Clayton carried the guinea pig to the cooler. Lifting the lid, he set the creature inside. Luke didn’t protest this treatment, putting a live animal in deep freeze. Was that thing really alive anymore?
“What use is it?” Luke had to ask. “This ambrosia? Look at what it does, Clay. It… perverted that animal. Am I wrong? That guinea pig was savage. There was…”
Something demonic about it, was the thought his mind spat out. He’d felt the creature’s awfulness in his hands, the clammy grossness of its body.
“There could be any number of reasons why it acted that way,” Clayton said. “Firstly, it likely had no conception of what was being done to it.”
“ ‘Being done to it.’ Interesting choice of words, brother of mine. So let me ask you—do you know what was being done to it?”
“I’m beginning to understand, yes. There may be pain or trauma associated with the assimilation. The ambrosia may trigger certain psychotropic side effects, leading to heightened aggression.”
“My God, Clay—do you realize what you’re saying? This substance you’re studying won’t allow a creature to die. Not by freezing it, not by pumping it with a lethal dose, not by hacking its fucking head off. There has to be some other intelligence at work here. I don’t mean some take me to your leader shit; just something we can’t possibly understand. The way that blood moved… it was smart. It had a purpose.”
Clayton’s expression didn’t indicate that he felt the same horror Luke did—rather, it seemed that the prospect of a purposeful intellect excited him immensely.
“How can you know it won’t function the same way when used on a human being?” said Luke. “That it won’t turn people into raving maniacs?”
“There’s only one answer to that, Lucas—we don’t know how it will work, because we haven’t tried it on a human subject yet.”
YET. Dear God.
“Clay. Think. What about Westlake?”
“What about him?” Clayton said, eyebrows innocently raised.
“You’ve calculated this angle already,” said Luke. “You realize Westlake must have come in contact with the ambrosia.”
“I think…” A grudging nod. “Yes. That’s likely accurate. He must’ve abandoned the necessary precautions. He forgot the risks.”
Or the fucking stuff crawled inside his head, Luke thought wildly. Or else…
“Clay, what if he purposefully brought it into contact with himself? Not an accident or a goof-up,” said Luke. “What if he smeared it on himself or swallowed it or some other goddamn thing? What if he let himself be assimilated, as you put it.”
Luke suddenly and dearly wanted to tell his brother about the dream he’d had. He wanted to spill his guts about the giant millipede that, for a span of pulseless seconds, he’d been absolutely sure was stalking him down that darkened storage tunnel. He wanted to let Clayton know that these depths exerted a breed of pressure that lay entirely apart from the eight hundred fluid tons of water that pressed down on every square inch of the Trieste right this moment…
…but he had a terrible feeling Clayton knew all that already—he’d know it deep under his skin by now.
“Why don’t we leave?” Luke asked again. “A little sunlight on your face. You remember the sun, don’t you? Hey. Just a few days. Then you come right back down.”
And maybe—if we’re lucky—this whole place will cave in on itself in your absence. Would that be so bad?
Clayton shook his head, lips pursed in a playful tsk.
“It must be hard on you. It must really sting, Lucas. Acting as their errand boy.”
Luke frowned. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Think about why you’re even here, brother dear. They flew you halfway around the world and jettisoned you to the bottom of the sea. Could you be any more a pawn? Did they tell you how to frame it—did they coach you? You never were a good liar. You’re too earnest. Dr. Felz and the others—and I’m sure there were others—what did they promise you in return for retrieving me?”
Luke’s jaw hung open in disbelief.
“Holy fuck, what could they possibly offer? A new car? An all-expenses-paid trip to Cabo? I came because I wanted to. No, Jesus—I came because I had to. There was no choice. Everything’s gone to hell. I came for Abby and for—for—”
“Oh please!” Clayton said. “You don’t think I know? Felz, that incompetent nitwit, would like nothing more than to take over. Why do you think I stopped attending those shrink’s sessions? He was orchestrating it! Trying to get them to declare me insane so that he could have me deposed. Do I look crazy to you, Lucas? A mad scientist from a late-night creature feature? Do I really?”
Luke noted the itchy squint to his brother’s eyes, and the fatigued bags under them. His skin seemed too tight—it was as if a big metal key, same as on a wind-up toy soldier, was screwed into the back of his neck, twisting and twisting, pulling the flesh of his face to a sickening tautness.
Insane? Luke thought. Maybe not yet, but I’d say you’re within spitting distance.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Clayton said. “You go on and toddle up to the surface and tell Felz that. But don’t think that I blame you, Luke. Understand this: I pity you. This is far too immense for you to comprehend. Go now. Go. Let Alice take you, and don’t argue with me. We’re done here.”
“I don’t give a shit about Felz,” Luke said, a flash point of anger exploding in his chest. “I came here… Christ, Clay, you want the truth? I didn’t come here for you. You? You’re just a shitty, careless person whose last name I happen to share.”
Did Clayton’s expression change just a bit? A wounded wince?
“I’m here for what you might accomplish. For the people it could benefit. But now that I see all this… I’m not so sure. Hell, maybe you’ll figure out how to harness this stuff. But right now I’m getting a seriously fucked-up vibe here, okay? That’s all I was suggesting. We head topside and recalibrate. Then, if you want to come back down, I say fuck it. Fill your boots, asshole.”
Clayton smiled thinly. “You’re a better liar than you used to be. I’ll give you that.”
The men considered each other, neither talking. The guinea pig scratched at the cooler.
Luke thought: Westlake’s computer.
“Westlake said there was a hole in the station. In his lab.”
Clayton’s voice was laced with disdain. “Westlake said this? What a shock. Now, he did go crazy—nutty as squirrel turds, as our darling mother would have said.”
After listening to Westlake’s files, Luke wasn’t about to argue that the man hadn’t gone insane. But, having spent only a little time aboard the Trieste, Luke wasn’t about to blame him either. Luke told his brother about the sound files. The tests. Westlake and the hole.
“About these files, Lucas,” said Clayton, his scorn undisguised. “Tell me, did you hear anything besides Westlake’s voice?”
“There were… knocks.”
“Knocks. Uh-huh.”