On another screen, Kelly McMalus was recalibrating the desert temp control, also at Reston's request. McMalus was the Scorps lead handler, at least until the permanent staff came in; everyone in the Planet was temporary, one of White's newer policies to avoid sabotage. Once everything was up and running, the nine technical people and half-dozen "preliminary" researchers—actually glorified specimen handlers, although he'd never call them that directly—would be relocated.
The Planet. The facility was actually "B.O.W. Envi-rotest A," but Reston thought that Planet was a much better name. He wasn't sure who had come up with it, just that it had cropped up at one of the morning briefings and stuck. Referring to the test site as the Planet in his updates to the home team made him feel even more a part of the process.
"The video feeds were connected today, although there's some problem with the mikes, so the audio hasn't been hooked up yet; I'll have that taken care of ASAP. The last of the Ma3Ks came in, no damage to any of the specimens. In all, things are going very well, we expect to have the Planet ready days ahead of schedule.... "
Reston smiled, thinking of his last conversation with Sidney; had he heard just a touch of jealousy in Sidney's voice, a thread of wistfulness? He was part of
a "we" now, a we that called Envirotest A by a nickname. After thirty years of delegation, having to oversee the finishing touches on their most innovative and expensive facility to date had been a blessing in disguise. And to think that he'd been irritated when he'd first heard about Lewis's car going off a cliff; the man's accident was probably the best work he'd ever done for Umbrella, because it meant thathewould be overseeing the Planet's birth.
Another tech was walking across one of the screens, carrying a tool box and a coil of rope. Cole, Henry Cole, the electrician who'd been working on the intercom and video systems; he was in the main corridor that ran between the faculty quarters and the testing area, leading toward the elevator. Reston had noticed the day before that several of the surface cameras were malfunctioning; none of the cameras in the Planet had been wired for sound as of yet, but the screens for the upper compound would intermittently spew static for minutes at a time, and he had asked Cole to see to it—
—but after he'd finished with the 'com system, not before. How am I supposed to stay in contact with these people if I don't have a working intercom system?
Even the flush of irritation he felt for the tech was exhilarating; instead of pushing a button, telling some yes-man to fix it, he would have to attend to it himself.
Reston pushed away from the console, stretching as
he stood up, taking a last look at the row of monitors to remind him of anything else he needed to see to as long as he was out.
Intercom, video feeds. . . the bridge in Three will
need reinforcement, that's not a priority, but we really should do something about the city colors, they're still much too flat....
He walked through the sleekly designed control room, past the line of plush leather chairs so new that their rich scent still lingered in the cool filtered air.
The chairs faced a wall of high-resolution screens; in less than a month they would be seating the top researchers, scientists, and administrators that were the heart of White Umbrella, as well as the two biggest financiers of the program. Even Sidney and Jackson would be there, to see the initial run of the test program.
And Trent,Reston thought hopefully.Surely he wouldn't turn down an invitation to the first test run....
Reston stepped on the pressure plate in front of the door, the thick metal hatch sliding up with only a whisper of sound, and walked out into the wide corridor that ran the length of the Planet. Control wasn't far from the industrial elevator, almost straight across in fact, but the electrician had already started for the surface. There would be four lifts operating within the week out of one of the other surface buildings, but for now, there was only the one industrial elevator. He'd have to wait until Cole had exited.
He pushed the recall and straightened the cuffs of his suit jacket, thinking about how he would lead the tour. It had been quite a while since Jay Reston had indulged in daydreaming, but in his short time at the Planet, imagining the day when he would welcome the others and guide them through the facility he had managed and transformed into a smoothly running
machine had become a favored pastime. Of the handful of people who ran White Umbrella, who made the big decisions, he was the youngest to be accepted into the inner circle—and while Jackson had often assured him that he was as valued as anyone else, he'd noted on more than one occasion that he was the last to be consulted. To beconsidered.
Not after this. Not after they see that even without a dozen assistants waiting on my every word, I've managed to get the Planet up and running without a hitch, and before schedule. Id like to see Sidney do half as well.. . .
They'd come in at night, of course, and probably in several groups. He'd have the specimen caretakers at the entrance to greet them and lead them to the elevators (the new ones, not the dirty monstrosity he was about to ride); on the way down, the visitors would hear all about the efficient, elegant living quarters, the self-contained air-filtering system, the surgical theater—everything that made the Planet their most brilliant innovation yet. From the elevators, he'd take them around to the control room and explain the environments and the current series of specimens, eight of each. Then, back out and north, toward the beginning of the testing site.
We walk straight through, all four phases, then view autopsy and the chemical lab. We'll have to stop in for a look at Fossil, of course, and then through the living area—where there will be coffee and rolls, sandwiches maybe—and then circle back to control to observe the first tests. Specimen against specimen only, of course—human experimentation would put such a damper on things. . . .
A soft tone brought his attention back to the errand, alerting him to the elevator's return. The door opened, the gate slid aside, and Reston stepped into the large car, the reinforced steel platform clanking beneath his feet. Dust puffed up from the metal, settling over the polished sheen of his shoes.
Reston sighed, tapping the controls that would take him to the surface, thinking of all he'd had to put up with since arriving at the Planet only ten days before. Thingswerecoming along, but he'd never realized just how many inconveniences one had to suffer to get one of these places operational—the lukewarm meals, the constant need to pay attention to every niggling detail, and thedirt:everywhere, thin layers of workman's dust clung to hair and clothes, clogging the niters . . . even in the control room, he'd had to take all kinds of extra precautions to keep it from getting into the central terminal. He'd had to work with three different programmers to get the mainframe running, yet another of Umbrella's precautions to keep any one
of them from knowing too much; but if the system were to go down. ...
Reston sighed again, patting the small, flat square in his inner pocket as the lift hummed smoothly upwards. He had the codes; if the system went down, he'd just have to call in new programmers. A setback, but hardly a disaster. Raccoon City, nowthatwas a disaster—and all the more reason that he wanted things to go well with the Planet.
We need this. After the summer we've had, the spill and those meddlingS.T.A.R.S. and losing Birkin... I need this.
Although it had been a unanimous decision, it had
been Reston's people who'd gone into Raccoon to take Birkin's G-Virus—an action that had resulted in the loss of their lead scientist and just over a billion dollars' worth of equipment, space, and manpower. It wasn't his fault, of course, no one blamed him—but it had been a bad summer for all of them, and having Envirotest A up and running would ease things considerably.