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Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
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Strange Dark Alchemy
Part 1
2007
“Solitary trees, if they grow at all, grow strong; and a boy deprived of a father’s care often develops, if he escapes the perils of youth, an independence and vigour of thought which may restore in after life the heavy loss of early days.”
--Winston Spencer Churchill, The River War
I had heard all the stories. Everyone had.
Before lunch on my first day at Genomex in 1992, I had already heard nearly a dozen bizarre stories about the grim, tense, perfectionist security chief of the facility. The stories didn’t sound plausible at first hearing, and I started to believe the tale telling a joke played upon all new hires. I wasn’t convinced such an individual existed until I saw his name printed in a company phone directory.
Injured mysteriously in an on-site accident in 1991, Eckhart was said to have no functionality left to his immune system, requiring him to be covered completely in a layer of biopolymer faux skin as a barrier to microorganisms. There were dark suggestions that someone still working at the facility had intentionally caused this ‘accident’.
I was assured that when I finally met Eckhart, there wouldn’t be any doubt because he wore a white wig and dressed only in black. I could not even imagine this. I was also told that he was cold, rude, and impossibly demanding.
I didn’t believe these stories until saw the man myself. I listened to the tales, took them in, filed them away mentally. But I never added to the body of Mason Eckhart lore circulating through the labs of Genomex. Unlike others, I never had to look around carefully before speaking, lest the singular figure of Eckhart glide in quietly and overhear his manners, speech, and behavior mocked. I witnessed this happen to colleagues. Eckhart never said anything to them. He had no need of saying anything. The intensity of disapproval present in his glare was more than sufficient to chastise the speaker and warn them against future ill-considered commentary.
Such gossiping struck me as disloyal, but without doubt, Eckhart was different.
The inevitable black suits, black shirts, odd unnatural looking white hair and the carefully fitted black leather gloves he wore over the biopolymer covering every square inch of him presented a singular appearance. No one else in the organization dressed anything like this. They looked much as nerds and nerdettes do in most corporations: a little casual and a lot short of fashion sense.
Initially, I found Eckhart’s appearance odd, oppressive, and threatening. As I watched the effect it had upon others I realized Eckhart’s appearance was carefully calculated to be threatening. He was not tall or inherently imposing. Wearing more ordinary clothes, especially with his physical problems, Eckhart would probably appear weak. Besides the damage to his immune system, there was something wrong in the way he moved, something awkward, suggesting injury. In a grey suit and his natural hair color, which certainly wasn’t white whatever it was, his ability to threaten and menace with a single word or a look would be diminished. Or worse, he would likely look silly trying to get his way with a dark glare.
No one ever commented upon his obvious manipulation, so I kept the realization to myself. If others were too unobservant or self-focused to realize something so obvious, I wasn’t going to hand them undeserved help. After a while, secure with a positive reputation with Genomex, I tended to stand back and observe this dark spirit obtain what he wanted from people.
When I had been at the company slightly more than four weeks, my then-supervisor, Dr Michael Newman, finally got around to introducing me to Eckhart.
“I’ve put this off as long as possible, Dr Steyn. I’d like to spare you the experience of meeting Mason Eckhart, but we really should get this over with.”
“How bad can it be?”
“You’ve heard the stories?” Already, I knew Newman well enough to know gossip was an important amusement and time waster for him. He maintained a network of gossips reaching into every segment of Genomex.
“I heard stories on my first day. How can one man be responsible for so many stories? He seems to generate stories the way cats shed hair.”
Newman laughed. “Very apt. Some stories are true, some are complete fantasy, and some I believe he creates and spreads himself, just to keep us wondering what is real and what is false.”
“Disinformation?”
Newman nodded. “Stay here long enough and you will understand what I mean. Of course, he wasn’t always like this.”
“No?” I had not heard this part.
“Before the accident, he seemed a decent enough guy. I never heard much about him. After recovery from the accident, which no one wants to talk about, he emerged from the room-sized glove bag like a hell-moth emerging from its chrysalis.”
The office Newman and I entered was a modified clean room, not the glass and steel office overlooking Podding Operations which Eckhart later occupied. In those days, he did not have an armed guard standing outside the door. Once inside, I was struck by the stark austerity of the office: bare, stainless steel walls and floor, a plain, black steel desk, computer cables and power lines run through conduit, but then I recalled that his immune system was severely compromised. The bare surfaces would be easy to disinfect and easy to keep clean.
Eckhart took little notice of us upon arrival, although Dr Newman had been announced. By this time I was already convinced that Eckhart behaved purposefully and deliberately. Probably he disliked Newman as much as Newman disliked him, and his rudeness was a way of keeping Newman humbled. I could not imagine how he would treat me, so I decided no matter what ill manners he displayed, I would be polite and professional, and as always, highly observant.
“Mr Eckhart, if you could spare a moment, I would like to introduce you to one of our newest hires.”
Eckhart looked up from a stack of typescript, moving with unexpected quickness. And his anger! He glared fiercely at Newman.
I was correct! He does not care for Dr Michael Newman! I wonder what that story is about? I’ll probably never know.
As quickly as his expression flashed to anger, upon seeing me it changed again, to something I call The Corporate Smile, but curiously, in his case, I had the impression of some greater depth behind it. Maybe he likes everyone at first, and things slide downhill from there.
Mason Eckhart was not a technical person. It took months for me to put together just what his background was. I usually don’t expect much from corporate security types, but Eckhart displayed signs of an active intelligence in his eyes. He probably could talk about more than the latest and greatest in motion sensors.
I smiled my version of The Corporate Smile, sincere, pleasant, mannered, but not promising too much, since some companies still harbored behavioral dinosaurs who believed themselves irresistible and who would probably agree with the notion that tearing the clothing from an attractive female subordinate was sexual harassment, conduct short of that, particularly when done by them, was in a fuzzy, ill-defined region.
