Anthem's Fall (40 page)

Vengelis had succeeded with the first part of his plan. He had successfully lit the spark of pandemonium, and soon the entire world would be crackling and roaring with it. By sundown of that day no one would be safe—from either Vengelis or the ubiquitous mobs of terrified people.

Submission was already his.

“The Marriott Marquis is right there at the corner of the block,” Madison said, at last, opting for survival and pointing a finger to the tall glass hotel. “You’re a monster,” she added.

“That is a matter of perspective,” Vengelis said. He broke into a run toward the entrance to the Marriott Marquis, Madison sprinting along beside him on her own volition. They pushed through the front doors into a lushly carpeted lobby. Vengelis looked around with a panicked confusion. A few dozen people huddled around a television mounted in the lobby coffee shop. It was showing the same broadcast as the giant screens of the street.

“What is this?” Vengelis asked as he looked up into the countless floors. He hadn’t been anticipating further complications. “Where are the scientists?”

“This is the lobby.” Madison said distractedly, approaching the vacant concierge desk. “There!”

A computer screen had the day’s event schedule displayed. Among others was written:
ICST Science Convention: Lutvak Ballroom, 2
^nd
floor.
At once Vengelis was off, moving fast. Madison had to race to keep up with him, breathing heavy as she trod the rich carpet. He tore up the stairway and followed an arrow to the ballrooms. The white double doors of the Lutvak ballroom were closed, and he let out a long uneasy exhale as he approached them.

Vengelis pushed the heavy doors open and stepped in.

A presentation was underway. There was a pretty young woman on the stage talking to a crowd of a few hundred people sitting quietly in rows of chairs. A projection screen hung behind her above the center of the stage. At the top of the screen was the title:
Columbia Vatruvian Technologies Research
. Vengelis fell back in horrified disbelief as he turned his attention to the screen. He saw something there that resided in his nightmares. With numb hands he pulled out the
Harbinger I
remote and connected with Hoff.

“Yes, my lord?” Lord General Hoff’s voice shouted faintly over crashing on the other end.

“Drop what you are doing and get to New York immediately.” Vengelis looked down at his remote and turned his gaze from Pral Nerol’s report to the projection screen overhead. On the stage in the front of the ballroom, rotating in three-dimensional perspective, was an unmistakable Felix cell.

A
s Kristen stood behind the podium preparing for her lecture, her fear of public speaking vastly outweighed any dread she felt toward her precarious location in Times Square during a heightened national security alert. She stared out at the few hundred people in attendance as prickly nerves tumbled through her body and left her feeling empty and exposed.

Kristen turned to Professor Vatruvia, who was sitting beside the podium in all of his glory, waving to people he recognized in the crowd. She resented his polished
60 Minutes
guise; it concealed the deep reserve of reckless ambition he had just below the surface.

A convention worker signaled for Kristen to begin, and she anxiously moved the cursor of the laptop and clicked the play button on the slideshow she had prepared with the additional slide on the Vatruvian mice. That one slide would bring their research crashing down. How would Professor Vatruvia’s self-satisfied expression transform when he saw the slide? An enormous high-definition image of a Vatruvian cell came to colorful life on the projector screen behind her, and the ballroom filled with inspired applause. A few piercing whistles sounded from the ocean of eager faces. She often forgot the degree to which the Vatruvian cell was the coveted vanguard of the scientific world. Kristen nodded in acknowledgement of the applause and felt color rise in her cheeks. The numb sensation traveling through her body reminded her of how she felt before the curtains were drawn back in her third-grade class play. She had been Martha Washington. Standing paralyzed behind the podium, Kristen felt as though she was still a terrified eight-year-old wearing a white bonnet. All of her degrees and accomplishments did nothing to overcome the sudden deluge of self-doubt. She took a deep breath, her pulse nearly choking her vocal chords.

