The Black Tower: The Complete Series Page 12

  He drew a blank.

  Anything… anything…

  The seconds stretched painfully out.

  “S’pose not.”

  §

  Costa and Ramos stood at ease in the middle of the elevator, looking straight ahead to the closed doors. The eighth floor indicator light on the panel was lit. It dimmed out, and a few moments later the indicator light for the seventh floor lit up.

  It too dimmed out… six lit up.

  They were heading down.

  “Well,” Ramos grumbled. “That got us nothin’.”

  “Pretty much,” said Costa.

  “Is this gonna get us anything?”

  “Doubt it.”

  Fifth floor…

  Fourth floor…

  “Suppose we gotta check it out, though,” said Ramos. “Cover all the bases.”

  “Pretty much.”

  Third floor…

  Second floor…

  “Here we go,” said Ramos.

  The main lobby indicator light lit up. There was a soft pinging noise. A moment later the doors slid quietly aside.

  Costa and Ramos looked out beyond the elevator car. Neither of them moved.

  “Yep,” said Ramos. “That’s what I figured.”

  They were back on the seventh floor.

  §

  Church and Banister could see from one end of the large room to the other. The open design took up the entire northwest corner of the seventh floor. It was filled with rows of cubicles, the gray cubicle walls just four feet tall, giving the space a wide open atmosphere.

  Three aisles ran the length of the room. Church walked one, Banister the center aisle, looking into each of the cubicles they passed. Each eight by eight cube had a gray countertop that served as a desk, with a computer and monitor, the keyboard sitting on an adjustable tray. A wireframe inbox hung on the wall just inside each cube.

  A clean whiteboard was also mounted in each cubicle, with dry erase markers of assorted colors sitting in the tray.

  Each cube had a single chair, each on a foot base of five small wheels.

  “I think I’ll take the ant colony,” said Banister.

  “Not much difference, if you ask me,” said Church.

  Banister almost smiled, but managed to keep it to himself. They continued down the aisles, pacing each other with easy, casual steps. After passing several more cubicles, Banister came to a stop. He took a step into the cube.

  “Curious,” he said at last.

  Church looked calmly around the room, rubbed a hand across his cheek and the back of his neck. He scratched at his scalp. His black crop hair, which he usually kept short, could use a trim.

  “This reminds me of the crew’s quarters on that freighter a few floors back,” he said.

  “Yes, yes, obviously.” Banister frowned. “I don’t have much experience in this area, but… shouldn’t there be phones in these things?”

  Church muttered a grumbling humph in answer, went into the cubicle directly opposite the one Banister was standing in.

  “Let me check something.” He sat in the chair, wheeled around and scooted up to the keyboard tray. He pushed the power button on the computer and then turned on the monitor. He waited.

  “It lives,” he said.

  Banister leaned over the cubicle wall. “Yes? Well?” he asked.

  “Yes, well, give it a minute, Wes.” Church sat patiently eyeing the monitor. “Damn,” he grumbled after much less than a minute.

  “What is it?”

  “It wants my password.”

  “You can get past that, right?”

  “No I can’t get past it,” Church droned. He nonetheless gave the Enter key a few whacks, then randomly struck at various letters and numbers on the keyboard.

  “Makes one wonder,” Banister thought aloud as he watched Church methodically striking at the keyboard. “The Adversary gives us computers, but no way to get into them.”

  Church leaned back in the chair, pushed away from the keyboard. “He knew we’d try to use them to communicate with the outside. Hence… the whole no phones thing.”

  “I know I’m the one who brought them up in the first place, but… would we really expect phones to work in here? I mean, kinda tough getting an outside line.”

  “If the Adversary wanted them to work, they’d work.” He stared intently at the computer monitor. “Maybe one of the others knows how to get past the login. Asher, maybe.”

  The two of them continued down the aisles, met at the end and started back together along the third aisle running along the wall. They looked into a supply room, noted the shelves of supplies that might come in handy. The next door opened to a smaller room with several printers and a large copy machine that took up a third of the room. Wrapped reams of paper were stacked neatly on shelves set against one wall.

  There was no sign of a portal anywhere, but at least they would have pens and paperclips to take with them once they did find their way to the next floor.

  In point of fact, since the ghost town the floors had yielded little in the way of supplies, and back on the fifth floor they had abandoned much of what they had when they were forced to leave in a hurry. They were running low on just about everything. The seventh floor looked to be much more promising.

  §

  Ramos led the way down the stairwell, Costa following three steps behind him. They reached a landing, continued around past a door with a large black ‘6’ stenciled on it and started down the next flight. Their footsteps echoed hollowly in the narrow well.

  They reached the fifth floor landing. Ramos stepped around and started down the next flight of stairs.

  Costa stopped on the landing. She gave a determined glare at the door with the number ‘5’ on it.

  “Hold it,” she said sharply.

  Ramos was already a third of the way down the flight. He returned to the top step. “What is it?”

  “We both know how this is going to end. There’s no sense wasting time and effort.” Sgt. Costa reached out and opened the door, stepped through it.

  Ramos followed her out, moved up beside her.

  In front of them was the elevator, above the doors the number of the floor.

