by Trevor Wyatt
“On your command, sir.”
“Don’t kill him.”
“Yes, sir.”
Marcus tapped the screen and the cell door slid open. He held his breath and his heart thudded in his ears. Ethan screamed and rushed the guards. They pulled their triggers and he dropped just outside the door.
After making sure he was actually unconscious, the guards shackled him and dragged him back to bed. It wasn’t until he was secured to the railing that Marcus let himself breathe. He looked to his right. Edie was shaken, but thoughtful. Like him, she probably had a million equations running through her head. To his left, Trevor looked faint but composed. The boy took up cooking two years before when the war started. That was when the focus shifted to building weapons that could match Sonali technology. He said cooking relieved stress and since he had no one to share it with, Marcus ate very well. Chances were, he’d have something for the entire lab tomorrow.
When the guards finished, he secured the door. He was eager to get away from cell 18, walking as fast as possible. No one else dawdled either, and was sure the bloody Sonali would be the subject of all their dreams tonight.
Ethan
Ethan woke up and didn’t know where he was. He tried to look around, but his head wouldn’t move. He couldn’t see much because blue haze filled his vision. He was in a bed. Blinking hurt but cleared his sight enough to see medical equipment and beds on either side. More of his kind lay there, sleeping or dead. The only sound was the gentle beeping of some kind of monitor. He assumed it was for his pulse, but the design was so basic it was hard to tell. That meant humans. He must have been captured and didn’t even remember his name, much less who captured him and why. He only had the feeling he should be ashamed for surviving.
He sat up and the pain barreled into him. It felt like his head and arm were on fire. He took several deep breaths, squashing the pain until it was tolerable and pulled the needle out of his arm. Once he started to think clearly he turned his head. A skinny human woman in a white overcoat was staring at him in shock. All he could do was stare back. She started furiously tapping her tablet and he knew she was calling for backup. He took the opportunity to glance around, looking for weaknesses in the cell. He was sure the glass was reinforced in some way, but was it reinforced enough?
Another gawker in an overcoat ran up. His mouth was moving but there was no sound. Finally, he realized that he was gushing blood from his eyes and nose. He glared at them, wondering if they were going to do anything about it. They just stood there gawking, talking, and tapping.
The old man. He was in charge. Knowing it was futile, he decided to get their attention. They might kill him, or he might bleed out. He refused to disgrace himself further by going quietly. Giving the old man a bloody glare he would never forget, Ethan charged the door.
He had a miniscule sense of satisfaction at the fear in their eyes before they finally opened the door and shot him down.
Marcus
He would never tell anyone how much the sight of the blood soaked Sonali patient haunted him. Trevor knew. He didn’t say a word as they walked back to Section 01.
“Go home,” Marcus sighed, “There will be plenty of extra work tomorrow.”
“If you finish your sandwich.”
He picked up the sandwich and took a bite, “Happy?”
“No,” But he turned and walked out, calling, “Goodnight,” to the room in general.
Marcus put the sandwich down and closed the office door. The readings from earlier would have to wait as he brought out the tablet and set it on the desk. He fished his keys out of the other pocket to unlock the middle drawer and slipped a second tablet out of its hiding place above the lip. This one was identical to the last with one difference. There was no uplink to the corporate cloud. It was where he kept all his private notes. Corporate didn’t need to know every little idea he had, and he didn’t like to give them over until they were fully formed into a cohesive plan of action.
The project in his head was simple enough and should be finished by sunup. Call him old fashioned, but he worked things out much better when he wrote by hand, the way people used to do in the olden days—before humanity left for the stars. He pushed the button to clear the wall-sized eraser board and flicked on the auto stylus. He had the board half full by the time the lab went dark and the last intern left.
He used the opportunity to raid all the intern workstations for tools and equipment. If he calculated correctly, he should be done just before Trevor arrived in the morning. He loaded up on caffeine and more potent stimulants he shouldn’t have. Even so, he felt himself slipping into the trance that always occurred when he was embroiled in a new project. He never knew what he had done until looking it over again. This time he was lost in a spin of unknown voices screaming at him, like being at a crowded concert. He couldn’t distinguish one from the other, but his hands kept moving as if they understood everything.
The alarm went off and he snapped out of it. The board was full and the desk was a wreck with bits of electronics scattered everywhere. In his hands were two devices. One clearly labeled “left” and the other “right”. They looked like gloves with all but the middle fingers missing. He slipped on the fingers and made sure the band down the palms were straight before cinching the wristbands. It was a good fit. He thumbed the micro buttons and they powered up silently. A gentle thrum against his palm tells him it was good to go. These beauties used one’s own bioelectricity as a battery, the tips of the fingers positive and negative ends, respectively. Not a powerful weapon, but good for more discreet operations. Ribhus Industries would be pleased if he let them have it. Most likely a good bonus if he submitted it.
Marcus had just enough time to clean up and hide his personal tablet before Trevor showed up with a box full of food containers. From the looks of him, he didn’t sleep at all. Marcus hadn’t expected him to, but he had to get out of this blasted place. He set the box down on the nearest station. One of the interns would distribute it later. Marcus waved him over, bringing up the stats on Ethan.
