Thunder (18 page)

Ganston strolled back to his office after overseeing the culinary integration of his last specimens. About a year ago a fluke demonstrated how virulent the diseased rabbits could be on second- and third-generation Mountain dwellers. Granted, there were several unfortunate deaths he attributed directly to the infused matter in the executive-level food line, but he considered them acceptable losses for the cause.

The cause. The operation hadn't gotten the desired results. Everling was still alive.

Ganston frowned. Nevertheless he'd be leaving in a month. Case closed.

Sitting at his desk, he called up a family album on his halo-screen. His fingers tenderly touched the images. If his great-grandma's wish of freedom wasn't granted by him, there would be no heir to take up the mantle. The love of his life had died forty years ago in childbirth. No wife. No children. The beginning of the Mountain birth rate decline.

A knock sounded on the half-open door. Ganston glanced up as Jax leaned in.

“Mr. Ganston, your security woman, Mojica, is here. She demands to speak with you even though I told her this wasn't an appropriate time.” Jax looked flustered.

Ganston wanted to smile but feared the poor fellow might cry or do something equally unmanly. “Show her in. I have time before the meeting.”

Jax turned out of the doorway, and Mojica, dressed in all black resembling leather, barged past him into the office, closing the door in his face.

Ganston sat back in his chair. She was quite a spitfire, all six feet of her. Reminded him of himself at that age. Her exuberance would build a mighty army. “What can I do for you now that you've completely unnerved my assistant?”

“Well, the little pea-head should recognize Stone Braide's head of security needs unlimited access to you.”

Ganston paused. Hearing the town name uttered in a conversation gave him a certain measure of pride and a dose of reality. It was finally happening. “I will see to it for the future. So was this a test of your authority?”

Hands fisted on hips, she tossed her long black mane of
hair out of the way and furrowed her brow. “Yes. No. Well, probably. It's like commanders not having access to the general in a war campaign.”

Ganston leaned on the arm of his chair and rested his chin between his thumb and forefinger. It helped to mask the smile. His own Amazon woman. “And what do you know about war at your age?”

“I'm very well read on the art of war. Apparently this ancient society and its citizens fought with every country in the world at one time or another.” Mojica moved to lean on the corner of his desk.

“Did you come here to discuss the merits of war?”

“I'm concerned about the security initiative for Stone Braide. Reading your directives, I get the distinct impression you want me to create an army.”

“Do you have a problem with that plan?”

“No, not at all,” Mojica said. “I'd much rather have precision forces than the doodlebug squad we have here.”

“What's a doodlebug?”

Mojica plopped into the chair beside his desk. “It's my great-grandma's saying. It's wood lice, I think. They have shells like a lobster, roll up in a ball to hide, and are said to have an unpleasant taste similar to strong urine. I have no idea who would have ever tasted urine to know that—”

Ganston raised a hand. “I get the point.” He noticed that of all the chairs, she sat in the one with the same height as his desk chair. She apparently was not about to be intimidated by the need to look up to talk to him.

“Obviously you don't or we wouldn't be having this con
versation.” She rested the heel of her boot against the top of his desk.

He stared at the intrusion to his space and used the back of his hand to move the shoe away from the surface. “Are you talking bugs or armies? Explain, but please make it brief. I have a meeting.”

“The Mountain security force is laughable. They couldn't navigate their way out of a JetTrans if you shut them up in one. There hasn't been anything or anyone to challenge them in decades, and even watch shifts aren't functional. People come and go when they want to on no particular schedule. There are times when I literally have to hunt down the personnel of a given area!”

Ganston pursed his lips. “This could be a problem. We don't know what types of outlaws we'll face out there. We should probably plan for the worst and hope for the best.”

“We're going to need weapon drills, combat training, specialty forces—”

“Okay, I get the message. Put together a plan and submit it to Jax.”

Mojica jumped from her seat. “I'm supposed to turn in a major security initiative to
him
? And when will it be acted upon? When he has a spare moment between getting your dinner and making your appointments?”

Ganston ran his hand over the link for Jax. He could tell he'd been listening at the door because instantly the man opened it and popped his head in. “Yes, sir?”

“Jax, take a memo. Along with Mojica's responsibilities as head of security for Stone Braide, she now has complete control over the security operation.”

Jax straightened up and entered the room. “Sir? Does this mean—”

“It means just what I said. She has the ultimate authority over security. She gets what she wants, when she wants it. Understood?” Ganston put on his stern face.

His assistant recoiled. “Yes, Mr. Ganston.” The door closed behind him.

“Is there anything else you need?” Ganston asked nonchalantly as he folded his hands in front of him.

“Yes. I've identified several hundred for our initial security force—”

“That many? If I'm not mistaken that doesn't leave many in the Mountain.”

Mojica shrugged. “The Mountain doesn't need these people. I've culled them from my clan. They're top notch in combat and defense operations.”

“Oh really. How come these
experts
aren't currently part of Mountain security?”

“Let's just say they needed discipline initiatives to motivate them.”

Ganston understood—she assembled rebels. Occasionally the Company quelled uprisings among those groups. Usually they vanished into the untamed furthest reaches of the Mountain interior—the areas given generations to equalize flora and fauna growth before population inhabitation. “I see, and the ones you are taking from actual Mountain security—will they leave the Mountain vulnerable?”