“Thank you. Thank you very much,” Kristen spoke into the microphone and listened to her own magnified voice carry easily across the ballroom. She thought it sounded nasally. The first words were always the hardest. “I would first like the thank the ICST organization for allowing our research team the privilege of presenting our work here at the convention. It is a great honor to be among so many prominent researchers.” She took a deep steadying breath, and the room fell so silent she could hear the whir of the laptop in front of her. “I am Kristen Jordan, and I work with the genetics of the Vatruvian cell. I’ve been a part of the Vatruvian cell research efforts alongside Professor Vatruvia since the project’s very beginning. My primary area of study has been specific to the deconstructing of biological cells’ genetic structure and the reconstructing of viable synthetic variations.”

Kristen kept her eyes locked on the rear wall of the ballroom, avoiding eye contact from the politely nodding heads and prying eyes of the front rows. Ryan was out there somewhere, and though she could not hope to find him among all the faces looking at her, that knowledge gave her reassurance. At least one person in the audience would have her back when she told them of the mice. She realized, thinking of Ryan and only Ryan despite the crowd, that she was falling in love with him.

“Though we have made tremendous progress recently in our research, I will start by first providing a basic overview of the Vatruvian cell since its earliest developmental stages over a year ago.” Kristen’s breathing was becoming less constricted, her words less labored and her voice beginning to feel like her own again. “When Professor Vatruvia first contacted me with a proposal for a cutting-edge research endeavor, we spoke of discovering a means to create a truly synthetic cell. Well, from there on . . . the sky has been the limit.”

The irksome ringtone of a cell phone sounded from the audience, but Kristen ignored it. “As I’m sure you all know, what we ended up with was something slightly more complex and elegant than even we could have expected.”

Two more cell phones rang, and then a third. Their owners fumbled to silence them as their inane jingles played for the ballroom to hear. But there was something far stranger than the few chirpy ringtones breaking the polite silence of the crowd. The very ballroom itself seemed to be faintly pulsating with vibrating plastic. Countless cell phones that had been appropriately set to silent were vibrating in pockets and handbags. The abrupt surge of telecommunications was inexplicable, and in a way unsettling. Why were so many people being reached all at once? Kristen only hesitated for a moment before clearing her throat. She was about to continue when she noticed the double doors in the back of the room burst open. Her eyes lingered on the doors as a bizarrely out of place young man and woman walked into the ballroom. Not wanting to get distracted, Kristen quickly averted her gaze.

“What we were able to do in the earliest stages was—to put it simply—create never before seen proteins that. . . .”

Kristen’s attention was magnetically pulled back to the young man and woman as the room continued to buzz with cell phones. For a moment she thought the strange young man was Ryan, but she quickly thought the better of it. He was strikingly good-looking, even from across the ballroom, though he was dressed in a peculiar outfit. From her distance, Kristen thought it might be a costume. He was staring at the image of the Vatruvian cell on the projection screen behind her in what appeared to be a mingling of amazement and dismay. Kristen forcefully moved her attention away from the young man and cleared her throat once more.

“What resulted was a functional cell that operated similarly to a biological cell, but was comprised of an entirely fabricated genetic code that included our own alterations. From there—”

Kristen at last stopped altogether and threw her hands up in irritated exasperation. A number of things were happening. The room was now echoing with a throng of cell phone rings so consistently that she could barely think. The young man in the bizarre attire had moved to one of the side emergency exits and seemed to be barring the door shut behind the backs of the seated audience. The doorframe was making strident creaking sounds, and some heads turned in the back row to see what he was doing, but the cell phones distracted most of the audience’s attention. At the same moment a hotel manager was waving an arm to Kristen as he hastily approached the stage and jogged down the center aisle.

Kristen looked from the manager back to the mysterious young man in the back, who was now moving to another emergency exit on the other end of the room, and seemed to be barring that door, too. The woman he was with had sunken into an empty chair in the rear row and buried her face in her hands, appearing to be distraught over something.

“Excuse me, miss,” the hotel manager called out to Kristen.

