The SubVersion Complex, Chapter Eighteen

More surprises, as usual. Let me know what ya'll think, I love getting feedback on the new material.

Here is Chapter 18 of The SubVersion Complex. This book is intended for a more mature audience, so be advised.

╗ EIGHTEEN ╚

FATHER

Daniel glared at Mr. Vickers. “I only ever did to her what I told you,” he snapped. The older man glared back.

“Which was quite enough, if I recall. I never authorized you to blackmail this woman or anyone else for that matter!”

Anna's head spun as she tried to process what she was hearing, but in another moment she knew her knees were going to give way from beneath her and she fell into a nearby chair without being asked. Mr. Vickers knelt beside her and pulled a quilt from the sofa. “Here, wrap up in this, your teeth are hammering.” He tried to smile at her.

Daniel, now agitated, knelt on her other side and looked her in the eye. “You said you had some success with my numbers.” When Anna nodded he continued with more passion, “Well? Did you find them? Both of them?”

Anna nodded but couldn't say anything. She opened her mouth to explain but her voice died and she was left to move her jaw in vain. Daniel moved closer to her; Anna could again feel that masculine warmth and dangerous tension near her face and she retreated into the chair. “What did you find, Anna?” he asked. “Tell me!” Mr. Vickers attempted to pull Daniel away but the younger man shook him off violently. “Let me do this, Father!” he growled.

“Father?” Anna finally managed to blurt. Daniel ignored her and repeated his question.

“Tell me, did you find them?”

Anna nodded.

Daniel's voice rose. “The woman? You found the woman too?”

She nodded again, wilting.

“Is she alive? Dammit, tell me she's alive!”

Anna began to tremble from head to toe. Her breathing quickened, her heart pounded in her ears. “No,” she gasped out in a hoarse whisper.

A fearful transformation overtook Daniel. It was as if a bright fire in his eyes had been quashed and all that remained were the freakish charred remnants. His breathing turned ragged, and she could see him fighting back hot tears. “You're lying,” he whispered.

“I watched her die,” Anna replied weakly, her eyes filling with her own tears. “She was thrown into an incinerator and was burnt up.” Her heart felt near to bursting with grief for the poor man. “She's dead.”

Even Mr. Vickers was taken aback. He and Daniel exchanged appalled looks, then Daniel looked away, fighting a powerful maelstrom of emotion. Finally the younger man stood and paced the room while Anna and Mr. Vickers watched him warily, unsure of what to expect next.

“Are you sure she's dead, I mean could there be some mistake?” Daniel stammered brokenly. Anna shook her head.

“There was no mistake. Neville found her and sent her to the incinerator,” she whispered back. “He said she had been frozen one too many times to be of any more use . . . “

Daniel clawed at the air. “Neville, that sickening beast,” he exclaimed. Then he turned on her with a fierceness that truly frightened her. “And you did nothing to stop it? You were right there and you did nothing?”

Mr. Vickers turned to him. “You don't know that, Daniel.”

Daniel waved him away. “Let the bitch speak for herself, Father.”

Mr. Vickers stood, and his old frame shook with anger. “That's quite enough, Daniel.”

“Like hell it is,” Daniel replied. He pointed to Anna. “She's the reason for all of this, don't you see? Her work is what industrialized all of this horror, the Versions and the SubVersions and all of it!” His demeanor turned suddenly calm, but Anna knew better than to relax. She was proven correct when Daniel pulled his own pistol from his belt and dispassionately held it against her head. She stifled a scream and shied away.

“This whole damnable business is her fault, it's on her head. Would it not be just to take her head for it?” Daniel remarked coldly. “Eh, Father? You're always spouting about justice and mercy, you tell me what you think! Then perhaps I'll decide not to pull the trigger.

Anna saw to her surprise that Mr. Vickers had slid between her and the barrel of the gun. “Daniel, this woman is special to me. But even if she wasn't I would still stand between you and the commission of a grave crime against your own soul and this woman's body. She deserves to be shot just as little as you do.”

Daniel threw up his free hand in exasperation. “Is there no justice in this world? What would be so wrong about blowing her away for her crimes?” he cried. “She is HomoGen! She is the enemy!”

“Daniel.” Mr. Vickers voice was soothing but firm. “You are grieving. But you will not grieve with a gun in your hand, nor will you threaten Annalise with any more violence. You will not.”

Suddenly Anna found herself exasperated with Daniel. She astonished even herself by pushing Mr. Vickers aside, grabbing the gun and placing the muzzle against her forehead. “No, it's all right Mr. Vickers. Go ahead and kill me, Daniel. Go on, do it. Pull the trigger. Talk about me like I'm not here and have no say, blow my brains out. I am the cause of all your problems, I am sure. I'm not sure why I care to live anyways, go ahead!”

Daniel was taken aback even in his rage. “Why?” he asked.

“Because I've seen enough today to make me doubt there is anything good left here or in you or anywhere else. So pull the trigger!” Anna's voice exuded desperation.

“That's enough, both of you!” Mr. Vickers said, quietly but in a voice of authority. He gently grasped the gun and pointed it away. To Anna's dumbfounded surprise Daniel let the gun drop completely into the older man's hand and then walked away towards the fireplace.

She watched Daniel grasp the mantelpiece and put his forehead against the wood. What was passing through his mind she couldn't know, but she did see several tears land on the hearth below and her heart again went out to him. Her anger had been brief, and all the feeling she had left for him was sorrow. She then remembered Sonya and her pulse intensified. All was not lost. She cleared her throat. “Daniel?”

He turned slowly to glare at her. Nothing daunted, she continued. “Your daughter, Sonya. She's alive. She's alive, and I spoke to her.”

A change occurred immediately. Hope visibly returned to the grief-stricken face and he approached her cautiously yet with unmistakable excitement. “You spoke to her?”

Anna nodded. “After a fashion.” She swallowed. “They -they're using her for an experiment.”

Daniel stood still, waiting. Whether it was patience or pent-up fury that kept him rooted to the floor she couldn't tell, but he waited nonetheless. Anna continued fearfully. “It's the project that they originally hired you for, the reason they took your brain scans. They built a system that used your scans to interface with other human brains via a special computer. Except,” she swallowed again, “that the heart of the transfer computer is a person.”

“Go on.”

“Sonya. She is the computer. And I spoke to her through the interface.”

Behind the mask of his face Anna detected a hint of dismay, and Daniel stood for a full minute with his arms crossed, breathing slowly. He then roused himself, rounded the bend to the hallway and shut himself in the nearby bedroom with a slam.

Anna shivered and sighed a long sigh of relief. He was gone, at least for the moment, and now that she could relax a powerful exhaustion seeped into her bones. She closed her eyes and leaned back in the chair, pulling the quilt closer around her clammy body for warmth. The quilt smelled good, a kind of delightfully shabby grandmother type smell, and she buried her face in it and breathed slowly.

“That was my wife's,” a voice said, and Anna felt a warm hand on the back of her head. She tensed, then relaxed at Mr. Vicker's touch. Somehow his was the first touch today that she trusted, and she let his hand rest where it lay until she turned to look up at him.

“I'm sorry she's gone,” she whispered.

