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Wadjet

2007-2008 Strange Dark Alchemy

“Solitary trees, if they grow at all, grow strong; and a boy deprived of a father’s care often develops, if he escapes the perils of youth, an independence and vigour of thought which may restore in after life the heavy loss of early days.”
--Winston Spencer Churchill, The River War
                                                                                                                    
 
I had heard all the stories. Everyone had.
 
Before lunch on my first day at Genomex in 1992, I had already heard nearly a dozen bizarre stories about the grim, tense, perfectionist security chief of the facility. The stories didn’t sound plausible at first hearing, and I started to believe the tale telling a joke played upon all new hires. I wasn’t convinced such an individual existed until I saw his name printed in a company phone directory.
 
Injured mysteriously in an on-site accident in 1991, Eckhart was said to have no functionality left to his immune system, requiring him to be covered completely in a layer of biopolymer faux skin as a barrier to microorganisms. There were dark suggestions that someone still working at the facility had intentionally caused this ‘accident’.
 
I was assured that when I finally met Eckhart, there wouldn’t be any doubt because he wore a white wig and dressed only in black. I could not even imagine this. I was also told that he was cold, rude, and impossibly demanding.
 
I didn’t believe these stories until saw the man myself. I listened to the tales, took them in, filed them away mentally.  But I never added to the body of Mason Eckhart lore circulating through the labs of Genomex. Unlike others, I never had to look around carefully before speaking, lest the singular figure of Eckhart glide in quietly and overhear his manners, speech, and behavior mocked. I witnessed this happen to colleagues. Eckhart never said anything to them.  He had no need of saying anything.  The intensity of disapproval present in his glare was more than sufficient to chastise the speaker and warn them against future ill-considered commentary.
 
Such gossiping struck me as disloyal, but without doubt, Eckhart was different.
 
The inevitable black suits, black shirts, odd unnatural looking white hair and the carefully fitted black leather gloves he wore over the biopolymer covering every square inch of him presented a singular appearance. No one else in the organization dressed anything like this.  They looked much as nerds and nerdettes do in most corporations: a little casual and a lot short of fashion sense.
 
Initially, I found Eckhart’s appearance odd, oppressive, and threatening.  As I watched the effect it had upon others I realized Eckhart’s appearance was carefully calculated to be threatening. He was not tall or inherently imposing.  Wearing more ordinary clothes, especially with his physical problems, Eckhart would probably appear weak.  Besides the damage to his immune system, there was something wrong in the way he moved, something awkward, suggesting injury. In a grey suit and his natural hair color, which certainly wasn’t white whatever it was, his ability to threaten and menace with a single word or a look would be diminished.  Or worse, he would likely look silly trying to get his way with a dark glare.
 
No one ever commented upon his obvious manipulation, so I kept the realization to myself.  If others were too unobservant or self-focused to realize something so obvious, I wasn’t going to hand them undeserved help. After a while, secure with a positive reputation with Genomex, I tended to stand back and observe this dark spirit obtain what he wanted from people.
 
When I had been at the company slightly more than four weeks, my then-supervisor, Dr Michael Newman, finally got around to introducing me to Eckhart.
 
“I’ve put this off as long as possible, Dr Steyn.  I’d like to spare you the experience of meeting Mason Eckhart, but we really should get this over with.”
 
“How bad can it be?”
 
“You’ve heard the stories?”  Already, I knew Newman well enough to know gossip was an important amusement and time waster for him. He maintained a network of gossips reaching into every segment of Genomex.
 
“I heard stories on my first day.  How can one man be responsible for so many stories? He seems to generate stories the way cats shed hair.”
 
Newman laughed.  “Very apt.  Some stories are true, some are complete fantasy, and some I believe he creates and spreads himself, just to keep us wondering what is real and what is false.”
 
“Disinformation?”
 
Newman nodded. “Stay here long enough and you will understand what I mean.  Of course, he wasn’t always like this.”
 
“No?”  I had not heard this part.
 
“Before the accident, he seemed a decent enough guy. I never heard much about him.  After recovery from the accident, which no one wants to talk about, he emerged from the room-sized glove bag like a hell-moth emerging from its chrysalis.”
 
The office Newman and I entered was a modified clean room, not the glass and steel office overlooking Podding Operations which Eckhart later occupied. In those days, he did not have an armed guard standing outside the door.  Once inside, I was struck by the stark austerity of the office:  bare, stainless steel walls and floor, a plain, black steel desk, computer cables and power lines run through conduit, but then I recalled that his immune system was severely compromised. The bare surfaces would be easy to disinfect and easy to keep clean.
 
Eckhart took little notice of us upon arrival, although Dr Newman had been announced.  By this time I was already convinced that Eckhart behaved purposefully and deliberately. Probably he disliked Newman as much as Newman disliked him, and his rudeness was a way of keeping Newman humbled.  I could not imagine how he would treat me, so I decided no matter what ill manners he displayed, I would be polite and professional, and as always, highly observant.
 
“Mr Eckhart, if you could spare a moment, I would like to introduce you to one of our newest hires.”
 
Eckhart looked up from a stack of typescript, moving with unexpected quickness.  And his anger! He glared fiercely at Newman.
 
I was correct! He does not care for Dr Michael Newman!  I wonder what that story is about?  I’ll probably never know.
 
As quickly as his expression flashed to anger, upon seeing me it changed again, to something I call The Corporate Smile, but curiously, in his case, I had the impression of some greater depth behind it. Maybe he likes everyone at first, and things slide downhill from there.
 
Mason Eckhart was not a technical person.  It took months for me to put together just what his background was.  I usually don’t expect much from corporate security types, but Eckhart displayed signs of an active intelligence in his eyes. He probably could talk about more than the latest and greatest in motion sensors.
 
I smiled my version of The Corporate Smile, sincere, pleasant, mannered, but not promising too much, since some companies still harbored behavioral dinosaurs who believed themselves irresistible and who would probably agree with the notion that tearing the clothing from an attractive female subordinate was sexual harassment, conduct short of that, particularly when done by them, was in a fuzzy, ill-defined region.
 
Eckhart surprised me by extending his right hand in greeting.  I knew he was understandably wary of human contact. “Welcome to Genomex, Dr Steyn.”
 
His handshake was a shocker, not what I anticipated from a frail near invalid. I was more concerned that he knew my name, and did not know if that boded good or ill.
 
“I’m glad to be here, Mr Eckhart.  I’m much impressed with the caliber of the people and the completeness of the instrumentation.”
 
I wasn’t gushing.  Some companies skimped on people and equipment, refusing to pay for skilled people, and trying to get by with outmoded, worn-out instrumentation, and some tried to do both.  Like everything else, you get what you pay for.
 
“And we’re glad you’re here. Dr Breedlove endeavors to hire the best he can recruit or pirate away from other organization, and according to your curriculum vitae, he did
 well bringing you here.”
 
Very nice. Where was the Hell-Moth? Had Eckhart neglected to take his Evil Pill that morning?
 
“Thank you.”
 
“If you could both excuse me, I have a great deal to do prior to a meeting scheduled at 1 PM.  Thank you for bringing Dr Steyn to meet me, Dr Newman.”
 
“We’ll let you return to your duties.” Newman pasted on an insincere smile, then we turned and left.
 
Well down the corridor, well beyond hearing, I had to make a comment.  “That did not seem so bad.”
 
“You’ve never spoken to Eckhart before?”
 
“No. Not once.”
 
“He’s an odd character.  I could not have predicted his civility to you. I’ve seen it before, but I can never predict it.”
 
“He doesn’t talk like a security/law enforcement kind of guy.”
 
“He doesn’t talk like anyone here. Even before the accident, he talked that way, as if he’s smarter than the rest of us. Eckhart’s arrogance is the most annoying thing about him.”
 
Warnings went off all over my mind.  I liked even the brief exposure to the way Eckhart used language, but obviously the corporate culture was hostile to such. I’d have to simplify my work vocabulary.
 
Well, Newman, he may intimidate you because he’s smarter than you are, but I don’t think he’s smarter than I am.
 
Newman walked with me most of the way back to my lab.  I wished he had returned with me, because he would have made it so much easier to deal with the waiting problem.
 
Adam was sitting at my desk, going through files on my computer.
 
“Are you about ready for lunch?  There’s a new Indian place over at the mall.  I thought we could check that out.”
 
Lunch? What lunch is he fantasizing about?
 
“Right now, Adam.  Out of my chair.” I was not amused by this presumptuous, pompous ass.  Adam was well aware of his status as The Prince of Genomex, and how nearly all of the unattached women on site fantasized about becoming The Princess of Genomex.
 
Except for me. I’d made the error of having lunch with Adam a few weeks ago.  He’d droned on interminably about starting college at twelve, about his patents, and about his research involving human mutants.
 
I wanted to ask him how work seeking cures for children with genetic afflictions had led him to create the pain-inducing subdermal governors, but he never allowed me a chance to get in a question.  Adam did like himself.
 
He did not move from my chair. I noticed that the desk drawer where I kept my purse was ajar.  I reached down, opened the drawer and extracted my wallet.
 
“Did you find what you were looking for in here, Adam?” I asked as I counted the cash in my wallet.
 
“What are you talking about, Becky?”
 
This was not the time or place to tell him that no one called me ‘Becky’ if they enjoyed life.
 
“You went through my desk and my purse.”
 
“I was just looking for some lab results.”
 
“In my purse?  Adam, didn’t your parents teach you anything about respecting the property and privacy of other people?”  Not until much later would I understand the significance of that question.
 
Adam just laughed.
 
I picked up the phone and punched in the four digit 7777 security extension. “This is Dr Rebecca Steyn in East 1022.  There is a man here going through my company computer files, and there is evidence he has been through my desk and purse. He refuses to leave. Could you send a team to remove him? Thank you.”
 
Adam’s silliness transformed to rage.  “I can’t believe you just did that.”
 
“You’re unbelievable yourself, Adam.”
 
Security at Genomex was a non-trivial matter even in the early 1990s, although Eckhart did not arm his people in those years.
 
“Do you really want to do this?”
 
“Yes.”
 
Adam was still sitting at my desk when three security people showed up.  I pointed to Adam.
 
“He was going through confidential and personal material.  He refuses to leave.”
 
“But that’s Adam,” a well-fed looking fellow who easily topped six feet said meekly.
 
“And Adam’s being an exceptionally bad boy.  What do I have to do to get him out of here?”
 
“We’ll have to involve Mr Eckhart.”
 
I liked my job, I needed it, but if keeping my position meant Adam invading my desk at will, I could find another.
 
“Do it.”
 
At that, Adam jumped from my chair and stomped out of my lab.
 
“Is he under psychiatric care??”
 
“I don’t know, ma’am.”
 
I sent a formal report of the incident to personnel and security.  Years ago I had learned the hard way that giving people like Adam the benefit of the doubt served only to give them a free pass to make more trouble later. I sent my resume out quietly.  Adam obviously enjoyed special protection at Genomex, which I, just as obviously did not.
 
 
 
Over time, I had no problems with Eckhart. Certainly, he was demanding, but my work was thorough and good. Unlike other employers, who attempted scientific work on the cheap, Eckhart blessed my budgets for instrumentation and consumables without protest.  My written requests were well documented with benefits made clear.  I never had difficulties getting good merit raises for my people, so I was able to keep the good ones. I said as much to my colleagues, who were generally loathe to say anything good about the man.
 
Something I never said to these colleagues –chiefly men—was that I found Eckhart extremely fair.  Unlike a lot of men I have worked for, he respected my work and he respected me.  I never made promises to him I could not keep, and if he asked the impossible, I would bluntly tell him as much, and succinctly explain why. He never argued further as he did with some other people;  my reasons were solid.
 
I never defended him, either, which was cowardly of me.  But I had to work with the others, and needed their cooperation.  I passively listened to their stories and the cruel names (sometimes wildly inventive) they had for him.
 
There was another truth operating that I never shared with anyone. I felt fully as odd and peculiar as Eckhart. My oddness was not as overt and unsubtle as his. My peculiarities were buried deeply, out of sight, lost from view behind professional competence, a tailored, feminine appearance, the ability to be ‘one of the boys’, and the careful avoidance of any suggestion of weakness or dependence.
 
