[pseudoclever]

Chapter 3

Friday came, and Bella couldn't find anything to wear. “Come on babe, we're going to be late for work if we aren't out the door like...now,” Zayne prodded.

“I'm...nggh...trying!” she replied, trying to squeeze into the biggest shirt she owned. When they'd gone shopping, Bella had had the foresight to purchase extra large clothing, things that she could grow into. While her current height was still barely within the range she had planned for, she had not, unfortunately, anticipated her expanding bust line. It looked to Zayne as though someone were trying to shove a pair of beach balls into a pillowcase.

With one final tug, she pulled the shirt as far down as it would go. It left much of her midriff visible, and the material was stretched dangerous thin around her neckline. Still, it was good enough to go outside without fear of being arrested for indecent exposure.

“That doesn't look very comfortable,” Zayne said, peering at her skeptically.

“I'll be fine,” she grunted, waddling toward the stairs. “Let's...just go.”

He moved to block her path, and she stopped directly in front of him. It could be a little intimidating these days, standing this close to her. After their latest romp the previous evening, Bella had been measured at just over six foot six (“Two meters even!” she had insisted.) The top of his head was now just about level with her nose. If this kept up much longer he could expect to spend even more time than usual staring at her breasts.

“Here, let me see if I can't fix that shirt for you.” Zayne reached up, and got a grip on the strained fabric near her collar. With a sharp tug he pulled down, and the garment ripped. She immediately began to breath easier, and there was an additional benefit as well – the tear revealed a tantalizing glimpse of her cleavage.

Bella did not look happy. “That shirt wasn't cheap,” she said, glaring at him crossly. “You...are going to get it later.”

“Double entendre?” he asked with mild interest.

Her expression didn't change. “Probably.”

They arrived at the Palladian and got to work managing the centrifuge. After the first batch had been loaded, Zayne settled down to draw. His sketches had noticeably improved over the course of the week. Bella had told him that all he had needed was some inspiration, and certainly that was part of it. More importantly, he was now going about his craft without feeling the need to prove himself. When he picked up a pencil, he no longer had to wonder if something good would result. He knew.

Just after midnight, Zayne was putting the finishing touches on another of his works. This one was a cityscape – he had taken particular time to get the textures on the foreground buildings just right. The drawing also featured a gigantic Bella, five hundred feet tall if she was an inch. She was kicking over a skyscraper, an expression of wrath of her beautiful face. In a fit of inspiration, he had decided that she should also be breathing fire. Suddenly, he felt a pair of powerful hands grasp his shoulders.

“Interesting,” observed Bella, giving him a firm massage. “Are you trying to tell me something?”

“Who can guess the artist's motivations?” he answered cryptically. “Although we DID just watch Godzilla last night.”

She considered this. “Alright, I suppose you're off the hook. Hey, I'm going to unload this next batch, okay?”

Despite his objections, Bella had been insisting on emptying the centrifuge for him a least once every night. Zayne wasn't quite sure of her reasons for doing this. Probably she was just trying to be nice to him, to give him some extra time to practice his drawing. Or maybe she wanted to show off her new-found strength – those trays could be pretty heavy after all, and there WAS something rather enticing about the way her arms bulged when she lifted one high into the air. In any case, he had long since come to the conclusion that the issue wasn't worth arguing over.

“Okay, if you want. I guess I'll just go ahead and take my lunch break now, then.” He stood up, cracking his knuckles. “I'll be back in thirty minutes or so.”

“Don't keep me waiting,” she purred, bending down slightly to plant a kiss on his forehead.

Zayne walked out into the hallway, humming tunelessly. He had only taken a couple of steps before he heard a familiar voice call out to him from the direction of the elevators. “Ah, Williams! Just the man I wanted to see!”

He turned, and saw his boss walking toward him. “Oh, hey Mr. Peterson,” he answered, trying to smile. “You're here pretty late. That's the second time in as many weeks, isn't it?”

