“Yes, and the one man charged for finding a cure to the reproductive virus. I’m afraid, Ben, you’ve become one more victim of his mad schemes.”
“And that’s not all,” came the voice of Doctor Josson at the doorway. “New surveillance came through on the GIN network, and I’m afraid it’s bad news.”
“Do you want me to leave?” Ben asked, rising from the medical table.
“No, Ben,” Buffy said grimly. “This involves you.”
Frowning, he and Doctor Robinson followed Buffy into the debriefing room where a frozen picture of Sven Robinson waited bigger than life. In the few weeks Ben had been in the resistance bunker, he’d learned a lot about the scientist’s greedy, narcissistic nature. Buffy zoomed out the picture and standing next to Sven Robinson was his husband.
“Dain!” he cried. It had been a month and a half since he’d last seen Dain. The photograph revealed he’d lost a little weight. “He looks different. Hardened.”
“We have a spy on the inside,” Buffy said. “These pictures were taken about a week ago, and it was reported Dain is Robinson’s new right-hand man.”
Ben immediately shook his head. “Dain would never go back to working for Sector. And especially not for someone who hurts people.”
“But he did, didn’t he?” Michelina Robinson said. “He voluntarily chose to go to Mars as a security guard.”
“Only because of me! Listen, he’s only there to protect me, and I bet he doesn’t know I’ve been here with you guys for the past few weeks.” The two scientists glanced at each other, and the look chilled Ben to the bone. “What? What aren’t you telling me?”
“Our source tells us Dain has conducted several raids of suspected resistance sympathizers. Arresting people and interrogating them of his own free will.”
“No! Whatever is going on it’s not of his own free will. I tell you, they’re holding me over his head.” A thought came into his head. “Send me there. To Mars. If he sees I’m all right and free of Sector’s grasp, he’ll leave Robinson. Probably with incriminating data since that was our plan.”
Doctor Robinson shook her head. “Absolutely not. You have a baby—”
“No! Don’t say that word, and don’t use it as an excuse. If it’s between Dain and this … this thing … then of course Dain comes first. He needs to know I’m safe and okay, so he can be safe and okay.”
“We can send a message.”
“Really?” Ben asked dryly. “You honestly think he’d believe some random report from some random guy? No, I have to go.”
“And then do what?” Buffy snapped. “Mars is nothing like Earth. You can’t just run away and hide. Dome City is an enclosed area crawling with NFPO guards.”
“I know,” Ben said. “But I can blend in. And while I’m there, I can find Tarak Dev and tell him what’s been going down here on Earth. Tell him about me. I mean. That I’m a human experiment. Who’s going to believe a man has a baby inside him?”
“You need to stay here in case there’s a medical emergency.”
Ben thought a few moments. “How long does it take to get to Mars?”
“A luxury ship can get there in about six weeks. There’s a stop at the Moon’s station. Why?”
“Get me to Mars, let me find Dain, and we can come back before it happens. You know…” He looked around, swallowed hard, then whispered, “C-section.”
Just as Doctor Robinson negatively shook her head, Buffy gave a nod.
“I know someone who might help,” she said. “Her ship is bringing supplies to Dome City. She might hire you for free passage.”
“I’ll take it!”
Doctor Robinson held up her hands. “Wait a minute! We have no idea how space travel could affect a fetus, not to mention one that was caused by technology.”
“Did you not hear me when I said I’d choose Dain over this parasite?”
“Please stop calling it that.”
Ben shrugged. “You know my position on this.”
“And if I put my foot down?” Doctor Robinson asked.
“Then I’ll leave here and find my own way to Mars. But I’d rather go with you monitoring me, so you’ll know Dain hasn’t turned traitor.”
“And you’ll be back before you give birth?”
“Please don’t. I don’t want to hear that word associated with me, okay?”
“Burying your head isn’t going to erase it. My God, Ben, don’t you get it? You’re a miracle! A scientific marvel! How can you not get excited about that?”
