"So it was Luther who injected himself with the serum," Hunter said, unimpressed by the egomaniacal arrogance. "And that thing out there…"
"Is no longer Luther," Hamilton added without emotion. "No, I'm afraid that nothing of poor Luther remains. But it was his own hand that destroyed my colleague. I shed no tears. And it was not a complete failure, in any case. For although Luther's physicality was monstrously transformed into the living representative of this unknown species, he also retained the healing and longevity factors. Yes, Luther — or whatever remains of him — will live for quite some centuries, although in that irreversible, bestial form. And since his impertinent adventurism, which ended so tragically, we have gloriously completed what he began. For we have isolated and removed the genetic transmitters that allowed the creature's DNA to transform Luther into a likeness of itself." Hamilton's eyes gleamed. "Yes, we have the serum, Mr. Hunter, and the long night is at an end. We have the sentient qualities, those that grant immortality without the lamentable curse of the primitive mind. And soon a select few will be…immortal." He smiled.
Unimpressed, Hunter asked, "You never really planned to kill the creature, did you?"
Hamilton blinked. "Hmm? Oh, yes." He placed hands behind his back, as if lecturing. "Yes, Mr. Hunter, at one point it was considered. And, for prudence and diplomacy, we were certainly required to display some confusion and concern about the recurring attacks. But before your team was dispatched we had already decided to let the creature do our work for us in order to ensure containability of our secret enterprise. By that, of course, I mean allowing the creature to silence the research and military teams, an unexpected effect. And then… who knows? Perhaps we might have terminated him, and may yet do so. Or we might attempt to capture him. Frankly, I have not turned my mind to the matter in some time."
Eyes narrowing, Hunter saw a shadow move — or seem to move — on the far side of the room. He didn't look toward it again as he took a wild chance, moving slightly to the side. Hamilton angled his eyes to follow Hunter's slow step, but he did not reposition. And none of the soldiers advanced, though Hunter saw hands tighten on rifles.
"No more secrets," Hunter said, facing Hamilton squarely. "I know what it's looking for. And I know you could have stopped the killing at any time. But you didn't."
Hamilton displayed rare surprise.
"You are an exceptionally astute individual, Mr. Hunter." For a moment, he appeared to regard Hunter with awe. "Yes, exceptionally astute. What was your first clue that it was searching for something? It could have been wreaking vengeance, you know. Moreover, it could merely have been exercising animal savagery against the only populations that its diseased human mind could recall. And yet…your certainty is complete. You know, indeed, that it was searching and, even, what it was searching for. But how? Would you tell me? I am most curious."
Even without looking for it, Hunter saw a shadow on the floor adjacent to a large computer terminal. But there was no sound. And he tried to follow the almost imperceptible shifting with peripheral vision because he didn't know whether it was Chaney or Bobbi Jo or the creature.
There was always a chance the military might have missed something, some hidden tunnel or gateway that wasn't recorded on the blueprints. His toes curled slightly down within his moccasins as he tensed, preparing to move in any direction at a split-second's warning. And in the short pause he decided to tell Hamilton what the scientist so badly wanted to hear, buying precious time, finishing the charade.
"It was at the research station," Hunter said, with the faintest shadow of a mocking sneer. "That was your first mistake."
Hamilton stared. "Yes? Well, what was there to find? Our sanitation team, and this is no empty boast, are quite thorough about removing evidence, ensuring our secrecy. We use them all over the world for a number of situations. And they thoroughly swept the station long before you arrived."
"I know," Hunter said, unimpressed. "And they did a good job; there was nothing to find. And that was their mistake, Doctor. They did too good a job. And in the wrong places."
"What do you mean?"
"It's the same with men as with animals, Doctor. Nothing moves in the world, anywhere, without leaving a sign — a trace of itself. The same rules apply in civilized environments." Hunter searched for the shadow, saw nothing. "This creature attacked the station, the soldiers, and he left traces of himself. Then he attacked the personnel, the lab techs, and left more traces. Tracks, claw marks, blood that told me where he was going, where he'd been, what he was thinking. And then he attacked the installation it-self, leaving even more traces. All of it like pages in a book. Everything that happens is told in the tracks, or in the pages. All you have to do is know how to read them."
"Yes," Hamilton responded, "I follow your reasoning. But that still does not explain how you deduced that the creature was searching for something, which I myself find quite fascinating.”
"It's just like I said, Doctor. Every room in every installation told a story." Hunter paused. "Except one."
Hamilton seemed to perceive it.
"The vault," the scientist said simply, with a faint smile.
"Yeah. The vault. The only chamber that that thing didn't destroy. And yet it destroyed everything else. So there was a page missing from the story." Hunter caught a glimmer of response in the doctor's eyes. "It's fairly simple to follow a track, once you know where to begin," he continued. "So after I searched the vault and didn't find any traces of the creature, I knew something was wrong. So I searched it again, and found some lines where your crew, probably wearing biohazard suits, had worked the most diligently at sanitation. I suppose you know where that would be."
"Oh, yes." Hamilton smiled, clearly enjoying the endgame. "At the refrigeration module."
"Where your crew removed every trace of its entry," Hunter continued. "And I wondered: why remove traces of this thing's entry into that one chamber while ignoring what it did throughout the rest of the complex? And the answer seemed fairly obvious."
Hamilton almost spoke, some fevered dimension of his personality taking pleasure in this spirited contest of intellects, but with visible effort he restrained himself.
"So I located the module's manifest and ran an inventory, and I located all of the serums that were supposed to be there," Hunter continued, allowing Hamilton the juvenile pleasure of finishing.
"Except one," the scientist contributed magnanimously.
"Yeah. Except one."
"HD-66." Hamilton shook his head, a slightly satisfied smile.
"Exactly. Which didn't mean much to me at the time. But I knew it would mean something sooner or later. Then, when the third facility was destroyed, it was the same thing. HD-66 was missing from the serum module with the area swept clean. No traces, no tracks. Another missing page. So I knew that this entire scenario somehow revolved around HD-66. But, still, I didn't know what it was. I didn't even know enough to run it past the professor because it was just numbers on a page. Its existence had been erased." Hunter stared evenly. "Sometimes by erasing tracks, Doctor, you make them more visible."
Undaunted, Hamilton beamed. "And yet, Mr. Hunter, despite your amazing deduction, you were still unenlightened as to the specific purpose, and salient characteristics, of HD-66."