Shards Book One

by Peter W Prellwitz

  Now it was time to take care of my left hand, the one hooked up to the feeding machine. I was now tempted by a couple of things. First, I very much wanted to completely disconnect myself, but doubted the authorization code I had would work: the three letters in the code were an acronym of nutrients/restoration fluids. I didn't want to chance misusing the code unless the risk warranted it. Second, I was also tempted to just stay on the machine for at least another hour or two. I had no idea if I could weather the sudden shut down of nutrients; I might just turn into a rag doll when I hit the off button, and have a lot of explaining to do when they found me later that night during bed check. I could avoid the explaining if I was gone, though, so unlike the first risk, this one I had to take.

  I rose up, slowly, on my left side, careful not to disturb my left hand. It was not clamped down, nor were there any tubes coming out. Rather, it seemed bathed in an intense ultraviolet light that appeared to irradiate the veins all up and down my arm. Maybe they fed me by osmosis. I'd look into that later.

  Speaking with as clinical a voice as I could muster, I said,? Disconnect patient nutrients and restoration fluids, Doctor Philip Barrett authorization 4699NRF."

  The machine sighed, and the light flicked off. A cool wave of air washed over my arm. I lay back and carefully lifted it. I flexed my hand, half expecting my fingers to fall off, but they stayed on and flexed. I noted with satisfaction that it too was exactly as I remembered it. Silly, I know, since arms tended to come as a matched set. But my life at that moment was composed of little victories, and I'd take them all.

  Seeing that I was in my own body, and it was in one piece, I sat up. Then I lay back down. That automatic bedpan I'd, um, discovered last night apparently worked in only one position. Again, I won't go into detail, but I disconnected myself from it as well. No alarms sounded that I could hear, so I had to assume there weren't any. It was time to go. I sat up again and carefully eased my legs off the bed. My feet didn't quite touch the floor, which put the bed pretty high up. I felt a little dizzy, so I took a moment to get my bearings.

  I didn't know how much the outside world had changed, but hospital rooms, even illegal ones, had been stuck in a time warp. One wall, the one on my left when lying down and now behind me, was composed of embedded instrumentation, monitors and several cubbyholes. To my right was a small table with a washbasin on it. The source of my only happy moment so far this century. To my left was a faucet that must have been brought forward into time with me, it looked so normal. The wall facing me was completely bare. Completely. There was no door on the wall. Indeed, there was no door anywhere in the room. This was not good.

  I'd settled down some, so I took my next step, which was taking my first step. Holding onto the rail, I eased myself carefully off the bed and tentatively put a bare foot down on the predictably cold floor. I felt my equally bare backside rub against another predictably cold bed frame, and realized that hospital gowns hadn't changed much, either. The ridiculous thought passed through my mind that this was all a farce, that it was still my time and Al and Terry and the gang at R amp;D had put me in some bizarre experiment, or gag. Or both. They were a creative bunch. Then I realized I wasn't giving my generation enough credit. Medicine had worked out the best pjs for patients long ago, and you stick with what works. Well, at least I'd light up conversations for weeks to come if they caught me.

  I put some weight down on my foot, then slowly lowered my other foot. Since the bed was so high-the underneath must be rigged with equipment to justify the excess height-that meant I had to slide off.

  Holding onto the bar, I shifted my balance to my legs-yes, they were my legs-and committed.

  I wouldn't win any rewards for grace. But I was on my feet. I tried to take an experimental step. It felt weird. Very weird. I pulled up my gown to check my upper legs and hips, which was where the imbalance seemed to come from. Maybe I'd picked up some injury while someone else. But no, again everything was almost as it should have been. Almost. There was something just a little off. I nearly had it, but lost it. I shrugged it off. If I couldn't think of it, it must be minor. It was certainly minor compared to my present position, and it didn't stop me from walking.

  I wobbled up to the head of the bed, an incredible journey of two feet, then made the exodus to the foot of the bed. My balance was lousy but workable. I tried to make the trip back, sans rail, but instead made the trip down to the floor. It should have hurt, but didn't. The floor softened itself just as I arrived. So much for my R amp;D gag theory. We'd never even conceived of an idea like this at NATech, and we were the best. I crawled to the head of the bed and worked myself up to my feet. I used the next twenty minutes traveling up and down that short distance. It felt like I'd run a marathon.

