“Since you force me to resort to chemically-induced cooperation, I will inform your Crax handler that your nightmares are worse than anything he can dream up.” My smile surprised him. He shook his head. “You are a fool, Specialist.”
“Really, Chip?” The pain in my throat seemed more manageable. “I think your allies crave your attention.”
Mr. Heartwell read the screen. “What? Are you sure?” He read the reply. “Is he stabilized? Good. Close him up.” He read further. “Prepare him for interrogation. We may have time. After that you may do as you please with the Bahklack.” He raised one eyebrow to me. “I have arrangements to make.” He turned and left.
I closed my eyes while the two V’Gun surgeons worked. It was better than watching. I dozed off and awoke to my bed moving. Both V’Gun surgeons stood perched next to their equipment, tentacles controlling my bed’s movement.
Passing on my right, taking up my former position was a wider table, or plexiglas box. It was six-by-six feet, and about two feet deep. Inside, partially submerged in some sort of blue-tinted gel, rested a Bahklack. Additional restraints held the crab-alien’s claws and body immobile. It didn’t appear necessary. Several holes and surrounding foam on its exoskeleton told of damage from Crax corrosive pellets. Its limp eyestalks swayed as the holding tank rolled into position.
The V’Gun surgeons discarded their old leg sheathes and stepped into sterile ones. They leapt onto the Phib thrall and began attaching monitoring equipment. It would’ve been difficult to watch, but the V’Gun had directed my bed parallel to the wall. I decided that my central nervous system had been deadened. If not, the torture Mr. Heartwell envisioned would be limited.
While the V’Gun leapt to retrieve more monitor wires, I spotted an eyestalk follow the move. A strap, bound to the large claw, tightened. Questions raced through my head. Had it been playing possum? Could it escape? Is that its intention? What could I do? If the V’Gun attached all the monitors and activated them, the ruse would be over.
I couldn’t move but I could yell. That might work. Could I force myself to vomit? That’d get their attention. I could hardly swallow. All sensation below my neck remained dead.
“Hey,” I said. “You V’Gun, I think something is wrong.” I coughed. “I’m having trouble breathing.” I coughed and groaned.
The V’Gun halted their activity and stared in my direction. A snap and suction popping sound alerted the two spidery aliens, but not before the Bahklack’s small claw snatched one of the V’Gun and crushed it. The second leapt straight up, and clasped the lights. Its sterile leg sheaths hindered its grip and it fell onto the Bahklack. The gore-covered claw clamped onto the second squid-spider alien.
The V’Gun struggled. Tentacles lashed at the claw. A crisp crack followed by a grating crunch pronounced the second V’Gun’s death.
I watched helplessly while the Umbelgarri thrall struggled to free itself. First it managed to fray and finally snap the strap restraining its large primary claw. Then the Bahklack pulled and freed its primary claw from the gel’s grip. After that both claws went to work slicing at the restraining gel. Progress was slow. Finally the thrall worked to lift itself.
“Push out the sides,” I said. “Break the gel’s retaining walls.”
The alien paused, then braced claws on opposite sides and pushed. The sides bowed. Then the right, forced by the larger claw, cracked. The alien clamped onto and tugged at the broken side until it pulled one half into the air. The retaining gel sagged over the edge. The Bahklack used the snapped edge like a knife and sliced deeper into the gel around its body. After shifting the plexiglas sheet to its smaller claw, it was only another thirty seconds before the crab pulled free.
“Good luck,” I said. “Take a few out for me.”
But it didn’t leave. Instead it walked over to the computer equipment and tapped away with its smaller manipulating claws. Its eyestalks scanned the door, and occasionally my direction. Then it clicked over to me.
I watched, unable to do much else. It stopped inches from my bed and its black, bottomless eyes peered into mine. I stared back into them. Slowly it interposed its huge claw. A patch on the claw began pulsing with colors. Two stalks peered over the top. I looked at them a second, but then stared back into the mosaic swirl. It was trying to tell me something.
I don’t know how long I stared. The dominant colors were flashing reds, blacks, and browns. The display mesmerized me. I couldn’t discern any message. The colors continued to flow and flash but now with yellow and black at the center. That annoyed me. What was the alien trying to say?
