PROLOGUE
Maddening, that’s what it was.
He simply couldn’t keep them under his gaze. His hands turned the knobs on the microscope as diligently and carefully as he’d been trained, but as soon as he had them under his eyes… they vanished again.
“I swear,” he muttered. “It’s not possible.”
From the other end of the room, David looked up. He narrowed his eyes, hidden behind thick safety glasses. “Careful with that, Will.”
“Yeah, thanks.” Will tore his eyes free and turned to his notepad, scribbling something down — Definite change. “How thorough does this have to be?”
David shrugged. “As usual.”
“I don’t exactly have the resources to get it done as usual.” Will looked through the microscope again. “Jesus. It’s impossible.”
“You keep saying that. Just write down impossible.”
“You serious? They’d tar and feather me, for God’s sake.” He sighed. “That word’s worse than taboo here.”
He adjusted the left hand knob and the lens slid to the right; he adjusted the right one and it slid downwards. With a curse whispered under his breath, he adjusted both at the same time, and it zoomed out.
“I’m starting over,” he said.
David didn’t even look up, this time. “Your funeral.”
He continued to adjust the knobs as needed. It was interesting — what made the cells so difficult to work with also made them… oddly hypnotic to look at. They were moving, he knew. But from afar… it looked like they were one solid whole — pulsating. Beating. Breathing.
From the corner of his eye, he noticed a red light turn on. It started blinking.
“David.”
“Mhm?”
“Management’s calling.” Will gestured hap-hazardly towards the light without looking up.
David groaned and stood, walking across the room. Will continued his work.
Yes, it was consuming to watch. But… the more he zoomed, the less magical it seemed. The cells were just excited, that was all. They were moving and jumping around. But nothing mystical was happening here. Biology was working as intended; it just wasn’t a biology he was entirely familiar with. Yet.
“Will.”
One moved slower than the rest. Forgetting to breathe, he worked his microscope like a surgeon would a scalpel and followed it on its path. It was… growing. The cell was growing.
Now that was strange. How was matter… just… appearing?
“Will,” David said again. His voice had gotten very quiet.
“Mm?”
“It’s not management.”
“Whoever it is, handle it for a second,” Will muttered under his breath. “I think I might have…”
The cell was gone.
Will raised an eyebrow. Had he missed it? He hadn’t looked away, not for a moment.
“Seriously,” David said.
The knobs flew and spun under his fingers. He scoured the area, his gaze flying across the pane, but… it was just gone. “Will, something’s wrong.”
“For God’s sake, Dave,” Will said, spinning around. “I might actually have found…”
His breath caught in his throat.
“See?” David said.
Will’s hands abandoned the microscope. He joined his colleague at the terminal where he stood, hands hanging loosely at his side.
“What’s happening?”
“I don’t know,” David said. “But look at that. Nine-point-three. That’s… that’s got to be wrong, right?”
Will’s eyes settled on the Kant counter. It was funny — on a table with such advanced technology, with sensors and buttons and knobs most people could only gawk at, that counter was oddly mundane. A little dial whose needle barely ever moved, and just sat there, staring. Although now… now, it had moved.
“The anchor gives false readings, sometimes,” Will said. Does it? “I’ll run a diagnostic.”
“Okay.”
“Meanwhile, tell Alan. Have him go grab Lammiel, if he’s still awake.”
“Sure.” David turned to leave, then hesitated. “You sure you don’t want to re-run it? Make sure it’s not actually… telling the truth?”
“And displaying nine-point-three Humes? Below half-norm? Come on. Let’s not waste our time.”
“I don’t know,” David said. He turned to leave. “I’d do it. It’s on your head, if you don’t.”
The door to the lab closed softly behind him.
Damn the man. He was right. Not that a re-run of the counter was needed — but, if it was, and he was the man who hadn’t done it, then… It was better if he did, just in case. His fingers flew over the control terminal. He’d done this a hundred times. Sort of.
His stomach grumbled a little. Was he hungry? He’d just eaten.
After a little while, he stood back, his fingers leaving the keyboard. A little screen staring at him from the corner of the terminal finally showed the words:
| INIT- diag_irrC0. INIT- run_irrC0.
Messages flew up on the screen, too fast for him to read. From behind his glasses, his eyes widened. His mouth fell open, and his veins turned to ice.
Well, he was right. It wasn’t displaying a nine-point-three anymore.
The door opened behind him.
“Alan says Lammiel transferred to 02 last night,” David said. “Did you know that? Figures. I had him fetch the others, though. He…” David reached his side. “What is it?”
“Dial’s broken,” Will said.
“You ran the diagnostic?” David squinted at the computer screen. “It doesn’t say it’s done yet.”
“Negative zero-point-two,” Will said.
David paused. “There aren’t any negative numbers on the dial.”
“It’s broken,” Will mumbled. “Tell Management. Tell god. What’s ?”
“I don’t said at his hands. “I
feel…”
Will tried his hands, too.
weren’t there. — suddenly, there .
“The mumbled. anomalous
others.”
not the time.”
“Something —
