Free Seen And Not Seen (The Veil Book 1) by William Bowden

shape. It sucks inward and slides to one side to reveal a glow from within. She steps in.
    A chamber. Running its length is a bank of twelve stainless steel surgical tables. At the end of each is a an empty glass ovoid container about a meter high, housed in a rack of medical machinery comprising pumps, tubes, monitors as well as many other unrecognizable elements.
    Landelle and Toor cannot disguise their horror, “Good God.”
    “Twelve tables,” Toor says, turning to Landelle. “Twelve children?”
    Landelle can see the horror taking hold of Toor, “We don’t know that.”
    With gritted teeth Toor rounds on a grim-faced Robert, “How could you let this happen?”
    “Shaz…”
    Toor shoves him away with contempt, “Don’t you dare Shaz me. Blake was right. You lied to us all. Lied to me. The world believed in you.”
    “I never asked them to and I never lied. This wasn’t me—”
    Toor comes close, “You had a duty of care.” But she can’t control the anger any longer, “You should have seen this!!” she screams at him, “But no! Not you and your fucked-up head!”
    She grabs his face, squeezing his cheeks inward, twisting his head to face the line of surgical tables. He does not resist.
    “Look at the horror you let come to pass here. Look at it! Lost in your own little Buck Rogers world and all the while… this!”
    “I didn’t know. I couldn’t have seen—”
    She pushes Robert away. He steps back awkwardly from her as she approaches one of the surgical tables. With a desperate look she turns to Landelle.
    “Could The Veil have rescued them all?”
    “They only needed one,” says Landelle.
    “Then where are the others?”
    Landelle can only answer with a look to Robert. He turns away to step back into the main chamber. Landelle follows leaving a red-eyed Toor.
    Robert ponders the sequencer, running his hand over its paneling.
    “So what are we looking for?” asks Landelle.
    “There’s a hidden protocol. The sequencer saves a sample of Messiah and an antidote.”
    His fingers find what they are look for. A slight application of pressure and a drawer slides out with a swish. Inside is a rack holding two syringe guns, each loaded with a vial—one red, one blue. Landelle gawps at the simplicity of the hidden drawer and the ease of access, “That’s it?”
    Toor emerges from the chamber, expressionless, the anger burnt out. Robert picks up the red gun and looks it over, “Messiah.” Toor picks up the blue gun.
    A loud, deep tone sounds three times, arresting all three of them.
    “That’s not good,” says Robert.
    “What is it?”
    “The three-minute warning,” he says.
    “Warning for what?”
    “The bomb.”
    Two pairs of wide eyes bore into Robert. A realization grips him.
    “The Thin Man!”
    “He tosses the red syringe gun to Toor. She deftly catches it.
    “Stay here.”
    He bolts out of the chamber, powering away from the vault and along the gantry. The strain on his face shows he is giving it everything, feet pounding, down a hundred meters of metal walkway. Below is the shaft, ahead is the central platform, a circular console wrapped around the column rising from it.
    A deafening alarm kicks off. He doesn’t stop. A hop and a jump take him over a handrail barrier to land at the console, hands slapping down onto a biometric reader. It starts scanning.
    “Access granted, Robert Cantor,” a natural-sounding, but machine-generated voice says in neutral tones.
    “Status,” demands Robert.
    “Detonation sequence is in progress.” The console displays a countdown clock.
    “Executive override.”
    “Denied.”
    “Initiate maintenance program eighty-three hundred.” Robert looks up the length of the column. It disappears into the hollow interior of the dome’s spire where, far above, a faint glow appears.
    “Maintenance program eighty-three hundred commencing. Attention. Conflict detected.”
    “Continue with maintenance program eighty-three hundred,” says