jefflong.yearzero-第39节

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　The　first　time　Adam　entered　a　BSL…4　was　for　the　challenge。　Also；　he　wanted　to　go　where　Cavendish；　with　his　disabilities　and　suppressed　immune　system；　had　never　dared　to　go。　Perhaps　here　was　the　rite　of　passage　that　would　truly　separate　him　from　his　maker。
　It　was；　thought　Adam；　like　diving　to　the　bottom　of　the　ocean。　The　moon　suits　were　fed　with　air　that　roared　through　hoses　attached　to　the　ceiling。　It　was　so　loud　they　had　to　wear　ear　plugs；　or　lose　their　hearing。
　While　he　suited　up　in　a　moon　suit　made　of　bright　orange；　ripstop　fabric；　Adam　asked　what　they　were　investigating。　Different　labs　were　dedicated　to　trying　to　breach　the　disease　cycle　at　different　stages　in　different　organs。　This　lab's　focus；　a　woman　told　him；　was　〃prenatal　sanctuary。〃
　〃The　placental　barrier；〃　she　said。　〃While　they're　still　in　the　womb；　the　fetuses　are　protected　from　the　virus。　They're　not　immune。　Just　sheltered。〃
　Adam　thought　that　was　lovely。　〃So　they're　born　in　a　state　of　innocence。〃
　The　woman　gave　a　shrug。　〃ing　through　the　birth　canal；　they　get　infected。　Like　I　said；　they're　not　immune。〃
　〃Then　what　are　you　looking　for？〃
　〃Who　knows？〃　she　said。
　Then　it　was　time　to　stop　their　ears　with　foam。
　They　donned　their　helmets　and　entered　a　short　tunnel　saturated　with　purple　UV　light。　At　the　door　to　the　work　bay；　the　woman　helped　Adam　snap　into　one　of　the　hoses　dangling　from　the　ceiling。　Immediately　his　suit　inflated　with　cool　air。　The　sound　of　the　respirator　pump　thundered。　When　they　were　all　connected　to　hoses；　the　lead　man　opened　the　door。　Adam　felt　a　gentle　tug　as　the　negative…pressure　air　lock　opened　before　them。
　He　hung　back　at　the　door；　surprised。　He　had　expected　glove　boxes　and　a　window　looking　upon　rows　of　tissue　samples　in　wax　or　in　test　tubes。　Instead；　a　plague　victim　awaited　them。　She　lay　on　an　operating　table　in　the　center　of　the　room。　She　was　very　pregnant。　Adam　could　see　the　fetus　through　her　skin。　He　went　forward　reluctantly。　He　was　numb　with　horror。　Suddenly　this　wasn't　fun。
　They　took　their　stations　around　the　table；　mute　and　dumb。　Each　knew　his　or　her　part　in　the　procedure。　They　had　done　this　many　times。　Adam　stood　to　one　side　as　they　had　instructed　him。　He　had　a　growing　idea　what　they　were　going　to　do。　He　saw　the　row　of　instruments。
　They　did　not　work　swiftly。　Safety　required　slow；　sure　motions。　He　could　see　their　lips　moving　inside　their　helmets；　as　if　they　were　counting　by　numbers。　They　didn't　bother　with　anesthetic。　The　woman's　mind　was　faraway。　The　scalpel　took　forever。
　Adam　looked　away。　He　cursed　his　curiosity。　He　was　shivering。　But　part　of　him　craved　to　see　the　worst　of　it。　He　looked　again。　Her　heart　went　on　beating。　For　a　few　minutes　more；　it　was　stronger　than　their　need　to　know。　When　they　had　their　samples；　they　stopped　it；　the　infant's；　too。
　The　gurney　was　removed。　A　spray　of　chemicals　burst　from　nozzles　overhead。　The　last　remaining　blood　washed　down　a　drain。　Adam　thought　that　was　the　end　of　it。
　A　minute　later；　the　door　opened　and　a　second　mother　was　brought　in。
