“Migraine,” Oz replied. “At least that’s my best guest. I worried about an aneurysm.”
“Dude…” Hatch interrupted, but Oz merely raised his hand and the other man silenced.
“I said I worried about it. You passed out, and you’ve been unconscious for several hours.”
Another sip of water helped, then I said, “Vitals?”
“All within normal range. Your blood pressure is elevated, and your pulse is racing. Are you in pain?” At that question, I suddenly felt the pressure of all their attention. It didn’t matter that my eyes wouldn’t quite focus. Four heads were angled toward me, with Hatch and Andreas crowding in behind Dirk and Oz.
All four of them talking, debating, arguing—planning.
All four negotiating when I wasn’t around.
All four seemingly aware of things before I was.
“What took five years?” To hell with the not knowing anymore.
My four chatty companions went silent. Swallowing, I fought the urge to close my eyes. Had they intubated me? The sensation felt like my esophagus convulsed, and it hurt like hell. Pushing past it, I focused on them one at a time. Finally, I locked onto Hatch’s blue eyes. “I heard you. You said five years.” From Hatch, I latched onto Dirk’s gaze. “You said you’d lost count of the number of times you’ve done this and you’re not giving up.”
I’d lost five years. Somehow, my last memories dead-ended years before I woke here, but unless I’d been jettisoned in that lifepod to some other world, then…then there had to be another explanation.
“What this are you talking about?” A distressingly errant thought burst to life amidst the ache in my brain. Had the few hours Oz mentioned been another sickening time leap? No. Not happening. No more distractions. “Answer me, Dirk.”
I chose him of all of them, because he had obeyed me. Obeyed me during the fight. Told me the truth. Because I’d been in his arms. The last defied logic and opened up a fresh ache in my heart. Betrayal tasted sour on tongue. “I need to know.”
Oz sighed and straightened. Hatch looked down, and even with his features blurry and fuzzing on the edges, he radiated regret. Dirk’s jaw clenched, and his lips compressed into a thin line. For a moment, it was as though a muscle twitched in his cheek. I half-thought he would open his mouth to speak, but then he didn’t.
Apparently, obedience had its limits. Good to know.
“We have to win your trust,” Andreas said, but he didn’t finish the sentiment. Dirk let out something akin to a roar and both men vanished from my line of sight.
“Dammit!” Oz swore, followed by the crash of glass and the sound of metal tins hitting the walls.
“Shit.” Hatch gave me a tight smile. “Don’t go anywhere, babe. I’ll be back.” Then he also vanished. The sounds of flesh impacting on flesh, swearing, and the clamor of toppling furniture and tools filled the air.
Closing my eyes, I took several deep breaths, each one more steadying than the last. Forcing my weight onto my elbows, I pushed upward. My muscles were like jelly. It reminded me of the abject weakness I experienced when I woke in the lifepod. A memory nagged at me for a moment, but I pushed it away.
Debris, a turned over med bed, and scattered items littered the floor. Across the room, Dirk had a bloodied and bruised Andreas pinned to the wall. Hatch had a grip on Dirk’s free arm while Oz seemed ready to leap in and take the blow for Andreas. The four men were in harsh, whispered conference.
Again.
The med bay. Well, at least I recognized where we all were. Struggling against the dizziness-induced nausea, I made it to a full on sitting position. One of the med bay’s computer monitors hung nearby on an adjustable arm. I pulled it toward me and flipped the screen around to read the information scrolling.
All of my vitals, along with a list of medications. Oz hadn’t been jesting when he mentioned a possible aneurysm. If one ruptured, minutes could stand between a patient and death. Biosphere One, despite having any number of features, wasn’t altogether that large.
Narcotics? Why so many narcotics?
Two of the medications on the list caught my eye—they were anti-psychotics.
What the hell was going on?
Not for the first time, and from the sounds of it, not for the last, I found myself asking that question.
“Computer,” I said in an even tone. “Replay logged event of my last visit to Hatch’s quarters.”
