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CANIDITY

A serial story by Colin Leighton

CHAPTER ONE

[the day before]

Wiser men than I have written that one ought not to judge a book by its cover, or to gage an individual's value entirely by one's first impression of them. Now I don't mean to say exactly that the first impression has no value, in fact the opposite is true - to say it is not so would be naïve, this is after all why one puts on one's best suit and blazer when going to a job interview; it is also why one, in the same situation, would make certain to arrive on time. In our ever-restless, impatient modern world, with a demand for instant satisfaction, the first impression means everything, regardless of whether it is in fact the correct supposition.

What is written less often is another truth, one the wise are more hesitant to share: even after you get to know someone, or something, what you believe to be true of them - that learned after the first impression, the books contents, as it may be - may in itself be just as false as the first impression, if not more so. How many husbands and wives have discovered one unlucky day that their spouse has another life, or a past, of which they have no comprehension; the unfortunate spouse suddenly arrives at the conclusion that they have no idea who the person they have married, or are in love with, really is? This is only one possible example of a condition experienced by millions of members of the human race. If of the right volume, it can knock the air out of you and disillusion you to the point you know not what to believe, who to trust, or what is real.

Conversely, if you are a dreamer, the kind of individual given to eccentrics and fantasies, such a revelation can become your saving grace.

"Jürgen Wolf?"

I looked up from my desk, where I had been revising a report on ERT's latest findings relating to study of whether the DNA of certain varieties of starfish, which were capable of regrowing lost limbs, could be manipulated to accomplish the same kind of regrowth on amputee humans. The report was typed, had been revised and proofread three times, and I was now rereading it for the final time, after which it would be sent to my supervisor for approval.

Instead, I was interrupted by a curt but polite female voice, followed by the rap of a fist on the door of my office. "Come in," I said. I hit save and minimized the document, to be returned to after the visitor had departed.

The young woman who entered was thin, fashionable, and African-American, and by her dress I could determine that she was probably the secretary or personal assistant of one of ERT's research scientists or doctors. Unlike some of the lower-ranked employees, she did not have a name-tag on her lapel.

I put my hands behind my head and leaned back in my chair, curious why one of the scientists would want something to do with me - why else would this woman be here except that I was being contacted by one of them? Probably it was just that someone had an issue with one of my reports. But why didn't they contact me via email?

"How can I help you Miss....?" I tried to look respectable.

The arched eyebrow showed me I had failed "Lynde." She did not give a first name. "I am the personal assistant of Dr Rolf Scharnhorst. Do you know him?"

"I know of him. I have not had the pleasure of speaking with him in person."

Scharnhorst, a young scientist of German origin who had got his PhD at Oxford and then, inexplicitly, came to America to work for ERT, had appeared in my reports a few times, not many. I had never spoken with him.

Miss Lynde looked less impressed than ever. "Dr Scharnhorst would like to meet with you to discuss a possible promotion - that is to say, you are being considered for transfer to a different section of this facility." By her expression I could tell she did not think me an appropriate choice, but was deferring to her employer. "It would be a very fine choice for your career."

My curiosity perked. I've been feeling out of place at this job for some time, maybe this could be a way out? Or at least something more exciting. "I'd be pleased to meet with Dr Scharnhorst," I told her, trying not to sound too eager. I grabbed my desk calendar and did a quick eye-scan of it. "Let me know what time he'd like to meet me and I'll fit him into my-"

"Tomorrow morning, 7am sharp," Miss Lynde interrupted me unsympathetically. "Be in your office at that hour; I will come to you, and take you to my employer. You should know better than to try finding his lab without me; you do not have the clearance."

This meeting had all the sound of espionage and company secrets, and while it was probably nothing - maybe he wanted me to write a report on one of his latest studies, although truly I didn't know what his particular area of focus was - it was still nonetheless more exciting than writing and editing ordinary reports and press releases. "I'll be there," I said.

"Good. Know that if you miss this appointment there will not be chance for a second." She did not give me time to answer. I remained thoughtful for a few moments after my office door clicked, then sighed, pulled up the starfish report, and went back to reading.

