The room started getting darker and started moving around and around like my tummy. It was time to go to sleep. I wondered if I was going back to that bright round room where that lady, Miss ... miss ... miss somebody was. I was not good with words.
* * * *
I was so sleepy. I opened my eyes and saw lots of dark. There was someone in front of me, and I heard a high sound. What ... what...
The person in front of me covered my mouth. I started to scream, then choked as I felt a blow in my stomach. Suddenly, it wasn't dark any more. Light came pouring in from all around me, and I jumped. Wait. I couldn't jump, I was in bed.
No I wasn't. I was back in the hallway leading to the waiting room. NO! What had happened? There was that noise—and did someone hit me?—and then here I was. I must have sharded again. Fear tickled my spine as I ran to the round room that held my ripes. Who was I this time? And how long would I remain that way? Though I would prefer being myself, I fervently prayed that it was Miss DeChant who was in control of my body now.
I reached the end of the hall, where the computers were, and ran by them. There was someone seated. Graying hair, slightly stooped shoulders. It was Miss DeChant. I felt a knot in my stomach. That meant that I'd sharded into the pleasure girl. If I wasn't already slipping into the timeless indifference of the waiting room, I would probably have broken down. As it was, I still gasped.
Miss DeChant heard me and turned around. Though we had clung to each other during her—our—rape, this was the first time I'd ever seen her while she was coherent. She had a calm face, with pretty gray eyes and a strong jaw. Like me, she was naked. She frowned slightly when she saw me, but didn't rise.
“Mademoiselle! What are you doing here?"
“I've sharded, Miss DeChant. I was hoping it was you. Unfortunately, it's the other woman, the pleasure ripe, who's conscious now."
“No, child, she is not. She is here, in my lap, the poor thing."
I stepped forward slowly and looked past Miss DeChant's shoulders. Curled there, her head indeed in Miss DeChant's lap, was the pleasure ripe, crying quietly.
“But ... but then whose ripe is controlling my body?"
Miss DeChant looked up with wide eyes and shook her head.
* * * *
“Sir, I hate to disturb you.” The computer's voice was soft, feminine, and fearful. “I realize you need to relax from your many duties. But I'm obeying your request to waken you at 0430. It's that time now, sir.” The voice was painfully apologetic. Posen groaned and rolled over, staring up into the dim quarters. That damned computer.
“It's not 0430 yet,” he insisted.
“I'm so sorry. I will execute internal diagnostics now to locate my problem. Diagnostics complete. It is 0430, sir. Shall I come back in ten minutes?"
“No. I'm up. Please delete this wake up call and record that I awoke at my standard time. Override code Posen AA1AA11Alpha."
“Of course, sir! The official log has been amended to show you arose at 0615, as normal.” As normal for the log. More times than not, Lieutenant Posen did not arise until well after nine. Posen was not a morning person.
This morning, however, was very different. Posen had agreed to hear Private Hawthorne's report at 0500, and he was not going to miss it. It was with great relish that he anticipated being told the story of Private Wyeth's humiliation. If it weren't such a messy business, Posen himself might have been tempted to thrash the girl.
He showered quickly in his private bath, wishing he had his full ninety minutes to prepare. But that would have meant waking up at 0330. It didn't matter. He wanted to look just right of course, but Hawthorne wouldn't be telling anyone about his less than perfect attire. He chuckled and began drying off.
Twenty-five minutes later, Lieutenant Posen sat down at his desk. Like every regimental commander, he had a combination living and working quarters, so the total commute time was three seconds. He sat down and prepared his greeting.
“It's about time, Private.” He spoke sharply and with a tone of impatience. No, not quite right. It was a remark, not an order. And what if she were on time?
“Good morning, Private. May I have your report?” No, too friendly. Distance. That's what the major at the very exclusive Randex Military Academy always said. Keep your distance from the troops and you will keep their respect.
