Read Online EXOSKELETON II: Tympanum by Shane Stadler - Free Book Online
Authors: Shane Stadler
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levels of the intelligence pyramid. Horace was on the top of that pyramid.
“Now, the reason why you are all here,” Thackett said, directing his words to Daniel and Sylvia. “As you know, it’s highly unusual – forbidden – for Omnis to ever meet each other. And, more so, to meet Horace, or to even know that he exists.”
Daniel set his coffee mug on the table and leaned toward Thackett.
Thackett, sensing Daniel’s anxiety, raised a finger to him and then nodded back to Horace.
“My brain is nearly 100 years old,” Horace explained, the corners of his mouth turning up slightly in either a grin, or a wince. “It has made associations that depended on decades of experience and vast knowledge. Revealing these connections has been of great benefit to the intelligence community, national defense, and so on.”
Horace halted and reached again for his coffee cup. Daniel could tell that, like himself, the old man didn’t want to divulge information. It wasn’t natural.
“Please, tell them, Horace,” Thackett prodded in a gentle voice.
Daniel twisted in his seat, laced his fingers together and tightened them until they hurt.
“You see,” Horace finally continued, “I’ve recently made the most disturbing connection. And your reassigned projects reflect this.”
Daniel glanced down at his white knuckles and released them.
“Omnis’ projects are usually focused on events of the past – mostly the far past,” Horace said and looked at Daniel and then to Sylvia. “Your current projects both have origins in the far past, but they’re linked to events of the present, and are connected to each other.”
“Are they important enough to bring us together like this?” Daniel asked spontaneously. His face heated as he flushed with embarrassment for blurting out the question.
Horace answered without hesitation. “There are existential implications.”
13
Friday, 8 May (7:15 a.m. CST – Chicago)
The final meeting started with a debriefing that seemed more like an interrogation. The room layout reflected the same, as did the stench of years of cigarette residue infused into the scant furniture. Until now, Will had been pleased with his treatment by the FBI. He turned his gaze back to the older man sitting across the table from him, the fluorescent light glinting off his hairless head.
“I’m not saying you’re lying, Dr. Thompson,” Agent Hank Fordham explained as he twisted a tuft of his thick gray mustache between his thumb and forefinger. “It’s just that all of these things can be described by less uh … magical … means.”
Will flinched. Magical? What were they trying to do – make him look crazy? He squirmed in his seat as the prickly sensation of annoyance tingled in his fingertips. The man was supposed to have been briefed on what had actually happened to him – the actual transformation . He’d supposedly seen all of the information – written, audio, and video. Will had been under the impression that the FBI believed his account of events; it was the reason they had trained him for relocation. It seemed now that they were trying to debunk his story.
“Then explain how thousands of flies can spontaneously ignite into flames in midflight,” Will argued, referring to one of the more spectacular events that had occurred during his treatment. “You have that on video .”
Fordham opened his mouth to respond, but instead he sighed, opened a thick manila folder, and flicked through its contents. He slid out a document and quickly scanned it with his eyes. “Here we go,” he said. “The burning of the flies, and hornets, was caused by an electrical discharge. Says here it was attributed to a problem with the wiring of the equipment.”
Will recalled no electrical arcs during those events, but he made a quick estimate of the voltage required to produce a discharge that spanned the distances involved – up to a few feet.
“It’s preposterous.” Will said.
“Now, the reason why you are all here,” Thackett said, directing his words to Daniel and Sylvia. “As you know, it’s highly unusual – forbidden – for Omnis to ever meet each other. And, more so, to meet Horace, or to even know that he exists.”
Daniel set his coffee mug on the table and leaned toward Thackett.
Thackett, sensing Daniel’s anxiety, raised a finger to him and then nodded back to Horace.
“My brain is nearly 100 years old,” Horace explained, the corners of his mouth turning up slightly in either a grin, or a wince. “It has made associations that depended on decades of experience and vast knowledge. Revealing these connections has been of great benefit to the intelligence community, national defense, and so on.”
Horace halted and reached again for his coffee cup. Daniel could tell that, like himself, the old man didn’t want to divulge information. It wasn’t natural.
“Please, tell them, Horace,” Thackett prodded in a gentle voice.
Daniel twisted in his seat, laced his fingers together and tightened them until they hurt.
“You see,” Horace finally continued, “I’ve recently made the most disturbing connection. And your reassigned projects reflect this.”
Daniel glanced down at his white knuckles and released them.
“Omnis’ projects are usually focused on events of the past – mostly the far past,” Horace said and looked at Daniel and then to Sylvia. “Your current projects both have origins in the far past, but they’re linked to events of the present, and are connected to each other.”
“Are they important enough to bring us together like this?” Daniel asked spontaneously. His face heated as he flushed with embarrassment for blurting out the question.
Horace answered without hesitation. “There are existential implications.”
13
Friday, 8 May (7:15 a.m. CST – Chicago)
The final meeting started with a debriefing that seemed more like an interrogation. The room layout reflected the same, as did the stench of years of cigarette residue infused into the scant furniture. Until now, Will had been pleased with his treatment by the FBI. He turned his gaze back to the older man sitting across the table from him, the fluorescent light glinting off his hairless head.
“I’m not saying you’re lying, Dr. Thompson,” Agent Hank Fordham explained as he twisted a tuft of his thick gray mustache between his thumb and forefinger. “It’s just that all of these things can be described by less uh … magical … means.”
Will flinched. Magical? What were they trying to do – make him look crazy? He squirmed in his seat as the prickly sensation of annoyance tingled in his fingertips. The man was supposed to have been briefed on what had actually happened to him – the actual transformation . He’d supposedly seen all of the information – written, audio, and video. Will had been under the impression that the FBI believed his account of events; it was the reason they had trained him for relocation. It seemed now that they were trying to debunk his story.
“Then explain how thousands of flies can spontaneously ignite into flames in midflight,” Will argued, referring to one of the more spectacular events that had occurred during his treatment. “You have that on video .”
Fordham opened his mouth to respond, but instead he sighed, opened a thick manila folder, and flicked through its contents. He slid out a document and quickly scanned it with his eyes. “Here we go,” he said. “The burning of the flies, and hornets, was caused by an electrical discharge. Says here it was attributed to a problem with the wiring of the equipment.”
Will recalled no electrical arcs during those events, but he made a quick estimate of the voltage required to produce a discharge that spanned the distances involved – up to a few feet.
“It’s preposterous.” Will said.
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