LOGAN (The Innerworld Affairs Series, Book 5)

by Marilyn Campbell

A subtle stir among the people behind him was followed by the four convicts easing back a bit. For a moment it appeared that they were giving in to the major's rationale but their attention was focused on someone behind him.

  Tarla's breath caught in her throat as she watched Logan McKay position himself to Cookson's right. His additional inches of height and shoulder breadth might have been threatening enough to a bully like Wilkes, but the look of promised danger in McKay's dark eyes cinched the matter.

  "I think you're right about wastin' time, Major," Wilkes said. "We'll let you do the orderin'... for the time bein'." His last words were accompanied by a narrow-eyed glare at McKay.

  As Wilkes and his cohorts backed away, the major finished the sentence he'd begun earlier. "I suggest you all do what Corporal Gianni ordered. Check every inch of this building for the exit. That includes inside the animal stalls. If they got in, there has to be a way out. In the meantime, the flight crew should report to me for a debriefing."

  Logan turned to walk away but the major murmured, "Stay, please," so he stayed. Logan wondered how the man could look so damned dignified standing at attention in a pair of pajamas. Personally, he felt ridiculous.

  The pilot, co-pilot and navigator walked up to Cookson and saluted.

  "At ease," the major said, returning their salute without relaxing a muscle. "Name and rank, please."

  An African American man about Logan's age responded first. "Nathan Boswell, Second Lieutenant. I was the pilot."

  "Jeremy Fleischer, Second Lieutenant, co-pilot."

  Logan thought he didn't look old enough to be weaned from his mother let alone be trusted with an aircraft.

  The third, a young man with a glazed look in his eye, had to clear his throat twice before any sound would come out. Even when it did, it was barely audible.

  "Edward Smith, Airman First Class, flight navigator."

  "What do you remember?" Cookson asked Boswell.

  The pilot delivered a concise report that ended with the plane being sucked through a hole in the clouds toward the sun.

  "It was as though someone else was flying the plane. I had no control whatsoever at the end."

  Fleischer and Smith confirmed his statements.

  "Thank you," Cookson said with a nod at Boswell. "Let me know if anything else comes back to you."

  As soon as they walked away, the major turned to Logan, with the same no-nonsense expression he had used with the men. "I hope a verbal thank you for your timely intervention will suffice. I believe prostrating myself at your feet in gratitude might diminish the troop's confidence in me."

  Logan was caught off-guard by the man's admission and dry humor, and almost smiled before getting control over it. With a face as serious as Cookson's, he replied, "Let's just save that show for when morale gets really low... say, about an hour from now." Logan hesitated then asked the question on his mind. "Why the honesty with me, Major?"

  "Please call me Geoffrey and, since I might need your support again in the future, I thought it best to be truthful with you. Mind you, I'm not a coward. I'm simply a realist. That man, Wilkes, would have attacked me and, given his greater size, undoubtedly would have caused me considerable pain. I'm an engineer, not a fighter, but my stepping forward seemed to be the best way of maintaining order until we find out what's going on. You apparently carry a lot of weight with Wilkes and his pals, yet you chose to support me. In case my leadership is required for more than the next hour, I hope you will consent to continuing to back me up."

  Logan decided the man's honesty deserved the same in return. "I get the idea you don't know who I am, so let me introduce myself. The name's Logan McKay. I was a Chief Master Sergeant before they sentenced me to life at Leavenworth. Want to know why?"

  Geoffrey met Logan's challenging stare. "Not particularly. For the moment I know as much about you as I need to."

  Logan was about to tell him how wrong he was when Captain Yan walked up to the major and saluted. Logan's chest muscles immediately contracted but outwardly he controlled any reaction. He couldn't help but notice how she kept her eyes fixed on the major and hadn't even spared him a glance as she'd approached.

  "Major Cookson, I'm Captain Tarla Yan, formerly head nurse at the fifty third mobile hospital unit. It seems that I'm the second highest ranking officer here, so I wanted to put myself at your disposal. The nurses have spoken to each of the patients and I assume you want a status report."

