Gordon leaned his elbows back on the lab desk and nodded. It was just over seven hours since he and Doc had returned from the Academy, and his leg already functioned normally again. The day had been uneventful, full only of food and rest, and moist, oppressive heat, which sapped his strength like water from a drain. His mission started in two hours, and he still hadn’t met the man who would accompany him.
Neil covered the bubbling mass he’d created with a pot lid and dragged the back of his wrist along his forehead, slopping perspiration towards his hair. “Doc’s already sent word by one of his ‘patients’ that you are rethinking things again, and that you’ll be waiting in the shack. Unfortunately, Caleb will have to take the tunnels while you walk alone on the surface.”
“Why?” Gordon asked, when Neil didn’t volunteer more automatically.
“Because if they see an Implant heading that way on their system, they’ll be more wary. They’ll know you didn’t go alone. The tunnels don’t completely block the signals, but they make it hard enough to track that they hopefully won’t notice Caleb.”
Gordon nodded, and opened his mouth to ask for the specifics of the plan, but Neil interrupted. “So, I want you to go ahead and have dinner with Caleb, get to know him a little. Then a little before twenty, we’ll brief you and you’ll be off.”
Standing up straight, Gordon turned towards the door hesitantly. “Just… go to dinner then?”
“Yes. I’ll send Caleb to meet you shortly.” The thin lips turned up in an encouraging smile, which didn’t abate the nervous heat in Gordon’s chest.
They had stew again for dinner; a thin, watery broth with everything from green beans to dumplings to strings of steak. Drawing a spoonful, Gordon blew on it for several minutes, trying to bring it to a temperature more in keeping with the warm day.
“Gordon, isn’t it?”
He looked up from his spoon to see a wiry, blond young man with green eyes and pale, almost invisible eyebrows. “Yeah.” Plopping the spoon back in his bowl, he stood, wiped his palms on his jeans, and held out his hand. “Are you… Caleb?”
“Yep.” The newcomer smiled a cheerful, slightly yellow-toothed smile. He pulled out a chair across from Gordon and settled into it.
Gordon sat down again and got another spoonful to blow on. “So… you’re coming with me tonight?”
“Yeah,” the young man smiled again. His eyes made a quick motion from Gordon’s hair to his torso, an insatiably curious glance, like Gordon was something new and interesting. How much did he know?
Gordon downed a lukewarm sip of stew, and spoke again. “Neil said you’ve been here a long time?”
Caleb nodded. “I was just sixteen when I joined. Got the Implant when I was a little kid. My dad didn’t like the idea, but my mom insisted—she worried a lot.”
“And… your parents, are they here too?”
Caleb shook his head. “No. They were both killed.”
Gordon stopped eating and met Caleb’s eyes. “Killed? Like… by the Implants, or…?”
“My dad was detonated when he wouldn’t go work for them. He was a brilliant engineer—I mean, everybody called him a genius. When I started helping the rebels, Neil was going to get my mom safe, but… he was too late.”
A shiver flowed over Gordon’s skin. “Did they kill her because of you?”
Caleb averted his eyes, looking to the untouched bowl of stew in front of him. “Because I wouldn’t work for them either, yeah.”
Silence followed, a silence in which Gordon’s heart pounded too hard.
“Anyway.” Caleb looked up and smiled. “I’m glad you’re here. Neil told me about the plan for tonight. I’m sorry I can’t travel over there with you, but I’m going to be nearby when we get there.”
“I’m glad,” Gordon tried to smile back, though just saying the words sent another chill over his body.
So much at stake.
“Daddy!” A miniature Caleb ran over and tilted his head up to prop his chin on the table.
Caleb laughed, and pulled the boy into his lap. “I thought you were eating dinner with Mommy?”
“She told me to find you.”
Caleb patted the boy gently on the back. “Tell Mommy that Daddy’s busy tonight. I’ll see you both later, okay? Just eat and stay with Mommy until it’s time to go back to the room.”
The boy looked up towards Caleb and puckered his lips, and Caleb leaned down to receive a peck on the cheek. “Go back to Mommy now. Be safe.”
