String Theory

Chapter 8

"This sucks," Eggsy mutters. "This really fuckin' sucks, Tony."

They're walking down the hall of the Mesonet, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible. The place is busy; dozens of middle-school children swarm the hallways, supervised only by the occasional flustered teacher. It's field trip day, apparently. Pods of scientists in lab coats are nestled among the students, discussing various data finds on their tablet screens. Uniformed guards are posted at every doorway along the building's hallway. Security is much tighter than the boys had anticipated. Between the chaos of the excited kids and the scattered groups of scientists that bustle past them, Peter and Eggsy don't have much of a problem making it through the entrance without being seen, but Peter's sure that's only thanks to the uniforms that they stole.

Before they entered the building, they ran into Richard Travis, an atmospheric analyst, who was being escorted to his car by a single guard. Eggsy knocked their lights out with ease, dragged them to a nearby Mesonet van, and took their clothes. Peter gets the scientist's polo and name-tagged lab coat, but poor Eggsy is stuck with a security uniform that's two sizes too small.

"I hate this." Eggsy's walking stiffly, and he glances around overtop of his shades to make sure nobody's watching him. When he's sure there aren't any eyes on him, he grips the crotch of his pants and adjusts it down, grimacing. "Jesus, fuck, who the hell wears pants this small?"

"Shut up, dude," Peter says, quiet, not looking over at him.

"You shut up."

Peter throws him a glance, adjusting the backpack on his shoulder. "Aren't you supposed to be a professional?"

"Yeah," Eggsy replies. "But this is easy shit. Below my paygrade."

"Below your pants size, too, apparently." Peter bites the inside of his lip to keep from laughing, but a grin threatens the corners of his mouth.

"That was a cheap shot. Piss off." Eggsy swipes his card to access the stairwell, and follows Peter inside. "At least my name's not Dick."

"It's Richard," Peter corrects, and makes his way up the narrow stairs, two at a time.

"Yeah, but Dick's short for Richard."

"That literally makes no sense. How do you get Dick from Richard?"

Eggsy grins. "You ask nicely."

Peter's eyes go round, and he wheels around on the top step to give him a dirty look. Eggsy just bats his lashes innocently. "Well, Richard? May I have —"

"Dude," Peter interrupts, before Eggsy can force him to blush for the third time in an hour. "Can you just climb? We gotta do twenty nine more levels."

"Wait, are you fuckin' kidding?" Eggsy's expression twists. "We're legging thirty flights of stairs— do you know what a pain in the... I'm going to have chafing for weeks, mate! Why didn't we take the fucking lift?"

"Because it doesn't go to the top floor, and that was a major TMI, man. Go." Peter hikes the backpack farther up on his shoulder, and gestures up the stairs. Eggsy squeezes past him, mumbling complaints, and makes his way up. Peter follows shortly behind.

It takes fifteen minutes to reach the top floor of the cramped stairway, and both of them are winded by the time they get there. After taking a moment to catch their breath, they exchange nods, and Eggsy swipes his card.

The door beeps angrily, displaying a red light. Eggsy swipes again, and it gives the same response. The guard must not have had access to this level. "Bollocks," Eggsy breathes, and Peter gives him a worried look. Eggsy hesitates, and lowers his voice. "Anybody in the stairwell?"