Trial Run

Trial Run

A Short Story by Christopher L. Jones

As Mason dragged the security guard's body out of the lobby and into the toilet cubicle, he wondered to himself how a man, who seemed so light on his feet in life, could weigh so much now in death. Whoever it was who had come up with the phrase 'Dead Weight' was right.
The killing point was the main security desk in the lobby of Reynard Industries. From there to the men's lavatories was no more than thirty feet, but the physical effort needed to drag the body through the two sets of doors and into the cubicle itself had left Mason with a thin line of sweat just below his hairline.
Inside the cubicle, Mason took a step back and gazed upon the lifeless form before him. The body sat at an angle, propped up on the toilet, the right shoulder leaning against the wall with the head lopped unnaturally over to the side. The bullet hole in the centre of the forehead was still trickling blood, the thin red trail meandering round and down towards the ear, depositing itself drip by drip onto the guard's once pristine white shirt.
Sadly, the kill had been an unavoidable part of the mission.
Mason closed his eyes and dipped his head as he recalled the details of the job he'd been sent to do. His brief was to penetrate the offices of Reynard Industries. At nine pm he had had assurances that all offices and laboratories in the building would be deserted; albeit with the exception of the lone security guard on duty. For thirty seconds only, the main door would electronically unlock and all CCTV coverage would temporarily go offline - courtesy of a computer 'glich' created by an unknown insider within the company. This 'glich' had allowed him to move silently into the main lobby. By the time the guard had looked up from the paper he was reading, Mason was standing before him aiming a nine millimetre semi-automatic at his head. Up to that point it had all gone like clockwork ' but instead of eliminating the guard immediately, Mason had paused, taken the pressure off the trigger and had looked into the guard's eyes. In those final three seconds of the guard's life Mason had wondered who he was. He'd glanced at his name tag, 'Mitch'; the wedding ring on his finger, and the mug of hot coffee with the word 'DAD' painted crudely onto the side.
Mason opened his eyes, which were now damp with tears, and felt pity at the lifeless form in front of him. For a civilian, a 'normal person', these feelings were entirely understandable; but for him, a trained soldier, they were unacceptable. They worried him. Like an annoying fly, these thoughts flew back and forth inside his head, scrambling for attention. This dead man before him had been a husband and a father whose family awaited his return the next morning. Mason had not only murdered him but, by default, killed them too.
Mason took in a deep, lungful of air and blew it out noisily. He walked out of the cubicle and took the gun he'd just used on the guard out from the belt of his combat trousers. He checked the weapon as he walked; satisfied it was primed and ready he released the safety catch and, holding it in his right hand, he opened the door to the lavatory with his left and slowly peered out into the lobby.
Everything was as he had left it. Before moving the body he'd put the chair back into position and tidied up the papers on the desk to make it look as though the guard had merely set off on one of his routine checks of the building.
Satisfied that all was well, Mason moved quickly into the corridor behind the desk. The plan of the building shone like a beacon in his mind; using it to plot his route he ran past the two lift doors on his left and made for the non-descript white door at the far end. Once through, as expected, he was presented with cool, grey concrete steps; one set going down into the bowels of the building, the other going up to the laboratories and offices above.
Checking his watch, Mason knew he was behind schedule. Without thinking he began sprinting up the stairs two at a time, occasionally gripping the thin black rail as he went, until a sign on the wall informed him he was on the third floor.
Again he checked his watch and realised he had to move fast. A pain in his chest, however, stopped him in his tracks. He was breathing far too hard for a man of his age who had just sprinted up three flights of stairs. The back of his throat felt hot and painful; his heart was pounding so vigorously he felt that it might burst out of his chest at any minute. He realised that he felt anxious, nervous almost. The gun slid slightly in the clammy moistness of his palms so, alternating the gun from right to left, he wiped each hand on a trouser leg. Using the back of his hand to wipe the sweat from his brow he slowly opened the door.
He stepped out into a brilliant white corridor. The spotless walls gleamed in the bright neon lights that ran its entire length; enhanced further by the reflection off of the highly polished floor beneath. The look and smell reminded Mason of a hospital. Opposite him were four doors, each bearing a legend depicting what lay behind. It was eerily quiet. Holding the gun in both hands he stepped out into the sterile whiteness and paced silently past each door, scanning for the one that he'd been sent to penetrate.
The third door stopped Mason dead.
This was his target. Slowly, he opened the door that bore the title 'Head of Development ' Dr J. Gardner'
He was presented with a small laboratory. The left of the room hosted an array of experiments housed in a myriad of glass tubes, bottles and dishes; directly in front was a large glass window that looked out onto another laboratory at the back, and on the right was a white plastic table on top of which sat a desktop computer, screen and keyboard. Out of the top pocket of his combat jacket Mason removed a small plastic tube housing a USB memory stick. Pressing the spacebar on the keyboard the computer re-activated out of stand-by mode and the screen filled with the company logo of a phoenix rising from the flames. In the centre of the screen sat a rectangular box with the word 'Password' next to which a cursor flashed eagerly. The codeword appeared instantly into his brain having been memorised until it was indelibly printed and unlikely ever to be forgotten. Once entered, the screen changed and displayed a host of files with numerous, non-descript titles that bore no relevance to Mason.
Except for one. The file 'Operation Janus' contained the data he'd been sent in for. This file was vital, he didn't know why but that wasn't his concern. All that mattered now was downloading it onto the memory stick and getting out of the building as quickly as he could.
With fingers that were now trembling uncontrollably, he inserted the memory stick and initiated the download. The computer informed him it would take approximately five minutes to perform which left Mason feeling vulnerable and open. With increasing sense of uneasiness he moved away from the computer and, while he waited, looked through the window into the laboratory beyond.
The room was similar to the one he was in only here, towards the centre, there were three large tables spaced evenly from each other. On top of each table were three glass cylinders connected, by tubes and wires, to a filtration system above. Occasionally, small bubbles rose in each one and popped silently on the surface. Mason noticed that the left hand cylinders contained a number of wires which hung down into the fluid below. The middle three cylinders had the same number of wires, only here, encased between them all, there seemed to be a minute object that couldn't have been more than five centimetres in length. It was almost transparent and difficult to see but was it was clear to anyone who looked close enough, that it was moving. Finally, in the last set, the same object was floating in the clear liquid - only this object was larger. Much larger. Mason's eyes opened wide ' amazed and at the same time repulsed at what he was seeing. Before him, perfectly formed, yet small and some way from life, was a tiny, human foetus.
Mason's legs crumpled from beneath him and he collapsed to the floor. His breathing was now laboured and noisy. He crawled, with dwindling strength back to the computer. Looking up at the screen from his prone position he could see a message that made him scream in horror ' "Download Complete. Congratulations Mason ! Operation Terminated
As his life ebbed from him, inside the lab in which he was created, voices began to fill his head, as though floating in the room itself.
"Dr. Gardner, I have to say I'm very disappointed. "
"General, I can only apologise. But you've put me in an impossible situation. We're close to perfecting the project, but with my budgets slashed it's proving difficult. I need more time and resource.
"You promised me that these creations of yours would be ready and it's quite obvious to me that they're not. This is the second test I've attended and it's the second time it's failed. If their respiratory systems fail in this stealth scenario then there's no hope within a combat situation. Not only that, but their emotions are still a factor. You saw what happened with the guard. The entire test almost failed right there and then.
"We'll double our efforts General.
"Good. So what happens to him now?
"Same as the others. We'll perform an autopsy and whatever's left will be used accordingly.
'Meaning?
"He'll be used to feed the others.