“Thanks for the heads up.” Carialle forced herself to smile as she entered the dressing room and Peters continued on his way with a cheery wave. She sank onto the bench in front of her locker and rubbed her forehead. What to do now? She knew the answer, plain as day, she was just trying to avoid admitting it to herself. She had to help the warrior escape—it was Thuun’s highest commandment for one with her power. One did not say to the god that Marcus wasn’t of her people and therefore none of her business, when so plainly Thuun had swayed events to place her here.
And how many times did I wish someone would step forward to help me and the other Tulavarran captives? I have to be that person for Marcus.
Checking for reassurance Matikian was deeply engrossed in his usual salacious entertainment, she cleaned one room and then another, knowing she was stalling. She took the robo cart and entered Marcus’s room, moving to the bedside and searching for his aura at the same time. Was it her imagination or were the blue flames less vivid? Certainly there was more of the ominous gray. On the other hand, the pools of black had shrunk to mere shadows and were crisscrossed by white bands of light, so she believed he was well on the way to recovery from the alien experimentation. Taking a deep breath and glancing nervously over her shoulder, she pulled on her reserves of power and called to him to awaken. Fighting the drugs in his system was like wading through gritty mud and her skin crawled as she imagined the gray filth of the toranquidol touching her.
The bed shook as he startled in his restraints like a sleeping infant suddenly wakened, and she opened her eyes to see him staring at her. She held a finger to her lips and scurried to check the door. Satisfied Matikian was ignoring the world around him as usual, she hurried to the bedside and slid her fingers over Marcus’s hand. Leaning close, she whispered, “I’m going to help you but we have to be careful, understand?”
His pupils were huge, dilated from the drugs. He tried to speak but no sound came out. Hastily she laid her hand across his chapped lips. “I’ll ensure you get less of the medicine but you have to convince them you’re still sedated. Can you put on an act?”
Marcus studied her face for a moment. “Yes.” Getting the single syllable out seemed to require almost more energy than he possessed.
“Good. And then we’ll see what we can do about getting you out of here.”
“Today,” he whispered against her hand. “Now.”
“Not yet—you aren’t ready. There’s time. Trust me.”
She removed her fingers and he spoke so faintly she had to shake her head and lean closer. His breath puffed against her ear as he repeated himself. “Angel.”
Laughing, she shook her head. “Far from it, but I can’t stand aside and let them do this to you. I’m going to send you under again but you’ll remember our agreement.” She released her hold on his consciousness and his eyelids drifted downward, despite his obvious struggle to stay awake.
To her astonishment, he shook his head, squared his shoulders and reopened his eyes. “Name?”
“Carialle.”
Although he clearly was desperate to say more, his head lolled to the side and he snored as the drug took him.
Her adrenaline spiking from having made her risky decision and acted upon it, she did another rapid check of the hall, reassuring herself Matikian was oblivious. Then she took a deep breath and directed her power at the orderly, to create the impression he’d already administered today’s dose to Marcus. After a few moments of her concentrated energy, Matikian leaned forward to make an entry in the console’s AI database, and she relaxed.
So far, so good.
Carialle trudged off to clean the other rooms.
He woke in the morning feeling closer to normal than he had in months. Relieved, Marcus tried to move and the restraints bit into his painfully chafed wrists and ankles. Right, still a prisoner in this hellhole. But he felt unaccountably optimistic, even as he lay helpless and weak. Being forced to remain prone in one position and denied real food was affecting his readiness to take action. He flexed his hands and feet, then launched into the same isometric exercises he’d performed every time he was fortunate enough to be conscious. His wrists were a little less sore and as he moved, a delicate floral smell came to his nostrils, faint enough to be almost nonexistent. He remembered the encounter last night with Carialle. She was the reason he was better today. Apparently she’d carried out whatever her plan was to keep the monsters running this place from filling him with more of the damn drug, last night at least.