“Report, Private.” Yes, that was it. Clean, concise, to the point. Should he stand when she entered? He shook his head. Must still be tired to even think that. Of course he wouldn't stand. He was the officer, she was the dog. He snorted. Female soldiers! What a useless lot. Good enough for standard chores and for keeping the men's morale up, but generally a waste of time. That there were rare exceptions like Eyer only proved the rule. Female dogs. He let out a short laugh. That would make them bitches.
“Time."
“It's 0459, sir.” Good. Another minute. Then ten more to get the report and perhaps another ten to report in turn to his superiors. He didn't even need to leave his quarters; Hawthorne was to return the badly beaten Wyeth to her bed and attempt to reshard her to her original persona. If she failed, then no harm done; whoever found her in the morning would have her taken to sickbay regardless of whatever ripe was on the surface. Either way, that little upstart would never know that she'd been sharded on purpose. How he wished he could look her in the eyes and tell her what had been done to her, under his orders. That would take some of the punch out of her saucy attitude.
Her eyes. For a moment, Posen pictured those eyes as they were yesterday, when she systematically dismantled Olecki. Her mastery of him had been no fluke. Even after the first two exchanges, when Olecki had knocked her down, she remained calm, saying she wanted his measure for his safety. What followed only seemed to validate her statement.
And earlier in the week she had lain on the bed in the hospital and calmly told him—to his face!—that she would kill him if he slighted her again. Such an impudent girl. And in front of Cooper, no less. Yet she had been serious. Deadly serious. Her eyes told him that. Like Eyer, she was a female dog. A bitch.
How could a child have such an intense stare, such focused purpose? Yes, she was a Cue. But could that much of a persona carry over from host to host through the centuries? Was it possible that a half-grown woman could carry the experiences of an accomplished warrior? It seemed impossible! But her eyes ... If she ever discovered Posen's role in this...
He shook off the chill and curtly asked for the time. Damn! The woman was five minutes late! He had made it very clear to her that Wyeth needed to be returned an hour before the dampening field was turned off at 0600. He had used Hawthorne several times before, to rough up recruits who had ideas of enjoining the enemy, or to settle a score that was beneath him. She was very efficient and quite ruthless, a useful tool.
She was also late. Posen tried to busy himself with some routine work, but could not wait longer than ten minutes. Now fifteen minutes late, and with the dampening field being shut off in forty-five, Posen decided he had to act.
“Computer, give me the location of Private Hawthorne."
“There are currently two Private Hawthornes attached to this regiment. Private Richard Hawthorn is in the men's A Company barracks. Private—"
“No, you idiot! I want the location of the woman."
“Private Gina Hawthorne is not inside the compound."
“Then where is she?"
“Unknown."
“Where was she last?"
“Private Gina Hawthorne was last reported at the primary hanger entrance. She left the compound at 0305."
“Computer, where is the present location of Private Abigail Wyeth?"
“Private Abigail Wyeth is presently located in the men's showers."
“Where?” Posen demanded, not really intending to query the computer, who nevertheless repeated the information. “Is anyone with her?"
“Negative."
“Is she conscious?"
“This system cannot determine the s
tate of organic life forms outside the men's and women's barracks."
He knew that, but had forgotten it momentarily. He sighed and opened a drawer. Inside was his pistol. He turned the charger on, picked up his holster, and left his office, heading toward the men's showers.
The corridors were dark and deserted, and Posen was able to reach the showers in less than two minutes. He passed inside, then waited for his eyes to adjust to the even deeper shadows of the showers. The indicator on his pistol was flickering green and red, indicating a full charge on the lethal setting. Thinking about it, he lowered the setting to stun. Like Hawthorne, he'd been told the consequences of killing Wyeth. Unlike Hawthorne, he took no excitement from it. After a moment, the lights flickered green and light yellow. Taking a deep breath, he stepped around the modesty wall, leveling his gun.
