White Space Season 2

the empty bottle from Don and sat back on the seat across from him.
    Don was afraid to push his luck, but spoke his mind anyway. “I told you everything. Can I go home now?”
    “You know,” Kaiser said, “I almost feel sorry for you.”
    A shiver ran down Don’s spine.
    Trouble.
    “Because here you are, certifiably crazy as a loon. But you’re not wrong about everything, Mr. Bellows. In fact, you have quite a lot right.”
    Don swallowed, dread creeping like a cold through his body.
    Kaiser held up the water bottle, swirling the small amount of liquid at the bottom before lifting the bottle closer to his eyes, putting it between his blue robotic eye and the light above. “Funny thing about nanobots, Mr. Bellows. They’re naked to the human eye. But not so much to the augmented eye.”
    Kaiser shook the bottle, then threw it at Don’s chest.
    Panic swelled inside him. Don flinched, almost certain he could feel the things inside him, rushing through his esophagus, into his belly, even though it was probably impossible to feel something you couldn’t even see. Unless they’re self replicating! He wanted to puke, and started coughing as if it might help, not knowing it would only burn his throat more. With his hands bound, there was nothing Don could do to vomit whatever he’d swallowed.
    Kaiser leaned forward, “Right now there are hundreds of nanobots running in a current through your body. You know what nanobots are, don’t you, Mr. Bellows? You did write a bit about them on your blog. Again, you got quite a lot right. And our tiny, little robots can do some not-so-tiny things. I’m sure you can imagine a few of the things these self-replicating beauties can do, especially after reaching your brain.”
    Don screamed, “No!”
    Kaiser smiled, “Now, Mr. Bellows, you’re about to find out just how deep our rabbit hole goes.”

    * * * *

CHAPTER 10 — Jon Conway

    Brady drove Jon and Cassidy to the station after agreeing to let them sit outside the interrogation room, watching through the two-way mirror while he questioned Houser. However, the chief refused to let them speak to the suspect.
    As Brady led them into the observation room, and closed the door, he turned to them, eyes broadcasting compassion for everything they’d been through.
    “I know this is hard as hell on both of you, and I can’t possibly imagine how you feel right now, well, actually, I can, since my own daughter’s been missing for six months. But I don’t know if she’s alive or dead, so maybe I can’t truly know how you feel. I just want to say that the only way I’m getting any answers from Brock Houser is if I can reach him somehow, win him over to my side. That means I can’t have you doing anything stupid, understand?”
    Jon said, “Yes.”
    Cassidy nodded, though it looked like she was shoving a thousand pounds of effort up a hill to agreement.
    “I’m only allowing you both to watch because I want, and maybe need, your input. You know him better than me. I’ll come back in here at some point during the interview, and ask you a few questions, then I’ll figure the best way to approach him.”
    “OK,” Jon said. “I understand.”
    Jon wanted to say he still couldn’t believe his friend could have possibly done something so awful — that there had to be some other explanation. But until he figured out what that explanation might be, he wasn’t about to apologize for the man who might have murdered his daughter.
    Officer Henry, the jug-eared young man Jon met during his brief incarceration last month for “trespassing” on the island’s north end, entered the room. Brady said he would be there to sit with them, and to make sure they let Henry know if they needed anything.
    The officer nodded, smiling sheepishly. “Good afternoon, sir, ma’am.”
    “Hello,” Jon said. Cassidy nodded, her attention bolted to the other side of the glass where a second officer led Brock into the room wearing an orange jumpsuit and silver bracelets binding his hands in front of him.
    Houser looked solemn, and in the small room, looked even larger than usual — somehow scarier when you considered he had kidnapped and likely killed Emma.
    Jon looked over at Cassidy, frozen as she stared through the glass, as if she could melt it and fire lasers from her eyes into Houser. Jon felt rage, too, but his anger was offset by the nagging feeling that something was wrong. It might have been denial — him not wanting to think