“And I as well,” Mr. Vickers replied, sitting down in the chair opposite her. He looked even older than usual today. He folded his hands in his lap and looked at them for a minute, then his eyes flicked back up to her face. “I can only guess the kinds of questions you have for me right now, and you deserve the answers to them.”

She did have questions, and they threatened to jumble together as she tried to decide which to ask him first. However, she decided to save the most obvious one for second and ask him the more burning one first: “How did you know?”

Mr, Vickers' brow furrowed. “How did I know what?”

Anna's pride suddenly threatened to choke off her explanation, but she forged ahead despite her discomfort. “You said . . . you've warned me for years that I would regret what I did one day.” She paused, hesitant. “Because I- I do regret it.” She stared back at him, straight into his soulful eyes. “How did you know? How did you know that . . . that I was not happy?”

Mr. Vickers looked back at her mildly, his only movement the rise and fall of his chest. Anna almost thought she saw a smile brewing deep inside him. He cocked his head at her and rubbed his forehead with his fingers. “Annalise,” he began, the smile that she suspected beginning to curl the edges of his mouth, “Annalise, I am old. I've watched many people grow and change, I've grown and changed myself. And if I've learned anything from my observations of people, young and old, that would be that I know when they are unhappy. When someone is unhappy it isn't usually difficult to find the cause, as long as one takes the time and the care to get to know that person.”

Anna frowned, unsure if he had answered the question. “But- but how did you know? Specifically?”

The full-blown smile appeared. “Because HomoGen's work, and Central Admin's work, are fundamentally untrue. You cannot be happy following that which is untrue.”

The concept was so foreign to her that she sat silently, trying to let the words penetrate. Untrue? Why was it untrue? Before she would have laughed in his face at such a suggestion, but now something in her soul resonated to the concept, though she didn't know why.

Mr. Vickers leaned forward towards her and he took her hands in his. “If you really want to know how I know, all you have to do is look around you, and think. You are unhappy because you know deep in your soul that what you do and what you've seen are troubling things. They are not good, they are untrue.” He released her hands. “There is no love in what HomoGen does, and there never will be. And you desire love. I see it with you and Jesse, I see it with your devotion to your job, I see it in everything you do. You want to love and to be loved.”

Anna's breath caught in her throat. One part of her demanded she rebel against his words, that she drive him away. She felt her desire for her work, her memories of HomoGen being pulled away from her and her body screamed that she resist. Then suddenly she heard the Secretary's words again: There is no love in this entire process, and it's about time the charade was dropped.

Adam knew that what he was doing was untrue.

The other part of her found itself listening to Mr. Vickers. “Jesse doesn't love me,” she blurted out. “He never did.”

“Probably not,” Mr. Vickers agreed.

“Did you know the SubVersion complex existed?” she asked, trying to change the subject.

“We had a pretty good idea that the part you saw did indeed exist, and of course Daniel is familiar with a certain portion of it. But we weren't absolutely sure what was going on there until this afternoon. You'll have to give us the rest of the details later of course,” Mr. Vickers said, leaning back again in his chair. “Which leads to your next question: why is Daniel in my house?”

Anna nodded.

Mr. Vickers shrugged. “He is Verité. So am I.”

Even though she had already begun to guess, the revelation still shocked her. “How could you be Verité?” she demanded.

“Because Verité was my idea.”

Now she truly gaped at him. “Your what?”

“Verité is the brainchild of none other than myself, your father, and your mother,” Mr. Vickers continued. “It exists now partly under my supervision and guidance.”

Anna's head spun. She struggled to hold her rising ire in check and she sat up straight, the quilt falling away from her shoulders. “You run Verité? And my parents used to as well? Then how in the world did Verité justify killing my parents? What sort of rationalizing did they have to do, did you have to do?”

Mr. Vickers shifted in his seat, less with discomfort it seemed than a kind of disappointment. “Annalise, why in the world would we have killed your parents? They were our biggest allies.”

Confused and faltering, Anna continued: “But- it was all over the news! It's what I've been told for ages, the Secretary even corroborated it!”

“And you believe everything the media and Central Admin put out?” Mr. Vickers eyed her. “The Party Secretary, he is a trustworthy and honest man? He has never lied to you before? Annalise, Central Admin denies that the SubVersion complex even exists. Their mission from the first day of Verité's existence has always been to discredit and destroy us, by any means possible. Back in the day a warning came to us, that someone from Central Admin knew that your parents were with Verité and within that same week your parents were dead.” He stared hard at Anna. “Killed with a weapon we didn't even possess at the time. I assure you, we had nothing to do with it. It wouldn't have made any sense.”

Anna shook her head; all of this new information was almost too much to bear. She felt a new anger now, the horrible thought that everything she had ever known was a lie and that she would never know the truth. Mr. Vickers' story rang true, but she felt afraid as her old opinions crumbled to pieces around her. Suddenly her anger could center on no one but herself.

Her next question surfaced and she decided to change the subject again. “Daniel called you 'Father.' Are you his father?”

Mr. Vickers smiled. “In a way, yes. I am a Catholic priest.”

The SubVersion Complex, Chapter Twelve (Revised)

I apologize for being away for quite a while. I moved into a new home, had some family accident troubles to attend to, and some soul-searching that needed completion. But those things are all done.

Based on comments by readers and a good long look at some previous material, I decided that a bit of significant rewriting was in order. Several significant errors had accumulated, mostly having to do with how top-secret databasing systems actually work and the kind of access someone like Anna would actually have. I also realized that we needed a good hard look at Anna's true programming expertise, as this will play a huge role later on in the book and we want to see her in action.

I will be reposting chapters until we're caught back up to where we were originally. This first reposted chapter and the next one might not seem much different than they were originally but the changes will rapidly become more significant. Also, the chapter numbering will be different because I added another chapter near the beginning that I will not be posting here at all, but that you'll see in the final copy of the book (maybe).

So without further ado, here is the revised version of Chapter 12 of The SubVersion Complex. This book is intended for a more mature audience, so be advised.

╗ TWELVE ╚

THE THEORY

It was late, and Sam fumed.

He approached the Secretary's office door and ground his teeth behind closed lips as the security officers posted outside took his firearm and scanned him. They irked him, the Secretary's personal security. It felt like a breach of trust that he, Security Chief Holloway, was not their commander as well. When the officers were satisfied, he pushed roughly past them and rapped hard on the wood. The lock clicked and he burst through.

“And let yourself in, my door is open,” Adam remarked with faux pleasantness. His feet were propped up on his desk and his commex was clutched in his hand. Fumes from his electronic cigarette spiraled around his head in fantastic swirls and shapes. He reluctantly pulled himself forward to face Sam. “What is it?”

Sam pulled out one of the chairs in front of the Secretary's desk and sat down heavily. The chair protested with a loud squeak. “I think you know very well why I am here,” he rumbled.

“I might, but do elaborate. Seeing as how you are so very good at elaborating,” the Secretary sighed.

“Well, to start, your 'Praetorian Guard' outside seem extra obnoxious lately.”

A wide smile spread across the Secretary's face. “Ah. Then it would seem that you know your ancient history. So few people do nowadays.”

