When it happened, I nearly jerked my body a couple of inches off the bed.
It was a hand on my shoulder. Shaking me.
I managed not to flinch. I pretended I was a rag doll.
The hand shook me again and again and again.
I concentrated on staying relaxed. It wasn’t easy. The shaking grew rougher and rougher, until it disconnected my neck plug from the jumpsuit plug. My head hurt so bad from the sudden disconnection from the robot that I wanted to throw up.
When the shaking finally stopped, I felt hands at my head. The headset was jerked from my ears.
“Stupid kid,” I heard someone mutter. I knew I’d heard that voice before, but I couldn’t remember who it belonged to.
“You can’t blame it on him, you idiot,” another vaguely familiar voice said. “Jordan warned us there could be brain damage if you shut the program down without giving warning.”
Jordan!
Dr. Jordan was a new scientist, just arrived from Earth. He’d designed the Hammerhead space torpedo that I’d refused to test because I believed it would be used as a weapon against Earth. Was Jordan behind this? But how could he be? He’d been locked up for five days, awaiting deportation back to Earth on the next shuttle.
“Well, if the kid’s old man had listened to us … ,” the first voice grumbled.
“It seems you did plenty of damage to the kid. Jordan’s going to be mad about that too.”
What had they done to Dad? And who were they? I clenched my teeth to keep from yelling.
Fingers plucked at my blindfold. I kept my eyes shut as the slight pressure of it left my cheek and forehead.
The hand shook me again. I played the rag doll. I didn’t know if it would help for them to think I was unconscious, but it seemed the best chance I had, no matter how small.
“Help me lift him into the wheelchair,” voice one said. “He’s out like a clubbed fish.”
“I don’t want to bring him to Jordan like this, though,” voice two answered. “Then we’ll have too much to explain.”
“We might not have any choice. If the kid’s brain circuits are scrambled, he’ll never come out of this. Jordan’s going to kill us for it.”
“If Jordan’s going to go nuts on us anyway, what will five minutes hurt?” voice two said.
I strained to place a face with the voice. It came to me. One of the security force. I’d been with him on the platform buggy during the dome’s oxygen crisis.
That familiar voice continued. “Give the kid a chance to wake up. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, and he won’t be able to say anything about this to Jordan.”
“Five minutes, then,” voice one said. “We wait any longer—”
“I know. I know. In the meantime, let’s drag the kid’s old man out of here.”
Drag Dad out? What had they done to him?
I heard scuffling. I told myself there was nothing I could do from my wheelchair. I told myself the best thing I could do for Dad was wait for an opportunity to help somehow.
It didn’t work. I had to open my eyes.
I peeked and saw the backsides of two large men who were lifting Dad by his arms and shoulders. They hauled him toward the door, with Dad’s feet trailing.
It had been the operation to put the plug in my neck that caused damage to my spine. The freedom of being able to control an incredible robot body had cost me the freedom of being able to move the legs of my own body.
I’d learned a long time ago not to feel sorry for myself because of my wheelchair. I’d learned to stop wishing that I could walk like most everyone else. But in this moment, with every nerve telling me to get up and run after the two men and attack them for what they’d done to Dad, I hated my wheelchair all over again.
The door closed behind them.
That left me alone. And totally, totally unsure of what was happening.
CHAPTER 5
Five minutes.
Fortunately I didn’t need more than 20 seconds, because it looked like faking unconsciousness had worked. All I needed to do was wait those 20 seconds, go to the door, throw it open, and yell for help.
The area of the Mars Dome was about the same as four of the Earth football fields that I’ve read about. The main dome covered minidomes—small, dark, plastic huts where each scientist and techie lived in privacy from the others—and experimental labs and open areas where equipment was maintained. The dome was only two stories tall. The main level held the minidomes and laboratories. One level up, a walkway about 10 feet wide circled the inside of the dome walls. Altogether, about 200 people lived beneath the dome.
I knew it would take only one good long yell for nearly everyone to hear me. Probably 50 of them would come running. When they did, not only would I be safe, but they’d see the two goons who were dragging away my dad. Then we’d get to the bottom of this, and I’d be able to work with the robot again on the rescue attempt at the cave-in site.
I counted to 20. Then, to be sure, I counted to 10.
Slowly I rolled forward and opened the door. In front of me were minidomes arranged neatly in lines. I looked down the corridors between them. I stared long and hard, trying to make sense of what I saw.
I shut the door again and rolled back to where I’d been.
Outside the computer lab, more members of the security force were herding dozens and dozens of protesting scientists and techies into groups in the main open area of the dome. Yelling would do me no good. Not when it looked like the security guards each carried a neuron gun.
What was going on? For a project like the Mars Dome, it was necessary to have a police force as protection for everyone. But regular weapons were too dangerous. Not only could stray bullets do serious damage to equipment and the dome, but guns that fired bullets could be stolen and used by the wrong person.
Neuron guns solved both problems. They worked by firing electrical impulses that disabled nerves and neurons. No damage to skin or muscle or bone. Nor would they work for someone who stole one. The guns were linked by satellite beam to the dome’s main computer. A security code had to be entered before the guns were operative. Each gun was programmed by fingerprint recognition to a specific member of the security force. Even after a neuron gun was operative, it wouldn’t work in the hands of the wrong person.
