by Rob Buckman
"I don't know, Director Skinner gave me to understand that all your data was on file. Let me see..." He carefully scuttled around Scott and sat down again, his hands danced across the keyboard for a moment, his eyes flicking to see if Scott had moved any closer.
"Computer, do you have any files on the cryo-sleep experimental livestock?” He asked. Scott didn't like the sound of that. It made him think of cattle or something.
"Yes, sir. I have a complete file on all livestock currently at this facility."
"Display it please."
"Enter your security access code now” The machine asked. The Doctor tapped a sequence of keys, being careful to hide them from Scott. "That is incorrect, please re-enter your security access code, now." Tutting to himself, the Doctor did it again, with the same result.
"Computer, why is my access code not working, did I enter it wrong?"
"No, sir, your security code is correct, but you are not cleared for access to those files."
"This is wrong, I'll have to go and see Director Skinner to obtain access.” He muttered, quickly moving off the bench and out of Scott’s reach, or so he hoped. "I'll take you back to your room and you can rest while I get it."
"Yes, why don't you do that, why don’t we both go and see this Skinner person, I'd like a few words with him myself." His hand reached for the Doctor’s scrawny neck, but before he could touch him, the lights went out as the Doctor fumbled in the pocket of his lab coat. The next time Scott woke, it was in a room full of people, and he was back on the bed. Scott immediately sat up and swung his legs off and stood up.
"Would someone mind telling me what the fuck is going on, and why you're at it telling me who the hell all you people are?" He growled, liking this situation less and less.
"See! I told you he was awake.” The mad gnome announced, rushing to the front of the group.
"I hope you have taken adequate precautions Doctor.” An effeminate, pink, blob of a man said, backing away slightly, looking Scott over from head to toe. He was short, portly individual with a round chubby face that oozed all the sincerity of a used car salesman, one that Scott wouldn't trust as far as he could throw him. Dressed in flowing silk robes with numerous ring ornaments he looked like something out of the Arabian Nights. The four men at the back didn’t.
They were dressed in all black combat type uniforms complete with mirrored faceplate helmets and short metal batons. It was clear they were here for Director Skinner’s protection. The rest of the group, all male were dressed similar to Skinner, but less flashy and less jewelry and less on the pink side in dress colors. They looked just like Skinner in one respect, typical politician, or used car salesman types, if he ever saw one.
“Oh yes, indeed. No need for concern Director Skinner.” Scott had the feeling that attacking at this point was futile. The Doctor had some restraining device, as he demonstrated when Scott reached for him back at the lab.
“What has it told you, Kessler?”
"Not much, I was just getting round to asking it some questions when I found I couldn't find his file in our database.
"Yes, of course." The fat man muttered something over his shoulder to the other members of the group. They tittered and nodded knowingly to one another, rolling their eyes. "Tell me, what did it do, before being put into cold sleep?" The question sounded mild enough, yet Scott detected something.
"He said, that he was something called a ‘Marine’ and worked at what he called ‘Navy’."
"And what might that be?" Scott had played poker too many times with some of the best sharks in the Marine Corps to let anything show.
"I have no idea what a Marine is Director Skinner, and I was hoping that information would be in the data banks.” The Doctor raised a bushy eyebrow expectantly. Something was definitely out of kilter here.
“No... No... There is nothing in the files to indicate what work a marine did, I’m sure of that.”
“Oh.” The Doctor look disappointed, then looked at Scott. “It's possible he can tell us.”
“You mean we can converse with it?” The Director wrinkled his nose at the thought, a limp wrist hand fluttering in the air. The hand was soft, pudgy, and pink, with rose-colored nails. This guy was a flaming pansy if Scott had even seen one, yet there was something about him that said he wasn’t as dumb as he looked.
“Oh yes, I made sure his language skill were fully active, and I install a complete language library before waking him.” A light went on in Scott’s brain. That’s why Kessler, and now Skinner sounded funny. It dawned on him that he wasn’t exactly hearing just English, but something like a soft echo of some other language. While they talked as if he wasn’t here, Scott gradually moved toward the Director, but about half way there, he encountered a resistance, like a clear rubber wall. He could push against it and feel it move, but couldn’t get passed it.
“You there!” The Director shouted, as if Scott were hard of hearing. The look of distaste on his face made it plain he didn’t relish speaking with Scott. Scott crossed his arms over his chest, looking the Director in the eye. That didn’t sit well, he obviously expected a more subservient attitude, and he saw the man flush under his gaze.
“What do you want?” Scott snapped in a voice that sent young second lieutenants into catatonic incoherency.
“I want you to answer some question, infidel.” He spit the words out like a foul taste. Scott didn’t blink an eyelid, yet the word infidel hit him like a sledgehammer. It was Arabic for non-believer, and he suddenly had visions of the President selling him out and giving his body to the very people, he’d tried to destroy.