Silence twisted through argument across the room, twisting off the angry male voices.
“Valda,” Oz said, but I held up a hand.
“Don’t. Just don’t.” The computer hadn’t responded immediately. “Computer override all other security protocols. Display requested video log.” The whole damn thing tracked our movements, of course it videoed them. It would only make sense. An image appeared of Hatch and me entering his quarters.
The events played out in real time, including the stilted discussion. I ignored Hatch but paid attention to myself. I had my memories of the events, but they felt patchy and distant. Much like the haze of first emergence. The tightness around my eyes, the way tiny lines radiated from the corners of my mouth…I was in pain.
It wasn’t from talking to him; if anything, my gaze searched the room and avoided staring at him directly. What was I looking for? What was it about his suite that had triggered my concern?
The alarm.
Hatch had been running before the alarm. Yet there had been no sign of him in the over-illuminated suite. Was he simply careless about power consumption? What caused the alarm to go off in the first place? Why didn’t I ask the computer for his location?
“Valda, you need to breathe. Deep breaths.” Oz had an oxygen mask to my face, and one hand on my shoulder. “Come on, deep breaths.”
The alarms on the equipment suddenly penetrated the bubble around me. The guys weren’t arguing anymore. Andreas was on my other side, bloodied and bruised. Dirk put his battered hand against my leg while Hatch caught my hand in his.
On the screen, I’d paled and then my eyes rolled back before I collapsed. The violent tremors shaking me were clearly those of a seizure.
“That,” I said in between pants, barely recognizing the tight band around my chest. “That is no migraine.” It was hard to push the words out, and I sucked at the pure oxygen in the mask, but it was like breathing through a straw.
“Give her another sedative,” Andreas urged, and there was no mistaking it this time. For all of his cavalier attitude and downright surliness, worry framed every word.
He cares.
“We can’t,” Oz said, and his tone indicated further distress. “We’re maxed out unless we put her under again.”
“Enough,” I said, even if the oxygen mask muffled my words. “I’m furious, not having an anxiety attack.”
That got their attention. Dirk’s jaw tensed again as he met my gaze. No, I hadn’t forgotten his failure to answer. Unlike before, Andreas didn’t continue his earlier thought about earning my trust. Probably not a bad idea considering how swimmingly they were doing.
“At the risk of starting a riot, Valda’s right. We’ve tried every other combination—maybe we should go for truth this time.” Hatch squeezed my hand, and the action filled me with the most unwelcome sense of comfort. A part of me wanted the safety and security these four men seemed to represent, but the rest of me flat out rejected the controlling, manipulative behavior and downright lies.
I couldn’t—no, I wouldn’t—tolerate them.
“We tried the truth once,” Dirk said, and his deep voice held so much anger and sorrow, I worried he might choke on them. “It ended badly, or has it been so long you’ve forgotten? This isn’t a playground. We can’t keep kicking over the sandcastles and rebuilding them every time the tide comes in.”
Sand castles. What an idea…? The light seemed refract, as if the sun had risen overhead. Impossible considering our location. Yet, the glare struck across my eyes, and I lifted a hand to shield them
. The breeze came in strongly—a storm would be there by nightfall. But this afternoon…this afternoon we were being lazy on the beach. The guys had even committed to a sand castle building contest. They were all so terrifically bad at it, except for Hatch.
He built such elegant structures with such attention to detail. From the moment I’d arrived at the facility, we’d clicked, and I couldn’t have imagined how much I’d come to crave their company…
“It’s not about building sand castles,” Hatch replied, so sober and intense, it pulled me back to the cold, impersonal med bay. The flare of sunlight was gone, and finally Oz let me tug the mask off my face. “It’s about truth. It’s about what sent us here in the first place and the way to get us out.”
Dirk squeezed my leg.
“Clinically speaking,” Andreas’ swollen lip placed odd inflections on his words. “We’ll be no worse off if she can’t handle it than we have been before. At least this time she’s already medicated.”