“More like the fifth,” he answered wryly, covering the distance between them. “I just got off a marathon conference call. We were discussing...well, that's what I wanted to talk to you about actually. Do you have a minute?”

“Sure, I guess. Do you...ah...mind if I eat while we talk?”

“Fine, fine.” They walked down the hallway toward the employee lounge. For the first time Zayne noticed how tired Mr. Peterson looked. The man's suit was wrinkled, and the knot on his tie was uncharacteristically loose. His eyes looked bloodshot and unfocused, and periodically he would scrunch up his face as though stifling a yawn.

“So, how's life in the lab?” he asked Zayne, holding the break room door for him.

“Good. Dull,” he said evasively. He wasn't quite sure what his boss wanted to talk about, and he wanted to feel out the situation before he said anything he might regret.

“Dull is...good,” Mr. Peterson said, setting his briefcase down and taking a seat at the small folding table. Zayne pulled a couple of bills out of his wallet, and purchased a sandwich from one of the vending machines. “What about Ms. Lambrie? How have the two of you been getting along?”

“Fairly well. She's a nice lady. Really seems to know her stuff. Very professional.” That seemed innocuous enough, at least.

“Ah yes, professional. That was the word when we scouted her.” He closed his eyes, sighing. “Do you know why I'm here, Mr. Williams?”

“No, I don't,” Zayne replied truthfully, taking a bite of his lunch.

Mr. Peterson sighed again. “I'm here because Loss Prevention has been blowing up my phone all week. They've had me running around like a chicken with its head cut off, putting out one fire after another. Those damned bean counters.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “At least, that was what I thought on Monday. But now....

“Do you have any idea how much it costs to make PT-2715?” he asked suddenly. Zayne shook his head. “Well, let's just say it's a lot. Each batch represents a significant capital investment for Palladian Technologies. And that's okay. You have to spend money to make money, and this stuff is GOING to make money. We've got nine different patents on the thing – the manufacture method, the delivery system, the enzymatic...thing....” He trailed off, staring into space. “This stuff is going to make or break us.

“And God damn it, we're leaking it like a sieve!” he exploded.

Zayne flinched. “Well, I might be able to explain that,” he said quietly. “You heard about the accident....”

“What? Oh, that. Yes, Ms. Lambrie made a full report.” The man looked at him apprehensively. “How's your knee, by the way? No lingering pain, I trust?”

“My...knee?”

“Your knee, yes. When you tripped over that broom, Bella said you banged it against one of the desks. I know she iced it for you, but she said there was still a lot of swelling, and that you were walking with a limp. I take it that it's no longer an issue?”

“N-no. I took it easy over the weekend.” Zayne's mind was racing. He took a deep breath to calm himself. “By the way, what exactly did Bella end up putting on that report? I didn't get a chance to read it – maybe she missed some details.”

“Ah, let me see. I think I have it on me....” Mr. Peterson opened his briefcase, and shuffled some papers around inside. “Here we are.” He scanned the page quickly. “Accident Date: 22nd September, Approximate Time: 3 a.m. In accordance with his usual duties, Mr. Williams was carrying a Model GF-7 tray loaded with Product code 75423...are you sure you want to go through this?” he asked, looking up impatiently.

“Just get to the part where I fell,” Zayne said, feeling himself break out in a cold sweat.

“Hmm...okay.... Mr. Williams fell, tripping over a broom that was presumably left in the aisle by the janitorial staff. He was unable to maintain his grip on the tray, and the product was considered a total loss. The contaminated product was disposed of without incident, in compliance with documented procedures. Mr. Williams also sustained an injury....”

“On my knee, yeah. I think I've heard enough.” It felt as though he had just dunked his head into a bucket of ice water. Bella had lied to upper management about the accident. Was she worried about her job? Or did she fear that the company would turn her into some kind of lab rat if they found out she'd been exposed to the drug? That was all well and good, he supposed. But why had she pinned all of this on him – and why hadn't she told him about any of it?

“So what's the problem?” Zayne asked, keeping his voice even. “You know what happened to the missing stuff. And sure it's not cheap, but it was just one batch.”