******************************************************

[day one]

True to her word, Miss Lynde arrived at my office at approximately 7am the following morning. I myself had already been there fifteen minutes, forcing myself to use the time polishing one of the stories from my "in-progress" folder, an area in my personal files designated for fiction stories which were entirely drafted but not quite ready to be queried to literary journals. I hoped my formal attire did not appear too presumptuous, but if Miss Lynde had comment on it, she did not share. "Dr Scharnhorst will meet you in his personal lab. Please follow me."

As we walked she continued to lecture me on all the things I must not do. "Do not share details of this meeting with any of your coworkers, or with your supervisor. Dr Scharnhorst is interested in you, among other reasons, because you are known for confidentiality. In this profession people who can keep their mouths closed when told to are a rare commodity. I hope we were not wrong in believing you to be one of them." The glance over her shoulder was proof enough that she, at least, remained unconvinced.

As yet the offices, lobbies, hallways we were passing through were not unfamiliar to me, yet I found myself looking about, as if expecting to find others studying me suspiciously, wondering what I was up to with this woman, but the other ERT employees went about their various occupations mostly oblivious to us. "I assure you my intentions are in no way dangerous to you," I said.

"One can never be too certain," replied Miss Lynde. We had arrived in front of one of the many lift systems found within the vast ERT complex. Only once we were within the lift, travelling upwards, did she continue: "Do to the importance of this facility's research, it is standard protocol that on the first occasion a new individual is allowed access to it, he or she must submit to being blindfolded." She removed a long silk handkerchief from her pocket. "This is merely a precaution, and is no way meant to be imply suspicion directly at you. I wore a blindfold on the first time I entered the interior of these labs."

The elevator stopped. I could not see on which floor, as she stood in the way. "Do you agree to this, Mr Wolf?"

It was all very cloak and dagger - what did they have hidden back there, anyway? I was no outsider to the goings on within ERT; I had written reports or articles or press releases on plenty of them. It was possible that Miss Lynde was merely a stickler for security, which in a scientific research centre is a commendable attribute, but still. I was starting to think there had to be something more to this, perhaps an aspect of their research I was not currently aware of.

Miss Lynde's expression was expectant. "Yes," I replied quickly. If nothing else, this was at least interesting_._ "Go ahead."

I stood quietly while she put the blindfold on me. "I will hold your wrist to direct you in the correct direction," she told me as she tied a knot. "Follow my voice, as well."

The lift dinged as we got off it. I felt a smooth surface beneath my feet - tile - was I at the entrance of one of the labs? "Follow me," Miss Lynde said, grabbing my wrist, and starting down what I assumed was a hall, away from the lift. We had gone only a short way before we made what I believed to be a left, then another left, then a right, and then apparently through a large room, in which we had to weave around a few unknown obstacles. I was still uncertain of where exactly we were; none of the areas had the sterile, disinfectant scent of laboratories, yet neither did they have the carpeted floors and inky smell of offices. If Miss Lynde was intending to confuse me, she had definitely succeeded.

This only increased when we entered another lift.

"I'm going to let go of you," she said after we had entered it, followed by the sounds of several buttons being pressed.

"This complex only has six stories and we have to be on the fourth or fifth, at least," I started to say.

The words dyed on my lips as we began to drop. In confusion I turned my head vaguely in the direction in which I supposed Miss Lynde was standing. Now my conviction that I was about to learn about some new aspect or area of research seemed confirmed; only if ERT were on the verge of a new discovery, or on the verge of releasing the established or confirmed results of a new experiment or scientific breakthrough, would they go to such lengths to prevent anyone from finding the lab, or whatever it was. It was not at all unusual that only certain people would have clearance to the labs, but once an individual had got it there was no need for secrecy. I, on the other hand, was being smuggled in with all the distrust of a warlord allowing a foreigner into his hidden fortress.

