by James Axler
Ryan reached out and closed the screen, making Daryn straighten hurriedly. “Well, they all seem to be all right. If you can arrange a way for me to talk with Jak and Doc, I’d appreciate it.”
“I can’t promise anything, but I’ll see what I can do. Thank you for your time.” With that, Daryn left the room, the other sec man following close behind.
“What do you make of that?” Ryan asked J.B. as soon as the airlock doors closed.
“They certainly seemed mighty interested in our women,” the Armorer observed.
“Yeah, and we haven’t seen a single one here yet. Everyone who’s come in here has been male. Wonder what that’s all about, if anything.” Ryan’s gaze returned to the red dot of the camera in the ceiling. “We’ve certainly seen our share of polite motherfuckers hiding blasters and blades behind those nice smiles. Be interesting to see what this administrator has to say when he arrives.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
The rest of the day passed in slowness that was at first boring, then irritating, then painful and finally agonizing. Unable to move, Ryan found the enforced immobility to be one of the worst things he’d ever experienced—worse than torture, because that was something that could be actively resisted, even if only in the mind. Worse than combat, because you were so busy staying alive you didn’t have time to consider the possibility of dying.
Being trapped in this cage of metal bars, however, with every minute ticking by with the slowness of cold molasses flowing, was just about worse than anything he could imagine. He’d tried to sleep, but the cage made it impossible to change his position, much less get comfortable. After figuring out their plan, neither Ryan nor J.B. were given to desultory conversation, so he’d been stuck staring at the thick airlock door straight ahead of him. And above it, the clock, which silently counted out the minutes in cool blue digital numbers that changed every second.
At first, Ryan had tried to look away, letting his eyes roam around the room, and eventually turning his head away. But the discomfort it caused had rapidly turned to pain, which forced him to turn his head back to looking forward again. He had then looked at his body lying on the bed, raising his knees to block his view of the everchanging numbers that weren’t changing fast enough. A sideways glance confirmed that J.B. had slipped back into sleep.
Thinking about Krysty, Doc, Jak or Mildred didn’t help, either. Ryan hadn’t discounted the thought that what Waltrop had shown him may have been previously recorded, and that even now the rest of his friends might be undergoing experiments, torture or already be dead. He’d immediately banished such thoughts from his mind, leaving him back at square one—stuck in bed, staring at the clock on the wall, watching the seconds slowly count in circles up and then resetting, the minutes ticking by like drops of water wearing at a rock throughout infinity.
When another meal had come after a few hours, Ryan was grateful enough for the distraction. The food was similar to before—mushy, processed fish fillets in a soggy crust, accompanied by peas that had the strange aftertaste of mint, limp sticks of what were supposed to be fried potatoes, and the same slices of bread with white, flavorless butter. Ryan was still hungry enough to eat it all without comment. Questioning the server—yet another man—yielded either a polite brush-off or a blank stare.
Dr. Agathem came in thirty minutes after the meal tray had been cleared away, accompanied by Daryn Waltrop. The doctor checked both Ryan and J.B. before speaking. “There is one series of tests still to be run, however, it would appear you’ll be taken off the quarantine list tomorrow morning. That is also when Administrator Carr will see you, as well.” Again, he turned and left, leaving the sec commander in the room alone this time.
Once the door had cycled shut, Waltrop took his hand out from behind his back, revealing a small, two-way radio. “I was able to work out a way for you to talk to your friend before he does something he’s going to end up regretting.”
Ryan was fairly confident that it would more likely be the sec men who would regret trying anything on Jak, but if they gassed him first, the albino youth would be easy pickings. He nodded and lifted his own hand. “Grateful for this.”
A peculiar expression crossed the sec man’s face, although it was hard to tell through the faceplate. Waltrop handed over the device. “The other handset is in their room, so you should be able to contact him right now.”
Ryan lifted it to his mouth, his lips tightening at the pain shooting through his shoulders, and pressed the transmission button, noticing as he did that Waltrop stood so that his body obscured the camera’s view of the bed. “Jak? Can you hear me?”
