Lucas walked three steps closer to Kristov. Then he looked at Freebo. “I’ll begin with the female. Get her on the table.”
“Belay that order,” Kristov said, holding her arm in front of Freebo. She then pointed to Zack, who was sitting upright on the floor, with blood dripping from a two-inch gash in his forehead. “Start with Mister Tough Guy. Let’s see if he’s man enough to survive the process.”
“With all due respect, Commander, this is my experiment. I should be the one who determines which specimen is initially selected.”
“Doc, you can either follow my orders, or I’ll have you strapped to the table and injected first. Which would you prefer?”
Before Lucas could answer, the two guards who had accompanied Kristov stepped forward on either side of her. They raised their weapons, aiming them at Lucas.
Lucas looked at Zack, who was still on the floor with his hands tied behind his back.
Zack worked his legs under his butt, then stood up, looking at Lucas the entire time. Zack nodded slightly, then expanded his chest, as if to signal he was volunteering for the procedure.
“Put him on the table,” Kristov said.
Freebo and one of the masked guards walked to Zack, each grabbing one of the behemoth’s arms. They led him to the medical table. The three remaining guards followed behind, aiming their weapons at Zack.
Lucas expected his friend to attempt an escape, but Zack didn’t resist.
Freebo released the shackles from Zack’s wrists, allowing the mercenary to climb onto the table freely. Zack removed the gag from his mouth, spun his body around, face up, with his arms resting alongside him.
Freebo pressed a red-colored button on the clear-glass console attached to the head of the table. A lattice of intersecting blue energy beams appeared across Zack’s face, chest, and legs, outlining his physique. Moments later, Zack’s knees, neck, and back straightened in unison, pulling his entire body down to the table.
Zack wrestled against the grid with his arms, shoulders, and head, possibly testing its strength. Each time he moved an area of his body, the energy grid securing that area would turn a deep red color, then snap his body back into a secure position.
Lucas walked slowly around the head of the table, stopping next to Zack’s left shoulder. His mind fluttered as he tried to think of a plan to delay the procedure. He couldn’t.
“Doc, the green button,” Kristov said, angling her head, as if to hurry him along.
Lucas nodded. He extended his index finger until it was hovering an inch above the start button located in the top-right corner of the table console. He was about to begin the injection sequence, when the door to the lab banged open again.
A round, black guy waddled in, using a wooden cane; his right foot was wrapped in a Velcro-strapped, knee-high walking boot. His head was almost completely bald, except for a tiny ring of curly gray hair just above his ear line. His shirt bulged at the seams, trying to keep the mounds of hanging flab inside the garment.
“Who the hell are you?” Kristov asked.
“Dr. Marcus Yakberry,” the man answered in a nearly breathless voice. He looked at Lucas, holding up a photo ID with his own face on it. “The real Dr. Yakberry.”
Kristov hesitated for a moment, then spun toward Lucas, raising her knife into an attack position. “Secure him!”
TWENTY-TWO
The guards tackled Lucas, knocking him down to the floor, face first. His chin and nose smashed into the cold cement floor, making his eyes water. A pair of knees pressed into the small of his back, sending a jolt of pain into his ribcage. He felt a set of huge fingers wrap around his wrists, then pull his hands together behind his back. The guard yanked him to his feet with force, nearly pulling his arms out of their sockets.
“On the table now!” Kristov screamed, pointing to the empty table next to Zack.
Seconds later, Lucas was pinned face-up by a blue containment grid on the table next to Zack. A rush of blood pounded at his cheeks and forehead, while his lungs forcefully propelled air in and out of his chest. The chill of the steel table flooded his lower back, providing some soothing relief for the damage caused by the guard’s knees only moments before.
“Why are you late?” Kristov asked Yakberry.
“Skimmer accident. A Taku Beast appeared out of thin air, right in front of me. I swerved, but ended up in a ditch. Took some time for the medics to arrive and immobilize my ankle. The damn thing nearly snapped it in half. I’ll probably need surgery to provide adequate fixation of the ankle bones and ligaments. There goes my entire year.”
