Book #6 – “Undaunted” is moving ahead slowly, but I feel the pace will turn out to be a good thing. The ten killer Humanoids that the research team wants nothing to do with are now linked to the team more than can be tolerated. Could the fact that all of the Humanoids belonging to Hank make him intolerable as well?
Chapter 13 – Tipping Point
“Has anyone heard from Hank?” asked Cara as the staff nearly filled the seats around the conference table for the morning huddle. Not hearing an immediate response, she added clarification, “He’s usually here for staff meetings. I know he’s been leaving early, and expect he’s herding the Humanoids we have no idea what to do with.”
That statement, to no one in particular, set the tone of where Dr. Cara Williams would drive the agenda, which became even clearer when she said, “It’s the Humanoids!” like saying the word left a bad taste. “That’s the real issue for me, and you need to know that right up front.”
She cut her eyes briefly to catch Russ’s glance and continued speaking to everyone. Finally pausing for a moment, she asked, “Have we lost touch with who we are as a research organization?”
Even though she had addressed the team as a whole, Russ knew her glance in his direction told him she needed help; once again, forgetting to use her telepathy. He knew the real issue behind Cara’s look was her lack of control. She tried to deflect the real reason she needed help by asking the team what she really asked herself. Not getting answers from either was not surprising. Were there no clear answers because possibly she had lost her way?
Russ could feel her floundering and responded in her mind with calming thoughts. Babe, slow is smooth, remember?
Cara responded immediately, mad at herself. Dammit. I keep forgetting I can reach out to you privately in a crowd.
Russ attempted to calm her. It’s okay, you’ll get used to it. Just breathe. Hey…I could see when you came into the room, you were focused on something, didn’t look at anyone, not even a greeting. You just started with ‘Has anyone seen Hank?’, then rapid-fire questions with your thoughts, and no room for any of us to answer. Slow down, babe.
Cara responded. You know I’m in a twist over these goddam Humanoids, and now Hank is missing in action. Where is he? Where does he go in the afternoons? I know you trust your gut, and mine says our team is vulnerable. My intuition is telling me something is going on, and there is considerable risk on the sticky end of the stick we are about to grab. Is Hank the one handing it to us? I know you guys are warrior buddies, but Jesus, Marine, what if our research gets wrapped around the axle of …
Russ interrupted the building momentum of her rant. Hank and I are cool. He’s not a warrior; more like another Zack-like software guru. He’s not handing us anything. He knows the Humanoids have to go; we’ve already had some of this conversation. I’ll share more with you later this afternoon after we meet. For now, you must know one thing: I do NOT want us to have any ownership stake or association with a fleet of killer Humanoids.
None of us needs to be in the role of making decisions about life and death. God Almighty owns that one, okay?. I’ve done enough of that in my life, and will not get in the middle of that ever again, and neither should you. Hank knows we are at a tipping point. We are meeting this afternoon.
Russ refocused and said to the group, “I agree that a fleet of Humanoids is not related in any way to our mission here at CSU. Their functional parameters were purpose-built to destroy, to end lives, human lives, while our mission is clearly intended to save them. Despite those sounding like polar opposites, listen for a few more seconds.”
Russ stopped and raised his hand to indicate caution. “Those two outcomes are not as opposite as they sound. Hear me clearly: this is not a right-or-wrong situation; it’s only a different perspective. Keep in mind that the Humanoids Hank manages actually save lives by eliminating them, exclusively those bent on harming. Is that a good thing? Is it moral?
Personally, I have a problem with the answers to those questions because they have both positive and negative considerations. Preventing the loss of lives by taking them means someone must decide who dies. Do any of us have that authority? In my heart, this feels like a God-thing, and I want no part of it, and I don’t think it will do our research mission any favors, much less protect the integrity of the university’s reputation.
I’m unable to shed any light on what comes next without discussing everything with Hank. We’re meeting later this afternoon to discuss options and next steps critical to the success of two distinct missions that do not align.”
Thoughts from Hal floated into Russ’s mind. I want to be included in that meeting.
Russ replied. Count on it.
Russ looked at Cara, raised a questioning eyebrow, giving her a chance to continue. You okay?
