by B. V. Larson
“For a few days,” Lazarus said in a voice that was strangely gentle, “the effects of the injection can be reversed. After that, it will eat into your brain and the alterations will be permanent. Change your mind soon… or it will be changed for you.” He stepped back. “Release him and go,” he told the guards.
The guards shoved Straker roughly across the room. By the time he staggered to his feet, Lazarus had retreated out the portal and closed the steel door.
The Inquisitor opened the small portal at eye level. “And Straker… lest you think this is only about you, your two friends have been injected as well. Just say the word and they will be saved. If not…” The metal door to the hole slammed shut.
Straker heard Lazarus’ footsteps fade down the concrete corridor. He sat on the platform and rubbed his bruises. Would he feel it as the biotech invaded his tissues? It chilled him to think he’d be turned into a mindless battle-slave.
Maybe he should pretend to cooperate, like Engels said. That was the sensible thing. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Not yet, anyway.
Eventually he fell asleep, exhausted.
Chapter 18
Facility Alpha Six, day 39.
Inquisitor Lazarus-176 stared at himself in the mirror, satisfied that his appearance was correct, perfectly Mutual.
His graying hair was combed but not stylish as some of the Committee’s pampered, youthful clones wore theirs. His clothing was made from the finest silk blend, but that was only for durability and to appropriately impress those around him, not for his own comfort.
His shoes were polished to a high shine, the product of fifteen minutes of maintenance every night before bedtime. It was important to him that he personally rub the leather with the wax, the cotton cloth and the chilled water, to remind himself of the labor the People had to endure.
He checked his nails. They needed a manicure. Fortunately, there were those with such skills among the prisoners.
“You look superbly Mutual,” said his concubine, Tachina-23. She wrapped her hands around him from behind to place her palms flat on his lean chest. Her fingers played with his skin and her long, silky hair tickled his ear as she set her chin on his shoulder.
A discarded pleasure clone, Tachina-23 had been a marvelous find—a diamond among the broken stone that poured through the reeducation facility. She was tall, and he liked them tall. Her other attributes were equally pleasing.
He wondered what she had done to upset her former master. Most such specially bred clones were assigned to high-ranking Party members.
There was no way to be certain of her provenance, and one seldom-bent rule of rehabilitation was that all who came to the camps had their records expunged. Each got a fresh start.
This was a good policy, for the Mutuality recovered humans from wherever it could, whether it be by force or convenience. All had to be processed. All were needed to feed the machine of war. All had an equal chance to rejoin the social order.
He’d spotted her right away in the holding pens. Her long legs, slender waist, natural poise and animal magnetism had clearly stood out, even when disguised by bad clothing and indifferent hygiene. Before taking possession, he’d made sure she was given extra pain therapy and severe terrorization in order to excise any lingering resistance to Mutuality precepts.
When he finally gave her the chance to rehabilitate by sharing his life here at the facility, she’d immediately agreed. After all, the Mutuality was based on freedom and equality, and she’d made the correct—the required—choice to become freer and closer to equal. Now their feelings for one another were mutual, the benefits of their relationship were mutual, and the pleasure she gave him enhanced the effectiveness of his profession—for the betterment of all.
Lazarus’ life might almost be declared perfect, if it were not for Derek Straker and those who followed his example of resistance. The man was stubborn, unlikely to change his mind. Yet Lazarus was forbidden to use Level Three techniques on him, or those who’d served as his companion, despite the demonstrated effectiveness of those procedures.
The camp’s Guiding Committee had insisted that the mechsuiters must not be broken, for a broken tool was of no use. But they had said nothing about the woman, Engels…and he really only needed one mechsuiter, not two. That meant Paloco was also expendable.
Inquisitors had wide latitude. He could count on being forgiven a deviation from orders if his irregularity yielded the required effect.
Of course, if he failed, the need for resurrection might become all too real. He wondered what another Inquisitor, another Lazarus, might think of Tachina, and vice versa. No doubt the man would bless his good fortune.
For his concubine, of course, little would change.
Tachina shifted her hands downward, sliding them under his belt. “You seem tense, my love.”
“That is so,” he replied, tempted.
“Let me give you relief.” Her hands slid lower.
Lazarus felt his body respond. He almost pushed her away, realizing that this interlude represented a form of procrastination, putting off the dangerous step he was contemplating.
Abruptly, he yielded—deciding he could afford a few minutes.
“We must be quick, my pet,” he said as he turned to face her.
Tachina’s lips pouted. “I want all of you,” she said. “Promise you will make love to me tonight. Perhaps we can share wine?”
She favored wine, and it was difficult to procure in the camps, even for an Inquisitor. “Perhaps,” he said, “if you please me now.”
As her response, she began her work, and he stifled a gasp.
She was right, Lazarus thought when he departed at last. He did feel better. More relaxed. He was ready to take his gamble, to give Straker one last try.
* * *
When the mob of guards entered his room, Straker was again hauled down the concrete corridors. He didn’t fight them immediately, conserving his strength. He felt strong today, much better than he had lately. Maybe the injection was beginning to work.