“Ryan?” The teen’s voice sounded tinny and far away. “Not like place. Want out.”
“I know, but you’ve got to listen to me. They’re going to let us all out real soon, so you have to wait a little longer, okay?”
“Can wait a bit more.” There was a strange note in Jak’s voice, and it took Ryan a moment to place it. He was trying to mask it, but the kid was scared.
“They said we’d probably see you tomorrow morning, so just wait it out, and you’ll be out of there before you know it, all right?”
“Yeah. Can’t wait get out whole bastard place.”
“Soon enough, Jak, it won’t be long now. Give this thing to Doc, will you?”
He heard rustling as the walkie-talkie was passed, then snippets of conversation. “Hold that—button—no, that one, talk.”
“Ryan, is that you on the other end of this infernal squawking thing? You sound like your head’s in an iron box underwater or something.”
Ryan resisted shaking his head. Even after all the time he’d spent with Doc, he still didn’t know where the man was coming from day to day. “Good to hear you, Doc, how you doing?”
“My nerves are somewhat tremulous at the moment. Our snow-haired companion is ready to either climb the walls or try to break through them, and I fear that I will not be able to contain him for much longer. Do you have any news as to when we will be released from our present captivity?”
“They said we should be out of quarantine by tomorrow morning. Just do your best to keep Jak from doing anything foolish, and we’ll see you before you know it.”
“That is my fervent hope indeed, Ryan. To be honest, I do wish we were back sipping drinks at that hotel in the cit—”
Ryan cut him off with his own transmit button. “Yeah, Doc, we’ll see you real soon. Meantime, keep an eye on Jak, okay?” He turned off the device and held it out to Waltrop with an embarrassed smile. “He’s a bit touched in the head. Gets like that sometimes, rambling on about people and places we saw a long time ago. Thanks for letting us talk to them.”
The sec man accepted the walkie-talkie and carefully concealed it in his palm. The expression on his face was similar to the one Major Kelor had when Doc had slipped up during the ride to the hotel, and Ryan didn’t like it one bit. “No problem. With luck you’ll see them all tomorrow. Why don’t you get some rest, and we’ll get a bright and early start tomorrow morning?”
“Yeah, I think we’ll do that.” Ryan tried a smile, hoping it didn’t seem too forced.
Waltrop headed for the door, Ryan’s gaze following him the entire way until the closing door cut him off from view. “Fireblast! Think we can get a muzzle for Doc one of these days?”
“Ten to one says we aren’t going to see him or Jak tomorrow,” J.B. said.
“I’m not taking those odds, ’specially since you’re probably right.” The only thing Ryan hated more than captivity was being unable to do a thing about it—like right now. He flexed his shoulders slightly. Was he imagining it, or did the muscles hurt less as he moved? “Let’s get some rest, be ready for what comes tomorrow.”
RYAN’S EYE BLINKED OPEN. The room was still pitch-dark, the blue numbers of the clock seeming to float in the air above the door. He had been checked on every few hours by a silent, efficient orderly who adjusted the metal frame. This latest visitor had come more quickly than
he should have, the first inkling that something wasn’t right.
“J.B.—” was all he got out before a gloved hand clamped down on his mouth, just below his nose, allowing him to breath, but not to do anything else. Another hand clamped down on his left wrist, squeezing with bone-creaking power. He heard slow breathing by his head, and thought he also sensed a high-pitched whine, almost at the edge of his hearing, as if the person in the room was using night-vision goggles.
A harsh whisper, distorted even more by the biohazard mask, assaulted his ear. “Your friend is out of it for the time being. Listen up, Cawdor. You and your friends are in danger. The scientists are planning to kill you and keep your women for breeding stock. However, there are allies here inside the Bunker who will reveal themselves when the time is right. They won’t right now, in case you don’t believe them, but they wanted to warn you. Don’t believe anything the scientists say. They’ll do anything to win you over to their side before they betray you.”
