The Gates of Winter - Mark Anthony [139]
In that moment, her illusions had finally shattered like a beaker heated too long on a burner. Duratek wasn't interested in her genetic research—they never had been. All they wanted was a complete sequence of the being E-1's blood and a method for synthesizing it so they could somehow use it to gain access to another world. Only there was one compound in the blood that had resisted all attempts at modeling and reproduction.
Until today. For the last five months, every researcher in this facility had been trying to solve the problem. Today, Larsen had done it. She had found the key to synthesizing the being E-1's blood.
And she was going to do everything she could to keep them from getting it.
Larsen made it to the elevator. She pushed a button and stared as the numbers crawled by with maddening slowness. At last the doors whooshed open. Down a long hallway were the doors that led outside, to night and to freedom. She started walking, trying not to imagine what was happening upstairs. Adler talking to the guard. The guard picking up the phone . . .
She started jogging, then running. White walls slipped by, the doors grew larger. Beyond the glass was nothing but darkness. A feeble spark of hope flickered to life in her chest. Duratek was always talking about destiny—how they could only succeed in their endeavors because fate was on their side. Maybe fate was on her side tonight. She reached out, her fingers brushing the handle of the doors.
White light went red, streaming through the corridor like blood in an artery. An electronic wail pierced the air, causing Larsen's nervous system to spasm, her hand to jerk back. She heard the metallic sound of metal bars slamming home.
“No!” she shouted, throwing her body against the doors. It was no use. They were locked.
The noise penetrated her skull. She had to run, she had to get out. Except she couldn't. All the doors would be locked, and the elevators as well. In seconds they would find her and the disk. Then the questioning would begin. They would use every method available—intimidation, drugs, even pain—and in the end she would tell them everything, including what she had discovered today in her lab. She leaned against a wall, resting her head against the cool paint, and waited for them to come.
“Well, I wouldn't have thought you'd give up that easily,” said a rasping voice. The voice was low, but somehow she heard it over the wail of the alarm. “I thought you had a bit more stubbornness in you than that, daughter.”
Larsen was too frightened to be startled further. She opened her eyes. A man stood beside her. He was tall and gaunt, dressed in a dusty black suit that hung on him like old clothes on a scarecrow. He watched her with black marble eyes.
“Who are you?”
He laughed: a booming sound far louder than the alarm. “I like you, daughter. You always ask the hardest questions first, don't you? Yet I fear this one will have to wait for an answer. You must leave this place.”
She shook her head. “I don't know how you got in here, but the doors are all locked. There's no way out.”
“Nonsense. If there's hope, there's always a way out.” He gestured with a knobby hand at the doors. “Go ahead.”
“It won't work. I already tried.”
“Then try again.”
It was ridiculous. She didn't know who this man was. Given his shabby clothes, he was probably an indigent who had managed to wander in.
Past the electric fence and motion detectors? Past the armed guards at the gate and magnetic doors that can only be opened with a valid identification card?
Larsen pushed on one of the doors. It swung open. Cold air struck her face, clearing her head, as the night rushed in. Her mind searched for a rational explanation but found none. It was, simply, impossible.
“Go, daughter.