I think, deep down, Roger just wanted to die, and I hadn't granted him his wish.
Craig rolled his eyes. "Are we quite finished attacking the subject?"
Roger nodded as he gasped and straightened up. "What...do...the...results...say?"
Craig checked a computer. "I think you've discovered his itch center."
Roger gave me a dirty look, stomping out of the cell.
"You're letting this disease affect your work," Craig muttered. "Perhaps some time away from this project will help you regain researcher objectivity."
"Craig, I'm fine!"
"Fine? What part of fine involves damaging a specimen worth millions of dollars?...Or, rather, pathetically attempting to do so?"
"I'd like to see you attempt it," Mr. Shattuck said in a low growl.
The smaller man just shook his head sadly.
"Craig. Look. I just got a little emotional because of my condition. And because we lost the girl."
"You lost the girl."
"Fuck. Okay, yes. I lost the girl. It was a mistake." He raised his hands defensively. "I'll never do it again. Swear to God."
"That's right. You won't. Because I'm sending you out to the eastern plain."
Roger swore. "You want me to work with Dim Bulb Watson?"
"That `Dim Bulb' as you call him, is singlehandedly responsible for the discovery of the Archeron rock termite, and a variant on quartz previously unknown to modern science."
"And he brags about it every chance he gets," Roger groaned. "Must I be paired with that loser? I mean, I occasionally get a chuckle from toilet humor, but that man, well, let's just say he gets way too much enjoyment out of it. I've never met a man so obsessed about his bowels. You'd swear he was in grade school."
Craig only scowled.
"What about the blood project? Will you at least allow me to continue that?"
They had been sampling my blood frequently with a special acid proof needle. Not sure what they intended to do with such samples, but I imagine they had about a quart or more in storage.
Craig let out a heavy sigh. "I'll think about it."
"That sounds like a no," Roger said in a bitter tone.
"No, it sounds like `I'll think about it.' If your work (and temperament) improves, I may...possibly...reconsider."
"I'll probably fucking die from this disease before you get around to `reconsidering'."
"I'm sorry, Roger. I can't have you on this project right now. You're too much of a liability. You can either go with Dan Watson, or volunteer your services to some other researcher on the base. This project is too valuable to jeopardize with further mistakes."
"I won't—" Roger stopped himself, grunting in frustration. "God. Never mind. If I knew I'd be working for such an asshole, I wouldn't have signed up in the first place."
"Yes you would. You're obsessed with E.T."
Roger reddened. "How did you...?" He scowled when the realization hit him. "Oh my God. Did you just stay up all night thinking of ways to piss me off, or did your ape-like brain naturally evolve with that trait already built in?"
Craig responded with a tight smile. "Best of luck to you, Mr. Shattuck. Good day."
I didn't see Roger again for a long time, to the point where I wondered if he had died. When I asked, Craig told me his assistant was "Playing the AIDS card, lazing about, feeling sorry for himself, not doing anything particularly useful to the needs of the base.'"
Since Ms. Butler had been so cooperative in previous tests, she became Roger's new replacement.
No word from Sarah. It seemed the girl could navigate the base quite well. I heard rumors of her almost getting caught a few times, but nothing came of it. She still remained hidden, even when people tried to lure her out with food, or food smells.
People reported a rash of thefts consistent with the behavior of a starving little girl, the search efforts thwarted by children on base leaving food and cookies in the air ducts like a weird version of Santa Claus.
Remembering my poor friend Mr. Hernandez, I continued my studies of human culture by making inquiries about a race of humans called `Lateenos', who live in many places on the earth. Very confusing, because they called some Lateenos `Latinx,' or `Mexxikans', others `Pourtorikans' or `Spanyards,' due to geographical reasons, and their language changed wherever they happened to live.
Mexxikans spoke something called `Span-ish', but people in the country of `Port of two Gulls' spoke `Port two geese,' and the two languages weren't identical.