  “Okay,” said Ramos matter-of-factly. “Seventh floor it is, then.”

  §

  Lisa carried the packages of sandwiches to the refrigerator as Quinn started on the vending machine with the snacks; mostly cookies, crackers and nuts.

  There weren’t many sandwiches, only enough for one apiece and one extra for them to fight over. There were no expiration dates stamped anywhere on the packages, but the sandwiches looked okay through the wrappers; not that an expiration would mean anything in here.

  Quinn figured they would try out the sandwiches for the next meal. They would pool together the snacks and sodas and ration them out with their remaining supplies.

  The door of this vending machine popped open more easily than the last. He began pulling out the contents and piling them onto the nearest table.

  As with the sandwiches, there were no dates stamped on the packages. The cookies and brownies felt moist enough. They would have to chance it. What alternative did they have?

  He grinned… maybe he’d give Dr. Owen first crack at a sandwich, see if she survived…

  Costa and Ramos returned from their search, walked between the tables and approached Quinn. Owen, still sitting by the water cooler, stood and followed them.

  Quinn placed a handful of small packages of mixed nuts onto the table.

  “What’d you find, Sergeant?” he asked.

  “For a start, there’s no getting off the seventh floor, sir.”

  “Excuse me?” said Owen, maneuvering her way between Costa and Ramos.

  “I’m afraid she’s right,” said Ramos.

  Owen shook her head sharply. “Come on, of course there’s a—”

  “I believe the sergeant is referring to the, um… more immediate seventh floor, Liz,” said Asher. He a
nd Susan drifted over from the windows.

  “Why didn’t she say so?”

  “Please, Doctor Owen,” said Quinn. He met her gaze, and when she said nothing further, gave a quick nod to Costa.

  The sergeant detailed what she and Ramos had found in their search; no sign of the portal, no apparent imminent threat, and no way off the seventh floor.

  “And that would be the seventh floor of this office building,” Costa clarified to Owen. “And not the uh… larger, all-encompassing seventh floor.”

  “Our host either has an odd sense of humor, or is a touch OCD,” said Susan.

  “Perhaps,” said Asher. “And there may be some significance to putting us on the seventh floor while on the seventh floor.”

  “That would be in line with past experience,” suggested Costa.

  “To get to the eighth floor, we must get to the eighth floor,” Owen stated. “That much is obvious.”

  Quinn folded his arms across his chest, pursed his lips and let out a barely audible “hmmm…”

  “What is it, sir?” asked Sgt. Costa.

  Lieutenant Quinn said nothing at first, finally looked directly at Owen.

  “Doctor Owen… would you like a sandwich?”

  Episode Four / Chapter Two

  Quinn and Lisa sat at a small round table in one of the larger cubicles in the open office space. These slightly oversized cubes were generally assigned to supervisors too low on the food chain to rate a real office but who nonetheless needed a little extra elbow room in which to do their supervising, even if that meant just throwing in a small round table and a pair of chairs.

  The cubicle was set against the windowed wall and offered a nice view of the cityscape. Night had come to the city, and while there was still no movement, there were lights turned on in a number of the buildings. Windows had lit up here and there as dusk had fallen. There had been no change since then, no lights turning off, and no darkened windows suddenly lighting up, but there was still something comforting about the scene.

  It had been decided that the team would utilize the cubicles as individual quarters so long as they were on this floor. Quinn had settled into this cube, appreciating both the view and the table. He had been going over his notes when night fell and had been drawn away from his notebook, lost in the scene beyond the glass, when Lisa had joined him. She had asked if he minded sharing the view for a few minutes.

  That had been more than an hour ago.

  They spoke very little at first. They sat facing the window, their chairs on opposite sides of the table, and just took in the view.

  At some point they noted the fact that there were no stars. The night sky was dark but not really black; more of a very dark gray.

  As Quinn and Lisa grew more at ease with one another, they opened up a bit more. Lisa asked about his family, and she found that Quinn’s parents had died when he was very young, that he had been raised by an uncle, his only living relative.

  His uncle hadn’t been rich, but he was fairly well off and was very well connected. He saw to it that Quinn got into a prestigious school, and later into the military academy. The plan was for Quinn to get a well-regarded education, put in the required years as an officer, and then use this background as access to a high-end business career. His uncle had connections there as well.

  However, just prior to the tower mission Quinn had broken the news to his uncle that he planned to make a career of the military.

  “He was disappointed, but he covered it well. My uncle is a good man.”

  “Sounds like it,” said Lisa.

  “So… how about you?” asked Quinn. “What made you decide to work with Doctor Owen?”

  “That is not a decision that one makes. Doctor Owen decides.”

  “But you accepted.”

  “Of course. It is a highly regarded, prestigious position.”

  “Of course,” said Quinn, the hint of a smile. “Military academy and all that.”

  “It does look good on a resume,” said Lisa. “She isn’t really so bad, once you learn how to handle her. Ray was great at that.”

  Quinn’s hint of a smile faded. “I am really sorry about what happened.”

  “He was a good friend,” she said quietly. “I miss him.”

