by T. R. Harris
Zac gnashed his teeth. Dammit, he just said it was different.
“I don’t know. Fuck! I have nothing to compare it too.”
“He shouldn’t be able to talk, let alone reason.” It was the voice of Arnie Patel. Zac had never noticed how annoyingly high-pitched it was….
Patel looked up at General McCabe. Zac could hear the general’s voice through the speaker—or through the window—he couldn’t tell which. “Increase by twenty percent.”
“That’s beyond combat dose,” Arnie Patel protested.
“Just do it…slowly. We need to know his limits. This is not what we expected.”
“He’s cascading, general, but in a unique way,” Dr. Cross reported. “We need to stop now and study the data. The natural NT-4 is moderating the synthetic somehow. This is significant.”
“What are his vitals?”
“They’re in the green, but that’s not the point,” said Cross.
“Then he’s in no danger,” McCabe said.
“We don’t know that for sure.”
“Just do it, colonel.”
There was tense silence in the control room before Cross shook his head and returned his attention to the console. “Yessir.”
Zac felt even more warmth spread throughout his body. The sensation of euphoria was now mixed with the growing frustration, creating a dichotomy of emotions. Thoughts became jumbled, more frantic; a conflict between the sane man and the insane killer.
He began to struggle against his restraints. He couldn’t just lie here, not any longer. He needed…to move.
The restraints around his ankles and wrists were the standard design used to secure REVs during maintenance boosts. No one had had the time or forethought to change them for Zac’s test. Even then, they were incredibly strong and unbreakable. Unfortunately, the connecting structure of the bed wasn’t as strong.
As Zac pulled, the base of the bed began to bend upward, forming a long cradle for his body in the mattress. The leg posts were the first to give way, followed moments later by the arms. Zac sprang to his feet, his limbs still wrapped in the restraints, but now with half the bed’s metal rods dangling from them.
Through a small window in the door, he saw the guards move into position. Zac ran toward the door, crashing his rock-hard body into the metal panel. It buckled but didn’t break. He stepped back and tried it again, this time letting out the signature primal scream.
The door fell outward, landing on top of two of the guards. Another had his weapon aimed at Zac. The rifle discharged and the high-caliber bullet hit his shoulder and passed through. Zac ignored the injury and continued running, dropping a shoulder into the guard who just shot him. He ran into an outer corridor just as another round ricocheted off the metal wall next to his head.
He heard yelling, orders to stop firing. Surveying the hallway, Zac spotted a group of people to his left, stunned into immobility. They angered him, but not enough for him to attack. As he turned to the right and began running, glancing back as others entered from the MedLab. Each of these men had handguns. But they weren’t normal weapons; instead injection guns with high-power darts tipped with thick needles. Several of the darts flew past his head, while others struck in the bare skin of his back. He was aware enough to know this probably wasn’t Twilight, but something stronger, designed not to negate the NT-4 in his system but to simply knock him out.
Carrying even a larger dose of Rev than normal, Zac arrogantly ignored the darts even as his body began to feel the effects. He staggered and slipped on the blood pouring from hole in his shoulder. Regaining his balance momentarily, he fell against the right side of the hallway then pushed off with his arms in anger. He should be able to keep his balance, but his legs were betraying him. He stumbled through a double door entry and into a much larger room filled with couches and chairs.
There was a scream as two women raced from the room through another doorway. Zac fell again, this time crashing headlong into a glass coffee table. His eyesight was obscured by something covering his face. He crawled forward, toward a person standing a few feet away.
Propping himself up with one arm, he wiped the blood from his face. For a brief moment he thought he saw his friend Manny Hernandez standing in front of him. He blinked hard and ran his hand across his face a second time so he could see. It was Manny. Zac reached out with his free hand.
“Manny…help!”
And then the strong fist of unconsciousness gripped him. Everything went black, and with it all the confusion and rage disappeared.
