“Don’t they have scrubbers? Anything we put in will get cleaned out.”
Gren gave a grim smile. “Not if we turn the scrubbers off.”
¤ ¤ ¤
Alan gripped his gun tighter, wondering why he felt excited and scared at the same time. He didn’t want to go back to the Place again. They didn’t have to stay in a box this time, though, and that was good. Also there were more people, so it was almost like Raven except nobody was smiling. Everyone used small, hard words to each other. It wasn’t like they were angry, but like they were planning to be.
Moire was busy talking for hours with Gren and Yolanda and the others. They didn’t want to go to the Place either, but they were going anyway. To get the rest of the Created. He wondered if the ones they’d left behind on Sequoyah knew they were free now, or if they were still frightened. He’d told them it was OK, but they weren’t listening.
Now they were docking the ship to the Place. Moire had told him they would tell lots of lies, so the Controllers would think it was the people who belonged with the ship when they stole it. They wouldn’t let him help with that part, but Gren gave him his gun. It was the same one he’d taken from the pirates.
Were Controllers pirates? He wanted to ask Moire, but she was wearing the goggles that let her see through the eyes of the metal crawler things.
“Oh good. It’s still there. Looks like it got wedged in a corner,” she said. “Are you guys at the loading area yet? Is it clear?”
She was talking to the ones in the crate, who were pretending to be cargo to unload. They were going to make sure nobody was there.
Her commlink buzzed and whispered with voices he couldn’t hear, but she looked up at the others and nodded, and they all moved quickly out the cargo door. Everyone had guns like him.
“Put on your mask!” Moire whispered to him, and he pulled it up awkwardly with one hand. They were going to put something in the air to make people sleep.
He ran as close as he could to Moire, watching for Controllers. Now they were in the loading area, and Moire was holding something with buttons. It looked like a big commlink.
“Flatbombs are going off on the door,” she said, and her voice sounded squashed through her mask. “They give off a lot of heat, so watch out. Neriyov, take out that broadcast unit. We don’t want them trying to activate the cuffs.”
He almost looked at his arm, but remembered. His cuff had been taken off. They couldn’t hurt him with that anymore.
There was smoke and a few small flames at the big heavy doors, and soon they were sagging open. They used hooks to pull the doors away, and then they were in the corridors he remembered from the very first, when all he knew was his nenner and the other Created in his group.
It was very confusing for a while. They found Created and woke them up and told them to follow the loading track to the ship. The Created did it without any questions. He wanted to tell them it was a good thing, and they could talk about it and even touch if they wanted to, but there was no time. They had to rescue everybody as fast as they could.
Someone came in to tell Moire the first ship was full, and they were bringing in the big ship they’d found in the sargasso. They would have to wait before sending more of the Created out.
“Yeah, the bad guys are all zapped upstairs,” the one called Neriyov said. “Sleeping like babies. They won’t notice a thing.”
“Get some float–pallets and start collecting them,” Moire told him. “We’re not leaving them here.”
He didn’t like that. Why would Moire want to take the Controllers too? He went up to ask her. Yolanda was already there.
“You gonna take all the cargo, right? We can get that started up and ready for when it docks.”
Moire nodded. “Sounds good. Alan, you want to help?”
Cargo loading was interesting, especially with the big cranes, and he almost said yes. He didn’t see any pirates to shoot, but this was still a bad place. If he stayed with Moire it wouldn’t be so bad.
The broken doors were still smoking. When he looked at them, there were parts that looked like water or tears, but they were metal, flowing down the door. They’d stopped moving. He reached out his hand to touch, but the heat felt like a wall when his fingers got too close. Other parts were burning, and the smoke made his eyes sting.
He heard shouting and turned his head to find it. It was coming from the Created section.
“What the hell are you creatures doing? Get back in your pens!”
It was a Controller! Alan waved his arm until Moire looked his way. Now she could hear it too. She took her gun out, and some of the others came with her to the door.