“At least you didn’t hurt yourself pulling weeds or something. I once knew a guy who did that. Totally messed up his ankle. Three breaks and torn ligaments. Who does that, seriously? Only a terminal dumb ass,” Freebo said.
Yakberry stared at Freebo, not saying a word.
Kristov hovered over Lucas—her breath invading his nose and mouth. It smelled like a combination of toothpaste and onions. Could have been worse, but certainly not pleasant.
“So, who the hell are you?” she asked.
Lucas kept silent.
“Trust me, you don’t want to test her resolve,” Freebo said.
“Silence!” Kristov shouted at Freebo, thumping him with a quick left jab. The stoner stumbled backward, smashing his backside against the middle of the lab’s equipment desk. His elbow sent the desk light flying off the table end over end until it landed several feet away in a crumpled pile.
Freebo stood up, though not very erect. He shook his head in an awkward manner, then rubbed his hip and flexed his elbow. His expression and roll of the eyes seemed to indicate that he was surprised by the power behind the stunning woman’s punch.
The temptress pressed the tip of her knife into the soft of Lucas’ cheek. Her face burned a deep reddish hue. “Tell me. I’m not going to ask again.”
Kristov changed the angle of the knife, moving her hand from the front of its handle to the rear. She leaned forward, increasing the blade’s pressure against his skin.
Lucas closed his eyes and waited for the pain. He winced when the glistening steel edge of the tip penetrated all the layers of his skin, bottoming out against his cheekbone. He wanted to cry out, but clamped his teeth together as she twisted the knife inside his gaping tissue. Streaks of warm blood gushed down the side of his jaw, settling around his neck. Another damn cheek scar, he thought.
She sliced the knife up his cheekbone, carving him like a Krellian grappling hook. The pain increased exponentially as the blade made quick work of his flesh.
“Maybe I should take your eyes,” she said with madness in her voice. She pulled the knife out and held it close to her sultry pink lips. Her tongue swept the blood off the weapon and into her mouth.
Lucas watched her throat bulge as she swallowed and sent his life force down her gullet.
“Hmmm, I love the taste of men,” she said, smacking her lips together like a German Shepherd eating a gob of sticky peanut butter. “Fear has its own unique flavor and yours is delicious.”
Rage swelled inside Lucas, making his jaw clench and his forehead tense. He stared at the female marauder for a split-second to pick a location, then snapped his teeth at her stunningly perfect nose. But the energy web won the battle, keeping him secure and pinned to the table. He knew it was pointless, but tried again anyway. He still couldn’t move.
“Nothing to say?” Kristov asked. “Fine. Have it your way.” A half-smile hung on her lips. She put the knife over the knuckles on his right hand before raising the dagger into a cutting position.
Lucas turned his head away, figuring she was about to make him permanently left-handed. An onslaught of anxiety took control of his thoughts, urging him to act. It wanted him to talk, to tell her what she wanted to know, it said to avoid the pain, to do it now before it was too late. He fought the urges—he had to—Zack was counting on him to remain steadfast and calm. Somehow he found the courage to kept quiet.
“Wait
a minute. I have a better idea,” Yakberry said, waddling three steps closer to Kristov. He pushed the rim of his glasses up his cauliflower-shaped nose with his middle finger.
She hesitated for a second, then withdrew the knife. “Explain.”
“Let’s show him what’s in store for him. He’ll most surely talk then.”
“Excellent idea,” Kristov said, pride full in her voice. She stepped out of Lucas’ field of vision. “Raise him up.”
Lucas felt the table tilt upright, then swing right, his body still glued to the surface of the table. He could see Zack only three feet in front of him.
A six-foot-long mirror hung at an angle from the ceiling just beyond Zack, allowing Lucas to see his friend’s face in the reflection. Zack’s face was set like cement, showing no emotion, but his eyes were open and looking up. Lucas hoped Zack was planning his next move, something that would save them both.
