An Unauthorized Genetic Experiment: episode two.
Author: Chippewa Livingston
Archive: Please ask
Disclaimer: I claim no affiliation or ownership of characters or material related to Dark Angel.
Chapter 23. Not like last time
Asha had peeled back her glove, and compared the numbers written on the back of her hand to the little metal disk that marked the vault door. "This is it."
"Right." I looked back down the hallway, the way we'd come. We had passed about a dozen of the shiny, rectangular doors on our way. Someone had lots of things they wanted kept locked up. "I wonder what's in the rest of them."
"I'm not really curious right now," admitted Asha. "Let's just get this stuff and get out of here."
"Do you have a combination for this thing?" The door had a huge handle, like an antique refrigerator, or an industrial strength gym locker. The hasp of a combination padlock held the handle in the latched position. The padlock itself was as big as my closed fist.
She showed me the numbers written on her hand. The vault number, a series of five numbers, and a long string of numbers.
I held my breath, and listened to the tumblers click into place as I turned the scuffed brass dial. It came open with a 'snap' that echoed down the hall and back. I unhooked it, and dropped the heavy thing on the floor. I didn't even need to take off the gloves.
"Cool," I said. "That last number?" The handle let me pull it back and the door swung slowly open. The lights inside blinked on. One side of the space was shallow beige file drawers. The other wall was dusty beige concrete, with racks full of old style reel-to-reel computer tapes in their round plastic cases. It was about four meters from the door to the sign on the far wall that said "Safety!" at the top.
"File number, I think," she said as I stepped over the threshold. The metal door frame showed the faint print of a gasket to seal the documents inside away from the outside.
"Great. You just wait out there, and I'll grab whatever it is." I looked at the rack of tapes. Some were labeled with black felt-tip marker on the edge of the case. Others had little cardboard tags that fluttered in the breeze from the tiny vent over my head.
"I'll help," said Asha, and put her foot on the door frame.
"No, stay where you are. There isn't any way to prop the door open." The last time I'd been this far below ground. . .
**
The blue door swung slowly open. Two stocky men in blue suits cleared the way for a gray-haired woman. She was empty-handed. They carried shock sticks.
I decided to stay sitting on the floor. Keep them relaxed, I thought.
"I need to inform you," the woman said calmly, "that there has been a change in your ownership." I recognized her voice from before. She had told her team "He'll be fine. Get him ready for transport."
"Really?" I asked. I watched her and the two thugs, and tried to decide.
"We have a buyer for an X-5 experimental military unit. You will cooperate."
"What are you talking about? I'm a civilian," I lied. "Check my ID. I've got people who are expecting me. The police. . ."
"That's enough of that crap," she snapped. "We know exactly what you are. And I can guarantee that the police aren't looking."
So much for bluffing. I scrambled off the slick concrete floor and launched myself at her. The impact knocked her to the floor, and I got a hand on her throat as she started to struggle. "Open the door or. . ."
Her bodyguards closed in, made electrical contact, and I got to watch blue lightning from way too close, again.
**
I made myself look at the file drawer labels. The numbers were small and smudged, but they seemed to be consecutive. "Focus." I mumbled to myself. I could feel sweat running down inside my shirt. "Not stress, yet."
I pulled a random drawer open. It was stuffed with rows of little flat boxes, on edge. The typed labels were yellowed and peeling away from the cardboard boxes. I pulled one out and opened it. Dark and slippery microfilm was wound on an orange plastic spool. It went back in the drawer.
The drawers were labeled with the first four digits of the film number, so I had no trouble finding the right one.
"Hurry up," murmured Asha. "This place is giving me the creeps. I keep thinking that I hear someone."
"That makes two of us, but give me a minute." I extracted the box with the right numbers, and dumped the little reel of microfilm into my hand. With the film held against the light, I could read the header. It was a match. I dropped the spool inside my shirt, out of the way.
To finish the job properly, I pulled a reel from another drawer, and put it in the empty box. The two little cardboard boxes went back into their slots, and I patted them into place. Now it would require a complete inventory and examination of every single piece of film to figure out what we took.
