“At the top left of that same monitor, you should see four flashing yellow triangles. Tap each one and select ‘yes.’”
He found the triangles in a half-second. Nothing could’ve been more conspicuous. He touched one and got a dialogue prompt that read, ‘confirm command execution’ with a yes/no option. He hit yes, and repeated it three more times.
“Okay, this next part is a bit complicated,” said Doctor Jameson.
“Fuck. Hit me.” Kevin sat down.
“On the third monitor from the left, near the bottom, there’s a graphic of two large round tanks. One is red and one is green.”
“Yeah, I see it.”
“On the pipe connecting the two tanks, you should see a ‘go’ button.”
Kevin stared at said button. “Yeah. Push it?”
“Please.”
He tapped the button.
The ground, and his chair, vibrated hard.
“Hmm. Nice office. Ass massager included. Okay what’s next?”
“That’s it. You’re done.”
“What about the complicated thing?”
“That was the go button.” Doctor Jameson smiled.
Kevin stood, glaring at the monitor. “Bad time for jokes. Where’s Tris?”
“The van I used to drop the child off at her home is on its way back to you. Go outside and wait. They’ve taken Tris to the ISF holding facility in the southeast corner.”
“Are they going to kill her?” He backed toward the door.
Doctor Jameson’s expression became somber. “I really cannot say. It would not be wise for them to do so, but then again, these people have not exactly shown much wisdom as of late.”
Kevin pointed at the screen as he backed into the hallway. “You get me to her.”
“I will.”
He sprinted down the hallway toward the exit. Halfway there, it became obvious Jordan had been taken away. He wondered if the man had played them, calling in help once they’d left him behind, but… Naah. He killed that guy. He wouldn’t have done that―or saved my ass―if he wanted to screw us over. He sped up, suppressing the worry that charging straight out along the same path the Enclave had taken Tris would get him ambushed or killed.
And ran straight into five rather surprised ISF officers standing in the lobby.
31
Irony
Three men carried Tris headfirst down a hallway, one holding each bicep, one with his arm around her legs. She squirmed only a little, more to ease some of the pressure from the handcuffs biting into her wrists than get away. They hadn’t taken her shoes, though they did find the Beretta in her pocket.
The moment months ago when Kevin handed it to her outside that old barn where they’d hidden the Challenger came back to her. Now she understood how he’d gotten so attached to his .45. It had nothing at all to do with the weapon itself, but of how it reminded her of how she felt once she realized he’d decided to trust her.
Cutting her loose in the car while trying to outdrive a pair of Hoplites had been an act of having no other options. Handing her a loaded firearm however… She bowed her head enough to look back at the man studying it like some kind of museum piece.
She hadn’t seen much on the short ride to this building, as the holding compartment in the rear had no windows. The screams and fists of angry people pummeled the armored sides of the transport van.
They turned a corner and pushed open a set of black plastic doors. Tris lifted her head. At the sight of the heavy padded chair full of straps next to a bank of machines and a clear plastic tube, placid calm went straight out her ear. They weren’t going to leave her in a cell long enough for her to attempt escaping the cuffs.
“Stop! You don’t know what you’re doing! The Enclave has to change or you’ll all die off.”
They wrangled her over to the chair and hurled her face-first into the cushion. She struggled against six hands holding her down.
“Please, just think! They’ve been lying to you. You saw everything,” she screamed.
The steel let go of her right wrist. Two men pinned her arm while another two flipped her over on her back and secured heavy synthetic straps around her chest and right arm. Another man unlocked the cuff from her left and forced her arm into the restraining band.
Dad… whatever the hell you are… help!
She yanked her legs back, her ankles still linked by handcuffs, and mule kicked the guy who had tucked the Beretta under his arm so he could fumble for a key to unlock her feet. Both heels nailed him in the jaw with a satisfying crack that torqued his head around at a fatal-looking angle. He sailed into the air and landed on his back, sliding. The Beretta bounced on the floor and skidded to a stop halfway under a desk by the door.
