“You are aware of his work in nanotechnology.”
“Of course. He loved it and was really good at it, right up to the end.” Even then he was as good as anyone, just not good enough, and certainly not entitled to do what he did. I had to look away from Greg because this time the flush of anger was almost overpowering. As I so often did, I wondered what it would be like not to be made of anger, not to have it always just under the surface, a river washing over and through me and ready to boil over at any time. I know most people aren’t this way, and I’m glad, but I can’t really imagine what it’s like inside their skins. And, of course, it was irrelevant, because I was built the way I was built, and that wasn’t going to change now, if ever. “So what he was doing for you involved nanotech?”
“Yes. We had adapted a technology of ours for use here. We were unable to complete the adaptation without certain aspects of your environment that we could not get without being here. Guild rules would not allow us to bring a research team here or to test here, so we smuggled samples of the technology and recruited James Peterson to complete it for us.”
Nanotech research meant an electron microscope, one or more controlling computers, and some very specialized nano-machine building tools. “How much equipment did he have?”
“Perhaps ten pieces. I am not sure. I was not involved in its procurement or setup.”
“Where did he get it?”
“We gave him diamonds, as we did you, and I believe he traded them at local universities for the equipment he needed.”
That made sense. He had been a researcher at UNC, and he knew every nanotech research lab in the area. A few bribes and a panel truck, and he’d be set.
“Did he transport the equipment in a truck?”
“Yes, a large white one he purchased.”
“Did he take the truck when he escaped?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t suppose you know the truck’s license number or make or anything like that?”
“No. It was white and old and tall enough inside for us to be able to sit like this but not tall enough for us to be able to fully stand without bending.”
It was probably a used delivery truck. Possibly useful to know, but nothing I was going to be able to trace easily. Besides, he was smart enough to pick up another one just to be safe. “Where was he working?”
“In a warehouse not far from where we took you earlier. He arranged the use of the building.”
“Was there a basketball hoop near it?” I pointed to one of my prize possessions, a framed signed poster of Dr. J dunking in the last All-Star game he had played in while still in the ABA. He was retired long before I was ever watching basketball, but in the hours and hours of videos I had studied I had always found him to be one of the most graceful players ever. “A metal rim, like that, on a pole.”
“Yes. Behind the building. He threw a ball at it every day for quite some time, until we forced him to return to work. We found this activity senseless, but he insisted on repeating it.”
Jim, like me, had always been a creature of habit. I was glad his time in jail hadn’t worked this habit out of him, because it would help me find him.
“After you brought him back after his execution, was one of you always with him?”
“Until his escape, yes.”
“Good. Did he ever go anywhere other than this building and the places he bought the equipment?”
“No. We would not allow it.”
“Good. Now, back to my two remaining original questions: When did he escape, and how?”
“He left in the early morning eight days ago.” Greg’s lower left arm twitched slightly. “It took us a very long time to locate you.”
I realized Greg was embarrassed. If I was right, a lower left arm twitch noted embarrassment, a lower right, humor.
“How did he escape?”