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Contravene Birth 04.04
Posted By: russ687<russ687@hotmail.com>
Date: 10 November 2005, 6:09 pm
Read/Post Comments
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Contravene Birth
04.04
The weather was a near exact representation of the emotions that stormed through his mind, and Marcus found very little comfort in the irony of the fact. The wind had only gotten worst, and the rain had only gotten denser and more intrusive, especially as the two men walked quickly through it. It was as if the darkness of this unseen entity marauding this project had caused a physical mutation of the environment around them, as if it were some taunting gesture to make clear the impending kismet. It wasn't entirely unbelievable, either, considering the events he had just endured and the insurrection that he was desperately fighting to defeat. Had this been one month prior, when they were just gaining possession of the alien, he would have outright denounced such premonitions and suspicions as absurd.
Yet now, fighting through this perilous weather to tackle an even greater treacherous hostility, he couldn't imagine going through all of this without the fear—even panic—of facing something that seemed so much bigger than himself, not to mention the men he actually opposed. It wasn't as if this was some overtly human action, just some dissension that had stumbled across his path in the wake of this alien, but rather this seemed to be the instigation of something above them all. It was impossible to nail down, or even draw some unsupported supposition for his feelings, but it was nonetheless present and quite real. Someone or something was causing this to happen, and to the best of his perception, it wasn't the mere mortals actually carrying out the treasonous act.
In spite of this higher entity that was shadowing his facility, he still had to deal with the men who were at the acting end of this quandary, and that meant something far more deadly could befall him than presentiments. He was dealing now with the flesh and blood of an assembly of men who were driven to complete this task, and from his already all too present and painful recollection, he knew that nothing was too much for them. These dissenters would stop at nothing to complete this task, and that very fact was not to be taken lightly. Moreover, these dissidents could be anywhere, and there was no foreseeable way to expose them all from their cloaks. In essence, he could only assume that everyone was a sympathizer, and that didn't help him cope with the reality that had plagued his future.
Security Commander Keith Dillon walked quickly beside him, his black trench-coat flapping in the wind as rain poured down upon them. The two men quickly walked from the office and residential zones of the surface portion of the complex to the laboratories and the subterranean entrance. The entire nine-acre surface was a relatively orderly maze of sidewalks and roads, all separated by small fields of grass. Much to the director's dislike, there was not a single tree on their premises, nor were there any beyond the tall chain-linked fences that surrounded the perimeter. Rather, instead of a luscious forest or even an attractive assortment of foliage, nothing but long grass and stubby bushes covered the slightly hilly terrain around them. It was quite a lifeless sight, and Marcus always tried to distract himself when he looked at the bland scenery.
He oriented his sights on the row of surface laboratories they were approaching and the subsurface entrance to the main portions of the facility below ground. The pallid buildings resembled the white, featureless corridors underground—which he also had a distinct distaste for—and the entrance building, which looked more like a large bunker than anything else, sporting a single flagpole rising thirty meters on top of it. Marcus stared as the United Nations flag whipped back and forth roughly in the assaulting wind, trying to draw some comfort from its inspiring defiance of the weather. It reminded him what he was doing this for, and more importantly who he was doing this for. It was the billions of souls that waited to be slaughtered, and the millions of lives that had already met a premature end.
Dillon picked up his pace to get to the entrance "bunker" faster, and Marcus followed suit, silently agreeing that getting out of the drenching weather was in both their best interests. They ran past several of the laboratories before coming under the large awning that protected the bulky hydraulic doors leading inside. Marcus paused as the Security Commander walked up to enter his authorization code to go into the facility, taking several steps back and into the rain to look once more at the flag far above them. In spite of the rain and wind, he stared at it, lost in thought. This was all to win the war.
The director blinked as the lanyard snapped like a piano string, whipping out and then up as the flag lost its connection to the pole. The large flag quickly parted from the post and whipped away under the might of the wind, curling up and dragging the cord behind it. The very sight immediately washed over him with discouragement and deterrence, and he watched the one thing that had brought him a little hope disappear into the low, thick clouds. What was this? Marcus thought angrily, letting his head lean down. What the hell was this? Some sick gesture?
"Something wrong, sir?"
He looked up at Dillon. If only you knew. "No, let's get to it."