Sam snorted. “You mean do I know how the Praetorian Guard eventually turned on the emperor that they were sworn to protect? Then yes, I do.”

“A necessary risk in this business,” Adam replied levelly. “Let's just call it a division of power.” He stood slowly, leaning forward towards Sam with his hands on his desk. “A division at which you will continually chafe, and that I will continually enforce. This emperor will have his Praetorian Guard and you will be content with your place. So let's leave all that aside for the moment and come to the real point of your intrusion.”

The pose and tone were threatening enough to make even Sam recoil ever so slightly in his chair. He would not be cowed for long, though, and he shifted closer to the desk. “I'm here to talk about Miss McLean.”

Adam smiled again. “Ah yes, Miss McLean. Isn't she something?” he said. “Young, vibrant, sexy, very intelligent, and with a great appreciation for my fine wines.” A strange protective sort of sarcasm dripped in his voice. “Really, Sam, you ought to get yourself a woman like that. Or should I say, another woman like that? This one's not a blonde at least.”

Sam squirmed. “I'll make a note of it . . . “

“Please do, and please also remember your place in regards to the aforementioned woman. Now,” Adam said, turning to the window and gazing down at the nighttime cityscape below, “what about Miss McLean?”

Sam remembered his purpose and his anger returned. “I was told by the mobile security division downstairs that you took Miss McLean to the Version Ghetto.”

“They told you that, did they?”

“Yes they did. And they also told me that an auto-tank opened fire while the two of you were right there. And that she was witness to a massacre.” Sam opened his hands with an incredulous gesture. “Is this true? Please tell me that it's not true.”

The Secretary regarded the large man with curiosity for a long moment before replying. “What if it is or isn't? What is that to you?”

“If I was to put myself in the shoes of an outsider,” Sam replied with rising ire, “and given you a completely objective assessment of your actions, I would have said that you were certifiably insane and had no business going any farther with this demented plan.”

Adam cocked his head. “But I don't pay you to put yourself in other people's shoes, especially outsiders,” he said. “What I pay you for and demand accordingly is a subjective voice of force. The hound dog doesn't question the master's intent, he merely does his duty under the assumption that his human has a plan. And right now, the hound is not trusting but resisting.”

Sam scowled. “Except that this hound is human. And he wonders if his human betters actually have that plan in mind when they do things like parade street violence in front of a woman. Where indeed is the sense in that?”

Adam stood silent for a long time, the vapors from his cigarette curling around his motionless hand. “There is a time and a place for everything, Sam, even the truth. The entire sugar-free, violent and ugly truth. She refused to accept that what I had said was true, and so I decided to show her instead. A dice roll of sorts. There is a delicate balance, between telling her what she needs to hear and showing her that which will motivate action.”

“Motivate what action?” Sam asked incredulously. “Driving her away? Sending her packing into the arms of a group like Verité? They prey on people who know the truth, as you must be well aware. When that occurs it becomes a security issue, and when it becomes a security issue it becomes my issue.”

“Correct as usual,” Adam said with a nod, clapping with slow derision. “But I am focused on the larger picture here. She will come, wait and see.”

“And that leads me to my other questions,” Sam continued as if the Secretary had never spoken, “which are these: why have we given her a firearm and a top-level access key? We hadn't discussed those either but I let them slide. That was before. Now I am concerned that she will be like a child who has discovered a lighter for the first time.”

Adam scratched his chin. “Your point?”

“My point?” Sam's face grew red. “My point is that you're creating a dangerous situation that you will lose control of more quickly than you think possible. She will be a danger to herself and could become a liability to this entire administration.” He clenched his fists in his lap as he spoke and his breathing grew loud. “In short, with all due respect Mr. Secretary, I believe you are making a terrible mistake, and you are not helping me at all.”

It was a long moment before either man moved. Adam still stood between the desk and window with a serious expression on his face; the sarcasm was gone and he stared hard at Sam. Inexplicable thoughts churned behind his green eyes and his jaw worked back and forth. Finally he creaked back over to the desk and settled slowly back into his chair, his eyes fixed on his chief of security and his face a mask.

“Perhaps I may offer a critique?” he began.

Sam frowned. “By all means,” he allowed reluctantly.

“You may be looking at this whole project from the wrong angle,” the Secretary said. “Where you see danger, I see opportunity. Where you see a threat, I see hope.” He rubbed his palms together. “Have you ever tried to feed a chickadee from your hand, Sam?”

Confused, Sam shook his head. “I can't say that I have,” he grunted.

“It's a very small bird, but very innocent and in many ways quite fearless. Despite that, you still must work to earn its trust. It is a cautious creature.”

Sam waved his hand, impatient with the analogy. “Okay, fine, I get it.”

“Do you?” Adam queried. “To lure in the chickadee you must be very still and very very patient. You must bide your time and tempt it in slowly. It will only come to you in stages, and only if each stage has a reward or other proper motivator.”

“Get to the damn point.”

“The point is this: Annalise McLean is the one I want. She is the key piece to my puzzle, and I need her to accept all of this. However, I gain nothing by making her do anything, she must want to do it. In short, she must desire to come to me and must be passionate and complete in that desire.” Adam tapped the head of his cane with his fingers. “I have set the bait, I have put out the seed, and she must be the one to bite. I sent you to offer her a job that we both knew she craved and would never refuse. She accepted. I gave her a gun and just enough training with it to make her dangerous. I gave her a security access level high enough to make her curious. I gave her a free enough rein to feel that she was not under twenty-four-hour surveillance and could do and say what she wanted. And I put her with Dr. Jarrod who can give her just enough information for me to build upon later.”

He rose to his feet again and continued. “I am drawing her in, Sam, and I am well aware of how unorthodox my methods may appear to you. But as I said, patience is the key. Each step must be either a reward or a motivator. I have rewarded and rewarded, and now tonight I showed her the motivator, as horrible as it may seem. If I have cemented in her mind the belief that our goal is noble and that we must work to avert another such awful encounter together, then I have succeeded. As far as I know, she now thinks everything I have told her is the truth.”

“Then I presume you fed her the same standard line about Verité and her parents?” Sam asked sardonically. “And you talk about telling her the whole truth.”

Adam's face darkened. “There is the truth, and then there is the truth,” he growled. “Do not test me.”

Sam shoved himself up out of his seat. “Regardless of what you decide to do, those are my reservations and I thought you should hear them. I realize she will need to be shown . . . things. But she is a woman.”

“So was her mother,” the Secretary said. “If you are implying that Miss McLean can't handle the heat in the proverbial political kitchen then I submit that you are a sexist ass. Her mother was the strongest person I know and I see a great deal of the mother in the daughter. I think we will be fine.”

“Very well,” Sam said, peeved and unsatisfied. “But I will be keeping my eyes open.”

“You know?” Adam suddenly smiled. “That is indeed the difference between you and her. I want a technocrat as my successor, an objective fixer and pragmatist, someone without ambition or visions of expansionist grandeur. You are ambitious, she is not.”

Sam's face reddened and he stiffened. “Is that all?” he grunted.

Adam, a smile still stretched across his face, gestured to the door. “That is all. Have a good night, Officer Holloway, and remember: this is all a game. A serious game to be sure, but a game with pieces and moves and counter-moves and winners and losers. Right now I'd rather I was not obstructed whilst I attempt to win this round.”