Eckhart surprised me by extending his right hand in greeting. I knew he was understandably wary of human contact. “Welcome to Genomex, Dr Steyn.”
His handshake was a shocker, not what I anticipated from a frail near invalid. I was more concerned that he knew my name, and did not know if that boded good or ill.
“I’m glad to be here, Mr Eckhart. I’m much impressed with the caliber of the people and the completeness of the instrumentation.”
I wasn’t gushing. Some companies skimped on people and equipment, refusing to pay for skilled people, and trying to get by with outmoded, worn-out instrumentation, and some tried to do both. Like everything else, you get what you pay for.
“And we’re glad you’re here. Dr Breedlove endeavors to hire the best he can recruit or pirate away from other organization, and according to your curriculum vitae, he did
well bringing you here.”
Very nice. Where was the Hell-Moth? Had Eckhart neglected to take his Evil Pill that morning?
“Thank you.”
“If you could both excuse me, I have a great deal to do prior to a meeting scheduled at 1 PM. Thank you for bringing Dr Steyn to meet me, Dr Newman.”
“We’ll let you return to your duties.” Newman pasted on an insincere smile, then we turned and left.
Well down the corridor, well beyond hearing, I had to make a comment. “That did not seem so bad.”
“You’ve never spoken to Eckhart before?”
“No. Not once.”
“He’s an odd character. I could not have predicted his civility to you. I’ve seen it before, but I can never predict it.”
“He doesn’t talk like a security/law enforcement kind of guy.”
“He doesn’t talk like anyone here. Even before the accident, he talked that way, as if he’s smarter than the rest of us. Eckhart’s arrogance is the most annoying thing about him.”
Warnings went off all over my mind. I liked even the brief exposure to the way Eckhart used language, but obviously the corporate culture was hostile to such. I’d have to simplify my work vocabulary.
Well, Newman, he may intimidate you because he’s smarter than you are, but I don’t think he’s smarter than I am.
Newman walked with me most of the way back to my lab. I wished he had returned with me, because he would have made it so much easier to deal with the waiting problem.
Adam was sitting at my desk, going through files on my computer.
“Are you about ready for lunch? There’s a new Indian place over at the mall. I thought we could check that out.”
Lunch? What lunch is he fantasizing about?
“Right now, Adam. Out of my chair.” I was not amused by this presumptuous, pompous ass. Adam was well aware of his status as The Prince of Genomex, and how nearly all of the unattached women on site fantasized about becoming The Princess of Genomex.
Except for me. I’d made the error of having lunch with Adam a few weeks ago. He’d droned on interminably about starting college at twelve, about his patents, and about his research involving human mutants.
I wanted to ask him how work seeking cures for children with genetic afflictions had led him to create the pain-inducing subdermal governors, but he never allowed me a chance to get in a question. Adam did like himself.
He did not move from my chair. I noticed that the desk drawer where I kept my purse was ajar. I reached down, opened the drawer and extracted my wallet.
“Did you find what you were looking for in here, Adam?” I asked as I counted the cash in my wallet.
“What are you talking about, Becky?”
This was not the time or place to tell him that no one called me ‘Becky’ if they enjoyed life.
“You went through my desk and my purse.”
“I was just looking for some lab results.”
“In my purse? Adam, didn’t your parents teach you anything about respecting the property and privacy of other people?” Not until much later would I understand the significance of that question.
Adam just laughed.
I picked up the phone and punched in the four digit 7777 security extension. “This is Dr Rebecca Steyn in East 1022. There is a man here going through my company computer files, and there is evidence he has been through my desk and purse. He refuses to leave. Could you send a team to remove him? Thank you.”
Adam’s silliness transformed to rage. “I can’t believe you just did that.”
“You’re unbelievable yourself, Adam.”
Security at Genomex was a non-trivial matter even in the early 1990s, although Eckhart did not arm his people in those years.
“Do you really want to do this?”
“Yes.”
Adam was still sitting at my desk when three security people showed up. I pointed to Adam.
“He was going through confidential and personal material. He refuses to leave.”
“But that’s Adam,” a well-fed looking fellow who easily topped six feet said meekly.
“And Adam’s being an exceptionally bad boy. What do I have to do to get him out of here?”
“We’ll have to involve Mr Eckhart.”
I liked my job, I needed it, but if keeping my position meant Adam invading my desk at will, I could find another.
“Do it.”
At that, Adam jumped from my chair and stomped out of my lab.
“Is he under psychiatric care??”
“I don’t know, ma’am.”
I sent a formal report of the incident to personnel and security. Years ago I had learned the hard way that giving people like Adam the benefit of the doubt served only to give them a free pass to make more trouble later. I sent my resume out quietly. Adam obviously enjoyed special protection at Genomex, which I, just as obviously did not.
Over time, I had no problems with Eckhart. Certainly, he was demanding, but my work was thorough and good. Unlike other employers, who attempted scientific work on the cheap, Eckhart blessed my budgets for instrumentation and consumables without protest. My written requests were well documented with benefits made clear. I never had difficulties getting good merit raises for my people, so I was able to keep the good ones. I said as much to my colleagues, who were generally loathe to say anything good about the man.
Something I never said to these colleagues –chiefly men—was that I found Eckhart extremely fair. Unlike a lot of men I have worked for, he respected my work and he respected me. I never made promises to him I could not keep, and if he asked the impossible, I would bluntly tell him as much, and succinctly explain why. He never argued further as he did with some other people; my reasons were solid.
I never defended him, either, which was cowardly of me. But I had to work with the others, and needed their cooperation. I passively listened to their stories and the cruel names (sometimes wildly inventive) they had for him.
There was another truth operating that I never shared with anyone. I felt fully as odd and peculiar as Eckhart. My oddness was not as overt and unsubtle as his. My peculiarities were buried deeply, out of sight, lost from view behind professional competence, a tailored, feminine appearance, the ability to be ‘one of the boys’, and the careful avoidance of any suggestion of weakness or dependence.