The Security Commander nodded and hit the 'Enter' key, causing the large doors to begin parting. Seconds later, the entrance was completely open, one that was large enough for a vehicle to enter through. Both men walked forward and through the large doors, leaving the gray cold and striding into the clear, bright white lights. Ahead of them was the surface security station, which was basically a large room expanding two stories above them with stations on either side of the white, featureless area. Two security guards stood in the center, and on each side vast room they could see more through the bullet proof windows. Directly ahead, through the checkpoint and at the far end of this warehouse-like expanse, were the two large double doors leading towards the elevator.
Yet they weren't going subsurface. In one of the rooms lining this area was their suspect, and they would be conversing with not only the accused technician, but also the antagonist of this entire predicament, Chief Investigator Bruce Tobias. Just thinking of the name reminded Marcus of the man's demands, and of the consequences should he fail to comply. One hour to recall the security and technician teams from below the surface, he recalled vividly, and failing to do so meant that both the dead bodies in Sheene's residence would fall on his shoulders. Yet, in partial preparation, Marcus held a slight sliver of hope that what would happen during this questioning would turn the tides of this dilemma.
The guards acknowledged their presence and allowed them to pass. Marcus looked each and every one of them in the eye, trying to ascertain their intentions and allegiances, though to no success. Who was he kidding, anyways? He was a doctor, a director of this facility, not an investigator or someone charged with the responsibility of keeping order. He sighed silently as they turned to the right, heading for one of the doors leading to the security detention rooms.
"David!"
Marcus turned at the sound of a familiar voice.
"Can we talk briefly?" Swanson said, walking towards him from the double doors that led to the elevator.
Just seeing his long time friend and colleague brought a shimmer of hope, but realizing that he had no clue of the imminent trouble reminded him of his solitude to stop this. He paused and forced a brief smile as Swanson approached, who was all grins.
"I've been working with a team to resolve our little problem with the developing being, and we've drawn a rough albeit possible solution to restart the project."
Marcus could fully appreciate his enthusiasm, and wholly wished that he was down there with his colleague, working on things that he was supposed to be working on, not dealing with this menacing crisis. Then again, if he hadn't been caught up in this—if he hadn't been at Sheene's residence at that time—this whole thing would have fully eluded his attention, and consequently it would have happened without a single ounce of resistance.
Reality snapped back at him as he looked around him. Dillon had paused at the door and waited patiently for him, nothing to be concerned about, but the two guards outside stared at them oddly with overtly interested expressions—something quite uncommon in his experience. Marcus looked over at Dillon and motioned for him to go ahead, then back at his friend. "Let's talk about this over here," the co-director said, motioning away from the two guards.
Swanson nodded and followed him as they walked towards the elevator and away from the guards, somewhat perplexed by his action. "Right. Well, as a foreword, I will say that you will think this is absurd to some degree, but I implore you to think of this as a whole. Right now, all we have is a dead alien, which means nothing can possibly make it much worse."
"I understand," Marcus replied, his voice uncharacteristically low. "I don't have much time, so give me the short version."
"When I tell you this, you won't care about your prior commitments." Swanson said excitedly, but paused for a moment before continuing. "By the way, what have you been up to for the last nearly two days? Not to imply that I'm doing all the work on this project, but you've been rather distant." The co-director paused again, his face and voice filling with concern. "What is it?"
Marcus wanted to simply tell him, to just get this off his chest and let another brilliant mind mull over it to find a solution, but he acutely remembered his own conclusion on this matter. Knowledge was dangerous; the less he knew at the moment, the safer he was.
"Just stuff here and there. I've been doing some back work into the alien's past from that data packet we got from Sheene."
"I see," Swanson said, not entirely convinced by his reply. They were too good of friends for such a superficial response. "I had called you earlier to see if you were interested in joining my meeting to find a solution for the project, but your secretary said you had gone out to speak with Doctor Sheene. Find out anything useful?"
"No," Marcus lied. "He wasn't too helpful."
Swanson looked at him for another moment, reading his eyes. "We can talk about this later, then. Let me bring you up to speed.
"During the meeting we ran over several scenarios, most of which led to a rather unfortunate end that got us no closer to continuing the project, some even being regressive. In short, we did find one plausible solution, one that could—odds aside—revive the alien."
Marcus momentarily forgot the kismet overshadowing them and focused on Swanson's statement. "Revive?"
"Yes. I'm sure you're familiar with the Ascendus project."
"The convalescent-shock theory and practice?"
