“You don’t know?” Lesserec answered in disbelief. “I admit—” He looked down at the corpse’s contorted face. “He’s not very photogenic right now, but he has been in the news a lot. That’s Hal Michaelson. The guy on TV with the President the other night?”
“You mean that Michaelson?” The PSO blinked his eyes. “Oh, boy.”
The PSO clicked the button on his walkie-talkie and spoke rapid-fire into it. “We’ve got a situation here. A dead body in the Virtual Reality chamber over at T Program. It’s apparently Dr. Hal Michaelson, the head of the project.”
“Say again,” the walkie-talkie said.
Lesserec reached out and grabbed the PSO’s arm. “Do you realize you just blabbed all that over an open channel?”
The PSO blinked. “What?”
“Your walkie-talkie. Don’t they drill you guys on operating procedures? News hounds listen on the open-band scanners just to pick up a scoop like this. You just blew the story before we could put together an official Lab press release.”
“But,” the PSO said, still sweating, “it’s too early in the morning. Nobody’ll be listening.”
“Get real. Those people watch like vultures to see if we’ve had another tritium release or a security breach or anything. You just told the whole world that the head of the President’s new high-visibility initiative is lying here dead.” Lesserec shook his head. “This place is going to be a circus in less than an hour.”
The walkie-talkie squawked again. “Hello? Apparent cause of death? Please advise,” the voice asked back.
The PSO wet his lips and looked at Lesserec. Lesserec put his hands on his hips and blew air through his lips. “Go ahead, the cat’s already out of the bag.”
“But… how did he die?”
“Do I look like a coroner? How should I know?” Lesserec said. “Heart attack, I think.”
The PSO clicked the SEND button again. “Uh, apparent coronary arrest. Request backup. We need to get the body over to Medical. We’re going to get a lot of publicity on this.”
“Acknowledged. Backup on its way,” the voice answered. “Will call Health Services and get them ready for an emergency inspection.”
Visibly shaking, the PSO shoved the walkie-talkie back in its holder at his hip.
Lesserec looked around the VR lab. “A lot of this stuff is highly classified. I’ve already cleared the computers and locked up the classified documents Michaelson had lying around. We’ve got to put black cloth over all this equipment. Even just the shapes of some of this stuff is Secret National Security Information. Anybody who doesn’t have a need to know can’t get a glimpse of it — including you, so don’t pay attention.”
Flustered, the PSO said, “Uh, yes. Let’s get to work and clean this place up.”
The T Program members knew something was up when they came to work because of the flurry of police cars and the extra scrutiny when they came through the double gates into the T Program trailers.
Lesserec called a meeting at 9:00, although the hotshot programmers pretty much came in at all hours of the morning, whenever they pleased. Lesserec assumed he would have to give the same information repeatedly.
He stood, crossed his pudgy arms over his t-shirt, and looked at the confused programmers sitting around the table. No Doritos this time. No festive atmosphere of making catcalls during the President’s news conference.
“All right, listen up,” Lesserec said. Rumors had been flying for the last hour, and some of the rumors were right by sheer chance. “You already know something’s happening,” he said.
Walter called out, “Now presenting, Gary Lesserec, Master of the Obvious!”
Lesserec ignored the catcall. “Michaelson’s dead. I found his body this morning in the VR chamber. Look’s to me like a heart attack while he was working late last night, but we won’t know until Health Services looks him over. He might have to be taken down to Valley Memorial Hospital for a full autopsy.
“Regardless of the cause, he’s dead. And that means it’s up to us to put together the whole dog-and-pony show our dear friend Hal set up for us.”
He gave a short, barking laugh. “Knowing him, I almost think he did this on purpose, and right now his ghost is laughing at us. Michaelson was always shoving us into quicksand and walking off with the rope.”
He sat back down again and looked at their reactions. “Lab management has to make everything tidy and official, but for the moment I’m still acting group leader. I don’t want it, and they’ll probably post the job, but you know the blinding speed any official happens around here. They can’t possibly get anybody else to pick up the reins fast enough to get this international demonstration done in time. It’s going to be crazy to finish it, but a lot of the Lab’s prestige rides on this.
“I’m open to your suggestions, but my gut feeling is we should not ask for a postponement, because a delay will look like we don’t have our act together.”
He lowered his voice and leaned across the table, meeting the scattered stunned expressions. “We don’t need a whole lot of talking the next four weeks. We need a lot of work. We need to finish setting up the virtual presence inside the Plutonium Facility for the first-stage demonstration. I’ll be coordinating with the folks out at the Nevada Test Site so we can rig up the full downhole simulation that Michaelson wanted us to show off.
“I’ve already talked to NTS this morning. They are in as much chaos over there as we are. Testing has been shut down for years, and just to get up and running again is keeping them at Warp 9. They’re gonna set up a preliminary test detonation for us with two thousand tons of high explosive so we can calibrate our sensors and get a good feel for what it’s like to watch the explosion through virtual presence.”
Danielle raised her hand and then stuttered as if she didn’t know what to say. “But, but what about Dr. Michaelson?” Shouldn’t we — take a… take a day off or something?”
“And what?” Lesserec raised his voice. “People die, the program goes on. Any other questions?” He stared at them, pleased to see everyone flinch. “All right, then let’s get back to work.
CHAPTER 18
Loud ringing pierced a fuzzy-headed morning, shattering the vivid reds, yellows, and blues of an impossible dream. Rising through the depths of sleep, Craig Kreident knew he didn’t have to go to work. If he waited long enough, the ringing would stop.
But instead of melting away with the dream, the noise continued until it bore through the fog in his brain. So much for sleeping in.
Craig rolled to his right and slapped at the speakerphone. “Hello?” His mouth tasted dry, cottony. Sunlight streamed into a window, illuminating a bright yellow rectangle on the hardwood floor.
“Craig, this is June. June Atwood.” Her voice sounded loud and tinny from the speaker.
He lifted to an elbow and glanced at the clock, blinking 9:03 in red numbers. “Yes, ma’am. What’s going on?” His mind started to clear from the sleep. “If I’d known you were going to call this early, I wouldn’t have stayed up partying so late.”
“Sorry to get you up. But you did make me promise to call if something came up.”
Craig sat up and swung his legs to the side of the bed, wrapping the sheet around him. “I can be downtown in half an hour. Did the NanoWare—”
“This is something different, Craig. A field job.”
Craig’s hopes dropped upon hearing June’s matter of fact tone. What did she have in mind? Asking him to appear before a middle school assembly, speaking about his career as a G-man? “I’m listening.”