Except now it looked like everyone in the security force was working together.
But how had they programmed the mainframe computer to operate the guns? Only Rawling had the code, and he was under a cave-in.
I sighed. It wasn’t going to do any good to roll out into the corridors and begin asking questions. Worse, I had only a little over four minutes until the security goons returned for me. I forced my mind away from questions and back to what I could do to help Dad and myself.
I wheeled in a tight circle and surveyed the computer room. On the bed, the blindfold and headset lay where the guys had dropped them. Those wouldn’t do me any good. On the computer table was a small tool set with tiny screwdrivers and some pliers that a techie had left the day before after doing some maintenance work.
I pushed the wheelchair over, grabbed the tool set, and stuffed it down the back of my jumpsuit.
There were a couple of pens beside a pad of paper. I ripped off some paper, folded it, and stuffed it up one sleeve. I slipped the pens up my other sleeve. I hoped some of these items would come in handy later.
Other than that, the room held only the computer drive, now shut off and disconnected from the remote that sent X-ray information to the robot out on the surface of the planet. I understood why my head hurt so badly. Rawling said it was very, very important that I be the one to take my mind away from the robot controls because the electrical impulses of my brain were so closely intertwined with the computer. When one of the goons clicked the Off switch to bring me back from the robot body, it was like jamming an electric prong into the side of my head.
I kept staring at the computer, knowing there was something I’d be able to d
o if I were ever left alone for a while….
I reached down and reconnected everything. I powered up the computer again and left it on, grateful that the humming of the hard drive couldn’t be heard above the whoosh of the vents that circulated fresh air through the dome.
With the computer on again, all I needed was more time alone. That would give me the chance to reconnect my neck plug, which was still loose from when the guy had shaken me so hard. Then, with the neck plug of my jumpsuit sending information to the remote in this room, and with the remote sending digital information ahead to the robot body, I’d be reconnected to the robot. It was more difficult to keep out distractions without the blindfold and headset, but it was possible. If I could control the robot body, I could get it back into the dome and let it do everything I couldn’t do from my wheelchair.
I spun the wheelchair toward the door and positioned it where the security goons had left me. I slumped my head forward and closed my eyes.
And waited for their return.
CHAPTER 6
“Where is it?”
Dr. Jordan had taken a chair and turned it backward. He sat in it, facing me, barely a foot away. We were in Rawling’s office, where the security men had delivered me five minutes earlier.
I had faked unconsciousness there too as I listened to Dr. Jordan yell at them for shutting down the computer program without being sure I had returned from the robot controls. But I still hadn’t learned anything about the situation in the dome.
After he’d finished yelling, Dr. Jordan had pinched my nose shut and poured water in my mouth until I had no choice but to gag and fight for air.
When I’d opened my eyes, he smiled and said, “I knew you were faking it.” Then he pulled up the chair and asked the question that made no sense to me.
“Where is what?” I asked in return. Cold water soaked the front of my jumpsuit, but I refused to let him know it made me uncomfortable.
Dr. Jordan nodded at a security guard. He brought over a handheld metal scanner, the type used to search for metal in rocks. The guard flicked it on, and the wand began beeping as he passed it over me.
The search was quick. They found the tool set, pens, and paper and took those. But the metal scanner results evidently weren’t enough to satisfy Dr. Jordan. “So, it’s not on you. Where is it?”
“Where is what?” I repeated.
“Project 3.”
“Project 3?”
“Don’t play games with me,” he warned.
His face was round like his gold-rimmed glasses, which usually seemed to bounce light so it looked like he had two perfectly circular mirrors in front of his eyes. His goatee was round too, and his nose was turned up at the end, showing the dark of his nostrils as two more circles. From a distance, I’d always thought he looked harmless, like an absentminded clown. Just five days ago, when I’d refused to take the space torpedo on a test flight, however, I’d learned he was anything but harmless. He’d sounded like a military general rather than the scientist I had been led to believe he was. Now, with him looming in front of me, I realized how big he really was. At this angle, without light bouncing off his glasses, I saw into his cold eyes. And I shivered.
“I’m not playing games,” I said. “Where’s my dad? What’s happening in the dome?”
As the security guards had pushed me through the dome, I’d kept my head down like I was unconscious. But I still heard enough commotion and worried voices to know that something terrible was happening.
“I want to know where you have it.” Dr. Jordan leaned forward and put his hands on my shoulders. I smelled stale coffee on his breath. He squeezed his fingers into the muscles of my shoulders with such force I almost gasped. “I want to know what Ashley told you about it.”
Ashley. His daughter. And my only friend close to my age. Hearing her name stabbed me with pain, and I had to look away.
Everyone knew she’d died on our test mission when she flew Dr. Jordan’s space torpedo directly into Phobos, one of the moons of Mars. I wore a silver earring of hers on a chain around my neck. The earring was a small cross. She’d given it to me as a friendship pledge when I’d had to travel far away from the dome to check out the strange black boxes. But Ashley had become more and more secretive about her past, sidestepping any questions I asked. She’d betrayed me by not telling me she was like me—a kid who could control robots through virtual reality.