"Correct. It ran until the mid 2400's before it was outlawed by the UN because of the rather…diverse range of results. As you may recall, the Ascendus project was an integrated practice that was, under ideal conditions, essentially able to resurrect someone or some creature using the proper convalescent inoculation injected into the brain followed by the proportional electronic shock to induce the needed ectoplasm reaction. Of course, 'ideal' conditions meant that the body had to be in fully functional shape—no fatal internal injuries and such—and the brain had to be in a relatively undamaged state as well.
"Now think about it; Sheene killed the developing being with a deadly narcosis, not with any physical object. This means that the body and brain are physically undamaged and in a theoretically fully functional state, and it is only basically brain dead. This constitutes an ideal condition, one where the Ascendus Practice is fully applicable."
Marcus was infatuated with the idea, but the contentions automatically came up in his mind to reject the proposal. "Yes, this does meet ideal conditions, but don't forget why they banned the practice. I do recall reading about this is medical school and I vividly remember the speech Doctor…" He paused as he searched for the name. "Doctor Cnochúr, I believe it was, about the problems with the Ascendus Practice. The results were, in some cases, horrifying and outrageous. I mean, bringing back someone from the dead is something that no man should do, and despite the limited success of the Practice, those results that led to rather appalling resurrections merited its banning."
"I know, I know," Swanson said acceptingly. "But don't forget the times it actually worked. When it actually came to human use—and when it worked—families were able to spend precious more days with their loved ones."
"Granted, but the catch is 'when it worked.' Nine out of ten times, and this is when it did work, the revival was purely physical. No consciousness, awareness, or ability to communicate existed; it was basically only a living body. Now think about when it did work but we saw those horrific results. Don't you remember all those religious groups and the international churches and their accusations? They called those resurrected people 'possessed!' And I can't say I don't know why; those people were not human, Matthew, they were something else."
"Yeah, but that didn't happen all that much, at least not nearly as much as the media portrayed." Swanson responded, trying to rationalize his idea. "It became a political dilemma, not the science one it should have stayed as. People blew it out of proportion."
"Yes, that much is true, but did you see the pictures of those men and women—even those animals?"
"I did, and I know full and well the problems with the Practice. David, those cases were rare, maybe one out of five when it did work, and it only worked about thirty-percent of the time anyways. The odds are highly against coming across such a situation."
"It was enough for it to be outlawed across the United Nations."
Swanson sighed. "Look, this is our only hope for doing this. What else is there?"
Marcus paused in thought, completely forgetting that in one hour it wouldn't matter anymore. "I don't know, but it's illegal. We could get incarcerated for performing this act if word got out. Not to mention that we're doing this on an alien, something we don't know much about. What kind of effects would there be on it? Even with our extensive knowledge of the animals and humans we did the Practice on, we still couldn't predict if it would work or even why it went sickeningly wrong in those certain cases."
"So you're opposed to it?"
That word brought back the reality of the situation around him. What was there to lose? If he couldn't stop this from happening anyways, why should he be opposed to it? His rational and pragmatic side called for him to deny Swanson's eccentric idea, but his uncharacteristically hopeless side reminded him that if he failed to stop this, there would really be nothing to lose.
The Ascendus Practice was considered dangerous—controversial was too light of a word—because of the possible outcomes, found when the test subject regained life and consciousness, but the consciousness was not that of the man or woman—or creature—that formerly possessed the body prior to death. There was to date no scientific explanation for it, only the religious one that had quickly condemned the Practice politically. According to the sources he had read, these religious groups had all offered differing but mostly similar assertions that those who came back with this 'ulterior' consciousness were demon possessed; mental spawns of the spirits in hell. No one in the scientific field really bought the explanation, but because they couldn't devise one of their own, it won over the populace and subsequently the political leadership.
Marcus didn't want to subject his facility to that kind of danger, especially since the cold fact remained that they knew comparatively very little about this alien, and consequently very little about how the Practice would effect it. While he didn't recall the specifics of Dr. Cnochúr's speech condemning the Ascendus project in front of the UN hearing committee, he remembered the basic conclusion he drew.
Humans should not tamper with the resurrection of the dead.
"How long will it take to set it up?"
Swanson rolled his eyes in thought. "We have to redevelop the convalescent inoculation, since it was outlawed, and then set up the electric shock capacitors and conductors. I'd say a few hours."
That wasn't enough.
