by EJ Fisch
Suddenly another set of rings joined the ones she had created. They were wide and deteriorating, having travelled from the void on the other end of the prison. She strained to see. There was someone – or something – else present.
The water splashed. Chains jingled. A groan followed, along with low noises that sounded like an attempt to speak. Ziva wound up the muscles in her legs, ready to defend as best she could against anything that came at her. She tried to lean away from the light.
“Ziva,” a weak voice said.
She didn’t move.
More quiet splashing. The sound of something sliding through mud. “Ziva?” the voice said again, clearer this time. “Is that you?”
It couldn’t be. There was no way. She’d seen the remains of the building where Aroska’s team had died. This was impossible, but she’d recognize Jole Imetsi’s husky voice anywhere.
“Jole?” she ventured.
A sigh of relief penetrated the darkness. “I remember your scent,” he mumbled. “After being in here, you have no idea… how amazing you smell… right now.”
His words were slurred as if he were just waking up from a drugged state. Ziva could barely make out his shape moving around as her eyes finally started to adjust. “Where’s Tate?” she asked.
“I knew someone would come.”
“Jole! Where’s Tate?”
“Tate… not sure… maybe… here.”
She pulled at the restraints again, harder this time. The sharp metal edges pressed against her skin. If there was some way to pick the locks…
“I knew somebody would come,” Jole said again.
Ziva was dying to ask him how it was possible that he was still alive, but figured it could wait until after she got him out to the rendezvous. “Do you know where we are?”
“I think this is… the first time I’ve really been awake… for three months.”
She took that as a no. She had to get to him, help him. Watching the observation slit for a moment and listening for approaching footsteps, she kicked her legs up over her head and hung there upside down, suspended by her wrists. The cuffs cut into her skin as she reached into her boot and felt around for the narrow pocket sewn into the lining inside. Her fingers brushed over a tiny throwing knife before finding the set of three delicate picks that had come in handy for picking old locks in the past. Unsure if any of them would even work, she let her legs back down and began probing the clasp for any form of key hole, wincing at the pain that shot through her hands and forearms.
“Jole, what did they do to you?”
His only response was a groan. After seeing and hearing of so many disturbing things in this place, Ziva was puzzled as to how he could have survived. The tool fell into the key hole and she worked it carefully until the clasps suddenly sprung open with a pop that echoed through the chamber.
Restraining herself from simply leaping across the room, Ziva carefully felt her way through the darkness and muck on the floor. So far, there had been no other sounds or indication that someone other than Jole was present, but judging by the smell Ziva guessed there were others and that they had long since expired. If Tate was there, the chances that he was still alive were slim.
Her foot hit something hard enough to be a body and soft enough that she didn’t have to guess whether it was rotten. She bent down to a crouching position and carefully probed the space in front of her. Her fingers found a face – a nose, a mouth, even some remaining hair. She felt into the void beyond the body and, finding nothing else in the immediate vicinity, gingerly stepped over it.
“Jole,” she whispered, hoping to get a better idea of where exactly he was. If he would just make some more noise…
Ziva’s hand found a foot, an ankle with a metal clasp that felt like one that had been around her wrist only moments before. The toes twitched when she touched them and Jole moaned. “Ziva,” he mumbled.
She immediately began prodding at the clasp with her lock pick, all the while listening for anyone who might be coming to check up on her. “Are you going to be able to walk once we get out of here?” she asked, finishing with one ankle and moving to the next. She had a good idea of what the answer would be, but she wanted to keep him talking, coherent.
“Don’t… count on it,” he replied. He moved his arms and the sound of more chains could be heard. “Wrists, too.”
The remaining clasps came open easily enough, and Ziva returned the pick to her boot. There were moments where she thought she could smell Tate, though the general stench in the room was so overwhelming that she could never say for sure. If he was alive, if there was any way he could be saved, she would do it, and even if it was too late she didn’t want to just leave the body to suffer the same fiery fate as the ones Skeet and Zinni had seen. Either way, she wouldn’t be able to transport both him and Jole at the same time. She hated the thought of having to make two trips, but it would most likely have to be done.
“Okay buddy, let’s get you out of here,” Ziva said, taking a look back at the door before slipping her hands under Jole’s arms. Carefully, not wanting to make excess noise, she began to drag him through the water and slime. He came along startlingly easy, weighing significantly less than Ziva had expected. She could feel his ribs, and the bones that jutted out of his shoulders were so sharp that it almost hurt to touch them.
Ziva set him down long enough to take a look through the observation slit in the door. To her delight, a hybrid sentry, bearing similarities to the captain they’d crossed paths with earlier, was walking sluggishly toward her. He too had a slight limp, but it appeared that his hands had the correct number of digits. Even from a distance, however, she could see that he was severely cross-eyed.