“You too!” The child wiggled off of his father’s lap and disappeared into the crowd.
“My boy Jeffrey,” Caleb smiled, though the expression in his eyes glazed over and became guarded. “Neil got him back for us after he was Implanted.”
His tone forbade any further questioning, as if even that much information unlocked a treasure chest he would rather not open further, so Gordon just leaned over his soup and continued eating.
When they had both scooped their bowls clean, Caleb led him to one end of the base, where Doc and Neil stood, waiting. Doc smoked silently, and Neil held a chromed handgun, slightly smaller than a sawed-off shotgun, loosely in his hand.
He smiled as they approached. “Just in time!” He handed the silver gun to Gordon, who held it awkwardly on his palms.
“It only stuns,” Neil explained, stepping back. “I’m going to give you directions to the shack, and you’re going to walk there while Caleb takes the tunnels. According to our intel, Dagny Dalton will be there in about an hour, which should be thirty minutes after you arrive. Doc is going to drive out there a bit later, hopefully timing it so it’ll be shortly after you stun him.”
Caleb pulled his own gun, less shiny but still impressive, out of his backpack. “So… once Dalton’s inside, you want me to come up behind him and stun him?”
Neil nodded. “Gordon will be inside, and Gordon, it’s best if you keep your gun hidden unless there’s an emergency, so Dagny doesn’t get suspicious and run off before Caleb can get him. But if anything does go wrong, you’ll have to stun him yourself. All you do is place your thumb here—” he pointed to a glassy oval on the grip of the weapon, “—point it at his head, and pull the trigger. He’ll be out like a light. But you shouldn’t have to. Caleb can reach you in just a few seconds.”
Gordon nodded, trying to grasp everything that was said. He was really just the cheese in the mousetrap, wasn’t he? All he should have to do was to walk to the shack, wait inside, and let things go from there.
Doc kept smoking through the whole briefing, and didn’t say a word.
“Okay, that should be all.” Neil smiled a tight-lipped smile. “Doc will bring you both back in the jeep with the unconscious Dagny, and I’ll take it from there. Now—time to go, unless you have any questions.”
Gordon didn’t say anything, but Caleb chirped, “No questions,” and smiled at Gordon. “I’ll see you there.”
“See you,” said Gordon, trying to smile back.
Caleb marched towards a nearby building and disappeared inside.
“Okay.” Neil breathed deeply, gripped Gordon’s shoulders, and turned him towards the barrier. “This is the direction the guard shack is in. Can you see it?”
Gordon narrowed his eyes, and peered into the distance. A brown square, the size of a fingertip, adorned the horizon straight ahead. “Yeah.”
“All right. Walk towards it… don’t wear yourself out, but hurry. Good luck.”
Gordon nodded and shot a glance at Doc, who just stared at him through a cloud of smoke.
Gordon gripped the gun tighter against his chest, and stepped through the force-field.
The ground looked like the surface of Mars in the setting sun. Red cracks ran along the rock-hard dirt, and the occasional tree cast long, grasping shadows in his path. As Tanner had predicted, all the bodies were gone. Where they were buried, he had no idea. No mounds decorated the flat, rocky earth as far as he could see.
His pace was steady without being strenuo
us, leaving him only slightly out of breath when he reached the tiny structure. It was solid, but painfully simple—little more than a wooden box with a door. He tried the rusty metal knob and found it turned easily. The door moved smoothly despite the creaking of hinges.
A couple of windows shed twilight onto the floor, revealing an empty, miniscule room.
He breathed, selected a corner in the back, to his right, and crouched in the shadows, heart racing. He laid a hand on his chest, as if the pressure could somehow convince the organ to settle down, so he could wait calmly and collectedly.
He set the gun on the floor behind him, but kept one hand on its grip.
Then he waited.
The shadows lengthened, and the light dimmed.
Crickets began their first verse of the night.
His neck developed a kink, and he moved his head from side to side.
It was tempting to let go of the weapon and shift his position, but he knew he couldn’t. He couldn’t relax for even a second. Dagny Dalton might open the door and enter at any moment.