Sam quickly crossed the space to the door, but he stopped once he reached it and turned partway. “When will you tell her about the Complex? If you ever do at all, which it would seem likely you will at this point.”

Adam looked back to the window in thought. “The time will come. Patience is the key. The chickadee must be pecking seed right out of my hand before I spring that one. But I will make it work.” His tone suddenly went cold. “Good night, Mr. Holloway, and don't forget to lock up when you leave tonight.”

Sam slid out and the door clicked shut. The Secretary fell into his chair and heaved an enormous sigh, then tapped an icon on his commex screen. A picture of a woman with reddish hair appeared. Adam stared at her face for a long time until his own expression softened. He touched the screen.

“Well, Mrs. McLean, lets hope your daughter is less stubborn than you were,” he whispered. “We both know how that turned out . . . “

The SubVersion Complex, Chapter Sixteen

Let's just say that it's much worse than she suspected...

Here is the next chapter of The SubVersion Complex. Hope you all enjoy! If you missed Chapter Fifteen, click here.

This book is intended for a more mature audience, so be advised.

╗ SIXTEEN ╚

INFERNO

They emerged into a long hallway, narrow and gloomily lit by caged blue lamps at infrequent intervals. The stale air bit with a strange subterranean chill. Captain James went first, followed by an apprehensive Anna. The stifled quiet and dim light unnerved her, and despite being able to see at least well enough to walk she still found herself feeling her way along.

They came to a door at the other end of the hall, which Captain James unlocked with a swipe of his badge and again he proffered a hand to Anna. She stepped through without enthusiasm and he followed. The new chamber proved to be a bit more welcome. The walls and ceiling merged together overhead into one big barrel-like shape, and Anna realized that they were standing in what looked to be a section of old subway tunnel. When she asked James about it he confirmed her suspicions.

“Yes, these were subway tunnels, built before they dug some of the newer ones under the Potomac River. I believe this used to be an underground power substation for the trains.” He beckoned her down another hall leading to a smaller room with two doors facing each other from opposite sides. Anna squinted through the vague lighting and saw that the door on the left read “Subterranean Prison Command Central,” and the one on the right read “SubVersion Complex.”

Captain James motioned to both doors. “Prison Command Central is my side of things, and I also handle general security matters down here. But you claim that you came down to see Neville.”

Anna nodded with more confidence than she felt. “As long as he is the administrator of the SubVersion Complex, then yes.”

Captain James stood and regarded her for a long moment before speaking again. Anna saw a strange look in his eyes and it filled her with an inexplicable dread. He touched her arm. “Perhaps you would like to rethink your choice?”

The touch was meant as a gesture of concern but Anna reflexively jumped away from it. “Of course not,” she replied bluntly. “I have business with Neville and it's important, I am not simply going to walk away.” She frowned at him. “Why?”

Captain James dropped his hand. “I don't doubt that whatever business you have down here is important, Miss McLean, seeing as not many people even know we exist. How you know is beyond me. However, I have to warn you about Neville. He is . . . ah . . . “

Anna stared at him, afraid of what the answer might be and irritated at all the half-answers. “He is . . . what?”

“Unstable,” James replied at length, “to put it politely. I don't trust him. Neither should you.”

Anna cocked her head at him with an attempt at a smile. “I work with a slightly unstable scientist upstairs, that shouldn't be a problem. Is Neville dangerous? Are you suggesting I need an armed escort?”

James shook his head. “It's not what I'm afraid he'd do to you, Miss McLean. It's what I'm afraid he'll show you. He has a certain . . . relish for his work.

“Ah,” Anna said in an attempt to sound positive, but her soul had begun to shrink inside her with apprehension. She almost considered turning around and heading back upstairs but the thought of never finding out what she wanted to know killed that impulse. She motioned to the SubVersion Complex door. “I understand if you might be concerned, but this is something that I must do. So, if you please.”

James gave her a resigned shrug and she could feel the worry in his expression. “As you wish.” He stepped closer to the door and tapped the intercom button next to it. “Margaret? Tell Neville that he has a visitor, a Miss Annalise McLean.” Anna heard the buzz and click of an electronic lock opening. Captain James leaned over and pushed the door open for her.

Anna stepped through into a lobby area, a room that could have been more hospitable had it been painted in a more cheerful color. However, industrial taupe was the decorative choice and it lent an oppressive air to an already oppressive place. Captain James remained outside; he looked her long and hard in the eye before wordlessly shutting the door.

It took five long minutes for Neville to appear. Margaret, the middle-aged receptionist at the desk across the room proved to be no decent company in the meantime, preferring to ignore Anna and sulk behind her omni-monitor viewing some unknown content. All Anna could see of her over the screen was her graying hair and a pair of suspicious beady eyes that glanced over every so often.

Finally the far door swung open and a tall man entered, sweeping in with an uneven gait and white coat flowing behind him. He had a surprisingly youthful, handsome face, a shock of blonde hair that floated around his head in a golden cloud, and piercing blue eyes that immediately engaged her from across the room.

He wore a wide easy smile and he approached her with a hand outstretched in greeting. “Good to meet you at last, Miss McLean! I've heard so much about you from our colleagues at HomoGen but it is a pleasure to see you in the flesh.” The voice that emerged surprised Anna with its strong British accent, but she realized that with a name like Neville Sanders she should have known better. She shook his clammy hand in a bit of a daze.

“It's good to meet you too, Mr. Sanders, but I have to be honest and say that I have no recollection of you from HomoGen. No one there ever spoke of you.”

Neville released her hand. “Ah, well, they wouldn't have spoken about me to you. Proper policy and whatnot, they are sticklers about that sort of thing.” He played with his lab coat with an odd nervousness. “But of course your business at HomoGen has always been intimately connected with my work. Shall we proceed?”

Anna was taken aback. “My business connected with you?”

“Of course!” he replied cheerfully. “Why else would HomoGen send me the cream of their crop?”

Thoroughly confused, Anna shook her head. “What cream of who's crop?”

Neville looked at her. “Did HomoGen not send you?”

“No, I don't even work with HomoGen anymore, I am with Central Admin now.”

“Ah.” Neville shrugged. “Well . . . I had felt for sure that they had sent you for some purpose or another, considering our especial relationship. Why HomoGen would send a computer programmer to us instead of a biotech scientist was beyond me, but I have to say they didn't tell me programmers came with such fantastic bodies.” He eyed her up and down. “But no matter! What was your purpose here then, if not for a tour or other such thing?”

Anna was too perturbed to register offense at his leering. “You keep saying HomoGen has a special relationship with this place and with you, but I must insist that I had never heard of you or this place until very recently. How are you connected?”

A look of genuine shock crossed Neville's face. “How are we connected?” he repeated incredulously. “Why, this is where your SubVersions are housed!”

“What do you mean?” Anna asked, her confusion giving way to alarm.

“Your SubVersions . . . “ He frowned at her. “Surely you know what a SubVersion is?”

With growing fear Anna shook her head. “I've never heard of a SubVersion before.”