  "Of course, Captain. I welcome your assistance."

  "It makes no sense," Tarla said less formally. "But every single patient has had a miraculous recovery. There's not even a scar to show that any of them were recently wounded or burned."

  Logan automatically touched the scar over his eyebrow. It was still there, which proved once again that he couldn't come out ahead, even in Wonderland.

  Geoffrey slowly rubbed his jaw. "I've heard a number of suppositions about what happened but they were all from men. Since I've always been a believer in feminine intuition, I'd like to hear your opinion, Captain."

  Tarla had to smother a smirk as she wondered what he'd think if he knew just how strong her intuition was... and why. She shifted her balance from one foot to the other. "Well, sir, it sounds a bit crazy but when I first came to, I thought we might all be dead. After seeing the patients, that idea doesn't seem so far-fetched."

  Logan had had the same thought but it wasn't until she said it aloud that he came up with a way to test it. He had been so relieved to be free of his restraints, how it had come about wasn't all that important to him.

  While Tarla and Cookson discussed the possibilities, Logan walked over to a post, picked off a thin splinter of wood, and peeled away a few slivers until one end came to a sharp point. Squeezing the middle finger of his left hand with his thumb and ring finger, he brought blood to the surface of the fingertip then jabbed it with the splinter before he chickened out. He had been knifed and shot without a whimper, but needles had always made him queasy.

  As blood oozed out of the tiny puncture, he swallowed hard and returned to the two officers. "Sorry to have to blow a hole in the death theory but I'm pretty sure people stop bleeding once they're dead." He held out his hand to show the fresh wound.

  Though Tarla looked at his finger, she had yet to look at his face. Logan knew he should let it go but he just couldn't. "If you still have doubts, Captain Yan, I'd be happy to give you a prick." Her gaze lifted abruptly and he was treated to a rosy flush across her perfect cheekbones. "Then again, maybe you'd rather do it yourself." He held out his makeshift needle.

  "No, thank you," she said, ice dripping from her words. "One brave soldier shedding blood for the cause is quite enough."

  Logan raised one eyebrow, as his stomach twisted beneath her sarcasm. "Maybe you would have preferred me to slash an artery or two."

  She raised her chin a notch. "Maybe I—"

  "Ahem." Geoffrey noisily cleared his throat. "Without jumping to any rash conclusions, can I assume you two are acquainted?"

  "Barely," responded Logan.

  "Hardly at all," answered Tarla.

  "I see," Geoffrey said with a nod. "Then I don't need to worry about any personal conflicts getting in the way here. Until we get to the bottom of this situation, you are second in command, Captain Yan, but Sergeant McKay will act as my adjutant."

  Logan was certain she wanted to protest but all she said was, "Yes, sir. If I may be excused now, sir?" As soon as Geoffrey nodded to her, she turned on her heel and strode away.

  Tarla restrained the urge to feel her cheeks. She didn't really need to touch them to know they were warm. Nor did she need to check her pulse to know that it was racing. Logan McKay was not the first man to make a suggestive remark to her, but for some reason, he was the only one whose comments she couldn't ignore or laugh off.

  Besides the fact that she had made the mistake of caring too much, there was another reason he managed to embarrass her. Where most men used sexual innuendo to make a safe pass, L
ogan used it like a sharp weapon, poking it at her to make sure she kept her distance. She had misinterpreted it to mean that he was actually needier than the average man she dealt with. Her caretaker skills automatically had her trying harder to get through to him in spite of the blows he repeatedly delivered.

  She had thought he wouldn't remember her but it was quite clear that he did. And even though she had made a point of not speaking to him, he still found it necessary to provoke her. Before she could give it more thought, Robin walked up to her.

  "Hey, what's with the face?" Robin asked quietly. "Did you find out we really are dead or is it something worse?"

  Tarla smiled despite her dismal mood. "Something worse than death?"