They snuck back inside. Now he heard yelling, and other noises that made him feel afraid. He was close to the sounds, and he looked carefully around the corner the way he’d learned in the special training.
There were two Controllers, wearing the blue clothes of the medicals. They were very angry. A third one was standing in the doorway of the stairs to the upper level.
“Get back, get back!” The Controller in front had a rod, the kind that would make your cuff hurt if they pointed at you. Alan saw the fear in the Created’s faces, then surprise. He could almost hear the words in their heads when they figured out the rod didn’t work anymore.
The Controller lashed out with the rod at the Created nearest to him. She put up her hands to stop it. He struck again, cursing. This time she hit back, on purpose. It wasn’t a very good hit, but it was enough. Created didn’t hit Controllers, ever. Now the Controller was the one who looked afraid.
“I thought you said everybody was gassed!” he heard Moire whisper. She sounded angry. Gren mumbled something he couldn’t hear.
Alan shifted to move forward, but Moire had put a hand on his shoulder.
“Wait. Where’s the third one?”
The Controller in the doorway wasn’t there anymore. He must have gone up the stairs. Now the Created were looking at the Controller with the rod, and they moved all at once, as if someone had told them to. He was hitting them with the rod, but it didn’t stop them. They were pulling at him, clawing at his face, and he was screaming. The other Controller tried to run away, but the Created grabbed her and she fell.
There were horrible screams now, screams that went on and on and made his stomach hurt.
He moved away from the wall. Moire was running toward the cluster of struggling bodies. He saw shadows on the wall of the stair entrance and yelled a warning just as two more Controllers came out, firing.
More screams now, from the Created too. Alan pulled Moire back, away from the guns, and then started firing back. He killed one of them, but the other ran back up the stairs.
“Let’s go!” Moire yelled, and ran after them.
Alan followed her. There was blood on the floor, and bodies lying still. One of them was a Controller, he could tell by the clothing, but the face was missing, it was all red and messy. Some of the Created were broken. Not broken. Dead.
¤ ¤ ¤
Voss stuck his head into the common area, looked around with narrowed eyes, then left abruptly without saying a word. Ennis caught Sergeant Vyasandran’s eye, and he shrugged. Garner had been late coming on duty before, but never this late. This was getting to the point Fleet would have to take action even if they didn’t want to.
The sergeant left, leaving Ennis alone with his troubled thoughts for a while. Then Yoshi came in, followed by Oberst. They both looked very worried.
“Sir, about the colonel….” Oberst began.
“That is none of your business, is that clear?”
Yoshi waved his hands in agitation. “She’s not in her quarters, sir! Michelson just checked.”
OK, this was not good. “Does Voss know?”
“Not yet,” Oberst said eagerly. “I think I know where she is. Will you help us, sir?”
“What do you need me for? Why haven’t you gone to your superior?”
Yoshi’s face fell. “It’s off base, sir. And�
�well, it’s not….”
“Not the kind of place you want your superior officer to know you know about. I see.”
“Yes sir.” Yoshi sighed with relief.
If they acted quickly, they might be able to get Garner back on base without Voss knowing. Nobody wanted Voss in charge, which was the most likely outcome if Garner was cashiered. Ennis struggled with his conscience for a moment, then gave up.
“All right, let’s move. One of you stay behind and deal with any questions.”
“I’ll do it, sir,” Yoshi said immediately. “I’ll tell Voss you are trying to store some of the crab pieces. Besides, I’m in enough trouble off base already,” he said with a sheepish grin.
Ennis and Oberst left as soon as the main gate was clear. The guard was studiously looking the other direction, so Yoshi must have already passed the word. They passed the commercial levels and continued up to the residential section. Oberst was walking quickly. Ennis had never been this far in the station; his only other excursions had been in groups, to the few food shops.
“Are you sure this is the right place?” he asked, going past yet another corridor of living quarters. The place was empty.