Rather than frighten or discourage me, these aspects were in fact uplifting. If ERT had a new project they wished to disclose, and they were choosing me from among all their staff or press writers, from among all those in their public relations department, from among all charged with the turning of a scientist's erratic shorthand scribbling into a report other research facilities, think tanks, or universities could make sense of and use, it could mean a major shift in career for me, and such a possibility I welcomed whole-heartedly.

I expected the lift to stop after two or three floors.

Instead, it went down, I thought, at least five or six. Farther down, if I was guessing right, than ERT -officially- had floors.

Where was I?

The characteristic ding of the lift doors resounded once again.

"Follow me," said Miss Lynde, curt and emotionless as ever.

Around me I could here, though muffled, the voices of an indiscriminate number of people; scientists and lab researchers, presumably, some far, some near. There were other noises too, though mostly of a nature I, unfamiliar with laboratories, could not discern the source of - I could make out the whirl of ceiling fans, and the clatter, far off, of some metallic object being dropped onto a tray, and farther off still, faint strains of music. There were uncertain smells too: disinfectant and curiously, air freshener. Miss Lynde walked briskly, leading me behind her like a child being led to kindergarten. Several voices greeted her with a polite "Good morning, Susan," to which she replied cordially, but without much emotion to it. No one spoke a word to me, but I could feel their eyes on me nonetheless, and even though having a blindfolded person led through the lab was probably not so very rare, I still felt conspicuous and out of place. Nonetheless - this was an opportunity I could not let pass. Was there a part of me that already began to suspect that something about this place, this secret branch of ERT that I, and most of ERT's other employees, and almost certainly the public, was a little off?

There was almost a feel of the secret government research compounds you hear about in movies; in which the scientists are found to be growing super-soldiers or communicating with aliens. No scientific research facility can be 100 per cent open with the public, but - I was a little nervous. I had began to perspire, against my will, and continued to try memorising the twists and turns as we moved down halls and through open spaces.

Presently the floor beneath our feet softened into some kind of carpet, signalling that we were entering an office area. Somewhere nearby a radio was playing angry punk rock music. Miss Lynde let go of my hands, and I felt her begin to remove the blindfold.

When the cloth was removed I blinked several times, readjusting to the light. I was standing in what appeared to be a common area surrounded by several offices, all with plain white walls, some of which had windows to the common area. Next to me were several cafeteria tables, and the wall nearest me held a kitchenette, presumably this was the place in which some of the scientists stationed her came for lunch. Aside from myself and Miss Lynde, it was abandoned. "Just a moment, please" she told me, walking to one of the doors, which I saw was marked DR ROLF SCHARNHORST. She knocked once, then went in without awaiting a response.

In the brief moment that followed I surveyed the room as quickly as possible, alert for possible signs of bizarre experiments and mad scientists, but truly this room seemed only used for eating and for employee relaxation - there was a ping-pong table at the end of it, and a few comfy armchairs. Vaguely disappointed (but what had I been expecting to find?), I looked up at the sound of the office door opening. "Dr Scharnhorst will see you now."

As I stepped through the door I was met with the breeze of a large fan, which was rotating back and forth from its place on the side of Dr Scharnhorst's desk, and the scent of some kind of houseplant - there were several of these, palm-like plants reposing in pots in select corners of the office. To one end of the room was the desk itself, a very long creation of dark hardwood, the surface of which was covered with a disarray of varied papers, notebooks, and assorted pens, pencils, paperclips, and clipboards, along with two large Macs and two keyboards. The wall behind the desk held a long hardwood bookcase, filled almost floor-to-ceiling with a multiplicity of volumes, mostly on scientific, specifically biological, topics, from what I could tell. Other walls of the office, all of which were panelled in darkwood, featured a variety of art prints or photos, mostly of wildlife or outdoor settings known or native to the Pacific northwest. In the back left corner was a closed door, that of a bathroom presumably, while the opposite end of the room, which was L-shaped, held another, smaller desk, Miss Lynde's probably, and an uncountable number of filing cabinets, some of which hung open or with files pulled halfway out. A CD player mounted above some of the cabinets played some kind of soft instrumental music, pan flutes perhaps.