He wondered what she’d done. Would he see her again tonight? He pushed away a flicker of suspicion whether her kindness might be part of a larger psychological experiment being conducted on him. Those eyes of hers are so beautiful, like gazing into her soul. He refused to believe she was lying to him. But why was she helping him? She worked in this cursed place after all—she must have seen others treated as he was, or worse. What did she want from him in return? Taking risks like the ones she was running came at a high price. Well, he’d gladly pay, to get out of this hell.
Hearing voices in the hall, he closed his eyes and forced himself to relax. Remembering his promise to Carialle, he lay apparently unresponsive as two people entered his room and walked to stand beside the bed. Hoping his act was good enough to fool them, he was glad there were no vital signs monitors in the room because his heart was racing. Normally his heart rate slowed in a combat situation and he was deadly calm. His hard won Special Forces skills were taking a beating under the onslaught of the drugs and frustration at his own physical weakness roiled his gut.
“Guess the increased dose of toranquidol finally kicked in. He’s not yelling obscenities this morning,” said one voice. “Sleeping like a baby.” A rough hand poked him in the ribs and he forced himself not to react.
“A few more days at this dose and he’ll do anything Trang asks.” The second person made an obscene suggestion about what service could be requested of Marcus and both sniggered. They riffed in this vein for a few more moments. He hoped the pair were making jokes at his expense, not speculating what the mysterious ‘Trang’ might actually do to him when he was sufficiently under mind control.
Wearying of the salacious banter at last, one of the orderlies finished with, “And then we’ll be rid of him. I’m ready to reset to our usual patient load. No fuss, no muss.”
“And no more shouting. Should we give him an extra shot? Hurry the process along?”
Marcus counted backward to keep himself from visibly tensing up at the idea of another inject of whatever poison was pumping into him. Carialle seemed to think it was essential he not be drugged for whatever escape attempt she had in mind to succeed. Considering how each inject wiped him out for hours, he agreed.
“Nah, Mrs. Trang calculated the dosages pretty carefully. She’s going out of town for two days so if we push it and he passes through the compliant stage too fast, and goes brain dead before she can get her hands on the deed to his veteran’s acres, it’ll be our necks.”
The men left the room and Marcus breathed a cautious sigh of relief. This was one precarious situation he was in and the mysterious Carialle was his only, scarily slender reed of hope. He set himself the task of feigning passivity for the remainder of the day, to keep lulling the suspicions of the staff imprisoning him.
When Carialle reported for duty that night, her stomach was in knots and she hadn’t been able to eat dinner. She was terrified her impromptu plan would go wrong somehow and she only had one chance at rescuing Marcus. If she failed tonight, Trang and her employees would make sure the poor soldier was denied another opportunity to escape. She’d be lucky to escape herself if she messed this up.
The first hurdle was to see if he’d managed to stay unsedated all day. As she got ready to leave the dressing room, straightening her blue tunic, she remembered with a blush that he was naked. Going to the rack of uniforms, she took the largest one there and bundled it into a tightly folded square, hidden under her cleaning supplies. Noth
ing I can do about shoes. She stifled a nervous giggle. If his having to escape barefoot was her only problem tonight, they’d be doing fine.
Once she reached the ward, everything was reassuringly normal, although Peters was deeply engrossed in conversation with Matikian, debating about a local sports championship. Carialle forced herself to greet both men cheerfully and clean the first room, spending extra time on it, as she could hear the pair continuing their talk. She didn’t want to expend shards of power encouraging Peters to leave but she would if the men chatted much longer. A few moments later the supervisor left on his own and she knew it was only the orderly, the comatose patients and herself in the wing.
Moving at her normal speed to make her motions unsuspicious and routine, if Matikian bothered to pay any attention to her movements, she bypassed the other rooms and entered Marcus’s. He lay with his eyes closed and for a heart stopping moment she thought he must have been dosed during the day after all. I can bring him to consciousness for a short time but not long enough, and not with the strength to walk. She stood beside the bed, touched his bare shoulder gingerly and whispered his name.