None of the ISF officers paid it any attention, likely thinking it a toy.
The one who’d had her right arm slugged her in the side of the head, making the room spin. She floated in a moment of dizzy nothingness, barely aware of someone removing the cuffs from her legs and strapping them down to the chair.
“She killed him,” said a distant man.
One by one, they approached, grabbed one of her fingers, and broke it backward. Tris writhed and screamed. She clung to the anger she’d felt at Nathan for sending the Virus at Nederland to resist begging them to stop.
The third man leaned close after he broke another finger. “I don’t care what Gerhart’s orders are. Once they freeze your ass again, you’re gonna have a nice little accident.”
Once five of her fingers had broken, the five ISF officers collected the dead man and carried him out. She eased her head back into the cushion and sobbed in silence, waiting for the nanites to repair her hand. She clenched her jaw and shrieked while forcing her fingers as straight as she could in hopes they knitted properly, rather than at some odd angle.
Soon, cold tingling replaced the splintering pain.
After a few gasps for air, she raised her head. Straps held her by each wrist and ankle, one at her waist. Another one around her chest at the armpits kept her from sitting up too far. She let off an ironic laugh at her shoes. Even if she could reach the tools hidden inside, they wouldn’t be of any use. As best she could tell, the motorized restraints responded to a control panel on the back of the chair, well out of reach of anyone stuck in it.
She felt somewhat better that they hadn’t taken her armor off; likely they wouldn’t bother with that until they’d drugged her unconscious… or paralyzed. Few things truly frightened her as much as feeling helpless. The nightmare snippet of that man attempting to molest her the last time they stuffed her in stasis shot a thread of bile up her throat. It didn’t seem possible that they’d want to do that… Not-Dad should’ve disabled all of the stasis tanks. Maybe they don’t know they’re inoperable yet…
She twisted at her arms, but they’d overtightened the straps; she couldn’t even rotate her wrists.
Hope lasted for only a few minutes of struggling before futility set in and she sagged limp.
I did it. I got rid of the Virus. She stared at the ceiling. Guess it doesn’t really matter what happens to me now. Please let Kevin get out of here in one piece. Tris bit her lip. He’s going to come after me. No. You have to go home to Abby, you asshole! Tears slipped out of her eyes and slid warm trails down the sides of her head. It would be nice to be with him again even if only for a few minutes before the Council ordered them killed. Together would still be together. Abby would eventually move on. Or not. Tris growled and struggled again, but gave up after a moment of getting nowhere.
A door squeaked open.
She kept staring at the ceiling, trying to find anger under the thick blanket of gloom. Letting them see her cry would give them too much.
“Well… I dare say you’ve made quite the little nuisance of yourself.”
Nathan.
Tris thrashed, trying to sit up. The chair creaked.
Nathan approached to within a few feet. He wore a smug grin along with a high-collared black
Chinese tunic and trousers. His chest-length blond hair hung straight and perfect as always, a few stray strands down his front all but glowed against his shirt. To think that she’d considered him cute when he’d first spoken to her in Detention, when she’d thought him a Resistance hacker.
Behind him stood a naked woman with a startling resemblance to her, only taller and more muscular. Clear gel dripped down her body, collecting in pools by her feet. She appeared unconcerned with her lack of clothes, and had the most unsettling neutral expression.
“You look like a casting disaster from a historical documentary about Kung Fu,” said Tris.
Nathan scoffed. “If you’re going to insult me, at least say something that makes sense.”
She eyed the woman. “What sort of pervy thing are you planning now?”
He wandered closer, examining his fingernails. “I’ll assume you’ve learned about the Persephone androids. I took this one out of its packing material a few moments ago. She’s brand new for you to play with. Little girls like dolls don’t they?”
“Why?” She stared at him.
