Time passed. How much I don’t know, there was no way to even guess at it in this tiny cell. I repeatedly slipped in and out of consciousness, dreaming of my kidnapping and the attack, of Chou and Silas and death.
My morbid thoughts were interrupted by the scrape of a key in the door lock. It opened, and Jean-Pierre strutted in.
“On your feet,” he ordered, but before I could react, he grabbed my elbow and pulled me up, tore the blanket from my shoulders and tossed it to the floor, before pushing me out the door into the corridor. “Get a move on,” he demanded, his hand against the small of my back, pushing me along the hallway toward the stairwell then up the steps to the upper deck. “To the right,” he ordered when we reached the top.
I did as I was told and found myself in a large room filled with bunks, chairs, and a couple of sofas that looked like they’d seen better days. Most of the men and women I’d seen raiding New Manhattan lay sprawled on them. Some talked and laughed amongst themselves. Others rested on bunks, eyes closed, apparently asleep. Those that were awake eyed me with curiosity, others with suspicion.
“Go on, that way.” Jean-Pierre pushed me toward a door at the front of the airship. Painted in red on the door were the words: PILOTHOUSE.
“Stop,” Jean-Pierre ordered. He swallowed nervously, then knocked three times.
“Enter,” a woman’s voice called out. Jean-Pierre opened the door wide and nodded for me to step inside.
A man, his back to me, sat in front of a horseshoe-shaped console that extended almost the entire width of the room. It was covered with dials, lights, switches, and a couple of computer screens, which he was studiously monitoring. Except for the one behind me, the rest of the room’s walls were all made of glass, giving an unparalleled view of the world beyond as the Brimstone soared rapidly. Glowing green lines of information were displayed on the glass like a fighter pilot’s heads-up display.
A large black leather chair sat in the center of the pilothouse, its back to me, obscuring whoever occupied it. Now it swung around to face me.
A woman in her fifties—judging by the wrinkles on her forehead and the crows-feet around her eyes—eyed me up and down. She wore a sky blue, single-breasted frock coat that stopped just above her knees. Intricate military-style gold epaulets crested each shoulder, and she wore equally elaborate gold cuffs. Black pantaloons and brown knee-high boots. A scar, white and puckered against her deeply tanned skin, ran from the top-right side of her hairline across her forehead and right eye, down over her nose and left cheek, and ended in an upside-down-Y just before her jaw. She wore a red patch over her right eye, and her hair was styled in a utilitarian bob.
Pirate, I thought. She’s a freaking pirate.
“Well now, so, you are Meredith Gale,” the woman said with such firmness that I knew it was pointless to argue.
I’d learned that those sent by the Adversary had received a very specific psychic picture. Strangely enough, it was of me winning a presidential election. If she’d really been sent by the Adversary, then it was logical to expect she would have received it, too. The woman eased herself out of her seat, smiling broadly, not in a friendly way, more like a shark greeting its dinner. “My name is Captain Isabella Teresita Galindez,” she said. “But in the time I am from, I am known as the Red Baroness.” She offered me her hand. I stared at it until I felt a prod in my back from Jean-Pierre’s rifle, and reached out and shook it limply.
“What do you want?” I asked bluntly.
The Red Baroness tilted her head, smiled. “Straight to the point. I like that. It’s okay,” she continued, returning to her seat. “I completely understand. If I were in your position, I don’t think I would be too talkative either.” Her eyes drifted to the forest visible through the sizeable plexiglass-glass bubble. “This world is so very beautiful. Not like the version of Earth we came from.” She paused dramatically, “I assume you know that we are all refugees from different dimensions?”
I nodded. She said it so casually, and I guess it was normal now.
“Good, good,” she continued. Her voice grew unexpectedly wistful. “Now, why we were all transported here to this planet so like our own and yet so very different—I do not know. But what I do know is that it’s a thousand times better than the hellhole we called home. So much land. So much green. So much potential.”
Interesting, I thought, she seemed unaware that this was actually just another version of Earth. I saw no harm in trying to gently pump her for any information. Truth was, I was more than a little curious about the kind of world where airships might be a common mode of transportation, and she struck me as the type of personality that would enjoy having her ego stroked.
“So, what’s your story, Baroness? How did you get here?” I was right. Her face immediately softened; her chin tilted upright as she cleared her throat.
“On September 26, 1983, our world came to an end. Some say it was the Americans who launched first, others that it was the Russians. Some even say it was just a big misunderstanding, a computer glitch. Whoever is right or wrong doesn’t really matter; the results were the same. Our world became a radioactive wasteland in less than a day.”
There was a small part of me that felt some sudden sympathy for the Baroness and her crew, but that quickly evaporated as she continued to tell her story.
“Survivors no longer had access to petrochemicals, so we had to find other ways to power our societies.” She waved her hand to encompass the Brimstone’s cabin. “And so, the great age of airships was born. Those first few years were brutal beyond anyone’s imagination. But with so few resources available, we quickly learned that the only way to get what you needed to survive was to take it by force.” She leaned forward and snatched at the air with a fist. “And I am very happy to say that we were the best, most feared crew in all of what was left of our world.”