"Director Marcus, we're ready to begin." Dillon said from behind him.
Marcus sighed. Time was against them. "You have sixty minutes. If you can't do it by then—and I mean honestly—recall your technician teams to the surface laboratories and then both of us will discuss the idea in more depth." The latter part was a definite lie, but he needed to sound convincing.
"Why sixty minutes?"
"Trust me, Matthew, if it can't be done just do it."
Swanson looked back in confusion, but conceded to accept his request. "Will do." He was about to turn around and head back to the elevator, but paused. "Where will you be?"
Marcus looked up at the distant ceiling, the white lights filling his vision. "I'll be around."
It was unusual for the co-director to be so vague, and it brought a concerned and perplexed look from Swanson. He looked at his colleague for another moment, then turned around and headed for the elevator. Marcus watched him leave, and amidst the bright lights and pale walls, he hoped that that was not the last conversation he would have with his colleague and, in all honesty, closest friend. Had there been a splinter of faith in some supernatural entity, he would have called out for some intervention. Don't let this be the last time. The request echoed in his head as his face remained hard and his mouth pursed. Don't let this be the last time.
The director forced himself to turn around and walk towards Dillon, who held open the door. While is thoughts were now divided by the potentiality Swanson had brought up, he still fully recognized the ever present darkness that he was walking into. In mere seconds, he would be face to face with who was probably the chief instigator among this dissension, and that was no light fact. He could feel his heartbeat pick up and his fists clench in a mixture of apprehension and anger. The outcome of this "interrogation" of the suspected technician would prove to be the clincher to this entire clandestine conflict.
They walked down a small white hallway until they reached another door with an armed guard standing watch. Dillon nodded at his subordinate and opened the door, unconscious about the water trail he left from the saturated trench-coat on the once-spotless floors. Marcus followed closely behind him, partly eager and partly afraid to enter the situation. He wasn't accustomed to such uncertain conditions of this delicate nature, and consequently he felt the nervousness wash over his determination.
Much like every other room in the facility, this one was colorless and quite disinteresting, with only a metal table placed in the center and a matching chair, on which sat the accused man. Coming into view as Marcus passed through the door was the accuser, a man he had quickly come to hate and fear. Bruce Tobias.
"Tobias," Dillon said. "Thanks for meeting with us despite your prior commitments." The man nodded back. No doubt he had come directly from Sheene's residence. "Please fill Director Marcus in about this situation."
"Of course," Tobias responded coldly, looking harshly at Marcus. He was obviously not pleased with Marcus's manipulation to get him here in the same room, but the director knew that this displeasure was sure sign of something in his favor. "After some extensive investigation into the mainframe's access logs, we found that our technician here was signed in during the entire chamber breach—"
"Like I've said, I wasn't even on duty—"
"Shut the hell up," Tobias retorted irately. "You will speak when I ask you to."
"Listen," the technician spoke up defiantly. "I had nothing to do—"
Tobias slammed his fist on the metal table, causing a sharp echo to fill the room for a brief second. "I said, 'shut the hell up.' What part of that don't you understand?"
Marcus waved him back. "Finish your statement."
Tobias took a calming breath and continued, though he was no less livid. "From the very fact that he was the only technician logged in during the breach, we have no other alternative but to insinuate him as the accomplice to the infringement."
"And," Dillon said, "we can confirm this by questioning Dr. Sheene."
"Why yes," Tobias said, coldly staring back at the director. "That would be the appropriate course of action."
Marcus could feel where this was going. Dillon wanted to speak with Sheene to learn more information, and Tobias wanted to make known the ghastly scene that was now framed to implicate him. "Let's not be hasty." He gestured towards the technician. "Why do you keep denying these accusations?"
"Because I didn't do it!" The man blurted. He didn't appear dishonest. "I was no where near the mainframe during the breach—hell, I wasn't even underground. I was off duty one hour before the incident and far away in my living quarters. In fact, the security guards watched me leave and recorded my departure!"
Marcus looked expectantly at Dillon, who immediately understood. "Tobias?"
"He never said that before," the investigator replied coolly.
Dillon nodded, believing him but quite disgruntled with the obvious shortcoming. He activated his personal radio, "Entrance Security, give me the logs for Technician Aaron Walter of two days ago; the day of the security breach."