There was a great deal I liked about Eckhart:  he was articulate, even playful with words. Somewhere along the way he had become unusually well educated. My colleagues, like most technical people, were only marginally literate and barely aware of anything outside of their specialties. They took pop culture seriously, describing movies with as much excitement as if they had lived the stories themselves. They swore freely in my presence.  Eckhart, in contrast, conducted himself in an old-fashioned, courtly, almost patrician manner. He never made assumptions of familiarity.  I liked all of this very much, but said nothing to the people around me, who used poor grammar and were commonly unable to frame a complete sentence without resorting to a four-letter word.
 
In a society growing coarser and more anti-intellectual yearly, Eckhart’s conduct and manners were unfashionable, making him the butt of many jokes. But I never joked about him. I was certain jokes and stories were told about me, since I did not have a sewer mouth.  Also, among all these nerds and nerdettes I was the only one not married or living with someone. I never spoke of seeing anyone, because I wasn’t seeing anyone, and I wasn’t looking, either.
 
A lot of them probably thought I had a secret life.  That wasn’t true. What I did have was a painful past of disastrous relationships with two men who had left me drained financially and emotionally, with an intolerance of being touched beyond the business-obligatory handshake, which I could not avoid. I might not be able to avoid the etiquette of the business world, but I could and did indulge myself in serious hand washing afterwards. Aside from this, I was not a ‘clean nut’.
 
I considered my wounds beyond healing, so I made no effort to change.  I would have liked to better fit in, but I also feared what I might do to the next individual who harmed me. I was not sure I could control myself within the bounds of the law.  Too much had been taken from me, not just material things but my capacity for trust.  I didn’t much trust women, either.
 
I knew how bad people could be.  My ex-husband used to tell people I was going to make him rich, and when I failed to do this, he tried to kill me, sabotaging my car.  He probably thought he could recover something of his ‘investment’ in me by collecting the insurance policy on my life.  Jeff had an interesting attitude towards life, which was that the material goodies in the world should be his, right now.  He would become despondent with his lot in life because he did not own things men 25 years older in his profession possessed.
 
He did things to my animals, which taught me never to let another human know what I loved. Once Jeff knew what I loved, I had given him the power to destroy me.  The monster singed a hole in my heart that never healed, would never heal, and was always floating just below the surface of my conscious thoughts. 
 
There are people who do not understand grief following the death of an animal. Our relationships with animals tend to be ‘purer’ than those with people, since they are not freighted with disappointment or betrayal inevitable with people.  My two cats Rosamund and Alboin had been with me all the way through graduate school. Jeff would never tell me what he did to them. I had no intention of enduring that kind of loss and pain again. Such cruelty is now properly perceived by law enforcement as a form of domestic abuse, but when it happened, there was nothing I could do about it since the animals were viewed within the law much as concrete blocks, or even less, since they had no monetary value.
 
I kept people at a safe emotional distance, for my well-being and theirs.  I knew too well even the tamest and most charming of them could be a private creature of great selfishness and cruelty.
 
These experiences convinced me real evil does not proclaim itself, and provides no timely warnings of its approach or proximity. This insight convinced me that whatever Eckhart was, he wasn’t evil incarnate.  Much of what he did was stunning corporate theatre, intended to awe and coerce.  I had never seen anyone glare with such sincere malevolence.  Almost everyone, especially people who had known him prior to the accident, were utterly spooked by this glare.  I was fascinated. I studied its delivery and application for a long while, then one day I had an opportunity to try using it myself, not at Genomex, naturally.
 
I was the only customer at the check out of a drugstore. It had been a long day, and I just wanted to pay for my multivitamins and go home.  The cashier was enmeshed in organizing her social life on the phone.  I considered walking out, then realized I had happened upon the perfect test case. I began glaring at the hapless kid-cashier, imagining myself a great and terrible shark, circling my prey, menacing, capable of tearing her in two with a mere nip of my many-toothed jaws.
 
The girl glanced my way, took in my Shark-Eye Glare, and mumbled to her phone buddy, “I gotta go now.”
 
I paid for the vitamins, glaring all the while.  She handed me my change, wished me a mumbled “good evening”, to which I responded with a chilly, deep from the glacier, “Thank you.”
 
I stalked out of the drugstore.  As soon as the doors closed behind me, and I slipped into the darkness of the parking lot, I broke into a run, giggling as I went.   I now understood The Glare: how it worked, why it worked, and most important, that it was chiefly bluff. If Mason Eckhart ever attempted to work The Glare upon me, I would likely break into a laugh.
 
However, even though I understood how much of what Eckhart did was manipulation and bluff, this changed nothing of substance, and it did not mean that he was a good man, just a clever one.
 
People who have had the good fortune to never suffer under the abuse of such creatures as Jeff tend to believe themselves superior beings who lack emotional scars because they are such superior creatures.  They’re not, of course; they’re merely lucky.  They have no idea how lucky they are.  And weak. I might be crippled emotionally but I was not weak.  Getting away from Jeff after I accidentally found Rosamund and Alboin’s collars in the trash, and all the other lesser evils I survived left me incredibly strong. I kept those two little collars on top of my dresser as a daily reminder to myself how deceptive and destructive people were.
 
The monthly Projects meetings were a relic of the days when Dr Breedlove took an active role in running Genomex.
 
When Adam still worked here, the Projects meetings were weekly drains upon time (and patience) given over largely to the latest and greatest of Adam’s insights.  Adam must have spent four or five hours every week just putting together the slick, colorful presentations with which he bored all of us to intellectual numbness.
 
All of us became inventive in escaping attendance. Any medical or dental appointments were scheduled to provide relief, as were interviews with potential new hires.  Breedlove eventually resorted to stocking the meeting room with juice, Danish, bagels, fruit, and a little later eggs, bacon, and sausage to coerce people to show up.  Technical people are notorious about free food, and Breedlove was one of us. He knew how to bait his snares.
 
People whined about Eckhart’s arrogance, but that was nothing compared to Adam’s unbounded notions of self-worth. Eckhart was arrogant, but he was succinct and wasted little of anyone’s time.
 
Adam would breathlessly report work and techniques which had been in the literature for years, even decades, as if they were breakthrough events. Adam must have believed none of us reviewed current scientific literature, or he never did himself. Certainly Dr Breedlove could not be aware of current developments, not the way he showered praise upon Adam.  There was something queasy about the way Breedlove focused upon Adam and his work (some of which was useful and important). Dr Breedlove seemed more a doting parent around Adam than a superior.
 
After Adam left under peculiar circumstances, apparently after his moodiness and emotions triggered some sort of major hissy fit with Eckhart, the Projects meetings became monthly events.  They were of far shorter duration.  Attendees no longer had to be bribed with offers of breakfast, although this pleasant custom continued.
 
Mason Eckhart began attending these meetings shortly afterwards, insisting upon basic security measures such as keeping confidential work locked up after hours, not an unusual procedure.  I believe initially he was also attempting to ferret out whether any of us, or any of our reports continued to have contact with Adam. I had few reasons to deal with Adam while he was still with Genomex, sending results to him via email, avoiding personal contact.
 
About a year after being chased from my desk, Adam once again assumed all he had to do to bump any of his work to the front of the queue was drop by with a request form and flash a smile. At me. With unwelcome promises of dinner and more.  I bluntly told him I could not be bought through my gut. Adam then developed the annoying habit of dropping into my labs when he knew I would be away and attempting to bully my people into getting his work done first. He was not much loved among them, so I doubted anyone was delivering what he wanted.
 
After I not only proved immune to Adam’s version of charm, Adam turned nasty.  I repeatedly asked him why some of his requests were needed since they often did not support his goals. This angered him because nobody else dared question him, and since it exposed his lack of understanding of basics. Sometimes, the sheer volume of his work requests led to my questioning which samples represented new work.  Had I not done this, Adam would have displaced most of the work from other submitters, which I couldn’t allow.
 
While reviewing results from my technicians, I noticed some of the sample identifications were duplicated two, three, or more times.
 
Why would Adam submit the same sample more than once, especially if he gets the same result?  Is he checking up on my people, trying to prove incompetence? Maybe. More likely, he’s just being a pain.  This place is crazy.
 
I carefully reviewed all calibrations, training, and method validation records, made copies and stuck them into a folder.  I thought I might bore myself into a coma, but I was not going to be ambushed professionally by Adam.
 
Adam made a vague threat one morning of taking the matter to Breedlove, at which point I surprised him by gathering up a file folder, rising from my desk and hurrying off towards Breedlove’s inner sanctum.
 
“By all means, let’s talk to Dr Breedlove,” I yelled behind me, Adam trailing in my wake, surprised and angry. I had prepared for this moment.  The folder was packed with the statistics showing not only the disproportionate support Adam demanded, but detailed samples submitted multiple times. Adam would not be happy when he saw how ready I was for this confrontation.
 
There followed a nasty conference with Breedlove and Adam, with Adam getting louder and louder and more emotional, while I quietly pulled out annual summaries of sample submissions by task groups and made the argument that if my people were to serve the entire facility, and not just Adam, he would have to pare down the quantity of samples sent to my group.
 
Had Breedlove mandated that Adam’s work receive priority treatment, I would have done that, and sent anyone unhappy with that arrangement to Dr Breedlove to share their unhappiness.  Surprisingly, that isn’t what happened at all.
 
By that time, Adam was screaming accusations of sabotage and personal grudges. He sounded irrational.  He looked silly.  He did not look like the smartest man in the world.
 
I was still calm.  I had to be.  To retain any credibility before Breedlove, I could not display so much as a single tear. Adam could scream, shout, punch holes in the wall (he did this), use obscenities and even weep, but if I showed any emotion, I would be perceived as a ‘mere woman’ and not believed at all.
 
Was this fair or reasonable? No.  Corporate cultures are full of unrealistic expectations, however.
 
The hole Adam left in Dr Breedlove’s office wall had not worked in Adam’s favor. Dr Breedlove was becoming annoyed.  I could tell because although his voice never changed, the furrows in his forehead were growing deeper.
 
“Adam, it’s obvious to me that Rebecca is simply doing her job.  Be reasonable.  Submit only the samples you must have analyzed.  We have a lot of people doing work here, and Rebecca’s group is charged with supporting all of you.”
 
Adam had probably anticipated absolute backing from Breedlove. When he failed to get that, he stomped out of Breedlove’s office, slamming the door.
 
I gathered up my charts and tables, saying “Thank you,” to Breedlove in nearly a
whisper.
 
“Adam is highly strung.  I think he’ll behave now.”  Breedlove smiled warmly, any kindliness in his manner accentuated by his grandfatherly demeanor.
 
Highly strung? Adam was more emotional than a spoilt teenage girl!
 
The stories about me began circulating soon afterward. I found out about them when Samihah Shah in Micro forwarded an email to me with the message: “FYI. I believe I was not supposed to receive this since I am not one for gossip. I thought you should know. Go to Dr Breedlove and put a stop to such insults.”
 
Someone was introducing anonymous emails into the Genomex system, spreading slanderous lies about my professional and personal life. Someone had a good imagination, concerning what I did with myself after hours and they also knew just enough about my actual education to make the professional falsehoods seem plausible.
 
I had a good idea who was motivated to attack and who was capable of introducing email anonymously.
 
I was not happy. I did not go to Dr Breedlove, but to Dr Laura Varady, the company psychologist.  I knew she’d probably go to Dr Breedlove afterward. I just didn’t want to have another conference with him about another emotion-charged Adam problem since I was convinced I knew the source of the assault.  I hadn’t crossed anyone else at Genomex.  I got positive comments for the degree to which I cooperated with other groups.  These compliments were documented in writing in my permanent file in personnel, and I also kept photocopies at my condo.
 
What I did not anticipate was that Varady would first go to Mason Eckhart and confirm the source of the poison pen emails.
 
Varady was a grandmotherly figure and the only person on site who took any personal interest in Eckhart, dragging his dark, tense presence to company semi-social functions.  She was infamous for hauling him from his office for the annual Christmas Caroling.  There was even gambling based on what time Varady would show up at the punch and cookie table with Eckhart in tow, looking miserable and out of place in the middle of the festivities. All of her children were grown, so she took Eckhart on as special project.
 