The twin pressures on his hand and mouth disappeared, and a few seconds later, the door cycled open, although no lights came on either in the airlock or the hallway outside. Ryan counted to thirty under his breath before breaking the silence with a hiss. “J.B.? J.B.!” No response came from the other bed.
“Nuking hell! I’m not staying in this contraption another second.” Bringing his hand up to grab the metal bar nearest it, he tried to pull it up and off his shoulder, regardless of the stab of pain that knifed through his arm. He heard a shrill beeping sound from somewhere in the room, followed by a hissing noise that came from somewhere above his head. Ryan looked up, seeing only darkness, but he felt air moving across his face, followed by the scent of lilacs or maybe peaches, he couldn’t tell.
The blackness grew more intense as Ryan tried to free himself from the framework, but everything suddenly blurred around him, the glowing blue numbers on the wall clock stretching into meaningless blue smears as they changed from one to another. Ryan pulled at the metal again, but his fingers plucked uselessly at the bar, unable to grasp it, much less pull it away.
Gas! The realization didn’t bring with it a sudden burst of strength to free himself, nor did it prevent Ryan from slowly falling into the long tunnel of darkness that rose all around him, as the room and everything in it faded away.
RYAN RETURNED TO CONSCIOUSNESS again more slowly this time, his head foggy, his mouth tasting of bitter metal and a dull headache pounding in his forehead right above his empty eye socket.
“He’s coming around.”
The nearby voice focused his attention, and Ryan blinked his eye several times in an effort to recover his equilibrium. “Who’s there?”
“Stay still, Patient Cawdor, there’s some work to be done before you can move.” The vague blurs around him sharpened into three humans: Dr. Agathem, Daryn Waltrop and another man. None of them were wearing biohazard suits. Ryan saw thick glasses and wide, pale blue eyes and strands of gray, balding hair combed in a thick wave over his pink scalp.
“All right. The graftors have done their work, and we can now remove the stabilization frame.” Agathem leaned over and fiddled with the framework, and Ryan suddenly got a distinct feeling of pressure removed, that he was no longer connected to anything on the bed. Even better, the framework retracted from around him, rising to disappear into the wall or ceiling somewhere. Ryan didn’t notice, as he was busy testing his arms and shoulders, feeling the occasional twinge of pain, but overall, he had regained nearly full function of his upper limbs. A glance down at his shoulders revealed hardly any evidence of injury at all; just a strange row of white dots along both shoulders, where the framework had held him still.
“And how do you feel?”
Ryan planted his hands on the bed and pushed himself into a sitting position, exulting in the simple act of moving as he desired. “Not bad.”
“The readouts are fine, Doctor.” This came from the third man—Administrator Carr, Ryan assumed. “What does he know about last night?”
“Administrator, Doctor, perhaps I should handle this.” Waltrop stepped forward, fixing Ryan with a neutral stare. “Patient Cawdor, there was an unauthorized person in your room last night, someone who wasn’t a doctor or an attendant. We’d like to know if you remember anything out of the ordinary regarding this incident?”
Ryan stared levelly back at him, wondering if Waltrop was the one who had snuck in last night. He waited a moment or two for some kind of signal, not knowing what to expect—was the sec man suddenly going to wink at him or something? Give him the secret underground revolution high sign? When nothing happened, except for the man’s steady blinking, Ryan spoke. “I didn’t notice anything last night—I think I might have had a nightmare. I remember trying to move the frame thing, and smelling flowers or fruit, and the next thing I know you’re all here. What happened exactly?”
“Apparently, someone entered your room, gassed Patient Dix, then began doing something to your framework, as well. They left shortly thereafter, and then you began trying to interfere with the frame, at which point the automatic monitors prescribed a mild sedative for you. You don’t remember anything else?”
“No.”
The three men exchanged glances, then stared back at Ryan, who looked at all of them with the same blank expression on his face. “When do we get to see the rest of our friends?”
The glasses-wearing man regarded Ryan with no fear, just a calculating, unnerving intelligence. “As you have proved to no longer be a threat to the integrity of this habitat, we can take you both to your friends right now.”