  But it gave me time to think about the door. If the floor could respond to certain stimuli, couldn't a wall?

  The thought boggled. Here I was, wobbly as a new born colt, ready to get caught, and my butt showing to boot, and I was impressed. Maybe the doc was right. Relearning was going to be fun. John, my man

  , I thought, there is an upside to all this. Just live through this and enjoy finding out.

  I staggered to where my best estimation of the door would be. It was a pretty good estimation. Just as I arrived, an opening appeared in front of me. Rather than being rectangular, it took on the rough outline of my form. It looked a little strange, but that was no doubt due to the free flowing hospital gown. Sure enough, when I shifted, it did. It seemed too low to go through, but was actually just right. I didn't even muss my hair. Seeing as there was no doorjamb to look around, I just passed through. The thought crossed my mind to stop short, leaving just my eyes poking through, but the mental picture gave me the willies. Better this way, I hoped, than getting stuck in a doorway, neither in nor out.

  The door opened to a dimly lit corridor that was at least thirty feet wide and twelve high. I couldn't make out a great deal at first, but this most certainly was not a hospital. The air seemed dry and warm, almost like outdoor air. There were no lights in the corridor, but I did see several lights coming from rooms on both sides. They seemed staggered, as though the corridor changed its width at various points. Then I had it; this wasn't a corridor. It was a tunnel.

  I had no idea which way to go, so I picked my left. There seemed to be a couple of darker spots along the length that I could duck into if need be. I hoped not. I wanted as much traveling time as I could get.

  Maybe even heist some transportation and figure out how to work it. Yeah, and I wanted a pony, too.

  I padded down on bare feet-at least the floor was warmish-to the first source of light on the left, the same side as my room. As I approached, I noticed it had a standard type doorway, and the light was coming from the open frame. I peeked in carefully.

  This was, I decided, the good doctor's room. It had an air about it that seemed both lived in and professional. He may have been a criminal, but he was a good doctor and had good taste. He had minor lighting around the small room that showed an infirmary of sorts, a desk with what appeared to be an embedded keypad that had a crack running horizontally the entire length of it, and several black, pictureless frames. Taking a chance, I stepped in just enough to see around a short corner into the back of the room. The hidden corner revealed a small doorway that led, judging from the sound emanating from it, either to his occupied bedroom or to a fully operational sawmill. The good doctor may not be able to revive the dead, but I'm sure he could wake them. I turned to leave.

  Someone was staring me right in the eye, not three feet from me. I almost screamed, but fortunately my heart was caught in my throat and no sound escaped. A mirror. I swallowed hard enough to put my heart back where it belonged and left. In my reflection I still saw that ever so slight something that was wrong.

  Again, I couldn't place what it was, and again I decided there were more important things.

  I continued down the tunnel-actually, it was indeed a rough hewn corridor-to the next light so
urce, on the right. Again, a doorway, and again another room of office and bedroom. Whoever had these quarters was most definitely not in the medical profession. He or she also had a desk, but had carelessly scattered weapons around it. Maybe he made the holes the doctor patched up. I wasn't entirely surprised. I had already figured there had to be some sort a paramilitary presence to back up illegal activity of this scope.

  Dr. Barrett had told me I wasn't his first patient, and that it was unusual that there was only me at the time. His other comments had pointed to coordinated intelligence that anticipated or warned of raids, and this kind of equipment could be neither abandoned nor packed in an overnight bag. Yet it seemed they needed to change locations on occasion. That all pointed to an organization, and all organizations specializing in illegal activity always had violence as an aspect. Ergo, the weapons. This, I decided, would be the military leader's office. I carefully checked the weapons visually, hoping against hope I'd find one I could figure out.

  Pay dirt. There appeared to be two types of sidearm, energy based and projectile based. High tech and low tech. I selected the low tech. I felt pretty low tech. I hefted the gun in my hand. Very big and very heavy. And fully loaded. Not as good as transportation, but maybe the keys to some. I checked the back room quietly, but while it was occupied, I could have been pounding a base drum and he'd have not heard it over his snores. He and the doctor really made the pair. I'd be worried of a cave-in due to sonic disruptions.

