November 17, 2009

The lights flickered on as he entered, giving the interior odd shadows until the lighting came up to full strength. The partially disassembled prototype exoskeleton was in repose on the table where he had left it. Nothing appeared disturbed, as he expected.

He stood in front of the table and activated one of the portable pinpoint spotlights. It brilliantly lit the details of the exposed elbow joint. Gerhardt's eyes followed the lines of the forearm, down to the narrow metal fingers. These latter had never been fully implemented and had ended up being chiefly for show. Adapting and integrating existing subroutines for fine motor control had proven to be more complex than they had anticipated and, in the end, the military had decided that it was not essential for the use to which the exoskeleton was to be put.

Maybe this time, Gerhardt thought with silent hope, and began the process of dismantling the small servomechanism.

#

The light overhead changed and Gerhardt turned onto the short road that would lead him to the institute's main parking lot. As he turned the corner, he slammed on his brakes, stopping only a few centimeters from the bumper of the compact sedan in front of him. Damned glad I was paying attention this morning, he swore silently. Making the right turn, and then slowly accelerating until he reached the security gates, was usually have been automatic, requiring little conscious consideration. The chances of their being any obstruction were slim, except for the very rare occasions when there was road maintenance or VIP visitors that required a heightened level of security.

The driver of the car ahead glanced back at the sound of Gerhardt's brakes. Through the glare of the morning sun, and the tinting of the windows, Gerhardt could not see if it was anyone he recognized. Whoever it was seemed reassured by the absence of the crunching noise that would have signaled a collision and remained in their vehicle, staring forward. Gerhardt shifted to his left, trying to see ahead to whatever was causing the delay. He immediately sat back with a heavy sigh and a burst of silent profanity.

A crowd of people filled the area in front of the security gates. He saw a small number of the institute's uniformed security guards managing to barely keep them free of the roadway. It seemed to be a draw at the moment, but Gerhardt suspected that the security guards would be overwhelmed quickly if additional support personnel did not arrive soon. As it was, only one vehicle at a time managed to creep its way through the throng.

The car ahead of him started to inch forward. Gerhardt used the gap to make a tight U-turn (after very carefully checking his rear view mirror) and pull back out onto the main street. There were two auxiliary entrances to the institute, chiefly used for large equipment deliveries and emergency vehicle traffic. He hoped that the protesters, whatever their cause was, did not know about them, or at least were not as numerous there.

His tactic was rewarded by a nearly empty driveway. There was only one car ahead of him at the gate—a white late-model sedan that he did not recognize—and a pleasant lack of protestors. He stopped, waited while the guard checked and double-checked his pass and identification. The tight-lipped woman handed them both back to him without a word and opened the gate. Gerhardt drove on past, entering the unfamiliar parking lot. Once inside the rapidly closing gate, he paused to get his bearings. After a moment, he recognized the north side of the complex and headed for the lot over there. He wanted to stay out of view from the main gate. It would mean a longer walk to his laboratory, but he preferred that to the alternative. If the media had not yet arrived, they would soon, and he did not want even a fuzzy image of his arrival appearing on the news feeds.

He could sense the heightened tension as he entered the building. Even the security station here had extra personnel manning it. Two of them stood almost at attention with one hand resting on their weapon. Gerhardt could not recall seeing anything similar other than on the occasions of the two bomb threats that the institute had received several years ago, and in the days immediately following the September 11th terrorist attacks. His IDs were checked again and he was escorted to the elevators where the guard swiped his badge instead of allowing Gerhardt to use his. Whatever was going on outside, Gerhardt decided, they were taking security very seriously.

After the doors closed, Gerhardt swiped his own badge and pressed for the upper level instead. He could go to his laboratory later. Right now, he wanted to know what was going on. He waited with growing impatience as the elevator stopped at several other floors on the way to either let in or out other employees. None of them gave him more than a quick glance and, he noted, all of them had nearly the same identical tight-lipped look of worry.

As the elevator finally ascended from the last floor to the top level, he was, once again, alone. He stepped out into the small foyer that led to the reception area for Adamson's office. He found it empty, which amazed him. He had never known Cockburn not to be at his desk dutifully restricting access to the almighty Director. It was possible that he was inside the inner office with Adamson, Gerhardt supposed, but it was odd that he would leave his display running.