When she’d chosen to pilot the Hammerhead torpedo, I thought she’d betrayed me again and I’d been angry. But then she’d crashed the torpedo into Phobos, sacrificing herself to save millions on Earth from dying.
After that, I’d had a hard time facing life. She was my friend, and I hadn’t trusted her to do the right thing. I’d stayed in my room for two days, not wanting to see anyone.
“Talk to me.” Dr. Jordan grabbed my chin and forced me to look into his eyes again. “You have no idea what kind of trouble you just bought yourself.”
Obviously he wasn’t too upset about Ashley. How could he be so cold about her death? His coldness made me angry. And gave me strength.
“I’m not the one in trouble,” I said, clenching my teeth. “You are.”
He laughed harshly. “Me?”
“There are four men trapped by a cave-in, and you’re keeping me from helping them.” I drew a breath. “Something’s happening out in the dome, and you’re here instead of fixing it. So maybe you’re part of that too. Which means if no one is trying to get out to the cave-in and you’re to blame, you’ll be responsible for those four scientists’ lives.”
Dr. Jordan’s laughter died into a tight, nasty smile. “That’s right,” he said, lifting a hand from my shoulder and gesturing around the office. “I’d almost forgotten. Your friend Rawling McTigre. He’s out there, isn’t he?”
As director, Rawling had taken this office over from the previous director, Blaine Steven, who was under arrest because of the oxygen crisis and was about to be shipped back to Earth on the next shuttle. Steven had made his office the biggest single room in the dome. Rawling hadn’t yet had time to make any changes. On the walls were framed paintings of Earth scenes like sunsets and mountains. The former director had spent a lot of the government’s money to get those luxuries included in cargo. But even a director didn’t get bookshelves and real books. Cargo was too expensive. If people wanted books, they read them on DVD-gigarom.
“Not only is Rawling out there,” I said, getting angrier, “there are three others. If you don’t let me go—”
He twisted my arm. “Nobody tells me what to do. Not even the president of the World United. Understand? You fall so far below that I could crush you like stepping on a grape.” He let that small smile return. “Tell you what. If you don’t give me what I want, I’ll make sure those four stay so long under all that rock that they become mummies. And I can promise you, your parents will be next to die.”
My anger dissolved in instant fear, and my voice cracked. “Tell me what it is you think I have. I can’t give it to you unless I know what you’re looking for.”
Dr. Jordan studied my face. “I almost believe you. Except you’re the only person Ashley would have told. And you’re the only person who could use it.”
“What?” I asked with desperation. “Just tell me what you want.”
Instead of answering, Dr. Jordan stood suddenly. He walked around behind me, too quickly for me to turn in my wheelchair and follow. I felt him grab the back of my jumpsuit. He twisted roughly and yanked hard. The fabric ripped.
When he stood in front of me again, I understood. In his hand was the plug from my jumpsuit, the one that connected my neck plug to the antenna sewn into the clothing.
Dr. Jordan dropped the small plug and patch of fabric into my lap. “There. Now you’ll never be able to connect to it. If I don’t get it back, at least you won’t be able to control it. And if you can’t use it, no one can.”
It. Did he mean the robot body? Surely he knew it was at the cave-in site.
If he wanted it, all he had to do was wait until I’d returned with it.
“Please,” I said, “just tell me what it is you think I have and—”
“Lock him up,” Dr. Jordan ordered the security guards. “We’ll give him the rest of the day to decide whether he wants to help. When he’s hungry enough, he’ll talk. If not, we’ll see if some damage to his parents opens his mouth.” He turned sharply and left the office.
As the door opened and closed, I heard commotion out in the dome. What was going on?
One of the security guys took the handles of my wheelchair and began to push.
I didn’t know where they intended to lock me up. All I knew was that the neck plug had been ripped from my jumpsuit, and I no longer had any chance of reconnecting to the robot. Which meant I was a prisoner of my wheelchair.
With time running out for Rawling and the other three trapped by the cave-in.
With Dad injured and taken somewhere else.
With Mom in danger if I didn’t tell Dr. Jordan what he wanted.
With some sort of takeover happening in the dome.
And with the nearest help the distance from Earth to Mars—50 million miles away.
CHAPTER 7
My new prison was a storage room. Its floor size was twice as big as my wheelchair, and the ceiling hardly higher than I could have reached by standing on top of my wheelchair and jumping with my arms up.
But of course, I could not stand. Or jump.
Nor could I even roll my wheelchair. The security guys had removed the bolts from the wheels. If I turned and moved in any direction, the wheels would fall off.
The guys had also shut off the light above me, leaving me in darkness.
I felt totally helpless. Although I knew God was with me, even in the dark, I felt totally alone. I wished God could talk with me like Ashley had. But sometimes it seemed like I was talking to the ceiling.
I sat in the darkness for a couple of minutes, staring at the crack of light from under the door. My eyes began to adjust to the dimness.
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