Read Online Authority by Jeff VanderMeer - Free Book Online Page A

to have something
     to say. He didn’t tell the Voice that some of the scientists had used the words environmental boon to describe Area X, with a disturbing and demoralizing subtext of “Should we be fighting
     this?” It was “pristine wilderness,” after all, human-made toxins now absent.
    “GODDAMMIT!” the Voice screamed near the end of Control’s science report, interrupting
     the Voice’s own persistent mutter in the background … and Control held the cell phone
     away from his ear for a moment, unsure of what had set that off, until he heard, “Sorry.
     I spilled coffee on myself. Continue.” Coffee somewhat spoiled the image of the megalodon
     in Control’s head, and it took him a moment to pick up the thread.
    When he was done, the Voice just dove forward, as if they were starting over: “What
     is your mental state at this moment? Is your house in order? What do you think it
     will take?”
    Which question to answer? “Optimistic? But until they have more direction, structure,
     and resources, I won’t know.”
    “What is your impression of the prior director?”
    A hoarder. An eccentric. An enigma. “It’s a complicated situation here and only my
     first full da—”
    “WHAT IS YOUR IMPRESSION OF THE PRIOR DIRECTOR?” A howl of a shout, as if the gravel
     had been lifted up into a storm raining down.
    Control felt his heart rate increase. He’d had bosses before who had anger-management
     issues, and the fact that this one was on the other end of a cell phone didn’t make
     it any better.
    It all spilled out, his nascent opinions. “She had lost all perspective. She had lost
     the thread. Her methods were eccentric toward the end, and it will take a while to
     unravel—”
    “ENOUGH!”
    “But, I—”
    “Don’t disparage the dead.” This time a pebbled whisper. Even with the filter, a sense
     of mourning came through, or perhaps Control was just projecting.
    “Yes, sorry, it’s just that—”
    “Next time,” the Voice said, “I expect you to have something more interesting to tell
     me. Something I don’t know. Ask the assistant director about the biologist. For example.
     The director’s plan for the biologist.”
    “Yes, that makes sense,” Control agreed, but really just hoping to get off the line
     soon. Then a thought occurred. “Oh—speaking of the assistant director…” He outlined
     the issue that morning with sending the anthropologist and surveyor away, the problem
     of Grace seeming to have contacts at Central that could cause trouble.
    The Voice said, “I’ll look into it. I’ll handle it,” and then launched into something
     that sounded prerecorded because it was faintly repetitious: “And remember, I am always
     watching. So really think about what it might be that I don’t know.”
    Click.
    *   *   *
    One thing the scientists told him had been useful and unexpected, but he hadn’t told
     the Voice because it seemed to qualify as Common Secret Knowledge.
    In trying to redirect away from the failed white rabbits experiment, Control had asked
     for their current theories about the border, no matter how outrageous.
    Cheney had coughed once or twice, looked around, and then spoken up. “I wish I could
     be more definite about this, but, you know, we argue about it a lot, because there
     are so many unknowns … but, well, I personally don’t believe that the border necessarily
     comes from the same source as whatever is transforming Area X.”
    “What?”
    Cheney grimaced. “A common response, I don’t blame you. But what I mean is—there’s
     no evidence that the … presence … in Area X also generated the border.”
    “I understood that, but…”
    Davidson had spoken up then: “We haven’t been able to test the border in the same
     way as the samples taken from inside Area X. But we have been able to take readings,
     and without boring you with the data, the border is different enough in composition
     to support that theory. It