by Joshua Guess
Garcia’s face grew troubled, which was a relief given how deserving the situation was of that sentiment. “I’m trying to see the other side of it and figure out how you’re wrong, but I’m drawing a blank.”
A glimmer of hope kindled in my chest. “Phillips isn’t a bad guy. It would almost be better if he were, because a bad person in his position would at least be obvious. He seems like a good man put in an impossible position. All of you, even the other military units out there, are acting like there’s still a system of government out there running things. There isn’t. The whole idea of this trial is ludicrous. I mean, how am I supposed to be fairly judged when the people making the call are all drawn from the pool of folks affected by me?”
“Yeah,” she muttered. “I know.”
I pushed forward, careful but with some force. “It’s not just this. Phillips has had to make other decisions that he probably hated, and I think that stress is doing serious damage to his judgment. He knew what John was up to. Talked to me about it. Said it might be better if I had managed to kill the bastard the first time I tried. Keeping his troops together and working was more important to him than the things his pet scientist was doing to us. Hell, it was more important than John actually being able to produce results.”
Her head snapped to me. “What do you mean?”
“John wasn’t making progress,” I told her. “Phillips told me the other research facilities were already ahead of him. He kept it quiet to maintain unit cohesion.”
She shook her head, but it seemed like an unconscious gesture rather than an intentional denial. It was the action of a woman trying hard to ignore a host of nagging doubts suddenly coming together for the first time. It was a crack. Like any good warrior, I exploited that weakness.
“Go up top and ask Doctor Barnes what happens to the captives who get too sick or injured to be useful,” I said softly. “Ask him where the bodies of those who die end up.”
“The medical staff burns the bodies,” Garcia said. “Before that they’re kept comfortable in the patient rooms in the clinic itself.”
“You’ve seen this?” I asked. “Done guard duty on those rooms? You’ve personally witnessed them being cared for?”
Garcia opened her mouth to reply, then closed it. She chewed the inside of her cheek absently, thinking. “Not in a long time, no. We had a schedule change a while back.”
“Yeah, that makes sense. Wouldn’t want to put a decent person in charge when they came up with a solution.”
“I don’t understand,” she said. “Solution to what?”
I steeled myself. “Captives taking up time and resources. Think about it. Do you believe those four soldiers just grabbed me and tossed me in with that Reaver on a whim? They’ve done it before. Sick captives, dying test subjects with terrible injuries, are a drain on resources. If you want to kill several birds with one stone, you can get experimental data, end a drain on resources, and feed the Reavers in captivity all at once.”
Her eyes went round in horror. “No. No way.”
“I heard it from the others, and asked John about it before I killed him,” I said. “Go ask Phillips. See what his reaction is. My guess is he’ll deny it, but there’s no way he didn’t know Doctor John and those hand-picked guards were feeding people to the Reavers. Sometimes while they were still alive.”
23
The next day someone calling himself my advocate dropped by to explain how the whole trial process would work. I gave him the same speech about the whole thing being a sham I’d given Garcia. He said something about military justice under martial law and I made a blah-blah-blah motion with my hand and told him to stick it deeply up his ass and toddle off.
I can deal with zombies, Reavers, and the perils of survival in a world gone to shit, but not puffed-up men trying to justify their shitty behavior. There was no authority any more, and had that been the starting point, I’d have listened. Claiming authority based on what had been rather than what was? Nah. No thanks. In Bastion the people had worked out a basic legal system, a simple one centered around the needs of the group. Was it perfect? Not even close. But at least we admitted that we came up with it because nothing else was out there.
That afternoon, Garcia showed up again. I gave her a wry grin when she opened the door. “You keep popping in, I’m gonna start thinking you’re sweet on me.”
She shook her head ruefully. “Not my type, sorry.”
“Hey, a lot of people say I’m man enough for any woman.”
She chuckled. “Oh, I like girls just fine. I just prefer mine less insane than you. I get enough of that shit from like every single dude I date.”
“Noted. So, to what do I owe the pleasure?”
She pointed at my injured arm. “Check-up over at the clinic. Docs are insistent they make sure you’re healing up okay.”
A wave of cold passed over my heart. “Do I have to?”