Curiously, although Eckhart managed to get what he wanted from everyone else, he appeared powerless against the wiles of Laura Varady. After a few years of seeing him squirm at the company caroling, I started questioning this conclusion, and wondering if instead Eckhart would be disappointed if Laura Varady wasn’t there to coax him from his office.  No one else on site treated him like a human being.  No one dared, or more likely, could imagine he was human.
 
The next morning when I checked my email, there was a brief, succinct message from Eckhart copied to everyone on site regarding the use of company resources to spread lies and slander, and how further abuse would result in dismissal. Below that was a statement signed by Breedlove affirming that my professional credentials were in order and in no way falsified and that my personal life was honest and honorable.
 
Everyone knew only one individual could survive being caught sinning against another employee in this fashion, and that was Adam.  Breedlove’s signature made clear that even Adam, the Prince of Genomex himself, could be fired.
 
I wondered if Adam had enough sense to learn from this experience.
 
Afterwards, Adam hardly spoke to me again. I liked that.  I wasn’t unhappy when he left, and I wasn’t alone in not mourning his departure.  Dr Breedlove was never the same, however. After Adam left in 1998, he took less and less interest in the daily work and spent more time dwelling upon the past. Rumor had it he was writing a book about his life in genetic research.
 
The Projects meetings continued after Adam’s departure, in abbreviated format, with Mason Eckhart more and more often taking Breedlove’s place at the head of the table.
 
The meetings were deadly dull, but they were mercifully brief. Dr Teuong would write notes—or something, perhaps recipes, perhaps letters—in Mandarin, Dr Harrison would mostly sit and twitch nervously, Dr Mayakovsky would pass notes to Dr Shah, and so it would go, down through the ranks of obligatory attendees.
 
Eckhart was certainly different, but he was always predictably focused.  That’s why I knew something was wrong when I looked up from my blank quadrille pad and saw his vacant gaze towards no one and nothing in particular.
 
In the next moment, he thrashed his head against the table’s edge with such violence his faux skin was torn open.  Then he sagged to the floor, striking the blue tile surface with another solid thump to the head.
 
I had seen seizures before and knew what had to be done. The others sat transfixed by the spectacle. No doubt some of them hoped he was dying.
 
I’m not an exceptionally strong woman, but by the time I got to him, the violence of the spasms had decreased.  He wasn’t a large man, anyway;  I was able to drag him away from the furniture and hold him half-seated.  I made sure he had not swallowed his tongue.
 
“Samihah, call medical and get someone here immediately.”
 
The others, except for Samihah, who had three accident-prone sons, just sat and stared.  Samihah dutifully called medical.
 
“Mr Eckhart’s having some kind of seizure. Samihah, I will need your help, but it would be better if everyone else left the room.”
 
Eckhart’s tremors were subsiding, and I expected him to rejoin the world shortly.  He’d be disoriented and confused, at best, and perhaps far worse, depending upon whatever injuries he had suffered.
 
Samihah came to work every other week with stories about sons’ broken bones, scrapes, and near things, making her familiar with local emergency rooms. “Dr Hibbing is on the way,” she said softly.
 
“Good.”
 
I was relieved to see the others rise –reluctantly—from their chairs and filing towards the back door of the meeting room.
 
“Samihah…I think the worst is over, but if you would sit down in front of him and be ready to talk, I think it would help. He won’t understand what is happening at first.  He’ll be disoriented. I had a cousin who had seizures.”
 
Samihah was a calm, gentle presence, which would be of great value shortly.  I could feel Eckhart regaining normal muscle tension and control. He was a proud man of considerable paranoia, fully justified paranoia.  We were all certain that he went about Genomex armed. Well, I could feel confirmation of a sidearm through his jacket, and I wasn’t going to let go of him until I had some notion of his mental state.
 
“His eyes are open,” Samihah said.
 
“That’s good.”
 
He struggled weakly against the grip I still had on him; I was glad Samihah was there in his view.
 
“Mr Eckhart, you’ve had a seizure. Everything is under control. Dr Hibbing is coming to help you. Rebecca and I will not leave you.”
 
“I don’t understand,” he said.
 
“You lost consciousness and hit your head on the table.  But you are safe.”  I tried to sound like I was sure.
 
“Safe?”
 
“Yes.  I pulled you away from the furniture.”
 
I felt him relax.
 
“Do you think you can sit up without my holding you?”  I asked.
 
“Yes.”
 
I let go of him, and slid backwards on the smooth tiles—an inelegant move in a skirt but I wanted to be well clear of him.  His dislike and revulsion regarding human contact was legendary at Genomex.  I understood that distaste only too well.
 
He turned about and looked at me, but said nothing.
 
Dr Hibbing appeared in the doorway, followed by two guys commandeered from the autoclave group, dragging a stretcher into the meeting room.
 
“Has anything like this happened before?” Hibbing asked Eckhart.
 
“Never.”
 
Samihah rose from the cold tiles, relieved to leave the problem with professionals.  “I will talk to you at lunch, Rebecca.” 
 
Shortly after, I scrambled to my feet as well, feeling a peculiar blend of pride and embarrassment over my involvement in the situation.
 
“Dr Steyn, you saw what happened?” Hibbing asked.
 
“Yes.  Mr Eckhart lost conscious control, hit the edge of the table with his head, and then the floor with great force.  I’ve seen people have seizures before, so I got him away from the furniture, and made sure he hadn’t swallowed his tongue.”
 
Eckhart would be horrified by that data point, but given his medical condition, Hibbing needed to know so he could select an appropriate course of antibiotics. I wasn’t surprised to see him visibly twitch when I reported that to Hibbing.  I would have liked to tell him I regretted the intrusion, but I couldn’t say anything like that in front of anyone else.  He would have been further embarrassed.
 
“I’ve got to get you back to medical.” Hibbing pointed to the stretcher.
 
“I believe I’m fine now. I can walk there.”
 
“You probably are just fine, but I’m not taking any chances with you.”
 
Eckhart wanted no part of the stretcher. I knew he went to great lengths never to show weakness in front of employees.
 
“You’re going to insist, aren’t you?”
 
“If you whacked your head half as hard as Dr Steyn described, I’d still insist.”
 
As it was, he needed help rising only onto the stretcher.  When I saw him having difficulty, I turned away and walked back towards the table so he could tell himself the lie that I had not noticed.
 
I gathered up my blank quadrille pad, and went back to my labs, where I stood and washed my hands for some time. Perhaps I should consider antibiotics. Eckhart’s condition doubtless left him with some unusual mouth and gut flora. I washed my hands some more. Maybe when I got home, I would be able to do a soak in Betadine or bleach or both.
 
Samihah already had some stories by lunchtime.
 
“I think there are some disappointed people at Genomex,” Samihah said. “The story making the rounds is that Eckhart nearly died, but that a pair of softhearted women saved him.”
 
“Vultures.”
 
“Yes, but brace yourself for the merciless comments.”
 
“That’s already started. You should see my email. Some of it is wickedly funny, some of it is simply cruel.  Not everyone we work with is civilized.”
 
“Definitely not. Some even less than others.” Samihah rolled her eyes at Dr Harrison sliding past with a laden tray.  “Well, you did the right thing, the only thing. They’ll find something else to talk about by next week.”
 
After lunch, I sat down at my desk, and lost myself in composing and emailing final reports to a number of submitters.  They wouldn’t be able to do much with the reports on a Friday afternoon, but they would be able to plan their work for Monday.
 
Around 4.30 my phone rang. I dreaded these calls. Crises always arose after 3 PM on Friday, demanding heroic fixes.
 
I was surprised and relieved to hear Dr Hibbing’s voice, summoning me to the medical department.
 
“Dr Hibbing, should I be starting a round of antibiotics?”
 
“You?”
 
“Yes, since only God knows what that man is growing in his mouth.”
 
Hibbing laughed. I was annoyed. I had done the right thing, but health workers wore gloves for good reasons.  How dare this silly man laugh at my concern?
 
“I’m serious.”
 
“Don’t worry.  Mr Eckhart’s mouth flora is the most normal flora he grows.”
 
I hung up the phone, and walked to medical.  I was confused why I was still part of this adventure.
 
“As well as I can determine, this was a one-time event, precipitated by a change in medication, a mistake that won’t be repeated.  That’s the good news.”
 
“And the bad?”
 
“Mr Eckhart does have a concussion, and a slight memory loss.  That’s not unusual, and he’ll probably regain that memory in a day or so.  That is the typical pattern.”
 
“And why am I here?”
 
“He wants to thank you personally for doing what you did.  You’ve been here long enough to know how he is.  He’s convinced that if you had not been there, he might have died.  I think that’s the head injury talking, but humor him. It can’t hurt.”
 
I knew the politics of Genomex better than Hibbing.  I swam in the waters with these sharks. Samihah was a decent woman, but she was a foreign-born widow with three sons and the rest of her family overseas;  she would not back me openly against the predators, and I did not hold that against her. 
 
Should the sharks perceive me as seeking and receiving special favor, especially from a man as despised as Mason Eckhart, it would not be good for me.  I could quickly bec0me hated, and my ability to perform my duties undermined.
 
Most people loathed Eckhart; slimy Dr Harrison, for example.  Some of them wished him dead. They would gather and discuss Eckhart’s dying, what natural causes to which he would be most vulnerable, what injuries would be most debilitating.  On my way to borrowing or returning equipment I walked into these sessions.  These guys would be laughing, but they were among the most ambitious people at Genomex and among the most astute politically.  Ken Harrison made no effort to hide his dislike of Eckhart. He did not even stop making comments and ‘jokes’ upon my entry into a lab or office but continued talking.  I don’t know if he considered me harmless, witless, or believed I also hated Eckhart. After today, he had to wonder, didn’t he? 
 
I said nothing of this to Dr Hibbing.  I had the queasy feeling that my life was about to become vastly more complicated.
 
“Where is he?” I wanted to get this over with, log off my computer, lock up my lab notebook, and bolt for the parking lot…and forget Genomex for two days.
 
Hibbing rose.  “I’ll see if he’s dressed, and send him in here.”
 
More delay.  I was becoming annoyed.
 
I studied the clutter of Hibbing’s office, the family photos, and then reviewed it all once more.  His daughter looked just like him, which for her was not good.
 
“I want to thank you for helping me.”
 
I hadn’t heard Eckhart coming. He could be very quiet.  I really was not surprised. He closed the door and took the other chair.
 
The faux skin of his face was freshly replaced, and the disorientation was gone from his eyes. I was glad of this, because I found a confused, disoriented Eckhart surprisingly disturbing. I did not know what to do with the genuine and sincere smile.  I had never seen that before, just the almost queasy-making smirk.  I had not heard of the possibility of a genuine smile before, not from Mason Eckhart, an aloof, almost alien creature who never seemed honestly fond of anyone or anything, only barely tolerant of circumstances.
 
“Well, I could do no less,” I said.  My cousin Gary had seizures.  When we were kids my brother Steve and I knew what to do for Gary if there weren’t any adults around.”
 
“A roomful of people did less than you.”
 
He expects decency and kindness from no one. Exactly as I expect decency and kindness from no one.
 
“How is your head?” I asked. “You made an awful sound when your skull hit the edge of the table.”
 
“Throbbing.  Painful.  Don’t tell Dr Hibbing.  He wants to admit me to a hospital. I cannot go there—too much infection.  Serious pain medication seems a far wiser choice.”
 
He was probably correct. Hospitals were dangerous places, fraught with risk of infection for the immune-compromised.  The Genomex medical facilities were unusually well-equipped specifically to avoid the necessity of Eckhart passing through the doors of a hospital.  They would probably be at a loss to understand how best to treat him, anyway.
 
“Why does he want you admitted?”
 
“He wants someone to wake me every two hours, to be sure that I will wake up again.  I understand that is standard practice since there is a chance of a coma.”
 
I surprised myself by what I said next.  “I could do that here.”
 
I knew he rarely left the complex, and that he slept somewhere in the building.  I imagined a cot in a converted closet, or perhaps set up in his office.  With Eckhart, anything was possible and speculation a waste of time. Perhaps he slept on the desktop curled up like a cat;  I certainly never saw anything on that desktop.
 
But wouldn’t he knock a monitor into the floor in his sleep?
 
Maybe he slept under the desk.
 
“You could?  I am sure that would satisfy Dr Hibbing.” He weighed it all for a moment.  “You’re sure?”
 