There was a great deal I liked about Eckhart: he was articulate, even playful with words. Somewhere along the way he had become unusually well educated. My colleagues, like most technical people, were only marginally literate and barely aware of anything outside of their specialties. They took pop culture seriously, describing movies with as much excitement as if they had lived the stories themselves. They swore freely in my presence. Eckhart, in contrast, conducted himself in an old-fashioned, courtly, almost patrician manner. He never made assumptions of familiarity. I liked all of this very much, but said nothing to the people around me, who used poor grammar and were commonly unable to frame a complete sentence without resorting to a four-letter word.
In a society growing coarser and more anti-intellectual yearly, Eckhart’s conduct and manners were unfashionable, making him the butt of many jokes. But I never joked about him. I was certain jokes and stories were told about me, since I did not have a sewer mouth. Also, among all these nerds and nerdettes I was the only one not married or living with someone. I never spoke of seeing anyone, because I wasn’t seeing anyone, and I wasn’t looking, either.
A lot of them probably thought I had a secret life. That wasn’t true. What I did have was a painful past of disastrous relationships with two men who had left me drained financially and emotionally, with an intolerance of being touched beyond the business-obligatory handshake, which I could not avoid. I might not be able to avoid the etiquette of the business world, but I could and did indulge myself in serious hand washing afterwards. Aside from this, I was not a ‘clean nut’.
I considered my wounds beyond healing, so I made no effort to change. I would have liked to better fit in, but I also feared what I might do to the next individual who harmed me. I was not sure I could control myself within the bounds of the law. Too much had been taken from me, not just material things but my capacity for trust. I didn’t much trust women, either.
I knew how bad people could be. My ex-husband used to tell people I was going to make him rich, and when I failed to do this, he tried to kill me, sabotaging my car. He probably thought he could recover something of his ‘investment’ in me by collecting the insurance policy on my life. Jeff had an interesting attitude towards life, which was that the material goodies in the world should be his, right now. He would become despondent with his lot in life because he did not own things men 25 years older in his profession possessed.
He did things to my animals, which taught me never to let another human know what I loved. Once Jeff knew what I loved, I had given him the power to destroy me. The monster singed a hole in my heart that never healed, would never heal, and was always floating just below the surface of my conscious thoughts.
There are people who do not understand grief following the death of an animal. Our relationships with animals tend to be ‘purer’ than those with people, since they are not freighted with disappointment or betrayal inevitable with people. My two cats Rosamund and Alboin had been with me all the way through graduate school. Jeff would never tell me what he did to them. I had no intention of enduring that kind of loss and pain again. Such cruelty is now properly perceived by law enforcement as a form of domestic abuse, but when it happened, there was nothing I could do about it since the animals were viewed within the law much as concrete blocks, or even less, since they had no monetary value.
I kept people at a safe emotional distance, for my well-being and theirs. I knew too well even the tamest and most charming of them could be a private creature of great selfishness and cruelty.
These experiences convinced me real evil does not proclaim itself, and provides no timely warnings of its approach or proximity. This insight convinced me that whatever Eckhart was, he wasn’t evil incarnate. Much of what he did was stunning corporate theatre, intended to awe and coerce. I had never seen anyone glare with such sincere malevolence. Almost everyone, especially people who had known him prior to the accident, were utterly spooked by this glare. I was fascinated. I studied its delivery and application for a long while, then one day I had an opportunity to try using it myself, not at Genomex, naturally.
I was the only customer at the check out of a drugstore. It had been a long day, and I just wanted to pay for my multivitamins and go home. The cashier was enmeshed in organizing her social life on the phone. I considered walking out, then realized I had happened upon the perfect test case. I began glaring at the hapless kid-cashier, imagining myself a great and terrible shark, circling my prey, menacing, capable of tearing her in two with a mere nip of my many-toothed jaws.
The girl glanced my way, took in my Shark-Eye Glare, and mumbled to her phone buddy, “I gotta go now.”
I paid for the vitamins, glaring all the while. She handed me my change, wished me a mumbled “good evening”, to which I responded with a chilly, deep from the glacier, “Thank you.”
I stalked out of the drugstore. As soon as the doors closed behind me, and I slipped into the darkness of the parking lot, I broke into a run, giggling as I went. I now understood The Glare: how it worked, why it worked, and most important, that it was chiefly bluff. If Mason Eckhart ever attempted to work The Glare upon me, I would likely break into a laugh.
However, even though I understood how much of what Eckhart did was manipulation and bluff, this changed nothing of substance, and it did not mean that he was a good man, just a clever one.
People who have had the good fortune to never suffer under the abuse of such creatures as Jeff tend to believe themselves superior beings who lack emotional scars because they are such superior creatures. They’re not, of course; they’re merely lucky. They have no idea how lucky they are. And weak. I might be crippled emotionally but I was not weak. Getting away from Jeff after I accidentally found Rosamund and Alboin’s collars in the trash, and all the other lesser evils I survived left me incredibly strong. I kept those two little collars on top of my dresser as a daily reminder to myself how deceptive and destructive people were.
The monthly Projects meetings were a relic of the days when Dr Breedlove took an active role in running Genomex.
When Adam still worked here, the Projects meetings were weekly drains upon time (and patience) given over largely to the latest and greatest of Adam’s insights. Adam must have spent four or five hours every week just putting together the slick, colorful presentations with which he bored all of us to intellectual numbness.
All of us became inventive in escaping attendance. Any medical or dental appointments were scheduled to provide relief, as were interviews with potential new hires. Breedlove eventually resorted to stocking the meeting room with juice, Danish, bagels, fruit, and a little later eggs, bacon, and sausage to coerce people to show up. Technical people are notorious about free food, and Breedlove was one of us. He knew how to bait his snares.
People whined about Eckhart’s arrogance, but that was nothing compared to Adam’s unbounded notions of self-worth. Eckhart was arrogant, but he was succinct and wasted little of anyone’s time.
