Inside the car, I scramble into the backseat to stare at the incredible sight. Even with my eyes squinted nearly shut, it’s almost impossible to look at, but I can’t imagine looking away right now. The bolt continues to crackle in place, writhing like a tormented snake, a spark trapped between the globes of an immense Van de Graaff generator.
Beneath it, the building has burst into flames, but that’s the least of it. The windows shatter explosively, showering the street in broken glass to mix with the hail. Molten metal drips from the roof, forming knife-edged stalactites as it runs from the gutters and spattering to the ground in hissing, steaming piles. Every exposed piece of metal from the doorframe to the roof is edged in glowing, crackling electricity, and the entire structure buzzes like a tremendous swarm of locusts has descended upon it. The noise shakes the car, vibrating it so violently that I can feel the buzz as much as hear it.
Fiery tendrils abruptly explode forth from the broken windows, reaching up as if to grasp the rain and the lightning itself. They’re gone in an instant, and still the lightning cascades down. Through the blackened holes in the sides of the building where the windows were, a burning light starts to shine as the fires spread inside, joining together to create a true inferno.
And then, suddenly, the lightning is gone, leaving jagged afterimages in the center of my vision. A man runs out of a nearby building to see what’s happening, and only then do I realize that the entire display of nature’s power has lasted no more than ten seconds from start to finish. The aftereffects are still ongoing, of course; the melted metal is still sending up clouds of steam from the roof and the street, and it’s joined by thick black smoke as the fire begins to really take hold, roaring its defiance against the rain beating down upon it.
I open the car door and lean out of the backseat. “Hey! Hey, you!” I shout to the man gawping at the burning building. He turns to look.
“Call the fire department!” I instruct him. He stares for a second longer, then turns and runs back to the building he just emerged from. From inside the car, I hear Regina’s slightly hysterical laughter ringing out over the speakerphone, and she says something I can’t make out over the sound of the rain and hail.
I close myself inside of the car again.
“What was that?” I demand.
“I said, it’s a bit late for the fire department to do anything here, don’t you think?”
“No, not ‘what did you say.’ ‘What was that,’ meaning ‘what did you just do?'”
“I trashed Ichabot’s storeroom. Like we planned, more or less.” There’s still humor in Regina’s voice, along with more than a hint of madness, but it’s tinged with malice now, too. On the whole, not really a combination I’m excited about.
“Yeah, but remember the part where I was going to go inside and check to make sure it was empty? That was sort of a key part of the plan.”
“Well, you’re welcome to go inside now,” says Regina, unrepentant. “I decided to take some initiative. Sue me. You said this was a partnership.”
I look at the inferno engulfing the warehouse and take a deep breath. At least she didn’t wait until I was in there to do that. I’ll take the victories where I can get them, I suppose.
“Fine.” I sincerely hope no one was in there, but despite Regina’s mocking suggestion, it’s not like I can really go check now. “You did trash the place, like in the plan. Thank you.”
“I didn’t do it for you,” spits Regina. “I pictured you being inside. I want this sensation of you out of my head. Get on to the next stage of your plan and fix this.”
I glance at the sleeve of my coat. The next stage of my plan had been to go to the next address on the list and trash it, too, but now that I’ve seen the process in action I’m not convinced that’s a safe idea for me or any other bystanders. I think it’s time to improvise again.
“Okay, next step is that I need you to go back to the hospital,” I say.
Regina snorts. “So you’re trying to get rid of me after all, because I’m too scary to work with.”
Yes, absolutely. “No, that’s not why.” I need an excuse. What’s at the hospital? “Doc Simmons wanted you to come by so she could get samples. She thinks she’s close to cracking this. It’s another avenue of attack.”
I flinch at my own use of the word “attack.” It’s probably best not to use violence-related words with Regina right now. I should choose more calming language.
“Yeah, very convenient reason for you to want me at the hospital,” Regina says sarcastically. “You sure it doesn’t have anything to do with Brian?”
“What do you mean?” I ask, genuinely confused.
“You’re clueless, Dan, but not that clueless. You’re hoping that when I’ve got Brian in front of me, it’ll give me something else to focus on instead of you.”
For a split second, I start to argue. Wouldn’t it make just as much sense that when she saw Brian, she’d blame me for him being screwed up and sedated? Fortunately, it occurs to me before my mouth kicks into gear that it isn’t wise to give Regina new reasons to hate me. So instead I simply say, “Okay, maybe,” in a slightly sheepish tone.