Nathan let off a beleaguered sigh. “I’d love nothing more than to put you out of my misery, but Gerhardt wants you back in the sim… along with everyone else. Exactly what did you think you would accomplish by opening all the pods?”
“You sent me out there to cure the Virus. That’s what I did.” She scowled at him.
He chuckled. “You haven’t cured a damn thing. All you’ve managed to do is create mass panic and kill a few dozen people. It boggles my mind why the Council wants you kept alive. Of course, by the time we’re done with you, you won’t remember that filthy Wildlander you’ve fucked… or any other contaminated organisms out there you’ve become attached to. You’ll be reprogrammed into someone’s nice little subservient wife.” He held his hand out to study his nails, arching his fingers back as far as they’d bend. “Don’t worry about missing that little hovel you’ve holed up in by the way. A day or two from now, they’ll all be gone.”
“No!” She screamed, forgetting herself for a moment of furious, but futile struggling at the straps holding her down. Dad stopped it. Forcing calm over herself, she glared, hard breaths gasping past clenched teeth. “Why me? What’s so damn important about me? Why do you have a bug up your ass?” She grunted, straining against the straps. “Why am I so goddamned important?”
Nathan covered his mouth to mute a haughty chuckle. “Oh, you’re not. Your father started the Resistance. Those softhearted idiots would’ve been the doom of humanity. I took it upon myself to personally ensure that you were made an example of. You know…” He looked up, head at an angle, tapping his chin. “Poetic irony and all that.”
She dug her fingernails into the upholstery. “You can’t put me back into the sim. It’s shut down. The software’s eating itself; the preservative fluid is halfway out into the Bay, and the robots are dismantling the pods. It’s over, Nathan. Everyone knows the truth.”
“You vastly underestimate the willingness of sheep to be sheep.” He let his arm fall at his side. “When confronted with the reality of what it would entail to… what is it you so naïvely said? ‘Become part of the world?’ They will run back to the pods like children hiding under the covers.” He laughed as if at a stupid child.
Tris lurched against the straps at the sound. His voice scraped down her spine like glass claws.
“I must say you surprised me. I never honestly expected you to make it to the Resistance in Harrisburg, much less all the way back here. Your pitiful ‘assault’ on the Enclave is a forgettable footnote in an otherwise forgettable life. Your father should’ve left you back in time where you belonged.”
She tried to project an aneurysm into his brain by sheer hatred.
“Of course, I happen to disagree with Gerhardt. Keeping you alive is a needless risk. A mistake… like that one little frayed thread sticking out of an otherwise perfect cheongsam. I can’t help but pluck it. And… best of all, thanks to your little attack, everyone is quite too busy to notice what we’re doing right now.” He brought his hands together in a rapid, soft clap. “By the time things are back under control, no one will notice or care what happened to you. And my new friend here will take your place. The council’s never met you up close.”
Tris summoned all the desire she could manage, her need to get back to Kevin… get back to Abby, and channeled it into her muscles. She strained against the arm straps. At her utter lack of moving them, she dug her fingernails into her palms, refusing to cry in front of him.
“And now, another poetic irony.” He grinned. “You’re going to kill yourself.”
“No way in hell.” She scowled.
Nathan looked over his shoulder at the Persephone. “Kill this woman.”
The android walked forward, raising an arm to grab her around the neck.
“I meant kill yourself in a metaphoric sense.” He chuckled. “This thing does look like you. Enough to fool Gerhardt into thinking you’re still alive.”
Tris’ eyes bulged; she tried to lean back, but couldn’t move away. Clear slime dripped onto her chest from the android fingers inching for her throat. The robotic woman stared down at her with no emotion whatsoever in her perfect face, Tris’ reflection in a demonic mirror.
32
Burn
The Persephone’s frigid fingertips touched her skin.
“No!” yelled Tris.
It stopped. A second later, the Persephone lowered her arm.
“What are you doing?” barked Nathan. “Kill her.”
The android reached for her throat.