Adam would breathlessly report work and techniques which had been in the literature for years, even decades, as if they were breakthrough events. Adam must have believed none of us reviewed current scientific literature, or he never did himself. Certainly Dr Breedlove could not be aware of current developments, not the way he showered praise upon Adam. There was something queasy about the way Breedlove focused upon Adam and his work (some of which was useful and important). Dr Breedlove seemed more a doting parent around Adam than a superior.
After Adam left under peculiar circumstances, apparently after his moodiness and emotions triggered some sort of major hissy fit with Eckhart, the Projects meetings became monthly events. They were of far shorter duration. Attendees no longer had to be bribed with offers of breakfast, although this pleasant custom continued.
Mason Eckhart began attending these meetings shortly afterwards, insisting upon basic security measures such as keeping confidential work locked up after hours, not an unusual procedure. I believe initially he was also attempting to ferret out whether any of us, or any of our reports continued to have contact with Adam. I had few reasons to deal with Adam while he was still with Genomex, sending results to him via email, avoiding personal contact.
About a year after being chased from my desk, Adam once again assumed all he had to do to bump any of his work to the front of the queue was drop by with a request form and flash a smile. At me. With unwelcome promises of dinner and more. I bluntly told him I could not be bought through my gut. Adam then developed the annoying habit of dropping into my labs when he knew I would be away and attempting to bully my people into getting his work done first. He was not much loved among them, so I doubted anyone was delivering what he wanted.
After I not only proved immune to Adam’s version of charm, Adam turned nasty. I repeatedly asked him why some of his requests were needed since they often did not support his goals. This angered him because nobody else dared question him, and since it exposed his lack of understanding of basics. Sometimes, the sheer volume of his work requests led to my questioning which samples represented new work. Had I not done this, Adam would have displaced most of the work from other submitters, which I couldn’t allow.
While reviewing results from my technicians, I noticed some of the sample identifications were duplicated two, three, or more times.
Why would Adam submit the same sample more than once, especially if he gets the same result? Is he checking up on my people, trying to prove incompetence? Maybe. More likely, he’s just being a pain. This place is crazy.
I carefully reviewed all calibrations, training, and method validation records, made copies and stuck them into a folder. I thought I might bore myself into a coma, but I was not going to be ambushed professionally by Adam.
Adam made a vague threat one morning of taking the matter to Breedlove, at which point I surprised him by gathering up a file folder, rising from my desk and hurrying off towards Breedlove’s inner sanctum.
“By all means, let’s talk to Dr Breedlove,” I yelled behind me, Adam trailing in my wake, surprised and angry. I had prepared for this moment. The folder was packed with the statistics showing not only the disproportionate support Adam demanded, but detailed samples submitted multiple times. Adam would not be happy when he saw how ready I was for this confrontation.
There followed a nasty conference with Breedlove and Adam, with Adam getting louder and louder and more emotional, while I quietly pulled out annual summaries of sample submissions by task groups and made the argument that if my people were to serve the entire facility, and not just Adam, he would have to pare down the quantity of samples sent to my group.
Had Breedlove mandated that Adam’s work receive priority treatment, I would have done that, and sent anyone unhappy with that arrangement to Dr Breedlove to share their unhappiness. Surprisingly, that isn’t what happened at all.
By that time, Adam was screaming accusations of sabotage and personal grudges. He sounded irrational. He looked silly. He did not look like the smartest man in the world.
I was still calm. I had to be. To retain any credibility before Breedlove, I could not display so much as a single tear. Adam could scream, shout, punch holes in the wall (he did this), use obscenities and even weep, but if I showed any emotion, I would be perceived as a ‘mere woman’ and not believed at all.
Was this fair or reasonable? No. Corporate cultures are full of unrealistic expectations, however.
The hole Adam left in Dr Breedlove’s office wall had not worked in Adam’s favor. Dr Breedlove was becoming annoyed. I could tell because although his voice never changed, the furrows in his forehead were growing deeper.
“Adam, it’s obvious to me that Rebecca is simply doing her job. Be reasonable. Submit only the samples you must have analyzed. We have a lot of people doing work here, and Rebecca’s group is charged with supporting all of you.”
Adam had probably anticipated absolute backing from Breedlove. When he failed to get that, he stomped out of Breedlove’s office, slamming the door.
I gathered up my charts and tables, saying “Thank you,” to Breedlove in nearly a
whisper.
“Adam is highly strung. I think he’ll behave now.” Breedlove smiled warmly, any kindliness in his manner accentuated by his grandfatherly demeanor.
Highly strung? Adam was more emotional than a spoilt teenage girl!
The stories about me began circulating soon afterward. I found out about them when Samihah Shah in Micro forwarded an email to me with the message: “FYI. I believe I was not supposed to receive this since I am not one for gossip. I thought you should know. Go to Dr Breedlove and put a stop to such insults.”
Someone was introducing anonymous emails into the Genomex system, spreading slanderous lies about my professional and personal life. Someone had a good imagination, concerning what I did with myself after hours and they also knew just enough about my actual education to make the professional falsehoods seem plausible.
I had a good idea who was motivated to attack and who was capable of introducing email anonymously.
I was not happy. I did not go to Dr Breedlove, but to Dr Laura Varady, the company psychologist. I knew she’d probably go to Dr Breedlove afterward. I just didn’t want to have another conference with him about another emotion-charged Adam problem since I was convinced I knew the source of the assault. I hadn’t crossed anyone else at Genomex. I got positive comments for the degree to which I cooperated with other groups. These compliments were documented in writing in my permanent file in personnel, and I also kept photocopies at my condo.
What I did not anticipate was that Varady would first go to Mason Eckhart and confirm the source of the poison pen emails.