There was a dark object on the floor three meters in front of him and he fired. It was a body, but it seemed immune to the shot, for instead of jerking, it merely absorbed the energy bolt. A sharp acid taste burned his gut and throat. Scared, Posen hastily put the setting back to lethal and cursed the slowness of the charge.
He was blessing it two seconds later. It took that long for him to realize that the reason the body didn't react was because it was beyond reaction. He lowered the setting yet again and approached the body carefully.
It was Wyeth. For a moment, the fear returned. She was dead! His heart raced and a cold sweat broke out. Wait. No, she was alive. He could make out her slowly rising and falling stomach. She was lying in a pool of blood, barely clothed. Her top was covered with blood and her panties were soaked in it. There were scratches or cuts along her cheeks. Hawthorne had really been enthusiastic with this one. She was not around to admire her handiwork, however.
“Hawthorne?” Posen called out softly. No answer. He called out again, then remembered she'd left the compound. Damn! That meant that he had to carry Wyeth back to the women's barracks! That much blood; it would ruin his tunic. Well, he sighed, the price of command. Holstering his pistol, he stooped over the girl.
He was not a particularly strong man, but she was not a particularly large girl. She seemed even smaller now as he carried her back to the barracks. In the comparative brightness of the corridor, and from a distance of a half meter, he was able to look at her closely for the first time.
Unconscious like this, she looked incredibly young. To think he'd ordered ... no, the orders had come from above. Her condition wasn't his fault. Still, to salve his over-reacting conscience, he'd order the dampening field turned off ten minutes early. That would give them additional time to discover her and get her to sickbay.
He entered the women's barracks and quickly located her bunk. The other women were fast asleep. He laid the child on her bunk. Child? No. Woman. He was surprised that even looking like this, she had a certain beauty to her. Glancing around to see he wasn't observed, he leaned down and kissed her on the mouth. He tasted the blood on her lips, but instead of revulsion, sensed a quickening of his heart. He slowly pulled his mouth away, staring at her soft features. Feeling flushed and vaguely guilty of taking advantage, he glanced around. Everyone was asleep, no one was staring. He became more aggressive and leaned down again.
Ten minutes later, he left the women's barracks, humming slightly. The trip back to his quarters was quick and uneventful. Once inside, he turned the lights up and clucked disapprovingly at his blood-spattered tunic. Still, not too high a price to pay for a solid night's work. He'd carried out his orders very well and had even gotten an unexpected bonus. He felt like sharing his happiness.
“Computer. Please leave the dampening field on an additional thirty minutes today. We'll let the troops sleep in this morning."
“Yes, sir."
A very good night's work. And still early enough for another three hours of sleep.
* * *
Chapter Six
Doctor Ressler shook his head slowly, and raised his hand from the girl's neck. He reached to his left and snapped off the uv field that disinfected the examination table where the two men had placed the limp body. Next he switched off the now useless stasis field that stabilized a patient's vital signs Finally, he pulled the white sheet up over her head, a practice that had little real function but had carried through the centuries as the symbolic final pronouncement of death.
“I'm sorry, sir, but the damage was too severe. She's been dead for awhile."
Lieutenant Posen turned sharply to the two men.
“Why didn't you bring her here immediately after discovering her?” he demanded.
Both men were clearly upset, more from being accused than from intimidation. Both men came to tighter attention, and one answered.
“But, sir! We did bring her here immediately. After we notified you, as per your standing orders, we—"
“Well, that's not going to help her now, is it?” Posen interrupted. “Following your precious orders may very well have killed her! I'm going to see—".
“Pardon me, Lieutenant.” Ressler's calm voice sliced through Posen's tirade. Posen's ears burned red because such a quiet voice could cut through his. “But as I said, she's been dead since at least last night. There's nothing these two could have done to change that."
Posen stared at the doctor, then nodded. He returned his attention to his men. “Very well. I'll consider the doctor's statement and determine if any discipline is warranted. Dismissed.” The two hurriedly saluted and left. Posen turn sharply to me.