He made himself stop fidgeting and listen. The only sounds were the crickets and the slight whistling of breeze through the cracked windows.
Any moment now—
He strained his ears and leaned forward. His fingers coiled instinctively around the grip, and he let his muscles tighten. There was something. A slight sound that didn’t belong.
Was it a grunt? Or—something moving. Every instinct told him to jump out and see what was going on, find out before the unexpected hit him. But he gritted his teeth and forced himself to be still. This time, he would stick to the plan. Doc would have no reason to say he needed a spanking again.
The door swung open and Gordon jumped to his feet blindly, swinging his gun to point at the figure who filled the doorway. In that half-second he only saw a form that didn’t seem right, but as soon as he was standing and had the gun leveled, he realized the truth.
Yes, it was Dagny Dalton. He stood just inside the doorway, staring straight at Gordon through his black glasses. His face was as expressionless as ever, and nothing about his bearing betrayed anything but mechanical purpose. But he was not alone.
He had Caleb by the throat. And a chromed pistol, subtly different from the one Gordon carried, pressed against the rebel’s temple.
Gordon swallowed, opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. How could he have known where to find Caleb, or that Caleb was even there?
Someone must have told him about the plan.
Suspicions flitted through his mind as he stood staring at the two men.
Caleb’s green eyes were wide, but he said nothing. He didn’t even flinch. Dagny Dalton rubbed his finger over the trigger of his gun, then spoke in that flat, low voice.
“If you do not drop the gun, I will kill him.”
It was simple; to the point. Either, or. Only two options for Gordon to choose from.
He looked Caleb in the eye. It was a real choice. One shot, and the goon would be unconscious, and he could take him back to Neil, and they would have the key they needed to get into the Control Center, blow it up, and free the world from the tyranny of the Implants.
But—
Caleb didn’t move. “Just do it, Gordon,” he said, his lips pale.
Dagny Dalton didn’t argue. He just prodded Caleb’s temple with the barrel of his revolver.
They both watched him.
He couldn’t let Neil down. He wouldn’t. The whole world depended on him. Billions of lives. Billions, for the cost of one. It was worth it—right?
He closed the distance between his finger and the trigger. He had to. Caleb was right—he had to—it was the right thing to do—
An image of his father’s pale face flashed into his mind, triggering a flood of shame that filled him to the brim and overflowed from his eyes into tears.
Ruin. Shame. Death. That was what followed any Harding who dared try to help others.
With a groan, he flung the gun from him.
“Gordon!” Caleb cried.
Dagny Dalton’s expression didn’t change. He accepted the action, let go of Caleb’s neck, then closed his finger on the trigger.
Gordon screamed as the blast of energy hit Caleb’s head. Caleb gasped, stumbled to his knees, and fell forward.
Dagny Dalton turned and ran out the door and back towards the jeep he’d come in, like a robot, paces measured and precise.
Gordon’s mind reeled from the shock, but he scooped up his weapon, bolted to the door, and fired at the goon as he swung into the vehicle. He must have missed, but he kept firing desperately as Dagny started the jeep and raced away.
Gordon swore after him, tears dripping down his chin. Nausea raged in his belly. How could he be so incredibly stupid?
He heard a gasp behind him, and turned. Caleb twitched, trying to turn over on his back. Gordon dropped to the floor and pressed a hand to the rebel’s spine.
“Don’t move,” he said, making a mighty effort to control his voice, but aware that it trembled.
“Gor-Gor-Gordon…” he gasped.
Gordon clenched his teeth so hard he thought his jaw would lock. Was this man to die for nothing? Nothing but Gordon’s own stupid thoughtlessness—how dare he think he could help anybody?
He could see the wound just behind Caleb’s ear—blood flowed from it like red water from the singed flesh. The worst possible place.
Why hadn’t the blast cauterized the wound? Unless it wasn’t on a very powerful setting—
That didn’t matter right now. The blast must have hit the carotid artery, if not the brain itself.
Caleb would be dead in a matter of minutes.
Baum would want him to do something. Neil would want him to do something. So would Doc. But—
“I’m not a doctor,” he mumbled. “I never will be!”
