Part 24 (1/2)

Once she has carefully inserted the chip that will fool the cameras into seeing only a dark corridor, she replaces the panels. Margarita has a.s.sured us that no human guard is ever posted in Aldrich's labs at the doctor's own request. Security had consented because his building was so deep inside the complex and ”because Aldrich is such a nasty b.a.s.t.a.r.d under all that highbrow pose.”

Abalone gives thumbs-up to the others and a squeeze on the shoulder to me. Then she flourishes something she has removed from within the work cubby-a floor plan so simple that even I can grasp it.

”This plan matches what Margarita got for us pretty closely,” she whispers. ”Aldrich's quarters are there. His labs are here. We'll be able to work in there undisturbed if we're quiet.”

Midline swats her gently. ”We know the plan and I'll cover the hall. Now, go!”

”Right.”

Even in the dim-lit hall, I can feel Abalone blush.

Leaving Midline lounging against a wall in the corridor, Abalone and I let ourselves into the labs. As planned, Professor Isabella and Abalone awaken the computers and begin to scan and destroy data. My job is simpler; I am simply to collect any paper I find and stack it by a shredder that Professor Isabella has removed from her briefcase.

”I've got a secure outside line,” Abalone announces softly, the first voice in many minutes, ”and I'm going to start removing any knowledge of Sarah from the files and planting my virus. How are you doing with Aldrich's research stuff, Professor?”

She gives her head a birdlike tilt. ”No trouble, but I am finding some very frightening things. There is no doubt that Aldrich was continuing his work. There's a great deal of new material about negative recessives and reinforcing traits interworked with material about memory, empathy, and magical thinking.”

”b.a.s.t.a.r.d,” Abalone hisses, most of her attention on her own work. ”I'm glad Ailanthus forced us to move now.”

I roam between clean white counters and listen to the strange songs of the devices that stand regimented along them. Something in their songs makes me pay attention to one wall and, turning to examine it, I hear soft t.i.ttering.

From where I hold them, Betwixt and Between answer without my asking, ”It wasn't us, Sarah. It was the wall.”

I turn to examine the wall, noticing for the first time that it is the only one not cluttered with shelves or heavy gear. The few carts drawn up in front of it could be easily moved. Doing so, I listen again and quickly find the concealed release. There is no sign of alarms, so I palm it, just as Professor Isabella notices what I am doing.

”Sarah?”

I ignore her and, when the opening is large enough to admit me, slip through.

My motion brings up soft lighting illuminating a small, spa.r.s.ely furnished chamber. A low dresser, a cabinet, and a box of transparent plastic are the only things the room holds, but what the box holds makes my throat tighten with rage.

A nude baby boy, no more than a year old, is slowly awakening in the box. His eyes are green, tinged with infant blue, and his hair is a shade more golden than my own. I don't need to be able to read the listing on the box to know that this child is a member of my family.

Putting Betwixt and Between on the dresser where they can watch, I start flipping the fastenings on the box. The baby shows no interest in what I am doing and my rage grows with his indifference.

”Dear G.o.d! A baby!”

Behind me, Professor Isabella's voice rises in shock, but the soundproofed walls of the little room swallow the sound.

I nod, my attention still on the baby. When I move to lift it, she hurries over, sniffing the air suspiciously.

”Let me, Sarah. You need to support his head and cradle his body like so.”

She demonstrates and I nod curtly. There is more rage in me than I knew was possible, but I struggle to conceal it.

Abalone comes to join us a few minutes later and freezes in the doorway when she sees my discovery.

”Who?” she squeaks.

Professor Isabella, now efficiently diapering the boy, actually has an answer.

”I believe that he is the child of Dylan and Eleanora, test-tube bred by Aldrich and carried by a surrogate mother. I thought that what I was reading over was a planned-for project, but obviously I was wrong.”

Under Betwixt and Between's watchful gaze, she fishes a white jumper from the dresser drawer.

”I can get him dressed, but I don't know for how long he'll stay quiet. Already he's the most pa.s.sive baby I've ever seen.”

Abalone steps closer. ”Drugged. Look at his eyes.”

While they are distracted, I stalk from the lab and into the hall. Midline's dark eyes meet mine.

”Finished in there?” he asks softly.

I nod, narrowing my eyes. ”I must be cruel, only to be kind.”

He studies me. ”What do you want?”

I point to the door that leads into Aldrich's suite.

”We were going to leave him alone,” he says.

”No.”

There must be something in my expression, for he doesn't try to stop me when I move toward Aldrich's suite.

The door is not even locked and seems to leap open at my touch. Once I am in the room, I disconnect his comm. Then, deliberately, I turn on the lights and shake him awake.

”Silence is golden,” I warn him, showing him the hunting knife I have carried since my return to the Free People.

He swallows his yell and says very softly, ”You!”

”Vengeance is mine; I will repay,” I growl.

”'Saith the Lord,'” he replies tentatively.

”No,” I say. ”Vengeance is mine, I mine, I will repay.” will repay.”

He quivers under the bedclothes. ”What do you want?”

My face is hard. ”One fire burns out another's burning; One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish.”

”Sarah.” He struggles into a sitting position. ”You never would have been born if not for me. You owe me your life.”

”Life can be bitter to the very bone, when one is poor, and woman, and alone.”

”Your life hasn't been bitter, Sarah,” he says. ”You have talents of which other people only dream. Surely you have enjoyed your abilities.”

Slowly, I turn the knife so that the room's dim light plays off the blade like will-o'-the-wisps over a marsh. My reflection in Dr. Aldrich's mirror shows me the incongruity of my tidy business suit and the steely blade.

”All ambitions are lawful,” I say, testing the blade edge against my thumb, ”except for those which climb upward on the miseries or credulities of mankind.”