Every face in the ballroom turned to him in surprise. He came onto the stage and motioned for Kristen to step aside. As she did so, she saw the strange young man now closing the main double doors to the ballroom, and barring them last. Kristen glared at him uncertainly and raised a finger to point at him, but all eyes were on the hotel manager.

“If I can please have everyone’s undivided attention.” The manager took the microphone as Kristen stepped out of the way. “We have been informed that the city of Chicago is under some sort of attack. The federal government has issued a national state of emergency, and has advised the evacuation of every major city. Our concierge staff will remain downstairs to direct people to the proper evacuation routes should they require any assistance.” His words had an immediate effect on the audience, which erupted into an appalled uproar. The manager raised his voice over the upheaval and yelled into the microphone. “We are postponing the convention, and closing the hotel until further notice. If you have belongings in one of our rooms, we assure you the room will remain locked, and your valuables safe, until the hotel reopens. We are advising all of our guests and employees to calmly and orderly exit the hotel and make your way out of the city.”

Kristen watched as the bizarre young man stepped away from the main double doors and began to walk down the center aisle with an explicit manner of command. There was something extraordinary about him, and as the hotel manager made his announcement, Kristen’s gaze fixated on this stranger; he looked out of place, incongruous with the ballroom and the situation. The moment the hotel manager finished his announcement the mysterious young man abruptly raised his arms into the air.

“Everyone get back to your seats!” the young man called out, but no one seemed to hear him aside from Kristen. He brought his attention to the stage and stared directly at her. Not knowing what to think, Kristen held his gaze as he approached the stage. The audience around him was frenzied, taking no heed of his demand. People were moving to the exits only to find them barred shut. Shoulders clogged at each set of doors, and people began to shout across the ballroom to each other as they realized they had been locked in. Kristen heard indiscriminate shouts about bent steel door handles and frames that would not budge.

Someone was shouting, “Trapped.”

The young man stepped onto the stage, his eyes steadfast on Kristen. His glare roused fear in her. The young man seemed immune to the rise of panic that had now taken hold of the audience and her. Where everyone else was beginning to run and shout, he was silent and methodical in his approach toward her. Kristen raised a hand and pointed at him, as if somehow to draw the attention of security. He did not fit in. She felt that the hysteria beginning to claim the confined Lutvak ballroom was provoked by this stranger; he seemed the deceptively composed eye of a storm they did not quite understand. The young man walked straight to the podium and came to a stop just before her, regarding her curiously.

Kristen looked the strange man up and down in unreserved bewilderment. Her first thought was that he was impossibly handsome, and after a moment she decided
impossibly
was precisely the right word. There was something inherently off with his appearance. The young man should have looked absurd, and yet there was something jarringly authentic about him. He was wearing ornate and seemingly ancient raiment that evoked images of Julius Caesar and Alexander the Great. Although his attire looked eccentric and outlandish, it also looked very genuine: elaborate materials of obvious craftsmanship that were certainly not sold at a Halloween gag store. Though to what possible purpose or meaning his garb and severe expression represented, Kristen could not guess.

“Hello,” he said to Kristen, his voice barely audible over the now shouting audience.

Kristen took a slow cautious step away from him. There was haughtiness to his tone she found unsettling in contrast to the rest of the room’s fright. The young man placed a hand adorned with an enormous crimson ring on his hip. Kristen noticed his arms were sinewy and muscular, as though the lean muscles and tendons in his forearm had to struggle for room underneath his skin.

He motioned to Kristen. “Tell these people that if they do not shut up, I will turn this room into a slaughterhouse.”

Kristen swallowed, unable to form a response. She did not understand.

The disparity between his stately appearance and the savageness of his words was disquieting. Kristen’s cheeks turned beet red and she took another step away from him, nearly falling into Professor Vatruvia, who was still sitting in a folding chair beside the podium.

“Sir, this behavior is highly inappropriate, especially at a time such as this.” The hotel manager shook his head with disapproval at the peculiar young man. He leaned into the microphone. “Security can you please come up front here and escort this man out of the hotel.”