An alert flashed across the screen as he walked into the office. New orders for Section 23, Cell 18. Exploratory surgery followed by a full necropsy. In other words, cut him open. When he bled to death, cut him open some more. To buy time, Marcus requested preliminary diagnostics first, to make sure they had gained all the intel possible.
“You look sick,” Trevor was genuinely concerned, he was just that kind of man.
Marcus silently handed him the tablet. It took a moment for the implication to sink in, but then all the color drained from his face as well.
He handed the tablet back and sat on the stool beside Marcus, “What should I do, sir?”
Marcus just looked at him a moment, considering the hidden inference of the question, then shook his head, “When I tell you to go home, go. No questions.”
Trevor gave a firm nod, “Remember before the war when Ribhus looked for cures and designed equipment to make the food industry more productive? Ah, well,” he sighed and stood, shuffling out the door. It was the shuffle of a conquered young man.
Marcus would pity him if he didn’t feel the same. As it was, they were stuck, and there was nothing to be done about it. Not if they wanted to survive. One word of contention and he would never see his Becka again. Trevor would never cook another meal. It seemed wrong that he was more afraid of Ribhus Industries than the entire Terran Union, or the Sonali for that matter. It wasn’t the life he envisioned fresh out of University, but when the war started, he and everyone else had no choice. At first, the money was good. But now...it wasn’t enough. Not for what they wanted.
The tablet flashed with the answer he was waiting for. The green light for further testing before exploratory surgery. He hoped they would take their time responding so he could prepare, but at least the answer was affirmative.
Ethan
The cell door slid open and the misnamed Sonali squinted at the intruder. He had actually managed a few
hours of sleep and hated the disturbance. After they bound him to the bed, they never bothered to check on him. He had crusted blood all over himself and it was starting to itch. At least the bleeding had stopped, but his slits pulsated into the back of his skull. The glaring light exacerbate the agony, which he channeled into anger. Even if he didn’t have the opportunity for revenge, he would rather die angry than hopeless. The older doctor from the day before rolled a stool next to the bed and perched, studying Ethan closely. The Sonali tried to pour all of his hatred into his slits, aware that he was in no way threatening.
The doctor finally relaxed with a tiny smirk, “It seems you’ve overcome the effects of the thiopental-4. The only creature, human or otherwise, to do so. How did you do it?”
Ethan only glared.
“I know you understand. We embedded a translator chip in your ear. So, how did you do it?”
I want to rip your spine out and use it as a garrote.
“Hmm. Since I’m doing all the talking, you should know I ramble. Well. I see your bleeding has stopped. Let’s wash that dried shit off you,” he walked to the small sink, slapped on obnoxious orange nitrile gloves, and wet a towel, “My name is Dr. Marcus Carson. Since I don’t know yours, I’ve called you Ethan.”
That proclamation elicited a growl.
“If you won’t tell me your real name, then Ethan will have to do,” Marcus wagged the towel like a lecturer, “Now be still.”
Ethan obeyed only because his desire to be clean outweighed his desire for murder. The wet towel was soothing against his slits.
“There. Now I can see who I’m talking to. We’re going to run some more tests on you to try to figure out how you bypassed the thiopental-4, among other things. You’re a unique patient, Ethan,” Marcus stood to rinse the towel and folded it, lowering it over Ethan’s slits, “I’m going to draw some blood now.”
Ethan flinched as the needle hit its mark. It only lasted a second before the orange capped vial began to fill slowly. He couldn’t do anything and he was beginning to accept that. He let himself relax a little as the cool towel eased his throbbing head.
Marcus
After the blood draw, tissue cultures, and a saline drip for dehydration, Marcus ordered an MRI. Far from the cumbersome machine conceived centuries ago, a tech brought a handheld scanner and slowly passed it over Ethan’s body. It only took two minutes.
“That wasn’t so bad. I’ll be back to check on you later,” Marcus slipped out and rushed down the hall.
He sat the tablet on the desk to catch the results as soon as they came in, then slumped on his stool. Exhaustion took its toll and he caught himself nodding off more than once. A soft rap at the door startled him enough to jump off the stool. He turned and smiled as he saw Trevor on the other side of the glass and nodded for him to enter.
“Sir? I need to talk to you about something personal.”
“Close the door. Sit.” Marcus popped a stim tab and let it dissolve under his tongue.
“I, um, know about your diagnosis,” Trevor flinched.
“Huh?”
“The DID. I’ve known about it for years.”
“Oh, that,” Marcus gave a dismissive wave, but his heart sank, “It’s under control. Does everyone know about it?”
Trevor shook his head, “Only me. I’m telling you now because I know what you’re planning. We both know the consequences, Marcus.”
“Yes,” Marcus sighed, “I’m prepared.”
“I understand. Since I can’t talk you out of it, I’m with you.”
Marcus looked at Trevor in horror, “No. I don’t want you anywhere near this.”
