Read Online J.M. Dillard - War of Worlds: The Resurrection by J. M. Dillard - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: J. M. Dillard
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compatible atmospheres."
"But it's ridiculously random—" Harrison shrugged. "It would allow us to narrow our search from billions of possibilities to, oh, maybe only a few hundred thousand."
She stood up, frustrated that he would toy with her this way, furious that she had quite obviously been misled, that neither Jacobi nor Blackwood had been honest with her about the nature of the project. "Doctor Blackwood," she said, struggling to keep her tone cool and professional, "you and I both know that I wasn't hired to daydream. If you refuse to tell me why I've been hired, then I must assume that it was to do biowarfare research, in which case I am going straight to Dr. Jacobi's office to resign. I made it quite clear from the start that I will not participate in research of that nature—"
Harrison sat forward and sighed, his expression and tone of voice all seriousness. "I'm sorry, Suzanne." He gestured at her chair. "Please sit. I'll level with you."
She folded her arms and sat. He looked down at his hands and fidgeted uncomfortably under her steady gaze. "We haven't deceived you, Suzanne. If I've put off telling you about the project, it's because I wanted you to feel at home before we discussed it. The nature of the project has nothing to do with biowarfare—but it's not exactly a pleasant topic of conversation, either." He looked up at her and hesitated.
"I'd like you to analyze some . . . blood and tissue samples. A thorough analysis." She started to speak, but he raised his hand. "Before you protest—I'm afraid I lied about your resume. I remember it very well. Just trying to get you to talk about yourself a little. I know you were a certified medical technician, that you worked as one while getting your graduate degrees. I also know you minored in anatomy as an undergrad. You're qualified—more qualified than anyone else who applied for this job—who could apply for this job. That's why I asked Ephram to hire you."
He was complimenting her to try to soften the blow. Good God, what was so horrible about this job that he couldn't even bring himself to tell her what it was?
"That's very flattering," she replied evenly, "but I still don't understand. An analysis of what sort of blood? Human? A specific individual's?"
He watched her carefully. "I've gotten hold of a sample of alien blood and tissue samples from 1953. A thorough analysis was never done. Not to mention that with the tools and techniques available to us now, our analysis can be much more exhaustive."
She stared at him for a while before finding her voice. No one had ever spoken to her about the alien invasion in years . . . since she was a girl back in Iowa. Her parents had shielded her as best they could from any real information about it, but there was no restraining a child's imagination. It didn't matter how many times her mother told her it was all over, they were all dead, they weren't ever going to come to Iowa. Suzanne used to lie shivering under the covers at night, expecting them to come for her the way they did for Uncle Matthew.
She'd never even been able to talk to Deb about it. After all, what was the point in frightening the child over something that could never happen again? Even now adults almost never spoke about it if the subject could be avoided. It had been briefly discussed in one or two of her college classes with that peculiar dread otherwise reserved for nuclear annihilation. Always, always with the qualification that Earth's microbial life was too deadly for the aliens, and there was no chance of their return.
"I—I thought," she stammered, "that all that had been done before. That they had been analyzed to death. From a scientific standpoint, there's not much point in rehashing that again."
"No," Harrison answered, still looking hard at her. "Any samples PIT had were destroyed by looters when people were evacuating the West Coast. And as soon as the invasion was over, the government confiscated any samples researchers
"But it's ridiculously random—" Harrison shrugged. "It would allow us to narrow our search from billions of possibilities to, oh, maybe only a few hundred thousand."
She stood up, frustrated that he would toy with her this way, furious that she had quite obviously been misled, that neither Jacobi nor Blackwood had been honest with her about the nature of the project. "Doctor Blackwood," she said, struggling to keep her tone cool and professional, "you and I both know that I wasn't hired to daydream. If you refuse to tell me why I've been hired, then I must assume that it was to do biowarfare research, in which case I am going straight to Dr. Jacobi's office to resign. I made it quite clear from the start that I will not participate in research of that nature—"
Harrison sat forward and sighed, his expression and tone of voice all seriousness. "I'm sorry, Suzanne." He gestured at her chair. "Please sit. I'll level with you."
She folded her arms and sat. He looked down at his hands and fidgeted uncomfortably under her steady gaze. "We haven't deceived you, Suzanne. If I've put off telling you about the project, it's because I wanted you to feel at home before we discussed it. The nature of the project has nothing to do with biowarfare—but it's not exactly a pleasant topic of conversation, either." He looked up at her and hesitated.
"I'd like you to analyze some . . . blood and tissue samples. A thorough analysis." She started to speak, but he raised his hand. "Before you protest—I'm afraid I lied about your resume. I remember it very well. Just trying to get you to talk about yourself a little. I know you were a certified medical technician, that you worked as one while getting your graduate degrees. I also know you minored in anatomy as an undergrad. You're qualified—more qualified than anyone else who applied for this job—who could apply for this job. That's why I asked Ephram to hire you."
He was complimenting her to try to soften the blow. Good God, what was so horrible about this job that he couldn't even bring himself to tell her what it was?
"That's very flattering," she replied evenly, "but I still don't understand. An analysis of what sort of blood? Human? A specific individual's?"
He watched her carefully. "I've gotten hold of a sample of alien blood and tissue samples from 1953. A thorough analysis was never done. Not to mention that with the tools and techniques available to us now, our analysis can be much more exhaustive."
She stared at him for a while before finding her voice. No one had ever spoken to her about the alien invasion in years . . . since she was a girl back in Iowa. Her parents had shielded her as best they could from any real information about it, but there was no restraining a child's imagination. It didn't matter how many times her mother told her it was all over, they were all dead, they weren't ever going to come to Iowa. Suzanne used to lie shivering under the covers at night, expecting them to come for her the way they did for Uncle Matthew.
She'd never even been able to talk to Deb about it. After all, what was the point in frightening the child over something that could never happen again? Even now adults almost never spoke about it if the subject could be avoided. It had been briefly discussed in one or two of her college classes with that peculiar dread otherwise reserved for nuclear annihilation. Always, always with the qualification that Earth's microbial life was too deadly for the aliens, and there was no chance of their return.
"I—I thought," she stammered, "that all that had been done before. That they had been analyzed to death. From a scientific standpoint, there's not much point in rehashing that again."
"No," Harrison answered, still looking hard at her. "Any samples PIT had were destroyed by looters when people were evacuating the West Coast. And as soon as the invasion was over, the government confiscated any samples researchers
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