Varady was a grandmotherly figure and the only person on site who took any personal interest in Eckhart, dragging his dark, tense presence to company semi-social functions. She was infamous for hauling him from his office for the annual Christmas Caroling. There was even gambling based on what time Varady would show up at the punch and cookie table with Eckhart in tow, looking miserable and out of place in the middle of the festivities. All of her children were grown, so she took Eckhart on as special project.
Curiously, although Eckhart managed to get what he wanted from everyone else, he appeared powerless against the wiles of Laura Varady. After a few years of seeing him squirm at the company caroling, I started questioning this conclusion, and wondering if instead Eckhart would be disappointed if Laura Varady wasn’t there to coax him from his office. No one else on site treated him like a human being. No one dared, or more likely, could imagine he was human.
The next morning when I checked my email, there was a brief, succinct message from Eckhart copied to everyone on site regarding the use of company resources to spread lies and slander, and how further abuse would result in dismissal. Below that was a statement signed by Breedlove affirming that my professional credentials were in order and in no way falsified and that my personal life was honest and honorable.
Everyone knew only one individual could survive being caught sinning against another employee in this fashion, and that was Adam. Breedlove’s signature made clear that even Adam, the Prince of Genomex himself, could be fired.
I wondered if Adam had enough sense to learn from this experience.
Afterwards, Adam hardly spoke to me again. I liked that. I wasn’t unhappy when he left, and I wasn’t alone in not mourning his departure. Dr Breedlove was never the same, however. After Adam left in 1998, he took less and less interest in the daily work and spent more time dwelling upon the past. Rumor had it he was writing a book about his life in genetic research.
The Projects meetings continued after Adam’s departure, in abbreviated format, with Mason Eckhart more and more often taking Breedlove’s place at the head of the table.
The meetings were deadly dull, but they were mercifully brief. Dr Teuong would write notes—or something, perhaps recipes, perhaps letters—in Mandarin, Dr Harrison would mostly sit and twitch nervously, Dr Mayakovsky would pass notes to Dr Shah, and so it would go, down through the ranks of obligatory attendees.
Eckhart was certainly different, but he was always predictably focused. That’s why I knew something was wrong when I looked up from my blank quadrille pad and saw his vacant gaze towards no one and nothing in particular.
In the next moment, he thrashed his head against the table’s edge with such violence his faux skin was torn open. Then he sagged to the floor, striking the blue tile surface with another solid thump to the head.
I had seen seizures before and knew what had to be done. The others sat transfixed by the spectacle. No doubt some of them hoped he was dying.
I’m not an exceptionally strong woman, but by the time I got to him, the violence of the spasms had decreased. He wasn’t a large man, anyway; I was able to drag him away from the furniture and hold him half-seated. I made sure he had not swallowed his tongue.
“Samihah, call medical and get someone here immediately.”
The others, except for Samihah, who had three accident-prone sons, just sat and stared. Samihah dutifully called medical.
“Mr Eckhart’s having some kind of seizure. Samihah, I will need your help, but it would be better if everyone else left the room.”
Eckhart’s tremors were subsiding, and I expected him to rejoin the world shortly. He’d be disoriented and confused, at best, and perhaps far worse, depending upon whatever injuries he had suffered.
Samihah came to work every other week with stories about sons’ broken bones, scrapes, and near things, making her familiar with local emergency rooms. “Dr Hibbing is on the way,” she said softly.
“Good.”
I was relieved to see the others rise –reluctantly—from their chairs and filing towards the back door of the meeting room.
“Samihah…I think the worst is over, but if you would sit down in front of him and be ready to talk, I think it would help. He won’t understand what is happening at first. He’ll be disoriented. I had a cousin who had seizures.”
Samihah was a calm, gentle presence, which would be of great value shortly. I could feel Eckhart regaining normal muscle tension and control. He was a proud man of considerable paranoia, fully justified paranoia. We were all certain that he went about Genomex armed. Well, I could feel confirmation of a sidearm through his jacket, and I wasn’t going to let go of him until I had some notion of his mental state.
“His eyes are open,” Samihah said.
“That’s good.”
He struggled weakly against the grip I still had on him; I was glad Samihah was there in his view.
“Mr Eckhart, you’ve had a seizure. Everything is under control. Dr Hibbing is coming to help you. Rebecca and I will not leave you.”
“I don’t understand,” he said.
“You lost consciousness and hit your head on the table. But you are safe.” I tried to sound like I was sure.
“Safe?”
“Yes. I pulled you away from the furniture.”
I felt him relax.
“Do you think you can sit up without my holding you?” I asked.
“Yes.”
I let go of him, and slid backwards on the smooth tiles—an inelegant move in a skirt but I wanted to be well clear of him. His dislike and revulsion regarding human contact was legendary at Genomex. I understood that distaste only too well.
He turned about and looked at me, but said nothing.
Dr Hibbing appeared in the doorway, followed by two guys commandeered from the autoclave group, dragging a stretcher into the meeting room.
“Has anything like this happened before?” Hibbing asked Eckhart.
“Never.”
Samihah rose from the cold tiles, relieved to leave the problem with professionals. “I will talk to you at lunch, Rebecca.”
Shortly after, I scrambled to my feet as well, feeling a peculiar blend of pride and embarrassment over my involvement in the situation.
“Dr Steyn, you saw what happened?” Hibbing asked.
“Yes. Mr Eckhart lost conscious control, hit the edge of the table with his head, and then the floor with great force. I’ve seen people have seizures before, so I got him away from the furniture, and made sure he hadn’t swallowed his tongue.”
Eckhart would be horrified by that data point, but given his medical condition, Hibbing needed to know so he could select an appropriate course of antibiotics. I wasn’t surprised to see him visibly twitch when I reported that to Hibbing. I would have liked to tell him I regretted the intrusion, but I couldn’t say anything like that in front of anyone else. He would have been further embarrassed.
“I’ve got to get you back to medical.” Hibbing pointed to the stretcher.
“I believe I’m fine now. I can walk there.”
“You probably are just fine, but I’m not taking any chances with you.”