Oberst was walking even faster, almost running. “Off–record business. They try to keep it quiet so nobody reports them. I hope she’s still there…left at the corner!”
He turned, and skidded to a halt when he realized the corridor was a dead end. Only a utility closet. The next thing he felt was a sudden burning sensation in his arm. Glancing up at Oberst, he glimpsed an injector in her hand.
Ennis grabbed for the scan–resistant gun, but it was too late. The blackness was sudden and overwhelming.
CHAPTER 5
THE BEGINNING OF WISDOM
I should have been more careful, Ennis thought as light filtered through his lashes. At least he was still alive. If he wanted to stay that way he should get moving. He tried to sit up and discovered he couldn’t move at all. He was still slouched against the corridor wall in an uncomfortable position. His jaw was clenched shut, locked. He could breathe, but all he could consciously move were his eyes.
He wasn’t alone in the corridor. The door to the utility closet was open, and Oberst was taking out a small plastic packet that had cheap, colorful lettering on it. She had exchanged her uniform for some grimy work gear, and her hair was now short and black. He squinted down as much as he could. He was in civilian clothes too now.
Oberst turned away from the utility closet and came toward him, carrying a duffel bag along with the plastic packet. With a sinking feeling, he saw the small translucent gun tucked in her waistband. Now he was really in trouble. He spared a brief second to wonder how Toren had managed to infiltrate an agent into the ranks. He hadn’t even suspected.
She looked him over, a hard, scornful expression on her face as she opened the packet. She was now someone very different from the wide–eyed, green recruit he’d felt sorry for. Reaching out, she yanked his head down with a painful jerk and started spreading a thick paste over his hair. It smelled like a mixture of plastic solvent and rancid protein brick. After a few moments she took out a small metal comb and pulled it through the mess. Now there were thin filaments falling over his eyes. The fumes made his eyes sting.
Stranding compound. I never did like that fashion. It was a quick and effective disguise, though. She must be planning to keep him alive a little longer—but if he couldn’t get away, it didn’t matter how much time he had. He tried desperately to force his legs to move. He could feel his muscles tensing, but nothing happened. His joints were locked.
Oberst put the stranding compound away and took something out of her bag. Grabbing his arm, she closed a narrow green plastic cuff over his wrist. It looked like a medical monitor.
She grabbed his now–long hair and pulled until he looked at her.
“Listen up,” she said in cold and even tones. “This is a control bracelet. It works like this.” She held up a small rod and made an adjustment with one finger.
If Ennis could have screamed, he would have. Waves of pain washed through him, again and again. All he could manage was a small moan through his clenched teeth. Eventually the agony stopped and he could hear her voice again over his harsh breathing.
“You will do exactly as I say, when I say it, or I’ll activate the bracelet. Don’t try to draw attention, either. If anyone asks questions, I have documentation to prove you are a victim of partial paralysis and seizures caused by grin dust addiction.” She took out her injector and inserted a new cartridge. She applied it to his hips, knees, and ankles. At first all he felt was a gentle, spreading warmth, but it grew to an excruciating burn.
She yanked him upright. His feet were clumsy and he still couldn’t stand straight or talk, but he could move. It was a relief, even though he knew his situation really hadn’t improved. Oberst pulled him impatiently out of the corridor, bag of gear over her shoulder, and headed down through the station. One hand had a strong grip on his arm; the other was tucked in a pocket with the scan–resistant gun.
He had to get away, but how? She had the gun and the control rod, and he could barely walk. He couldn’t expect any outside help; nobody else was off base and the station people wouldn’t recognize him now.
They were heading for the dock area. She’s taking me on a ship. Why? Lambert Base was in a small station, and the sudden disappearance of two Fleet personnel was going to create a commotion. Maybe that was it. She had to get him away to have enough time to interrogate him. And then dispose of him safely.
He started dragging his feet and stumbling, even when she used small jolts of the control rod to hurry him up. If she thought he was weaker than he really was, maybe he could escape before it was too late.
