Chapter 9

“So, how is Chapman doing?” Faber spoke without turning his eyes from the wheel. His mother had taught him the importance making of eye contact when speaking, and the importance of not making it while driving a car.
“Oh, just fine, just fine. He’s all grown up now.” Becky really didn’t know what to say. She was always startled when Faber asked about Chapman. They’d never even seen each other, but Becky had once mentioned that there was a little boy Faber’s age living at the laboratory, and Faber had occassionally asked after him ever since.
“Maybe I can finally meet him when we get to the lab.”
“Uh, huh,” Becky said non-commitally. Fat chance, she thought. She would never allow the two to meet; she’d kept the two apart for the last thirty years; she wasn’t going to introduce them now. Chapman was the last person she’d want to introduce to anyone. She loved him, but he was not a good person to know.

Faber turned the pickup onto the last stretch of empty road and they finally arrived at the laboratory. It was a long, steel building, a huge old Quonset hut. It looked like a gigantic tin can half-buried on its side in the desert, dome-shaped from the front, rectangular from the back. The inside of the building was a sharp contrast to the dusty outside. Skylights in the roof let in a filtered light that, augmented with cunningly arrayed artificial lights, fed and illuminated a maze of ornamental trees and hanging and potted plants. Stepping into the building, one almost had a feeling that one was stepping outside instead of going inside. The carpet was green and the rows and rows of office cubicles almost looked like a Pueblo village. A village abadoned by everyone except a lone security guard. No one worked on this floor. All the operations took place far underground.

The guard greeted Becky and nodded to Faber as they headed toward the elevator. Down five stories. The Quonset hut sat above an old missile silo. It was wonderfully cool and quiet in the laboratory and the linoleum and acid green walls of its Army days had been redecorated; it was now all gleaming white, brushed steel and chrome. Sterile, but in a stylish way. Lights set near the floor washed the walls with a pearly glow.

They headed down a moodily-lit corridor toward Becky’s office. Becky stopped for a moment and picked up a piece of paper from the floor. Faber looked over her shoulder to see what it was. In the barren glamor of the hallway, it was fascinating to see a piece of trash. So out of place, as if it might carry some significance.

They both shrugged when they saw what it was.

“It must have fallen out of Joe’s pocket,” Becky said. Joe was the security guard. “I guess his wife must have sent him shopping.”


“I guess they’ve got a lot of washing to do, Mom.” They chuckled. It was almost humorous, and they needed humor. They were both worried about the source of the blood. That’s what they were there for. Faber crumpled the paper and put it in his pocket. He’s throw it away when he came across a garbage can. It was just a grocery store receipt for three gallons of bleach.