Eckhart wanted no part of the stretcher. I knew he went to great lengths never to show weakness in front of employees.
“You’re going to insist, aren’t you?”
“If you whacked your head half as hard as Dr Steyn described, I’d still insist.”
As it was, he needed help rising only onto the stretcher. When I saw him having difficulty, I turned away and walked back towards the table so he could tell himself the lie that I had not noticed.
I gathered up my blank quadrille pad, and went back to my labs, where I stood and washed my hands for some time. Perhaps I should consider antibiotics. Eckhart’s condition doubtless left him with some unusual mouth and gut flora. I washed my hands some more. Maybe when I got home, I would be able to do a soak in Betadine or bleach or both.
Samihah already had some stories by lunchtime.
“I think there are some disappointed people at Genomex,” Samihah said. “The story making the rounds is that Eckhart nearly died, but that a pair of softhearted women saved him.”
“Vultures.”
“Yes, but brace yourself for the merciless comments.”
“That’s already started. You should see my email. Some of it is wickedly funny, some of it is simply cruel. Not everyone we work with is civilized.”
“Definitely not. Some even less than others.” Samihah rolled her eyes at Dr Harrison sliding past with a laden tray. “Well, you did the right thing, the only thing. They’ll find something else to talk about by next week.”
After lunch, I sat down at my desk, and lost myself in composing and emailing final reports to a number of submitters. They wouldn’t be able to do much with the reports on a Friday afternoon, but they would be able to plan their work for Monday.
Around 4.30 my phone rang. I dreaded these calls. Crises always arose after 3 PM on Friday, demanding heroic fixes.
I was surprised and relieved to hear Dr Hibbing’s voice, summoning me to the medical department.
“Dr Hibbing, should I be starting a round of antibiotics?”
“You?”
“Yes, since only God knows what that man is growing in his mouth.”
Hibbing laughed. I was annoyed. I had done the right thing, but health workers wore gloves for good reasons. How dare this silly man laugh at my concern?
“I’m serious.”
“Don’t worry. Mr Eckhart’s mouth flora is the most normal flora he grows.”
I hung up the phone, and walked to medical. I was confused why I was still part of this adventure.
“As well as I can determine, this was a one-time event, precipitated by a change in medication, a mistake that won’t be repeated. That’s the good news.”
“And the bad?”
“Mr Eckhart does have a concussion, and a slight memory loss. That’s not unusual, and he’ll probably regain that memory in a day or so. That is the typical pattern.”
“And why am I here?”
“He wants to thank you personally for doing what you did. You’ve been here long enough to know how he is. He’s convinced that if you had not been there, he might have died. I think that’s the head injury talking, but humor him. It can’t hurt.”
I knew the politics of Genomex better than Hibbing. I swam in the waters with these sharks. Samihah was a decent woman, but she was a foreign-born widow with three sons and the rest of her family overseas; she would not back me openly against the predators, and I did not hold that against her.
Should the sharks perceive me as seeking and receiving special favor, especially from a man as despised as Mason Eckhart, it would not be good for me. I could quickly bec0me hated, and my ability to perform my duties undermined.
Most people loathed Eckhart; slimy Dr Harrison, for example. Some of them wished him dead. They would gather and discuss Eckhart’s dying, what natural causes to which he would be most vulnerable, what injuries would be most debilitating. On my way to borrowing or returning equipment I walked into these sessions. These guys would be laughing, but they were among the most ambitious people at Genomex and among the most astute politically. Ken Harrison made no effort to hide his dislike of Eckhart. He did not even stop making comments and ‘jokes’ upon my entry into a lab or office but continued talking. I don’t know if he considered me harmless, witless, or believed I also hated Eckhart. After today, he had to wonder, didn’t he?
I said nothing of this to Dr Hibbing. I had the queasy feeling that my life was about to become vastly more complicated.
“Where is he?” I wanted to get this over with, log off my computer, lock up my lab notebook, and bolt for the parking lot…and forget Genomex for two days.
Hibbing rose. “I’ll see if he’s dressed, and send him in here.”
More delay. I was becoming annoyed.
I studied the clutter of Hibbing’s office, the family photos, and then reviewed it all once more. His daughter looked just like him, which for her was not good.
“I want to thank you for helping me.”
I hadn’t heard Eckhart coming. He could be very quiet. I really was not surprised. He closed the door and took the other chair.
The faux skin of his face was freshly replaced, and the disorientation was gone from his eyes. I was glad of this, because I found a confused, disoriented Eckhart surprisingly disturbing. I did not know what to do with the genuine and sincere smile. I had never seen that before, just the almost queasy-making smirk. I had not heard of the possibility of a genuine smile before, not from Mason Eckhart, an aloof, almost alien creature who never seemed honestly fond of anyone or anything, only barely tolerant of circumstances.
“Well, I could do no less,” I said. My cousin Gary had seizures. When we were kids my brother Steve and I knew what to do for Gary if there weren’t any adults around.”
“A roomful of people did less than you.”
He expects decency and kindness from no one. Exactly as I expect decency and kindness from no one.
“How is your head?” I asked. “You made an awful sound when your skull hit the edge of the table.”
“Throbbing. Painful. Don’t tell Dr Hibbing. He wants to admit me to a hospital. I cannot go there—too much infection. Serious pain medication seems a far wiser choice.”
He was probably correct. Hospitals were dangerous places, fraught with risk of infection for the immune-compromised. The Genomex medical facilities were unusually well-equipped specifically to avoid the necessity of Eckhart passing through the doors of a hospital. They would probably be at a loss to understand how best to treat him, anyway.
“Why does he want you admitted?”
“He wants someone to wake me every two hours, to be sure that I will wake up again. I understand that is standard practice since there is a chance of a coma.”
I surprised myself by what I said next. “I could do that here.”
I knew he rarely left the complex, and that he slept somewhere in the building. I imagined a cot in a converted closet, or perhaps set up in his office. With Eckhart, anything was possible and speculation a waste of time. Perhaps he slept on the desktop curled up like a cat; I certainly never saw anything on that desktop.
