Gerald N. Lund 4-In-1 Fiction eBook Bundle

by Gerald N. Lund

  “Where is my family?”

  “I will answer your questions in a moment, but first I would—”

  “First nothing!” Eric shouted. “I don’t know who you are or what this is all about. Why am I being held? Where is my family?”

  “Yes,” Nicole said slowly, “I suppose that does need to come first. We came to your village in peace and wished only—”

  “We?” Eric demanded. “Were you there?”

  “No, but I—”

  “I was! So cut the fairy tales please. Just tell me where my father and mother are. Are they here too?”

  Nicole bit her lower lip, seeking for words. Then, at a nod of encouragement from the Major, she plunged in. “Mr. Lloyd, it is with deep regret that I must tell you that your father was killed in the battle for the river crossing. I’m very sorry.”

  Eric visibly flinched, his face momentarily twisted with shock, but then he straightened, squared his shoulders. “And my mother?”

  “Your mother and sisters are fine. In fact, your mother will be visiting you later today. But I’ve been given the assignment to help you get out of detention and be reunited with your family. I’m sure you have some questions about why you’re here and what you have to do to get out.”

  She paused for a moment, half expecting another angry reaction, but the anger was gone now and his face was impassive, watchful, making her more wary than if he had been glaring at her.

  “Do you have any questions, Mr. Lloyd? I’ll try to answer them for you.”

  His head came up slowly. “I do have one.”

  “Yes, what is it?”

  “Do you know Travis Oakes?”

  Nicole felt a tiny shiver down her back as she looked into the gray eyes boring at her through the glass.

  “Well, do you?”

  “Uh—yes, yes I do.”

  “Is he here?”

  “No,” she answered quickly, almost blurting it out. Then she was angry at herself for letting him frighten her. “That is, he’s not right here with me, but he is here in Shalev.”

  “Could you send for him? I’d love to see somebody from the village.”

  The Major sighed. “This boy is not going to forgive easily, is he.”

  “Well?” came the insistent voice through the speaker.

  “Mr. Lloyd, I—” She shook her head, took a deep breath, and plunged in. “Travis Oakes didn’t kill your father. In fact, he tried to stop it from happening, but he was too late. I think I can under stand your bitterness and hatred for us, and your tremendous frustration at being imprisoned. But you are here. You are in detention, and whether I like it or not, or whether you like it or not, I have been given the assignment to help you so you can get out.” Her voice suddenly softened. “I can’t bring your father back, but I can help you now, if you’ll let me.”

  “I suppose I ought to be deeply touched by your concern,” he said sarcastically, “but why do I feel this nagging doubt about your honesty?”

  “I know you have no reason to believe me, but I promise that I’ll be totally honest with you. I’ll not lie to you, ever.” She stopped, waiting for a response, but he had put his hands under his head and closed his eyes, and he remained silent.

  “I’d like you to believe that, but whether you do or not is quite irrelevant. The important thing is that we begin a program so you can be released and be with your family again.”

  Still nothing. She glanced at the Major, who shrugged. “Do you have any further questions, Mr. Lloyd?”

  His eyes opened slowly but he didn’t turn toward the mirror. “Yes,” he said finally.

  “Okay, if I can answer it, I will.”

  “Are you pretty?”

  Nicole stared at him, too surprised to answer.

  “Well?”

  “I don’t see what my appearance has to do with anything,” she stammered.

  “So much for total honesty, Miss Lambert.” The insolent challenge in his voice was unmistakable. “Or is it Mrs. Lambert?”

  “No, it’s Miss, but I—”

  The Major flicked the switch on his own mike and leaned over to speak into it, but Nicole gave him a quick shake of her head. He leaned back, watching her curiously.

  “All right,” she said, watching the figure on the cot closely. “I don’t see why it matters, but—I’m five feet, three inches tall, of generally slender build. I have medium-length, brown hair, green eyes, and I’m twenty-four years old.”

  “Quite normal looking then?”