Kristov looked at Yakberry, then pointed at Zack. “Begin the process.”
Yakberry walked to the console, with his back angled sideways to Lucas. He touched a series of icons across the reflective surface of the forward-facing console, making a melody of pings and tones as he worked for a good two minutes. Then the lights in the lab flickered twice and dimmed, and a three-second hum of electrical power filled the room.
An overhead, telescoping device descended in robotic fashion from a four-bolt ceiling mount located above Zack’s table. A silver-colored, metallic rod extended and grew longer in one-second intervals, as its various sections appeared from inside each other. This continued until a six-inch, sharp-pointed implement made its appearance from within the last section of the expanding metal shaft.
The instrument inched closer to Zack’s right nostril, then entered the opening with force. It pushed its way up his nasal cavity a good four inches, stretching the skin like a python swallowing a rabbit whole. Just as the extension came to a halt, Lucas heard the squishy sound of flesh and tissue being sliced and mutilated, probably his friend’s brain matter being violated. Zack’s eyes showed panic. His face and neck tensed, but the veteran commando said nothing.
Kristov moved to the far side of Zack’s table, then walked its length, never taking her eyes off the captive’s face. She leaned in close to Zack. “I’ve beaten tougher men than you. Come on. Let me hear you scream. I know you want to.”
Zack pushed his jaw out and up, but didn’t respond.
Lucas could see some kind of round opening on the outside of the extension rod, about two inches from the opening to Zack’s nose. It looked metallic and had depth, like a socket for a half-inch-wide rivet.
Yakberry grabbed the end of a clear plastic tube that hung from the console’s pedestal. He fastened a screw-on metal plug to the end of it, then pulled the hose toward Zack. He stuck the connector into the side of the nasal probe where Lucas had seen the rivet opening, then he twisted the plug clockwise a quarter turn to lock the connection into place.
The fat man returned to the console and pushed three more icons on his screen.
Lucas heard the momentary sound of power being released, just before Zack’s body flinched from head to toe, sending the containment grid into overdrive. Its entire energy web turned a bright red color. The violence shook the table for a good five seconds. Then it stopped. The security web returned to its normal blue color.
Zack’s mouth and jaw remained clenched, tighter than before—but he remained silent.
“Phase two, initiated,” Yakberry reported, continuing to work his console. “Beginning root-level DNA incursion to transform and recode lateral base pairs sequences.”
“Time to completion?” Kristov asked.
“About thirty minutes, depending on the amount of glucose in the subject’s blood stream.”
“This is going to be epic,” Freebo said, with a pitch in his voice that was higher than normal.
“Please stop! You don’t have to do this,” Lucas said, feeling streaks of blood running down inside his shirt collar.
“Does that mean you’re ready to talk?” Yakberry asked.
Lucas looked at Zack, wondering if he should cave. His friend’s eyes looked stressed, but Zack’s slight headshake told him what he needed to do—keep his mouth shut. He didn’t respond to Yakberry, though every cell in his body wanted him to scream at the top of his lungs to stop the heinous procedure.
“I didn’t think so,” the doc said. “Injecting facilitator compound. Batch two-twelve.”
An orange-colored liquid appeared inside the plastic tube, nearest to the console. The substance continued to fill the tube, inch by inch, until it snaked its way to the shaft of the metal probe that was stuck up Zack’s nose. The hum of the unit’s power transformer increased in frequency, meaning the liquid was being pumped into Zack’s brain—a forceful injection to be sure, based on the look of agony across his friend’s face.
Lucas studied the color and consistency of the material oozing its way through the tube, wondering if it was a form of Cyrus’ micro-bee technology, delivering who-knew-what into Zack’s cerebellum.
Moments later, the mercenary released a bone-chilling scream just before his body convulsed within the grip of the fully-charged energy grid. For the next thirty seconds, each side of his shoulders and torso took turns lurching up and down, then his waist and legs shook violently, as the energy matrix changed its color to a deep shade of red.
