"Peter called to warn me you were coming," he said, "I pulled the box out of the truck for you."
Harold took the box with shaking hands, his eyes on Pierce's. He didn't know what to say.
"That guy's an asshole," Pierce continued, "hearing him rant about you and Wendy made it that much easier to decide to do it."
Harold's astonishment gave way to a kind of perverse delight, then a gray, dull worry.
"Egypt's going to be mad about this. You could lose your job."
"Maybe we can find it once Wendy's ready to return it."
"It's very dangerous, it nearly killed her." He stopped short of admitting they weren't going to return it, and started wheeling himself toward the employee entrance door. Pierce kept up with him, swiped his own access card and opened the door for him.
"Yeah, but it didn't kill her, did it; it made her stronger. Even I feel this-- desire to help her. As much as I like Wendy, I know it's not simply professional courtesy or respect."
Harold almost asked him how it felt, but he already knew. He could see how it might strike an outsider as odd, but the desire to serve Wendy truly felt fulfilling, he had no desire to fight it.
"I need to get to my desk," Harold said as they waited for the elevator, "But I'm worried about Peter getting in my way."
"I can have Roger call him and keep him busy in his own cubicle, if you think that will help."
Harold nodded. "Yeah, it would, thank you."
The elevator arrived and Pierce hit the button for the Repository's floor.
"Can you tell me what happened?" Pierce asked. His voice was different; Harold thought it sounded a little scared, a little wild.
"The tablet we translated was a poem or fecundity prayer and, together with the phallus, we accidentally called forth the power of the Nile." Harold gave a small laugh. It sounded so ridiculous. But Pierce wasn't laughing.
"It tasted like the Nile," Pierce said in a quiet voice.
"What?" Harold said, craning his neck to look up into Pierce's face.
"I've been there. I--" Pierce paused. Harold watched his face grow red. "You know, when you're young and you think you're going to make fantastic new discoveries, and you get hand-picked to help out on a project in Egypt, and you discover it's all grunt-work in the dust and the heat, and you wonder if you're going to survive all the germs, and, one day, you see the waters rise, and it looks magical, beautiful, and you feel called to the one, sweet, cool thing in the middle of all this baked stone, and then it's in your mouth and it tastes exactly as you thought it might, and you're happy for one moment, before you start freaking out about all the microbes floating around in it."
"No," Harold said, astonished, "I did not know that."
"The water on the floor of the Repository-- it was like that. I felt exactly like I did thirty years ago, and I drank it, just like that, and it was perfect. And then I threw up, just like I did back then."
"I'm sorry," Harold said in a faint voice.
Pierce shrugged. "I'm mysophobic and I'm OCD. Turns out the Repository is a far better fit for me than the digs."
The elevator doors opened and Pierce walked out, then turned and held an arm out to hold back the doors.
"I'll have Roger call Peter. Roger can talk an elephant's ears off, so you'll have plenty of time to get whatever else you need."
"Thank you, Pierce. I mean it," Harold said.
Pierce shrugged and gave a small smile before heading off. Harold took a deep breath as the doors slid shut and he rose up toward his office. If Roger could keep Peter occupied, only a suspicious Dr DeReal stood in the way of deciphering the seal. The worst that could happen would be that he'd have to go home and decipher it with the copy of the matrix he had on his desktop. Harold felt as though the only thing that could stop Wendy's plan now was a lack of time.
The hallway was empty. The small noises of a busy open-plan office filled his ears, sounded like a cacophony of foreign insects. Harold wheeled himself to his desk, logged onto his computer, and started copying the matrix to his digital tablet. He put the box Pierce had given him in his courier bag, which had been sitting on his desk, right where he put it when he'd first come in that morning.
Once the transfer was done, Harold put the tablet in his courier bag and was in the process of shutting down the computer when Dr DeReal walked by his cubicle, then doubled back to stand at the entrance.
"I thought you went home," DeReal said.
Harold turned his wheelchair a little in order to look at his boss.