"Thank you Susan, that will be all."

First impressions make the man. "Jürgen Wolf as requested, Sir," I said, stepping up to the desk and for the first time examining the man who stood behind it.

"Nice to meet you, man - thanks for coming on such short notice," said Dr Rolf Scharnhorst, shaking my hand with a grip that was firm without being crushing. "I appreciate your flexibility." I wondered on being referred to as "man" by a scientist, as most of those I'd worked with previously were rather formal.

"It's a trait writers must have if they wish to be successful," I replied. Okay, I was a little distracted, which merits another confession: Dr Scharnhorst was very good looking; this is to say he was tall without being overly so, clean-shaven with a blond crew cut, muscled with the build of a man who frequents a gym relatively often, skin fair with a surprising degree of tan for someone working underground, and a good-natured, friendly manner that gave off immediate impressions of respect and authority. To be fair, he did look very German, or at least European, and his voice retained enough of an accent to be sexy but not enough that had I had difficulty understanding him.

While I was not one of the people who would refer to all scientists as being likely to be geeky in appearance, ordinary or plain at best and dreadfully weird and unappealing at worst, I was nonetheless surprised at meeting such a handsome guy in a (presumably secret) underground lab at ERT's Seattle facility. Fortunately, I hid this reasonably well. "You should sit down, we will be here for some time. Do you want coffee? Tea?"

"Tea is fine, thank you." I sat in a chair directly in front of the scientist, where he could face me from between his two computers.

"Susan, two cups of tea, please." He turned back to me. "You're probably wondering why I called you down here. You've got my apology for all the secrecy relating to this particular lab - if you knew all we have going on down here, you'd understand why. Just know it's a precaution we take with every new visitor; not a response to you personally."

"No worries Sir, I didn't take it personally."

"Rolf's fine," he waved a hand dismissively, "formalities are pointless by now." He removed a file from a stack next to the fan, put it in front of him, and opened it. "To answer the questions I'm certain you have, we're first going to talk a little about you, a little about this facility, and about how you relate to it."

More curious than baffled, I nodded, quietly thanking Miss Lynde as she silently placed two cups of tea on the desk before me. Dr Scharnhorst - Rolf - glanced at the file, then lifted a sheet of paper and began reading: "Jürgen Roland Wolf, born March 28th 1989 in Honolulu, Hawaii to Friedrich and Alice Langdon Wolf. Moved around a great deal as a kid because your father was a Marine, I believe in America such children are referred to as "military brats." Homeschooled the last two years of highschool on account of lack of a quality school in the area you lived in at the time, but nonetheless you were accepted into Western Washington University at 18. You got your degree in Creative Writing in only three years, quickly got an MFA afterwards, around which you interned with two different publishing companies in New York."

He flipped a page. "You applied for work here shortly after your graduation, and have been in ERT employ for about a year. From all reports you're a talented writer who really ought to be writing fiction or memoirs; polite and friendly but reserved and not overly sociable, a true introvert. You live alone in a two-bedroom house in the quiet neighbourhood of South Dover, a suburb about twenty minutes drive from here. Mostly solitary, you have no known girlfriends or boyfriends, though a few past relationships would suggest a preference for male lovers. Up until last year you owned a dog, but following her death you have neglected to acquire another. You have a few close friends in the area with whom you spend a reasonable degree of your free time, and on weekends you often drive up to Bellingham to visit the friends who lived with during your time at university. Largely in your private in your private life you remain friendly but introverted with those not part of your circle.

"I know this must seem strange, but give me a moment to get through this, and I promise I'll explain what I mean by having acquired all this knowledge about you."

I had indeed been questioning how this scientist I barely knew had come to know so much about me - had I been spied on? Had my friends and associates been questioned concerning my habits? "Very well," I said noncommittally. The oddity of this day aside, there was a part of me that was enjoying it, enjoying getting to associate with this attractive man, and study him visually.