There was a quick acknowledgment and then silence. Marcus could feel the tension increase quickly as Tobias's demeanor changed. He was no longer the nonchalant investigator "just doing hid job." A certain anxiety washed over the man, one that was not overtly obvious, but nonetheless receivable. It was clear now that they did not have all avenues tied up, which brought some comfort to the director's still apprehensive mind. In spite of everything, there was hope to beat this.
"Sir, we have an entrance log for a Mr. Walter at 1600, and an exit log of 2400." The reply crackled over the radio.
Marcus smirked. Busted.
Dillon looked up at Tobias, his voice full of disapproval. "You call that extensive?"
Tobias shook his head. "Not in the least."
"Then do you care to explain yourself?"
Marcus could feel the presentiments explode in his thoughts. This wasn't right; his constructive set up wasn't turning in his favor, rather it was only provoking the truly guilty man on the other side of the room. He should have been able to predict this and plan for it, but everything had been so spontaneous that he didn't have the time to work out every contingency. Consequently, there was now a dangerous man backed into a life-threatening corner. Only one thing could follow.
Before he even realized what had happened, the sidearm snapped up from Tobias' utility belt and the nine-millimeter settled quickly in their direction. The innocent technician cuffed to the chair twitched in panic, and Dillon stared condescendingly at his subordinate, clearly agitated by the offensive move yet not completely knowing why he had done it.
"What is this?"
Tobias twisted slightly to level the pistol on the Security Commander. "This is a very unfortunate circumstance, sir. If the director here hadn't conspired this entire situation, things could have progressed along far less violently." He aimed the pistol at Marcus, his voice cold but with a hint of anxiety. "You…all you had to do was get your technicians and security out by my allotted time, yet you provoke the situation by doing this. You indeed have a death wish, Dr. Marcus."
"What?" Dillon asked, confounded by the man's words.
"Still in the dark, Commander?" Tobias asked tauntingly, though it was clear he wasn't completely confident he had control of the situation. Obviously, no one had planned this meeting out, which left both sides caught horribly off-guard. "Well, it was supposed to stay that way; if nobody got in the way, nobody would have gotten hurt." The pistol crossed over to Marcus again. "That's why Sheene died, he kept getting in the way. That's why you were supposed to die."
Marcus didn't have anything to say. Despite the spontaneity of the investigator's actions, he held momentary control of this incident by the power of the deadly object in his hands. The director watched fretfully yet silently as Tobias moved around the room towards them and the door, subsequently motioning them to back against the far wall so he could get by. Things weren't going as planned for these dissenters anymore, but that would matter if in a few moments he was nothing but a corpse.
"Quite unfortunately for you two, you are now in the way." He turned and aimed the weapon at Dillon. "After your death, I would suggest you thank Director Marcus here for dragging you into this situation. If it weren't for him you'd still be alive by the end of this day, and this problem would have ceased to exist." Tobias pulled the hammer back with his thumb, his expression impartial and his eyes dark.
The door opened suddenly. "Sir, I just got a report from—"
The Security Guard didn't even see the man with the weapon and consequently did not have time to react to the threat. Tobias turned quickly and leveled the pistol on the man's head, firing in one fluid motion. Marcus blinked as a dull flash exited from the end of the weapon and simultaneously the head of the guard snapped back, blood splattering on the pallid wall. The scene was violent enough to merit another blink of surprise and bewilderment, and in that second of blackness another crack emanated loudly in the small room.
Forcing his eyes open, Marcus winced in pain at his ringing ears from the two deafening shots. It happened so fast that at first he didn't quite comprehend what had just occurred, and only stared in shock as Tobias's body hit the wall violently. He blinked instinctively as another shot followed a split second thereafter, and opened his eyes to see the antagonist's body shudder as a second round pierced brutally into the chest, blood spattering on the floor. The arms went limp, and increasingly the legs failed to support the dying man. Slowly and gruesomely, he slid back-first against the pale room, his dark eyes wide open yet motionless. A thick red stain on the wall followed him down as he gradually came to a stop, his legs straight in front of him, his back leaning against the room, and his head falling forward.
Dillon, having reacted purely by instinctive training, slowly lowered his sidearm, staring intently at the dead man that he had—until just mere moments ago—worked together with. Marcus conceded to accept the bloody situation without pause and moved over to the fallen security guard, knowing that it was pointless yet in spite of the obviously mortal wound he placed his hand across the man's neck—no pulse. He averted his gaze from the brain fragments spewed across the wall and turned to the static body of Bruce Tobias. Overcoming another wave of shock, the director stepped over and checked the man's pulse, finding nothing to insinuate life.