  Quinn was trying desperately to come up with an appropriate response when he heard Banister and Church come in from the outer lobby. They were bantering back and forth, as always. From what Quinn was able to make out, the argument this time was focused on the pair of restrooms that were accessible from the lobby.

  He and Lisa continued looking out the window in silence, taking in the doctors’ lighthearted discussion. When the conversation waned, Lisa sat forward and stood up.

  “I suppose I should be going,” she said quietly. “I need to check in on Doctor Owen before I settle in myself.”

  “Of course,” said Quinn, standing. “Sleep well, Miss Powell.”

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  Quinn waited until she left before turning about awkwardly and returning to his chair.

  It would be some time before he settled in for the night.

  §

  Asher had padded his half-empty backpack with several dozen crumpled up sheets of paper, giving it some semblance of a pillow. Making a space for himself on the floor in one of the cubicles, he tried to get comfortable.

  Comfortable or not, he wasn’t ready for sleep. He finally sat up, then stood up and settled into the chair. He opened his notebook, read what he had written about this latest day in the tower, thought about how he might improve on his notes.

  “Everything all right, Professor?” Costa stood in the opening.

  “Yes. Yes, I’m fine,” said Asher, looking up from his notebook. He nodded in the direction of his makeshift bed. “Just can’t sleep.”

  “May not be a five star hotel, but it beats the ant colony.”

  “It certainly does,” said Asher. “What has you up, Sara?”

  “Watch duty.” Costa raised a hand and drew a circle with her finger. “Making my rounds.”

  “Well, I appreciate you looking after us.”

  “My pleasure.” She took a moment to listen to Banister and Church, parked in side-by-side cubicles some distance down the aisle. They were arguing office supplies. She smiled at their light bantering.

  Asher noticed the focus of her attention. “Have you ever known two people as close as those two?” he asked Asher.

  “They bicker back and forth like a pair of old hens.”

  “According to Liz, since the day they met.”

  “About forty years, I hear.”

  “I hear the same,” said Asher.

  Costa looked around them, studied the walls and windows and shadows. She took in a shallow breath, let it out slow.

  “This one makes me nervous, Professor,” she said, continuing to take in the scene around them.

  “Too quiet for you?”

  “Maybe. It’s just… I don’t know where the threat’s coming from. We’ve usually seen something by now. We may not have it figured out, but by now we usually know what the bad is.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that, Sara. We’ve gotten it wrong as much as right.”

  “Right or wrong, we usually got somethin’. Here? Here we got nothin’. And that makes me nervous.”

  Asher gave a soft smile. “Well, thank you for the bedtime story, Sergeant. I should have no trouble getting right to sleep.”

  “Sorry,” she said sheepishly. She stepped out of the cubicle, gave a nod in the direction of Church and Banister. “Think I’ll check on the kids.”

  “Good night, Sara,” Asher said to the retreating figure. Once she was gone, he glanced down at his notebook. He was about to append to his latest entry when he heard Banister and Church simultaneously offer their greetings to Sergeant Costa.

  He leaned back in his chair, listened to the pleasant back and forth between the doctors and Sara. They liked her, and it was obvious that she liked them, that
she enjoyed talking with them.

  Asher looked at the notebook lying open on the desk. He reached over and used his pencil to slowly flip the notebook closed.

  §

  Ramos was in the breakroom first thing in the morning, sitting before the radio. Carmody sat beside him, watched him as he made one fine adjustment after another.

  Nothing worked.

  He finally grasped the radio with both hands in frustration, a low grumbling growl rising up from his chest.

  Within moments however, the angry expression on his face broke apart and fell away, leaving only surrender. He lowered his head and softly pounded his forehead on the table; slowly, methodically; once, twice… the third time he left his forehead on the table.

  Carmody stood up. “I’ll let the lieutenant know.”

  “You do that,” said Ramos, his head still resting on the Formica.

  §

  Church and Banister sat at a table on the other side of the breakroom. Church nodded in Ramos’ direction as he ate from a small bag of mixed nuts.

  “It looks like we’re still incommunicado,” said Church.

  “Considering the conspicuous absence of telephones in an office building such as this, I suppose that is to be expected,” said Banister. “Our host clearly wishes us cut off from the outside world.”

  “I wonder why,” said Church. He brought another handful of mixed nuts out of the bag. “I mean, he always has a reason, however obscure.”

  “True.” Banister leaned forward, placed his elbows on the table. “It is not by chance that we find ourselves on the seventh floor of this office building.”

  “The situation is obvious,” Church nodded, waving a hand over his head. “The reason for it… obscure.”

  “As Liz alluded to so eloquently, there is no getting off this floor without getting off this floor. To reach the eighth floor of the tower, we must reach the eighth floor of this office building.”

  Church snickered. “So this is all about maintaining orderliness in the universe?”

  “The Adversary has a compulsive disorder?”

  “Banister… we must monitor this.” Church turned serious. “If it turns out that he does have some alien form of OCD… we might be able to put that to use.”

  “Back to the here and now,” sighed Banister. “In the matter of getting us to the eighth floor. If the elevator is not an option, and the stairs are not an option, what is your guess as to how we make the ascent?”