Author: Chippewa Livingston
Archive: Please ask
Disclaimer: I claim no affiliation or ownership of characters or material related to Dark Angel.
Chapter 23. Not like last time
Asha had peeled back her glove, and compared the numbers written on the back of her hand to the little metal disk that marked the vault door. "This is it."
"Right." I looked back down the hallway, the way we'd come. We had passed about a dozen of the shiny, rectangular doors on our way. Someone had lots of things they wanted kept locked up. "I wonder what's in the rest of them."
"I'm not really curious right now," admitted Asha. "Let's just get this stuff and get out of here."
"Do you have a combination for this thing?" The door had a huge handle, like an antique refrigerator, or an industrial strength gym locker. The hasp of a combination padlock held the handle in the latched position. The padlock itself was as big as my closed fist.
She showed me the numbers written on her hand. The vault number, a series of five numbers, and a long string of numbers.
I held my breath, and listened to the tumblers click into place as I turned the scuffed brass dial. It came open with a 'snap' that echoed down the hall and back. I unhooked it, and dropped the heavy thing on the floor. I didn't even need to take off the gloves.
"Cool," I said. "That last number?" The handle let me pull it back and the door swung slowly open. The lights inside blinked on. One side of the space was shallow beige file drawers. The other wall was dusty beige concrete, with racks full of old style reel-to-reel computer tapes in their round plastic cases. It was about four meters from the door to the sign on the far wall that said "Safety!" at the top.
"File number, I think," she said as I stepped over the threshold. The metal door frame showed the faint print of a gasket to seal the documents inside away from the outside.
"Great. You just wait out there, and I'll grab whatever it is." I looked at the rack of tapes. Some were labeled with black felt-tip marker on the edge of the case. Others had little cardboard tags that fluttered in the breeze from the tiny vent over my head.
"I'll help," said Asha, and put her foot on the door frame.
"No, stay where you are. There isn't any way to prop the door open." The last time I'd been this far below ground. . .
**
The blue door swung slowly open. Two stocky men in blue suits cleared the way for a gray-haired woman. She was empty-handed. They carried shock sticks.
I decided to stay sitting on the floor. Keep them relaxed, I thought.
"I need to inform you," the woman said calmly, "that there has been a change in your ownership." I recognized her voice from before. She had told her team "He'll be fine. Get him ready for transport."
"Really?" I asked. I watched her and the two thugs, and tried to decide.
"We have a buyer for an X-5 experimental military unit. You will cooperate."
"What are you talking about? I'm a civilian," I lied. "Check my ID. I've got people who are expecting me. The police. . ."
"That's enough of that crap," she snapped. "We know exactly what you are. And I can guarantee that the police aren't looking."
So much for bluffing. I scrambled off the slick concrete floor and launched myself at her. The impact knocked her to the floor, and I got a hand on her throat as she started to struggle. "Open the door or. . ."
Her bodyguards closed in, made electrical contact, and I got to watch blue lightning from way too close, again.
**
I made myself look at the file drawer labels. The numbers were small and smudged, but they seemed to be consecutive. "Focus." I mumbled to myself. I could feel sweat running down inside my shirt. "Not stress, yet."
I pulled a random drawer open. It was stuffed with rows of little flat boxes, on edge. The typed labels were yellowed and peeling away from the cardboard boxes. I pulled one out and opened it. Dark and slippery microfilm was wound on an orange plastic spool. It went back in the drawer.
The drawers were labeled with the first four digits of the film number, so I had no trouble finding the right one.
"Hurry up," murmured Asha. "This place is giving me the creeps. I keep thinking that I hear someone."
"That makes two of us, but give me a minute." I extracted the box with the right numbers, and dumped the little reel of microfilm into my hand. With the film held against the light, I could read the header. It was a match. I dropped the spool inside my shirt, out of the way.
To finish the job properly, I pulled a reel from another drawer, and put it in the empty box. The two little cardboard boxes went back into their slots, and I patted them into place. Now it would require a complete inventory and examination of every single piece of film to figure out what we took.