“Do you know anything about...” a look of distaste passed over the man’s face again, “fighting and killing?”
“A little.” Scott snapped back. “Like I told the gnome over there, I was an upper Decker cuckoo valve cleaner a widget factory, if you know what that is.”
“Oh yes indeed I do. That sounds perfect, are there any more like you?" He rubbed his soft, fat hands together, and the look in his eyes said volumes, mostly about money. The fact he hadn’t a clue about widgets and cuckoo valves gave Scott pause to think.
"I was told that there are thousands of people like me in cryo-sleep, so I suppose there has to be some." Skinner gave the Doctor a nasty look hearing that.
"Our records show that over five thousand of you were placed in cold sleep at about the same time period." Skinner said, consulting some sort of data device on his wrist. Scott thought about that. If there were five thousand more, that meant that a few people were placed in cold sleep after him. Some might have military experience.
"How long did it take to wake me up?” Scott asked, looking at the Doctor.
"Oh, not long at all, no more than a few hours, which was strange, it should have...”
"That will be all, Doctor, I can handle this from here. Why don't you go and see to your other duties." The fat man made a fluttering motion with his soft pink hand, as if shooing the Doctor away. It wasn't a dismissal, more an indication he should shut up than anything else. Director Skinner obviously didn’t want his lab specimen knowing more than he should.
"Why did you want to know how long it took to awaken you?” Skinner asked, giving Scott a suspicious look.
"No reason, just curious.” He answered casually. "By the way, how long have I been in cold sleep?" He asked, hoping to catch Skinner off guard. He knew what the answer should be, but suspected he was going to get a different one.
"I don't really know, the records, you know, many of them were lost?” Skinner answered, waving his hands in airy dismissal.
"Now the big question. You keep asking me if I know how to kill, why?" Again, the look of distaste crossed the man's face.
"We need you to teach us how to be, what that word you used... navy and teach us how we can do marine things..." He stopped, at a loss for words. "Err well, whatever it is you call it when you kill someone.” Skinner’s mouth pulled into a look of distaste, as if he’d bitten into
something rotten. His answer wasn’t the one Scott expected.
"You mean, how to be soldiers?" This whole conversation had just taken a turn into the twilight zone.
"Is that the word, goodness, what fun." He said with a girlish giggle, looking over his shoulder at his friends. "Get it dressed in something… pretty and bring it to my office. There are a few people I would like to see it." The odd phraseology of his words wasn’t accidental.
"Why not." Scott shrugged, taking the words as if addressed to him. It might get him more information to work with.
"Good, good. Get it some clothes will you.” He tittered at Scott words and spoke over his shoulder to one of the men in black. "There should be some in that storage unit over there.” He said, waving his hand towards a blank wall.
The man walked over, pressing a spot in the center and a section slid back revealing a closet, or cupboard. He reached in and came over with some folded cloth, handing it to Scott. That told Scott a lot. The man could pass through the barrier, but he couldn’t. Therefore, the Doctor had implanted some sort of triggering device in his body. He stood there waiting, but nobody moved, all of them looking at him expectantly.
"Do you mind.” He said at length.
"Mind what?"
"I'd like a little privacy to get dressed." Not that he was body shy, but this lot gave him a creepy feeling he didn't like.
"Oh, you want us to leave while you dressed. How interesting.” Skinner looked more disappointed than anything else, but he turned and ushered the group out of the door amidst a lot of tittering and suppressed laughter.
Scott threw off the robe, holding up the garment for inspection. This turned out to be a step-in one-piece body suit of a silky material with no buttons or zipper to close the front. From the waist up, it was open. Stepping in he worked it up over his shoulders, expecting it to hang on him like a sack, considering how large it was. Instead, the moment he got it on, it slowly tightened to form fit his body. The material molded itself to his skin, and the front closure, sealing itself. Looking in the mirror, he shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose a moment. This garment was so form fitting, he might as well be naked. It really didn't cover much, and the fact that his genitals, such as they were, could be seen added to the impression that this was a display garment, meant to reveal more than hide. Shrugging his shoulder, he walked to the door.
"Good, you're dressed." The mad gnome chuckled and he bounced back into view. Skinner was nowhere to be seen, nor any of the group, only the doctor, and the four guards. Two fell in behind, the other two in front as the Doctor led the way.
Scott didn’t think twice about what he had to do, lagging back slightly. As the two in front turned a corner and vanished from sight, Scott struck. The surprise was complete, and before either of the rear guards could react, he throat punched the first and walked over him to take out the second. The second guard made a belated attempt to hit him with the point of the metal baton, but Scott simply knocked it aside and grabbed the front of his combat suit. A knee to the crotch dropped the guard to the floor, choking and gagging for breath. The moment he went down Scott spun round and charge towards the corner, timing it just as the other two guards came back. All three went down in a heap with Scott on top, and it only took a moment to render the two unconscious. He rolled off and taking two giant steps had one hand around the Doctor’s throat, the other holding his wrist. The Doctor on the other hand, stood transfixed, his back to the corridor wall, a look of mortal terror on his face.