"What the hell is this about?" Dillon asked, his voice quiet yet clearly mixed with confusion and rage.
Marcus looked back at him, still shaken. "Tobias was part of a dissension schema."
"Elaborate."
The director opened his mouth to offer the explanation, but before he could inflate his lungs to speak a loud and quite obnoxious alarm resounded from outside the room. Both men looked out the half open door into the empty white hallway, both having expected this as a result of the gunfire.
"All teams," the radio cracked from Dillon's shoulder. "We have gunfire and engagements at the Entry Checkpoint."
The Security Commander quickly activated the comm. "Stand down, the situation is under control."
"Commander?"
"Affirmative. Shots fired in Detention Room Two, but the situation is under—"
"Negative, sir! Shots fired out here!"
Marcus stared at Dillon in surprise, but somehow he knew this was coming. Some way or another, the rest of the dissidents had found out about their split-second clash with the now deceased Chief Investigator, which was the trigger to make this whole thing public. He looked around the room quickly and found the cause; a small camera in the upper corner of the room blinked with a red light. The inevitable was truly and undeniably inevitable.
The Security Commander was still in the dark about the global reasons behind this—as was everyone else not in on the plot—but he pieced together enough to know that there was a security breach and some degree of insurgency. The question now was whether or not they could stop it, one that Marcus now thought to be the only thing worth contemplating.
"Get behind me," Dillon said quickly, bringing his pistol up and stepping to peer out the door and down the hallway towards the surface entry area. Now that they were aware of the larger skirmish exploding just two doors away from them, it was possible to hear the soft yet sharp cracks of gunfire. The Commander stepped out and into the hallway, keeping his weapon trained on the closed door ten meters ahead while Marcus paused inside the room.
It was obvious that nothing but shear force and brutality would clinch this problem, and as such all ideas of reasoning or even playing dumb were now nullified. If he wanted to win his facility back and keep these men—driven by some unknown reason—from gaining possession of that alien thirty meters below them, he would have to take measures above and beyond what he was prepared for. His fists clenched in adrenaline and determination and he looked down at the black pistol loosely in Tobias' cold hands, bending over to pick up the weapon. It was awkward for him, as he had never had any sort of weapons training, and held it erroneously in both hands close to his abdomen.
Though despite his inexperience and the ever present apprehension running through his body, he knew that he needed anything and everything to make this work. If at the very least, this was something of deterrence to his enemy, even if they were all trained in ways of combat above and beyond what he could even appreciate. To deal with that rather demoralizing reality, he could only hope that Dillon would stay alive through this impending firefight, because without this man there was almost nothing he could do to stop the armed assemblage from finding and removing the single most valuable thing from this entire complex.
Pausing just an arms-length away from the door—the only thing muffling the gunfire from the large warehouse-area just beyond—Dillon turned back to look at the director. The look in his eyes were clear, and it was obvious that he would quite literally shoot now and ask questions later, something a professional combatant of his stature rarely did. This was not war; this was not a fight against an alien entourage. Rather, and quite paradoxically, this was a small-scale struggle between men—men who once worked together to achieve something to win the true war flooding over their boarders. It was absurd to think of this happening amidst an even great battle that killed thousands each day; unity was the only thing that would aid in humanity's defense.
Though now, listening to the shooting on the other side of the door, unity was the one thing they had already lost. Dillon looked forward and then back again, nodding in approval at the weapon in the director's hand, despite the incorrect handling fashion. Had this been some training exercise or an orientation, such things would have been swiftly attended to, but here and now, under the premises of death and demise, the only thing that mattered was survival.
Dillon took a step back and a deep breath. "Stay low, sir."
The door kicked open.
"You've got to be kidding me."
Swanson looked out of the lab to the open door and the white hallway just beyond. In the background, emanating from the featureless corridors, was the facility-wide security alarm, an indication of some breach in some manner or another. It wasn't so often that most disregarded it and reluctantly followed the protocols, but it wasn't rare enough to quite merit panic.