“Get on with it!” I snapped, surprised by the harshness of my voice. I tried to calm myself before continuing. “That lawyer will be back any time.” My teeth ground as I thought about the lawyer.
A yellow triangle formed in the center of the flashing and swirling colors. Specks of black bubbled within it. The triangle elongated into a diamond, then a narrow pyramid, with a second smaller forming on one end.
Furious, I bit back curses. “Get moving. Kill those Crax and lawyers,” I hissed through my teeth. “Get revenge. They’re traitors.” I seethed. I’d have bit the claw if it were closer. My head throbbed, pounded. It was external. I was slamming my head up and down. I didn’t care.
The Bahklack’s smaller claw held my head down. The colors abruptly stopped.
I was exhausted. “I’ll bide my time,” I panted. “They’ll pay.”
Someone entered the room. I couldn’t see but I heard Heartwell yell, “Guards!”
The Bahklack charged the door. On the way he toppled computer consoles. Then he wedged his claws into the sliding door and pried it open. Yells erupted as he ran out. Screams and MP fire cracked.
Fifteen seconds later Mr. Heartwell entered. He looked down at the crushed V’Gun, and stepped over them toward me. “Your ally is dead.”
I started at his tie. I wanted to strangle him with it. “So are you,” I snarled.
“Get him to surgery,” the lawyer called over his shoulder. “And get two more V’Gun surgeons.”
A security supervisor, an S2 wearing a CGIG logo, came around and maneuvered my bed out of the room. The lawyer followed. We passed a concrete wall. Among the posted signs was an arrow inscribed with the word, Maternity. The hospital. I forced myself to concentrate, not on Heartwell, but my surroundings. But every word he spoke shattered my concentration.
“We can’t count on the Crax to hold off the fleet long enough,” the lawyer said into his collar. “Besides, once they find what they’re looking for, they might pull out. The V’Gun said they could black out selected parts of Specialist Keesay’s memory. Be sure the new surgeons know what we want.”
We stopped at an elevator. “Reinforcements made it,” I said. “You and your company are warp-screwed.”
The S2 pushed me into the elevator. Two security stepped out, leading several battered prisoners. “Tahgs?” I said. One purple eye was swollen shut. Her face was bloody and bruised, and wet with tears.
Before she could say anything a trailing sec-spec yanked her by the hair and shoved her forward. “Get moving, bitch.”
“Bastard!” I yelled. “Your time’ll come.”
The S2 pushing the bed backhanded me across the face. “Shut up!”
We entered the elevator. “Don’t worry, Supervisor Royer,” said the lawyer. “Specialist Keesay will get his. Most assuredly.” He handed the security supervisor a memory chip. “See that this gets downloaded. It’s encoded to override any attempt to erase, should it come to that.”
“Understood,” said the supervisor. “I’ll load it into the main and backup system.”
“See to it,” said the lawyer, “and that it is placed on several clips as well. Should the Umbelgarri and Marines break through, we don’t want any incriminating information on Specialist Keesay here to become lost.”
Lawyer Heartwell looked down. “Don’t worry, Specialist. The files will be damaged, but they’ll survive, even
if you don’t.” The elevator door opened. “I’ll take it from here.” The S2 strode out.
“You think you’ve got it all figured out,” I said. “I wouldn’t count on it. I’ll make sure you and every lawyer and board member of Capital Galactic pays.” I flashed back to Mer. “It’s been done before.”
“You’ll get your chance,” Heartwell said. “But of course you’ll be hampered by the fact that you won’t recall a thing. If Tallavaster falls, we’ll get you back. Capital Galactic is, after all, a very influential company supporting the government and military. We’ll get the information we’re after.”
“I know a thing or two about Crax wounds,” I said. “I won’t last that long. I felt the corrosive in my blood.”
“As I told you, the V’Gun are medical geniuses. They were instructed to stabilize you. There’s a buffer in your system, and your organs have been repaired. We’ll keep you alive as long as we want. No longer than we need to.”