“You don’t have a choice. I’m with you. I would tell you to get some sleep first but that’s a moot point. When you’re ready, I’ll be right behind you,” Like a son lecturing an elderly parent, Trevor stood and gave Marcus a look of stern determination, “Don’t start without me.”
Marcus felt his determination wilt. He could be brave working alone but Trevor and Becka were the only people he cared about. Well, there was no turning back. The results had not come in yet, but it didn’t matter. He slipped his tablet in one pocket and a bottle of stimulants in the other. Hesitating only a moment, he jerked the office door open and made the long journey back to Section 23. Maybe Trevor would get lucky by not catching up in time.
Ethan
It was actually a comfortable bed, after he was cleaned and the pain subsided. No one bothered him after the talkative doctor left. Besides the restraints, his only discomfort was intense hunger. He slipped in and out of consciousness, just thankful they let him sleep.
He had no idea how much time had passed when the chatty doctor next interrupted him. Just go away and let me die in peace. He wanted to scream, but wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. They can do their poking, prodding, scanning, and incessant talking, but he wouldn’t make it easy for them. The only reason he was still alive was because he was an anomaly, and he knew that wouldn’t last long.
Marcus barely spoke this time, and he wasn’t alone. The stern woman stood in the doorway, looking pensive. Good. Let her be the one afraid. He threw her a snarl for good measure.
“We’re just waiting for your MRI results,” Marcus removed the IV, tossing the cannula over the empty saline bag and sat on the stool.
The woman must have decided she wasn’t needed and walked away, leaving the door open. Marcus watched from the corner of his eye. Once she was out of earshot he leaned in slightly.
“When these kick in, it’s imperative you remain perfectly still until I return,” he whispered, digging in his pocket. One last glance back to make sure no one watched and slipped three caplets in his mouth. They tasted sweet and began dissolving immediately.
His eyes popped open as the stimulants kicked in. Suddenly he needed to move. Needed free. Marcus frowned and shook his head and Ethan forced himself to remain calm. The soft beeping of the monitor sped up, then slowed. Marcus nodded and stalked out.
Marcus
Marcus stepped into Edie’s office without knocking, “It’s time to take him to surgical. I’m just waiting for—,” He turned his head in surprise at the little fake cough behind him, “Never mind.”
“Shouldn’t I do this?” Edie asked. Marcus didn’t blame her. She was the MD, after all.
“If this goes sideways, the fault is mine and you’ll get a promotion.”
Edie frowned her skepticism as Marcus slipped out of the office. But the next second, he came face to face with Trevor.
“Leaving without you was a hint,” Marcus hissed, “Go back to your office.”
“I’ve always been behind you. You forgot this,” Trevor handed him his personal tablet, “In six minutes a select few of the doors will glitch. On screen is the route.”
“You think of everything, don’t you?”
“Sir, you’re a genius, but you have the planning skills of a teenager.”
Marcus slipped the tablet in his pocket and detoured to the front door. Luckily there were no interns to worry about, only the guards and Edie.
“Who thinks of everything, Doctor Carson?” One of the guards asked.
“Trevor,” Marcus said absently. He approached the guards, standing nose to nose with them.
“Who is Trevor?”
“My assistant,” Marcus held his gloved middle fingers up. Their looks of indignation were worth it as he reached up and tapped them each under the chin. The guard on the right collapsed and before the other could react, he switched, touching his own face with the left finger and the guard’s with the right. He collapsed on top of his partner and Marcus ran.
“Edie!” He barreled into her office, flushed and panting. She jumped from her stool and ran toward him, worry in her eyes. He felt a twinge of guilt as he touched her neck and watched her crumple. She would live, and so would the guards.
He didn’t have time to properly test it, but they should be awake in an hour, with the last two minutes of memory gone. By using t
he left glove to ground, touching the head and neck sent a powerful and specific EM pulse to the limbic system. Any more power would fry the brain, but an hour of unconsciousness and two minutes of amnesia were enough. He powered down the gloves as he sprinted back to cell 18 and furiously worked to loosen his patient’s restraints.
“I didn’t sign up for this bullshit, and neither did you,” He muttered, “Trevor, help me.”
The Sonali looked at him with dubious eyes and struggled against the restraints. He growled in frustration, but still no words.
“Stop that. You’re making it harder. Trevor!”
Ethan settled down and let Marcus work. Finally, the legs broke free so he moved to the abdominal restraint.
“I can’t help you with this. I’m always behind you, but you’re the one in charge. The best I can do is help you make better decisions,” Trevor said, “Becka and I only want to help you. Listening is your decision.”
Marcus stopped and turned around, “Becka?”
“Becka and I only want to help you. Listening is your decision. You’re not eating or sleeping. Your behavior is erratic, and your short term memory is shit. You have to get back on your meds,” Trevor lectured as he chopped vegetables for their dinner.
Becka sat on the couch with a sympathetic look. When she said he offered to cook them dinner, Marcus was pleasantly surprised. That quickly turned to embarrassment and shame when he realized they were staging an intervention.