Scott squeezed gently, seeing the Doctor’s eyes bugging out of his head as he struggled to put his hand in his lab coat pocket. Scott expected that and smashed the man back against the wall hard, stunning him. He quickly searched his pockets, and came up with a clear plastic lozenge with an electronic circuit printed inside. He had nothing else, so it this had to be the knock out triggering device. Scott thumped him again the wall again, dropping the little gnome on the floor in a semi-conscious heap. Searching the downed guards, he found plastic restraints in their belt pouches, and quickly hog-tied all four. Then he went over and shook the little man, bringing him around somewhat as he bound the Doctor’s wrists in front of him.
"I want you to tell me one thing Doctor, and this time the truth, just how long have I been in cold sleep?"
"I… I don't know for sure.” The Doctor stuttered, his eyes still out of focus. “About three hundred years I think.” Stunned, Scott let go, sitting back on his rump from shock and leaned against the hallway wall.
"Three hundred years!” He muttered. What the hell had gone wrong? The President had promised it would be no longer than fifty years at the most. "Three hundred years.” He muttered again.
"You appear upset, and I can understand your reaction.” The Doctor swallowed to try and clear his swollen throat, eyeing the distance to the far door. There was no way he could reach it before this lunatic was on him, so he sat still, hoping for the best. “Can, can you tell me how long you were told you would be in cold sleep?"
"Fifty years at the most."
"I see, then all this must come as a shock." He eyed the four guards on the floor and shivered. They looked dead.
"I still didn't get a complete answer as to why you woke me."
"We, we have a small problem that we… that is Director Skinner thought you might be able to help us with."
"Who is the we, and what might the problem be?” He asked, eyeing the Doctor.
"Err... we are the Alliance Manpower Corporation, and we had a visit from an alien race and don’t know what to do about it." He heard the words, but they didn't make sense.
"An alien race?"
"Yes."
"And you need us for what?"
"I don't really know. All this is Director Skinner idea."
"That's a lot of help." Scott growled, seeing the Doctor shiver. And so he should, Scott was in a killing rage. These people had fucked round with his body, notwithstanding he was younger and fitter, they hadn’t asked his permission, or got his consent, treating him like nothing more than some lab animal, and he was pissed.
"The Director is the only one who can tell you, it was on his authority that I could work on you." The Doctor added.
"We’ll talk about what you did to me later, what is Skinner the Director of?"
"Like I said, the Corporation that has been looking after you. This corporation took custody of your bodies from the government over eighty years ago, but no one knew… that is, we didn’t know what else to do with you until recently." There was a shifty look in his eyes when he said that, and Scott didn't like the implications ‘else’ part of his statement.
"And?” He prompted.
"The Director is going to train you and sell your services to the world government." If the Doctor hadn't been so serious, Scott would have laughed.
"He was going to do what?"
"Train you and sell your services...” He trailed off as Scott shook himself, wondering if he was dreaming.
"Train me how, he hasn’t a clue about what a soldier is or anything!"
"That's not the training you are… were to get." He said, looking down at the floor, wishing it would open and swallow him.
"And what sort of training am I supposed to get?" Scott had an idea, but he wanted to hear it from the Doctor.
"I... I...” The Doctor went white.
"I asked you a question Doctor, what sort of training?" Scott asked, reaching for his throat again.
"Obedience training, they were going to rehabilitate you so you’d be umm… well more compliant." He answered in a rush, his eye wide and locked on the flesh covered steel clamp aimed at his neck.
"That's what I though.” He snarled. "I want you to take me to where the rest of the people are, the ones put in cold sleep the same time as me!" He said, his voice as hard as iron.
The Doctor nodded, swallowing in relief as the mad giant lifted him to his feet by the scruff of his neck. He shuffled down the hallway with the monster behind him
, dragging the four guards with little effort. He thought of running for a moment, then shook his head. There was no way he could outrun this madman, and if he tried he feel that steely hand wrapped around his throat again, something he’d rather not experience again, visions of the bent, stainless steel bench top upper most in his mind. Instead of a private room, he saw bodies laid out on bench like beds in a long, wide room with white sheets draped over them in what looked and felt like a morgue. Even the mustard color walls had the look of an institutional facility. Scott walked down between the rows of beds, looking at each face in turned. At first, none of the calm faces looked familiar, then one did, and it stopped him in his tracks, shaking his head in disbelief.
"You crazy fucking fools!" He muttered, a small sob of pride escaping his throat.