“She’s also present and can hear you.” I didn’t quite growl the words, but it was close. Not allowing my emotions to dictate my responses had always been a point of pride with me. This situation seemed to demand so much more. “Just say it, whatever it is. I can’t analyze a problem or even the synthesis of a response if all I have are half-formed suppositions based on suspicion.”
“Out of curiosity,” Oz said, eyeing me. “What suppositions have you formed?”
“All four of you have been in cahoots since the beginning.”
“Did she just say cahoots?” Hatch marveled.
Andreas chuckled, but swallowed the sound at my glare. “Yep, she did.”
Irritated further, if it were possible, I dug my nails into Hatch’s palm. He didn’t loosen his grip one bit. “Hatch wasn’t out running when I came to his room. There are places here that you’ve all explored. You know each part of it. There are things about each of you that’s intensely familiar and yet at the same time utterly alien.”
Inexplicably…I sighed. There was a sadness dragging at my soul. A depression that I just wanted to turn into and immerse myself. It might be easier than this fight.
Why had I ever let them disturb my schedule? Barely three weeks into this interminable year. And then what? The little voice in the back of my head was getting on what was left of my nerves.
Those stupid lifepods…lifepods. “Hatch’s lifepod was broken this morning, when I first went in his room. There were altered panels. Then after the alarm…it was solid. Exactly how it should be.”
The men, at least, didn’t pretend not to exchange long, measuring looks.
“She’s right, we go for the truth. Hatch and Andreas were essentially saying the same thing.” Oz looked at Dirk, not me. The man I’d already taken as a lover seemed to struggle.
“I hate the idea.” No, he didn’t. It scared him. The insight startled me, but I didn’t disbelieve it. Very little frightened Dirk, but telling me the truth—he was sweating.
“Sometimes we must do that which is most unpleasant to achieve that which we most desires.” Or learn that what we thought we desired was simply ephemera. A harsh lesson, but an equitable one.
The screen resumed a display of my vitals. They were all within range, the conversation soothing.
“Fine,” Dirk conceded and then perched on the bed. “But we do it slowly. One at a time. And you,” he focused on me. “You can call for a break at any time, but so can we, if your vitals spike again. Understood?”
“Why the hell will my vitals spike if you tell me the truth?”
“The truth, my darling Valda,” Dirk’s voice softened, then he sighed. “The truth isn’t always what we might think it is, and self-revelation can be as brutal as the lies we told ourselves to create the initial delusion.”
Why did it sound like he was quoting someone? Tabling the question, I motioned to the water. Oz passed it to my free hand. Hatch still held the other captive. If I asked every question as it came to mind, we’d be here all night. So, I asked the only one that would get us started. “Who goes first?”
Amazingly, they didn’t argue. They drew straws.
Chapter 15
In order to learn the most important lessons in life, one must each day surmount a fear. - Ralph Waldo Emerson
OZ
Valda’s pallor disturbed on a level Oz couldn’t verbalize. She’d become the center of his world. The men around him close friends, if not brothers. When Hatch alerted him to arresting vitals, Oz did everything he could think of and some he wouldn’t normally consider. His nickname might be Reaper, but he refused to be the curator of her passing.
Not for anything. Drawing the short straw on telling her the truth and their history—it meant getting out from beneath the chokehold of their current plan. He checked her vitals as he took a seat on the edge of her bed.
“I’m ready when you are.” The full weight of her gaze rested on him. Despite her obvious weariness, the clarity in her rich amber eyes held him riveted. She always exceeded expectations and elevated them to the same level.
Holding her left hand in his, he nodded. “Dirk’s rules apply. If you need a break, or your vitals come into question, we will table this until you are more stable.”
“Then we will begin again.” Self-confidence had never been one of her flaws.