But wouldn’t he knock a monitor into the floor in his sleep?
Maybe he slept under the desk.
“You could? I am sure that would satisfy Dr Hibbing.” He weighed it all for a moment. “You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
No. Well, yes, I’m sure I want to go home. But how can I withdraw the offer now with any degree of grace and manners?
Internally, my panic levels built, and grew, but I couldn’t retract the offer now. Where had that come from? What price will I pay for this?
“That’s extremely kind of you.” He left Hibbing’s office before my look of dismay could register.
You’re being a great fool. You know that. You had a quiet evening planned, your perfect choice of evening, planned and mapped out. All you had to do was go home and live it. Now, that’s all gone. You’re going to throw that all away and stay at Genomex. Don’t even think about comp-time.
Dr Hibbing re-entered the office. I rolled my eyes at him when Eckhart turned his back to me.
“You do understand, that if you cannot wake him, you need to call me and he’ll have to go to a hospital immediately.”
Hibbing wrote down his home phone number on the back of a business card. “And if you cannot reach me, Dr DiCecco is one of Mr Eckhart’s specialists who will available this weekend. I’m putting down his phone numbers as well.”
“Thanks.”
“Don’t hesitate to call if you have any difficulty waking him.”
“I understand that.”
“Good luck.” Out of Eckhart’s line of sight, Dr Hibbing rolled his eyes at me.
Now I really felt the fool, with Hibbing letting me know what supreme silliness I was getting into.
I had confidence in my competence and fortitude in coping with frightening, dreadful events without panicking. But I could not deal at all with feeling foolish. It did not matter that somewhere down within the layers of motivation I felt sorry for Eckhart, pity for him that not only was no one concerned about his well-being but that so many were sharply disappointed he was still alive. I couldn’t escape feeling the fool.
Half-aware of my surroundings, I followed Hibbing and Eckhart out into the corridor, and watched Hibbing, fortunate man, hurry off to the parking lot. I wished I could run after him.
“You know where my quarters are, don’t you?” Eckhart asked.
Quarters? I had no inkling that any such place existed. Imagined images flashed through my mind of the interior of an oversized stainless steel cube with a stainless steel shelf for sleeping molded into the wall.
“No idea.”
He seemed surprised by that. Nothing in Genomex mythology dealt with Eckhart personal space other than his office.
“I have to set security in my office, and then I’ll come by your labs.”
I nodded. This was beginning to feel very strange.
I had been in my clothes since 5 AM, which was long enough. I went to a locker room and changed into a pair of old jeans and shirt, which I kept at work in case of needing to tear apart instrumentation.
Laboratory instrumentation looks slick and high tech, but such equipment breeds dust and dirt on the power cords and computer cables. Even the surfaces of monitors tend to accumulate a thin black layer distributed across the screen. Working around instrumentation could be nasty. If cables needed to be shifted, modules broken apart, or if I just needed to go crawling about behind instruments with a water and isopropanol mixture to check for gas leaks, I wasn’t going to do it in a skirt.
I was typically the first person through the door in the mornings. I told people I could not stand driving in traffic but the truth was I preferred working alone. Alone in my labs I could imagine I had the whole complex to myself, which factually was nearly true. The security people were always around, but they never had names so they hardly counted. The cafeteria staff were critical, of course, but they were off in a semi-detached building.
The only other person in my building at my usual arrival time of 5-5.30 AM was Eckhart, and he never came near me.
I liked working alone. I liked the quiet, the lack of intrusions, the predictability, the control.
I was relieved to discover that all of my people had left. None of them would witness Eckhart dropping by and none would jokingly ask for an explanation on Monday. For this, I was boundlessly grateful.
I was relieved. Maybe I would get lucky and never have to explain to anyone what I was doing, if Dr Hibbing could keep his mouth shut. I collected a small timer from the lab, and slipped it into my purse, logged off my computer, and waited…but not for long.
Eckhart seemed surprised by my change into jeans, but said nothing.
Perhaps he never changes his clothes.
“No bodyguard?” I asked.
Eckhart rarely strayed far from his office without a bodyguard in attendance. This was not paranoia on his part; security was breached several times that I knew about, reportedly by Adam and the lost-soul mutants he recruited as his followers, people unaware of his role in creating them.
“Even my GSA bodyguards have gone home. No one’s left except the cleaning crews and exterior security.”
The outer door to his quarters was in fact close to his office. I had few reasons to ever be in that part of the building, and did not recall noticing this particular door before. This part of the building was full of high-tech entries, and at Genomex I made a habit of not asking too many questions, but to listen very carefully. Genomex supported many “black” projects that weren’t even supposed to exist. I did not want to find out what they were and I did not wish to create the impression that I was curious about any of them.
Such projects might in fact involve fascinating science, but one just is not nosy about these things. As peculiar as it might sound to anyone on the outside, manufacturers of consumer products had similar concerns and procedures. Successful industrial espionage could steal decades of painstaking, creative research and development, and destroy potentials for market share and well-deserved profit.
“The entry is set up like an air lock, with a small chamber past this door from which the outside air will be flushed. The interior is kept under constant positive pressure so that any seepage is outward, not in. Entry and exit are keyed to my retinas, my right thumbprint and mine alone.”
The first door closed behind us. I am claustrophobic. I could feel myself beginning to sweat beneath my shirt.
“Hmm…how to say this…I’m claustrophobic. Very claustrophobic.”
“As am I. We’re nearly through.”
“If you lapse into a coma, how am I supposed to get you out?”
“There is a manual override…but only on the inside. I’ll show you.”
Which he did, upon entry. Having this only on the inside prevented an easy invasion of his quarters.