“Because I’m a dude! Get some other woman pregnant, and I’m all for it. But not me!” he yelled. “I don’t want to know. I don’t care to know! This might be a marvel for you, but it’s the complete opposite for me. I don’t want it!”
“All right,” Buffy said, stepping in. “Ben, I’ll contact my friend and get you on that ship. But you must come back as soon as you can.”
He struggled to get his emotions back under control. His fear often turned into anger, and he didn’t know how to contain either one. “Yeah, okay. Sure. I promise.”
“Michelina and I will prepare for your unusual circumstances, okay? We’ll have it all set up.”
“Can’t you just get it out now?” he begged, pleading with them.
Buffy patted his shoulder. “I know you’re scared. I know you don’t want this. But until we understand it ourselves, I’d rather monitor you.”
“So, even though Trask more or less assaulted my body, you’re not inclined to end it.” He shook his head. “All you scientists are the same. You say you’re only trying to help mankind, but you don’t give a shit about personal feelings.”
“Ben—”
“It’s okay,” he interrupted. “I get it. I have a mission, and I’ll make sure to get it done.”
He could see the hesitation on Doctor Robinson’s face. As grateful as he was that they took him in, an inner voice urged him not to truly trust any of them. He supposed once he was free from their watch, he could do whatever was possible to terminate the thing growing inside him. Get in and get out, that’s all he wanted from Mars.
He wished he’d never heard of the damn lottery.
Chapter Twelve
The dream came again. Darkness. Fear. Hatred. A face emerged from the depths of confusion, a beautiful man who smiled at him and looked up with eyes of love. Whoever the man was, Dain wanted to grab hold of him. Like a lifeline to save him from drowning. But Dain couldn’t move. Couldn’t reach far enough to grab hold. As the dream faded, so did the man, leaving him yearning for something intangible. It floated away like clouds on a windy day.
Dain opened his eyes and immediately rubbed his forehead as a headache emerged. With a groan, he rose and made his way out of his narrow room, down the hallway, and into the lab. Sven Robinson sat in his office, the window walls letting Dain know that he was alone. He padded barefoot past tables where beakers and computer monitors littered the surfaces. Just as he reached the office door, Robinson looked up. The scientist frowned and motioned for him to enter. Dain opened the door, and once inside, Robinson activated the privacy screen, and the clear walls turned opaque.
“Sit down,” Robinson told him, and Dain gingerly complied. “Head hurting?”
“Yes,” Dain said with a grimace. “Do you think my tumor is growing?”
“Probably,” Robinson said as he went to a cabinet in the corner and opened it. He pulled out a vial of clear liquid and a syringe. “We knew that was a possibility. This medicine can only work for so long, and then we have to make other decisions.”
Dain watched as the doctor measured out a dosage before locking it all away again in the cabinet. He approached, syringe in hand, and half sat on the edge of the desk in front of Dain.
“I wish the nanotech could cure me,” Dain muttered.
“So do I, but even with all the advancements we made in the medical field, the brain still remains a beautifully complex machine we can’t crack yet.” Robinson held up the syringe.
“Unfortunately, all I can offer you is a temporary solution.”
“I know,” Dain said, tipping his head to the side to expose his neck. “I appreciate it. At least the medicine helps get rid of the dreams for a time.”
Robinson stopped, the needle hovering above the skin. “Dreams?”
“Yeah. Just all kinds of chaotic stuff, you know? Mostly bad stuff, but there’s a face that pops up. A man, actually, who keeps smiling at me. I wish I could remember him. He forces the darkness away.”
“That’s very interesting,” Robinson said. “The brain can throw up shields when unpleasant memories surface. Perhaps this face is just a way for your brain to protect itself from the tumor.”
“Maybe,” Dain said. He wasn’t sure if he believed that theory. The face had felt like a memory, not a mental block. He didn’t react as Robinson stuck the needle in his neck.