“Yes.”
 
No.  Well, yes, I’m sure I want to go home.  But how can I withdraw the offer now with any degree of grace and manners?
 
Internally, my panic levels built, and grew, but I couldn’t retract the offer now. Where had that come from?  What price will I pay for this?
 
“That’s extremely kind of you.”  He left Hibbing’s office before my look of dismay could register.
 
You’re being a great fool. You know that. You had a quiet evening planned, your perfect choice of evening, planned and mapped out. All you had to do was go home and live it. Now, that’s all gone. You’re going to throw that all away and stay at Genomex. Don’t even think about comp-time.
 
Dr Hibbing re-entered the office.  I rolled my eyes at him when Eckhart turned his back to me.
 
“You do understand, that if you cannot wake him, you need to call me and he’ll have to go to a hospital immediately.”
 
Hibbing wrote down his home phone number on the back of a business card. “And if you cannot reach me, Dr DiCecco is one of Mr Eckhart’s specialists who will available this weekend. I’m putting down his phone numbers as well.”
 
“Thanks.”
 
“Don’t hesitate to call if you have any difficulty waking him.”
 
“I understand that.”
 
“Good luck.” Out of Eckhart’s line of sight, Dr Hibbing rolled his eyes at me.
 
Now I really felt the fool, with Hibbing letting me know what supreme silliness I was getting into.
 
I had confidence in my competence and fortitude in coping with frightening, dreadful events without panicking. But I could not deal at all with feeling foolish.  It did not matter that somewhere down within the layers of motivation I felt sorry for Eckhart, pity for him that not only was no one concerned about his well-being but that so many were sharply disappointed he was still alive. I couldn’t escape feeling the fool.
 
Half-aware of my surroundings, I followed Hibbing and Eckhart out into the corridor, and watched Hibbing, fortunate man, hurry off to the parking lot.  I wished I could run after him.
 
“You know where my quarters are, don’t you?” Eckhart asked.
 
Quarters?  I had no inkling that any such place existed. Imagined images flashed through my mind of the interior of an oversized stainless steel cube with a stainless steel shelf for sleeping molded into the wall.
 
“No idea.”
 
He seemed surprised by that. Nothing in Genomex mythology dealt with Eckhart personal space other than his office.
 
“I have to set security in my office, and then I’ll come by your labs.”
 
I nodded.  This was beginning to feel very strange.
 
I had been in my clothes since 5 AM, which was long enough.  I went to a locker room and changed into a pair of old jeans and shirt, which I kept at work in case of needing to tear apart instrumentation.
 
Laboratory instrumentation looks slick and high tech, but such equipment breeds dust and dirt on the power cords and computer cables.  Even the surfaces of monitors tend to accumulate a thin black layer distributed across the screen.  Working around instrumentation could be nasty.  If cables needed to be shifted, modules broken apart, or if I just needed to go crawling about behind instruments with a water and isopropanol mixture to check for gas leaks, I wasn’t going to do it in a skirt.
 
I was typically the first person through the door in the mornings. I told people I could not stand driving in traffic but the truth was I preferred working alone.  Alone in my labs I could imagine I had the whole complex to myself, which factually was nearly true.  The security people were always around, but they never had names so they hardly counted.  The cafeteria staff were critical, of course, but they were off in a semi-detached building.
 
The only other person in my building at my usual arrival time of 5-5.30 AM was Eckhart, and he never came near me.
 
I liked working alone. I liked the quiet, the lack of intrusions, the predictability, the control.
 
I was relieved to discover that all of my people had left. None of them would witness Eckhart dropping by and none would jokingly ask for an explanation on Monday.  For this, I was boundlessly grateful.
 
I was relieved.  Maybe I would get lucky and never have to explain to anyone what I was doing, if Dr Hibbing could keep his mouth shut.  I collected a small timer from the lab, and slipped it into my purse, logged off my computer, and waited…but not for long.
 
Eckhart seemed surprised by my change into jeans, but said nothing. 
 
Perhaps he never changes his clothes.
 
“No bodyguard?” I asked.
 
Eckhart rarely strayed far from his office without a bodyguard in attendance.  This was not paranoia on his part;  security was breached several times that I knew about, reportedly by Adam and the lost-soul mutants he recruited as his followers, people unaware of his role in creating them.
 
“Even my GSA bodyguards have gone home.  No one’s left except the cleaning crews and exterior security.”
 
The outer door to his quarters was in fact close to his office.  I had few reasons to ever be in that part of the building, and did not recall noticing this particular door before.  This part of the building was full of high-tech entries, and at Genomex I made a habit of not asking too many questions, but to listen very carefully. Genomex supported many “black” projects that weren’t even supposed to exist.  I did not want to find out what they were and I did not wish to create the impression that I was curious about any of them.
 
Such projects might in fact involve fascinating science, but one just is not nosy about these things.  As peculiar as it might sound to anyone on the outside, manufacturers of consumer products had similar concerns and procedures.  Successful industrial espionage could steal decades of painstaking, creative research and development, and destroy potentials for market share and well-deserved profit.
 
“The entry is set up like an air lock, with a small chamber past this door from which the outside air will be flushed. The interior is kept under constant positive pressure so that any seepage is outward, not in. Entry and exit are keyed to my retinas, my right thumbprint and mine alone.”
 
The first door closed behind us. I am claustrophobic. I could feel myself beginning to sweat beneath my shirt.
 
“Hmm…how to say this…I’m claustrophobic. Very claustrophobic.”
 
“As am I.  We’re nearly through.”
 
“If you lapse into a coma, how am I supposed to get you out?”
 
“There is a manual override…but only on the inside.  I’ll show you.”
 
Which he did, upon entry.  Having this only on the inside prevented an easy invasion of his quarters.
 
“The manual override immediately opens outer and inner doors.  Before taking that drastic step, you can see who, if anyone, is outside waiting for you;  the temperatures of the floor and ceiling, and whether the fire alarms and sprinklers are activated anywhere onsite. If you use that override, and upon the opening of both doors decide you’ve made a mistake, you can close the doors once more. Quickly.”
 
“What about the floors, ceiling, and walls in here?”
 
The question surprised him.  Good.
 
“Steel.  Many inches of it.”
 
“Oxygen?”
 
“There are tanks within the steel cube to deliver breathing air if the exterior intakes are blocked or sabotaged.”
 
“This is a stronghold.”
 
“Yes.”
 
I had expected a cot in a corner.  There were actually several rooms, small, austere rooms heavy on polished stainless steel and glass. The clear intention was to provide as few surfaces as possible for dust and bacteria spores to settle and collect.
 
Whole walls were given over to disks and books shelved behind glass. Museum reproduction, miniatures of course, sat on the shelves in front of the disks.
 
“Not what you expected?” he asked.
 
“No.”
 
 “I have more time than most for reading.”
 
“I rarely come across anyone else who actually reads books.”
 
He laughed.  “With all the doctorate degrees that work here?”
 
“They read technical journals. Most of them have not read a book since undergraduate school.  They only read those because they were required.”  The bulk of the titles were histories.  “And they certainly don’t read history, which I do…the way a lot of people read novels.”
 
“But certainly not military history.”
 
“I’ve always read military history.  I started as a teenager.  My tastes and inclinations have always been eclectic.  I’ve never concerned myself much with what I was supposed to like.”
 
I’d lost myself in the discussion of books and history, walking close to the wall to read the book titles.  I had always loved to read. While I know people online who read as much and as widely as I did, meeting someone like that was a rare event.  I had thousands of books at my condominium. Hardly anyone knew that because of the way I preferred admitting no one to my private universe.  I especially enjoyed history and biography.  Then I stopped myself, horrified that I had let my guard down and simply spoken my thoughts.  Had I made a fool of myself?  I suddenly turned about and faced him.
 
Eckhart looked mildly amused…or pleased. I could not be sure which.
 
“Did I just make a fool of myself?”  I’ve always been very direct.
 
“Not at all. You just gained a lot of respect.”
 
I did not know what to make of that, but I did not doubt his sincerity.  I returned to my examination of the shelf contents.
 
“Frequently it is difficult to know what to tell of oneself, especially in an anti-intellectual age. Say too much, and you get yourself branded as ‘thinking yourself superior’…as if being superior was a bad thing. I’ve learned to mostly keep my mouth shut. People don’t like it when they have no notion what you are talking about.”
 
“Even when what you are talking about was common knowledge among educated people two generations ago,” he said.
 
“Yes.  What was common knowledge has become arcane.  But that attitude cuts across more than academics. Some basic skills known in every household 40 years ago, such as making a pie crust, are mostly forgotten. People are steeped in the minutiae of pop culture, but baffled by planting a flower see or making brownies.”
 
“I don’t know what can be done about that unfortunate attitude.  I’m trying to make certain my children don’t grow up to be one-dimensional technicians.”
 
He had anticipated my surprise, in fact had watched me carefully.
 
“Well before I became this, Dr Steyn, I had a surprisingly normal adult life.  I know some people believe I am something Dr Breedlove created, like Dr Frankenstein, but that’s not true, although it might be true of Adam.”
 
He paused. I knew there was bad blood between them. Everyone knew that.  No one seemed to know all the details. Over my years at Genomex I accumulated many stories—and versions of stories—but I was to learn how much both of them kept secret.
 
“What did you think of Adam?” he asked.
 
The opportunity to answer honestly was more than I could resist.
 
“I thought Adam was a pompous, pampered jackass, and that on days when he was feeling humble and subdued.”
 
Eckhart laughed.
 
“Why didn’t Breedlove make him mind like a good boy?” I asked, smiling.
 
“In absolute truth, I do not know. I only have theories.  Paul really may have created Adam in a sub-basement of Genomex, using some of his own DNA as a partial base.  Adam has no past. Quite possibly, he may be a machine.”
 
“You’re joking.”
 
“I’m not,” he answered.  “I’ve never come across anyone who recalls Adam relating a childhood memory, as if Adam had no childhood to recall. More telling than that, I’ve never come across any record of Adam as a child, no birth record, no school records. About a year prior to admission to Stanford, he makes his first appearance, taking his SATs in 1970.”
 
“I hadn’t thought of Adam as an android.”
 
“Paul Breedlove was full of surprises.”
 
“Most of us are.”
 
“Some, more than others. Paul Breedlove qualifies as a supreme generator of surprises.  I wonder sometimes if Eleanor had any idea who he was.”
 
“Tell me about your children.”
 
“My Grey is the oldest.  Grey is a family name…my middle name…it goes back to General Grey, CSA. Grey’s in college. The twins, Deirdre and Michelle, are high school juniors.”
 
“Twins?”
 
“Yes.  As I once was.  Marc drowned when I was eight.”
 
“I’ve never heard anything about your having a family. Why doesn’t anyone know about them?” Blunt little me, asking why Genomex mythology relates none of this.
 
“They’re safer this way. If hardly anyone knows about them, and I never say anything about them, then I have left the impression I do not care about them.  If the people who hate you know what you love, they will attempt destruction of those people or things.”
 
Yes, they will.  How well I know.
 
“You’re talking about Adam.”
 
“Yes.  I knew you were quick but that is perceptive. Most people think of him as harmless hot air, even now, as he shelters a felon and attempts to transfer the responsibility for his own ill-conceived actions to others.”
 
To you.
 
“Harmless hot air does not set out to slander and destroy reputations.”
 
“No.”
 
“What does Adam love?”
 
“Only Adam.  I once believed he cared about the mutants he created, but I think they are important only as extensions of his own will.  He uses them. I believe he continues to experiment upon them.  No doubt he assures them what he does is completely safe, all the while he carries on his work and heightens the chances their fragile physiological balance will free fall into oblivion.”
 
Eckhart had told me quite a lot. I was not sure why he was doing this, and guessed the explanation was somewhere between the head injury and having no one to tell any of these things for years.
 
“I’m not going to repeat anything you’ve told me.”
 
“I did not think you would.  Anymore than I’ll repeat anything you’ve told me.”
 
Eckhart completed the tour of his safe, sealed space.
 
“If it’s a clear enough night, perhaps we can go up on the roof and put my telescope through its paces.”
 
“Telescope?”
 