Rolf smiled, showing very white teeth, and I decided that he could detain me there, talking and smiling, as long as he liked. "Most of the other things we're aware of are trivial. You've published a few short stories; you're working on a novel; you have no discernable preference for Republican or Democratic candidates in elections; you travel when you can, usually to Europe; you visit your parents a few times a year." He set the paper aside. "Now that you're feeling entirely violated in terms of your personal history, let me explain why this was necessary. Again, I can assure you all new personnel admitted to this....project....undergo the same background checks. One can never be too careful."

"I suppose," I said, "that is why Miss Lynde was so sceptical of me."

Unexpectedly, he laughed. "Of course she is. You're interviewing as her replacement."

My eyebrows raised. Her replacement? "So this _is_a job interview?" I asked.

"Essentially, yes. You're interviewing as a possible candidate for my new personal assistant." He glanced towards the other end of the room, but when I looked over my shoulder, the icy assistant was not present. Perhaps she had left when I was absorbed in listening to Rolf roll out details of my personal life. "Susan was interning in one of the main labs here when I discovered her. I saw her potential, monitored her progress for a while, screened her, then presented her the same opportunity I'm now offering you."

"Why is she leaving?"

"She's not leaving, she's merely moving up to be one of my lab assistants; she will not have time for office work."

"I see." Inwardly my excitement was rising - such a job would be higher paying than the one I presently held - but my curiosity remained unquenched: he had not told me why such extensive background checks were necessary, or why his research took place in a part of the building that, officially at least, was not supposed to exist. "You've got my curiosity, tell me more."

Rolf's eyes had rose over my shoulder to study one of the art prints. Abruptly, his eyes shifted back to me. "Tell me what you know about ERT. Starting with, what does it stand for?"

Okay, so now we were testing what I knew about him - or the corporation he worked for? Very well then. "ERT stands for Eden Realised Technological, a megacorporation dedicated to creating a better Earth."

He held up a hand. "What's ERT's motto?"

"Creating a Better Tomorrow."

"That's right, go on."

"ERT's goal is to discover new ways of assisting humanity with facing life in an increasingly diverse and changing modern world; whether that is discovering new cures for heart disease, researching the causes of Alzheimer's disease, finding better methods of assisting those suffering from PTSD, creating new roads in the replacement of internal organs -" I paused. "ERT is a gigantic corporation, we do many things. Is there a specific aspect you wish me to elaborate on?"

"No, no, that's good. I like an employee who knows something about the company he works for."

I nodded. "That's understandable." Perhaps a few questions of my own? Besides Will you go on a date with me? "I don't recall your area of study, genetics, isn't it?"

"A Geneticist, yes." God, he had an appealing voice to begin with, but that German accent got me every time. "Now, Jürgen, let's talk about some of the issues plaguing the world today. Of course any individual is going to have a different definition of what those are, but still. Give me your opinion."

He was getting around to something, to telling me what this was all about, I could feel it - but for some reason it was like he wanted me to come to the subject, whatever it was, on my own. "As you say many people can come up with many ideas of what the greatest issues in the modern world are, but most educated individuals would agree that global warming is among the greatest, as is overpopulation, famine and poverty in third world nations, continued floral and faunal extinctions, rampant consumerism only increased by the growing needs of a global economy, epidemics of diseases like AIDS, pollution of our oceans, loss of natural habitat for many wild creatures...." I paused.

"Rather depressing, isn't it?" While his expression had grown sombre, he seemed to approve of my answer.

"Indeed." I found myself wanting to impress him. Silly, really, I didn't even know if he liked males. "It is issues like these, the kind affecting the entire world, which ERT wishes to address."

"Quite right, and that is why you are here today." Rising, Rolf flipped through the file in front of him, then extracted a printed form. "I'm going to have to ask you to sign a confidentiality agreement before I share with you the emphasis of this project."

Here goes. "That's fine," I agreed, scanning the document, which merely stated that I agreed not to repeat any of what was told to me to family, friends, coworkers, the media, and other outside groups. I signed Jürgen Wolf, and added the date, then looked up brightly.