“That’s… incredible,” I said, honestly amazed. Her world, a virtual radioactive graveyard, was so very different from mine, from anyone’s that I’d met so far on my journey. I decided to push my luck a little and see if she would bite. “So, I guess you were brought here like all the others, by the Voice.”
She simply dipped her head in acknowledgment.
I continued, “And before you were brought here, you were in some kind of life-threatening situation, yes?”
“Ah,” the Baroness sighed, “therein lies the tale of our doom and our salvation. During one of our raids, an unanticipated storm blew us off course and into the badlands of what had once been Poland. We were mere seconds from crashing and burning at best, or if any of us had survived, dying a horrendous death by radiation.”
“And that was when the Voice asked if you wanted to be saved, right?”
Her look soured. “This… voice, as you called it, only promised us that in return for our lives, we were to use any means necessary to locate you.”
“But why?” I said. “What could I possibly know that would be of use to you or whatever it is behind all of this.”
The Baroness stood again. She approached me and cupped my chin in one calloused hand. “Oh, you really don’t know, do you?” She gave my head a gentle shake then let go. “You, my dear, are apparently the key to everything. You are the one who knows the location of Candidate 1.”
Shit!
So, there it was, confirmation that the Baroness and her band of killers were not just some random group of marauders but instead were sent to find me by the Adversary. And the Baroness knew about Candidate 1, which meant that the Adversary knew about them too. The one thing they did not seem to know was where Candidate 1 was located.
The Baroness continued, “In the time that we have been searching for you, Meredith, we have had numerous ‘guests’ who have told us a similar story to your own, although they made no mention of being ‘candidates.’”
“What do you mean by ‘guests?’” I asked.
“You’d be surprised at just how many red-headed women who look like you there are on this
planet.” She turned to look at Jean-Pierre. “How many did we find up to today?”
“Twenty-seven, Baroness.”
“Yes, that’s right. Twenty-seven. Lovely young women, all of them. Unfortunately, for all parties concerned, none of them were you, and we had to… part ways.”
I didn’t even want to think what that meant.
“Now, as wonderful as it is to chat with you, I really do think it’s time you gave us something in return, don’t you?” The Baroness glanced at Jean-Pierre. “Is Abernathy ready to receive our guest?”
Jean-Pierre nodded. “He is, Baroness.”
“Then please escort Meredith to him.” She dismissed me with a wave of her hand. Two pairs of hands grabbed me by my elbows and pushed me through the door, back past the crew area, and into another room.
Inside, a tall, gaunt-featured man was waiting.
“Where do you want her?” Jean-Pierre said.
The man said nothing but pointed to one of two plastic chairs facing each other in the center of the room. I gave a little gasp when I saw his right hand. A second thumb sprouted from the joint of his first. It was almost as large and jutted out at a forty-five-degree angle.
I was manhandled into one of the chairs, my wrists tied to it. My guards stepped back but didn’t leave.
“My name is Thomas Abernathy,” the man said, leaning back against a cabinet. “I have been tasked with gathering as much information from you as I can. Now, this can be easy for you, or it can be hard. The choice really is up to you, Meredith.”
I held his gaze and said, “I have no idea what it is you think I know, but I can tell you right now, I know nothing.”
Abernathy raised his eyebrows. “I thought that might be your answer. Now, let’s prove which of us is correct, shall we?”
He took a single step closer to me and leaned in.
“All we want to know,” said Abernathy, “is where Candidate 1 is. Just tell me, and we can dispense with any of the unpleasantries.”
“And then you’ll kill me, right?” I spat back.
Two-thumbs slowly shook his head. “No. Much as I might enjoy that, we’re under strict instructions to keep you alive. But make no mistake about it, you’re ours now. We own you. But things will go a lot easier for you if you tell us what we want to know. Who is Candidate 1?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
“You don’t sound convinced,” said Abernathy, sarcastically.
“I don’t know why, because I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Abernathy took a step back, his hands still clasped behind his back. “You are Meredith Gale, are you not? You have lived so many lives successfully, but here, you are just a... suicide.” He spoke that last word with such disdain.
I felt anger well up inside me. “You don’t get to judge me,” I spat, straining against my bonds.
He laughed—cackled more like it. “You have such spirit.” He stepped in closer to me, finally unlocking his hands to place them on my shoulders. “You have probably been wondering why the crew refers to me as Tommy Two-Thumbs. No? Let me explain.” He slipped his right hand from my shoulder and held it in front of my face.
He slowly moved the hand with the extra thumb in front of my eyes, as though he were showing it off.
“Hold her tight,” Two-Thumbs said. Then, before I could resist, he drove the extra thumb into my left ear and twisted it back and forth like a corkscrew.
I screamed as the thick nail gouged skin from my inner ear. I felt a trickle of warm blood running down my neck.
Two-Thumbs pulled out his digit and cleaned it with a handkerchief from his pocket.