"I went to the ER, got my burn checked out."
"You see Wendy there?"
"Yeah. She still had an IV hooked up to her when I left, but she looked a lot better."
"She say anything to you?"
Harold hesitated, then nodded.
"What?"
"I don't know, sir, I'd hate to repeat what might have been said while under painkillers or something."
Dr DeReal's face softened. "Why are you back here, Harold?"
"I couldn't stand to be home alone, sir. I just wanted to have something to occupy my mind."
"I thought you found death and taxes boring. Are you sure you're not going to hop back onto the fecundity tablet? Because that's done now, Harold. Our office is done with that."
"Yes. I mean, no, I'm not interested in that anymore, to be honest. I-- you know, on second thought, maybe I really shouldn't be here."
DeReal nodded and took a few steps back to clear the doorway for Harold. "I understand about wanting to be distracted from thinking about today, but maybe a beer and some TV instead of work."
"Yeah, you're probably right," Harold said, putting his courier bag on his lap and wheeling his chair around.
"You're not walking anymore," DeReal said.
"I figured I'd wait 'til I could see my doctor about it," Harold said. He rolled forward, past his boss.
"That's probably for the best. I hope it turns out to be a real improvement, and not just excitement and stress."
"Me, too," Harold said, and rolled himself away from DeReal and toward the elevators. His heart was pounding. It felt strong--his whole body felt stronger than it had in years--but it was pounding because he was afraid.
"I'll have Roger call Peter. Roger can talk an elephant's ears off, so you'll have plenty of time to get whatever else you need."
"Thank you, Pierce. I mean it," Harold said.
Pierce shrugged and gave a small smile before heading off. Harold took a deep breath as the doors slid shut and he rose up toward his office. If Roger could keep Peter occupied, only a suspicious Dr DeReal stood in the way of deciphering the seal. The worst that could happen would be that he'd have to go home and decipher it with the copy of the matrix he had on his desktop. Harold felt as though the only thing that could stop Wendy's plan now was a lack of time.
The hallway was empty. The small noises of a busy open-plan office filled his ears, sounded like a cacophony of foreign insects. Harold wheeled himself to his desk, logged onto his computer, and started copying the matrix to his digital tablet. He put the box Pierce had given him in his courier bag, which had been sitting on his desk, right where he put it when he'd first come in that morning.
Once the transfer was done, Harold put the tablet in his courier bag and was in the process of shutting down the computer when Dr DeReal walked by his cubicle, then doubled back to stand at the entrance.
"I thought you went home," DeReal said.
Harold turned his wheelchair a little in order to look at his boss.
"I went to the ER, got my burn checked out."
"You see Wendy there?"
"Yeah. She still had an IV hooked up to her when I left, but she looked a lot better."
"She say anything to you?"
Harold hesitated, then nodded.
"What?"
"I don't know, sir, I'd hate to repeat what might have been said while under painkillers or something."
Dr DeReal's face softened. "Why are you back here, Harold?"
"I couldn't stand to be home alone, sir. I just wanted to have something to occupy my mind."
"I thought you found death and taxes boring. Are you sure you're not going to hop back onto the fecundity tablet? Because that's done now, Harold. Our office is done with that."
"Yes. I mean, no, I'm not interested in that anymore, to be honest. I-- you know, on second thought, maybe I really shouldn't be here."
DeReal nodded and took a few steps back to clear the doorway for Harold. "I understand about wanting to be distracted from thinking about today, but maybe a beer and some TV instead of work."
"Yeah, you're probably right," Harold said, putting his courier bag on his lap and wheeling his chair around.
"You're not walking anymore," DeReal said.
"I figured I'd wait 'til I could see my doctor about it," Harold said. He rolled forward, past his boss.
"That's probably for the best. I hope it turns out to be a real improvement, and not just excitement and stress."
"Me, too," Harold said, and rolled himself away from DeReal and toward the elevators. His heart was pounding. It felt strong--his whole body felt stronger than it had in years--but it was pounding because he was afraid.
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