They took him to a new room, one he’d never seen before. Wide and shallow, it had three thick, crystal windows opening on three well-lit rooms, empty except for one occupant each.
In the rightmost chamber, Loco stood naked and turned away from the window. His skin looked blue-green. Perhaps it was the lighting.
In the left, Engels was also nude, but stood proudly facing the window. He found himself getting aroused, and then agry. Some kind of stress response, he figured—sex and danger. Her skin also had that odd hue…
In the center room, some kind of alien paced back and forth on all fours. Twice the mass of a human, it seemed reptilian, but moved like a cat, its barbed tail lashing. Doors in its chamber led to the rooms with Loco and Engels. It sniffed at one door, and then crossed the room to nose at the other.
“Magnificent animal, don’t you think?” said Lazarus from behind Straker.
“What is it?”
“You don’t recognize Miss Engels?”
“You’re a funny man, Lazarus, but much too hopeful. After all you’ve put me through, you think murdering my friends will impress me?”
In the face of losing two prizes for certain, Lazarus was perfectly willing to sacrifice the lesser for a last hope to redeem the greater—for the good of the Mutuality. It was time to get creative. He wasn’t exactly going to use Level Three methods, and he now considered his options all but exhausted.
His voice turned pensive as he stepped up beside Straker. Two big guards, armored and helmeted, stayed close behind, their activated shock-prods crackling threats. “I think we’re beyond that phase, Captain Straker. I told you I was about to cut my losses. This is my final gambit.”
“You’re going to threaten my friends unless I cooperate.”
Lazarus spread his hands. “At least I’m honest about our system. It’s harsh, but necessary. We have no room for sentimentality. If you want friendship, Straker, if you want a chance at the lov
e you won’t even admit you hold for Miss Engels, you’ll have to act. Be the bigger man. Join us and save your friends! Sacrifice your ego for them, even if you won’t do it for yourself.”
“You’re mistaking my principles for ego, you piece of shit.”
“And you’re mistaking your ego for principles, Mister Straker. Politeness costs nothing, and I address you with respect, but you keep insulting me. Who’s the piece of shit really, hmm?”
Straker almost apologized, until he realized that even this approach was a tactic, a manipulation. Lazarus was trying to reclaim a moral high ground he’d long since abdicated, as if merely being polite made up for all the abuse.
“Get on with it then,” Straker said. He calmed himself, taking deep breaths. Whatever the Inquisitor had in store, it wouldn’t be pleasant.
“My gambit is simple. There are two buttons in front of you. Each opens its corresponding portal to the left or the right of the Kort, that predator that paces between them. When the door opens… well, the Kort is hungry. It will feed.”
A chill settled across Straker. “So simple?”
“The best techniques always are.”
“I won’t push a button. I won’t play your sick game.”
Lazarus flipped a switch on the console in front of them, and the two buttons began flashing alternately, one off, one on, switching quickly. After a moment, Straker could see the rhythm slowing slightly.
“Eventually,” Lazarus said, “the randomizing mechanism will settle on one of these two buttons. When it does, that door will open, linking the Kort with one room or the other. Then, less than a minute later, the other door will also open. So you see, if you don’t make a choice both will die.” Lazarus paused. “Remember, Captain Straker, this situation is of your own making. It may not be your fault, but now it’s your responsibility. You can end it at any moment. There’s no other way out.”
“I think you’ve finally done it,” Straker said, turning to face the beaming Inquisitor. He took a step forward, shaking his lowered head in defeat.
At his second step, the guards frowned and lifted their hands—but it was too late.
Straker exploded in a burst of phenomenal speed, slamming an elbow into Lazarus’ confident chest to incapacitate him. He continued his turning motion to disarm the nearest guard, who was already striking with his shock-prod. Straker deftly took the weapon and rotated it until he could jam its blazing tip into the second guard’s eye socket—his face the only vulnerable area.
The second guard folded in agony. Straker ripped the prod from his eye-socket and hammered the first man across the jaw with the butt of the weapon, hearing bone crack as he fell.
When it was over, Straker picked up the gasping Lazarus and held the prod’s crackling tip near the Inquisitor’s eye.
“The injections,” Lazarus coughed. “We underestimated the effects… such a fine specimen. It’s a pity that you now must be put down.”
“Stop the mechanism,” Straker demanded.
“I can’t.”
Straker slapped at the switch Lazarus had thrown, but nothing happened. The alternating pulse of the lights continued unabated, slowing toward the inevitable end.
“I’ll kill you if you don’t.”
Lazarus showed no fear. “It’s deliberately designed to be unbeatable. Once it starts, it can’t be stopped.”
“No chance?”
“None, Captain Straker.”
“Then I guess I don’t need you anymore.” Straker punched Lazarus in the gut. As the Inquisitor bent over, Straker wrapped his right arm around the man’s neck, locked it with his left, and heaved upward with all his strength.
Breaking a man’s neck with strength alone is a difficult feat, but it can be done. Straker did it.
Lazarus’ vertebrae came apart with snapping crunches. His feet twitched and jerked against the floor. A feeling of deep, righteous satisfaction coursed through Straker’s veins.
He dropped the body, and then seized a baton and slammed it into one of the crystal windows. The material didn’t dent, crack, or flex.