Rolf grinned. I half-hoped my interest wasn't too obvious, and half-hoped it was. "You're curious, I like that. It's the sign of an active mind, and imagination." There was a brief pause, as we studied each other. Uh oh, caught.

"Anyway." He continued: "Some years ago, two of ERT's top researchers were discussing one of the issues you just mentioned - overpopulation. As you probably are aware, Earth is currently home to 7 billion people, and is expected to continue to grow considerably over the next two to three decades. Questions of how our already crowed planet can house so many people acceptably have become a common topic of consideration in the scientific world, within governments, and in academia during recent years. The two individuals I mentioned -" He paused. "Are you familiar with Drs Richard and Anastasia Belmont?"

Was I familiar? "Certainly, of course," I replied quickly, "everyone has heard of them."

"I thought so, the Belmont siblings are the prince and princess of this facility. Richard and his little sister Ana were not so well known then, but they wished to discover a way in which to combat Earth's overpopulation and fashion a sustainable planet which could house its human, animal, and floral populations acceptably. Many people have posed these questions before, but the Belmont siblings came up with different take on it."

Rolf was excited and animated, obviously quite enthused for his project, which made him all the more endearing in my eyes. "Essentially, their question was this: why, when approaching the subject of how humanity can help to save the planet, do people always expect that only well-educated, first world, individuals can participate? Were there not, they asked, ways in which even people from impoverished countries could be of assistance to the greater world? Could homeless people not also play a role? Their mission was to find such a way." He folded his hands. "Now he's the exciting part. Ana Belmont had a degree in wildlife biology as well as in genetics, and while she didn't share it with anyone else but her brother at the time, while she was doing her graduate research she discovered a genome which had the potential for -"

Beep Beep Beep Beep Beep Beep Beep Beep

The alarm sounded so abruptly that I jumped a little in my chair, and even Rolf flinched. It was a loud annoying blare, like an alarm clock or that security systems give off when tripped, incessant and demanding. Rolf's words had died on his lips instantly, and now, he glanced at me, then at the door, and frowned. Actually I saw the instantaneous flicker of worry that flashed across his attractive face, but I did not let on.

"Can - can you wait here, Jürgen?" He was already rising from his chair, walking around the desk, as he spoke the words. "This is probably nothing - some careless intern tripped one of the alarms." I turned around in the chair, following him with my eyes as he grabbed a lab jacket off a hook by the door. "Stay here, please? I'm sure I'll be back shortly."

He did not even wait for a reply, just opened the door and slipped through it without looking back. My first thought was that the alarm would quickly be turned off, after all, it was nothing, right, he had said so. But as I replayed the last few moments in my mind - Rolf's words and actions, specifically - I was less sure.

some careless intern tripped one of the alarms, he had said. But now as I thought of all the lengths he and others had gone to screen me; doing background checks, learning about my personal life, taking care to insure I did not detect the exact location of this lab, signing the confidentiality agreement; I knew that this project, whatever it was, would not have been taking on "careless interns." Anyone participating would be selected with utmost care. Such people were not like to make careless mistakes.

Five minutes passed, then ten, and the alarm still blared. After a while I became accustomed enough to the sound that I could tune it out, but in Rolf's increased absence, I began to wonder. He had been about to reveal to me what the purpose of this place, and the secrecy surrounding it, was - my eyes drifted to his computer. I could do a little sleuthing...

Then again, Rolf had trusted me, I had signed the confidentiality agreement, and I did not wish to compromise my chances of getting the job. Just be patient, he'll be back soon. Even top-tier scientific research facilities have fuck-ups occasionally, right?

Except he did not return.

At one point I thought I could hear distant shouting, or the sounds of footfalls, but within the cocoon of offices it was difficult to tell for sure. The fan spun, the pan-flute music continued to play on the CD player, and I, increasingly restless, waited.

