me to implicate Arthur or something, because I won't-"

"I'm just trying to make small talk," he said. He gave her the Look. It almost faltered when he realized he was using teacher-student tactics on a woman only three years younger than him.

Jamie fought the Look, but it hit a nerve somewhere. She seethed, but she backed down. "Sorry," she said, not sounding that sorry.

"Don't worry about it," he said. "I'm sorry if you thought I was questioning your loyalty or something. I was just trying to be friendly. And find somewhere to have lunch. That's all."

They stood there for a minute.

"We're not doing anything wrong," she said.

Mike considered a few possible ways to respond. He weighed them against what he knew so far about her. It felt lame, but the best he could come up with was, "I know."

"Don't screw us over."

"I'm on your side, remember? I'm here to make sure you get funding."

"Then make them understand that this is going to change everything," she said. "We know it. Magnus knows it. You know it. That's why it has to be perfect."

"I get that. I'm just trying to..."

Jamie turned and continued down the path past Tramp's grave. Their feet crunched on the gravel, rustled against the fake gra.s.s, and led them to her trailer.

"More locks," he said as she unlocked the door.

"Yeah, I'm old-fashioned that way."

"No, I mean..." He paused. "I get the security up in the lab, but why lock up down here?"

"I know you probably leave everything unlocked back in New Hampshire, but this is a city."

"Maine. And this isn't really a city. It's a fenced-off government facility with guards. It's not like random muggers or thieves are going to get in here."

"It's my home," she said. "Why wouldn't I lock up my home?"

"I...never mind. Sorry."

She turned her back to him and vanished inside the trailer. He took the open door as an invitation.

The small s.p.a.ce was a flurry of paperwork and technology. Notes, memos, and reports rested in great dunes across her desktop, spilled off the two large, flanking corkboards to cover the walls, and formed small drifts across the floor. She'd hung a few curtains to separate her bed from the rest of the room, but he could see more loose papers scattered there as well. The pressboard bookshelves were stacked haphazardly, with only the barest attempts at organization. Random sheets of paper were sandwiched between the various volumes. A hardcover copy of The History of What We Know was flanked by Douglas Hofstadter's Fluid Concepts and Creative a.n.a.logies and a sun-faded Machine Man graphic novel. An old book with gold print on a leather binding was wedged into the shelf on top of them, Electric Currents-Their Generation and Use.

Mike glanced at the two computer towers lying half-autopsied on her kitchen table. One had a bag of chips in it, the top held shut with a binder clip. A stack of motherboards rested on the chair in Mylar bags.

"Maid's been on vacation, I see," said Mike.

"Yeah. She ran off with the guy who writes your jokes."

"Ouch."

"There's a postcard from them here somewhere. Want me to look for that instead?"

"No, no. Just the logs will be fine."

Something twitched and stretched on top of the bookshelf. A white paw reached out and spread, flexing an array of sharp, untrimmed claws.

"Glitch," said Jamie, following Mike's gaze. "He was here when I moved in, and he decided I could stay after his first can of tuna."

"Glitch?"

"Second day I was here, he ran across my keyboard and ruined forty-two lines of code."

Mike nodded. "Glitch it is."

The cat blinked at him, focusing its bright green eyes for a moment, and then went back to sleep.

Jamie yanked a dozen sheets of paper from her desk, then a few more from the walls. She thumbed through them, marched back to her bed, and crouched down to dig through the papers there. Her jeans slid down a few inches in the back, revealing a skintight pair of high-waisted blue bicycle shorts. Her backside was nothing but glossy blue spandex.

She glanced over her shoulder. "You want animal tests and simulations, too?"

He shrugged and tried not to look at her a.s.s. "I'll take whatever you're allowed to give me."

She straightened up and returned with two dictionary-sized bundles, adding them to the pile. "I think that's everything except Olaf's trip yesterday. That one's still up in the lab or in Arthur's office." She half-shoved, half-dropped the lot into his arms.

"Thanks." He stood there for a beat and the ants catalogued the files. "I'm surprised how much paperwork you use here. I mean," he hefted the logs, "actual paper."

"It's a security thing," said Jamie. "People can't hack a manila folder."

"No, I get that, it just seems a little...I don't know, inefficient? Especially with the size of some of the stuff you're talking about."

"It is what it is. Did you need something else?"

"No, this should do it."

"Okay. You can go now." Her arm swept toward the door.

"Right. Sure. Thanks for the files."

Jamie closed her eyes. "Sorry. Again."

"Don't worry about it. Again."

"I know this is your job, and I'm sure you're a nice guy-"

"You know, those words always hurt."

