Read Online Strontium-90 by Vaughn Heppner - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Vaughn Heppner
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same delusional shibboleths Doctor Wesley propounded. You’ve never evidenced reluctance before. What’s really troubling you?”
“Fear,” I said.
Her features softened. “I hear the ring of truth in your voice, and for a fact your eyes are bloodshot.” She pursed her lips, and a moment later, she exhaled sharply. “Very well, it is my theory, my machine and it will be my ultimate triumph. Do you know what to do?”
“I believe so, madam.”
She nodded, and I heard no further objections. Shortly, Doctor Miriam Hiram sat in the chair. I turned on the machine. She screamed, a high-pitched wail, and moments later, I held her greenish, whirling soul.
***
After thoroughly quizzing a compliant Doctor Hiram, I learned the disturbing identity of her backers. I understood why they might have wished to photograph souls and wondered if they had realized the possible complications. No. I don’t see how anyone could have known.
I couldn’t get rid of such backers, hide for any length of time from them and found it unlikely that they would listen to my explanation and just let me go. I had to gamble. I had to bring their chief here… and have him sit under the machine.
It would certainly solve my gambling debts.
Thus, I went to work, and I had Doctor Hiram fly to Washington D.C. She phoned three days later.
“Just a moment,” I said. I had been watching the Packers play the Dallas Cowboys, having five hundred big ones riding on the outcome. I went to the drawer where I kept the Doctor’s soul, picking it up. “All right, he agreed?”
“…Yes.”
“When can I—can we expect him?”
“He’s flying back with me.”
“That’s on the fifteenth?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Did he seem impressed with the data ?” I frowned when she didn’t answer, and I squeezed her soul. “Doctor, are you there?”
“He asked if I was feeling well. He… he seemed troubled.”
This was bad news. “Very good, Doctor. Hang up and return home. You sound as if you need rest.” I didn’t like to talk about this via cell phone. Such communications were all too easy to eavesdrop upon.
The fifteenth rapidly approached, and I made certain that my guard worked that day and that Boss Chuikov donned a lab coat, keeping his .38 taped under the console. I sweated this more than any hand of cards I’d ever played. I gambled for high stakes now and dreaded failure.
I had impressed upon Doctor Hiram the need for secrecy, and thus felt queasy that morning when two Lincoln Continentals showed up bearing government plates. Athletic men in black suits, dark glasses and buzz cuts emerged from the parked cars, followed by an older man in a tan suit, together with small Doctor Hiram. The suits surrounded the older man, escorting him toward the building.
I had a wild impulse to run, but that was impossible now. I had to play the hand dealt me.
The entourage entered and Doctor Hiram introduced Chuikov and me as her assistants.
“I thought you only had one assistant,” the older man said. He was bald, but big, a suspicious man with a mashed nose. Long ago had been a tackle for the UCLA Bruins.
“We had trouble with the Montesquieu Refractor,” I said. “It proved to be Mr. Chuikov’s area of expertise.”
At a soft nod from the older man, the suits checked the room and soon gave the all clear.
“Who will be the test subject, Doctor?” I asked.
The older man pointed to one of his bodyguards. I nodded as my insides seethed. I couldn’t see anyway around this. It depressed me, but I had told the Doctor to make sure he came alone. This wasn’t going to be my fault.
The suit sat in the chair as Doctor Hiram assured him of its harmlessness. Then she went to the console, switched it on and the suit screamed horribly, the others whirling around to see why, several of them drawing heavy automatics.
“Now,” I told Chuikov.
Without any emotion, Boss Chuikov ripped his .38 from under the console and shot the surprised
“Fear,” I said.
Her features softened. “I hear the ring of truth in your voice, and for a fact your eyes are bloodshot.” She pursed her lips, and a moment later, she exhaled sharply. “Very well, it is my theory, my machine and it will be my ultimate triumph. Do you know what to do?”
“I believe so, madam.”
She nodded, and I heard no further objections. Shortly, Doctor Miriam Hiram sat in the chair. I turned on the machine. She screamed, a high-pitched wail, and moments later, I held her greenish, whirling soul.
***
After thoroughly quizzing a compliant Doctor Hiram, I learned the disturbing identity of her backers. I understood why they might have wished to photograph souls and wondered if they had realized the possible complications. No. I don’t see how anyone could have known.
I couldn’t get rid of such backers, hide for any length of time from them and found it unlikely that they would listen to my explanation and just let me go. I had to gamble. I had to bring their chief here… and have him sit under the machine.
It would certainly solve my gambling debts.
Thus, I went to work, and I had Doctor Hiram fly to Washington D.C. She phoned three days later.
“Just a moment,” I said. I had been watching the Packers play the Dallas Cowboys, having five hundred big ones riding on the outcome. I went to the drawer where I kept the Doctor’s soul, picking it up. “All right, he agreed?”
“…Yes.”
“When can I—can we expect him?”
“He’s flying back with me.”
“That’s on the fifteenth?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Did he seem impressed with the data ?” I frowned when she didn’t answer, and I squeezed her soul. “Doctor, are you there?”
“He asked if I was feeling well. He… he seemed troubled.”
This was bad news. “Very good, Doctor. Hang up and return home. You sound as if you need rest.” I didn’t like to talk about this via cell phone. Such communications were all too easy to eavesdrop upon.
The fifteenth rapidly approached, and I made certain that my guard worked that day and that Boss Chuikov donned a lab coat, keeping his .38 taped under the console. I sweated this more than any hand of cards I’d ever played. I gambled for high stakes now and dreaded failure.
I had impressed upon Doctor Hiram the need for secrecy, and thus felt queasy that morning when two Lincoln Continentals showed up bearing government plates. Athletic men in black suits, dark glasses and buzz cuts emerged from the parked cars, followed by an older man in a tan suit, together with small Doctor Hiram. The suits surrounded the older man, escorting him toward the building.
I had a wild impulse to run, but that was impossible now. I had to play the hand dealt me.
The entourage entered and Doctor Hiram introduced Chuikov and me as her assistants.
“I thought you only had one assistant,” the older man said. He was bald, but big, a suspicious man with a mashed nose. Long ago had been a tackle for the UCLA Bruins.
“We had trouble with the Montesquieu Refractor,” I said. “It proved to be Mr. Chuikov’s area of expertise.”
At a soft nod from the older man, the suits checked the room and soon gave the all clear.
“Who will be the test subject, Doctor?” I asked.
The older man pointed to one of his bodyguards. I nodded as my insides seethed. I couldn’t see anyway around this. It depressed me, but I had told the Doctor to make sure he came alone. This wasn’t going to be my fault.
The suit sat in the chair as Doctor Hiram assured him of its harmlessness. Then she went to the console, switched it on and the suit screamed horribly, the others whirling around to see why, several of them drawing heavy automatics.
“Now,” I told Chuikov.
Without any emotion, Boss Chuikov ripped his .38 from under the console and shot the surprised
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