The wait gave me time to consider all that I had learned that morning. It seemed clear that somewhere within the gigantic whole that was ERT, a group of researchers, led by the Belmont siblings, had stumbled upon or discovered some kind of great breakthrough - one great enough that it had been kept secret, both from the public and from lower-ranked ERT employees, as I had, prior to today, been. What kind of breakthrough, though - I could not guess. It had something to do with combating overpopulation, he had said, and with finding ways less-fortunate people could play a part in Earth's destiny - and he had mentioned that Anastasia Belmont's degrees in Wildlife Biology and in Genetics played a part. All interesting pieces of the puzzle, but how exactly did they fit together...

I had been waiting for over an hour when I heard footsteps out in the breakroom. Relieved, I turned around to face the door -

But it was not Rolf Scharnhorst who entered it.

The young man could not have been more than 21 or 22, a slender kid with kind of a boy-band haircut and the determined, methodological mien of a man brave in the face of danger - and, strangely, wearing one of those nightgown sort of things that hospital patients wear. No sooner had he saw me than his fist came up, revealing that it held a surgical knife, which he kept held in front of him as he silently closed the door. "You just stay back," he said coolly, stepping aside the door so that if anyone looked through the window in the door, he could not be seen.

If not for the gravity of the situation - that this man held a knife and appeared to be threatening - it would have been comical, even more movie-like than ever. I rose and stepped back, instinctively reaching around the desk to where I'd seen Rolf had a wooden letter-opener, a poor weapon but still better than nothing. I decided to talk. "What the hell is going on out there? Did Rolf - Dr Scharnhorst - send you?"

By then he must have noticed my civilian clothing because he asked, quickly, and without taking his eyes off the door, "Are you an employee here?"

"Yes - no - not yet, anyway. This is my first day," I said. "I was having a job interview when the alarm started going off."

Instantly his arm dropped. "Dude you need to get the fuck out here, now." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "You don't want to know what they're doing back there."

My eyebrows rose. "What are they doing? Some kind of new scientific breakthrough, I understand."

"Is that what they're calling it?" he snorted. "You can see for yourself if you like, but I'm warning you. Get out of here while you can. While you still can."

I did not reply. Perhaps this strange young man was the cause of the issue, the one who had sparked the alarm - maybe, I thought, ERT was getting into mental health research, and this man was an escaped patient. Briefly I considered trying to detain him, but that was probably not wise, given he was armed.

The man was looking out the window. "I think they're gone." He opened the door, hesitated, looked back. "I tell you dude. Get out. It may be too late for me, I don't know what all they did to me while I was out, but you might have a chance. Take it."

As the door closed I could still hear the alarm shrieking.

Sitting back down by the desk, I considered my options. One, I could remain obedient and trusting in the good of ERT - and in Rolf - and remain right where I was until Rolf returned. Two, I could follow the strange man and try escaping the complex, but given its layout and tight security I doubted such an endeavour would end in success. Three, I could leave Rolf's office and explore...and look for answers.

As to how to arrive at a decision....what was it I'd been taught in grad school? The writers who get the best stories don't just sit on their butts and wait for a good story to show up, they go looking for one, and when they find it, they follow it.

The decision was made.

I did not hesitate in the slightest as I walked to the door, opened it, and slipped through. The breakroom remained empty, and neither did signs of life appear from any of the other offices which opened it, so I left it and went down the hall, occasionally checking doors or windows as I did so, and doing my best to memorize my route. It would be best, I supposed, to do a little investigating on the gamble that neither Rolf, Miss Lynde, nor anyone else returned to Rolf's office until after I had done so; in any case this required haste, so as I scanned various rooms I did not allow myself to linger. Some of these rooms appeared to be used mainly for storage, containing dozens of metal filing cabinets stacked high, while others contained long tables on which lay what appeared to be blueprints and charts, with chairs and sideboards arranged in such a fashion I had to assume they were conference rooms.