¤ ¤ ¤
Moire ran up the stairs two at a time, flinching when she heard a sudden whumping noise that shuddered through her feet. How had those Controllers avoided the gas? The one that escaped must have sounded an alarm. Or were they trying to blow up the facility?
Someone was tugging at her belt—Alan.
“I want to go first,” he said urgently, trying to get past her. “I can help!” She kept running. Another whumping sound, louder. Did everyone have shipsuits on? She couldn’t remember.
The door at the top was blocked, and they wasted precious seconds breaking it open. The whumping sounds were closer together now. Alan shoved past her the instant the door was clear.
“No! Alan!” Moire screamed. He fired as he ran for cover, and one of the blue–uniformed Controllers crumpled and fell.
He learned that from you, you bastards. Serves you right.
Had he been hit? She pulled back as a bullet whined by her head. She couldn’t see him anymore, and panic threatened to overwhelm her. The room was huge; an upper and lower level with banks of equipment and catwalks. There was a wide open space between her and the nearest cover. Alan had made it across, but Moire doubted she or any of the others could do the same. They’d have to use more of the gas. Alan had his mask, he should be OK. God, she hoped he was all right. Why had he run off like that?
She could see some of the Controllers, apparently unarmed, running from bank to bank of equipment. They were paying no attention at all to the fighting below. One was close enough for her to see him grab a red–handled lever at one end of the large, opaque cylinder each bank had. The cylinder started to empty, revealing a small human figure in the tank, about the size of a ten–year–old child. The figure flailed and gave a wordless cry as it was dumped into a large opening, making the whumping noise they had been hearing all this time.
For an instant Moire froze with horror. Dear God. They are getting rid of the evidence. No time to wait for gas now. She fumbled at her equipment belt for a flash grenade, armed it, and hurled it into the room.
It went off with a harsh crack and poured acrid smoke, intended to stun and confuse. “Don’t let them at the equipment!” she yelled as she ran into the
room. “They’re killing the Created in there!”
The others followed her. She heard another flash grenade go off as she rounded the corner of a row of equipment. Where was Alan? There was someone tall standing in the shadows, but it was a Controller—and she was reaching for the red lever of another cylinder. “Back off!” Moire shouted, aiming her pistol. The Controller put her hand on the lever and Moire fired, killing her.
The sound of a flash grenade was followed by a larger explosion, and the lights went out. Emergency lighting flickered on, making pools of murky light in the smoke. Moire ran past rows and rows of cylinders. Red pinlights were flashing on some of them now, and a slow chorus of alarms drowned out the sound of gunfire.
Where was Alan? Had they gotten all of the Controllers? She hadn’t seen any for a while now, just her crew. She had lost track of where she was. Maybe she should go down to the lower level. At the top of the stairs the body of a Controller was lying slumped against the railing, a single gunshot wound in his chest. Typical Alan center–of–the–target shooting. She flipped the body over with one foot. The exit wound was higher, meaning he’d been shot from below.
She ran down the stairs. Sweat was pooling inside her face mask but she didn’t dare take it off with all the smoke. More bodies on the lower level, and dim shapes running in the gloom. One just ahead of her seemed to be attacking one of the cylinders with a long pipe.
“Stop, or I’ll shoot!” He was too close to the cylinder, though—and he wasn’t wearing a Controller uniform. He turned his head, and she saw just enough of his face to recognize Gren Forrest. His face and mask were streaked with soot, and his eyes were wild.
“What the hell are you doing?” Moire yelled.
He kept swinging the heavy piece of metal with massive blows. The container began to shatter. “Gestators have lost power! Got to get them out or they’ll die!” he gasped.
Fluid gushed out, leaving a writhing Created in the bottom of the broken container. He looked full–grown, but a snakelike umbilical cord was still connected to a disc of placenta at one end of the cylinder. After a short burst of coughing the Created started to cry.
Raven's Children Page 8