Marcus snapped his eyes open, studying her face intently. “You came back.”
“I said I would. How do you feel?”
He shrugged as best he could. “Woozy. Ready to get out of here. What’s the plan, lady?”
“The first part is on me. I have to send Matikian, the orderly, to sleep. Then we get you loose and we run.” She went to the door and took a quick peek into the hall. Taking a deep breath, she began to hum the song for lulling the harvested fields into a dormant state, which was the closest analogy she could think of, and built her power, launching an attack on her unsuspecting co-worker, compelling him to rest his head on the desk and sleep. As she watched, and sang her chant as quietly as she could, he nodded off. It looked as if he might fall so she rushed down the hall and guided him to a safe position, snoring. Carialle grabbed his control cards from his belt and ran to Marcus’s room.
“All right, he’s out.” She hesitated, not sure where to begin freeing him.
“Restraints first,” Marcus said.
Carialle fumbled with his right wrist, nerves making her clumsy. She could sense the tension in Marcus, saw how he kept biting his lip, probably to keep himself from snapping orders at her. He was constantly checking the door. “I’m sorry, I’ve never done this before,” she said, trying to apologize and explain her lack of vital knowledge. “I’m not usually allowed to touch the patients.”
“Take a deep breath, you’re doing fine.” His calm voice steadied her nerves.
She finally figured out how to insert the control card while simultaneously pressing the release button and the restraint snapped open. “Your poor wrist,” she said, staring at the abraded, bloody marks.
“I’ve survived a lot worse.” He made a fist and flexed his arm as if trying to reawaken the muscles. “Do the other one and then I can work on getting the damn machine off me while you free my ankles.”
She was able to open the restraint for his left wrist rapidly and then they studied the medunit. “I think one of these controls it,” she said uncertainly, fanning out the cards she held.
He held out his hand and she gave him the loop of keys, detaching the one she needed for his ankles. Sitting up a bit unsteadily, Marcus fumbled with the unit, and the ever present humming died as he managed to turn it off. With a stifled groan and a bitten off curse, he laid against the pillow.
“What’s wrong?” Wringing her hands, unsure what to do, she rushed to the head of the bed. “What happened?”
“Fucking tubes…withdrawing…hurts like a sonofabitch.” He bit his lip hard enough to draw blood and clenched his fists on the rails. “This is some lame cheap tech they’ve been using on me.”
The medunit emitted a loud click and a beep and swung away from the bed. Involuntarily Carialle looked down to make sure he was all right and then hastily averted her eyes from his naked body. Other than more bruises, he seemed fine. And well endowed. Even in this crisis situation she couldn’t help but notice. “Can you sit up?” Keeping her eyes scrupulously trained on his face, she braced him with her arm behind his back and was alarmed to feel muscle tremors as he strove to sit up.
“Am I escaping naked?” The tone was light but his grin was twisted, as if he was still in pain.
“Barefoot, not naked.” She ran to the cart and pulled out the uniform she’d stolen earlier. As she handed it over, she heard unexpected noise in the hallway, Peters’ voice as he tried to rouse Matikian.
“Fuck.” Marcus slid off the bed, barely keeping himself upright.
“Get dressed. I’ll handle this.” Hoping the soldier could manage to stand long enough to put on the clothing, she grabbed her robo cart and walked into the hall, heading casually toward the console while her heart pounded in her chest. “Hey, Peters, what’s wrong with Matikian?”
Hands on his hips, the supervisor frowned as he observed the snoring orderly. “I don’t know. Drunk maybe. He was coherent and conscious when I was here before. Did you notice anything odd about him after I left?”
“No, he was his usual self.” She lied with the most cheerful tone she could manage. “Let me know if you need help.”