Still, his hands moved as if on their own. He pulled out his pocketknife, wishing he had something more sterile, and scraped the charred flesh and hair out of the wound. “Try to hold still,” he said softly.
Caleb stopped letting his gasps shake his whole body. He took deep, erratic breaths.
Letting one quick shudder run through him, Gordon pressed his forefinger gently into the wound. He knew exactly where the artery was. He could hold it closed, at least long enough for blood to continue flowing to the brain until help could get there. Doc should be there soon. Maybe he could do something.
Blood seeped onto his hand, but he didn’t move. He kept applying the soft but firm pressure that he hoped would let some blood reach the brain. Doc—where was he? Why wasn’t he coming?
“Gordon,” rasped Caleb again. He sucked in a breath, then let it out again, slowly, in a long, lingering whisper without form.
Gordon leaned forward desperately, not moving his finger. Caleb would breathe again, in a moment. He would.
But he didn’t.
Gordon pulled his bloody hand away from the wound, heart bursting in protest, and head numb. He wanted to scream, run away, die, anything but sit there and know he’d killed another father.
“What happened?”
He didn’t need to turn to know Doc had finally arrived.
Chapter Seven
Gordon let it sink in that Doc stood there, then turned away. He stared at Caleb’s head as the blood continued to leak out. The flow was slow and thick now. There was blood on his hands. A lot of it. He stared at it.
Doc swore, and walked up behind Gordon. The big hand pressed his shoulder. “Come on.”
No questions.
Gordon didn’t move. He just stared at his hands.
Doc gripped his arm, hard enough to make him wince. “Get out of here now.” He yanked Gordon to his feet and kept a tight hold as he walked to the door. Gordon moved his feet, staring ahead at the horizon.
First Ray, now Caleb.
His hands trembled. Just like his father’s. Gordon always suspected it was that trembling that caused the wreck on the way to court,
but who really knew?
Still gripping his arm, Doc led him to the jeep. He pushed him into the passenger seat, then said, “Stay there.”
Doc strode back inside, reappearing moments later with Caleb’s body in his strong arms. He walked to the side of the vehicle and laid the body carefully in the back, then came around to the front. He settled himself in the driver’s seat, then started the vehicle and turned it back towards the base.
Gordon barely took in the details. He registered Doc in his peripheral vision, the car starting, the motion as they moved south, the blood drying on his hands in the cool breeze generated as they drove through the full moonlight. He watched the blue dome grow larger as they approached. When the car stopped, he made no move to get out. Doc left and entered the dome, then came back out with a shovel, which he laid in the back of the jeep. Then he got back in the driver’s seat and started the vehicle again, this time going around the dome, then further south.
The moon made the scene as bright as day, but blue, like a piece of cellophane over a camera lens. The red ground turned purple, and the silence created a haze around Gordon. He couldn’t see, hear, smell, or feel anything. His hands went numb from staying motionless for so long. He looked down at the ugly, cracked, purple-brown stickiness that covered them. He tried to make himself feel disgusted. He failed.
A breeze touched his face. It caressed him, played with his hair, engulfed him.
Signaling to his heart like nerve impulses to a cell, the breeze washed feeling over him, and he cried. First moisture filled his eyes, then a tear slid down his cheek, and at last a hiccuping sob escaped him.
Doc slammed on the brakes. Without a word, he got out, walked around the back, then appeared on Gordon’s side of the jeep with the shovel. “Come on,” he said.
Gordon obeyed, trying to breathe steadily. Another tear escaped his eye.
Doc led the way to an oasis—just a pond, really little more than a large puddle in the cracked earth, with some grass growing out from it in a three foot radius. He stopped a few feet away from the grass and stuck the shovel into the ground. But instead of digging, he left the shovel there and walked back to Gordon.
Without speaking, he took Gordon by the arm again, this time gently, and led him to the pond. When he reached the meager bank, he knelt down, which forced Gordon to do the same. Then he took Gordon’s right wrist, and guided his hand to the cool, clean water.
Implant Page 10