The liquid burned as it raced into his bloodstream. He waited, and then everything disappeared. All thoughts and feelings bended and folded, replaced with a single focus as Robinson moved into his line of vision.
“How are you feeling, Mister Cardile?”
“I feel fine, sir.”
Robinson smiled. “Good. Are you ready for assignment?”
“Of course. My duty is to your commands.”
“I know. That’s how I designed it. Word has come that the patrons of Whiskey Row are funneling food and supplies to the resistance and ultimately to Tarak Dev. I want to know who and how. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Good,” Robinson said. He leaned back in his chair and tented his fingers. “Very good, indeed. Soon, Mars will be the perfect society I’ve created.”
****
Dome City lay a sprawling project across the red Mars landscape. The original settlement, the one the astronauts and colonists created close to a hundred years ago against the side of mountain, was now considered the slums. Tiny apartments had been carved out, giving much needed living space to the common workers, and those who won the lottery. Temporary walls had long ago been replaced by the durable sulfur concrete. Although sustainable from the dangerous outside forces that could easily kill humans, it was still thought of as low-income cost, and thus so were the people who lived and mingled there. The newer sections, where most of the upper echelon lived, had been constructed with newer technology and better materials. Dain made his way from the west side of the city through the ever narrowing and constricting walkways toward the mountainside. Exposed pipes and tubing, decorated with various graffiti, gave the area a more downtrodden look. The shops were small, rounded habitat domes with low doors standing wide open to show they were ready for business. It was crowded, with an underlining acrid stench that tickled his sense of smell, and he wondered where he’d stashed his breathing apparatus.
A memory flashed through his head, of wearing one as he marched toward a bar.
He’d been angry.
Dain paused mid-stride as he tried to concentrate on the whole memory, not just a fragment of one, but the more he focused on it, the faster it slipped away. A shoulder bumped into him, bringing him out of his frustrating trance. Spinning, trying to catch a glimpse of the person who had hit him, all he encountered were suspicious glances. One person walking quickly away from him caught his attention, and he hurried after the man, spoiling for a fight. He reached out and halted the person, turning him around and landing a punch on the man’s jaw. The man fell flat on his back. Immediately, people made a wide berth around both of them.
“Get up,” Dain ordered.
The man groaned and grabbed his jaw. “What the fuck?”
“You bumped into me.”
The man blinked and shook his head. “No, I didn’t.”
Dain took a step closer, hands curled into fists. “Yes.”
That’s when a little girl, about ten, ran over and flung herself between the man and Dain. She glared at him defiantly.
“No, he didn’t,” she said. “Please go away.”
Her innocent and brave action had Dain taking a step back, the frustration and anger melting away. He uncurled his fists and looked at the people staring at him.
“I’m … sorry,” he muttered, turned and hurried away from the scene. Blood pumped through his veins, elevating his heart and causing a sheen of sweat to pop out on his skin.
Fuck! What’s happening to me?
Once he’d put a good distance between him and what had happened, he wedged himself in a corner and half slumped over, catching his breath. His hands shook as he pushed his fingers through his hair. A face flashed through his mind, and he closed his eyes. A man. Someone who made his heart hurt, but one he couldn’t seem to remember.
Taking a deep breath, he looked up and saw a bar. Desperately needing a strong drink, he straightened and hurried over to the entrance, ducking to enter. Low artificial lights barely illuminated the interior. He sat down at the long bar top and signaled to the server, who walked over immediately.
“Haven’t seen you here before.”
The words stirred another memory. He turned his head to see a woman sitting on the stool next to him.
“I’m sorry?” he asked, a little distracted.
“I said, I haven’t seen you here before. Looking for a good time?”
“I’m married,” he said, the words slipping out without thought. “I mean … hell, I don’t know what I mean.”
“Ah,” the woman said, nodding in an understanding gesture. “I’ve been there before myself.”
“Been there?”
“Yeah,” she replied. “You know. Separated, not sure if you’re together anymore or not. The limbo is the worst.”