“It’s perfect. I don’t sleep well.  Some nights I prowl around the building.  I think I know most of the secrets of this facility. I’ve burrowed into places locked and sealed for 30 or 40 years.  Other nights, I spend on the roof. Nobody knows it’s there except the people who installed it, and now you.”
 
I smiled and laughed.  “By now, I’ll guess you have no fear of the dark.”
 
“None,” he laughed.  “How did you know?”
 
“Before coming here, I worked as the overnight shift chemist at a recklessly run chemical plant. Every time I drove to work I expected to find a half-mile wide crater where the production facility used to be.”
 
“Morale must have been sky-high,” he said sarcastically.
 
“Oh, it was. I called the plant ‘Hell’. Some nights I never sat down.  Mind you, these were twelve-hour shifts.  Others, I had time to wander around the mostly abandoned fifteen acre site, by myself, in all kinds of weather.  I found all kinds of things tucked away in obscure corners. Night became the same as day for me.”
 
“You have some surprises of your own.”
 
“At the time, working there was a miserable experience, but it left me strong, independent, and not afraid of the dark.  I’m not afraid of much of anything any longer.”
 
“Not even me?”
 
“I’ve never been afraid of you.”
 
“That makes you possibly unique.”
 
“I do my job.  I don’t make trouble. Why should I be afraid of you?”
 
“You shouldn’t.  Tell me, what do you think of my stronghold?”
 
“Most of the people here have never considered that you have somewhere to sleep.”
 
“What do they think I do?”
 
“Many of them believe you’re always awake.”
 
“I’ve pushed the possibilities of my life since the ‘accident’.  If I had not, I’d still be confined to an oversized glovebox. Breedlove wanted to keep me in the lab.  Adam just wanted me to die.”
 
I had not missed the special attention he had given ‘accident’, implying that it was anything but an accident. “What exactly happened to you?”
 
“I’m forbidden to tell the specifics to anyone, but simply put, Adam happened to me. I think I was crazy for months after ‘X’.  Between the sedatives Breedlove fed me, and the dire outlook described when I was aware and alert, I should have stayed crazy, except that I knew Grey and the girls needed me. Every time I felt myself sinking into despair or infection, I thought about them, and rallied myself to keep fighting.”
 
“What about their mother?” I wasn’t sure I should have asked that, but he hadn’t made those children by himself.
 
“Adam again. He persuaded her to leave me, so he could make her the Princess of Genomex.  As he does with most things, however, Adam quickly moved on from Jackie.”
 
“I’m sorry.  I didn’t have any of that in mind when I asked.”  I felt as if I had stumbled upon evidence of family shame, carefully hidden.  Nothing in Genomex lore hinted at this.
 
“I know you didn’t.  But I wanted to tell you.”  I knew that was true when he said it. But I could not imagine why he would want to tell me.
 
“There are people at Genomex who are convinced hatred of Adam and of mutants is all you live for.”
 
Eckhart smirked. “Good. That is the lie I want them to believe.  Oh, I do loathe Adam, but if that was all I held in my heart, my descent into madness would have been steady, certain, and swift, and I would not have been able to fight off my demons.”
 
I believed him.  As destructive as Adam had been in Eckhart’s life –and I did not yet know the whole of it—Adam’s comeuppance was no reason for living. I knew from the way he talked about his children where the roots of his heart were lodged.
 
There was a large, comfortable chair facing the only window. I claimed it and began reading one of the photocopied papers I had brought with me about ion chromatography.  The paper served only to put me to sleep.  Most technical writing serves well to induce sleep. When I awoke, it was fully dark outside, and a blanket had been draped over me.
 
I checked the time, and cursed silently, following the light to Eckhart’s bedroom.
I was relieved to find him sitting up in bed, wide awake, papers spread out in front of him.
 
“Well! Some watchdog!”  But he smiled, and I knew he was being playful. There was no hint of sarcasm in his voice.  Had I known twenty-four hours before that this man could be playful?  Had any of the Genomex lore suggested it?
 
“I’m sorry.”
 
“Don’t be. You volunteered to lose a lot of sleep tonight.  Waking you would have been cruel.”
 
He gathered up the papers. “Deirdre and Michelle think they should go to different colleges and develop independent selves.  It’s a good idea, but I’m not sure they’re ready for it.  They’re inseparable now.”
 
“How often do you communicate with them?”  I imagined a phone call on weekends.
 
“Almost daily. We all have web cams.”
 
“You’re closer to them than I imagined.”
 
“Some evenings I help them with their homework.”
 
“Thank goodness for technology.”
 
“Yes.  It’s not ideal, but it works surprisingly well. They know my health is difficult to maintain.  I believe they understand.”
 
At first I thought he was still dressed, but as I looked more closely, he clearly wasn’t.
 
“Where did you find black pinstripe pajamas?”
 
“I had them custom-made. One day I overheard Mayakovsky telling his rude joke about me probably sleeping in black pinstripes. The next time you come within hearing of that joke, laugh, because you’ll be laughing with me. Yes, I’ve noted for some time that you aren’t one of the people who laugh at me.  I know who laughs at the rude jokes and who doesn’t.”
 
“Mayakovsky is a barbarian who knows a lot about molecular biology.”
 
“Which is good, since his competence extends nowhere else.”
 
“How do you feel?” I asked.
 
“My head hurts a great deal.”  He felt his forehead, obscured by his ‘hair’. “Which it should, since there is quite a swelling there. I still have no memory of being at that meeting.”
 
“That might take a little time to return.  The swelling will have to go down first.  Do you think you can sleep?”
 
“Maybe.”
 
“Good.”  I pointed to the timer around my neck.  “I’m going to set it for two and a half hours.” I turned and left.
 
Two and a half hours I came back, and woke him.
 
“What is my name?”
 
“Rebecca Steyn.”
 
“Nicely done.  I’ll be back in two hours.”
 
“Cruel.”
 
“Necessary.”
 
Two hours later I had enough trouble waking him that I began to worry, enough to start digging through my pockets for the phone numbers Hibbing had given me.
 
“What is your name?” I asked.
 
“Mason.”
 
“Very good.  You were deeply asleep. You came close to taking a trip to a hospital.”
 
“O, no.”
 
“O, yes.”
 
Some time after that, but not a full two hours, he woke me, then sat in the floor in front of the chair where I was curled up. The suite of rooms was very chilly. He was wrapped in a blanket.
 
“I’ve been thinking, Dr Steyn,” he said, face barely illuminated by the faint light.
 
“Always a dangerous thing to do,” I said, adopting his own tone of mock seriousness. “A risky habit to cultivate.  Do you have any idea how much trouble one can get into merely by thinking?”
 
“I know. But it occurred to me that while you now know all kinds of things about me, I know very little more about you than I did yesterday.”
 
“What would you like to know?” I asked.
 
“How is it you are free tonight to sit and watch that I do not slip into the infinite sleep? Why aren’t you home with a family, the two kids, the dog, the cat, and the spouse. I know I am being rude.  I am a rude man.  I do not pretend otherwise.”
 
“Bluntly put, why am I unattached?”
 
“Yes.”
 
“I was attached once.  Being alone is much preferable to being attached to the wrong person. Getting free of him required a small fortune.  Now, I believe I’m that way because men don’t like me.  Not because I don’t like them.  Not because I like women.”
 
“That’s hard to believe.”
 
“I believe it. I live by it.  So do most of my women friends. Hardly any of them are married or attached.”
 
“But that doesn’t make sense.”
 
“Yes, it does. Men don’t generally like smart women.  I’m very smart, very competitive, and in to win.  I won’t flatter and I won’t play dumb.  I will not ‘settle’.  I enjoy my own company a great deal.”
 
“Not every man wants stupid company. Not this man.”
 
I laughed softly.  “You are well known for your intolerance of fools.  It is one of the central themes of Genomex mythology.”
 
“My mission is a serious one.  I have to get the best out of my people for their own good as well as mine.  Do you intend living behind your walls the rest of your life?”
 
“Walls?”
 
“Walls.  I’m a wall-builder myself.  I plainly see what you are doing. I cannot be fooled.”
 
“Is that your head injury talking?”
 
“No,” he said.
 
“Are you sure?” I asked.
 
“Mostly sure.”
 
“I was married for four years to someone who morphed into a monster, and did some very bad things to me.  Non-trivial bad things, including a murder attempt. I would require unusual motivation to consider changing my ways. My scars have scars. Parts of me have never healed and never will. I don’t dwell upon those years, but I’d be a silly woman to learn nothing from them.”
 
I had told these things to hardly anyone, ever, and in my present life, only Samihah knew. She had known her share of grief and pain. Neither of us reflected frequently upon our past bad days, but we understood one another better than anyone who was comparatively unscathed and unscarred by their lives.
 
Is that why I’m telling these things to Mason Eckhart, of all people?  Because I sense his emotional damage at least matches his physical damage? Because I believe he might understand?  Why does it matter that he understand?  It hasn’t mattered since 1992.
 
“I’m always amazed when I come upon people whose lives have been greased glides across glass. They never seem to be very hardy.  How does the quote from Dune go?  ‘There should be a science of discontent.  People need hard times and oppression to
develop psychic muscles’.”
 
I smiled weakly. “I don’t know if I could survive developing any more psychic musculature.  I haven’t become crazy, mean, or destructive.  For that I am thankful. I’ve just gone into hiding.”
 
“I wish I could say that, but I have a good idea just how nasty I’ve become.”  He nearly smiled. “I’m not fishing for a contradiction.  I know how I am.  But I haven’t always been this way.”
 
“I believe you.”
 
“If I came and called to you from outside those walls, would you at least listen to what I was saying?  Or would you ignore me, pretend I wasn’t there, and wait for me to go away?”
 
“I would listen to you.”
 
I was surprised with my answer, and what it implied. I had lied to myself from the beginning of this indescribable evening.  How is it possible to deceive oneself?  But I had done so.  I was where I wanted to be and in the company of whom I wished.
 
Run, Rebecca.
 
“I know the law. If I say anything more, I run the risk of finding myself in a courtroom. Aside from that, you volunteered your time to do a kind thing, and few people do me kindnesses.  I don’t wish to repay that by making you uncomfortable.  Whatever your reasons, I know it wasn’t about fawning over me for special favor.  I don’t think you would know how to fawn. Do you wish me to stop?”
 
Yes, I’m terrified.
 
“No. The only attorneys I ever want to talk to again are my cousins Mike and Gary.”
 
“You won’t sue me or Genomex if I continue?”
 
So cautious.

“No.”
 
“Modern life is so full of pitfalls and minefields.”
 
“I appreciate that.”
 
“If you wish me to stop at any time, I will do so. You’re on my ground here;  the advantage is mine.  That’s unfair to you and I do not wish to be unfair.”
 
“Strange that words should have such power over us, but they do. If I can’t listen to anymore, most likely it is due to my past history, not you. My scars have scars.”
 
“As do mine.”  He hesitated. “I noticed you soon after Breedlove hired you.”
 
Fifteen years ago.
 
“You did?” This revelation was a shocker.
 
“Yes.  I don’t believe I was the only one.”
 
I shrugged in the near darkness. “I’m not aware of anything like that.  I could have been invisible, as far as I could tell. I’ve always been invisible wherever I go, whatever I’m doing.  I assume that I am invisible, that no one will notice me or anything I do. I certainly don’t expect anyone to notice I’m a woman, except in the case of professional jealousy. There are a lot of dinosaurs roaming through the corridors of corporations.”
 
“Well, you’re not invisible. Not to me. Not to others. I don’t know how this notion of invisibility arose, but I assure you, it is false. Even if you did not perceive it, I was aware of the interest other men had in you. I noticed something else as well: your inherent kindness and decency. Most people are myopically self-focused. The way you took Dr Shah under your wing when her husband died was extraordinary.”
 
“I strive to do the right and just thing.  I always have.  Good old reliable Rebecca.”
 
“That’s clear. The self I present outside these sealed doors is a carefully constructed persona intended to inspire fear and maintain discipline.  Genomex isn’t an ordinary corporation;  I’m fighting a kind of secret war. When people look at me, they see a monster, a cold, aloof man with hardly any humanity left.”
 
“Better for the Prince to be feared than loved,” I said.
 
“Exactly so.”
 
“I read the same book.”  I smiled; he smiled back.  “And you do it so well.”
 
