A Memory in the Black (The New Aeneid Cycle) by Michael G. Munz Page B

would find a vantage point nearby. He would wait. He would find her. And then, he would find Michael.
    No. Not Michael.
     
    Within an elevator inside, the lights changed as Ondrea waited for her floor. The procedure had been successful. Of that there was no question, and the part that mattered most to her was, aside from a few surmountable obstacles, complete. Yet what mattered to Marquand was proving more difficult to achieve. She'd told them this, of course. She had warned them that it would take patience.
    Fine , so she may have oversold the possibility of success in order to accomplish what she wanted. But what did they expect? The more humanity learned about the brain and the minds it could hold, the only thing that became truly certain was that it was far more complex than anyone could dream. Marquand wasn't working with muscle and bone anymore; neurons weren't so straightforward. Even if they were frustrated with the sluggish progress, they were committed.
    Or perhaps they had known it was a gamble. By taking his alien secrets elsewhere, Joseph Curwen forced them to choose between a gamble and nothing, but that didn't mean they would accept defeat any more lightly. Management was itching for more intensive hypnosis sessions, but they were patient enough to listen to her and the other specialists on the project team. So far.
    She wasn't sure if Gideon could take any more right now.
    He was still confused from time to time. It was definitely Gideon—in that, at least, she was confident—and in some ways he was actually more stable and willing to listen than he had been. . . before. Ondrea was tempted to say Gideon almost seemed like he'd been before his cybernetics pushed his sanity closer to the brink. But he wasn't yet confident in that identity, even as it struggled to assert itself.
    Last week's outburst at his old apartment meant he was trying to regain the consciousness he remembered. He refused to believe it had been six months since he'd lived there, as if such a thing would invalidate his existence. Ondrea had barely managed to talk him down and get him back to Marquand.
    The company hadn't wanted to let him go out there at all, but Ondrea had told them that it was necessary. She was certain that once he was satisfied with what she had told him, his subconscious would be more willing to share the secrets they sought. Trying to force things along might have catastrophic results, and she refused to lose her brother now.
    The elevator doors opened onto a view of the bio labs and one of her lab assistants running straight toward her. She stepped out and he gripped her arm as if he might blow away otherwise.
    "Where've you been?" The way he whispered it set alarms in her head screaming.
    "Jesus, Beck, getting some lunch. What happened? Is he okay?"
    "I don't know . He broke out. He's gone!"
     
    Outside, a tow truck had somehow gained a spot ahead of the crashed delivery truck. Inside the main lobby of the Marquand building, its flashing hazard lights caught Felix's eye through the windows as he waited for the receptionist to check his computer.
    "I'm sorry," he said, regaining Felix's attention. "Ms. Noble has not given permission to be paged for public visits."
    "Well, that has to be a mistake," Felix tried. "How do I let her know I'm here?"
    "I'm sorry, but if she 's expecting you, she should have logged your appointment with the system." The man watched Felix patiently, his eyes apologetic, yet clearly hoping Felix would be satisfied with his explanation.
    Not likely. "That's hardly my fault, I think. Look, I know she's in the bio labs. I'm sure she just forgot to say I was expected."
    "I can't give you a pass for the labs, sir. If you like, I can take a message and see that she gets it."
    "But she won't get it immediately."
    "She' ll get it as soon as she checks her messages."
    "Right , but that will be when?"
    The receptionist frowned. "I'm afraid I can't speak to that, sir. But it's the best I can