“There are Versions, and then there are SubVersions,” he explained. “The Versions go out into the world, into families and homes and training centers and such. The SubVersions come here.”

“But HomoGen doesn't make anything called a SubVersion,” Anna insisted in a frantic tone.

“Are you so sure?” Neville asked ominously. “You say that with such assurance, and yet you had never heard of me or this place until recently. What else mightn't you know?”

“But I don't understand, what is a SubVersion?”

Neville locked his fingers behind his head and stared up at the ceiling. “As I said, there are Versions and then there are SubVersions. Women come in, they donate their eggs and the men come in and donate the sperm. HomoGen does the matching and processing and fertilizing and incubating and voila! You have a perfect little Version, ready to go to a new home just like a regular child. But for every one Version HomoGen makes, they get between two and eight other fertilized eggs that grow as well. Just part of the process. We call them SubVersions. Those never go to any customer anywhere, instead they come here.” He gestured around him. “A SubVersion is not part of a regular HomoGen order, it's merely a by-product of sorts. HomoGen figured 'Why waste it when we can use it?' So they all get shipped here.”

Anna felt sick to her stomach. “And . . what do you do with them here?” she croaked.

Neville suddenly chuckled. “You act shocked!” he said mirthfully. “No, Miss McLean, let me assure you that the SubVersions are a product, pure and simple. A product we have been able to do fantastic things with, but a product all the same.”

“If they are merely a product, then why hide them down here?” Anna whispered fearfully. “What do you have to hide?”

Neville turned on his heel and swung open the door he had entered from. “Because most people are less understanding than us few. We simply have the stomach to do what must be done.” He gestured with his head. “In you go?”

Anna automatically complied and Neville followed. Anna's insides immediately convulsed as her eyes adjusted to the dimmer light and her nose acclimated to a strange mix of clinical antiseptic and filth. They were walking down a long hallway with thick glass doors down each side. As she looked into the blandly lit cells behind the glass doors Anna realized that there was a person inside each one. Some wandered about inside their cells, others lay curled up in the corners; almost all of them exuded a resigned and lifeless air. Most of the subjects were men but Anna saw a fair number of women as well, and in one of the cells she was shocked to see several children all sitting in a group.

But the last cage on the left brought her up completely short. Inside crouched a man, or at least what was once a man. Something looked wrong with his face but Anna could not tell quite what it was. He crouched next to the side wall, bent over the prone form of what appeared to be a small boy. As Anna pressed up against the glass to see him better, the man perked up and turned his head quickly in her direction. She gasped when she saw blood draining from the man's teeth and down his jaw and neck. The man visibly panted with an opened mouth and extended tongue, and when he had stared at Anna with wide soulless eyes for a long minute he suddenly lunged for her.

Anna screamed and backed away, just as the man crashed headlong into the other side of the glass and fell away bruised and whimpering. She cowered against the opposite side of the hallway for a full minute, the blood pounding in her temples hard. Neville stood chuckling, however. “He really frightened you, didn't he?” he remarked, grimly pleasant. In response to a terrified look from Anna, though, he decided to explain. “He could smell you, even through the glass.”

“Smell me?” Anna asked blankly.

“This particular SubVersion was checked out to a biotech firm on the other side of D.C. They specialized in DNA sequence splicing and they needed a subject for an experiment they were conducting on combining the DNA of bloodhounds with that of humans. Well, this fellow was the subject of that experiment.” Neville sighed wistfully. “But it would seem the project was only partially successful. The subject's sense of smell and hearing increased a thousand-fold but he began developing rabies-like symptoms for no apparent reason, so they sent him back here for observation. He's been an interesting one so far. Likes to kill for the sake of killing.”

Anna nodded incredulously at the explanation. Her mind roiled in an agony of guilty repugnance as she watched the feral dog-man slink back to his previous position. Versions are people, Anna. Real people. Mr. Vicker's words echoed in her mind like a faraway bell, plaintive but insistent. She wanted to shut them out, wanted to squash away the raw emotion of seeing her life's work slobbering and growling in front of her in that cage. But it was impossible. Maybe they are truly human, and then again, maybe they're not. That had been her response, and it now sounded weak and stupid.

Neville turned to her with a quizzical look on his face. “To be honest, I don't remember you ever telling me why you were actually here. I assumed you merely wanted to tour the proverbial pet shop, but you never answered that question. Was there something specific you needed to know?”

It took several seconds for Anna to remember that he was still standing there, and still more to recall that she was indeed down there on a particular errand. She marshaled what was left of her courage and pulled out Daniel's paper with the numbers scrawled on it. “I- I need to find this serial number,” she stuttered, handing the paper to him. He took it from her and his eyebrows suddenly shot straight up.

“Wow,” he whistled, “you are in luck! I am intimately familiar with both of these subjects. One of these, the first number, is no longer here. Checked out for a long-term project with a neurologist upstairs. Sweet little thing, her. But the other number is still here. She's packed away in cold storage, but we can take a little stroll in that direction if that suits your fancy.”

Anna nodded without a sound and followed Neville through the next two sets of doors into a huge high ceilinged rectangular room lit entirely with the blue caged lamps. The temperature dropped precipitously as they entered and with a start Anna realized she could see her breath smoking in front of her. She gazed around and then upward in combined awe and trepidation. All four walls were intersected with grid lines and, after a moment's observation, she saw that it resembled a giant morgue, and each grid square was the front panel of a closed human-sized drawer. Another man in a lab coat and overcoat worked nearby and nodded to them as they entered.

Neville didn't even have to look twice at the number on the paper; he handed it back to Anna, made a beeline across the room to a drawer at waist-height marked SVC5403-1F, and pressed his thumb to the scanner next to the number. The drawer emitted a faint clunk and Neville grabbed the handle and pulled hard. The drawer appeared heavy but it slid out of the wall smoothly enough. Inside was a closed coffin-shaped black container, similar to Sonya's box in all respects except for its larger size.

“Here you are,” Neville remarked, unlatching the box and shoving the lid open. Anna peered over the edge and felt the familiar pang of horrified sadness as she saw the prostrate body of the young woman inside. The woman was even more beautiful in the flesh than in her picture; the resemblance between mother and daughter also resonated much more strongly now that Anna had observed both.

She turned to Neville but barely knew what to ask. He needed no prompting, however, and immediately began talking.

“Now this one has always been a special specimen to me,” he noted with a weird fondness in his tone. “She's one of our oldest SubVersions, and has definitely been here just about the longest. A long-term companion of mine, of a sort. She's been checked out more often for experimentation than any other SubVersion we have.” He reached out and caressed one of the woman's cheeks and sighed. “My little angel. Never raised a fuss about her time here until that man showed up.”

“What man?” Anna asked, already knowing the answer.

“Daniel Marcus, that bloody fool. He fancied himself in love with the poor creature and got her pregnant. Normally we would have terminated such an unauthorized pregnancy but the decision came down from the top to keep it for observation. Then as luck would have it, Dr. Konrath Jarrod needed a child for a project of his so we permanently moved the child out of here. Mama stayed put though.” He gently touched the woman's face again. “It's amazing how human she looks, is it not? Beautiful, just beautiful . . . Anyways, after all that the order came to freeze her like the others. She had been relatively free to move around before that. Too bad she's been through so many freeze and thaw cycles.”