“Is that a compliment?” he asked.
 
“From me, yes.”
 
“But you weren’t taken in, were you? You saw something other than a monster before today. What did you see that others missed?”
 
“I study people constantly, wherever I am. I heard stories about you before lunch my first day at Genomex.  I did not believe such a person could exist.  When I learned you were real, I studied you with great care. I write fiction. I have to understand motivation. I have to understand people.”
 
“Does this mean we’ll all end up in a novel?”
 
“No. People always fret that they will find themselves in print that way, but that isn’t the way it’s done. My characters are all synthesized, wholly new.”
 
“That’s a relief.  So what did you see in me that compelled you to help me in front of those people?  I know some of them would like me dead. I know some are actively scheming against me.  You might have done the same for a stranger, but I’m not a stranger, and I work hard at being forbidding and unapproachable.”
 
“If the persona you presented was your genuine self, you would have to be insane.  But your performance is not flawless. Your lapses, if one was quick enough and astute enough to perceive them, revealed a human buried safe and deep.  There is a whole body of near-legend about you and your inhumanity.”
 
“I can imagine.”
 
“The stories say nothing about the possibility of a human being inside somewhere, but I found one anyway, and liked what I found.  Even your warm and fuzzy persona has many admirable qualities.”
 
Eckhart laughed at my last comment.  “You are insightful.  I watch people carefully, and must, for my own survival. But you haven’t created an extreme persona to keep people at a safe distance.  I cannot imagine indifference to you.”
 
“I’m sorry.  I don’t mean to make this difficult for you.  I’m not handling this well at all.  You’re not the only one protecting yourself behind a professional veneer.”
 
“If I resigned Monday morning, removing myself from influence upon your career, your attitude towards me would not change, would it?”
 
“No.”  I was surprised by the question.
 
“There have been women drawn to my power, who either wanted to share that power, or they wanted me to advance their careers.
 
“I’d be more comfortable if one of us worked somewhere else.”
 
“That makes sense. There have been women drawn to my persona, women who liked the cruelty they perceived.  I will not allow myself to be used or manipulated.  My job…this secret war…sometimes demands harsh, brutal conduct. I have the resolve and the stomach for those tasks, but I derive no perverse pleasure from them.  I do not desire the company of anyone who delights in the suffering of others.”
 
“They misperceived you, and their perceptions were not flattering.”
 
“Exactly so. I am a good deal more complicated than my persona.”
 
“You must have confused them,” I said.
 
“They weren’t around for long.”
 
“I’m not scheming for career advancement.  My ambitions and inclinations are not within the sphere of GSA functions.”  I smiled, but the statement was one I wanted him to understand with unshaded, absolute clarity.
 
“I know that.  Although you’d be good at it, with your high levels of rationality, subtlety, powers of observation and broad education.”
 
“That’s a compliment, yes?”

“Very much so,” he said.
 
“Cloak and dagger is not my style.”
 
“Are you sure? You’ve spent years quietly, patiently, unobtrusively collecting Genomex mythology, sifting it, sorting it. And what do you do in your labs, putting your instruments through their paces? You solve puzzles, don’t you?  Solving puzzles is no small part of what I do.  My puzzles involve people.”
 
“That’s true,” I realized.
 
“I try to discern patterns and rules in human conduct. You’ve noted I’m a formal personality?”
 
“Yes. I like that. Casual attitudes and presumptuous familiarity make people crude and banal.”
 
“I do not care for presumptuous people and I presume very little.  I dislike anyone entering my personal space, setting bare hands on my things, and I abhor being touched.  None of this applies to you, but I will not presume you share a reciprocal level of comfort.”
 
“How did you know I dislike being touched?” I asked. I thought I had been subtle .
 
“I’ve watched you avoid contact with people.”
 
“I thought no one noticed. People take offense once they understand you’re avoiding their touch.”
 
“Don’t worry.  You do well.  I am far worse about it than you. I do not want to be touched through my clothes or even on the gloves, with two barriers between the other and me.”
 
“It’s all about maintaining a safe distance,” I offered. “How do other people do these things so easily?” I asked.  “I’ve watched them carefully and never understood.”
 
“I don’t believe you can be hurt unless you had an emotional investment. The people who never make such investments never get hurt badly and never scar. Once the scars are inflicted, everything becomes difficult.”
 
“Perhaps the truth is that simple.”
 
He reached out to me with his biopolymer shielded, black glove covered right hand.
 
I started to stretch out my hand to him, but hesitated.
 
“On my honor, I swear I will never intentionally harm you.”
 
“I believe you.”
 
“Have some small measure of faith. Even I have that.”
 
“I believe that, too.” I grasped the dark gloved hand.
 
“How were you able to help me if you’re this afraid of people?”
 
“I did not have time to think. I understood what was happening to you and I did what I had to do for my cousin Gary when there weren’t any adults around.  I haven’t always been this way.”
 
“None of us has. Life changes us. The people who happen to us change us.’
 
“Yes,” I said softly.
 
“The temperature in here is programmed to be coldest in the middle of the night. The principle of discouraging microbial growth is sound, but I’m never comfortable Aren’t you cold here?  I am.”
 
“Yes.  Do you have at least one other blanket you could throw over me?”
 
“I do, but listen: the forced air system always generates a draft.” He hesitated, uncertain of how, or whether to proceed.  “Dr Steyn, we should keep talking before one or both of us retreats behind the walls we’ve built. I know exactly what this sounds like, but on my honor, it is not:  we’d both be a lot warmer under several blankets in the other room.”
 
I was stunned. “Together?”
 
“Yes.  Listen to me. Trust is fragile and rare. I will not squander the possibility of your trust before I’ve had a chance to earn it.”
 
I felt trapped.  I panicked and let go of his gloved hand.
 
“Oh, no. I’ve frightened you. Maybe worse, maybe done you more harm. That was not my intent.”
 
“No,” I shook my head. “Not you.  Other people have beat me up emotionally. You don’t need to know the details. My most useful response has proven to be flight.”
 
“I can have you through those doors in 90 seconds.”
 
“No. I’m sorry I’m like this.”
 
I felt lost and confused, and I did not like the feeling.
 
“I am not afraid of you, Mr Eckhart. You have qualities I admire. I like you.  You’re rational.  You’re fair. You respect me and my work.”
 
“I’m not accustomed to praise.”
 
“Everything I said, I meant. It’s true.”
 
“I’m a proud man, and a thoroughly chilled one.  I may never be this brave again.  I may never whack my head that hard again. Please.” He held out his hand again.
 
I panicked.  “I don’t know.” I was remembering Rosamund and Alboin’s empty little collars.
 
“I cannot beg.”
 
“I would not expect that, not from you.”
 
Eckhart stood up, and draped the second blanket around me. “Sleep well, Dr Steyn. See you in two hours.”
 
“It’s not you. Really it isn’t. I am sorry.”
 
“As am I.  I do understand.  I’m deeply damaged myself.” He turned away from me in the darkness, gliding silently.
 
When he had left the room, it felt suddenly empty, and I surprised myself by finding the emptiness intolerable. I wasn’t sure what I could do to change anything.  I gathered the two blankets around me, and followed him.
 
I startled him, which wasn’t easily done. 
 
“Are you leaving?” he asked, setting aside a book.
 
“No.”  I spread the blankets out on top of the bed and crawled beneath the covers.
 
“I gave up hope on you,” he said.
 
“Surprise.”
 
“Yes.”
 
I was fully dressed, of course, but he wasn’t exaggerating the chill of the place. He was seated upright with his book.  I snuggled up next to him.  I could see his eyes.
 
“I feel silly,” I said.  “You look worried.”
 
“I am. Don’t think any of this is easy for me.”
 
I was surprised to discover that he was warm.  I had not anticipated that, expecting something more reptilian.  The thought came u nbidden, and seemed very unfair. He closed the book, and set it and his glasses aside, then slid down beside me.
 
“I’m not much one for optimism, and I cannot promise I will never hurt you, because I’m too imperfect.”
 
“My ability to trust is nearly gone. That’s why I prefer working with numbers and things that are easily quantified, things that don’t change and aren’t unreliable, like people.”
 
“Whoever did this to you needs killing.” He wasn’t joking.  He was serious.
 
“The world would be a better place with him out of it. It sounds funny now, but someone I believed was a thoroughly decent person offered to put me in touch with a bad biker type who would do the job for fifty dollars plus gas money.”
 
“People can be so surprising.  Were you tempted?”
 
“No. I just wanted to be away from him and be free.”
 
“Commendable of you.”
 
“I don’t hurt people back because they’ve hurt me. I just remove myself to a safe place.”
 
“Yet you’re here.”
 
“Is this a safe place?”
 
“Safer than you can imagine, Dr Steyn.”
 
“No,” I interrupted him. “Please don’t call me that.  It’s the middle of the night, and I’m in your bed. Call me Rebecca. As much as I understand and appreciate your formality and lack of presumption, in some settings only the familiar will do.”
 
“Rebecca.”
 
“Much better.”
 
“Rebecca, I don’t want to make any mistakes. I’ve made enough of those. What I want to do is court you.”
 
This sounded old-fashioned or strange or both. I didn’t know what to say. No one talked like this.  Was he making cruel fun of me after all?  No good deed goes unpunished. I was deeply suspicious of everyone but especially so of men. Too much had happened to me. Too many things had happened to female friends and coworkers, among whom I counted no less than three who had survived murder attempts by husbands or boyfriends.  And there were those two little empty collars sitting on top of my dresser.

“Rebecca?”
 
I realized I had been silent a long time, and that I was near to panic.  I should be home, safe behind several locks.  And I had forgotten to set my VCR.  I was angry with myself, several different ways.  I did not tolerate fools any better than Eckhart did, especially when I was the fool.
 
“Rebecca?” Mason sounded panicky himself.  How long had I been lost in my own thoughts?
 
“Mason, I’m sorry. I was lost in some memories, bad ones. I’ve lived a long time in an emotional wilderness.  I do my work as well I know to do, but outside of the time I spend with Samihah, I’ve become reclusive and feral.  I’ve never been important to anyone except for the work I could perform or the paycheck I could turn over to them for ‘joint’ savings that turned out not to include me. Time and again I’ve been beaten up emotionally.”
 
“So have I.  I could easily decide all women were faithless, fickle users, but I don’t believe you’re that way. Hence, the importance of trust, which is difficult to come by and easy to destroy.”
 
I’d never forget the utterly convincing story Jeff told about Alboin and Rosamund sleeping in their favorite window that morning when he left for work.  Or how badly he felt for my loss, because he knew how much I loved those cats. I believed every word.
 
I wanted to believe every word.  When I found the collars in the trash just a few minutes later, I knew everything Jeff said to me could be a lie.  I didn’t confront him with the collars, because he’d only confabulate some more. There were a lot more lies left for me to discover.  This was just the begining.
 
“What is it, Rebecca?”
 
“The past returning, unbidden.”
 
“The past has a way of doing that. What kind of flowers do you like?”
 
“Carnations.”
 
“You shall have them.”
 
“No one ever asks what I want.”
 
“That’s about to change.”
 
Mason was trying very hard and I wasn’t helping. No matter how I tried to remain focused upon the present, my past kept intruding.
 
Nevertheless, I knew the last thing I wanted to do was hurt Mason.   “Should I even be here?” I asked. I was easily the greatest source of infection in the room.
 
“My doctors disagree on my tolerance for infection.  Some of them believe the hours I spend outside of these quarters will kill me.  Others say I’m actually building tolerance. I have evidence that the optimists are correct that I have not shared with them.”
 
 
I surprised myself by sleeping through until morning.  I never did that. Typically I awake several times and listen carefully.  Some nights I even got out of bed and inspected the exterior doors.  Waking up was more than a little disorienting, because the setting was unfamiliar and I wasn’t alone. I had slept alone for years, ever since breaking up with an engineer who told me he was doing me a favor by dating me. Who needs that kind of favor?  I realized I enjoyed my own company more than that of the wrong person.  Then I noted that I was fully dressed.
 
Then it all came back: I had never gone home. I was still at work. I turned and looked at Mason.
 
With all the tension gone from his face, Mason looked different. Younger. Certainly not menacing.  I could look at him and believe the things I’d learned about him during the last sixteen hours represented the authentic Mason, the one hidden deeply from nearly everyone.
 