Entering the nearest room as if she was going to clean, Carialle leaned on the wall and hummed, building her power to send Peters to sleep as well. It was harder than the original effort because she hadn’t been able to recharge her ability in between. A moment later she heard a thud as he too hit the floor. Fighting off a vision of Dobkin’s death from a fall, she ran to the console, checking to see Peters was breathing, and then fled to see how Marcus was doing.
He was dressed in the one piece uniform, fabric stretched tight over his muscular frame, leaning on the bed, knuckles white with the effort to stay on his feet. Turning his head as she rushed in, he said, “Adrenaphix.”
The word made no sense to her. “What?”
“I need a hit of adrenaphix.”
“What is that?”
“An energy boost. We use it all the time in Teams.” Blinking as if the light hurt his eyes, he stared at her. “You can’t carry me as I’m twice your size or more, and I’m weak as a kitten from the damn med they were pumping into me. The docs should have it in the central medicine cabinet. How long before anyone else comes in?”
“Usually no one else enters the area at night, only Matikian and me. I wasn’t counting on Peters checking in here again. He may be missed in the other wing because he supervises both areas. If the nurses need him and can’t find him—” She grabbed the key cards from the mattress and sprinted to where the meds were kept. It took her precious moments to find the right key and unlock the cabinet. The meds were stored in no order that made sense to her but after shoving containers aside desperately she found adrenaphix injects on a lower shelf and grabbed the entire box. Thank Thuun I taught myself to read Basic.
Re-entering Marcus’s room, she held out the cartridges and he took one, studied it for a moment before jabbing it into his bicep and grabbed a second. “Civilian dose, practically worthless.” He took a third in the other arm.
“Whoa, soldier, go easy on the feelgoods.”
Cautiously he straightened, stuffed the remaining injects into his pants pocket and stepped away from the bed. Stretching to work the kinks out of his neck and back, he said, “False energy is better than none. I’ll crash at some point so we need to get where we’re going.”
“I have the key to the rear exterior door to keep the alarm from sounding. This clinic is a few blocks away from my apartment. We—we’ll have to figure out what to do from there.”
“No groundcar I suppose?” Walking silently on bare feet, he followed her as she headed away from the console, toward the locked rear door.
Carialle shook her head. “Sorry.”
Once they were outside in the cool night air and the door whispered shut behind them, he took a deep breath while he checked the i
mmediate surroundings with sharp attention, as if expecting an attack any moment. “I owe you.”
“We’re not safe yet.” She tugged at his elbow and led him in the direction of her apartment building. The street and sidewalks were empty at this hour.
“Your planning is a bit spontaneous,” he said as they walked. “But I’m not complaining. It worked. You improvise well.”
Carialle looked over her shoulder. Still way too close to the clinic. “We’re going too slow.”
“Doing my best, angel. What did you have in mind to do if I couldn’t walk at all?” His steps wavering as if he was drunk, Marcus managed to increase his speed fractionally.
She wished she’d thought of shoes, belatedly realizing the rough pavement must be hurting his bare feet. “The possibility honestly never occurred to me. You have such well-defined muscles, I believed you’d be fine.”
He let loose a laugh, rapidly smothered. “Thanks for the compliment but apparently I’ve been in bed a long time, losing muscle mass and co-ordination. What’s the Sectors standard date today?”
She told him and he shook his head. “I can’t make the math work right now but probably at least six months. In the military hospital they’d have done therapy to keep my muscles from atrophying. All they wanted at your place was for me to die. No,” he corrected himself with a wry smile, “To sign over all my assets and then die. How did I end up there anyway?”
“I only know the last part of it but I’ll tell you later. We should save our breath for walking.”
Eventually they reached her building and she tugged him through the gate with a sigh of relief. Most of the apartments lining the courtyard were dark and she hoped they’d reach hers without being observed. Marcus was leaning on her more and more by the time they finally crossed her threshold. She guided him to the bed, where he sank heavily onto the mattress, head in his hands. After locking the door, she faced him.
Two Against the Stars Page 5