Machines of the Little People - 1st book of the Keswick series
Ben Harris is a lonely man... It’s been 3 years after Ben’s younger sister, Kate, died of cancer. Her quirky husband, Roger is an unparalleled genius that works for the government and Ben finds himself pulled along despite his fervent objections.
After Kate learns of her impending death she sets up the Gemini Project with Roger’s handler... the project is to find, groom and educate women who look like their dead counter parts to become their replacements so valuable people like Roger can still function and be productive.
Roger tries everything he can think of but can’t save her. So to take her mind off of her illness he invents a Proton Generator. The machine produces a life like image of anything that comes to his mind. What he creates is small, fairy like people in jump suits to assemble a machine that spits out love notes for her entertainment.
The government sees the Proton Generator as the ultimate weapon. After Kate dies Ben finds himself in the middle of a murder and discovers everyone has an agenda... Roger included.
The room had been ransacked. Scraps of paper littered the floor and desk like confetti, loose wire ripped from their moorings dangled everywhere. Several of the desk drawers hung half in - half out with the remainder scattered about the room. The walls were covered, floor to ceiling in writing.
Handwritten in different color felt pen, the walls were a smear of over lapping math formulas, words, phrases and madness only Roger or a hatter could unravel. My eye followed the dementia to the upper right hand corner of the room. There, almost undetectable, resided a small white object, about the size of a match box, with a blinking red light. Approaching it, I slowly passed a hand in front of it in an effort to see if it were a camera and if it was working. There was no discernable reaction. I ran my hand over the walls as I read the manifesto as best I could. One word was repeated more often than any other.
"Bob," I said, reading it out loud, trying to figure out its meaning. At the sound of the word the blinking light held steady. From somewhere under the structure the regulated rhythm of machinery engaged, filling the house with a low vibration and hum. I tried to figure out what it was, where it was coming from when the front door opened with a tiny squeal followed by whispered voices.