The Aegis Solution (3 page)

"Sure." He dropped onto the curb next to her and waited.

His patience was quickly rewarded as she began to speak. "It's not like I'm not sure about this
whole thing. I am. I really am. It's such a major thing, you know, and I saw you there and realized that
you reminded me of my father. I thought, I don't know, maybe we could just talk it through."

"Okay."

"Plus, I don't have my dad anymore."

"What happened?"

"He died when I was thirteen."

"How?"

"Heart attack. At the time…to a thirteen-year-old, he seemed so old. But, you know, I realize now
that he was really young for that kind of thing to happen."

"I'm sorry."

"Thanks. I think, no, I know that if he hadn't died young, I wouldn't be here today. I wouldn't be
in the mess I'm in today, that made me come here."

Matt chose his words carefully, still thinking about the marshal's warning. "Want to tell me about
the mess? Is it really bad enough to warrant this?" With his last comment he gestured vaguely in the
direction of the interior of the complex next to them.

She twisted around on the curb to face him. "I don't know if I want to talk about all of that."

"Then what?"

Tillie hesitated for a moment before blurting, "I want to know what you think of this place."

Surprised, he rocked back on the curb and stared at the bright-blue desert sky, trying to gather his
thoughts. "I assume you aren't asking me about the construction but, if you are, I built a damn good
complex here."

"You built this?" Tillie asked excitedly.

"Well, I'm the general contractor. All of my crews built it."

"Wow! I knew there was something about you. My dad was a contractor." Tillie's eyes sparkled
briefly with excitement.

Matt suddenly felt uncomfortable. The Fed's words about a possible attachment came back to him
clearly. Trying to shift the subject, he said, "I guess you want to know what I think about this
place…about the concept."

Her face still flushed with residual emotion, Tillie nodded.

"I don't know," he admitted. "I've had almost two years to think about it. My wife and I have talked
about it a lot. But I still don't know."

He paused, hoping she would speak, but she remained silent, waiting.

"I understand why Walker did it. That's for sure. If I lost my daughter, I don't know how I'd react,
especially if I were the President. But when I start thinking beyond the day a person shows up at the
front door…when I focus on what it is that he or she is actually committing to…it just seems beyond
the pale."

Tillie's eyebrows arched with curiosity. "Beyond the pale? I've read that phrase before, but I've
never known what it means."

Matt Clements smiled, glad the conversation had assumed a more mundane course. "It's an Old
English phrase."

"Yeah, I guessed that."

Continuing, he explained, "The king would send out his men to delineate the boundary of the
kingdom…the outer edge of his domain and influence. They carried casks of water with them, and as
they used up the water, they broke down the wooden casks and used the stakes from each one to mark
the line. The stakes were also called pales. So if someone was venturing outside the boundary of what
was considered to be the civilized world, it was said that the person was going beyond the pale."

"Cool!" she exclaimed. "That is awesome."

As they were speaking, the four marshals passed them, and Matt could not help but notice the
meaningful stare from the lead man. Ignoring it, he said to Tillie, "So I guess this whole thing, checking
in at this place, feels like that to me."

Her enjoyment from a moment ago was gone. Her face, as well as her entire body language,
reverted back to a mode he could only describe as resignation. Picking up a pebble, Tillie tossed it across
the concrete walkway and stared into the distance. He kept quiet, allowing her the time to think, hoping
she would come to the right decision for her, whatever that might be.

As they sat in silence, Matt observed one of the men turn the key that actuated the hydraulic pump,
closing the massive steel entrance. The symbolism evoked of a vault or tomb being sealed, as the portal
thumped into its frame, did not escape him. He could only speculate about the psychological effect it
had on Tillie, as her face remained impassive.

The officer he had spoken with earlier then opened the access to what would be the permanent
entrance, the one that would be used from today forward. Considering what went into the rest of the
facility, the entrance was amazingly low-tech. It was basically a series of modified subway turnstiles
which allowed entrance but not exit, altered only to strengthen and fortify the components to deter
tampering. One of those modifications was adding a redundant system to ensure that each turnstile
could only rotate in one direction. In addition to the usual clutch mechanism, a heavy-toothed rachet
module was attached to the bottom of the shaft, buried under the concrete of the floor. This served
to create a loud clack-clack-clack as the person walked through, adding, in Matt's opinion, an additional
sinister feel to the process.

Tillie suddenly sighed, and Matt snapped his attention back to her, eager to hear her decision and
dreading it at the same time.

She wiped her hands on her jeans and stood. He stood also and continued to wait for her to break
the silence.

She stepped closer to him. It was too close, he thought, feeling a twinge of nervousness. It was the
kind of proximity between him and a female that would bring an instant reaction from Lisa, if she were
here. Despite his tenseness he did not take a step back, but continued to wait.

Her aqua eyes stared intently into his and, in the bright sunlight, he could see an additional shimmer
on their surface. She blinked rapidly several times, and the shimmer went away.

"I guess…. I guess I'd better get in there. I bet you want to get home."

Matt did not know if he was relieved or saddened by her choice. He was startled when his voice
broke as he said, "Are you sure?"

Not trusting her own voice, she simply nodded.

Finally, drawing a ragged breath, Tillie asked, "Can I ask a favor?"

Uncertain what to expect, he tentatively replied, "Sure."

Her facial muscles tightened as if she was holding back a sob. "Before I step in, before I leave
this…world, I guess, I feel like I need to say good-bye. To somebody. You know, like I have someone
seeing me off."