“Why?” Anna's questions were automatic, unthinking, as she stared in gathering horror at the frozen woman in the box. Neville sighed again.

“Just like a piece of beef in your freezer at home,” he explained. “Freeze and thaw it too many times and eventually it's worthless.”

Shocked, Anna turned to face him. “You mean she's dead?”

“Oh, no, not dead. Not yet, anyways. But at this point it would take quite a bit of work to bring her back from her most current freeze. She'd probably still be comatose for weeks before the revival procedure was complete.” He shook his head. “Too bad. She's been here for more than twenty years and I still haven't gotten my fill of her. I normally don't take liberties with my SubVersions but she was simply too special for me not to take a shag.”

In that moment Anna felt the urge to strike him but all she could do was gape open-mouthed at his flippancy. Neville didn't even seem to notice her anger but instead gestured to the other man standing nearby. “Jeremiah, it's time to say goodbye to my little angel.”

The other man approached. “Really? How many freeze/thaw cycles has it been for this one?”

“Twenty-two. And you know what that means.”

The man shook his head. “I'll be back.” He exited the cold storage room for a few moments, then returned with a gurney-like trolley which he wheeled up to the open drawer. Neville clicked a latch on the front of the drawer and it dropped down, allowing the black box to slide forward out of the drawer onto the gurney. After detaching a mass of cables and piping from the box the man closed it and wheeled the woman away.

“Wait, where are they going?” Anna asked, her anxiety growing.

“You needn't bother to watch this part, really, Miss McLean,” Neville dissembled quickly.

Anna watched as Jeremiah and the black box headed for a wide set of double doors to their left, then turned an incredulous eye on Neville. “I'm not letting that box out of my sight. Where are they going?”

For the first time Neville appeared genuinely uneasy. “Miss McLean, out of all the things I could show you down here, I'm sure you don't want to see this. Let's go back, I have some other fantastic projects to demonstrate-”

Anna grabbed him by the arm and wrenched him towards her. She was rapidly beginning to panic as she watched the woman in the box disappear through the double doors. “I don't give a shit about what you want to demonstrate to me, I want to know where he's taking her and what you are planning on doing with her. So show me now!”

“Miss McLean, really, there's no reason for violence-”

“Damn you, show me! I want to see it, I want to see everything!” Anna immediately regretted the request but she was not about to take it back.

Neville threw up his hands. “Fine! If you insist. If you must, you must.” They traversed the space to the double doors and Neville hesitated until Anna threw him a furious glance. He sighed. “But don't tell me I didn't give you a word of warning.”

He pushed open the doors and let them swing wide.

The blast of noise and heat caught Anna completely by surprise and she stood blinking in the scorching breeze, her hair thrashing her face and her eyes tearing up. She put up a hand to shield herself and glanced over at Neville with fear and uncertainty. He gave her a look that Anna could not fathom; madness, maybe? Or was it terror?

“You said you wanted to see everything,” he muttered, just loud enough for her to hear over the din. “Your words, not mine.” His unnerving smile reappeared, albeit not as broad as before, and he waved her in. Anna reluctantly complied and they stepped through the doors together.

The new chamber arched up and over them in a tremendous half-barrel, dimly lit by widely-spaced rows of yellow lights affixed to each curved roof support. To the left, emerging at an angle from a rectangular hole in the floor rose an enclosed conveyor reminiscent of a strip mining machine. Its long frame carved a stark black shadow into the air and terminated near the ceiling high above. The whole assembly angled over an enormous hopper that began at the floor and spread its gradually widening neck towards the conveyor's terminus.

Because of their low angle Anna could not see into the hopper, but she realized that it was creating both the noise and the heat. The ceiling above flickered with a reddish-orange glow and the tremendous machine ground out its cacophony as if in some dreadful agony.

“Follow me,” Neville shouted over the noise, pointing towards a metal stairway that led to the top of a maintenance gantry to their right. They began to climb the steps, and the entire time they did so Anna's eyes were glued to the hopper. She began to feel more sick with every step she took, and when they had surmounted the last stair and reached the top of the gantry her stomach had turned to mush. From the top of the platform she could finally see down into the mouth of the machine.

It stretched at least twenty feet wide at the top, a gaping metal maw with a flaming interior. The bottom of the machine glowed brightly but the fire seemed to breathe from deep within, and more than that she could not see at the moment. She had never believed in hell before, but feeling the heated wind rise up from the mechanical beast and seeing the glow of fierce flames inside reminded her of nothing so awful as hell. The picture that had terrified her so badly in her childhood came vividly to mind again, the two men walking through the flaming underworld as the bodies of the damned burned all around them.

She looked back down from her high perch and saw Jeremiah and another worker standing down near the base of the conveyor structure. They had the lid of the black box open, and after several seconds of squinting Anna realized with a fright that they were struggling to remove the limp body of the woman inside.

“What are they doing?” she exclaimed. Neville glanced over, then smiled his grim, insane smile.

“Doing their job.” He folded his arms and his tone took on a fatalistic air. “Since you really wanted to see it all, then you're in luck. This happens to be disposal day and that means you get to watch.”

Without ceremony Jeremiah and his helper inserted the woman into an opening in the side of the conveyor. Anna would have shouted to them to stop but the words died in her throat in a dry squawk. With a sickening flop the petite form of the woman fell into the dark and disappeared. Neville shook his head.

“Such a beautiful specimen,” he remarked pleasantly. “Ah, well, all good things . . . “ He put two fingers in the air and signaled to the men down below. Jeremiah nodded back, shut the door in the conveyor, and tapped in a command on a control panel. Motors sputtered, wheels ground, and the conveyor assembly began to roar to life.

Anna, violently agitated, turned to Neville and tried to form a question but her powers of speech had failed her. He leaned closer to her, trying to hear. She tried again. “What are they doing? What is that machine?” she rasped, her mind closing to the truth that was dawning on her with horrible clarity. He turned away from her and fixed his eyes on the conveyor's peak, face expectant and hands clutching the handrail.

“That machine is where we will all go,” he intoned. “It is where everyone in this city goes who is not wanted.” He raised his face up. “Where the SubVersions go when they are finished with their usefulness, where the elderly from the geriatric homes go. An author of old once wrote that if you have a problem without a solution, the solution is to burn the problem.” He turned to Anna, and when he smiled his teeth gleamed orange in the wretched light. “Watch the problem burn, Miss McLean. Watch them burn.”

Something emerged from the top of the conveyor. Long hair at first, then the inert body of the woman Daniel had loved appeared. The machine dispassionately ejected the body headfirst into the air, and Anna could not tear her eyes away as the woman plunged through the void towards the fire below. She saw Neville out of the corner of her eye blow a kiss to the victim as she fell; then with a awful suddenness the woman struck the side of hopper and Anna heard the dull crack of smashing skull. The body slid down the inside of the hopper, trailing blood behind it as it vanished into the fire. A roar erupted from the machine and flames swirled up to meet their prey, engulfing the hopper in yellow fire. Then when Anna's unbelieving eyes were drawn upwards again she realized it was only the beginning.