She ducked away from the opening and envisioned the sturdy deadbolt that was holding the door shut from the outside. If she was careful and timed it right, she could use her Nostia to slide the bolt away, open the door, and grab the guard as he passed. She took a deep breath and listened to the approaching footsteps, tugging at the bolt with her mind just as she might if she were using her hand. After spending so much time in deep concentration during the flight to Sardonis, she found that her Nosti abilities came about with much less effort; she felt the familiar surge of energy course through her, and her head didn’t hurt yet. She looked over to where she’d left Jole on the floor. Even if he was lucid enough to see her, he would still have no inkling as to what she was doing.
The lock was normally disengaged by scanning an access card, so it took a bit of doing to move the bolt manually. As near as Ziva could tell, the lock was about halfway open when the bolt stopped sliding altogether. She winced and pulled harder, shuddering when she heard the scrape and squeal of rusty metal. The footsteps outside stopped. Sheyss.
A shadow passed in front of the slit as the guard moved up to examine the lock. He began muttering to himself and waved his key card over the scanner, pulling the bolt out the rest of the way.
The moment Ziva heard the locking mechanism release, she yanked the door open, seized the man by the shoulders, and pulled him inside. He flailed at her, tried to reach for his weapon, but she drove her knee into the base of his spine and caught his head in her hands as he collapsed. She wrenched it to the side, twisting up and to the right, and with a grotesque pop the man fell still.
“It was nothing personal,” she muttered as she heaved him up and locked his arms into the clasps that had held her. She quickly removed his supply belt and put it on herself then took up the plasma rifle he’d dropped and strapped it over her shoulder. His key card had fallen just inside the door and she picked it up as well, wiping it off on her pants before finding a convenient place for it on the belt.
Eyes on the door, Ziva took Jole under the armpits again and dragged him out into the light of the hallway. After hearing his voice and feeling his weak frame, she’d formed a picture in her head to prepare herself for this exact moment, but what she’d seen in her mind hardly compared to what she saw now. This was not t
he Jole Imetsi she’d known since her early days at HSP – the bright-eyed, handsome, and ever-smiling young man who had partnered with her several times during hand-to-hand sparring sessions. What she saw now could hardly even be described as a person. This creature lying there in front of her was a mere skeleton with a thin and sagging layer of skin stretched over it. The closed eyes had sunk deep into their sockets, and the cheek and jaw bones protruded grotesquely from a face that had once been so full of life. The arms and legs were so thin and frail that they looked like they would simply snap like twigs if they moved at all. Ziva could count the individual ribs as Jole’s chest rose and fell with each labored breath. Bony hips could be seen just above the waistband of a ragged excuse for a pair of pants that might have been white a very long time ago. In all, the man was completely unrecognizable. The only thing to tell her that this was indeed her old HSP acquaintance was the elaborate tattoo across the back of his shoulders and the familiar pattern of dark blue gesh punti around his left eye.
His condition couldn’t possibly be the result of torture and imprisonment alone. It was almost as if all the energy had been drained from him – then replenished, then drained, again and again and again. After all, he was still alive after being in this place for three months, meaning he had to have received some form of nutrients and care during that time. What had they been using him for, blood transfusion, organ donation?
Realization hit Ziva as if Jole himself had landed a perfect headshot during training years before. The captive Haphezians, the disposal of the bodies that Skeet and Zinni had witnessed, the hybrid soldiers, the mutant guards... The scientists at Dakiti had always been known for their genetic experiments, and now they had gone so far as to try to create a Sardon-Haphezian cross-breed. The captive military and HSP personnel were tested, experimented upon, tortured, kept alive for the sole purpose of providing their genetic information. When too weak to contribute any longer, they were thrown in these prisons to rot and then they were discarded like trash into the furnace.
The individuals in the blue tanks were the products of the experiments. Defective ones were killed off, capable ones were kept alive and given jobs and duties here where they were created – the only place they would ever belong – and the successful ones went on to be trained and drilled in military procedure. Dane Bothum was using them to create an army of super soldiers – for what, Ziva dreaded to find out.
Mind racing, she grabbed Jole’s arms and hefted his feeble body up onto her back. There were several other cell doors in this hallway, and judging by the room numbers they were one floor below and a little to the west of where she had been taken. It would still be a bit of a trek to the sewer entrance, especially if they ran into anybody unwilling to let them through, but she had a good idea of their exact destination and quickly went over a route in her head. Taking a deep breath, she took off as fast as she could with Jole on her back.
-44-
Prep room
Dakiti Medical Research Center
Sardonis
“No, I want him awake,” said a woman’s voice.
Aroska’s eyelids fluttered open and he squinted against the blinding light that was positioned directly above his face. He was lying on a cold metal table to which his wrists and ankles were securely fastened. Two straps stretched across his chest and forehead, rendering him almost completely immobile. His surroundings, or what he could see of them, were completely white, with the exception of a rusty old medical bot that hovered over him with a massive syringe. Whoever had spoken was standing just shy of the reaches of his peripheral vision.
When he and Ziva had first discovered the white room with the table and collection of syringes, he’d pictured poor individuals being held, tortured, interrogated, and maybe even killed there. Now that he recognized that he was in that very position, there were only two things on his mind: first, he was still alive, and second, there was plenty of time left for something unpleasant to happen.