  I went back into the hall and turned to my right, continuing down to the last light source, this time on the left. It wasn't a doorway but rather a long opening with half height walls and a double-wide door space in the middle. I crouched down to avoid being spotted. This left the gown gathered all over my feet, my rear end mooning anyone sneaking up on me. I stumbled and tripped my way to the doorway, doing the last ten feet on hands and knees, careful not to scrape the gun against the stone.

  This one held promise. Instead of opening into another room, it opened to a massive cavern. The floor was some six feet below me, and the ceiling reached up at least twenty-five feet more. The floor surface itself was a rough rectangle and must have been 150 feet deep and 250 wide. The cavern opening ran the entire width, and was pitch black beyond. There was light and movement everywhere, though little noise.

  Then I saw just what I needed: wheels.

  More accurately, non-wheels. It was parked, twenty feet to my right, ten feet out from the wall, and three feet above the floor, resting on nothing. I shook my head and looked again. Yep, they had perfected anti-gravitational transportation. That probably meant easy controls. I hoped it did.

  I watched about five minutes to get a feel for the type of activity going on in the cavern, to determine how to best take advantage of the patterns. It became fairly evident that they were loading, not unloading.

  Maybe that false alarm from yesterday wasn't so false. Small vehicles were moving about, arriving full alongside larger vehicles, and leaving empty. I found it interesting that their illustrious commander would be asleep. Then I had it; they weren't evacuating. They were preparing. The activity was consistent with the preparation that goes into a raid. That made it even more important for the base commander to be here, which meant those probably weren't his quarters where I'd acquired my weapon. It didn't matter, really; I just didn't see how knowing would affect me. One thing, none of the activity was directed toward me. Chances were good I'd make it to the hover vehicle, and then they'd catch me. First things first.

  There was a wide ramp that led down from the opening where I crouched. Beside it, a metal ladder with six steps down to the cavern floor. I went down the ladder quickly, this time careful not to hit the gun metal to the rail metal. I made it and crouched behind a largish container in the shadows to my right. I set the gun down momentarily and flexed my left hand. I couldn't believe how big and heavy it was. Before NATech, I had served in the military and had all the related training. I'd fired a lot of things, but this was the biggest sidearm I'd ever seen. A tiny alarm went off in the back of my head. I had missed something.

  It was staring

  I LOVE IT WHEN YOU STARE AT ME LIKE THAT! HERE, LET ME GET CLOSER. AAAHH! THAT FEELS SO NICE! CAN YOU DO IT AGAIN? PLEASE? I WANT TO MAKE YOU HAPPY! OH! THAT WAS WONDERFUL! I THINK THE BONE BROKE, BUT I'M NOT SURE. UHHH! THAT'S SO NICE! THANK YOU!

  me in the face and I couldn't see it. I couldn't think what it could possibly be, and didn't have time for in-depth analysis. I picked up the gun and moved for the hover vehicle. Once in it, I'd have five, maybe ten seconds to start it. After that… well, I gripped the gun tighter.

  I didn't even have two seconds. I placed my hands on the side of the vehicle, and it screamed. Not a siren. Not a klaxon. A human scream. For a deterrent, it was bone chillingly effective. I jumped back and dropped the gun as every face in the cavern turned toward me. I stooped and picked up the gun, fumbling with it. I snapped the safety off and backed up. The rear wall of the cavern was only ten feet behind me, so I put my back to it. A number of people, mostly men and mostly armed, were advancing carefully toward me. The hover continued its blood curdling wails. I was very scared.

  They approached to where the hover vehicle stood. There was sweat all over my barely clad body, and I was breathing hard, but my gun hand was up, and they could see it. One man, he'd have to be an officer, stepped out from the crowd. This would probably be the Lieutenant Sanchez that Barrett had mentioned.

  He spoke to the screaming craft, and it shut up. He then slowly walked around the hover, empty hands half raised. I lifted the gun and cocked it. It gave a half tone and an indicator light came on. A red bead of light settled on his head. He was less than ten feet from me.

