Mr Hook's Big Black Box

Marco Schmidt: An Ambush

I thought it was going to be an easy day. A seminar, a couple of lectures, then the club meeting in the evening. I didn't know what we were doing about the meeting if the girls were still at Monty's house, but I could call them later to sort that out.

I woke to the smell of bacon frying. There's something strangely pervasive about it, spreading through the entire house. I sat up quickly, pulled my clothes back on, and hurried down to find out if the breakfast included us. I got to the kitchen, which was decorated in stark black and white tiles, and found Monty standing over the stove with a skillet in one hand and a spatula in the other. She seemed a lot more confident than I had ever been about food preparation, and the smell was even more enticing now I was up close.

"Thought you'd like a proper breakfast," she said as I walked in, "You've got further to walk to your lectures because you stayed here with me, so I wanted to offer you some extra energy."

"That's fine," I said, "I normally take a run around the perimeter of campus before first study anyway. A friend from school told me that you learn better after exercise, something to do with hormones, and it's a habit I never got out of. And thanks."

The others came down a few minutes later. Ferrari looked to be firing on all cylinders, but Dwayne was half asleep. Both had rumpled clothes and disheveled hair, implying that they'd stayed sleeping on the couch all night. As they came into the kitchen, I heard the back door swing closed downstairs.

"Kris said he wanted an early start," Dwayne explained, "You cooking?"

"Yep," Monty beamed, "We got bagels, toast or fried bread, bacon, sausages, mushrooms, black pudding, hash browns, beans, and grilled tomato. What do you want?"

Breakfast was really impressive. I'd never have managed to get so many different things cooked, let alone have sensible size portions for four people who all wanted different combinations, and have everything ready at the same time. I'd got used to thinking of Monty as a hyperactive bundle of smiles, the source of a million awesome ideas that were too impractical to be realised. This was the first time I'd seen her with her feet firmly on the ground, and she carried it off well.

We chatted a bit about the events of the last couple of days. I didn't mention the night before, obviously. I'd never break a confidence like that. I gathered the others might already have some idea, though, because both seemed to be skirting different areas of discussion, avoiding saying something or ending some train of thought with cryptic little utterances that didn't mean anything. We were all keeping secrets, I guessed, and we all had some vague guesses about each other's but were too cautious to say anything. I couldn't say for sure that they might have guessed at Monty's skeleton in the closet, but it was more likely than that they had any idea what Nigel had told me, and my failed attempts to get in the Box so far. At least, I hoped I hadn't given them any reason to suspect.

I had to leave first, after thanking Monty for cooking for us at least half a dozen times. I intended to hit the track hard and run all the way to campus, which should get me there in time for my first seminar, but I decided to allow ten minutes slack in the schedule in case the inclines along the cycle path slowed me down compared to my normal run around the ring road.

I didn't even notice passing Kris along the path, but that was probably because for most of the run my attention was entirely on my own feet in front of me, with just occasional glances at the way ahead. It wasn't the best way to run, but it was great for clearing my head. In the end I arrived out of breath, more tired than usual, but five minutes ahead of what I'd estimated. That was good, it meant I might have a chance to talk to Nigel before he called the class in. I knew from the wrappers in the bin that he often had breakfast in the seminar room before we arrived, so if I was there early I could get a chance to ask him again about this Box, and the experiment that had spawned it.

"Marco!" a voice pulled me out of my speculation just before I got to room SPT:106. I knew her by sight, she was on the girls' track team, but it took me a second to remember her name. From what I remembered, she wasn't quite as fast as some of the other hopefuls who'd tried out, but she looked so good running that the selection committee had picked her anyway. Golden skin, long blond hair, shorts cut just a little shorter than regulation and a top that was exactly the right amount too tight. I hated girls like that, using their looks to get what they wanted instead of having to work for it as hard as everyone else.

Still, you've got to be polite. She might have something important to talk about.

"Hey," I raised a hand in a half wave, "Haven't seen you around here before." Was she in the sports therapy department just waiting for me? I thought she was a mediocre math student or something.

"Yeah, it's not my department. I was looking for Professor Hawthorne, that guy needs a real earful. But, like, if you're here the yelling can wait."

"You want to yell at me too, umm...?"

"You don't remember me? I should be offended. It's Cassie. And no, I just need to talk to you. About this Box. Your society got that, right?" I just nodded. I was feeling completely lost now, I didn't know what to say. If she was involved with the Box somehow, this girl must be more than meets the eye. I'd made probably the same assumptions as everyone else: Passable student, passable runner, good at cheerleading and dancing, with her only distinguishing talent being a great body. But what was hiding behind that vapid mask?

"Fine," I turned to one of the rooms nearby and pushed the door open, "Independent Study rooms, so we can talk without being overheard."