“While it works with weaker souls, I do believe that you will take some extra convincing before you give up your secrets.” He opened a leather case. Inside, I saw knives and scalpels and hammers and tongs and saws and shears. Abernathy ran his hands lovingly over the glistening tools as though they were faithful pets.
“You... you’re going to torture me?” I said, unable to keep the fear from breaking my words apart.
Abernathy turned to look at me over his shoulder. “You? Oh no. We are, as I mentioned, restrained from doing you too much harm.”
I let out a silent sigh of relief.
Abernathy turned his body fully toward me, planted his hands on his hips, and allowed a huge grin to spread across his face. “However, that rule does not extend to others. Please bring in our guest.”
From somewhere behind me, I heard a door open, and a man yell, “Bring ‘im in.” The sound of something being dragged across the deck reached me. I struggled to turn to see, but my bonds held me tightly in place.
Abernathy placed the second chair in front of me. He smiled. As he leaned with one hand against its high back. “I believe you know each other?” he said, nodding.
I gasped in shock as the two men dragged an almost unconscious and badly-beaten Freuchen to the chair and dropped him into it. Freuchen toppled sideways.
“Whoops!” said Abernathy, grabbing Freuchen by the shoulder and propping him back up.
“You bastard!” I yelled through gritted teeth. I tried to leap at him, but the two guards were ready for me, and they forced me back down into my chair.
Abernathy ran his hand through Freuchen’s hair. “One of our men had the forethought to mention that he’d seen the two of you trying to escape together. Lucky for us... not so lucky for you. Worse for him.”
The Dane’s face was a bloody mess; his eyes swollen shut, several teeth missing, bloody drool running from the side of his mouth. His nose was skewed to one side. Blood still ran from it over his chin to form an ugly semi-congealed slick on his shirt.
“He put up a wonderful fight—killed two of our men before we managed to subdue him. Quite extraordinary... quite extraordinary.” Abernathy walked to the box of blades and blunt instruments. He paused and tapped an index finger against his lips. “Decisions. Decisions. Ah! I think we’ll start off with... this, yes?” He plucked a large pair of serrated shears from the box and dramatically snapped them open and closed twice. “Snip, snip.”
I hissed an expletive at him, then yelled it at him a second time as he walked over to Freuchen’s unconscious body, snipping the air with the shears.
“Tsk! Tsk! Such language,” he said mockingly. “Did your mother not teach you any kind of manners, young lady?”
I thrust my chin out and snarled at him.
Abernathy made an exaggerated sad face, lifted Freuchen’s left hand, and before I could scream “no,” cut Freuchen’s thumb from it. The severed thumb fell with a wet smack to the floor while Abernathy regarded me with raised eyebrows and a childish look that said Oops! How did that happen?
Freuchen shifted in the chair, groaned, his head lifting from his chest. His swollen eyelids parted slightly, and he sucked in a huge gasp of air. He raised his injured hand to his face, his head moving back and forth as though he were trying to focus. His good eye grew wide, and then he howled.
The two who’d dragged Freuchen into the room leaped to his side and grabbed hold of his shoulders and wrists, pinning him to the chair. Freuchen tried to struggle, but he was simply too weak. After a few seconds, he slumped forward, slipping back into unconsciousness.
Blood poured from where his thumb was supposed to be.
“No, please,” I pleaded. “Help him.”
Abernathy’s head tilted to his left shoulder. “Now, why on—“ he raised his hands and waved them “—wherever this is, would I want to do that?”
I felt the anger well up in me again but fought it back. If I didn’t tell Abernathy what he wanted to know, then he would surely continue to torture Freuchen. And in the end, what did I know? All I had was a location from a vague message. I didn’t even know if it was the right collector. Was any of it worth my friend’s life? I knew what both Chou and Freuchen’s answers would be, but I’m not them.
“Okay,” I said, “I’ll tell you. But only if you help him first.”
> “Information first, help after.”
My mind was a whirlpool of panic. I needed something I could give them that wouldn’t give our destination away. I remembered a phrase Freuchen had once used, If you want a dog, first ask for a pony.
“The robot,” I blurted out.
“What?” said Abernathy, suddenly interested. “The one that tried to rescue you? Tell me about him.”
“I... it gave me a message,” I said.
“What message? Tell me now,” Abernathy demanded.
“It was from the person we call the Architect... the one that brought us here.
“And this robot, he knows who Candidate 1 is?” Abernathy said, eagerly, his face so close to me, I could smell his bad breath.
I was about to tell him Silas had even less idea than we did but decided Two Thumbs didn’t need to know that. I had to buy time for me and Freuchen.
“Help my friend, and I’ll tell you who it is you’re looking for.”
“I don’t believe you,” Abernathy said, standing upright again.
I shrugged. “I’ve already told you more information than anyone else on this planet knows. What else do I have to lose by telling you who Candidate 1 is?”
Abernathy stared wordlessly at me for what felt like minutes. I stared him in the eyes, willing myself not to blink. God, I hoped this bluff would be enough.
A Memory of Mankind: (This Alien Earth Book 2) Page 9
