Play of Shadows

Chapter 64: VELES

Time was running out.

It was a constant itch, that knowledge. Like sand climbing up an hourglass, grain by grain, scraping the skin. The whole of VELES was buried beneath, slowly starving for breath.

Barton's death broke all pretenses of normality. The incident was sudden and graphic; unlike the quiet deaths of the players trapped in doomed VR instances, it could not be put out of mind. The smoking remains of the VR pod held everyone's attention for long, breathless moments.

General Hull reacted quickly, rounding up the remaining VELES techs for interrogation and locking away an unresisting Mr. Sipos. The man continued his rantings all the way out the door, despite incensed demands for silence from the apprehending officers. His colleagues were far more subdued. A few fainted on the spot, gone catatonic in their horror.

The General and his men took over without much struggle from their besieged hosts. The situation stabilized in a total collapse, putting everyone on steady ground amid the ruins.

General Hull looked over the hanger, his expression grim. The observation deck served as a temporary base, allowing the General to monitor the situation below while dealing with the bureaucratic consequences of uncovering a conspiracy at the heart of a covert government research facility. Harried aides trooped in and out with missives from various governing bodies. Interrogating officers submitted their reports with equal haste, hurrying to either clear or damn the remaining VELES personnel so that the innocent could return to work. Every second that passed weighed the scale against the rescue efforts and those trapped in the VELES machines.

"What does he want?" General Hull asked.

He stood facing the glass walls that looked over the hanger. Below, six pods glowed like small suns. The pod that had suffered Sipos' attention was in the process of being dismantled. Barton's body had long been carried out, charred and twisted out of human shape.

The soldier standing at attention by the door answered promptly. "We have tried to negotiate, sir. He won't talk."

General Hull exhaled slowly. "I will see him," he said.

The man was kept in a room on the same level, in the hope that he could be cajoled to assist and put to work as quickly as possible. General Hull marched through the door of the makeshift cell in full force. He was greeted with an easy smile and the clink of porcelain.

The General sat down. There was a table between them that had once been a desk but now sat gutted of its electronics, leaving behind a cluster of cables coiled at their feet.

"You are enjoying this," General Hull said, tone heavy with certainty.

The other man hummed speculatively, "Not too bad. Missing a dash of milk, I would say."

General Hull set his hand on the table with force, sending the porcelain coffee cup shaking in its saucer. "You have two options. Cooperate, and you may just leave this place a free man. I would not recommend that you continue playing the fool."

The man with the cane leaned back in his chair. He looked like a man in his own home. His fingers drummed over the table, slow and steady.

"I have two options," he repeated softly. "General. Do you even have one?"

General Hull was choked by anger. He rose, his tattered control fraying further in the face of such open, callous arrogance. Briefly, he considered dismissing their audience. Some matters were best handled man to man.

Rapid knocking broke the tense moment. There was a scuffle behind the door, muffled voices raised in anger and supplication both.

The door opened. General Hull rounded onto the brazen intruders, and was yet again forced to swallow his anger. An agitated Frances Covey took the lead. The man was as pale as a ghost and just as unsteady on his feet. His eyes, fever-bright, fastened onto the man with the cane.