Zack’s face bloated like a helium balloon, expanding to the brink of eruption. Moments later, it deflated just as quickly, making his skin hang loose. His cheekbones and jaw began to elongate and distort as they changed shape, oscillating while the process continued. His entire bone structure was undergoing a violent restructuring by whatever biochemistry Yakberry had just injected into his head.
Lucas could barely watch—the veins in the man’s forehead and neck bulged out a good inch, like twisted cords of knotted rope. Zack’s arteries began to spurt blood in random locations as the pressure became too intense for his chiseled body to handle.
When the mercenary’s chest cavity inflated to at least twice its original size, Lucas decided he had to act. “Stop this!” he shouted. “I’ll tell you what you want to know.”
“Too late,” Yakberry said. “Transmutation sequence has begun. Nothing can stop it now.”
TWENTY-THREE
Kleezebee put the nearly-empty jug of raspum back inside the bottom-left cabinet of his kitchen, sliding it carefully into place next to a pair of safety glasses and work gloves. Behind it was a carton of strike-anywhere matches and an unopened box of three-inch galvanized nails. He shut the door and turned to face the center of the room. He leaned his backside against the countertop, taking some of the pressure off his ankle.
He looked down at one of his bare feet. The skin around the ankle joint was red and swollen; it was at least twice its normal size. He shook his head. It had been sixteen months since Fuji had removed the cast, but it was clear that the bones had never healed properly. He was the reason why.
RICE, the monk had told him: rest, ice, compression, and elevation. It sounded good in theory, but it was a recipe that he hadn’t had the time to see through.
“Patience is a luxury for the common man,” he mumbled to himself, knowing that when the fate of the human race hangs in the balance, shortcuts were inevitable. He had certainly taken his share of them—some with consequences that still haunted him each night in his sleep.
He put the eight-ounce crystal glass full of raspum to his lips and sucked in another swig of pure alcohol. He swirled the liquid around inside his mouth, letting his taste buds soak up the flavor, then he swallowed the gulp whole. He coughed as the liquor ignited his throat muscles. It was his third shot in the past ten minutes, but the ankle pain was finally becoming manageable. His self-medication should be enough to get him through another day, he figured.
The trap door in the center of the room opened. Out came Fuji, wearing his four-foot-long tunic and a smile.
Kleezebee
put the etched glass on the counter next to him, then walked to Fuji’s position. “Success?”
“Yes. Power systems balanced. Systems calibrated. Additional spheres of E-121 are still required.”
“I’m working on it. Should hear back from the team any minute,” Kleezebee said, noting the time. “How did the new array of graphene vid-screens work?”
“Perfectly. Three hundred and sixty degrees of coverage. Crystal clear.”
“That’s good to hear. They cost me five stunners and a dozen power cartridges. I took a major risk when I ordered them, but sometimes it pays to take chances. A guy can never have enough friends, and I use that term loosely.”
“Partnering with lawlessness has tethered consequences.”
“Most certainly. But Gaylon Reece was my only option. He’s a good pipeline to have in town, as long as you don’t owe him money or drugs. I just hope those stunners don’t end up in the wrong hands. Our tech would be easy to trace.”
“And Claude?” Fuji asked.
Kleezebee nodded. “Reported in as planned. Cyrus knows we’re looking for the BioTex. I sent a second team in to scour the diner for clues. The only thing we learned is that they were serving food to the public for free. It doesn’t make sense. I’m not sure what the SC is up to, but we had better extrapolate alternate scenarios. At least our team was out of harm’s way when they torched the place.”
“Do you anticipate an inflection point adjustment?”
“Not yet. I think we’re still a few steps ahead of him. The endpoint should still be viable. Lucas and company better come through, or this mission ends before it begins. It won’t be long before Cyrus tracks us to this location. Once he and Freakshow are on the scent, there’s no stopping them. With the predicted narrowing of time approaching, we can’t afford to miss it.”
Incursion (The Narrows of Time Series Book 2) Page 17