Only after navigating several halls did I come to a grey metal door marked: WARNING: AUTHORISED PERSONNEL ONLY. The door apparently operated on an electronic locking system, but it had been left propped open with a large fire extinguisher and so had not closed. I went through it, down another hall, and saw ahead of me a second door - this one a glass sliding door, also obviously electronic, and with a large canister of something - a chemical of some sort I imagined - thrust through it to prevent it from closing. Overhead an electronic female voice was repeating a warning: System Lockdown incomplete intermixed with a second: All personnel engage emergency procedures. A brief study of the door showed that it normally required a security card and a fingerprint in order to be opened - had the person who was leaving doors open been an employee, then? I did not think the young man I had seen was one; though perhaps he was just not in uniform -

I was just stepping cautiously through the jammed door, trying to ignore the repeated warning, when I almost stumbled over a fallen man laying just inside the door. The man was dressed in lab garb and lay on his back, apparently unconscious but still clearly breathing. A smear of blood matted the black hair of his head. Here, I saw, was how someone - or more than one person, possibly - had gotten through this door. Or, I reasoned, possibly out of it. What was ERT up to down here? If only Rolf had had time to tell me...

A glance at my watch told me I had already been gone from the office for twenty-four minutes. About time to head back... Quickly I walked down a few isles of lab tables, glancing at vials and test tubes and various discarded lab equipment. Nothing overly out of the ordinary, so far as I could tell...

Something crunched under my shoe, and I looked down to see the broken remains of a test tube. Uh oh. Visions of releases superviruses flew through my head, and warily I searched the area for signs of CDC troops coming into clean up the mess. No, no one was in sight, but I'd better get back. Whatever it was that ERT was up to, it seemed the issue was someone gaining access to an area they weren't supposed to, which, I thought, could mean it was an issue not directly related to the Belmont siblings' pet project.

Retracing my steps to Rolf's office proved unexpectedly easy. It was not until I sank into the chair that I realised my heart was pounding, and I was somewhat out of breath. Well. This was all very strange and exciting, but perhaps Rolf would have a story for me when he got back. At the very least I could hope he would finish his explanation, and I could do my best to convince him I was the guy for the job. For that matter, there was also the subject of -

Rolf burst through the door so quickly I jumped, losing my mental rehearsal of asking Rolf to go out with me - I had seen my attraction reflected, hadn't I - and causing a quick intake of breath. For that matter, Rolf himself seemed out of breath, and he was wearing a gas mask and some kind of rubber gloves. "Fuck, I was worried you'd left the office," his voice was muffled through the mask, "look, I'm very sorry but we're going to have to finish this interview a different time. There's been a mild security breach, someone looked at something they shouldn't have and may have introduced a mildly toxic chemical to our airwaves." I must have looked worried because he held up a hand, holding out a mask with the other. "No, don't worry. It's nothing life-threatening, but if breathed it could make you sick, so as a precaution I'd like you to put on this mask and gloves as I escort you out."

"You?" I repeated. I doubted a man of his importance was used to escorting visitors. "What about Miss Lynde?"

"She's busy," he said dismissively, motioning for me to finish putting on the mask. As I strapped the uncomfortable object over my face he continued. "Besides, I think you'd like a few more moments with me, wouldn't you?"

Oh god, he wasn't actually flirting with me during a laboratory emergency, of all times, was he? That grin, even through the mask, was pretty tale-telling....yes he was. Perhaps he was just trying to distract me from what was going on, but hell, I liked him, I'd been right about reading that he too liked males, and apparently the attractive had been mutual. "I won't deny that" I said, standing.

He held the door for me. "As I said, I apologise that this happened, but I'll make it up to you..." we started down a different hall than the one I had explored "...by taking you to dinner on, say, Thursday night?"

It was Tuesday morning. "I'll take you up on that," I said.

But as he led me back to the lift, and from there to the other lift which took me back to the main lobby, I saw increasing signs of an entire facility shutdown, and I began to realise that whatever it was that had happened down there, it was enough that the chances of all being back to normal by Thursday evening were unlikely. Dismissed for the day, I went home and spent the day in a chair by the window, reading a book, and alternating between two equally fascinating and enigmatic topics: Rolf, and the project he had almost told me about.

That weird guy in the hospital gown was right. What were they doing back there?