From the mouth of the conveyor a stream of something began to pour out, a lumpy brownish choked flow that at first Anna could not discern. She blinked in the heat and looked again, and the individual forms of human bodies became visible in the stream. Aged, broken bodies, men and women, gaping dead eyes and slender naked limbs. In a massive tangle the stream of corpses poured out, crashing unceremoniously into the hopper below. Bones smashed, congealed blood flowed down the stained metal, and the fire thundered its enormous all-consuming din.

A powerful nausea rolled over Anna in a wave that she could not hope to control. She could look no longer. She wrenched her way past Neville and ran for a door at the end of the scaffold. Opening it and stumbling into a hallway on the other side, she collapsed onto the floor and vomited hard.

The SubVersion Complex, Chapter Fifteen

Pandora's box has opened. Prepare for the big reveal...
 
Here is the next chapter of The SubVersion Complex. Hope you all enjoy! If you missed Chapter Fourteen, click here.

This book is intended for a more mature audience, so be advised.

╗ FIFTEEN ╚

THE SUBVERSION COMPLEX

A dark, brooding bank of storm clouds chased Anna to work the next day, spattering her windshield with sporadic rainfall that would not decide whether or not to turn into a real storm. Rumbling thunder accompanied it at intervals, echoing through the car and her bones. A sense of foreboding hung suspended in the air like a dark haze, and if Anna's nerves and stomach had not already been affected negatively enough already, the presence of Terry in the parking garage as she pulled in alerted her that something was up.

She parked her car and climbed out slowly, her dress lashed by the wind and the leaves that were sucked in through the garage entrance. Terry leaned with arms folded against a pillar near the elevator, her face an expressionless mask and her demeanor taut. As Anna approached, the older woman pushed herself up, took Anna's upper arm, and guided her to the pillar. “I need to talk you,” she grunted.

Anna jumped, taken aback. “Why, what's wrong?”

Terry's suddenly furtive behavior was jarring. “You just received your first complaint this morning before you arrived.”

Anna stared at her. “Complaint? Who complained? And why?”

“Dr. Jarrod. He came raging into my office about half an hour ago claiming that you were trying to ruin his experiment.”

“How in the world would I have done that?” Anna replied, stunned.

“He told me that you opened up his reactive computer.”

Anna felt her breakfast churn hard, and she clenched her fists. Of course the door sensor on the box would have recorded her opening the lid and closing it again. One of the cardinal rules of computer systems: everything has an activity log. She had been wretchedly distracted yesterday, though, and had not remembered to do something about the log. As she looked Terry in the face she knew it would be futile to dissemble about it, so she straightened up defensively. “I did open the computer yesterday, what of it?”

“Why in the world would you do that?”

”Are you going to discipline me for it somehow?” Anna shot back.

Terry cocked her head at Anna. “I had no intention of doing anything of the kind.”

“No?” Now Anna was genuinely confused.

“No, I was more interested in why you would do something like that. What on earth compelled you to open up at random the multi-year project of a world famous scientist? You normally have a much healthier respect for high technology, especially the work of others.” She leaned closer to Anna. “What was in the box that induced you to open it against what should have been all of your better judgment?”

Anna shrank back. “Why do you need to know? And why tell me all of this down here?”

Terry frowned. “There are too many cameras and bugs upstairs and I wanted to give you my unadulterated advice. My job description is to take care of you here until you are fit to do that yourself, after you have learned the ropes and are comfortable with how we work. Opening Dr. Jarrod's computer is not the way to help me with that goal.”

Anna realized her mistake and winced. “It won't happen again, I can promise you that.”

Terry leaned in even closer. “Is there something I need to know, Anna?” she asked with true concern in her voice. “What was in the box?”

“It's classified,” Anna said flatly, knowing it was a cop-out. Terry bristled.

“You may not know or care how this all affects you, Anna, but I do and I know that you are sampling some very hot water that you may just want to stay out of. I am telling you this for your own good.”

It was Anna's turn to bristle, although she knew she had very little right to be angry. “I am doing what I need to do in order to complete the task I was set to do. That's why I am here, and that's why I did what I did.” She flattered herself that she was not really lying; Daniel was the one that set her on this task. It was a thought that briefly inflamed her ire against him again and made her realize just how possibly dangerous of a task he had set her on. She grew even more defensive. “The box contains what it was always meant to contain, which is the central core of the reactive computer. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Now I'm lying.

Terry's jaw moved back and forth angrily but she said nothing. Anna decided to press on. “I will explain the details to Dr. Jarrod and be done with it. He's an excitable man but not an unreasonable one.” With that, and without waiting for a reply, she turned on her heel and stalked towards the elevator. Once it had carried her up to her floor she hesitated, then decided to head for her office again instead of Lab A1A. Dr. Jarrod could wait.

Once there, she again pulled the paper from its hiding place in her shirt and unfolded it to reveal the numbers Daniel had written. She typed in the second of the two serial numbers into the “Search All” function and hit Enter. The familiar message popped up again: “Top Secret Security Clearance Required.” Anna pulled out her badge and slapped it against the scanner under the desk without even looking. A chime, and the computer once again recognized her and asked whether she wished to proceed. Then all of a sudden she froze, staring at the screen and consumed by indecision.

If she proceeded she could never go back, could never un-know what she might discover. Her first discovery turned out bad enough; she had no clue what the next might bring. Abruptly she realized she was no longer doing this research for Daniel's sake, or because of his threats or warnings. She was running these numbers for herself, because she needed to know for her own sake. But did she really need to know?

I do need to know. I need to know what is going on, I need to know what I will be governing should I become Party Secretary. I need to know who Central Admin is. But it was the memory of that childish face from last night that reminded her that she was already too far in to turn back.

She selected “Yes.” The computer chewed on the number for what seemed an eternity, then finally spat out a file onto the screen. Anna leaned in, her heart beginning to pound. The file looked similar to Sonya's: a collection of vital statistics running for pages and pages, except this file ran for many more pages than Sonya's. At the top of the data readout was a picture, and as Anna stared at it she surmised that her hunch had been correct. The image was of a woman, a very young beautiful woman with pale skin, long brown hair, and piercing brown eyes. The eyes were the picture of sadness and resignation, and the mouth, like Sonya's, was drawn in a taut line. The longer Anna looked, the more alike the woman and Sonya became in her mind. The eyes staring out at her were the same as the little girl's.

Anna gazed for a long time at the picture, and something deep in her soul began to bubble up. She wasn't sure what it meant but she did know she wanted to meet this woman. To maybe somehow bring her cheer, to tell her that her daughter was alive, and that Anna had spoken to her. From the picture it looked for all the world like the mother had had no say in where her daughter had ended up. Anna felt her face turn hot with outrage and she began to peruse the file with renewed interest. The middle section of the data ran in a monotonous string for pages and pages but Anna was not interested in that part. She skimmed towards the end and was eventually rewarded with something intriguing.

The “Notes” sections on all the other pages had remained blank for the most part, besides the occasional stray comment or odd observation. Near the end of the file, however, the notes sections transformed into a veritable diary of eventful happenings, and Anna examined them with growing interest and alarm. One note in particular caught her eye; it read, “Estimated date of unauthorized sexual activity between subject and D.M., will use to backdate pregnancy. Monitor for any continued contact.”