“The company isn't particularly concerned about that one-time loss, as significant as it was. Thirty-six vials down the drain we can handle, as long as we KNOW they're in the drain. The thing is, another half-dozen vials have gone missing. That may not sound like much, when we produce close to eight hundred of them a day. But the problem is, they could be anywhere. The distributer may be shorting us on our reagent orders, or we could have a problem with the equipment.”

He looked at Zayne darkly. “Or worse, someone could be stealing, and selling them to a rival corporation. I deal in worst case scenarios, Mr. Williams. And so, that has to be my working assumption.

“With that in mind....” He produced another paper from his briefcase, and slid it across the table toward Zayne. “I need you to sign this. It's a Consent to Search form. Tomorrow morning, bright and early, we're going to begin a point by point inspection of every step in our manufacture process. Our procedure in these cases is to have every person in the departments affected sign one of these before we start. It basically says you attest that you aren't at fault here, and that you'll cooperate in any way you can. And that you understand the penalties if we find out you're responsible.”

“Just out of curiosity, what WOULD happen if I was stealing?”

The man gave him a dirty look. “You'd be terminated immediately, and criminal charges would be filed.” Mr. Peterson lowered his head, rubbing his temples. “Look Williams...Zayne. You seem like a good kid. Don't screw around with this stuff. There's a bus coming, and trust me, you don't want to dive in front of it.”

Zayne signed.

“Thanks.” The man put the document back in his briefcase, straightening his tie. “Would you mind sending Bella in when you go back to the lab? I need to get her signature on one of these as well.”

Zayne froze. “Have you...talked to her lately?” He had almost asked if Mr. Peterson had SEEN her.

“Not since I introduced you two, no. Why do you ask?”

There was no telling what reasons Bella had for trying so hard to keep her part in the accident a secret. But whatever they were, if Mr. Peterson found out that she was almost two feet taller than the last time they had met, everything she had done would be for nothing. “Well, it's just that she's been working really hard lately, and hasn't been in the best mood,” he said, talking fast. “Personally, I think it has something to do with her home life. Anyway, I'd hate for her to take the implication that our department is responsible for the loss the wrong way. Might be bad for morale. Tell you what...why don't you let ME get her to sign?”

Mr. Peterson looked uncertain. “I'm...not sure I'm allowed to do that.”

“Come on, let me help you out here. All you need is her John Hancock, right? I can get it, no fuss, no muss. You can go home a little early, maybe get some sleep. What time do you have to be back here tomorrow anyway?”

He scowled. “Eight in the morning. On a Saturday. It oughta be against the law.” He handed Zayne the document. “Alright then, you take care of it. Just make sure to slip it under the door of the Legal department before you leave.”

“I will,” he said, breathing a mental sigh of relief.

“I suppose I'll be taking off then. And don't worry. If you haven't done anything wrong, you don't have a thing to worry about.” Mr. Peterson stood up from the table. He nodded, and walked out the door.

Zayne waited until he was sure the man was gone, then bolted back toward the lab, his heart pounding in his chest. It was high time he got some answers from Bella. What was behind this complex web of lies? A possibility occurred to him, making him stop in his tracks – what if SHE was the thief, stealing the drug and ferrying it to another pharmaceutical company? Surely getting exposed herself wasn't part of the plan. And neither was getting into a relationship with her co-worker.

Unless she was just an amazing con artist, playing him like a fiddle, making sure he was too distracted to ever discover what she was really doing.

Zayne shook his head, trying to clear away these morbid thoughts. No, there was no way it could be true. He knew her better than that. Well, whatever was going on, the sooner he could get the story straight from her mouth, the better.

He opened the door to the lab, and let it shut silently behind him. The centrifuge was running again, and Bella hadn't heard him enter. She was holding the last vial in the batch, getting ready to load it onto the tray. He saw her hold it up to the light, examining its contents. And then, to Zayne's horror, he watched as she slipped it into her handbag.

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The final act of Four Types of Reactions will begin...Sunday.