I was pleased, greatly pleased, with the way events had turned.  Nevertheless, I was nagged by the oddness of everything.  Who would believe it?
 
Why do the odd things happen to me?  And the odd people? Am I somehow seeking them out?
 
I surprised myself thinking such thoughts about Mason, who, after all, had never done anything to bring harm to me in all the years I had worked for him, and who had taken some serious emotional chances overnight. I felt cruel and disloyal.
 
But Mason is odd.  And so am I.
 
Nevertheless, no one wants to be peculiar. Even an eccentric like me did not want oddness to pervade every aspect of my life, I concluded.  And I knew that this was going to be odd, bizarre, strange, and if trends continued, sweet.
 
I can still bolt now, and retreat to perfect safety.
 
How could I be so brave about things that deeply frightened other women, yet readily stampeded by others?
 
Repetitive conditioning, I answered myself.  I come by my attitudes honestly.  I endured a lot of years getting beat up, until I built walls high enough and thick enough to keep out anything. Well, I may have come by my emotions honestly, but that made them no less annoying.  Or inconsistent.
 
Save yourself. Nothing good can come of this.  You function with apparent flawlessness on the job. Nobody has any inkling what a fragile, damaged tangle you are inside.  How much more can you take?
 
Arguing with myself made me even more annoyed.
 
So, I decided there was only one thing to do, and that was to start the day over.  Go back to sleep and wake up later so it would feel like a different day. I wouldn’t be reflecting upon my doubts if I went back to sleep.  Everything might look better the next time I wake up.
 
If that weird white hair is a wig, how is it that it hasn’t moved a millimeter?  Can that really be hair, no matter what company lore indicates?
 
I decided to give him something to think about.  I snuggled very close and put an arm about him. And fell back asleep.
 
 
“I’ll be back. Fear not.” I smiled.
 
Mason didn’t look convinced. He looked worried.
 
“Mason, I never make promises I don’t fully intend to keep.  I don’t say things because I believe people want to hear them.  There are things I must take care of at home.”
 
“Very well.” He tried to wear a smile over his doubts, but the effort fell short of intentions.
 
I hadn’t given him reason to doubt me, but he was correct in emphasizing the need for developing trust.  I had given him plenty of reasons to think my fears might overcome my rational intent and sincerity. How did Irulan say it? “A beginning is the time for taking the most delicate of care that the balances are correct.”
 
I didn’t want to make any mistakes, especially of the self-sabotaging sort.  Many times people will choose a familiar pain instead of a possible solution in the unfamiliar.
 
Mentally I calculated how long I would require for chores and errands, and told Mason when I thought I would return.
 
I did have things to do at home. I left Genomex fully intending to return promptly, but events did not happen that way.
 
My answering machine was loaded. Some of the messages could be dealt with later, but not the one from my sister-in-law Sherri.  Sherri never said anything in twenty words that could be expanded to two hundred, or even more dramatically, to two thousand. Her message might be important, judging by her breathless tone, but from past experience it was not.  Still, you never know…
 
I steeled myself to the chore of talking to this woman.  Sherri was bright but unfocused.  Nothing in Sherri’s life had required her develop focus.
 
As I had suspected, the matter was less than life and death. My brother Steve had been promoted, and they were about to move, again, this time to some place in Ohio near Columbus. Sherri was already thinking ahead to a bigger house and the joys of decorating. 
 
Sherri thought I was strange because my walls were lined with bookshelves, different styles and sizes acquired at various stages in my life. Sherri was most appalled by my collection of video and audio electronic toys, all stacked on commercial grade metal shelving.
 
She did not have to say out loud how hideous she found this arrangement. I was just being my pragmatic Rebecca-self.  After spending a lot of money on equipment, I wasn’t going to trust it to flimsy but nice to look at shelving.  The open backs of the metal shelves helped dissipate heat.  Sherri’s eyes glazed over when I talked about dissipating heat. If she fried out a piece of electronics, she put it in the trash and bought a replacement.
 
Sherri could not have set up a VCR with the threat of someone holding a sharp stick to her jugular, and neither could any of her women friends, but she didn’t know any men who had some of the toys I had.  One day I tried to explain the difference between a DVD and a VCD to Sherri.  Well, to be fair, Steve didn’t know, either, and I had come across people at Radio Shack who had never heard of VCDs.
 
Sherri thought it was very unnatural for a woman to know all of these things.  I just thought it was fun.
 
She had never heard of a woman who had three computers, all in working order, including one (Sherri-shudder) in my bedroom.
 
Sherri and I were almost different species.
 
I assured her that the natives in Ohio were friendly and mostly wore shoes now, and that her American plastic money would be enthusiastically welcomed there in the malls.  Yes, they even had shopping malls in Ohio now.
 
I had to return Samihah’s phone call, and that took some time as well. Samihah wasn’t a problem like Sherri, however, since she was organized and direct.  Samihah had no time to waste. Samihah wanted to give a birthday party for Ali, no, Alan, she had changed all of her son’s names to sound home-grown so they would fit in better at their schools.  Her sons were all home grown, and very American, but Samihah was taking no chances, given recent history.
 
She hadn’t told the family back in the old country about changing the boys’ names or about how she was attending a Unitarian church.  Sometimes distance is a good thing.
 
The birthday was about a month away, and she wanted the party to be perfectly, thoroughly American, not just for Alan’s friends, but to leave an assuring impression with their parents as well.
 
We discussed fancy cakes and ice cream.  I did not notice how much time passed as Samihah put together her project plan for the party. I told her I’d help with the party itself. I frequently did things with Samihah and her boys. I was fond of Samihah and this also allowed me opportunity to vicariously experience family living.
 
When I was done at the condo, I had to pick up a package at the post office that required a signature, but it turned out to actually be sitting in a second post office. More time burned.  More obscure electronic toys acquired.
 
All of this consumed a good deal more time than I had estimated. Temperamentally, I am compelled to be early;   I was raised to believe making people wait for you was rude.
 
I did not know how Mason would take my late return.  If he lapsed into his Handmaiden-of-Satan persona used with people who failed him, demanding compliance at any cost, I was going to wish him well with his concussion and leave, without further discussion.  Forever. I was not going to tolerate bad behavior from anyone.  Then, I would somehow talk my way into spending the balance of the day with Samihah, and do my best to banish Mason –and disappointment—from my mind.  I always have a plan.
 
I was relieved to see that he did not wear a black suit on weekends. He was instead wearing, surprise, black jeans and a black turtleneck sweater.  Another perennial Genomex mystery solved, but I could not tell anyone.
 
“I didn’t think you were coming back.”
 
He sounded lost, not angry.  Other men might have said this to make me feel guilty, but from Mason at this moment, it was all about raw hurt.
 
“I am sorry. I had to chase a package through two post offices, call my Planet Fluffbrain sister-in-law, and hear about their next move in excruciating detail, and call Samihah to plan Alan’s birthday party.”
 
“Alan?”
 
“Her middle son. You might remember him as Ali. He’s now Alan.”
 
“Ah.”
 
“I do a lot of things with Samihah and her boys.”
 
“I was concerned.  You are habitually punctual.”
 
“I’m here now. I did not have the extension here, or I would have called. Calling 7777 Security seemed unwise.”
 
I knew about his mother’s suicide and about how his wife cleaned out their house while he was at work. He expected women to abandon him. 
 
“Yes.”
 
“Try not to read anything into the way things worked.  No meaning was intended.”
 
“I don’t think you’d lie to me.” He tried to smile.
 
“How is your head feeling?

“Tender.”
 
“You hit the table edge with great force.” I reached out my right hand but stopped short of touching him.  “May I?”
 
“Go ahead.”
 
I found the swelling without difficulty. And I noticed something else.
 
“I still have no recollection of that meeting,” he said.
 
“Well, it was a very boring meeting. You might want to substitute a one-page memo from each of us, copied to all.  The swelling may have to go down before your memory is restored.  Shouldn’t you be putting ice on this?”
 
“Too messy.”
 
“I could go to a drugstore and get a gel-pack. I should have looked at this before I left.”
 
He looked astonished.
 
“And I will come back. Promptly.” I smiled.
 
“Well, if you wouldn’t mind.”

”I don’t.  But first, a question:  that’s hair growing out of your head, isn’t it?”
 
“Yes,” he laughed. “I think you’re the first one to notice.”
 
“Genomex mythology says it’s a wig.”
 
“Up until about a year ago, it was a wig.  Then my own hair started growing back, except that it was unpigmented.  My doctors could not explain hair growing again any more than they could explain why I am now making some red and white blood cells.  I’ve been told for years that my condition was permanent and that there was no possibility of improvement.”
 
 “Are they tracking these data?  Do the data indicate a trend towards improvement?”
 
“So far. I’m trying not to think about it overmuch. Living this way is a drain.  I don’t know how well I could cope if indicators changed and I started to backslide.  That would be like crawling partway out of deep pit, only to fall all the way back to the bottom.”
 
“Maybe you need new doctors, ones who aren’t locked into earlier conclusions and who will think in terms of possibilities.”
 
“You’re probably correct.  The difficulty lies in how I describe the ‘accident’ adequately enough to help anyone unfamiliar with my condition without divulging classified information.  Breedlove was insistent about that.  The technology involved is still classified, and I am still bound by security agreements.”
 
“But that’s hardly fair to you, not if there is a chance of enhancing and hastening your improvement.”
 
“You’re very partisan, aren’t you?”
 
“My loyalties, once given, are personal and not easily broken. People have told me I was the best friend they ever had.”
 
“And?” He noted the tone of my voice.
 
“That didn’t stop them from doing bad things to me later.”
 
“I’m none of those people, Rebecca.”
 
“No, you’re not.”
 
“Give me a chance.”
 
 
Fortunately, there was a drug store a few blocks past the Genomex gate.  Unfortunately, as I was re-entering the building, Dr Mayakovsky was exiting.
 
Joe Mayakovsky really wasn’t a bad guy.  He did some highly original work, gave proper credit to his technicians, was utterly honest, and avoided corporate politics, although he was an infamous gossip. He was also loud, coarse, fond of childish practical jokes, and lonely.  Naturally, he was drawn to petite, shy, soft-spoken Dr Shah. Samihah found him unsubtle, and incapable of taking a hint.
 
“Good Morning, Rebecca!”
 
“Good Morning, Joe.”
 
“No rest for the wicked, eh?”
 
“A watched autosampler never fails.  Turn your back on them for too long, however, and out come the gremlins. I’m just making sure a 68 sample run goes to completion.”
 
That wasn’t a lie, but I wasn’t going directly to that instrument, and ordinarily I would not have returned until Sunday morning, when even fewer people were likely to be around.
 
“I’ve been here for hours. I’m going to get lunch, and come back and push back the frontiers of science.” He grinned.
 
Mayakovsky could be funny and amusing when he talked like this, but from past experience I knew the conversation had the potential of taking an unexpected swerve and making a powered dive into bathroom humor.
 
“Well, do have a nice lunch. I must get going, Joe.”
 
“Thanks. I’ll drop by your office later.”
 
I hadn’t considered the conclusions which some might draw from my comings and goings at odd hours into the complex.  I did have a habit of checking automated operations on weekends.  Expensive instrumentation is great when it is working and maddening when it fails. But I didn’t do this every weekend.
 
The people I worked with knew my car.  If they saw it in the parking lot all the time, they would start telling me I was working too hard. Then they’d think I was up to no good, possibly doing corporate espionage for a biotech competitor.  Corporate espionage is real.  Mason would find himself listening to Concerned Employees offering up abundant speculation about my activities.  Messy.  I don’t like messy.
 
“There!  I was not gone long, was I?”
 
“You were not.”  Mason almost purred.  I did not recall ever hearing quite that tone from him.
 
“Let’s get these chilling. You have two gel packs, one to use and one to be cooling down.”
 
“Thank you, Rebecca.”
 
“I try to do the right thing.”
 
“You do very well.”
 
“Not everyone would agree,” I said.
 
I tossed the gel packs into the refrigerator, which brought to mind another problem that my typically thorough, problem solving mind typically detected easily.  I did not eat much, but I was going to want to eat something and I had no idea how I was going to manage that here.
 