“Maybe I was wrong when I encouraged you to join that spec ops task force,” the woman said. “You’ve always been a good agent Aroska, but this? This is pathetic.”
Aroska closed his eyes in disbelief and swallowed past the sickening knot that had suddenly formed in his throat. All along, his gut had been telling the truth, and he had refused to believe it. Ziva had been right, just as Skeet had warned. His mind drifted back to the conversation with Vinny Jaxton.
“Who is the Solaris agent working inside HSP?”
“You don’t want to know.”
When he opened his eyes again, Saun was standing where the bot had been, watching him with the same sincere look that she always had, only now it was unsettling. He’d always told her that her eyes reminded him of the brilliant rujuba flowers that grew out in the jungle, but at the moment they had that same hateful quality that Ziva’s often did. They were also welling up with tears.
“You’re like a stupid animal that walked straight into the trap without even knowing it,” she said through her teeth.
“All I cared about was the bait, I guess,” Aroska muttered, straining to see the door or any other means of escape.
“As you should have.” Saun’s arms were crossed, and she was maintaining her distance as if she were uncomfortable with the situation.
Aroska had to give her credit for being an incredible actress, and took some comfort in knowing that he wasn’t the only one she’d played. “How long have you been working for them?” he asked, afraid of what the answer might be.
“The whole time. You know you were supposed to be inside that building when it blew?”
“Why do you want me dead?”
“You don’t understand, Aroska. This is exactly where I’ve wanted you all along. Trust me, you will die, but for now this is precisely where you’re supposed to be.”
Aroska closed his eyes again, and then thought better of it. He was already completely defenseless, but he wasn’t about to be caught off guard any more than he already had. “I did trust you,” he said. So far, nothing Saun had told him made much sense. His thoughts shifted to Ziva and the others – he wondered how long it would take them to realize he was missing, and he prayed they were better off than he was. He hoped his lack of a comm signal would alert them to the situation.
With a gloved hand, Saun selected a syringe from the case against the wall and held it up to check the dosage. “This will… sting a little,” she explained coldly. Her face had a greenish tint as if she were about to be sick. “After that, you shouldn’t be able to feel anything for awhile.” She eased the needle into the skin of his left arm, and Aroska immediately felt searing pain spread up into his shoulders and chest. His blood vessels – his heart – were on fire and he suddenly felt as though his entire body was going to shut down. He forced his eyes to stay open.
“They wanted the ones who were naturally strong,” Saun said firmly, though tears were streaming down her cheeks. She stifled a cough. “They watched, they waited, they picked the ones with desirable characteristics. It was like they were just shopping in a market. Sooner or later though, they started to run out of the good ones. The only ones left were too hard to get, so they started grabbing any they could get their hands on. Some of them, the ones who would be missed, were set up to look like they were killed in such a way that nobody would ever bother looking for any remains.” She paused and made a sound that was either a chuckle or another cough – Aroska couldn’t tell. “But none of them have ever come willingly.”
“Saun, what are you talking about?” Aroska demanded. The words had been loud and enunciated in his head but they came out in the form of a slurred croak. He couldn’t feel his legs.
Saun had leaned down over him, but her face was becoming blurry despite its close proximity. “Where’s Payvan?” she hissed.
“She was right about you,” Aroska replied. “She was right all along, and I didn’t believe her.”
“She sounds like an intelligent woman.” Saun’s hand was suddenly cl
osed around his throat and she pressed down, steadily increasing the pressure. “Where is she?”
Aroska felt as though his eyes were being sucked from their sockets as he desperately gasped for the air that was unable to enter his lungs. He tried to yank on his arms, tried to fight her off, but the clasps over his wrists were a solid reminder that he could not.
“She’s not here,” he wheezed, suddenly feeling overwhelmed with anger. The woman he’d come to trust and care for had not only betrayed him but now appeared to be more than willing to kill him.
“Liar!” she screamed, pressing down so hard that Aroska was afraid she’d somehow break his neck. She was nearly sobbing when she finally let go and stepped back, hands on top of her head.
Aroska opened his mouth as far as he could, letting the sweet oxygen fill his lungs. “What?” he gasped. “You don’t think I’m capable of coming here on my own?”
“I think you’re protecting her.”
“Emeri kicked her off the case for what happened to Jayden the other night. I can assume you had something to do with that.” That much was true.
Saun, silent but still crying, turned and looked over the syringes again. She took a deep, raspy breath and rubbed her throat briefly before returning her hand to her side as if nothing had happened. “You’re a good man, Aroska. I liked you … a lot. I wish it didn’t have to end this way.”
Aroska wiggled his fingers, tried to move his arms, or at least he thought he did – they didn’t budge. “No kidding,” he replied. His jaw felt like it was starting to lock up and it was becoming increasingly difficult to breathe. “Tell me something though – why are you doing this? What force in the galaxy could possibly make you betray everything and everyone you’ve ever known for this? Tell me it’s not about money, Saun. Is this about money? It’s not too late to take everything back. I can talk to Emeri, work out some kind of deal. We can help you, Saun.”