  Nicole smiled. “Quite. Why do you ask?” She again had the uneasy feeling that his gaze was piercing the mirror.

  “You sound quite nice.”

  “Why, thank you.” Nicole was baffled by the complete shift of mood.

  “It would be more logical,” he continued, half musing, “if the Creator had made people look and sound to match up with what they are really like inside. That way people would at least have some defense.”

  Nicole’s smile froze in place, then slowly died as his words scalded their way into her consciousness. Her hands clenched tightly; then she reached up and clicked off the switch, cutting off the temptation to scream back at this infuriating presence through the glass. With great effort she fought to keep her breathing even, not daring for a moment to look at the Major. When she finally did, he was staring at Eric.

  “Oh, don’t sign off yet,” the voice called through the speaker with bitter mockery. “I thought you were going to help me.”

  Nicole turned to the Major and forced a strained smile. “I don’t think he likes us very much.”

  “He’s a very angry young man,” the Major agreed. He reached out and patted her arm. “But you handled yourself superbly, Nicole. Just superbly.”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never had one so bitter, so utterly caustic before. What if we can’t turn him?”

  The Major reached up and stroked his mustache absently. When he dropped his hand, his expression brightened. “Then we’ll implant him and send him to Serenity to farm. No one is that indispensable. But we haven’t lost yet.”

  “Sir, I don’t know if we ought to continue any more today, considering his present mood.”

  “Most definitely not. But bring his mother in as you had scheduled tomorrow morning. And remind Mrs. Lloyd not to say anything about being implanted, or we’ll terminate her visit. Travis has already warned her to wear a blouse with a high neck to cover the bandage. If she doesn’t say anything, Eric will never notice anything.”

  Nicole nodded. “She’s set to come at eight o’clock. I’ll brief her before she goes in.”

  “Good. Limit the visit to ten minutes. Then we’ll play our next card at nine o’clock. Travis and I will meet you here a little before then. Okay?”

  “Of course.”

  He stood up and smoothed his suit. “All right, we’ll see you then.”

  Chapter 8

  “Oh, Mama!”

  Becky’s eyes were wide as she stopped suddenly at the sight of the playground. Lori, always a pragmatist, didn’t bother with exclamations of awe. With a shrill “Yippee!” she dropped her mother’s hand and shot across the grass, heading for the slippery slide that was spewing children out of its mouth even as she ran.

  Becky tugged on Madeline’s hand. “Come on, Mother! Oh, this is neat!”

  Madeline smiled, the first time in four days, and released her youngest daughter. “Go. Don’t wait for me.”

  She walked to the low cement wall that separated the lawn from the sand of the playground and watched her two daughters in amusement. They would barely get started up the slide or on the swing when they’d spot a new attraction and off they’d dart, too excited to stay in one place for more than a few seconds.

  They had come to the park after her visit to Eric, a visit that had left her greatly relieved and yet full of uneasiness and dismay. Why were they holding her son when everyone else was free? Why were they so adamant about not mentioning implantation?

  She shrugged o
ff the questions, still too confused by the events of the past week to sort it all out, and looked at her daughters.

  Once again Madeline felt that curious intertwining of poignant longing and overwhelming revulsion. She knew the source of her longing. Shalev was all that they had lost—electric stoves, supermarkets, automatic washers, parks and slippery slides, ice cream sodas, movies, symphony orchestras, a university, clothes with a variety of styles, colors, and materials. Maybe the AFC didn’t have everything, but compared to the village it was a dazzling array of plenty.

  Then, as her hand raised slowly to touch the bandage at the back of her neck, she knew with equal clarity the source of the revulsion. Even now, as it welled up in her, she felt a quick clutch of fear. The revulsion always brought anger, and anger brought the pain.

  “Watch, Mama! Watch me!” Lori was at the top of the slide.

  “I’m watching, honey,” she called, glad for the interruption in her thoughts. Lori squealed happily as she shot downward.

