The Descent

Shoat  surveyed  them  with  reptilian  coolness.  'I  don't  expect  everyone  here  tonight to  be  with  us  in  the  morning.  You're  free  to  return  home,  of  course.'  In  two  months' time,  on  the  train.  The  expedition  would  have  a  tremendous  head  start  on  any  leaks to the media. He looked at his watch.

'It's late,' he said. 'The expedition departs  at 0600.  That  leaves  only  a  few  hours  for you to sleep on your  choices. That's  enough, though. I'm a firm believer  that each of us comes into this world with our decisions already  made.'

The  lights  came  up.  Ali  blinked.  Everywhere,  people  were  leaning  forward  onto seatbacks,  rubbing  their  hands,  making  calculations.  Faces  were  lit  with  excitement. Thinking  fast,  she  looked  for  Ike's  reaction  to  judge  the  proposition.  But  he  had  left while the lights were  still off.

He who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby become a monster. And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.

– FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE, Beyond Good and Evil

10

DIGITAL SATAN

Health Sciences Center, University of Colorado, Denver

'She  was  caught  in  a  nursing  home  near   Bartlesville,   Oklahoma,'  Dr.  Yamamoto explained to them. Thomas and Vera  Wallach and Foley, the industrialist, followed  the physician  from  her  office.  Branch  came  last,  eyes  protected  by  dark   ski  goggles, sleeves  buttoned at each wrist to hide his burn scars.

'It was one of those homes that give adult children nightmares,'  Dr.  Yamamoto  went on.  She  couldn't  have  been  more  than  twenty-seven.  Her  lab  coat  was  unbuttoned. Underneath it, a T-shirt  read T HE LAKE  CITY  50-M ILE  ENDURANCE  RUN. She  exuded vitality  and  happiness,  Branch  thought.  The  wedding  ring  on  her  finger  looked  only  a few weeks  old.

They  took  an  elevator  up.  A  sign,  supplemented  with  Braille,  listed  the  floors  by specialty.  Primates  occupied  the  basement.  The  upper  floors  were  Psychiatry  and Neurophysiology. They  got  off  on  the  top  floor,  which  bore  no  title,  and  started  down another hallway.

'It  turns  out  the  administrator  at  this  Bartlesville  scam  had  served  time   for  a variety  of  frauds  and  forgeries,'  Dr.  Yamamoto  said.  'He's  back  in,  I  guess.  I  hope.  A real   prince.   His   so-called   facility   advertised   itself   as   specializing   in   Alzheimer's patients. Behind the scenes, he kept  the patients just barely  alive  in  order  to  keep  the Medicare/Medicaid  checks  coming  in.  Bed  restraints,  horrific  conditions.  No  medical personnel whatsoever.  Apparently  our little intruder was able to  hide  there  for  over  a month before a janitor finally noticed.'

The  young doctor halted at a door with a keypad.  'Here we  are,'  she  said,  and  gently entered  the code. Long fingers. A soft, sure touch.

'You play violin,' Thomas guessed.

She  was  delighted.  'Guitar,'  she  confessed.  'Electric.  Bass.  I  have  a  band,  Girl  Talk.

All guys, and me.'

She  held  the  door  for  them.  Immediately,  Branch  sensed  the  change  in  light  and sound.  No  windows  in  here.  No  spill  of  sunbeams.  The  slight  whistle  of  wind  against brick quit. These  walls were  thick.

To  the  right  and  left,  doorways  opened  onto  rooms  orbiting  computer  screens.  A plaque  read  DIGITAL  ADAM  PROJECT,  NATIONAL  LIBRARY  OF  MEDICINE.  Branch  didn't see a single book.

Yamamoto's  voice  adjusted  to  the  new  quiet.  'Lucky  for  us  it  was  the  janitor  who noticed,'  she  continued.  'The  administrator  and  his  gang  of  thieves  would  never  have called  the  police.  To  make  a  long  story  short,  the  cops  came.  They  were  suitably horrified. At first they  were  sure  it  was  animals.  One  of  the  cops  used  to  trap  coyotes and bobcats. He set  out some old rusty  leg traps.'

They  reached  a  set  of  double  doors.  Another  keypad.  Different  numbers,  Branch noticed.  They  entered  in  stages:  first  a  guard,  then  a  scrub  room,  where  Yamamoto helped  them  put  on  disposable  green  gowns  and  surgical  masks  and  double  pairs  of latex  gloves,  then  a  main  room  with  biotechs  at  work  over  test  tubes  and  keyboards. She led them around gleaming banks of equipment and picked up her narrative.

'That night she came back for more. One of the  traps  caught  her  leg.  The  cops  came roaring  in.  She  was  a  complete  surprise.  They  were  not  at  all  prepared.  Barely  four feet  high  and,  even  with  her  tibia  and  fibula  broken  in  half,  she  still  almost  beat  five grown  men.  She  came  very  close  to  escaping,  but  they  got  her.  We  would  have preferred  a live specimen, of course.'

They  came to a door labeled NIPPLES ALERT on a handwritten sheet.

'Nipples?' asked Vera.