  Robin shrugged. "Sure. It could be that Private Higgs is right—that we were snatched from the plane by aliens and taken to their planet on a spaceship."

  Tarla rolled her eyes as though she truly believed that explanation was even more ridiculous than their being dead. "How does Higgs explain the fact that there are Earth-type horses and cows in here with us? Did the aliens abduct them also?"

  "Absolutely," Robin said with exaggerated seriousness. "The aliens wanted to create an environment similar to what we humans were accustomed to. Apparently Higgs's aliens are a little fuzzy on certain details. Anyway, he says this barn is actually like a cage in a zoo and alien tourists are watching us through the one-way windows at this very moment."

  "You're right," Tarla said with a grimace. "There are some things worse than death. Like being forced to spend time with men like Private Higgs or Wilkes. Can you just imagine what might happen if we were all stuck in here together for very long?"

  "Yeah. World War Four. Except this time we don't even have the limited privacy of a latrine."

  Tarla made another face at her friend. "I've been trying not to think about that. Or about food. Or water."

  "You're not the only one, believe me. But something the darling major said stuck in my head."

  Tarla smirked. "I think the darling major is just plain stuck in your head."

  "True," Robin admitted with a wink. "I thought he was luscious the first time I saw him but when I heard that English accent, I almost wet my pants."

  "How can you think about a man at a time like this?" Tarla knew her question was rhetorical. There was always room for thoughts of handsome men in Robin's mind.

  Robin cocked her head as if giving Tarla's question real consideration. "It's hard but some things are worth the extra effort." She grinned and wiggled her eyebrows, then straightened her expression again. "Anyway, what I was going to bring up before you sidetracked me was what the major said about the animals. They look healthy. Somebody must be in charge of giving them food and water and letting them out. So I'm willing to bet that whoever, or whatever, put us in here, will take care of us too. It's just a matter of being patient until they show themselves."

  Tarla nodded. "It sounds logical but I'm worried about how far some of these men's patience can be stretched." Her gaze sought out Wilkes to see what he was up to, but before she located him or any of his friends, all six of her nurses joined her and Robin. Their worried expressions mirrored her own.

  Darcy, a young woman with blonde-on-blonde frosted hair and a courageous air that made her seem larger than her petite body, spoke first. "No one has been able to find a way out."

  Kara, Darcy's closest friend, stood silently behind her, as usual, staring at the ground. She was as timid as her friend was brave. Kara was a good nurse though and that was what mattered to Tarla.

  Sunny, a brunette whose nickname perfectly suited her bright personality, rather than her drab appearance, offered her information next. "There doesn't even seem to be a loose board anywhere that could be pried away to make an opening. It might be possible with a tool, but no one's found anything usable."

  The "Three Mouseketeers", Trish, Mandy and Charlene, had nothing to add but Mandy gave voice to the words they were all thinking. "I'm scared, Captain. More scared than the time the sniper was taking potshots at us."

  "At least then we knew where we were and who the enemy was," Trish said.

  Just then the group was expanded as two more women walked up and saluted Tarla. She automatically returned the salute and waited for them to identify themselves. They obviously knew who she was, or at least they knew of her superior rank.

  "Airman First Class, Alicia Samples, helicopter pilot," said the taller of the two. With her statuesque form and long blonde hair, she looked more like a model than a pilot.

  "I thought you ought to know, someone just found a supply of tents, cots, and bedding in the tack room. Looks like someone's expecting us to make ourselves at home."

  The other woman had distinctly oriental features. "I'm Lee Tang," she said. "Ninth Infantry. We hope you don't mind our joining you, but in case you haven't noticed, there are ten of us and over a hundred of them."

  Tarla looked at her curiously for a moment before realizing that she was referring to the male-female ratio. It was a fact of life in the field, something each woman dealt with in her own way. She had told Robin she was concerned about physical needs such as food, water and latrines. She hadn't given a thought to the kind of physical needs that might drive a man like Wilkes.