“Yes,” he agreed with a chuckle and stroked his thumb across the softness of her palm. “We will begin again as many times as we have to…” Until you are free of all of this. He left the last words unspoken. Then with a glance to his companions, he nodded to the rest of the room. “Take a seat, gentlemen. We could be here a while.”
He didn’t wait for them to finish finding a spot, because they knew his story. What he had to say was for Valda.
“Being arrested wasn’t the worst thing to happen to me. I’d gone long past the worst with the number of people I’d been forced to watch die. A one-way ticket to New Zealand under heavy guard didn’t intimidate me. The shackles on my wrists didn’t faze me. And my assignment to work for one of the world’s most renowned minds came across as more of a reward than a punishment.”
Her eyes lit up at the last, and her lips parted, but he held up a finger.
“No questions. You hear the story, and you can ask when we are all done.”
Mutiny glittered within the eyes he’d been admiring, and she sucked in a deep breath. The nasal cannula, though better than the mask, served as a reminder that she was in trouble.
Deep trouble.
Finally, Valda nodded her agreement to his terms.
So, he began again… “Years ago…
“The facility in New Zealand was gorgeous. For the last 10 years, my only views that than that of the dead and the dying. Hospitals, though always institutional, had become little more than stepping-stones to morgues. Being dubbed an angel of mercy, no matter how pretty the title, was no blessing. My ex-wife had once accused me of forgetting what it was like to be alive. I couldn’t dispute the charge, and I didn’t even bother to try. When she asked for the divorce, I simply gave it to her.
Throwing myself into my work had been as much for me as it was for my patients. I still thought of them as patients. I refused to diminish them to the state of animated corpse. Understanding that was how all the other physicians might end up treating them was why I fought so hard against my arrest, and why I took my work underground.
Still, they found me. After my plane landed in Auckland, they shuffled me from one transport vehicle to another. The helicopter was a bumpy ride. Touching down, I had my first view of the ocean. The waves, all white and foamy, crested against the rocks before rolling onto the sand. The wind seemed a constant roar, and in the distance, birds.
It reminded me of stories that I had read from a faraway childhood, and at the same time seems so utterly alien. Where were my hope walls and institutional beds, where was the smell of sickness, and sweat, and disease? Where was the sickly-sweet odor of death?
Locked in leg irons
, I’m barely able to take more than a half a step at a time, I let the guards guide me up the path toward the beautiful glass house. Though I could see white walls and pillars framing the glass, it was the way the sun glinted against it turned it into a jewel. The glare burned my eyes and made them water. It was in this state, I met you.
Dressed in flowing white silk and the most delicate sandals, you exited through a sliding door amidst the glass. Dr. Valda Bashan, the most elegant creature I’d ever had the privilege of seeing.
I think, at the time, I stopped walking for a moment. The sunlight dazzled me and left me half-blind because all I could see was you. Poetry had never been something I excelled at, yet suddenly I found myself wishing I had a pithy quote to greet you with—particularly when you gave me the most dismissive look and then glared at my keepers.
“Unlock those shackles. Release him immediately. He’s here to be an assistant, not a prisoner.” Your voice washed over me, the most intricate accent. I could hear traces of New Zealand, South Africa, the islands, and Russian in your voice. If I hadn’t already been utterly besotted by your beauty, your voice would have kept me the most willing captive. “Now,” you insisted, and Dirk stood just behind you—and no, I’m not telling his story, he was already there when you met me.
Dirk folded his arms and glared at them. The expression all of us had experienced at one time or another, but again, a story for another day.
They fumbled to comply, and then I’d been freed. My keepers shuttled back to their helicopter. You waited until it lifted into the air before you looked at me. Your nose wrinkled, but you didn’t seem repulsed so much as concerned.
“Come,” you said, holding out a hand to me. “I’ll show you to your rooms. You should take a shower and get some rest. You can start work tomorrow. I’ll have food sent up.”
We were halfway to the room before I realized I’d done nothing but follow you like a puppy. “What work are we doing?” Not poetry, I know, but it was the best I could come up with.
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