“No!” shouted Tris.
Again, the Persephone halted.
“Kill her now!” shouted Nathan, his too-beautiful face showing signs of red.
“Don’t!” shouted Tris.
The android stopped with its hand six inches from her neck.
“What are you doing?” roared Nathan.
The android straightened and faced him. “Persephone series designation I6-414 possesses a failsafe.”
“Failsafe? Disregard the failsafe, kill her!”
She reached for Tris’ neck again.
“Don’t!” yelled Tris.
Again, the Persephone reset to a neutral stance.
“Define this failsafe,” said Nathan with an imperious wag of the head.
“Failsafe directive. Core program code. Firmware revision 17.25.002. Failsafe routine enacted 2017, authorization Doctor Ian Jameson. Subject Tris Jameson granted command override access to all Persephone series units.”
“Huh?” asked Tris. “Dad programmed you all to listen to me?”
“You are correct,” said the Persephone.
“No!” yelled Nathan.
“Knock him out,” said Tris.
Nathan pivoted to run, but the android leapt into a foot sweep that took him down. The Persephone pounced, hauled him to his feet, and held him off the ground. She looked at him for a second as if calculating, and rabbit-punched him square in the forehead. Nathan collapsed in a heap.
“Please get me off this chair… without hurting me.”
The Persephone padded over and threaded a finger under each strap before snapping them away from the chair as if they’d been made of thin plastic. Tris gawked at the eighth-inch-thick nylon/steel weave composite. As soon as the last strap came free, she leapt off the chair and ran to the Beretta. Of course, the asshole took all the bullets, though at least he left the magazine in it. She recognized the scratch down the left side—the same mag it had when Kevin gave it to her.
If I get out of here alive, this is going in a case. I’ll carry one I don’t care about losing.
She stuffed it in her pocket and jogged to Nathan. He moaned and stirred as she grabbed the sidearm from his belt. She knelt on top of him, waiting a few seconds for his eyes to focus on her.
“Hello, Nathan.” Tris whacked him across the jaw with the pistol.
A little blood spattered on the floor.
“Don’t let him out the door,” said Tris.
The Persephone walked across the room and stood in the doorway.
“And don’t let anyone else in unless their name is Kevin.”
“Understood,” said the Persephone.
“No!” said Nathan.
She smiled.
Nathan surged upward; Tris may have had the strength of a large man, but she had the body mass of a wisp. He threw her to the side, keeping a hand clamped around the wrist of her gun arm. Tris landed flat on her chest and wheezed, her fingers clenched. Nathan attempted to pry the weapon free, but couldn’t budge her grip. He dragged her a few feet while clambering to his feet, and drew his leg back to kick her in the gut.
She grunted and twisted, pulling him off balance. They fell sideways together, Nathan wailing. Tris sprang toward him, distracting him with a fake punch to the face and landing a real kick to the groin.
The strike sent him sliding along the polished floor a good ten feet. He crumpled into a ball and whined.
“Hmm. I didn’t expect that to do much. The way you preen, I figured I wouldn’t hit anything vital there.”
He gulped air, his face florid.
Tris stood and eyed the standard Enclave pistol. “Have you ever even fired this thing? Don’t worry, Nathan. I don’t think I’m going to shoot you.” She stuck the gun in the armor’s built-in holster.
“Hah. You think the Council is going to listen to you?” He forced himself up to his knees, an arm braced through his crotch. “You’re fooling yourself. You really believe that nonsense, don’t you?”
“I think you’re mostly bluffing.” She sauntered closer. “The Council already warned you once… and their time of power is coming to an end. Your entire military from the smallest drone to the biggest Guardian hovercraft is about as potent as your little twig of a dick.” She tapped her head. “They’ve all been disabled, and only I’ve got the codes to turn them back on. It’s six thousand against four. What side are you on?”
The Roadhouse Chronicles Box Set [Books 1-3] Page 126