“The manual override immediately opens outer and inner doors. Before taking that drastic step, you can see who, if anyone, is outside waiting for you; the temperatures of the floor and ceiling, and whether the fire alarms and sprinklers are activated anywhere onsite. If you use that override, and upon the opening of both doors decide you’ve made a mistake, you can close the doors once more. Quickly.”
“What about the floors, ceiling, and walls in here?”
The question surprised him. Good.
“Steel. Many inches of it.”
“Oxygen?”
“There are tanks within the steel cube to deliver breathing air if the exterior intakes are blocked or sabotaged.”
“This is a stronghold.”
“Yes.”
I had expected a cot in a corner. There were actually several rooms, small, austere rooms heavy on polished stainless steel and glass. The clear intention was to provide as few surfaces as possible for dust and bacteria spores to settle and collect.
Whole walls were given over to disks and books shelved behind glass. Museum reproduction, miniatures of course, sat on the shelves in front of the disks.
“Not what you expected?” he asked.
“No.”
“I have more time than most for reading.”
“I rarely come across anyone else who actually reads books.”
He laughed. “With all the doctorate degrees that work here?”
“They read technical journals. Most of them have not read a book since undergraduate school. They only read those because they were required.” The bulk of the titles were histories. “And they certainly don’t read history, which I do…the way a lot of people read novels.”
“But certainly not military history.”
“I’ve always read military history. I started as a teenager. My tastes and inclinations have always been eclectic. I’ve never concerned myself much with what I was supposed to like.”
I’d lost myself in the discussion of books and history, walking close to the wall to read the book titles. I had always loved to read. While I know people online who read as much and as widely as I did, meeting someone like that was a rare event. I had thousands of books at my condominium. Hardly anyone knew that because of the way I preferred admitting no one to my private universe. I especially enjoyed history and biography. Then I stopped myself, horrified that I had let my guard down and simply spoken my thoughts. Had I made a fool of myself? I suddenly turned about and faced him.
Eckhart looked mildly amused…or pleased. I could not be sure which.
“Did I just make a fool of myself?” I’ve always been very direct.
“Not at all. You just gained a lot of respect.”
I did not know what to make of that, but I did not doubt his sincerity. I returned to my examination of the shelf contents.
“Frequently it is difficult to know what to tell of oneself, especially in an anti-intellectual age. Say too much, and you get yourself branded as ‘thinking yourself superior’…as if being superior was a bad thing. I’ve learned to mostly keep my mouth shut. People don’t like it when they have no notion what you are talking about.”
“Even when what you are talking about was common knowledge among educated people two generations ago,” he said.
“Yes. What was common knowledge has become arcane. But that attitude cuts across more than academics. Some basic skills known in every household 40 years ago, such as making a pie crust, are mostly forgotten. People are steeped in the minutiae of pop culture, but baffled by planting a flower see or making brownies.”
“I don’t know what can be done about that unfortunate attitude. I’m trying to make certain my children don’t grow up to be one-dimensional technicians.”
He had anticipated my surprise, in fact had watched me carefully.
“Well before I became this, Dr Steyn, I had a surprisingly normal adult life. I know some people believe I am something Dr Breedlove created, like Dr Frankenstein, but that’s not true, although it might be true of Adam.”
He paused. I knew there was bad blood between them. Everyone knew that. No one seemed to know all the details. Over my years at Genomex I accumulated many stories—and versions of stories—but I was to learn how much both of them kept secret.
“What did you think of Adam?” he asked.
The opportunity to answer honestly was more than I could resist.
“I thought Adam was a pompous, pampered jackass, and that on days when he was feeling humble and subdued.”
Eckhart laughed.
“Why didn’t Breedlove make him mind like a good boy?” I asked, smiling.
“In absolute truth, I do not know. I only have theories. Paul really may have created Adam in a sub-basement of Genomex, using some of his own DNA as a partial base. Adam has no past. Quite possibly, he may be a machine.”
“You’re joking.”
“I’m not,” he answered. “I’ve never come across anyone who recalls Adam relating a childhood memory, as if Adam had no childhood to recall. More telling than that, I’ve never come across any record of Adam as a child, no birth record, no school records. About a year prior to admission to Stanford, he makes his first appearance, taking his SATs in 1970.”
“I hadn’t thought of Adam as an android.”
“Paul Breedlove was full of surprises.”
“Most of us are.”
“Some, more than others. Paul Breedlove qualifies as a supreme generator of surprises. I wonder sometimes if Eleanor had any idea who he was.”
“Tell me about your children.”
“My Grey is the oldest. Grey is a family name…my middle name…it goes back to General Grey, CSA. Grey’s in college. The twins, Deirdre and Michelle, are high school juniors.”
“Twins?”
“Yes. As I once was. Marc drowned when I was eight.”
“I’ve never heard anything about your having a family. Why doesn’t anyone know about them?” Blunt little me, asking why Genomex mythology relates none of this.
“They’re safer this way. If hardly anyone knows about them, and I never say anything about them, then I have left the impression I do not care about them. If the people who hate you know what you love, they will attempt destruction of those people or things.”
Yes, they will. How well I know.
“You’re talking about Adam.”
“Yes. I knew you were quick but that is perceptive. Most people think of him as harmless hot air, even now, as he shelters a felon and attempts to transfer the responsibility for his own ill-conceived actions to others.”
To you.
“Harmless hot air does not set out to slander and destroy reputations.”
“No.”
“What does Adam love?”
“Only Adam. I once believed he cared about the mutants he created, but I think they are important only as extensions of his own will. He uses them. I believe he continues to experiment upon them. No doubt he assures them what he does is completely safe, all the while he carries on his work and heightens the chances their fragile physiological balance will free fall into oblivion.”
Eckhart had told me quite a lot. I was not sure why he was doing this, and guessed the explanation was somewhere between the head injury and having no one to tell any of these things for years.
“I’m not going to repeat anything you’ve told me.”
“I did not think you would. Anymore than I’ll repeat anything you’ve told me.”
Eckhart completed the tour of his safe, sealed space.
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Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
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