Read Online Lethal Exposure by Kevin J. Anderson, Doug Beason - Free Book Online Page B

penitent. “Dr. LeCroix is a bossy woman, Agent Kreident. She seemed so nice when I knew her in the Ukraine.”
    Craig smiled. “Trish doesn’t like to deal with anything unexpected.”
    She made an indignant noise. “Listen, Georg—I’m here to help you, and I’m the best radiation-exposure physician you’re going to get. If you’d like, I can just let you back into the hands of a general practitioner.”
    Dumenco actually chuckled as she herded him into the bed. He pulled the sheet up, but Trish kept his bare arm available. “You’re dehydrated. I’m hooking you up to a saline drip.” She looked at the physicist, then at Craig, placing her hands on her hips. “All right, I’ll leave you two to keep talking—but no more sightseeing!” Moving like a true professional, Trish hurried out of the room to fetch IV supplies and a bag of normal saline.
    The Ukrainian rolled closer to the tray table that separated him from Craig. Someone had set out a small plastic chess set with magnetized pieces; all the chess men lined up in perfect ranks.
    “Let’s have a game while we continue our conversation, kind sir,” Dumenco suggested. Craig noticed that the skin on his forehead was white and scaly. “Do you play?”
    Craig looked down at the pieces as his thoughts spun. The man’s dying, and he wants to play chess ? “Not with any skill,” he said. “I used to goof around with my dad, but don’t expect any championship strategy.”
    Dumenco waved a swollen hand. “I just want to occupy my mind. It will take all of my concentration to keep my thoughts sharp and focused . . . until the very end.”
    The scientist chose white and moved first, picking up the little plastic piece and sliding it across the squares. “For a game like this it seems we should be using a fine onyx and jade set, don’t you think?” Dumenco raised his eyebrows. “After all, I must savor the niceties of life, while I can.”
    Craig moved a pawn. “I don’t suppose the hospital’s game chest has anything like that.”
    Years ago, he had played with his father, more as an excuse to spend time together than through any passion for the game. Craig had never been terribly good at small talk, and the two had needed a catalyst for conversation—especially since Robert Kreident’s life revolved around the football, baseball and hockey teams in the Bay Area. Craig’s interests in science and technology had diverged from his father’s interest in sports, but they could chat about chess moves and occasionally other things as they played.
    Now, though, Craig focused his attention on the Ukrainian’s rambling speech, moving only defensively to counter Dumenco’s pieces.
    “What kind of strategy do you call this?” the physicist said, watching Craig move a bishop to a seemingly pointless position.
    “I told you I didn’t play often,” he answered. He looked at the chesspieces, then at his notes. “Explain to me why you were running experiments on a Sunday, and after dark.”
    Dumenco glanced at the large round clock on the wall. “The hour of day makes no difference underground,” he said. “During an experimental run, the accelerator operates round the clock. Computers record the collisions, sample the daughter particles, and sort out anything worthwhile.” He shook his head. “Maybe I can reach some valuable conclusions before time grows too short . . . if Ms. Mitchell ever gets here with my results.”
    “But you’re dying,” Craig said bluntly; Dumenco didn’t seem to mind. “Do you want to be looking at technical readouts during your last days?”
    “I must!” He said with such vehemence that his reddened hand clenched into a fist. He winced at the pain, then lowered his voice. “My results, my theories are what I leave behind. My family is—” he paused uncomfortably, “. . .not with me, so my work is my legacy. I have cracked open the door to God’s mysteries, and I must make sense of my results to prop open that