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6
As they made their way down a series of stairwells and long hallways, Gunner started to
wonder if he was the biggest idiot in the world for following this woman. He was, after
all, famous—a fact about which he’d been feeling sorry for himself all morning. For all
he knew, these people were about to blackmail him, kidnap him, ask for ransom, kill
him. He felt a sudden and almost exhilarating rush of fear, irrational but thrilling. He
kept walking, following his spritely guide.
They finally reached a section that looked modern. The change was abrupt—plush
carpet, freshly painted walls, plasma lighting. Soon after, they came upon a set of
double doors that looked to be made of heavy steel, like something that’d be on an
industrial refrigeration unit. Cherry swiped her finger in funny little patterns on a
section of the door, and the heavy steel panels popped open with a hiss.
“After you, Mr. Skale,” she said with a slight smile that seemed to say there was a lot
to her he might never know.
Gunner stepped into the room, which was cool and dimly lit. The walls and ceiling
were black with tiny pinpoints of white light that looked like stars. It was a moment
before he noticed the people. There were three: one woman and two men, their faces in
shadow. Their attire was somewhere between business and casual, and oddly, despite
the darkness, they were all wearing sunglasses. Cherry, who’d so cheerfully guided
Gunner through the strange building, stepped around him to join them. And somehow
she belonged. She fit in with the strange group of three, and he was sure he’d guessed
correctly—that she was far more than your average secretary.
“Is one of you George Hartley?” Gunner asked, not knowing what else to say. He’d
never had a consulting gig quite like this.
“I am,” one of the men answered, stepping forward to shake Gunner’s hand. He had a
firm but disconcertingly moist grip. “We’re glad you could come. We have some exciting
things to show you, and I think with your help we’ll be ready to take them to market.”
Gunner looked down at his hand, uneasy. The man hadn’t let go. Finally, after what
felt like several beats too long, he did.
“So what is it?” Gunner asked. “Sunglasses? That work really well in the dark?”
The man laughed—more like a guffaw—as if their consultant had just uttered the
greatest joke he’d ever heard. His partners did the same. The meeting was getting
slightly creepy.
“No, no,” George said, taking off the glasses—they were thick and shiny and had
metallic parts in strange places. “These are something that were used a little before your