Odd, muffled sounds seemed to be coming from it. To Gerhardt's ears, it sounded like the snooty little man was watching video streams while on the job. Curiosity got the better of him, and he leaned over to get a quick glimpse of what was on Cockburn's display. He had to know what kind of entertainment the assistant liked. What he saw on the screen was a surprise, although in retrospect it should not have been one.

It was a live news feed from one of the major international information services. The setting was immediately obvious: the main security gate of the institute. The crowd of protesters he had witnessed earlier seemed to have nearly tripled in size. Some of them were now carrying signs, but the resolution of the image kept Gerhardt from reading what they said. There was no mistaking, however, the meaning of the simplistic images on the placards.

He looked up at a faint sound to see Cockburn exiting from the executive washroom. Nice perk, he considered, realizing that there was no reason that the assistant could not use it as well, barring Adamson's displeasure. He nearly let out a sudden burst of laughter at the next thought. Seems fair, though, Gerhardt mused, that he would be responsible for cleaning up Adamson's crap literally as well as figuratively.

Cockburn paused. Gerhardt prepared himself for a snide outburst from the lean assistant. Instead, Cockburn just regarded him silently. There was a haunted look to the man's eyes that Gerhardt could not recall ever seeing before. Gerhardt turned toward the door to Adamson's inner office.

"I wouldn't," Cockburn warned. His voice was thin and shaky.

Gerhardt turned and shot him a sharp glance. The pale little man just stared back at Gerhardt and said nothing.

Gerhardt turned back to face Adamson's door. One thing that his years in military service had taught him was that there were times for diplomacy and there were times to take action. He was certain that Adamson and the Board had the diplomacy angle more than covered. Without looking back at Cockburn, he strode toward the office and reached for the door. The handle refused to move.

Now, he turned back to Cockburn. "Open it," he demanded tightly. For a moment, he thought the assistant might refuse, but the little man gave the equivalent of a resigned shrug and tapped the recessed control under the desk. Gerhardt heard the soft click of the lock being disengaged and tried the handle again. It moved freely and the door opened.

He found Adamson seated at her desk. Seated in front of her was man in a nicely-cut business suit. Its plain color told Gerhardt immediately that he was from a government agency. One of the better-funded ones, judging from the quality and cut of the suit, Gerhardt noted.

Adamson looked up at him in surprise, trying to conceal it quickly. The government man was slower to respond, as if he was in no hurry to witness who had interrupted their meeting. He looked over at Gerhardt, his expression revealing absolutely nothing.

Gerhardt felt foolish just standing there in the doorway, so he stepped the rest of the way inside, allowing the door to close behind him. He wondered for the first time whether the locking mechanism worked both ways, capable of keeping someone secured within the office as well as outside of it.

There followed an awkward moment of silence during which Adamson tried to glare at him without trying to seem to, and the government man watched him with as bland an expression as Gerhardt had ever seen. When neither of them seemed inclined to speak, Gerhardt decided that he would.

"How did this leak out?" It came out much more loudly and forcefully than he had intended, although it was possible that was due to the acoustics of the room. Gerhardt doubted it.

Adamson's mouth worked, but she did not speak immediately. She cast a nervous glance in the direction of the well-suited man and then away again before the man could notice.

"Colonel Gerhardt," the man addressed him. His voice was smooth and almost soothing, almost exactly what Gerhardt had been expecting from him.

Gerhardt looked at him evenly, not entirely surprised that the man recognized him. His eyes moved to Adamson, who still seemed tremendously tense. Gerhardt could not blame her really, with what was taking place just outside her institute's front gates.

"Doctor Gerhardt," she said. "This is Special Agent Ferris."

Gerhardt gave the man a very small nod of acknowledgment, noting that Adamson had chosen to use his title, not his rank. He found it difficult to dismiss is as merely a matter of habit.

"He is here to advise us on . . . the current situation," Adamson concluded.

Eyeing the man again, Gerhardt waited again to see he would say anything. After several moments, it became evident that he had no intentions of offering any information without being directly addressed.

"And what advice has he offered so far?" Gerhardt finally asked, trying to keep all but the barest hint of sarcasm from his tone.