The young black woman kept staring at Dr. Richardson, but he avoided her eyes. Richardson sensed that she was some kind of prisoner, but he didn’t have the power to save her. If she whispered, “Please, help me,” then he would have to acknowledge his own captivity-and cowardice.
Prichett opened the back of the ambulance. Dr. Richardson saw that Gabriel Corrigan was strapped to a gurney with the thick canvas restraints used on violent patients in hospital emergency rooms. Gabriel was unconscious. When the gurney was pulled out of the ambulance, his head lolled back and forth.
The young woman tried to approach Gabriel, but Shepherd grabbed her arm and held her tightly. “Forget about that,” he said. “We need to get him inside.”
They wheeled the gurney over to the genetic research building and stopped. No one’s Protective Link was authorized to enter the building. Prichett had to call security on his cell phone while the group stood outside in the cold air. Finally a technician sitting at a computer in London authorized the entry for their various ID cards. Prichett pushed the gurney through the doors and the group followed him.
Ever since Richardson had accidentally read the laboratory report about hybrid animals, he had been curious about the top-secret genetic research building. There was nothing imposing about the ground-floor laboratories. Fluorescent ceiling lights. Refrigerators and lab tables. An electron microscope. The building smelled like a dog kennel, but Richardson couldn’t see any lab animals-and certainly nothing that could be called a “splicer.” Shepherd led the young woman down the hallway while Gabriel was wheeled into an empty room.
Prichett stood beside Gabriel’s body. “We think Mr. Corrigan has crossed over to another realm. General Nash wants to know if his body is injured or not.”
“All I have is a stethoscope.”
“Do whatever you can, but hurry up. Nash is going to be here in a few minutes.”
Richardson pushed the tips of his fingers against Gabriel’s neck and searched for a pulse. Nothing. He took a pencil out of his jacket, jabbed the sole of the young man’s foot, and got a muscular reaction. While Prichett watched, the neurologist unbuttoned Gabriel’s shirt and pressed his stethoscope against the Traveler’s chest. Ten seconds. Twenty seconds. Then, finally, a single heartbeat.
Voices came from outside in the corridor. Richardson stepped away from the body as Shepherd led Michael and General Nash into the room.
“So?” Nash asked. “Is he all right?”
“He’s alive. I don’t know if there’s been any neurological damage.”
Michael went over to the gurney and touched his brother’s face. “Gabe’s still in the Second Realm, looking for a way out. I had already found the passageway, but I didn’t tell him.”
“That was a wise decision,” Nash said.
“Where’s my brother’s talisman? The Japanese sword?”
Shepherd looked as if he’d been accused of stealing something. He handed the sword over and Michael placed it on his brother’s chest.
“You can’t keep him restrained forever,” Richardson said. “He’ll develop skin ulcers like patients with spinal cord injuries. His muscles will start to deteriorate.”
General Nash seemed annoyed that anyone had raised an objection. “I wouldn’t worry about that, Doctor. He’s going to stay under control until we change his mind.”
THE NEXT MORNING, Richardson tried to stay out of sight in the neurological laboratory located in the library basement. He had been given access to an online chess game running on the research center’s computer and the activity fascinated him. His black chess pieces and the computer’s white pieces were little animated figures with faces, arms, and legs. When they weren’t moving across the board, the bishops would read their breviaries while the knights steadied their horses. The bored pawns were constantly yawning, scratching themselves, and falling asleep.
After Richardson got used to the chessmen being alive, he moved up to something called the second interactive level. At this level, the chessmen insulted each other or gave suggestions to Richardson. If he moved a piece the wrong way, the chessman would argue about strategy, then grudgingly move to the next square. On the third interactive level, Richardson didn’t have to do anything but watch. The pieces moved on their own and the superior pieces killed the weaker ones, battering them with maces or stabbing them with swords.
“Working hard, Doctor?”
Richardson looked behind him and saw Nathan Boone standing in the doorway. “Just playing a little computer chess.”
“Good.” Boone walked over to the lab table. “We all need to challenge ourselves continually. Keeps the mind alert.”
Boone sat down on the other side of the table. Anyone glancing into the room would have thought that two colleagues were discussing a scientific issue.
“So how are you, Doctor? We haven’t talked for a while.”
Dr. Richardson glanced at the computer screen. The chessmen were talking to each other, waiting to attack. Richardson wondered if the chessmen believed that they were real. Perhaps they prayed and dreamed and enjoyed their little victories, not realizing that he was in control.
“I-I would like to go home.”
“We understand that.” Boone offered a sympathetic smile. “Eventually you can return to your classroom, but right now you’re an important member of our team. I was told that you were here last night when they brought in Gabriel Corrigan.”
“I just examined him briefly. That’s all. He’s still alive.”
“That’s right. He’s here, he’s alive, and now we have to deal with him. That presents a rather unique problem-how do you keep a Traveler locked in a room? According to Michael, if you keep a Traveler completely strapped down, he can’t break out of his body. But it might lead to physical problems.”
“Exactly. I said that to General Nash.”
Boone leaned forward and tapped a button on the laptop computer. The chess game with all its characters disappeared. “For the last five years, the Evergreen Foundation has sponsored research into the neurological processing of pain. As I’m sure you know, pain is a rather complex phenomenon.”
“Pain is handled by multiple brain regions and it travels on parallel nerve pathways,” Richardson said. “That way, if one part of the brain is disabled we can still react to an injury.”
“That’s correct, Doctor. But our researchers have discovered that wires can be implanted in five different brain regions, the most important areas being the cerebellum and the thalamus. Take a look at this.” Boone took a DVD out of his pocket and inserted it into Richardson’s computer. “This was filmed about a year ago in North Korea.”
A brownish-yellow rhesus monkey appeared on the computer screen. It was sitting in a cage and had wires coming out of its skull. The wires were fastened to a radio transmission device strapped to the animal’s body. “See that? Nobody is cutting this specimen or burning his skin. All you have to do is press a button and…”
The monkey screamed and collapsed with a look of intense pain on its face. It lay on the floor of the cage, twitching and whimpering softly.
“See what happens? There’s no physical trauma, but the nervous system is overwhelmed by a massive neurological sensation.”