“Whatever,” says Regina. “I’ll go. You might want to stay away from conductive surfaces as much as possible, though. There’s a lot of lightning out today.”
She hangs up, and I take deep calming breaths, focusing my attention into being as non-conductive as possible. If I still had the full power, I could become lightning-proof in seconds, but since I’m working with the residual it seems like a good idea to go for as much buildup as I can get. Besides, I could really use the calming breaths right now.
After a minute, I clamber back into the front seat of the car and drive off. I’m not sure where I’m going yet, but there’s an enthusiastically burning building a block away and it seems like pretty much anywhere else is a better place to be.
I drum my fingers on the steering wheel, counterpointing the hail. What I need right now is for Ichabot to know what I’ve done. If I had my phone, I could just call him up and tell him; I have his number from when Dupont gave it to me. Unfortunately, my phone’s at the police station, and since I’m still an escaped — prisoner? Suspect? Whatever I am, they’re not likely to let me pop in and pick it up.
I frown in concentration. I was supersmart once, and the nanos always leave residual effects. Surely I can remember seven numbers. I picture the scene with Jules Dupont: me outside his house, looking menacing. Him inside, looking scared. Holding some kind of a dog by the collar. Was it a husky? Maybe a labrador? Wrong details, brain! Focus up!
Okay, so he tells me a number. I can picture him saying it. He’s saying the phone number. It’s 867 —
“Nice, brain,” I say out loud in disgust. It’s coughing up Jenny’s number from the Tommy Tutone song. I try again, but now I’m dealing with a background of “I got it! Got your number on a wall,” and it’s clearly hopeless.
Suddenly, it occurs to me that there’s a much easier way to get his number. I pull over and look up the website for the building we were in this morning, Mangiafuoco Medical Transcription. Sure enough, they list their address and phone number right there. Good work, brain; you’ve redeemed yourself. By remembering how to use the internet. I apparently have low standards for my machine-enhanced brain.
I dial, and a voice answers brightly. “MMT, this is Zane, how can I help you?”
I drop my voice to a lower register in case Zane recognizes me from this morning. “Yes, this is Officer Austin, looking to reach –” I panic for a second, trying to remember which name he was using here, but my brain comes through for me this time “– Dr. Argute. It’s a matter of some urgency. I’m afraid there’s been a fire at one of his properties.”
“Oh, no!” exclaims Zane, sounding legitimately distraught. “Was anyone hurt?”
“No, but the property damage is extensive. Is he available?”
“Oh, yes, I’m sorry. Let me put you through to him.”
The phone cuts into hold music for only a few seconds before it’s picked up.
“Hello, what’s this?” says Ichabot, sounding more harried than I’ve ever heard him.
“There’s been a terrible fire,” I say, reverting to my normal voice. “Lightning strike. What a strange and unpredictable thing weather is.”
“Well, Dan,” says Ichabot nastily. “I’m frankly startled to find that you’re still alive. You’re a remarkably resilient bacterium.”
“More resilient than your buildings,” I retort. Not my finest comeback, I admit. “Speaking of which, I know of four others you own, including the one you’re currently at. Let’s play a game called ‘Which One Burns Down Next?'”
“I’m going to kill you myself,” says Ichabot. His voice is calm and controlled, making it sound not like a threat but like a statement of fact. It’s an eerily effective technique, judging by the goosebumps that raise on my arms.
“Well,” I say with false cheeriness, “come on by Rossum Medical and give it a shot! I’ll be there in, let’s say fifteen minutes, and it’ll be burning down in twenty if I don’t see you. Hope that gives you enough time to make it there!
“Oh, and I’ve got Regina with me, so you might want to wear your galoshes. Seeya!”
I hang up without waiting for a reply. My hands are shaking with adrenaline as I put the car back into drive and start back onto the road. If he goes for this bluff, I’m about to have a clear shot at his lab. This whole thing could be over within the hour. Everything I’ve gone through for the last couple of years, all of the pain and suspicion and suffering — it could end with a few keystrokes, in just a few minutes.
As I drive, I’m focused on what I’m going to do when I get there. I’ll dissolve a hole in the wall to sneak in. Assuming there’s not a big Dr. Frankenstein-style off-switch, I’ll call up Doc Simmons and see if she has any bright ideas about how to stop the nanos. If she doesn’t, I’ll get her to call Peterson while I poke around at it, maybe.
I’m several layers deep in the planning when a car rams into me from behind, slanning my head back against the headrest and sending my vehicle into a terrifying spin on the rain-slicked roads.
The Experiment 