Mason had followed me to the fridge—which had cute little magnets shaped from halves of a 25 mm Gelman syringe filters—and was standing right behind me.  I turned about to face him.

I smiled.  “Do you own any clothes that are not black?”
 
“A few.  Some old things from a previous life. I used to wear perfectly ordinary clothes. I used to want to give the impression of being completely ordinary.”
 
“I have difficulty imagining you other than the way you are now.”
 
“That’s all you’ve ever seen.  I worked hard at trying to be ordinary, trying to be part of a family, to have what I didn’t have growing up. Were you part of a close family?”
 
“No. We weren’t a touchy-feely kind of family.  Truth be told, I never have been able to figure out what my parents were doing married to each other.  They barely spoke to one another. They weren’t hateful or unpleasant, but they shared the same space without being together in it.”
 
“Well, they must have shared more than the same space at least twice.”
 
“Reality does imply that much, doesn’t it?” I laughed. “Until I was about thirteen years old, I used to hunt for ‘my’ adoption papers if I was left home by myself.  About then it was obvious I shared facial features of both of them, and I gave up the search.  I was crushed by the realization. Am I correct in thinking that we could have been in this very same place years ago?”
 
That was daring of me, but I would not have asked without believing there was a good chance of it being true.
 
“Yes.  Despite my skills in getting what I must from people—how dreadful that sounds—I could never think of a ruse to reach you that did not risk a lawsuit or worse, making a f0ol of myself.  I did leave some…hmm…tokens on your desk last Valentine’s Day.”
 
“Tokens?”
 
“The candy hearts with phrases.”
 
“That was you?”


“Yes.  I went through several dishes in accounting to find the specific ones I left.”
 
“I didn’t know what to think.  I assume that I am invisible. I thought maybe the cleaning crew had picked them up from the floor and had not quite gotten around to throwing them away.”
 
“Oh, no.”
 
“That’s what I thought then, but it doesn’t make good sense, does it?  The self-protective lies we tell ourselves are the worst of all.  But I kept them.  The hearts.”
 
“You did?”
 
“They’re in a vial in my desk. I wanted them to be more meaningful than something picked up off the floor, but I could not imagine how they could be otherwise.”
 
Seeing Mason this way, so vulnerable and human after the years of dealing with the grim, formidable persona was a revelation. Except for the first few weeks after being introduced to him, when I believed his forbidding exterior perhaps might be who he was, I strongly suspected a human lurked deep inside, well-hidden, safely protected. But I never hatched fantasies about the possibility of that person being sentimental, even, dare I say it, sweet?
 
Everyone holds all kinds of surprises, aspects of ourselves we rarely reveal, not because we carry a burden of shameful secrets but because nearly all of us are fearful of appearing silly in the eyes of other people.  We have a horror of ridicule.
 
Mason Eckhart was one of the proudest, most dignified individuals I had known. Admitting that not only had he left the hearts but had painstakingly selected those specific hearts was for him a daring risk since he did not know me well at all.  I might not be the woman he thought I was or wished for me to be.
 
I might have been a degreed barbarian: competent, superficially sophisticated, self-focused…and crude.  I had worked with a number of technical women who fit this description, and many, many more technical men.
 
I was not that kind of human, however. Mason’s revelation of self did not make me think he was weak or silly, but that his human self had a wider range of possibilities and expression than I had dared hope.  I also found it lent me the courage to make a confession of my own, sure now of not being humiliated. Or nearly certain.
 
“I have an admission of my own.  Last month, you should have found a chocolate rabbit in your company mailbox.
 
For several moments he said nothing, and I was left to wonder if I had been misinterpreting him, missing essential data, or simply deluding myself. People had done such hurtful things to me I always doubted my ability to reliably evaluate them. Panic began to edge into the fringes of my thoughts. Except when I was alone, and in full control of events, panic was always lurking.
 
Or had someone simply swiped the bunny before he could find it?
 
“The Portentous Choco-Bunny of Mystery was from you?”
 
“Yes.  I saw it at Lenzotti’s and decided you had to have it.  Please take this the right way: it reminded me of you.”
 
“That’s what Dr Varady said. She said it was me as a bunny.”
 
“You’ve discussed the bunny with Laura Varady?”
 
“At length.  I showed it to her, too.  I could not imagine who would give me a chocolate rabbit. From all appearances, no one here much likes me except Varady. I’ve made certain of that. I’ve worked hard at making things so.”
 
And succeeded.
 
He continued.  “We had more than one discussion of the bunny.  I was bedeviled by the mystery. Several nights I wandered all over the facility, considering personalities and individuals, and trying to match one of them with the rabbit.”
 
“I didn’t mean for you to lose sleep.”
 
“Of course you didn’t. I wanted badly to link you with it, but there wasn’t any evidence to support what I had to dismiss as wishful thinking. I wanted you to be the bunny-bringer, but you were so angry with me every time I made you attend one of those absurd Communicate with the Community Dinners.”
 
I rolled my eyes.  “The food was indescribable and the content of the presentations mostly lies. I don’t know how Thomasina can speak so many untruths without embarrassing herself.”
 
“I know. But I wanted to see you, and I had the authority to compel you to attend…so I selfishly abused that power.”
 
“You could have asked me to lunch.”
 
“And risked rejection and ridicule, a possible lawsuit, or perhaps all three?  No.”
 
“That’s what Samihah told me the awful dinners were about.”
 
“You’ve discussed me with Dr Shah?”
 
“Only in terms of the horrible dinners.  She’s my closest girl-buddy.  Women talk like this to each other, Mason. She doesn’t know about the rabbit. I couldn’t admit anything about that to anyone, not even Samihah.”
 
“Isn’t it unfortunate that when we do something kind we are so afraid of appearing foolish?”
 
“Frequently, Mason, that is exactly how things work out. The world is full of cruel people who will inflict an emotional scar that endures a lifetime, just to generate brief laughter.”
 
“Who did that to you?”
 
“My father.”
 
“Can’t go on blaming parents indefinitely.”
 
“I don’t.  I worked hard at getting past my raising by wolves. But my dread of looking foolish is deeply etched. That’s why I’m such a recluse.”
 
“You never seemed unhappy about it.”
 
“I like my own company.” Which was true.
 
“Do you like mine?”
 
“Very much.  But I suspect you’re perfectly at peace all by yourself as well.”
 
“I am.”
 
“That’s not a bad way to be, Mason.”
 
 
 
Well, what do you do on a Saturday afternoon in a nearly sterile chamber sealed away from the rest of the world? You talk.  You listen. The circumstances were peculiar, the solution highly rational.  We already knew each other, but we didn’t, not really.  I’m a very direct person. I don’t like to waste my time or anyone else’s.  I brought along a small collection of photos and mementos, because I did not want to spend time in pointless small talk.  Pragmatic Mason like the idea.  We exchanged lives. We still liked each other at day’s end.
 
Late in the evening, the GSA phone rang. Mason muted his baroque music before cursing and taking the call. I watched years return to his face while he listened to what was obviously unwelcome news.
 
“The Prince of Genomex and his children are stirring tonight, so I must go and stir with them. I’m sorry. I cannot delegate this.”
 
“I’ll be here,” I assured him.
 
“You will?”
 
“That was my plan. I may not be awake, but I will be here.”
 
He seemed to like that a lot.  “In the case you need to come and go, I’ll re-key the door to your thumbprint and irises.”
 
“That’s a good idea. It’s been a long time since I ate anything.  I’ll leave with you, but when you get back, I’ll be here.”
 
Mason’s adventures with Adam took a long time. I wasn’t bored.  I’m never bored if I have something to read or write.  On one level, I was angry at Adam for dragging Mason away from me, but on another I was nagged by fears that Something Bad had happened, and from the latter I launched into entertaining fantasy scenarios in which I hunted down Adam and his miserably deluded mutant superkids and captured them all to face Justice for their crimes against Mason. In some of these fantasies, I indulged in less civilized but more emotionally satisfying revenge.  Fortunately, in my own life I never troubled with revenge because I believed God Kept Good Notes.
 
When someone treated me badly, I just wanted to get away from them.  I assumed that eventually they would cross the path of someone more rotten than themselves and suffer greater pain and loss than I could ever imagine inflicting.
 
After hurting Adam eight different and enjoyable ways, I took a shower and changed into a nightgown and bathrobe.
 
And no, I did not Dress for Undressing.  Neither the nightgown nor the bathrobe were shabby—they were in fact nearly new—but they were hardly seductive.
 
Well, Mason was odd, I was odd (Hadn’t people told me all my life, “Rebecca is strange”?) and already the relationship was…odd.  Could anything other than odd ever happen to me?  Unlikely.
 
Emotionally and intellectually, I knew I was going to require a high level of trust in Mason before confusing unresolved doubts with the admixture of sex, which in the case of Mason was a mystery. For him, I had no idea what that meant.  Genomex mythology indicated he had no choice but celibacy, but he had certainly implied otherwise last night, hadn’t he? Hadn’t he?
 
Odd things had a way of weaving themselves into the texture of my life, but surely this ‘courtship’ was not intended to lead to a lifetime of gazing at one another from an immunologically safe distance, was it? That’s too bizarre even to befall me.  I hope.
 
I could not think of a way of asking Mason to clarify matters without embarrassing both of us. We were both intensely proud people. I decided to set the matter aside temporarily, assuming additional data would come my way.
 
I returned to amusing thoughts of using a force-lance on Adam, or of finding him alone, on foot, in the middle of a vast, grassy steppe, beneath steel-grey clouds…the look of terror on Adam’s face as he recognized mine as I clamped my heels into the ribs of my little grey war-mare who eagerly leapt into a dead run gallop, closing the space between us and the fleeing Adam, with fluid, ground-covering stride…I unsheathed the sword I carried on my back…
 
I wonder how healthy this is?  Am I really thinking about weaselly Adam, or is he just standing in for Jeff?
 
I didn’t give  much thought to Jeff  any longer, although he had an unpleasant way of making me miserable all over again in my dreams.
 
I feel that protective of Mason?
 
Today, I’d heard the story of how Mason came to be injured, intentionally, by Adam.  Mason never made any attempt to charm or present himself falsely, which Adam certainly did.  More than anyone left alive,  Mason knew what a fraud Adam was, and I was learning.
 
For years, Genomex mythology indicated Mason’s health was balanced on a knife-edge.  Yes, I probably am that protective, knowing now his vulnerabilities are not exaggerated.
 
I fell asleep thinking these thoughts in the chair facing out Mason’s only window.
How much time passed I don’t know. The night was overcast, so I could not gauge time from the stars.
 
I did not waken when the outer doors sealed behind Mason, but I did hear him walk to the bedroom, stop, and not move on for several moments.  I wasn’t fully awake, but I did hear him remove his coat and hang it in the closet. The lighting was dim inside the suite, and when he came to stand in front of the window, he did not see me curled up in the chair.  He stared out into the darkness, into a world in which he lived but could never belong.
 
Then it struck me: he believes I’ve gone home.  There weren’t any other places I could be in his compact, personal world.
 
“Mason?”
 
He spun about, obviously startled. “I thought you left.”
 
“No. I said I’d be here.” I pulled myself upright in the chair.  “What time is it?”
 
“3.45. I am exhausted.  Adam and his kiddies like to conduct their business late at night in noisy bars…fortunately, I can sit at the center of my web and send agents into those places. I don’t handle crowds well at all. Never have.”
 
“Mason, what is it?” Even in poor light, something in the eyes, something in the voice…
 
“I expected you to be gone.  I expected to be abandoned.”
 
“I’m not in the habit of making promises I do not intend keeping.”
 
“I know that.  I’m stunned that you’re here. And I’m surprised how much of myself I’ve already…invested.”
 
“Are you scared by that?” I asked.


“Yes.”
 
“We’re even.”
 
 
Late in the morning on Monday, I was called to the front desk for a package delivery.  I hadn’t ordered anything that would not come UPS or truck, and thus, be deposited on the dock, so I was surprised when the receptionist smiled broadly and handed a large bunch of carnations to me.
 
I had forgotten about Mason’s promise, but he hadn’t.
 
I trimmed the stems and placed the carnations in several 1000 mL Erlenmeyer flasks.
 
Samihah came by my lab just prior to lunch, which she frequently did, especially if the autoclaves near her lab wer