He didn't know why Marcus has requested him to get all of this done or get out in one hour, but something inside had told him to just accept the other director's wishes. Something was obviously not right—it was in his eyes—but the situation, perhaps on both their ends, was not allowing the time to get to the bottom of the evident problem. Had this been any other day, Swanson might have considered dropping the whole thing altogether to find out what was plaguing his colleagues thoughts, but the urgency in his tone and the breakthrough they had made earlier about how to revive this project had firmly denied him the chance to call a timeout, or so he thought.
Now, with the klaxons wailing away, the co-director began to feel the distinct regret for not probing into this deeper. At this point in time, there was very little doubt about the arbitrariness of the current circumstances, and he somehow knew that the predicament Marcus was tied up with on the surface was having this corollary down here. There was a missing link that made it all very obscure, but he didn't need to know such specifics to piece together this much of the conundrum. Now, he needed to make a prompt decision about what to do, since it was all but apparent that this whole thing was no mere incident.
Protocol dictated that all technician teams subsurface were required to evacuate through the main checkpoint within ten minutes of the alarm or face lockdown—where every hydraulic door shut and locked until security could individually clear the rooms, something that could take hours depending upon the severity of the situation. Though following these protocols was not something he was thinking fondly of, and instead of the once normal reaction of dropping his work and exiting, he found a hint of stagnation in his mind. Maybe he shouldn't leave just yet; maybe he should finish what he had come down here to do.
Swanson turned to the team in the lab with him, all of them quickly finishing what work they could so that after this unfortunate event ended they could return to their tasks efficiently. His idea of 'finishing work' was a bit different now, however, and without fully contemplating his decision, the co-director raised a hand and pointed at the nearest man.
"How far along is the convalescent tonic?"
The technician looked back, his face disinterested. "Pretty far. I will have it completed when we get back."
Swanson sighed. That's not what I asked. "How much longer would you need to complete it right now?"
The man's face turned from neutrality to perplexity. "Well, including the tests I would need to run, maybe an hour."
"And without the tests?"
"Just another minute, I guess." The technician replied warily, almost not believing what his boss was asking. "But without confirming all the elements of the tonic, the convalescent amalgam may be just as ineffective as a dose of water."
"Understood. Finish it and bring it to me in the chamber." Swanson ordered, and then turned to face the other three technicians in the room. Oddly enough, one of them had not taken any action in leaving, while the other two had almost completely finished their work. Rather, that single man just waited patiently, as if already reading his intentions. "You three, come with me."
The two getting ready to leave looked up in surprise, but didn't speak a word of discontent. Swanson marched to the door, with the three technicians beginning to follow, pausing only as he entered the white corridor filled with the obnoxious siren to look back inside at the single man who remained, charged with completing the needed stimulant. "Don't forget." He took a deep breath. "You have less than ten minutes to get it to me in the chamber."
The man nodded.
Director Swanson, followed by his entourage, began running for the elevator. They had less than ten minutes before the elevator and all hydraulically controlled doors shut down—which included the entry points to the chamber and the control room—meaning that he needed to get in place before those doors shut. Something inside told him that much was imperative, and that failing to do so meant something far worse than simply restarting after this incident passed. He needed to get this done now.
They rounded a corner and ran down the long stretch of empty hallway, passing door after closed door, until they came to a quick stop in front of the elevator doors. Swanson quickly punched the controls for the elevator and waited impatiently for the apparatus to respond.
"You two," he said, short of breath, "will come with me to the chamber." The first man raised his eyebrows in question, but still remained quiet. The second oddly enough just nodded. "And you," Swanson said, pointing to the last, "will go up one level to the control room. From there we will be in intercom communication."
"Sir, isn't this an utter disregard of our security proto—"
"Yes, it is." The director responded prematurely, cutting him off. "But you will follow my orders for the time being, no questions asked. Do you understand me, son?"
He nodded meekly at the terse reply, much to Swanson's liking. One way or another, he would make this whole thing work. His mind screamed at him not to, reminding him that he knew very little of this incident and therefore had no real reason to complete this eccentric and spontaneous plot, but his gut silently told him something else. If what these presentiments were telling him were true, then his actions would be justified. If they turned out to be wrong, and this whole thing was just a mere event, then there would be little to lose.
The doors opened and the three stepped inside, leaving the one technician out to wait for the elevator to return to take him up one level. This was it, and there was no turning back now. In the few minutes that remained before everything that could be remotely shut down was shut down, he was going to attempt to revive this alien. It seemed irrational, but Swanson couldn't deny the gnawing sensation in his stomach—this had to be done
Seven minutes.
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