Species Read Free Page A

workers had made tracks as soon as the last valve was tightened, and the sick-looking medical tech had pulled the last of his power plugs and gotten the hell out. Only a few guards, Kyle, and two or three more technicians stuck it out. And Fitch, of course, lording high above them within his own disconnected world inside the control booth.
    Reluctantly, Kyle looked up. Fitch was waiting, his nose practically pressed against the glass, yet the expression on his face wasn’t one of eagerness, as Kyle expected. Although his post was a full story above Sil’s cage, there was an odd, bittersweet shine in the doctor’s eyes that made Kyle wonder for a moment if the older man was crying. Kyle’s speculation was shattered by Fitch’s curt nod, and the low-pitched murmurs around the room stuttered to nothing as the lab assistant swallowed with difficulty, then quickly— one two three four —opened the valves on the canisters. Thick white gas swirled into Sil’s enclosure, rolling over her panicked face. Kyle thought he saw the girl swipe at it, but he couldn’t be sure; ten more seconds and the glass cage looked absurdly like a huge aquarium filled with clouds.
    The deed was done. The technicians and guards around the room began moving again, although no one said anything. Fitch’s orders were to leave the cyanide in the enclosure for at least a quarter hour before siphoning it off, and Kyle had already decided that he would be halfway home by then. The lab assistant turned and headed for the stairs, reasoning that his had by far been the worst task; as far as he was concerned, someone else could handle the cleanup. Maybe he’d stop and pick up a six-pack of Bass on the way; that might help him get the girl’s face out of his mind when he fell into bed.
    There was a sound like an explosion behind him, strangely sharp, and Kyle spun with crazy images of car crashes in his head, along with thoughts of dialing the emergency code on the intercom. He had time to register the jagged-edged hole in the front panel of tempered glass that made up Sil’s enclosure, then the rest of the panel disintegrated with a tremendous crack!
    The fragments of safety glass held for no more than an intake of breath before they fell, like a hundred thousand diamonds spilling from nowhere. There was a millisecond of beauty as the lovely young girl inside dove through the faux-jeweled waterfall, oblivious to the tiny pieces of glass layering the floor, then the guard closest to the enclosure went for his sidearm. Paralyzed five feet from the stairs, Kyle realized that Sil was holding her breath against the clouds of hydrogen cyanide that were now boiling into the lab. The instincts of the guard headed toward her were not so swift, and he fell forward, dead, long before he could pull his pistol free of its holster.
    The alarms went wild. Bells and sirens began blasting from the junctures of the walls and ceilings, garbled voices screaming through the speakers. The girl was still holding her breath, and Kyle tried to follow suit as the cyanide swept through the room. A fool’s belated wish, Kyle thought haphazardly as the technicians closest to the glass cage staggered and collapsed; his balance went as dizziness raced across his eyesight and he began to gag. As he went to his knees Kyle knew it was already too late for him and the rest of the room’s occupants; Sil ran past as Kyle’s vision began a black-and-yellow shimmer, not even sparing him a glance as he retched uselessly on all fours.
    It took monumental effort, but Kyle found the strength to lift his head toward the ceiling. His last sight was of Xavier Fitch’s grim, white face, staring down from the observation booth.

2
    S he finally got air when she reached the end of the corridor.
    Sil could see the cyanide at the other end leaking from beneath the door she had yanked closed behind her. To her, the fumes weren’t white, they were black— poison. When the men who had watched her