We passed by two security posted outside an operating room. “It is fortunate that you already have the cold sleep chemicals in your system. You’ll survive at least that.” He stopped the table. “And now, I have to see that the few prisoners we intend to take are prepared.”
He turned to leave, but hesitated. “Oh, yes. Your friend, Tahgs. I worked with her. Charming girl. Didn’t have the inhibiting serum you did, so I only had to torture half the information out of her.”
“You,” I said. “You’ll rot in hell.”
“She dislikes lawyers too. Can’t imagine why. I’ll be sure to ask when I see her again.” His sinister smile returned. “That and a few new questions.”
He wheeled me under the lights. Two V’Gun and one Selgum Crax stood over me. I tried to move my hands. No success. I shook my head and bit as the V’Gun tried to stick a needle in my neck. The Selgum Crax held me. I felt the sting. Everything went fuzzy, then black.
Chapter 43
Light shined through my eyelids. The familiar sound of cooling fans mixed with the hum of computers. I braced for cold sleep nausea and pain from my wounds. I felt neither.
Good pain meds? A tightness and tingling danced within my abdomen. I didn’t have time to debate. Monitors would reveal conscious brain activity. My right index finger scraped against cloth and I could wiggle my toes. No oxygen tube. I listened. Breathing and footsteps coming toward me.
Loose restraints bound my arms above the elbow and across my chest. No time like the present to test their strength. They’d botched the memory erase, or had they? Only one way to find out. I relaxed and counted to three.
I opened my eyes and jerked my arms, pulling with everything I had! The restraints loosened. A lady doctor jumped back. I tried again, gaining more slack. I was in a rock-walled lab, still on Tallavaster?
“Specialist Keesay,” the short, gray haired doctor said in a soothing voice. She smiled, held out her hands and stepped closer. “Relax. You’re safe, it—”
Her mistake for getting too close. After my third try I broke free, grabbed a handful of white lab coat and yanked her toward me. “You’re going to help me get out of here.”
“Okay, Specialist Keesay,” she said, a hint of panic in her voice. “Anything you want from me, I’ll do.”
The room was small with two banks of overhead fluorescent lights and tons of advanced equipment lining the walls. One door.
“Don’t move,” I said before relaxing my grip. “You do and I’ll get out of here without your help.” I reached down, detached the slack chest strap and sat up, keeping my eye on the doctor. Something was wrong. I could sit up.
The doctor spotted my surprise. “Kra, you’ve already been rescued. You’re safe.”
A young Colonial Marine, followed by a tall woman, rushed into the room.
“Stop,” ordered the doctor without turning. “Specialist Keesay is having difficulty orienting. It is to be expected.”
I clamped onto the doctor’s wrist. “No tricks,” I warned. “V’Gun’s mistake for fixing me up too soon. Stand between me and that, marine.” I stared at the doctor. I knew her. “Dr. Goldsen?” Both eyes worked, no blurring.
“That’s right. I am Dr. Goldsen.” She turned slowly. “Special Agent Vingee. We are on Io. Remember?”
Their faces were familiar—from the past, a trial. “The Cranaltar.” I fell back to the bed. My stomach burned and ached. I couldn’t see any blood seeping through the white gown. Where? What happened?”
“You mean what’s happening,” Agent Vingee said, moving up next to Dr. Goldsen.
Looking up, Dr. Goldsen said to Agent Vingee, “Not now. I should have kept him sedated longer.”
“What do you mean?” I asked. “Longer? How long has it been?”
“Been?” Agent Vingee said. “You were hooked to the Cranaltar for weeks, and then under the medical care and recovery of the Umbelgarri for over a month.”
Dr. Goldsen looked at me over the rims of her glasses. “Now be still while I see if you have injured any regenerated organs. Private Mulldoag and Agent Vingee, if you will step out a moment.”
“Wait,” I said. “This could be a trick. Before I submit to anything, I want out of this room. I want another bed.”
“Why?” asked Dr. Goldsen with an annoyed look on her face.
“I had Crax acid in my blood. The V’Gun or Primus Crax would have the knowledge to cure that.” I eyed Dr. Goldsen. “The Cranaltar destroys the brain. This could all be a drug-induced hallucination, maybe combined with a holo-cast.”