“Officials with the United Nations Doping in Sports subcommittee issued their final verdict today for the contestants charged with the use of the so-called ‘Rev’ drug in the last Olympics, stripping them of all medals and other awards, and banning each for life from participation in any sanctioned competitions.”
New York Times, Nov 6, 2052
8
Do you dream when you’re dead?
That was Zac’s question when he became aware of the phantom images in his mind. He didn’t believe in an afterlife…but could he really be sure? Now he began to analyze his awareness. It was there, and he knew he had dreamed, but the mental constructs vanished quickly, replaced by a dull reality. He could feel his breathing. This definitely felt like living, which only confused him more.
He opened his eyes a little, assaulted by the glare of bright lights. His mouth felt like sandpaper, his lips cracked.
“Thank god,” someone said from beyond his line of sight. “Now I won’t have to change your stinking bedpans anymore.”
He opened his eyes a little more and turned a stiff neck toward the sound. A young man in a green smock stood next to where he lay. Zac took a moment to survey where he was. He was in yet another bed in another hospital room, aware of the sores on his chest from the strap that ran across it, as well as the burning in his legs and wrists from the restraints clamped around them.
“Where….” He stopped speaking, overcome by the fiery pain in his throat.
“Don’t try to speak, killer,” said the young man. He poured water from a flask into a smaller cup and helped Zac moisten his lips and tongue before allowing him to down the rest of it. It was a combination of heaven and hell, as the water made its way down his throat.
“Where…am I?”
“Not sure where you are, but I’ve been in hell for these past few months. Now that you’re awake you can take your own shits and showers. I swear, this is the most disgusting job I’ve ever had.”
“Job…?”
The man shook his head.
“I’m one of three miserable souls assigned to keep your drooling body clean and nourished. You’re not allowed to leave the bed, and you haven’t in three months. You’ve just been a dead lump of sores and shit for all that time. You know, I didn’t join the Navy so I could be your personal toilet paper. Hospital Corpsman sounded like a skate job. Bullshit. I’m doing my four and out. Screw this.”
The orderly turned and left the room, even as Zac tried to call him back.
He relaxed his head against the pillow and stared at the ceiling. His senses were returning, and a few moments later he was to the point where he would be with the wake-up drugs after a dose of Twilight.
He was alive, healed from his injuries, and once again chained to a hospital bed. Some things never change.
Memories came to him, of the so-called experiment, his subsequent escape and being taken down by a barrage of tranquilizer darts. He could also vividly recall the face Staff Sergeant Manny Hernandez after Zac called out to him. Beyond that…nothing.
Until now.
The corpsman said he’d been caring for Zac for three months. That was about right; the time it took for his body to purge enough of the synthetic Rev from his system to make him somewhat normal again. But the definition of normal had changed. What was normal to a man who was spitting natural Rev into his system on a regular basis?
And then there were the restraints, and the obvious ti
me he’d worn them. It didn’t take a genius to figure out something had changed. He wasn’t being treated like a valuable asset to the Corps anymore, with the respect due his long and dedicated service. He was a danger now…even as he lie in a coma for the last three months.
Colonel Jack Diamond entered the cell-slash-hospital room ten minutes after the orderly left. He carried a small datapad in his hand and a grim look on his face.
“Another first, I see,” the officer said without preamble.
Zac lifted his arms as far as the restraints would allow. “Isn’t this rather extreme, colonel? It’s been three months.”
“Our precautions have proved necessary, sergeant. You just woke up without any chemical assistance. Imagine if you weren’t restrained and could just waltz out of here as you please.”
Zac was about to give up on military protocol, dispensing with the whole sir-yessir thing.
“So what happens now?” Zac asked pointedly. “To tell the truth, that was an incredibly stupid thing to do, to jack me up to one hundred twenty percent. We’re just lucky no one got seriously hurt—except me!”
Col. Diamond blinked several times, taken aback by the comment. “What do you mean, not seriously hurt?”