　They　processed　eight　of　them　that　shift。　Sixteen；　including　the　infants。
　Afterward；　Adam　ran　home　through　the　night。　He　hid　under　his　bed　covers；　sleepless。
　In　the　morning；　he　told　Cavendish　he　felt　a　cold　ing　on。　He　lay　in　bed　all　day；　wrestling　with　the　enormity　of　what　he　had　seen。　He　was　not　supposed　to　feel　these　emotions。　Clones　were　shadow　creatures。　No　one　said　so；　but　they　were　considered　less　than　human。　He　knew　this　from　the　inside　of　Cavendish's　mind。
　Cavendish　had　a　container　of　chicken　noodle　soup　delivered　to　Adam　at　noon。
　That　same　night　Adam　was　back　in　South　Sector　for　more。
　From　then　on；　he　haunted　the　BSL…4's；　steeping　himself　in　their　savagery；　appalled　but　also　titillated　that　human　beings　could　do　this　to　themselves。　Every　terrible　thing　he　could　imagine　was　carried　out　in　the　name　of　science。
　The　labs　had　an　unending　supply　of　plague　victims；　who　were　harvested　from　the　cities。　They　arrived　in　every　state　of　the　disease；　some　not　even　aware　they　were　infected。　Night　after　night；　Adam　watched　them　being　sacrificed。　The　test　subjects　were　generically　labelled　〃expendables；〃　a　term　from　American　medical　research　after　World　WarII。　Back　then　the　expendables　had　been　Nazis　and　Russian　spies。　Now　they　were　Americans。。。and　the　Year　Zero　men。
　By　far；　the　greatest　horror　to　him　was　what　they　did　to　the　Year　Zero　clones。　These　were　healthy　young　men　who　were　purposely　infected。　Virus　was　sprayed　in　their　eyes；　down　their　throats；　into　their　ears。　It　was　scratched　into　their　skin　or　injected。　Then　they　were　dissected　alive。
　The　clones　cried　out。　Deep　inside　his　moon　suit；　with　his　ears　plugged；　Adam　couldn't　hear　their　words。　But　they　were　speaking。　The　researchers　insisted　the　words　weren't　real　words。　That　drove　Adam　deeper。　He　began　to　record　their　language。
　What　made　the　Year　Zero　clones　special　to　Adam　was　that　he　was　not　only　one　of　them；　but　also　theircausa　causans；　their　first　and　final　cause。　He　had　been　created　so　that　they　could　be　created。　He　was　the　first　of　them。　He　was　their　past；　but　also　he　was　their　future。　They　did　not　e　from　his　blood；　but　they　were　his　progeny。　His　race。　Their　child。　Through　them；　he　was　being　born　yet　again。
　The　part　of　him　that　was　Cavendish　had　damned　these　poor　creatures　to　being　born　so　that　they　could　die。　He　carried　the　memory　of　authorizing　their　manufacture　and　suffering。　Adam　could　close　his　eyes　and　see　a　hand　that　was　his；　and　yet　not　his；　signing　the　order。　When　he　looked　in　the　mirror；　he　saw　one　more　lab　animal。　Except　for　a　twist　of　fate；　they　would　have　opened　him　with　their　knives；　long　ago。
　He　could　not　free　the　clones；　not　without　sacrificing　himself。　South　Sector　was　sacred　grounds。　The　cure　was　their　religion。　To　free　the　clones　would　be　like　setting　devils　loose　in　a　cathedral。
　Then　an　idea　began　to　form。
　
　16
　The　Messenger
　
　THELASTWEEK　OFMAY
　For　a　week；　Nathan　Lee　wandered　invisibly　through　their　domain。　Occasionally　he　heard　rattling　noises　or　muttered　monologues　in　the　darkened　hallways　and　spied　ancient　curators　kneeling　in　bubbles　of　light；　making　lists；　appraising　objects。　Otherwise　he　had　the　run　of　the　place。