She looked back at him with eyes that pleaded for help. No, I’m not anywhere close to okay. Please close the meeting, Russell. I need some time alone to clear my head.
Cara rose and left the conference room without a word. Russell. She’d used his full first name. Desperation was usually lurking in her head when she used his name. Her pleading eyes spelled trouble in Camelot. When she was in one. Talking stopped, and listening was disabled until the pressure went away. He knew it was his job to calm her.
You got it, babe! I know how you feel about the Humanoids, and I ask you to trust me to handle Hank and find a solution. Take some time alone and find some peace in this situation, because he and I are already in agreement. The challenge is mainly logistical.
He stopped sending thoughts. Cara had already left the room, avoiding stares of concern on every face. Russ covered her exit, blaming her distracted behavior on stress over the integrity of CSU’s mission and her own professional integrity. She could not afford to be seen as the den mother of a herd of killer Humanoids. None of them needed to be connected in any way.
Do what you do, Marine. I trust you and love you big time.
I love you back, sweetie! Go home, take a long, hot bath, and we’ll see how slow smooth can be.
Bring home pork-fried rice, egg drop soup, and Szechuan broccoli. We are going to need energy if we hope to make it to the ‘smooth is fast part’. Hmmm, I think I’m feeling better already.
She did feel better, and that was what he did for her. Anticipation of him and his concept of ‘slow‘ gave her a welcome distraction as she drew a hot bath, dropped in a lilac bomb, and slipped into a deliciously hot and fragrant tub of bliss.
While Cara marinated at home, Russ and Hank arrived at Charlie’s at the same time, parked, and swapped a bro-hug.
Russ looked at Hank and asked, “You okay, bud?”
“Not even,” said Hank.
“Tell me more, brother.”
Hank replied, “Buy me an IPA or three, and I’ll ruin your day to match mine.”
“Cool. I’ll do that for both of us. There’s a new Busted Knuckle IPA that packs a 7.2% pop and is hoppy as hell. I think you’ll like it.”
Hank didn’t say anything else and just started walking toward the entrance. Russ saw the slumped shoulders weighed down by something uncharacteristic of Hank. Granted, their time together had been thrust upon them by circumstance, but indirect linkages tied to those same circumstances created a bond neither asked for but respected. That relationship was shared by both of them, and the pressure of their dissimilar agendas, which they both carried and had yet to reveal. Sharing those revelations was on tap (no pun) and would be best served with alcohol.
Charlie’s wasn’t filled with the daily crowd, and a popular corner booth was empty, inviting them to a more private conversation, at least until the regulars showed up.
Still with no words spoken except by Russ when he placed an order with Cassady, the new bartender. When two dark IPAs sat before them, Hank spoke first, raising his mug and making deep eye contact, “Shalom!”
“Shalom,” answered Russ as their mugs came together. They both pulled deep draughts from their beers before Russ spoke with a question wrapped in a single word. “Well?”
Hank placed the mug on the table and wrapped both hands around it, staring into his brew like it held a script he had been practicing in his head. “I’m in a jam, Russ!”
“Talk to me, brother,” said Russ.
“That’s it, Russ. What you just called me is part of the problem. Everyone on the CSU team is like that toward me, treating me like family.” Hank stopped talking and went back to gazing into his beer for more words.
Go slow with him, Russell. AIMEE had been left active in Russ’s mind and left guidance for his next steps.
“Hmm, mused Russ, as he took another drink. “Why is that a problem?”
“I don’t deserve to be treated like family; not for what I’ve done.” Hank’s eyes glistened with tears that threatened but had not yet fallen.
“Whoa, whoa, dude. Back up. You’re starting to sound like woe is me. What’s really going on with you? Words I’m hearing almost sound like whining, or is there something else working on you? You said you were in a jam. Well, what is it? Spill it. Friends do that kind of thing.”
Hank knew it was time to let it spill, so he did. “Remember the news a couple of days ago, when the governor’s son was killed at a nightclub up in Raleigh?”
“I think I recall something about it, but so much was going on, nothing really stuck. What about it?”
Hank leaned back and made eye contact with Russ, hesitating, before blowing out his cheeks in a pre-confessional reveal. “I set it up.”
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