“Mind if we get dressed first?” J.B. said from his bed, stifling a yawn as he glanced over at Ryan.
“We’ve taken the liberty of preparing clothes for both of you.” Carr nodded, and Waltrop held out a neatly folded bundle to each man. “They should fit you both well.”
The clothes were simple—undershirts, underwear, slippers and plain, dark yellow jumpsuits that covered them from neck to ankles. Ryan slipped his on carefully, mindful of stretching the muscles and bones in his shoulders. J.B. didn’t look the same without his fedora, but there was nothing to be done about it now.
Zipping up the one-piece uniform, Ryan turned to face the men. “Let’s go.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
“A moment, if you please, Mr. Cawdor.” Carr’s voice stopped him in his tracks.
Fingers flexing, Ryan’s teeth ground together behind his lips, but he kept his expression cool as he faced the facility’s leader. Of them, only Waltrop was armed, and Ryan figured J.B. or he could probably take him out and subdue the rest before an alarm could be tripped. However, even if they took the others as hostages, what was the point? They had no idea where Krysty and the others were being held, and the guards outside would simply gas them all before they could kill anybody. They’d wake up right back where they started, only this time, treated as true captives. Ryan had already had enough of the framework that had held him. He had no desire to find out what their real prisoner cells might be like.
“Yes?”
“You seem like an intelligent man, so I’m sure you’ll hear me out,” Carr said, his tone indicating that he’d known exactly what Ryan had been thinking about. “I have a question or two for you and your friend—” he nodded at J.B., who leaned against the wall, arms folded against his chest as he yawned again “—before we let you see your other companions.”
Ryan assumed an air of nonchalance as he sat on the bed. “It doesn’t look like we’re going anywhere fast, so fire away.”
“What is your association with the group of men and women currently living in the city of Denver?”
The frank query took him by surprise, but Ryan tried to bull through anyway. “Didn’t you read the report from your sec man? We’re traders, from the south—”
Carr held up his hand, brushing away Ryan’s words. “Please, do not try to mislead me with whatever story you’ve created during your recovery here. Our reconnaissance drones spo
tted your convoy leaving the city from its northeastern quadrant, and tracked the heat signature of your vehicles’ exhaust back to their headquarters, so we know you are involved with them in some way. We also know that they are under siege from an opposing force that is quite large, although given their enemies’ recent lack of success, there is no telling just how long that force will stay together before internal friction begins to tear it apart. The bottom line is that you aren’t who you say you are, and therefore the obvious conclusion is that you have been sent out here to spy on us. The only questions to be answered now is for whom and why?”
Ryan had also folded his arms across his chest while the small man spoke, and he sensed rather than saw J.B. subtly tense a few feet away, ready to spring into action should Ryan give the signal. Instead, he lifted the index finger of his left arm up an inch, telling the Armorer to hold his ground—for now.
“Sounds like you’ve got this all figured out, so I don’t know how answering any of your questions is going to help me any.”
The administrator’s chest rose and fell in what might have been a sigh of annoyance, only Ryan couldn’t hear anything, since he was so damn quiet. “I’m not going to try to bully or threaten you, Mr. Cawdor. Such crude tactics are better suited to the ill-dressed barbarians outside our gates, such as those deluded Indians that you revealed to us.”
“And whom you plan on eradicating from the earth, if possible, right?” J.B. asked, not moving a muscle other than his lips.
“Regrettably, yes. Although we have tried to work out a peaceful settlement with them before, the negotiations have always devolved into violence before anything meaningful could be worked out. I’m afraid that, since we cannot seem to live peacefully alongside them, and since their ambush tactics seem to be improving, they have left us with no choice but to eliminate them once and for all. I hope this won’t be the case with any other indigenous groups we may encounter. However, be that as it may, it is my hope that you and I can have a civilized conversation, wherein I can learn what I’d like to know without resorting to any sort of—” his lips twitched, as if he had just tasted something unpleasant “—physical coercion.”
