“No thank you.”

Nathan returned to his desk and took a long pull from his beverage. He set the glass down on a coaster.

“So how’s the project going?”

"It's coming along." Martin licked his lips, and rummaged about in a beaten up vat-hide briefcase. At length he pulled out a sheaf of mylar. “I’ve prepared an update for you,” he said, placing the report on Nathan’s desk with all the prayerful hope of a Catholic offering holographic effigies to the Virgin. Nathan ignored the report, and opened the Tetra file on his transceiver. A stack of holographic forms materialized on the desk. "I've been going over your budget invoices. There are a few items here I wanted to ask you about." He manipulated the virtual forms, picked one up and left it suspended in the air and pointed at one of the lines, highlighting it.

"Plants, Weber Brothers Greenhouses, $506.29," it read. Graham picked up another form, and highlighted that one as well. "High-spectrum Halogen Capsules, DeLight, $1153.45." Martin fidgeted as Graham continued to manipulate the forms until six invoices hung in the air between them. "Finches, BirdTown, $2034.65; Classical Music(25 items), Harmony House, $448.73; Li'l Big Tyke Jumping Gym, KiddyLand, $4522.84; Hindu Religious Art of Late Antiquity, Files 'n' Stuff,

$7099.38."

Nathan watched Martin swallow. Right about now he was probably wishing he’d accepted that drink. Nathan called up a subtotal for the invoices: $15,765.34.

"You'll forgive me if I fail to understand the necessity for these charges." Martin’s eyes were wide, as if he had never seen these invoices before, but he didn’t try to deny the fact that he’d approved them. How could he? There was his signature at the bottom of each and every one, damning him.

“We felt they were necessary,” he said faintly, “to create the proper environment for the project.”

"A vat house is the proper environment for the project!" Graham shouted, pounding his fist on the table. It made Martin jump. "That's the whole point, isn't it?"

Martin blew out his breath. "I wanted to examine responses to a wide range of stimuli."

"Why? No, never mind. I know, because you were curious. I suppose that's what we pay you for, but this project is overdue and over budget already, and you go out and spend over fifteen-thousand dollars on toys!"

Martin spread his hands, "I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking of it like that." He wasn’t thinking of it at all, Nathan guessed. His eyes kept on darting to the invoices, reading over them as if he were trying to discover something.

"Don't get me wrong doctor, I admire you, I really do. But I'm a business man, and it's my job to tow the bottom line, and to see to it that you do the same. You may not be aware of it, but Genesys is in business to make money, not play with tinker toys."

Martin nodded, "Actually, I am aware of that."

"Good," Graham erased the invoices, watching Martin watch them disappear. Despite his obvious genius, Martin had never played the prima donna, and he didn’t now. He probably could have gotten away with it, even around Graham. If Martin pulled rank, went over his head, there would be little he could do about it. Anna would never consent to losing a mind like Martin’s. It made Graham think less of him, that he would entirely neglect capitalizing on his early career. After the brains, he could have formed his own company and made even more money than GeneSys paid him, but no. All he wanted was another problem to think about.

Graham switched to personnel files. “You granted four transfer requests in February, but never requested replacements. That leaves you with just two assistants, doesn’t it? Greenfield and um,”

“Slatermeyer,” said Martin. “I found it more efficient, easier actually, to conduct research with a smaller staff.”

“I see. Well that may help to offset some of these charges. Very forward thinking of you, I might add, to voluntarily downsize your staff. Most researchers wouldn’t do that.” He folded his hands on the table and leaned over them. "So when can we expect this project to go online?" he asked gently.

“Well, I don’t know exactly. These are just prototypes we’re working with now. They’re not really suitable for a real life situation.”

Graham laughed and shook his head, “Always the perfectionist, eh, Martin? I noticed you’ve been keeping your project data in private storage, and that’s fine, but why don’t you let me judge how unsuitable these prototypes of yours are.

“I appreciate you taking the time to make out this report,” he gestured towards the stack of mylar. “I know we keep you busy. I’ll tell you what. I’ll read this, and then pop down in a day or so to see what you’ve accomplished. You don’t mind, do you?”

Martin sat very still, staring at Graham as if he were a poisonous snake ready to strike, and his only hope for survival was remain immobile, attract no attention, and hope to be ignored. But he would not be ignored, not by Graham, not now. The expenditures, the staff changes, the private data, it added up to something, something that would not, he felt sure, be in the good doctor’s report.

“Well, I don’t know that that’s necessary, really,” said Martin, his hands clenching in his lap. “The report I’ve prepared should fully brief you, and of course if you have any questions-”

“Questions, well. You know, despite being a bean counter,” he smiled at Martin’s discomfort over the term, “I have always felt that seeing is believing. I know your lab time is precious, but it won’t take long, just a quick little tour. You understand, don’t you?”

“Yes, I think I do.”

“Great, then I’ll see you again soon.” Nathan stood and walked around the desk to shake hands with Martin. His hand was ice cold. “Thanks for stopping by.”

Chapter 4 — Five Hands

She woke from a muddle of thoughts and memories; the recollection of movement and darkness, of being carried into a bright kitchen with a yellow formica table, a babble of voices, someone saying, "she's in shock," and a thin face framed by long black hair, bending over her with bright dark eyes, asking, over and over again, "What's your name?"

Helix opened her eyes and gazed at a pink, water stained ceiling. She was in a bed, a twin bed with a lumpy mattress, covered neck to toe with a multi-colored afghan crocheted out of some strange, nubby yarn. She turned her head. The walls were pink too; poorly fed plaint flaking away like dried skin. On a small table by the bed stood an old ceramic lamp, its shade yellow and fraying. She heard voices, muffled, from a nearby room. Her head hurt, and she shut her eyes.

She woke again to see light streaming in from the window, filtered weakly by sheer, age-faded curtains. There was a soft knock at the door, and it opened.

A face peeked through the door; sharp little nose, sharp chin, like a bright, friendly rodent. Tawny brown hair fell untidily across her forehead. Seeing Helix awake she smiled and came in. She was small but solid, dressed in a black tank top faded to grey, and a purple and yellow patterned skirt. She sat in a chair next to the bed and leaned forward. "You're awake," she said.

"Yes."

Her smile widened, "That's good. We were worried."

"You're the one who found me."

"Yeah, my name's Chango." she put out her hand.

Helix withdrew her upper right hand from beneath the afghan and shook with her. "I'm Helix," she said.

"Oh, you know your name. Thank goddess. Last night we couldn't get you to tell us. Mavi says your wound isn't serious. Somehow, the knife missed your kidney. She dressed and bandaged it, and the bleeding seemed to stop, but what she was really worried about was the concussion. See, you went into shock, in the car, and you were more or less unconscious when we brought you in. We couldn’t wake you up. You're not supposed to go to sleep if you have a concussion.”