  "All right. That's close enough. You're Sanchez?? I wanted to sound cool, but sounded, and felt, sick.

  He nodded slowly. I knew deep down that I could and would kill this man, and I hated the thought. But I was getting out of here.? If you want to say something, it had better be 'you're free to go'. Otherwise…"

  He smiled pleasantly, his swarthy, Hispanic featured face showing confidence and sincerity.? If you wish to leave, you can. I am in no position to stop you, nor are any of my people. We would never see harm come to you."

  He sounded like he meant it.? All right,? I said,? that sounds fine. Why don't you back it up by dropping those weapons?? The gun was getting very heavy, and the red dot now danced over his head and neck.

  To my complete surprise, Sanchez spoke a quiet command and they dropped every weapon they had.

  Some even pulled out side arms I hadn't seen and dropped them. He didn't bother turning to see if his order had been complied with, he just kept his gaze on me, softening his intense eyes with that pleasant smile of his.

  "Done. Now, you may take this vehicle, or any other you wish, and leave. You can choose any of my men as chauffeur. I also have thirty-two women soldiers you can choose from, if you'd prefer. All I ask-"

  "You're in no position to ask anything."

  "True.? The soothing smile never wavered.? Nonetheless, all I ask is that you please talk to Doctor Barrett, if only to help you on your way. He'll be here in a moment."

  "He's here already, thank you, Raul.? Dr. Barrett appeared in the opening on my left. He was nowhere near as big as he should have been. I'd pictured him over six and half feet. He didn't come close and even looked shorter than me. The alarm in the back of my head became more insistent. He glowered at me.?

  I've no idea how you managed to waken yourself, but put that thing down and get back in bed,? he said irritably.

  "Sorry, Doc, but back alley medicine doesn't suit me. Thanks for getting me back together, body and soul and mind. But I'm taking Sanchez up on his offer and taking a hover. I'll send you a Christmas card.

  ? I motioned them back from the hover and almost dropped the gun, it was so heavy. No one rushed me. Instead, they all stepped back as I'd wanted. I lifted the gun again, now using two hands. This was going to make for an i
nteresting time, getting into a hovercraft while holding this cannon. I heard a scuff behind me and turned back to the ladder. Barrett had negotiated the last step and had approached me.

  He was less than ten feet away, but stopped as soon as I turned to him. I guess he was taller than me. A lot taller. But I'd have sworn-I glanced at the others on my right, but they had made no move whatsoever.

  "You young fool!? Barrett's bedside manner had apparently stayed in bed.? You haven't the faintest idea what's going on! Stop this nonsense at once!"

  "Sorry, Doc. I may be a fool, but I'm not young. You'll find more experience than you can handle in Mama Wyeth's boy, so don't try."

  He stared at me, as though seeing me for the first time. He shrugged and spoke slowly.? All right. Leave.

  But before you go, let me give you a quick medical history. Your medical history."

  It was too tempting. My legs were getting weak, the gun was putting on weight, and I had miles to go.

  But I couldn't resist hearing him out. This might be the only man who knew anything about me. I choked back a sob of frustration and weakness.

  I glanced at Lt. Sanchez.? Lieutenant, I'll take you up on your offer of a chauffeur. Please make it the smallest female soldier you have. I only want to use her as a driver, and promise to you there will be no improper behavior.? He gave me an odd look, but motioned to someone to fetch her.

  I turned back to the doctor.? Two minutes, Doc.? He was also looking at me strangely, nodding as though his suspicions had become convictions.

  "Well, that explains the late wake up. Look… what is your name?"

  "John. John Wyeth."

  "Very well… John. Your story in two minutes.

  "What I told you yesterday and earlier today is true, if edited. But you already knew that. What you don't know is exactly what the corporate world did with its little riping toy. Now I'll tell you.

  "Riping had been initially started to treat man, or in a broader sense, man's society. In every case I gave you, except one, riping was viewed as a way to serve man's needs. In each of those cases, even the tragic ones, the mind stayed with the body. Or so everyone thought, until that raid against a corporate entity.