“Yeah, the guards. I remember seeing them moving as I ran into the passageway. And don’t forget, I’m the one who got shot.”
“C’mon, gunny,” said Diamond. “You’re telling me that that Rev-enhanced memory of yours is failing you now.”
“No, sir, I can remember everything. I even remember how I felt. Isn’t that what you were worried I’d do?”
“How convenient, Murphy.” Zac noticed the ice-cold tone of the officer’s voice. The man was seething with anger.
“Sir, did I do something to you in another life to make you hate me? You’ve had an attitude about me since we first met.”
“No, sergeant, you didn’t wrong me in another life. You’re doing quite nicely doing it in this one. What about Manny?”
Manny Hernandez was the colonel’s nephew. He was also Zac’s closest friend, besides Olivia. “What about him?”
Diamond smiled. “And here I thought REVs could remember everything up to the time they were Twilighted.”
“I wasn’t Twilighted, sir; I was tranq’d.”
“You say you don’t remember?”
“I remember seeing him in the waiting room and then calling out to him. After that I blacked out.”
“How convenient. Then maybe that explains this.” Diamond worked his datapad and a video monitor flashed to life on the wall across the room from Zac’s bed.
On the screen was a high-angled video of the waiting room, with Zac on his knees and covered in blood in the middle of a smashed glass coffee table. Manny was standing a few feet away, having just stood up from a couch. He had told Zac he would be waiting to see how the tests went….
There was an audio track in the video, and Zac heard his strained voice call out to his friend. Manny rushed forward, taking Zac by the hand. And that’s when the scene turned into a nightmare.
Zac pressed off with his legs and tackled Manny, shoving him back onto the couch. Next, he wrapped his right arm around his friend’s neck, spun around to his back, and literally twisted the man’s neck in a circle. The break was so complete Manny’s head was nearly ripped from his body.
Zac released the head, allowing it to flop forward, before falling back on the couch, his own body now just as lifeless as that of his dead friend.
Zac was beyond stunned; he felt sick. “Colonel…I, I.”
“Belay that, Murphy. I’ve had three months to come to grips with your murder of my nephew, but seeing this now only makes me hate you more. Son, you are a danger, not only to the Corps, but to everyone you come in contact with.”
“Sir, Manny was my friend! I wouldn’t have done that if I wasn’t jacked on Rev. I’m sorry, but I’m not responsible.”
“Not responsible? You called him to you, and then twisted his neck into a pretzel—before you passed out. You knew exactly what you were doing.”
“I don’t remember.”
“I don’t care if you do or not.”
Zac shifted his attention from the officer and the video screen several times. “I’m sorry.”
Diamond turned off the video and firmed his square jaw, a purple vein in his neck bulging out. Zac could tell the career Marine was having a hard time dealing with the death of his nephew. Although he’d witnessed countless deaths in his career, Manny was blood. This was different. “I’m sorry too, son, but you’re a menace. You asked what happens now? I’ll tell you. You’re being sent down.”
“Sir, it was the drug, not me. Manny was my friend.”
“Was being the operative word. And now we’ve been going round and round for the last three months trying to figure out what to do with you. I voted for direct termination, just an injection while you were in the coma, but the higher ups voted otherwise.”
“I thought you said I was being sent down?”
Diamond laughed. “I meant you’re being sent down the surface of the planet we’re orbiting.”
“What planet?”
“Just some savage rock full of nasty beasts the surveyors call Eliza-3. You’ll fit right in.”
“Why there?”
“To put you on ice until a final verdict can be rendered. The scientist-types still think they can find a use for you. But seeing how you’re unpredictable and out of control, I wouldn’t count on that.”
Zac lifted his shackles again. “Do I look out of control to you?”
“Not now, but it’s obvious that can change at the drop of a hat.”
“Sir…you guys made me what I am. I served a purpose in the Corps. I saved Marines’ lives.”
