The Descent

'Actually,  we  heard  something  was  happening,'  Vera  said.  'We've  come  to  learn everything  possible. If you can spare a few minutes.'

'Of  course  I  can.  Let  me  finish  one  thing.  I  was  about  to  run  through  some  of  the early  stuff.'

'Put me to work,' Vera  insisted.

Grateful,  Mary  Kay  handed  Vera  a  folded  EEG  readout.  'These  are  the  charts  for day  one  of  our  hadal  prep,  almost  a  year  ago.  I've  synched  the  video  to  2:34  P.M., when  they  first  quartered  the  body.  If  you  don't  mind,  track  the  graph  while  they make the cuts. There  should be some  activity  when  the  saw  goes  through.  I'll  tell  you when.'

She tapped a button on her keyboard.  The  frozen image started  playing.  'Okay,'  said

Mary  Kay. 'Ready?  They're  about to sever  the legs. Now.'

It   looked  like  a  butcher's   bandsaw   on   screen.   Workers   manipulated   the   long rectangle  of  blue  gel  sideways.  Two  of  them  lifted  away  a  section  after  it  passed through the saw.

'Nothing,' Vera  said. 'No response on the chart. Flat.'

'Here goes the head section. Anything?'

'No response. Not a bump,' said Vera.

'Just what is it we're  supposed to be looking for?' Parsifal asked.

'Activity.  A pain response. Anything.'

'Mary  Kay,' said Vera,  'why are you looking for life signs in a dead hadal?'

The  physician looked helplessly at  Vera.  'We're  considering  certain  possibilities,'  she said, and it was clear the possibilities were  unorthodox.

She  ushered  them  down  the  wing,  talking  as  they  went.  'Over  the  past  fifty-two weeks,  our  computer-anatomy  division  has  been  sectioning  a  hadal  specimen   for general  study.  The  project  leader  was  Dr.  Yamamoto,  a  noted  pathologist.  She  was working alone in the lab on Sunday morning when this happened.'

They  entered  a  large  room  that  reeked  of  chemicals  and  dead  tissue.  Rau's  first impression  was  that  a  bomb  had  exploded.  Big  machines  lay  tipped  on  their  sides. Wires  had  been  pulled  from  ceiling  panels.  Long  strips  of  industrial  carpet  lay  ripped from the floor. Crime scene people and scientists alike wanted answers  from  what  was left.

'A  security  guard  found  Dr.  Yamamoto  crouching  in  the  far  corner.  He  called  for help.  That  was  his  last  radio  dispatch.  We  located  him  hanging  from  the  pipes  above the  ceiling.  His  esophagus  was  torn  out.  By  hand.  Yammie  was  lying  in  the  corner. Naked. Bleeding. Unresponsive.'

'What happened?'

'At  first   we   thought   someone  had  broken   in  to  either   burgle   or  sabotage   the premises,  and  that  Lindsey  had  been  assaulted.  But  as  you  can  see,  there  are  no windows,  and  only  the   one  door.  The   door  wasn't   tampered   with,  which  raised concerns that some hadals might have  climbed  through  the  vent  system  with  the  aim of  destroying  our  database.  We  were  studying  hadal  anatomy,  after  all.  The  project was  underwritten  with  DoD  grants.  Arms  makers  have  been  clamoring  for  our  tissue information to refine their weapons and ammunition.'

'Where's  Branch  when  we  need  him?'  Rau  said.  'I've  never  heard  of  hadals  doing such a thing. An attack  like this, it implies such sophistication.'

'Anyway,  that's what we thought at first,' Mary  Kay  continued. 'You  can  imagine  the uproar.  The  police  came.  We  started  to  transport  Yammie  on  a  gurney.  Then  she regained consciousness and escaped.'

'Escaped?' said Parsifal. 'She was still frightened of the intruder?'

'It was terrible.  She  was  wrecking  machines.  She  slashed  two  guards  with  a  scalpel. They  finally  shot  her  with  a  dart  gun.  Like  a  wild  animal.  That's  when  she  lost  the child.'

'Child?' Vera  asked.

'Yammie  was  seven  months  pregnant.  The  sedative   or  stress   or  activity...   she miscarried.'

'How dreadful.'

They  reached  an  eight-foot-long  autopsy  table.  Vera  had  seen  the  human  body insulted  in  a  hundred  different  ways,  shattered  by  trauma,  wasted  with  disease  and famine.  But  she  was  unprepared  for  the  slight  young  woman  with  Japanese  features who lay stretched  out, covered  with blankets, her head a Medusa-like  riot of  electrode patches  and  wires.  It  looked  like  a  torture  in  progress.  Her  hands  and  feet  had  been tied down with a makeshift arrangement  of  towels,  rubber  tubing,  and  duct  tape.  The autopsy table's usual occupants did not require  such restraints.

'Finally,  one  of  the  detectives  sorted  out  the  fingerprints  and  identified  our  culprit,'

said Mary  Kay. 'Yammie did it.'

'Did what?' murmured Vera.

'You mean it was her?' said Rau. 'Dr. Yamamoto killed the guard?'

'Yes. His throat tissue was under her nails.'

'This woman?' Parsifal snorted. 'But those machines must weigh a ton each.' To one side, Thomas's face was shadowed with dark thoughts.