Growling, Straker leapt for a door to the left and threw it open. On the other side, a surprised pair of guards hesitated too long. Straker hammered his prod through their open faceplates, leaving them broken on the deck. Then he hit the electronic opener for the door in front of him, one that should lead to Engels’s room.
Nothing happened. There was a code pad, and he’d knocked out the guards… and Lazarus wasn’t alive anymore. Straker cursed himself for a fool and grabbed another shock-prod.
Running back through the control room, he noticed the seesaw of lights was almost at a stop. In seconds, one of his friends would die, and quickly after, the other.
Roaring with frustration and rage, he opened the other door, the one that led to Loco’s antechamber, in hopes it was also guarded.
It was, and they were waiting for him.
It didn’t matter. Straker went through them like a hot wire through wax. He’d been bred with speed and reflexes. Now, with the biotech Lazarus had given, him he had even greater physical powers.
For a while at least, he reminded himself. Until he became a Hok zombie.
Straker refused to worry about that now.
Only the fact he had to avoid knocking one guard out caused him to take an electric strike to his thigh. “What’s the code!” he yelled at the man he held immobilized, spittle flying from his mouth. “Tell me or die!”
The man told him.
Holding the guard in a headlock, Straker tapped in the code. The door opened, revealing a surprised Loco.
“Get out of the room and shut the door!” Straker barked at Loco, launching his captive past Loco to bounce off the portal to the Kort’s room.
Loco scrambled to escape, but they were too late to thwart the selecting mechanism. The alternating light had come to rest—on Loco’s side.
Straker gasped with relief. A coin flip had saved Engels’s life—for now.
The door flew wide, provding the predator access to the chamber they were in, and the Kort leaped into the room. There, it found a meal waiting on the floor. Its claws were barely slowed by the guard’s armor.
A spray of gore washed the room and they closed the door quickly.
“Thanks,” Loco said from beside him, staring through the thick window. Then he noticed the woman in the other room. “Is that Carly? She’s looking tasty.”
Straker slapped his friend on the back of the head. “Stop thinking with your dick and help me get her out of there.”
“I meant for the cat thing—not me.”
Straker wasn’t amused, and he had no patience to continue the exchange. He breathed in deep puffs as he strode back into the first guardroom and punched in the code he’d used on the other door. He let out a relieved sigh when it opened. They hadn’t bothered to create two codes.
Engels turned to the two men in surprise and, after a moment, tried to cover her nudity with her hands. “Derek…?”
“No time.” He seized her, dragging her out of the room.
“Dammit, Derek, don’t—”
The door behind her opened, and all three turned to look through it into the far chamber. The Kort raised its bloody face from its meal to stare at them. In a determined fashion, it began to move in their direction, never taking its odd eyes from them.
“Oh shit,” said Loco. “Shut that door!”
Straker slapped the button to close the portal even as the Kort leapt. It slammed into the closed door from the other side.
Klaxons sounded then. The prison was finally being alerted that something was amiss, no doubt because of the violence here in these rooms.
“Now what?” Engels asked.
“Get shock prods and use them,” Straker ordered “We have to fight our way out.”
They picked up two prods each. “We need to put on the guards’ uniforms,” Engels said.
Loco grinned. “I’m okay with Carla being naked.”
Straker slapped the back of Loco’s head again.
“Be a pig in your birthday suit if you want. I need something to wear,” Engels said, running into the control room. “Um… Derek?”
“Yeah?” Straker followed her into the room.
She was staring at Lazarus’ twisted body, her nudity forgotten. “This is not good.”
All the feelings surrounding Skorza’s death at Academy came back to the surface. She was scolding him again. How could she not understand?
“He was evil,” he said. “He deserved it.”
“But now who’s going to tell us where the antidote to the Hok biotech is?”
“Somebody will.”
Engels began stripping Lazarus’ body of its fine silk suit, putting on the trousers and shirt. “Fits all right, with the belt,” she said, her back to the two men. “We need to hole up here and wait.”
“We can’t hole up here! We have to escape,” Straker said urgently. Sirens continued to sound. “The longer we sit here, the more likely they’ll come with overwhelming force and stunners.”
Straker set the door leading into the interrogation area to stay locked, though the staff could probably override it. “Strip these guards, and everybody put on as much armor as you can.” He cracked one man on the skull as he began to stir.
“We really should kill these guys,” Loco said. “What if we’re holding here and they wake up and take us out?”
“No more murders!” Engels said. “Why are you so bloodthirsty?”
“How can you be so not?” retorted Loco. “Did you forget the torture?”
“Of course not,” she admitted. “But they followed their own code, more or less. They had their reasons for doing what they did. There’s a war on. We don’t need to be as bad as them. They’re not our teachers.”
“You’re starting to sympathize with them, just like Lazarus said you would,” Straker said, pulling on armor and trying to find a helmet that fit. “There’s no excuse for torturing us. The ends don’t justify the means.”
“Oh, really?” Engels asked, staring at him. “That’s not what you said when you killed Skorza, and you just said Lazarus deserved it, too. You could have knocked him out or wounded him instead.”