I learned some Span-Ish language via educational modules, but, after completing them, Craig said I fell below high school level, and you generally needed a verbal component to be any good with it.
He showed me a few recordings of Span-Ish programs, one about vampires in a nail salon, and another about a Kung Fu dog. Even with nonverbal cues, I only understood parts of what they said.
When I tired of these studies, I asked about the nationality of Kihoon and his mother, which led to a study of a place called `Core-Ea,' the language of which I found impossible to decipher, especially since `Japa-Knees' and `Chai-Knees' come from roughly the same area, and their symbols don't look anything alike.
When I asked about the Span-Ish verbal component, Craig brought in Mike Perez.
The narrow, dark haired young man found great amusement in making me say dirty words, gangster expressions, lines from The Terminator, and various other inappropriate things.
One strange thing he asked me to say quite often: "Viente man." Apparently people in `Porto Reeko' or some other country said it often. I'm still not sure what it means.
As I watched a Kung Fu movie the following week, a bible slid through my door slot.
Not just any bible (for I already had one), but the same exact bible I had hidden inside an access panel months ago, before my capture. The thing that got me interested in Jesus in the first place.
I stared at it in astonishment, then gawked at the big woman who deposited it into my cell. "Where did you find this!"
Becky gave a small smile. "A gift from a mutual friend."
Sarah, I thought. She must have located it by accessing my memories.
I opened the bible and found, to my surprise and delight, this note, written in Ss'sik'chtokiwij, tucked carefully between the pages:
`To Paul in chains. I'm alive and being cared for by kind strangers and friends. I have one word for you. Is 45:2, 2 Cor 12:19, Rev. 23:6, 2 Cor 5:14, Jn 7:45, Rev. 24:8, Dan 4:17, Act 29:19, Gen 3:5, 1 Thes 5:17a,b, Tap. 1:24, Jn 8:6 SOS.
`Sincerely, Captain Sleuth.
`P.S. I had much to write to you, but I would rather not write with pen and ink; I hope to see you soon, and we will talk together face to face.'
Certainly an enigmatic letter. So many items to puzzle over.
The SOS on the message alarmed me, but being stuck in my cell, I could do nothing but try to understand the other lines.
`One word,' I thought. And I'd never heard of the Book of Tap or Revelation 23. What could it possibly mean?
Unless...
I turned to Isaiah 45:2. `I will go before you and level the mountains, I will break in pieces the doors of bronze and cut asunder the bars of iron.' The other verses didn't help me understand the message any better.
`Captain Sleuth' appeared to be a play on the Captain Cryptic video game we played. An animated fox, dressed in a pirate costume, hid a treasure on an island somewhere, and you had to solve increasingly difficult puzzles, Morse code, cyphers, cryptograms, that sort of thing.
One such challenge involved something called `Book Code,' wherein one would turn to a numbered page in a book to reveal a secret message.
I rapidly flipped through the thin pages of the bible, examining each one with care.
`One word.' I guessed the error implied `First word,' which got me an `I' for the sentence. When I tried to locate Revelation 23, I discovered it didn't exist, but did notice that the numbering helped me uncover the next word in the hidden sentence. Also, the book of Acts had been deliberately spelled wrong, providing another clue.
Soon I came up with the following message:
`I have controls to watchers. Act like pray continually tap finger.'
After thinking about it for a minute or so, I decided she meant control over the security cameras, and I should pretend to pray whilst tapping my claw.
I complied, but nothing happened.
Curiouser still, at the bottom of the page containing John 8, I found a series of tiny bumps, more than likely created by a pointy object carefully pressed against the surface.
At first, I thought it to be braille, but the pattern seemed oddly shaped. Too horizontal. Like Morse code.
Well, thought I. This explains the SOS in the message.
I scrutinized the dots for a moment, then extrapolated the meaning: `Zingpad', the name printed on the back of our tablet computers.
The moment I closed the bible and examined my device, the device in the next cell powered up with a low whine.
Its power light flashed me a message in code:
`I've found Abednego.'