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CHAPTER 13: One of the Good Ones
Sneaking into a top-secret facility in Fremont with the Bay Area’s greatest detective and the pop star tech genius Quintessandra, our goal was simple: Beam a message to another world.
If there is one eternal human truth… one thing that will never change, no matter how much we achieve, how far we travel… it is that an employee in search of a smoke break will always prop the door open.
The propped door led to a loading dock and the loading dock led to a long hallway. Inside, powerful air conditioning blanketed everything with a calming buzz. All we had to do was find the facility’s transmitter.
Instead, we found Arbusto Slab.
Alta Bay City Development’s security chief had hired us to investigate when his boss went missing. But that case was closed; his boss had been recruited by the other world.
“Caught you on camera, sniffing around,” he rumbled. “Thought I told you the case was closed.”
Scheme was unruffled. “I’m glad we found you, Slab.”
A look of consternation crossed his face. “It was me that found y—”
She ignored him. “This is Quintessandra. I don’t think she has a last name.” The pop star tech genius waved. “We need to get her to the transmitter. I know Pajunas must have one somewhere, so —”
“Scheme. I’m here to stop you.”
“Slab, we found out what they’re doing. It’s not just a science project. This facility is designed to—“
“Merge everything into Bay One. I know.”
Scheme stared at him.
“Annabel… I’m sorry.” I’d never heard the security chief call her Annabel before. “I’m older than you. I used to go sailing with my dad. We’d tool around in a little Rhodes 19, make a loop from Alameda to Tiburon. I miss that.”
Scheme glared at Slab with an intensity that made me worry he might combust. “We… still… have… WATER,” she said through gritted teeth. “Slab, this place MADE you. It made me!”
He shook his head. “Sorry, Scheme. You should come with me now.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Ease up a little. Pajunas will explain. It’s not as bad as it sounds. Now, don’t —“
Scheme popped him in the jaw. I knew she had martial arts training, but I had never seen her strike anyone, and she popped him good. Arbusto Slab, six feet tall, approximately four feet wide, went down like a sack of potatoes. I’ve never actually seen a sack of potatoes; I just assume they go down like that.
Scheme cursed quietly. “I always thought he was one of the good ones.”
We fled down a hallway lined with glass doors: One showed a server room, the next a row of low cubicles, the next a lab illuminated by a web of laser beams.
Where were we going?
“I don’t know, Will,” Scheme said. “We just need to… find… I don’t KNOW!” She whirled around, and I had never seen her face so twisted up. “I thought he was one of the really good ones!”
We sprinted past a break room. Inside, I glimpsed a crew of workers leaning over a box of doughnuts. One of them must have just said something funny, because the rest were laughing, and in one worker’s mirth, I saw the glint of internet teeth.
I called out for Scheme and Quintessandra to stop.
“LENGUA… ?” Scheme said. “Of course. There’s at least one cool person in this place. Maybe more. Quintessandra — listen.”
She conferred quietly with the pop star tech genius.
Quintessandra fished her own teeth out of her poncho. They were matte black, and their surface did not resemble any animal’s jaws at all; rather, it reproduced the crackly fissures of tree bark. When she slipped them into her mouth, she looked… quite scary, in fact. She closed her eyes, and a wave of red light swam across the black bark.
A moment later, the worker I’d seen laughing skidded into the hallway. His eyes were wide, and from behind pointy vampire teeth, he muttered, “Oh my god.” I got the sense he meant it literally.
Quintessandra stood straight and severe, avatar of genius with a rainbow poncho and a yakisugi smile. Instructions flowed from her teeth to his. The worker’s face trembled. He looked like he wanted to prostrate himself.
“We have to keep going, Will,” Scheme said, beckoning me down the hallway.
Were we leaving Quintessandra behind?
“She has her job. We have ours.”
Scheme charged down the hallway, following signs first for Plasma Recycling, then Gravity Consignment. It seemed like we might be running in circles, but her pace didn’t flag. Ahead, a door burst open, and through it strode Arbusto Slab, supported this time by a not-small squad of security officers in ABCD grays. His nose was bleeding.
“Scheme!” he roared. “Enough.”
I expected her to turn and run. I expected her to produce some useful gadget from a hidden pocket. I expected her to pop him again, pop all of them — but instead, she offered her hands.
“You’re right, Slab. We give up.”
I’d seen Scheme crack a case and I’d seen her fail to crack one. I’d seen her triumphant and, more than a few times, morose. I’d seen her ablaze with insight and tangled up in theories that went nowhere. The one thing I had never imagined I would see was Annabel Scheme surrender.
Tomorrow, Part 14: Alignment (June 20)