Mojica grinned and shook her head. “There are only so many ways in and out of this place. They've always been
overstaffed. Security duty pays well, and Politicos get their cronies assigned for easy jobs. They'll never be missed.”

“How did you assemble this group so quickly?” Ganston worried she'd been at work on some other subversion without his knowledge, maybe as a mole for Everling.

“It's no secret that many in security are dissatisfied with the ways things are handled. Quite a few have returned to the private sector and are more than happy to join our new endeavor. We need to start training.”

“What kind of training?”

“I want to take them to the wilderness at the other end of the Mountain. We need intensive exercises in a number of areas including combat.”

“When do you want to do this?”

“Right away. I'd like to start moving them out today. If you want us to be ready with boots on the ground in a month, even this is cutting it close.”

Ganston nodded. “Do it.”

Mojica smiled and hustled out of the office.

Ganston tented his fingers and lowered his head. He found comfort in her ability and initiative, but was putting her in charge the right choice? Could he be sure before it was too late?

Was this an Everling trap?

Stemple left his quarters and headed across the road to the lab. The rain cycle had finished and the faux sunshine baked the streets dry. The halo-projections on the far-off walls gave the illusion of mountains, forests, and sky. Right now
the sun was climbing toward its noontime high. How could such peacefulness mask so much evil?

As if on cue, the MagLev train slid silently into the station above the tree line next to the Corporate Lab. People filtered from the station down to the street, and the magnetic rail train slid off through its tube traversing the Mountain. Stemple dreamed of getting on the train one day and never coming back. He'd relieve himself of all the evil he'd accumulated here.

He slipped into the lab and slowed to a stop. Which direction should he go? To Everling's lab to start prototype testing the new serum, or to the containment labs where the prisoners were held? Stemple gritted his teeth.
Dismantle . . .
Everling's choice of a singular nondescript word for the process of killing numerous people outraged him. And with Bethany Everling back in the lab, the situation was worse. She was more driven than Dr. Everling.

Stemple turned toward Everling's private lab, approached the door, and raised his hand to the scanner. This wasn't right. He needed to help the Landers before it was too late. He strode down the corridor to Lab Section Ten.

Stemple keyed his ComTex to locate Treva. It showed she was in the Lander confinement section. He hurried through the palm and retina scans and the door opened.

Treva stood before the transparent plascine wall talking to Glade Rishon. Stemple halted. She shouldn't be that close to a Lander. Glade looked toward him.

A few years ago he'd felt a burning sensation whenever he came near Glade. It unnerved him so he avoided contact. Not fearful, just prudent.

Treva looked up. He didn't miss her hands moving behind her as she turned to face him.

“What's going on?” Stemple approached warily.

Treva cocked an eyebrow. “Just working. Why, is something wrong?”

Stemple tried to look behind her. She evaded his glance to her hands. He furrowed his brows. “What's in your hand?'

“Nothing, why do you ask? Is this a game of ten questions?” She placed both hands into her lab coat pockets.

Maybe it was because of Everling, but at the moment Stemple wasn't feeling very trusting. He reached for her left arm and removed it from her pocket.

“Release her!” Glade's ear-splitting voice boomed.

Stemple flinched, his ears ringing. He stared into the slit eyes and pinched mouth of Glade Rishon seething with rage. He backed away from Treva.

“I need to talk to you outside,” Stemple said. He turned and hurried from the lab.

He pulled on his ear a few times, the ringing still evident. How did Glade do that? He thought the new injections Everling had ordered eliminated those kinds of episodes. Why had they returned?

He mulled over a new formulation. The dismantle came to mind. No more formulas. Either he was going to help the Landers go free or he was going to kill them. Time was of the essence before one of the Everlings took charge of the dismantle.

The door swooshed open and Treva exited the confinement area. Stemple grabbed her.

“What have you done?”

Treva jerked from his grasp. “Don't you put your hands on me again, or I'll report you.”

“How was he able to project pain on me?”

“You must have sensitive ears. It was only sound.”

“Stop avoiding my question.” Stemple grabbed at her lab coat pocket.

She pulled back. The material tore loose at the top corner with an audible rip.

Treva looked down. “I can't believe you did that. I'm reporting you.” She stormed away.

“Wait!” Stemple yelled.

She spun around. “Wait for what, for you to physically assault me again?”

Stemple let out a sigh and raised both hands as if in surrender. “I'm sorry. Come back. We don't have time for this. I was just unnerved by the piercing sound in my head.”

Treva stopped. “I didn't even notice.”

“We gave them a drug cocktail eliminating their communications and higher-decibel sound abilities. But there's a lot we don't know because Everling never cared to explore the possibilities, just his own agenda. What were you doing in there?” Stemple wanted to ask why the sound didn't affect her, but he didn't want to appear sensitive to Lander sounds. It made him look weak. He rubbed his ear again.

“I don't know what you think I was doing, but—”

“Listen, no more games. You were right about Everling.” Stemple knew they needed to act fast. No time for personalities or arguments.

Treva tipped her head. “You're not making sense.”

“You asked him about the fountain of youth. He did it.
Wait till you see him
and
his wife. They've regressed at least twenty years.”

Treva's mouth fell open. “Are you serious? How? The data has to be phenomenal.”

Stemple shook his head. “No time to study it. He wants me to dismantle the Lander project.”

“What does that mean?”

“Get rid of the Landers.”

Treva grinned. “They can finally be let go!”