Immune (The Rho Agenda #2)(70)

Mark circled the spot slowly, positioning himself so he could look back through it toward the glowing clock on his bed stand. There it was, suspended in the air. A tiny pinpoint of nothingness, ever so slightly twisting the light that passed through it.

Something about the oddity hanging there in the air raised the hair along the back of Mark’s neck, sending a little shiver down his arms. Whatever it was, it wasn’t a natural phenomenon. Of that, Mark was certain.

Leaning in so close that his eye was less than an inch away from the disturbance, Mark focused his consciousness, letting every one of his neurally enhanced senses dance across it. No sound issued forth, but the air in its vicinity seemed different, as if it had acquired texture from the thing’s proximity.

Although it was so small that it would have been invisible to most people, the center of the pinpoint looked different, almost like a pinhole into another place. As Mark moved in closer, trying to understand what he was seeing, a vision of another room resolved itself in his mind. From his limited perspective, he could see only a fraction of the place, just enough to see that it was cluttered with strange cables and equipment, the scene lit with a dim gray, shadowless light.

Ever so slowly, Mark moved around the pinhole, his view of the strange room changing as he did. Something moved at the corner of his field of view, but when he shifted to get a better angle, it was gone. Suddenly, something blocked the other side of the pinhole, completely obscuring his view of the room beyond. Mark inhaled deeply, struggling to slow his racing heart.

There, staring back at him from the far side of the distortion, was a dark brown human eye.





73


Darkness draped this small section of the quiet White Rock residential neighborhood. It pushed up against the houses, the streetlamp that normally pushed back at it having burned out two nights ago. It flowed in close, snuggling, tasting the shadowed corners like a lover nibbling at an enticing earlobe.

Raul watched the two houses, his gaze lingering on the house on the right before turning his attention toward the other. For the last several weeks, he had worked around the clock to bring two more of the microscopic power conversion cells online. He had intended to make use of that power much earlier last night, hoping to catch a view of Heather in her bath.

But Dr. Stephenson had picked that time to pay Raul a visit, one that had lasted through the evening and well into the early morning hours. As annoyed as Raul had been at the interruption of his plans, Stephenson's conversation had been intensely interesting, so interesting that it had altered Raul’s thoughts about his future.

After Dr. Stephenson had left, Raul considered waiting for another night to look in on Heather. Given the power consumption caused by the creation of and use of the worm fiber, it would take him several days to recharge, even with his new power cells. To proceed was completely illogical, but he had waited so long to see her that he couldn't bring himself to wait, not even one more night.

Now here he was, his worm fiber pinhole positioned just past the end of her driveway, about to change his mind. Even if he did look in on Heather, it would only make things worse, seeing her lying in her bed, bundled up in covers, a nightmare of frustration. Raul directed his gaze to the left.

Mark Smythe, the jock who imagined himself as Heather's protector. That was his house.

Anger surged through Raul's brain, the feeling transmitted around the neural network within the Rho Ship and then returned to him, its edge honed to razor sharpness. An old enemy was near, one who enjoyed a physical proximity to Heather that Raul was currently denied.

His perspective shifted as he willed the worm fiber forward, passing through the wall of the Smythe house then upward into the hallway upstairs. On one side of the stairway, a single closed door awaited, while in the other direction three doors led into rooms, two on the left side of the hall and one at the far end.

Certainly, the master bedroom would be the one off by itself, that direction offering nothing of interest to Raul. His attention focused on the door at the far end of the hallway. That would be the one. Raul was sure of it. The athlete would have been the dominant of the two children, naturally acquiring the better bedroom at an early age.

The worm fiber moved in that direction, slowly now. It passed through the door and into the room beyond, Raul's awareness taking in every detail of the dimly lit room.

Bringing the fiber to a stop just beyond the foot of the bed, Raul shifted the light amplification of the scene, letting his altered perceptions change the image until it appeared as light as if the midday sun were directly overhead. Unlike squinting through a tiny pinhole, the unique capabilities of the alien computing system allowed him to view the scene from any angle, a clear projection into his mind.

Instead of being asleep, Mark Smythe sat at the head of his bed, his legs crossed in a deep meditative posture. The jerk thought he was Bruce Lee or something.

A gradual change moved over Smythe's features. The muscles around his eyes tightened, his gaze sweeping the room as if he was looking for something. Hard as it was to imagine, Smythe seemed to have somehow sensed the presence of the worm fiber and was actively searching for it.

But that was impossible. The distortion itself was no larger than the point of a pin. Nobody's eyesight was good enough to see that from ten feet away, even in broad daylight. Especially not in a dark bedroom. But, despite all logic to the contrary, Smythe's eyes locked directly on the pinhole.