Dr. Goldsen’s stood with a furrowed brow. “If you insist. I do not know how that will convince you.”
“No,” said Agent Vingee. “It fits. I watched most of the Cranaltar’s, Documentary.”
“Documentary?” I asked.
“That’s what your recorded experience is referred to,” explained Agent Vingee. “Its official run for the trial is nearing completion. But I’ve been privileged to preview the ending. Would you like to see?”
“You are not going anywhere,” Dr. Goldsen said. “Not until I examine you. You could have damaged the new tendons or caused internal bleeding.”
“I’ll risk it,” I said. “Once I’m convinced I’m on Io.”
The doctor crossed her arms over her chest. “The Umbelgarri were gracious enough to heal you once. This is foolishness.”
I looked around, spotting one obvious surveillance camera above a cupboard. “If what you say is true, the Umbelgarri will appreciate my caution.”
Agent Vingee nodded. Dr. Goldsen frowned.
The door slid open and everyone turned to watch a Bahklack enter. Dr. Goldsen stepped aside as the thrall clattered to my bedside. It raised its claw, presenting the color-shifting area. I watched the colors pulsate. And comprehend it!
“Human resistance fighter,” it began. The colors continued to shift but, without the associated sound, the communication was bereft of emphasis and emotion. “You are witnessing reality. Your unrelenting hostility toward our mutual foe, your loyalty to your race, and your willingness to safeguard the Masters’ breeding ponds without question gave reason for extraordinary action on your behalf. As assigned, I have assisted in the assemblage, organization and restoration of your higher brain function. It was successful. I was instructed to infuse the ability for you to comprehend the Masters’ visual and graphic communication. I provided technical assistance to your physician and her subordinates in detoxifying your body fluids and tissues and in cultivating the regeneration of damaged organs.”
The Bahklack paused. It took a second to place proper emphasis on the string of merging visual images. “Understood,” I said and signed.
Dr. Goldsen placed a hand on Vingee’s arm, telling her not to interrupt.
The colors shifted again. “The images of your locating the breeding pond have been omitted from the record. Do not reveal this. Those that are authorized to know, do know. A suitable sequence was inserted.”
Understood,” I said and signed.
�
�The deep message of hostility and resistance to the yellow-tie worker classification administered by my kin has been eliminated. You retain your innate dislike of the yellow-tie classification. You must now follow your physician’s guidance. This revelation session has delayed my assigned tasks. I must go.”
“Thank you,” I said and signed.
It held up its claw as it moved toward the door. “Your actions indebted the Masters.”
“Well?” asked Dr. Goldsen.
“Well,” I said, lying back down. “I don’t like the fact that my thoughts and actions have been accessed, then manipulated and reloaded. How will I know what I think are really my own thoughts? Especially the infusion of Umbelgarri language.”
Agent Vingee and Private Mulldoag eyed each other before following the alien thrall out.
Dr. Goldsen frowned. “I monitored the process. It was primarily an Umbelgarri program and procedure. The language bridge was necessary to ensure proper connections to recover your memory and thought processes.”
“So, I think like an Umbelgarri? How they want me to?”
“No,” said Dr. Goldsen. “Agent Vingee deems your action upon awakening as consistent with previous behavior.”
“I don’t like the way the Bahklack referred to the Phibs as its master.”
“I think you just answered your own question,” Dr. Goldsen with a knowing nod. “If your thought processes were altered, would you refer to them as Phibs?” She finished hooking up the equipment and stepped over to the computers to run the tests. “Would you accept their dominance over the Bahklack?”
I looked down. Round fleshy scars covered my stomach and side. My leg had numerous white linear scars.
“They’ll fade,” she said. “But never disappear. The leg wound occurred, I understand, from shrapnel due to an explosion of your own making.” She examined the results. “And your eye was damaged by the haste of the V’Gun in severing part of your conscious memory. It was surgical in nature and easier to mend.” She returned and removed the attachments. “And I personally saw to repairing your damaged hearing. Firing archaic weapons in confined areas is not wise.”
Relic Tech Page 62