“And you will again, by not being the instrument of their deaths. We can’t have such a lethal weapon such as you walking around making your own decisions. The Corps is about control and discipline, neither of which you can demonstrate with certainty. And given the chance, this would only be the beginning. Yes, Sergeant Murphy, you were an asset to the Corps—when we could control you. Not so much anymore.”
Upon reviving from a drug-induced coma, there is a rare possibility the 0351-E may experience a heightened sense of hypertension and paranoia. This condition normally manifests within zero to ninety-six hours after waking. During this period, security personnel shall be assigned the 0351-E, not only for the safety of the individual but for those in close proximity.
Command Directive, Joint Military Command, issued Sept. 4, 2082
9
A few minutes later, a whole cadre of guards and medical techs entered the room with a wheelchair. They released his restraints and dressed him in black and tan utilities and combat boots. Additional shackles were attached and he was set in the wheelchair. Then under heavy guard, he was wheeled from his room and down a series of narrow corridors as men with guns cleared the way.
Zac didn’t recognize the ship; it was a different vessel and much smaller than the Olympus. Zac figured the huge star carrier had more important work to do than transport him to his waiting purgatory.
He was taken to the launch bay of the ship and wheeled to the rear loading ramp of a troop shuttle. Just as he entered the hatchway, he noticed Colonel Diamond behind the glass of the launch bay’s control room. He smiled at Zac and gave him a salute. It wasn’t the crisp and tight Marine salute, but one with the middle finger of his right hand extended.
Zac was wheeled into a shuttle and the wheelchair secured to the deck. The door slid shut and minutes later he felt the loss of gravity as the shuttle pulled away from the transport ship.
The troop compartment of the shuttle was devoid of windows, so Zac didn’t have a chance to survey his new home from orbit. Instead, he suffered through the shifts in inertia and orientation until the craft dropped to a rough landing on the world known as Eliza-3. Guards unlocked his shackles from the wheelchair and pulled him up by the arms. Then they perp-walking
him to the exit hatch with the leg and ankle shackles still attached.
And that’s when he got the first glimpse of his planet-sized prison.
A blast of humid heat hit him as the hatch cracked and the ramp lowered. Through the doorway, Zac saw a thick jungle of broad-leafed trees and plants just beyond the blast radius of the shuttle. Moist grass had been charred by the landing jets, providing a narrow buffer zone from the jungle. With an entire planet on which to land, Zac wondered why the pilots had forced their way into the middle of a jungle. Surely there had to be wider LZ’s somewhere.
Zac didn’t have time to ponder the finer points of landing protocols before he was hustled out the shuttle and onto the spongy ground below. He stood wobbling, trying to regain his balance after three months in a hospital bed. Crewmen began unloading cargo crates, placing them at the edge of the jungle, and barely clear of the blast zone for take-off. At least they were leaving him something. He counted nine heavy plastic crates, and if given the opportunity, he would move them farther away from LZ to keep them from being destroyed when the shuttle lifted.
Grim-faced guards unlocked his shackles while others stood several feet away, weapons ready. He rubbed his sore and swollen wrists while surveying the LZ. He had been right about the pilots forcing their way in, but it wasn’t as bad as it seemed. There was a wider area of thin foliage on the other side of the shuttle, providing a ringed clearing about a hundred feet in diameter.
Zac walked off toward the stack of containers and began to move some of them into the jungle. He had no idea what was in them; he would take inventory as soon as the shuttle departed….which happened ten minutes later, with barely enough warning for him to bolt through the thick vegetation to put distance between him the burning heat and smoke of the lifting jets.
After the hot exhaust dissipated, Zac returned to the clearing, to find half of the remaining crates spread across the LZ, lids missing and contents strewn to hell and back. He recovered a canvas cot he found at the edge of the jungle, opened it and unfolded the legs. He sat down and scanned his new surroundings.