  “Very good!” Madeline called. Then slowly she turned and walked over to a bench.

  “Mr. Lloyd?”

  Mastering the impulse to glance up at the mirror, Eric lay motionless on the cot.

  “Mr. Lloyd!”

  He noted with satisfaction the edge of exasperation in the cool voice.

  “You have a visitor waiting outside.”

  In spite of himself, Eric opened his eyes. “Who is it?”

  “If you would step to the back of your cell, please.”

  For nearly thirty seconds Eric lay there defiantly, irritated by the impersonal voice coming from the speaker, but then his desire to see who his visitor was overpowered his pride, and he swung his legs off the cot and stood up and moved to the far corner. The door opened and a tall figure stepped through. For a long moment Eric stared, completely dumbfounded. Then he exploded with joy. “Cliff!”

  “Hello, Eric.” Cliff Cameron stepped forward and clapped his hands on Eric’s shoulders.

  “Cliff! But I thought—I saw you—” He stopped, words failing him.

  “I know.” His leathery face broke into a wide smile. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

  “Why didn’t Mom tell me? She was here just a little while ago.”

  “I’ve only seen her briefly. They’ve pretty much kept me away from the other villagers.”

  Eric shook his head, still stunned by the sight of this man. He was the same old Cliff, a little more tired looking but relaxed, poised, and confident. And yet he was different. Then Eric realized it was his clothes. The buckskin and homespun were gone, and he was dressed in tan slacks and an open-necked shirt. Eric stepped back to look at him, still unable to believe his eyes. “I was sure you were dead, or I would never have left you. I saw you go down.”

  “Well, I went down all right. These people have developed a weapon that uses ultrahigh-frequency sound waves. They call it a stun gun—an appropriate name. It focuses sound waves much as a laser beam does light waves, making it highly concentrated and powerful. It’s like getting hit with a giant, invisible fist. On full power it can kill a man, but fortunately they only had it on stun capacity. It knocked me out instantly. When I woke up, I was tied up in the back of a truck.”

  Eric bit his lip. “You know about Dad?”

  “Yes, and the others too. With nearly a hundred men, our few villagers didn’t stand a chance.”

  “But at least you are alive. I can’t believe it. I was so sure that you were dead.”

  Cliff motioned to the cot, then pulled up the stool so he could face Eric.

  “Have you seen the rest of the family?” Eric asked.

  “Yes. They seem fine.”

  “Are they? Did Mom tell you about some kind of operation they have forced her and the others to go through?”

  Cliffs mouth noticeably sagged. “She didn’t have to.” He bent his head over and gently pulled the hair back. The bright red, inch-long incision was still held together with black stitches. “I took my bandage off this morning.”

  “What is it? What happened? Mom could only whisper a word or two when she kissed me goodbye after her visit.”

  Eric watched anxiously as Cliff paled slightly, and a brief flicker of pain touched his face.

  “I’ve been implanted. I believe that is the correct terminology.”

  “Implanted? What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means I have a microminiaturized computer chip planted at the base of my skull. From it four microelectrodes protrude into the hypothalamus.”

  The woman next to her on the bench glanced quickly at the white bandage on the back of Madeline’s head. Then she looked away again quickly, obviously embarrassed. She was silent for a moment, then said, “Are you new?”

  Madeline nodded.

  “And those must be your children.”

  To keep their hair off the bandages, Madeline had pulled it up into ponytails, and the patches of white were clearly visible.

  “Yes, those are my girls.”

  “Do you have others?”

  “A daughter, twenty-one, and a son—” She took a quick breath. “A son, twenty-four.”

  “Four children! Even without the bandages, that would give you away.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. Most people here have one, sometimes two. I have six.”

  That won her a surprised look, for she looked young. She laughed at Madeline’s expression. “I’m an outsider too. We were part of a small group of about fifty in eastern Oregon. They brought us in four years ago.”

  “Against your will?”