So Daniel Marcus was Sonya's father. No wonder he wanted to know where Sonya and the woman were so badly. Anna's heart melted unexpectedly for him and for his pain; she could forgive some of his cruel behavior to her for that. But a question persisted in her mind that she could not shake, something she needed an understandable answer to before she would be willing to absolve Daniel of all blame. What was the SubVersion Complex for, and why were both mother and daughter held there? If it was indeed a prison, then there had to be a reason they had been locked up.

She scrolled to the end of the file and saw a final grouping of data points, followed by a note that read, “Subject put back into cold storage until further notice.” Above that was a box labeled “Subject Location,” and it read “Drawer 1049.”

Cold storage? Drawer? Anna's skin crawled and she sat back in her chair, as if physical space between her and the eerie file on her omni-monitor could save her from its disturbing power. A dangerous idea began to form in her mind, and as she erased her search history she resolved to dig all the way down to the bottom of what was going on. Never mind that Daniel had not requested anything further than status and location information; she would follow her morbid curiosity down whatever path it took her.

She typed “SubVersion Complex” into the search bar and, when the expected message appeared reminding her that she was looking for top secret content, she swiped her badge again and cleared her way through the security barrier. A home page titled “The SubVersion Complex, Washington D.C.” appeared, and on the bottom it read “Central Admin, Level 3.”

She blinked and read it again. Central Admin, Level 3. The Complex sat three levels below the ground, practically right under her feet. Breathing harder, she selected past the home page and into the administrative directory. Only two names came up, and the top line read Administrator - Neville Sanders with his number beside it. Below him was a Captain Ander James, listed as head of subterranean security.

If her ID badge had let her in to see this, then surely she was allowed to go see the Complex for herself. That was how her reasoning worked anyways. She gathered her courage, closed out of her computer, and headed for Terry's office.

Terry sat brooding at her desk when Anna tapped on the door with a knuckle. The blonde woman looked up and her expression changed from dark to darker. Anna cringed when she remembered she had breezed past Terry earlier, but oddly enough Terry's anger did not seem directed at her.

Anna pushed the glass door open and inched into the sterile office. “Terry? I have a question.”

Terry seemed cautious when she heard the strange tone in Anna's voice. She folded her arms and pushed back in her chair, eying her charge with a severe look. “Yes?”

Anna licked her lips nervously but she took a deep breath, crushed her apprehension into submission, and continued. “You told me that my ID would unlock whatever was relevant to my work. Whatever was relevant. That was correct, yes?”

The question hung in the air like a thunderhead, and Terry looked like nothing other than someone waiting for the inevitable lightning to strike. She stiffened and sat very straight. “That was correct.” She stared hard at Anna. “Why?”

“Because I've found something that is relevant to my work, and that my ID badge unlocks, and I would like to be taken to see it.”

For the first time since meeting her Anna saw a spark of fear in Terry's eyes. The woman's face turned very white and she swallowed. “And what is this something, may I ask?” she inquired guardedly.

“I want to visit Level 3.”

Terry's face grew even more pale. She stared forward without blinking; her only movement was the quickening rise and fall of her chest while breathing. At length she leaned forward against her desk and put her fingers together under her chin. She rapidly typed something into her computer, then muttered loud enough for Anna to hear, “You are allowed in Level 3 . . . ” She glanced back up. “Anna, you were brought into all of this to be a fully-informed member of our group. If you feel that you must do this, and since you have been granted the clearance, then you must follow your own judgment. And if you do visit Level 3, I would suggest that you take a good hard look at everything you can.”

The last part sounded oddly like a command. Surprised that the answer was so compliant to her request, Anna nodded and turned to go but Terry was not finished. “You can't simply waltz down to Level 3, the regular elevator commands won't take you. Even though you have clearance you will need an escort.” She tapped a button on her desk. “Give me Captain Ander James' office, please.”

A man's voice crackled back from the speaker in the desk. “Hi, Officer Garnham, this is Captain James. “

“Captain,” Terry said, “I have a woman here that needs an escort down to Level 3.”

There was a long pause and Anna heard only breathing on the other end. Then the voice returned. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, she is sure.”

“And who is this that I am taking down?” the voice continued reluctantly.

“Miss Annalise McLean, our newest member.”

“Ah,” Captain James replied noncommittally. “Will she be visiting my side or Neville's?”

Terry looked askance at Anna, and Anna again felt the rising bile of panic in her throat at a question she did not quite know the answer to. She willed herself to remain calm, though, and remembered that Neville Sanders had been listed as the administrator of the Complex, so he seemed to present the logical choice.

“Neville's side,” she croaked .

Terry frowned but didn't ask Anna any questions. “Miss McLean says that she wishes to see Neville's side of things.”

“I'll be up in two minutes. Meet me at Elevator 2. Captain James out.”

The two women exited Terry's office and rounded the bend to the elevator lobby. Right on time, the doors of Elevator 2 hushed open and a man stepped out. He stood only an inch or two taller than Anna, with hair cropped short and a brawny frame clad not in the uniform of the security personnel upstairs but in regular military fatigues. He attempted a smile and held out his hand. “Captain Ander James, at your service. And you are Miss McLean?”

Anna shook his hand. “Yes, I am. You can just call me Anna. You are my escort?”

“Indeed, at least for a very short while,” the man replied. “I will have to hand you off to someone else once we are downstairs.” His manner was one of restraint, of cordial charm that hid below a veneer of military professionalism. He nodded to Terry. “I can take her from here, Miss Garnham, thanks.”

Terry nodded back. “Please take care of her,” she said. “And Anna?”

Anna turned to her and waited, but Terry never continued. Instead she avoided Anna's gaze, stood silently for a long moment, then turned on her heel and walked away without another word. Both Anna and Captain James were left to stare after her with some awkwardness.

Captain James turned to Anna with raised eyebrows. “You never know sometimes with that woman,” he remarked in an attempt to break the tension. Anna smiled and shook her head.

“I know what you mean,” she said knowingly.

“And please just call me James. My friends all do. Or at least, most of my friends. We can leave the 'Captain' off for now.” He motioned to the elevator with his hand. “After you.” They both stepped into the elevator and the doors slid shut. James pulled a key out of his pocket, inserted it into a special lock on the elevator wall, then pressed buttons 1 and 2 simultaneously. With a jolt the elevator began to move.

James turned back to Anna. “So . . . what sort of errand would take you down to Level 3 for the first time? I can't imagine what sort of business anyone from your department would have down here.”

Anna swallowed hard. “It has something to do with a project I am working on,” she said cryptically. “Neville Sanders will be helping me.”

James stared straight ahead with a grim face. “And have you ever met Neville Sanders?”

“No, why?”

“You may want to be careful, is all.”

Anna felt her skin prickle. “What's wrong with him? Anything?”

James scratched the back of his head with one hand; his fingernails made raspy scraping sounds against his stubble. He licked his lips and tried to smile again, but failed. “It may not be my place to say so, but Neville is . . . “ he trailed off as he thought. Anna waited anxiously for the answer, but it was not to be. The elevator doors opened again and James shook himself. “Here we are.”