The Second Ship (The Rho Agenda #1)(40)
“Are you all right, babe?” her father asked.
Heather grabbed her water glass, taking a big gulp before responding. “Fine, Dad. I just swallowed wrong.”
Relaxing, her parents returned to their discussion. By the time dinner was over and she made her way up to bed, Heather had gotten her fill of what a lovely family the Johnsons were and how proud they were of Colleen. After all, she was a two-time All-State Cheerleader and a shoo-in for her third selection in a row. And wasn’t she just the cutest in that pretty little outfit she had been wearing this afternoon? And didn’t Mark seem to be enjoying her company? And wasn’t it about time he found a nice girlfriend?
On and on the conversation had revolved around the lovely Miss Johnson until Heather excused herself from the table, professing exhaustion. It was that or have her head explode.
Of course the church service Sunday morning featured a sermon entitled “Love Thy Neighbor,” all about how many people poison their minds with unkind thoughts toward others. By the end of the hour, Heather was thoroughly ashamed of herself and angry that she felt ashamed. Thank God she had not mentioned to her mom or dad her nickname for Colleen.
“Why the glum look?” her dad asked as they got into the car.
Heather forced a smile. “Was I looking glum? I must have been thinking about homework.”
Great. Now she was lying to her parents again. God must be having a tough time keeping track of the sins she was racking up this week.
As they pulled up at their house and got out of the car, Heather found Jennifer waiting for her on the front porch. She noticed the Smythe’s front lawn was protestor-free and looked back at Jennifer in question.
“Mark drove off with Colleen, and the crowd left,” Jennifer said. “We didn’t even have to call the police this morning.”
“Then let’s get going before some new ones show up.”
“Exactly what I was going to suggest.”
Jennifer’s mom had packed them a picnic lunch of peanut butter sandwiches and diet sodas. Since a peanut butter sandwich was one of the few food items Linda Smythe could adequately prepare, Heather looked forward to it.
By the time Heather and Jennifer reached the Second Ship, they were both starving. Donning the headsets, they ate their lunch gazing out toward snowcapped Mt. McKinley, its peak rising majestically in the distance, courtesy of the amazing graphical capabilities of the ship's computer system.
Leaning back on her elbows and taking a sip of her soda, Heather sighed. “You know something? I could get used to this.”
Jennifer grinned. “Me too. Nothing like a little atmosphere to jazz up a picnic.”
Packing up their trash, Heather moved over to examine the receiver unit. Her pulse quickened. “Hey, Jen. We've got something.”
Jennifer moved to pick up the computer, setting it across her lap as she settled into one of the command couches. A rush of soft clicking sounds accompanied her slender fingers dancing across the keyboard. As Heather leaned in to look at the display, Jennifer activated the playback.
The scene before them was partially blocked, but the rest of the screen showed what looked like a Victorian sitting room.
A slender woman in a lab coat stood before the desk, dark hair tied in a tight bun. Her eyes were wide. Scared.
“Dr. Anatole, once again you disappoint me.”
Heather and Jennifer both gasped as they recognized Dr. Stephenson’s voice.
The woman’s voice shook. “I am so sorry. You know how hard I am trying to please you with my work. But when I see things that I regard as dangerous, I feel it is my duty to bring them to your attention.”
Dr. Stephenson paced into view, circling behind the woman, who looked frozen in place.
“And your judgment in this matter is somehow supposed to be comparable to mine?”
“No, Dr. Stephenson. Please. I did not mean to imply any such thing.”
He leaned in close to her ear, but did not lower the volume of his voice. “Then how do you assume that I would not have accounted for all possible mishaps and consequences in my plans? After all, it is my design, and unlike others on this project, I make no mistakes.”
“Doctor, we all make mistakes. Even someone as brilliant as you are must have others double-check their work to avoid the possibility of error—especially with something as potentially dangerous as this second alien technology. The consequences of any miscalculation before it is approved for release could be devastating.”
Dr. Stephenson moved to sit in the chair, facing slightly away from the camera. His hand moved out of view of the lens.
Both Heather and Jennifer jumped as Dr. Anatole screamed. Terror washed over the doctor’s face as she collapsed to the floor and continued to scream. The girls stared, transfixed, as Dr. Anatole struggled to crawl across the floor but failed as her body convulsed and her hands began to claw at her own skin.
Suddenly, the screaming stopped, leaving the doctor curled on the floor, small whimpers escaping from her lips. Dr. Stephenson moved over beside the prostrate woman, kneeling down to gently stroke her forehead.
“If there is one thing I don’t tolerate, it is anyone questioning my competency. If I say a technology is ready for release, it is ready for release. I don’t learn about technologies. I master them. For example, I know that in a few minutes you will feel better. You will have no memory of this little lesson I have administered except for a conviction that your concerns about the new project are completely unfounded.”