Turns out, some of it, at least, is real. Leland Durham looks like a man who just hit the jackpot.
On and on, he drones.
How we could integrate these abandoned technologies into our new supersoldier program, and perhaps create something more than just highly trained men.
I’m not a big fan of the Ubermensch thing, but Durham’s eyes are sparkling, almost fanatic. Dr. Ross looks like he might actually be hard underneath the table. Fucking gross.
I’ve gotten a little too good at masking my reactions to this shit.
And a little too good at hiding how increasingly uncomfortable I am working for this company as they descend deeper and deeper into experiments even greed shouldn’t be able to buy. Much less justify.
It bothers me.
Call it obscene. It’s a sick joke how every leap in technology that eventually benefits the lives of the common person starts here.
Born from some wild-eyed, money-hungry dick like Durham who gets wrapped up in his own manic power fantasies as he drives military advancement after military advancement.
Because all the biggest money’s in figuring out how to kill people better than the people who want to kill you.
Not save them.
But it’s Brin who catches my attention as her gaze swivels back to Durham.
It’s back again.
That dead, hollow-eyed expression she wears in the photograph.
Her vibrant energy is gone, diffused, leaving her stone-cold and still.
And I realize that expression isn’t so empty at all.
It’s filled with a contempt so deep, so powerful, that it’s all-consuming and sucks the emotion out of her.
And it’s directed solely at no one but the father of Galentron—Leland Durham himself.
* * *
That look on Agent Patty Brin’s face is still on my mind by the time I make it home to my penthouse apartment. Home sweet home instantly makes me more at ease, looking out over the Seattle skyline with a view fit for the gods.
My balcony deck lords over the entire city, perfectly bisected by a more aesthetic, graceful view of the Space Needle than the Galentron boardroom.
It’s better appreciated from a distance, anyway.
Preferably while mildly buzzed.
The sunset glimmers off Elliott Bay as I settle on the balcony to pour what’ll likely be the first of many glasses from a bottle of Riesling. It’s from the Delaney vineyard in Northern California, a highly sought, best-kept-secret sort of winemaker that never lets me down.
I need the liquid courage more lately, something to lift the weight off my shoulders.
Too bad I’m starting to think that increasingly crushing load just might be my conscience.
Fuck.
And sooner or later, there won’t be enough wine in the world to make me forget the burden. Not until I either do something to ease it or…
…or let it obliterate me.
If Leland Durham doesn’t do it first.
This isn’t a normal office grind I can up and leave before it sucks out what’s left of my soul.
I know too much for them to let me just resign and walk away cleanly.
My fingers tighten around my glass. It’s this fragile thing I could shatter a thousand ways.
A grim reminder of how I could be shattered a thousand more by a Galentron hit team. Especially if that maniac, Dr. Ross, ever decided to unleash a pack of his mind-fucked elite soldiers on my sorry ass.
An Army Intelligence grunt like me with a hard run in the Gulf War and then inside North Korea wouldn’t stand a chance. No official training in the world preps you for coming face-to-face with enhanced supersoldiers.
Misery loves company, doesn’t it?
So I raise my glass to the sunset, toasting the only friend I’ve got in the eerily peaceful sunset.
If only that sun could do something to shine away my woes.
The mood lingers as I flop down in a lounge chair and breathe in the breezy air, mingled with the aroma rising delicately off my wine.
I can’t help wondering, what would Agent Brin do with my dilemma? My lips curve faintly against the glass as I take my first sip.
She’d probably throat-punch Durham, right at his desk, for one.
Then dare him to send the hounds after her while she strutted out with her head held high. She’s something special for already winning my respect.
Isn’t she just another one of those highly conditioned, insanely efficient monsters? Even if she’s a far prettier one than the latest crop they’re schooling in Ross’ lair.
When I take my next sip of wine, something stirs in the wind.
It’s like thinking about her summons the smell of smoke, a hint of bonfire. An unusual smell here, so close to the dense city center.
The hairs on the back of my neck prickle and my nostrils flare.
Hell. I already know she’s there before I even turn my head.
I throw a sharp look over my shoulder and—
Bingo.
She’s there, all right.
Looks like a stray followed me home.
Standing in the doorway of the balcony, leaning between the frame and the glass sliding door. A fall-scented candle I’d forgotten I had is lit on my kitchen counter behind her. That explains the smell.