  Suddenly she was filled with that new concern but she knew better than to let the other women see it. After all, she was a captain, the second in command. They were expecting her to take care of them and, as always, she would do everything in her power to do that. She introduced herself, Robin and her nurses, suggesting they all use first names under the circumstances.

  "There's no reason to worry about something that's not an immediate problem," Tarla stated firmly. "I agree that we should be aware of the situation, especially considering the fact that twenty-nine of them are convicted felons. However, I'm sure the rest of the men can be counted on to behave in a civilized fashion. Besides, we'll probably find out what's going on here any minute and—"

  A creaking noise coming from one end of the barn caught everyone's attention. Very slowly, a large section of the wall opened at the bottom and rose upward like a giant door.

  With each inch the door opened, sunlight filled more of the barn. Tarla was torn between racing for the opening and being afraid to find out what was beyond the barn. For several seconds, it looked as though the fear of the unknown was keeping everyone else from moving as well.

  "Captain Yan, I believe our place should be on the front line."

  Tarla turned to see Major Cookson and Logan waiting on her. To the women she said, "Stay back until we see what we're facing." She then posted herself on the major's left as they strode toward the opening. With each step, others fell in behind them until Tarla felt a bit like the Pied Piper. Cookson halted them at the edge of the barn and waited for the rising door to complete its journey.

  Tarla's heart pounded in her chest as she prepared for the worst and hoped for the best. When the outside world finally came into view, it was not clearly one or the other. The warm air temperature suggested it was summer. The brightness seemed to make it midday. Although her first thought had been that they might have been rescued by a transport to Innerworld, her thought as the barn door began to open was that they were on a farm somewhere in Middle America. Now she knew neither was the correct answer.

  Outside of the barn, the ground cover and tree leaves were deep shades of blue, the cloudless sky was celery green and there was a second, smaller orb of light to the left of the sun.

  And the large gathering of oriental men waiting for them to exit was evidence that they were not the only humans in this place... wherever in the universe this place was.

  Chapter 4

  Tarla, Logan and Geoffrey walked cautiously out into the yard. Scanning the group of men a second time, she noted some were not oriental, but they all bore the same expression of wonder. Within seconds, the rest of the soldiers and nurses filed into the yard. Their verbal reactions ranged from the spiritual to the obscene. As
the two groups stared at one another, it was impossible to tell which looked more surprised.

  "Hello," Geoffrey said to break the stalemate.

  The group of men smiled slightly, bobbed their heads and replied with greetings in a variety of languages.

  "Does anyone speak English?" Geoffrey asked.

  A very old, bald-headed man limped forward, leaning heavily on a wooden cane. He offered a toothless grin. "I do. And a few others. Don't use it much though. Mostly learned to get our ideas across without words." His speech was slow and subdued, and his gaze wandered as if he were distracted.

  "Please, sir," Tarla said, "could you tell us where we are?"

  His eyes focused on hers, then widened with gradual awareness. "A woman?" He squinted at the crowd behind her. "Never had women before. Never had so many newcomers arrive at once either. Not quite sure what to do about that." He frowned a little as he seemed to struggle with his thoughts for a moment, then his toothless smile was back in place. "But they will. They always take care of any little problems. Must get back to work now." He turned and motioned for his people to get moving.

  "Wait!" Tarla cried and the old man stopped and looked back. It occurred to her that he could be senile but what about the rest of them? Standing there with passive smiles and vacant gazes, they reminded her of well-fed sheep—contented, slow-moving and almost mindless.

  "Oh, yes," the old man said as he hobbled around again. "You asked me a question, didn't you?"

  Tarla could tell he had no recollection of what she'd asked. "Where are we? How did we get here?"

  "Wish I could tell you, my dear, but can't. Got here about ninety years ago myself, far as I can figure. People here then didn't know where they were either."

  "What's the deal, Major?" A soldier shouted, then several others added their own questions.

  "What kind of place has green sky?"

  "How'd we get here?"

  "How do we get back home?"

  Logan turned around and, with no more than the slash of his narrow-eyed glare across the nervous crowd, silenced the voices.