As she said this, her eyes widened, conveying the urgency of her request.

"I…," he began.

Before he could continue, she interrupted, the words rushing out of her. "My mother doesn't give
a damn about me. Hasn't for years. I don't even have a father. No one."

The pathos of the picture she painted struck him more powerfully than he anticipated, and he was
speechless. Unable to find words, he only nodded.

No sooner had Matt indicated his assent than she stepped toward him, wrapping her arms tightly
around his neck, her frail body shuddering with the release of the pent-up emotions. Instinctively, he
put his arms around her and let her cry. Over Tillie's shoulder he saw the lead officer, who had warned
him earlier, watching.

They stood locked together like this for minutes until the racking sobs subsided. He loosened his
embrace, normally a signal to the other to do the same, but she held him tightly, even pulling him harder
against her. He found he was unable to refuse her the solace she was seeking, and reciprocated.

Neither knew how much more time had passed before Tillie finally relaxed, her arms dropping
from around his neck. They stepped apart, and as Matt looked at her, he saw something that was not
there before, although he was unsure what it was.

"Thanks," she murmured, a feeble attempt at a smile causing the deep dimples to reappear on her
cheeks.

He smiled back and said, "Thank you."

With a faint look of surprise, she asked, "For what?"

His smile broadening, he answered, "For picking me, I guess."

"I don't understand. All I did was lay my trip on you."

Chuckling, he reacted, "Lay a trip! I haven't heard that phrase in a long time."

She joined him in the laugh. "I like old sayings."

"Well, you didn't lay any trip on me. You picked me to connect with. I am glad to meet you,
Mathilda."

She took his hand and shook it, the simple motion conveying her sense of the irony of his words.
"Yeah, glad to meet you too, Matthias. Wish we had met a long time ago."

The implication of her comment clear to him, he chose not to acknowledge the message and only
said, "Same here."

Tillie looked as if she would say something more. Instead, she shrugged her thin shoulders and
tilted her head toward the entrance.

"Well," she began in a voice with a forced tone of normalcy, "I'd better get in there."

"I'll walk you to the door."

They turned together, when suddenly he exclaimed, "Dammit!"

Tillie stopped. "What's wrong?"

He started to answer but, before he spoke, noticed that the marshal was still hovering nearby. He
leaned closer to her and whispered something in her ear.

Hearing his words, she instantly remarked, "Cool! Okay!"

They finished covering the short distance to the turnstile, and Matt turned to Tillie and softly said,
"You take care of yourself in there."

Her eyes swept across the panorama of the desert which surrounded them, as she answered, "You
take care of yourself out here."

He leaned forward and they again hugged, this time with much less intensity, and parted after only
a few moments.

Tillie turned and stepped into the opening, gripping the horizontal bars of the gate. She looked
back over her shoulder and smiled at him. As she walked through, pushing on the bar, he heard, over
the clacking of the ratchet mechanism, her final comment to him. "Be seeing you."

Feeling saddened and a little empty, he turned and walked over to the officer, who simply stated,
"Told you."

Clements studied the man's face for a moment before swinging his gaze back to the now empty
turnstile and answering, "No. You were wrong. I'm glad I did it."

By the time they turned and began walking to Matt's truck, the other marshals were already walking
to their guard posts.

"What did you whisper to her at the last minute before she went inside?"

Shrugging, Matt replied, "Nothing. I just told her where I hid some candy bars."

The man's stare showed his doubt regarding the veracity of the answer, but he said nothing. They
arrived at Matt's truck and shook hands.

Then the officer, sensing something in the contractor, assured, "You did a good thing…building
this, I mean."

With a sigh, Clements responded, "If it hadn't been me, it would have been somebody else."

Realizing he had not touched the right nerve, the marshal opened the door to Matt's truck and said,
"Take it easy."

"You, too," he answered, and the man walked away. Before climbing into his vehicle, Matt turned
and took one last look at the huge complex he had built, his mind visualizing all of the nooks and
crannies, all of the dorm rooms, kitchens, gyms, and the myriad other components within the confines
of the walls. He also conjured, in his mind, the image of Tillie wandering through the cavernous public
areas, and he wondered how she felt.

As he stood next to his truck, he suddenly felt a fresh gust of wind coming out of the west, seeming
to push him away from the turnstile entrance. Although it was a hot day, he felt a chill in his spine.
Shaking it off, he gave one last look at the complex and climbed into the truck. The engine roared to
life, and as he drove away from what had been his project and his home for almost two years, his mind
focused on his wife, Lisa, and he pressed down harder on the gas pedal.



Tillie had no idea where the other people had gone. She assumed they must have immediately
fanned out to explore their new permanent home, since not even one person was in sight all the way
down the long entrance corridor. She continued walking, following the directions given by Matt, until
she found the main electrical room. Opening the door, she quickly found what she was looking for,
glad that no one else had yet bothered to check out this area. She grabbed it and returned to the main
hall. It only took a moment for her to orient herself before she struck out to find the dormitories.

"Time to pick my new place," she said out loud, her voice echoing back at her.

CHAPTER ONE

Elias watched the first accumulation of snow on the window sill. His eyes took in the intricacies
of the slowly accreting pattern, but his mind was several thousand miles away, in a place where snow
was as rare as the basic tenets of civilization. That corner of his heart, which once felt the almost
childlike tinge of joy at the sight, was now empty. No, not empty. Filled. Replaced by a dense, dark
sludge which allowed nothing like joy or happiness or mirth.