  “Oh, we came willingly enough, wide-eyed to think we had found civilization. Then we woke up with bandages on our necks. But, of course, it was all for our own good.”

  Again Madeline nodded, warming to this woman who understood the bitterness and revulsion. “Which are yours?”

  “The two boys there on the merry-go-round. The one in the blue shirt is nine; the one in yellow is eleven. I have two younger girls and two teen-aged boys.”

  “What does your husband do?” The instant she asked, Madeline regretted the question.

  “He’s an accountant for a chain of clothing stores. How about yours? Have they told him what they’ll have him do yet?”

  Madeline bit her lip. “He was killed trying to defend our village.”

  The woman touched Madeline’s arm. “I’m terribly sorry.”

  “It’s all right. I’m gradually getting used to the reality of it now.” She looked away quickly. Why do you lie? Tell her you cry yourself to sleep every night, that never in your life, not even the first time you lost your husband, have you ever felt so terribly alone. But when she turned back she said only, “At least Shalev is a pretty place.”

  “Yes, and you adjust to—” The woman’s eyes flicked up to the bandage again. “You adjust quickly. Even the children.”

  “How quickly?”

  The woman looked away. “It was especially hard on my boys. They were never mean or malicious, it was just that they could never pass one another without one poking or shoving at the other. It was terrible for them at first.” Her voice caught, and she had to finish in a whisper. “I used to get so angry with them for it. Now I’d give anything to have those days back again.”

  Eric stared at Cliff, his face blank, uncomprehending. “Hypothalamus? Microelectrodes? What are you talking about?”

  Suddenly Cliff’s eyes widened. “You mean, you haven’t been implanted?”

  “Of course not.” Then Eric shot to his feet. “Wait a minute. I was drugged for several days.” His hands went up to the back of his neck.

  “Let me see.” Cliff stood up and probed carefully at the base of Eric’s skull. “No.” He peered more closely. “No,” he repeated in surprise, “you haven’t been.” He stepped back and gave Eric a long, searching look.

  Eric returned his gaze as he rubbed the back of his head thoughtfully. “So that’s what Mother meant?”

  “Yes,” Cliff said
. “Every one of us from the village have been implanted except for infants under a year old.” Again that searching look probed Eric. “Except you. Why not you?”

  Eric sat back down on the cot heavily, and Cliff joined him. “Don’t ask me. I’ve been sitting in this stupid cell slowly going mad trying to find out what’s going on. Until Mom came, I didn’t even know if anyone else from the village was here, or even alive.”

  “That’s another puzzling thing. Why are you being held here? The rest of us are free.”

  “I don’t know! Don’t ask me what’s going on. Tell me more about this thing. What does it mean to be implanted?”

  Cliff opened his hands, his eyes defeated. “It is, very simply, the perfect human-control device.”

  “Control device?”

  Cliff sighed wearily. “Let me back up and start at the first.” The frustration pulled down the corners of his mouth. “I don’t know the whole story yet. The man in charge is someone they call the Major. Evidently locating settlements like ours and hauling in people from all kinds of places is standard procedure, but newcomers aren’t the only ones implanted. Every person in Shalev and the Alliance gets one of these little numbers.”

  “You mean everyone—” He left the sentence unfinished as the enormity of the thought hit him.

  “Everyone, as near as I can find out. Over two hundred thousand in this so-called Alliance of Four Cities and every one of us penned up like sheep—only the fences are invisible, electronic ones.”

  He stopped suddenly, breathing deeply.

  “Are you okay?” Eric asked.

  Cliff nodded, but he continued to take deep gulps of air until his color started to return. “Okay,” he sighed, “it’s going now.”

  “What? What is it?”

  “You have just witnessed the little black box in full operation. I’ve got to learn to be more careful. Whenever I start thinking about what this whole thing means, I start seething inside. That’s all it takes.”

  Eric shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

  “It’s really very simple. I got angry and the little black box slapped me down for it.”

  “But how? How can it do that?”