She smirked. "-but we don't need this right now. We don't deserve it. We haven't done anything wrong. The Door works. We just need more time for testing."

"So everyone keeps telling me," he said.

FOURTEEN.

Mike stepped into his trailer and realized he had nowhere to put the armload of reports. He'd a.s.sumed he'd be able to rough it in the Spartan apartment for a few weeks, but that wasn't going to be possible. If nothing else, his back wasn't going to take more than two or three nights on the cot.

He set the stack of files on the thin mattress and made a quick mental list. Table. Two chairs. Small bookshelf. Small refrigerator. Toaster. Microwave. A small bed or maybe a futon that could double for a couch. Sheets and maybe a blanket. He could fit some of it in his rental car, but not all of it. He'd have to hope for delivery.

Mike turned his attention back to the files. The red ants and black ants were swarming in his mind. They'd been scratching since the meeting in Washington, since they'd heard the first theories and ideas. Seeing the machine and the blueprints had only excited them more.

It could wait. He could go find a store, get some dinner, and spend the evening setting up his temporary home. Dive into the files in the morning.

The ants itched at the inside of his head.

He headed back out and up to the parking lot. Bob had mentioned some shops in the area, and he'd pa.s.sed a few on his way in from the airport. He was sure he could find something.

The redhead was standing by the front gate talking with the guards. He gave Mike a half wave, finished up with the uniformed men, and sauntered over. "Olaf drive you away already?"

"Haven't dealt with him one-on-one yet."

"So it was Jamie, then."

"Actually, it was you," said Mike. "You were right. I need some furniture if I'm going to live back there for a few weeks."

"Need some help?"

Mike raised an eyebrow. "Are you offering?"

"Nah. I just like to ask people if they need help and then watch their hopes get crushed."

"Thanks."

"I kid, I kid," Bob said. "Did you want to get something big, like a couch or a bed? I could check out the pickup we use for hauling stuff between the main building and Site B."

"That would be fantastic. Thank you."

"Don't mention it. I'm just sucking up so you'll give me Olaf's job when you get everyone else fired."

"I'm not getting anyone-"

Bob held up a hand. "Relax, man. It's just a joke."

"Sorry."

"Let me go sign out and grab the truck. I'll meet you back here in...ten minutes?"

Twelve minutes later they were rumbling down the road. The pickup was a huge, rusted beast, a relic of a time before the term "fuel efficiency." According to Bob, they'd picked it up for under a thousand dollars. Mike didn't find it hard to believe.

"So, I have to ask," said Bob, "how often do you hear the 'young Alan Rickman' thing?"

"Often enough," he said, "although it's mostly kids, so it's usually phrased as 'young Severus Snape.'"

Bob laughed.

"How often do you hear 'Ron Weasley'?"

"Not as much as I did in high school, thank G.o.d." He shook his head. "I shaved it all off junior year, about five years before bald became trendy. Spectacularly bad decision for a kid heading for cla.s.s salutatorian." He flipped the directional and swung them into a turn lane. "Six months of everyone calling me Lex Luthor."

Two and a half hours later, Mike had a truckload of new furniture pieces with quasi-Swedish names to a.s.semble. Bob helped him pile it all in his trailer, then loaned him a small toolbox to help a.s.semble the futon frame.

Mike looked at the pile of bags and boxes. The reports still sat on his cot, and the sight of them made the ants seethe in his mind. He brushed them away. "I think I owe you dinner, at least."

"Nah. It was no big deal. And if it puts you in a better mood while you're here, it works out for everyone."

"I insist. Besides, I need someone to show me a few good places to eat."

"I can go with you, but don't worry about feeding me."

"Technically," Mike said, "Reggie's feeding both of us."

"If you put it that way," said Bob, "I wouldn't want to risk offending the man in charge."

They ended up at a pizza place just down the street from the main building. It was a strip mall restaurant with bare-bones Italian atmosphere. Menus were examined, orders placed, and they sat back in their booth to wait for their drinks. Bob studied Mike across the table.

"So why are you here?"

"You said the pizza was good."

Bob smiled. "Why are you here? What are you really looking for?"

Mike shrugged again. "What do you think I'm going to find?"

The waiter came back with a lemonade for Mike and a Pepsi for Bob.

"I think," Bob said, "that a person can always find what they're looking for, whether it's there or not. They'll just see what they want to see."

"Fair point," said Mike, "but all I'm looking for are ways to rea.s.sure Reggie so he can rea.s.sure all those other people who need to sign off on your budget."

Bob put his gla.s.s up to his lips and swallowed twice.