“And what about you, Wyeth? Do you know anything about Private Hawthorne's death?"
I looked at him, then turned my head away. I didn't want to deal with him today.
“Answer my question!” he shouted. I ignored him. He sharply inhaled.
“Please, Lieutenant!” Ressler's voice was not as calm or quiet as it had been. “I must insist you refrain from exciting my patient. Private Wyeth is still exhausted, and the injuries from her attack are not fully healed. Speaking of which,” he added with a careful tone, “What have you uncovered so far? It's been over twenty-four hours."
I perked my ears to hear Posen's answer, even though I already knew what it was going to be.
“Don't take that tone with me, Doctor,” Posen spoke coolly. “The investigation is continuing smoothly. I should imagine we'll discover the identity of the private's attacker at the proper time. These things cannot be hurried. We don't want to miss any clues that may point the way to a solution.” He sounded like a cheap detective novel. And as predictable as one, too. I heard him step closer and tap my shoulder roughly.
“Now, once again, Private. What do you know about Private Hawthorne's death?"
The quickest way to get rid of him was to answer his questions. So I raised myself up on an elbow and looked at where she lay. It was the athletically built girl who had smiled at me my first day in the barracks. She barely looked like the same person. Part of the reason was that the complete relaxation that accompanies death tended to change a person's appearance. But the main reason was that a good portion of her face had been scorched and removed by a lethal burst from an energy gun at point blank range. I lay back down on the bed, careful not to pull my left leg, which lay encased in a pocketed gravity field while the bone knitted.
“I'm sorry, sir, but I don't have any idea what happened to her,” I said dully. Just these few words were tiring. This was my second morning of my second stay in Ressler's care, and though my wounds were more serious, they were also more easily tended, and I was healing rapidly. But the process left me constantly weak.
“That's hard to believe, Private. Both of you injured in the same period of time, and you're saying it's a coincidence?"
“No, sir. I'm not saying that. I'm not saying anything. Perhaps the same person that attacked me killed Hawthorne. I don't remember anything after going to bed two nights ago.” There was something about his closeness that made my flesh crawl. I turned my head to the wall again. “Please, sir, let me sleep. I don't feel well."
/> “I'll tell you when you can sleep, Private. You haven't satisfied me yet."
A shiver went up my spine. The way he sounded made me feel dirty. I bit my lower lip, but said nothing. Fortunately, Ressler did.
“That is enough! Lieutenant, if you say so much as one more word, I will report your actions in my medical log as gross negligence after consultation by a physician. Furthermore, I will bring that entry to TAU and demand action.” His voice was rising steadily, but now he caught himself and spoke normally. “Please, sir. I'm asking you to leave. Private Wyeth will be able to answer more questions tomorrow, though I can't see how anything can be gained. Whether or not she chooses to answer those questions is up to her. But not until tomorrow. Now, good day, sir.” His final tone was of such firm dismissal, not even Posen could resist.
“Very well, Doctor. I'll return tomorrow. In the meantime, I'll post Cooper at the foot of her bed."
“No."
“What did you say?"
“I said ‘no'. His presence is not wanted and not needed. I'll not have an obvious antagonist in the constant presence of my patient. Not only will it upset her, delaying her return to active duty, it would be most inappropriate during the frequent examinations I must carry out with these kinds of injuries. The answer is no and will be recorded in my log as such."
Posen left, fuming, but with nothing to say in the face of such firmness. I turned my head back to Ressler and smiled up at him.
“Thank you, doctor. You have no idea how much I appreciate this."
“You're welcome, young lady. And I think I have a good idea, Abigail. I noticed how tense you became when he came near you."
“And thank you for keeping Cooper out of here."
“Again, you're welcome. I was stretching it a bit with that, but his presence would have made our talking impossible."
I stopped smiling. “I'm sorry. I forgot you're not just a doctor.” I started twisting the sheets with my fingers. “It was nice to forget.” He took my hand in his.
Shards [Book Three] Page 12