　At　one　time；　the　Smithsonian　empire　had　employed　a　staff　of　over　three　thousand　people。　Now　there　were　just　eleven　of　them　in　the　mothballed　museum。　Lurking　in　the　shadows　at　the　edge　of　their　meetings　and　meals；　Nathan　Lee　learned　that　the　scholars　and　curators　had　been　living　here　since　Christmas。　They　inhabited　a　network　of　tunnels　that　linked　four　neighboring　Smithsonian　galleries。　It　was　a　lonely　existence。　There　had　been　two　suicides。　He'd　found　their　bodies　quick…frozen　in　the　taxidermist's　freezer。
　Nathan　Lee　was　afraid　to　reveal　himself；　uncertain　how　they　might　treat　him。　Just　because　old　Spencer　Baird　was　tickled　by　his　reputation　as　a　murderer　and　cannibal　didn't　mean　the　others　would　be；　too。　For　now；　it　seemed　wiser　to　hunt　for　his　clues　in　silence。
　Gradually　he　pieced　together　their　story。　Last　December；　just　before　sealing　all　the　government　buildings　shut；　soldiers　had　transported　art；　artifacts；　and　documents　from　more　distant　museums　to　here　for　safekeeping。　The　Castle　and　its　connecting　buildings　were　stuffed　with　file　boxes；　paintings；　statues；　skulls；　Egyptian　mummies；　butterfly　and　beetle　collections；　inventions；　rare　coins。。。and　papers　from　the　Natural　History　Museum　which　he　hoped　might　include　clues　about　Ochs。
　The　ancient　curators　talked　to　one　another　about　keeping　things　tidy　for　whatever　came　next；　the　cure　or　extinction。　The　simple　truth　was　they　could　not　disconnect　from　the　marvels　heaped　around　them。　Sometimes　he　saw　them　carting　〃loaners〃　off　to　their　apartments　with　bare　hands；　dragging　Rembrandts　and　bronze　vessels　from　the　Han　dynasty　like　haunches　of　meat。　There　was　an　air　of　going　down　in　grand　style。　One　night　they　gathered　to　hear　a　curator　play　a　lovely　Bach　solo　on　a　Stradivari　cello　made　in　1701。　Nathan　Lee　stood　in　the　shadows　and　swayed　with　the　notes。
　It　was　said　the　Smithsonian　was　in　an　infinite　state　of　inventory。　That　was　never　truer　than　now。　Despite　months　of　cataloging；　the　curators　themselves　seemed　to　have　no　idea　what　lay　where。　The　chaos　was　overpowering。　Nathan　Lee　struggled　to　bring　a　system　to　his　search；　but　each　hour　it　seemed　the　labyrinth　grew　more　plex；　the　number　of　things　more　numerous。　Battle　helmets　were　mixed　with　moon　rocks　in　between　boxes　of　receipts　dating　to　the　Indian　Wars。　He　tried　mapping　the　place　so　that　he　wouldn't　repeat　himself；　but　each　line　sprouted　other　lines。　Tunnels　shot　off　of　tunnels。　He　slept　in　musty　bomb　shelters　with　Civil　Defense　signs　and　walls　scratched　with　the　names　of　Union　soldiers。
　He　began　to　lose　hope。　He　could　spend　the　next　ten　years　rooting　through　file　boxes　and　never　find　a　memo　or　check　stub　with　Ochs's　name　on　it。　He　began　to　lapse　into　their　topsy…turvy　twilight　world；　where　days　masqueraded　as　nights。
　Being　collectors；　they　had　begun　collecting　artifacts　of　the　plague：　posters　of　Olympians　and　movie　stars　urging　the　public　to　donate　money　or　support　the　national　effort；　magazines　with　articles　about　Virus　Z；　photos　of　victims　who　looked　like　plastic；　see…through　models；