He grunted in agreement, unable to think of a more apropos word.
“I’m looking for someone who might…”
He stopped talking as déjà vu hit him. He’d been in this same situation before, he was sure of it. A bar, looking for someone, but not the current person he sought. Then the face came to him again, the one from his dreams, so vivid this time he actually turned and looked around the place. Most people ignored him, some watched him warily, but none were the man that haunted his dreams.
“Are you okay?” the woman asked. “Who did you say you were looking for?”
But Dain leaned toward her. “Have I been here before?”
“Um, how would I know?”
“This just feels like I’ve done this before.”
“I can assure you I’ve never seen you before.”
Dain nodded his understanding. “We’ve never met, right?”
“Except at this moment. Are you high or something?”
“No, just … it’s all familiar. That I’ve been in a bar, searching for someone, and then he’s there.”
“He who?”
“I don’t know!” Dain yelled, frustrated. The woman jerked away from him as bar patrons quieted.
“Listen, friend,” the woman said. “I think it best you go home and sleep off whatever chemicals you ingested. They’re obviously messing with your head.”
Dain took a deep breath to try to calm his nerves, but the statement rang with a measure of truth, and he suddenly remembered the injection that Robinson gave him. He reached up and touched the spot on his neck that still hurt a bit. Were the shots suppressing a memory? And if so, how long has Robinson been giving them to him? He’d been on Mars over a month, so what else had Robinson made him do?
“Yeah,” he muttered.
Stares burned into his back as he left the bar. Dain made his way slowly back to toward the research laboratory where he had a room. Things simply weren’t making sense, but mostly it all came down to the face he couldn’t seem to forget. Something seemed so incredibly right when he remembered, and so very wrong when he remembered Robinson’s orders.
Entering the restricted section, Dain headed toward the dorms toward his small space. Once inside his room, he sat on his bed and rubbed his temples. His stomach burned with hunger, but he ignored it. The stra
nge man’s memory returned, only he didn’t seem so strange. His name was on the tip of his tongue, almost manifesting but unable to fully come forth. Dain strained his brain, trying to bring the memory to life, but it wouldn’t come. Frustrated, he rose from his cot and walked back and forth in his small designated area.
On one pass, he pushed his desk in anger, letting out a roar. Why couldn’t he remember? He plopped down in the chair and slammed his fists down on the surface, yet still, the impotency wouldn’t dissipate. He leaned his head back, closed his eyes, and thought of him. The elusive man he couldn’t seem to remember or forget.
Rising once more, he went to straighten his desk and grabbed the edges to pull it right, when something sharp jabbed his middle finger.
“Ouch,” he muttered, putting his finger in his mouth when a bead of blood appeared. Searching the edge of the desk, he investigated and found the tip of a broken off knife blade sticking out from an edge that was pulled apart from the rest of the desk.
Avoiding the sharp tip, he wedged a fingernail between the seam, and the laminate peeled away, revealing a small hole. He saw a piece of paper and pulled it out, unfolding it, to see the man who haunted his dreams staring back at him. It was crude sketch, nothing more than a hastily scrawled pencil drawing, but the lead eyes that stared back pierced right into his soul.
His monitor beeped, startling him. Folding the paper, he slid it out of the computer’s direct line of sight and connected to the call.
“Report,” Robinson ordered without looking at him.
Dain glanced over to the piece of paper, causing him to hesitate, which made Robinson snap.
“Report, I said.”
Dane looked at the screen and saw the scientist looking back at him. “I went to one of the pubs in Whiskey Row. No one there fit the profile of patrons supplying goods to the resistance,” he replied, trying to formulate the right words.
“Damn. I really want to block their exchanges. Make them suffer. Bring Tarak Dev out of hiding.”
“I don’t believe he’ll ever come out of hiding to take care of matters on his own,” Dain said. “There’re probably too many working with him who would do what’s needed to keep the resistance going. Letting him remain protected. That’s why you had me start with the small pockets of the rebels. Correct?”
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