“No,” she said. “Not if you don’t want to. But I’ll be there the whole time. Phillips demanded it. No one gets to poke or prod you without consent. Word seems to have spread about the kinds of things Captain Pickles was up to, and people are not happy.”
I slowly turned my head to meet her eyes. “Oh, yeah? How’d that happen?”
“Couldn’t begin to guess,” Garcia said. If she was feigning innocence, she did an excellent job. “Maybe after the guys who tossed you in with that Reaver started feeling guilty about it. Might have chatted with the fellas bringing their food. Who knows? So are you going to go, or stay here?”
I flexed my arm, curled my fingers into a light fist. The pain had faded mostly to dull aches, though the tug of my stitches still sent sharp little needles down my nerves from time to time. “Sure. Beats sitting here doing nothing for another eight hours until I fall asleep.”
We walked without rushing. It put me off at first, because your first instinct as a prisoner is to do things fast and without causing a fuss. You get by and bide your time until the perfect moment, yet Garcia was utterly relaxed. Like we were strolling through a garden.
“Do you think your friends really left?” she asked me in a low voice.
I didn’t answer right away. Then I didn’t answer for a long enough time that she stopped in the hallway we stood alone in and looked at me. “Nothing?”
“No offense, but I don’t know if I can trust you,” I said as neutrally as possible. “You do get that I’m kind of in enemy territory here, right?”
Garcia glanced behind us as if making sure no one was close. “I do. I really do. Don’t tell me if you don’t want to. I just hope they really did leave.”
I frowned at her. “Why is that?”
She hesitated, weighing her response. “I think the colonel talked the worst elements into doing like you asked. Leaving Bastion alone and suggesting other military units do the same. If your people were to attack again, that might be ruined.”
I felt my eyes go wide. “Really? Why? How?”
“Too complicated to explain in the little time we have. But he’s not a bad man, Ran. He came at the problem from a couple angles. He knows a lot of us are starting to lose discipline for following a chain of command that only exists here. Talking down the angry ones has taken him days, but he’s making progress.”
I wanted to say something, but couldn’t bring myself to do it. Garcia was good people, but she had her duty and I was after all behind enemy lines. Any information I gave her might be passed along, and even something as seemingly inconsequential as whether I thought my people were still nearby could have enormous consequences.
Instead I nodded at her noncommittally and said, “I hope that’s true.”
Doctor Barnes waited for me in what had been John’s main lab.
“Hey, look at that, you got an upgrade,” I said by way of greeting.
Barnes seemed cheerful enough, if a little wary of me. None of the anger or rage I might have expected. “Yes, well, I was the senior research fellow. It fell to me to take over
administration.”
“You are welcome,” I said, stressing the second word. “Let me know if you have any more bosses you want knocked off.”
Garcia cleared her throat, and it might have been wishful thinking but I thought she was holding back a smile. Barnes went a tad pale.
Scared he might be, but the guy didn’t let it interfere with his work. He offered me a seat on the exam table nestled against the wall on the right. “Hop on up, if you don’t mind.”
I obliged. He took my temperature—Triggers run about a degree hot—and checked my other vital signs with professional ease. He even warmed up his stethoscope before listening to my breathing.
“I’m going to change those bandages and have a look at your shoulder,” he said. “You’ll need to switch into a gown for the last part. That shirt will get in the way.” He turned to grab a folded one off his cart.
In response, I skinned off my top and dropped it on the table. When he turned back just a second later, he started and looked away. His fair skin turned a color I can only describe as Ron Weasley red. I took the gown and tossed it on. “I’m decent.”
He took a quick look to make sure, then turned back to face me. “That was not funny.”
I raised my hands, palms up. “Dude, you’re a doctor. Have you not seen tits before?”
Barnes closed his eyes in a way that made me think he was mentally counting down. “Of course. And had I been giving you a breast exam, with a little warning, I wouldn’t have batted an eye. It’s basic courtesy to at least let me know when you’re about to do that so I can give you privacy.”
“Yeah, that’s true,” I agreed. “But then I wouldn’t have had the fun of seeing you wig out a little. Gotta get my jollies somehow, you know.”
He grumbled as he cut off the bandages on my arm. He examined the stitches visually, looking a lot closer and taking more time than any reasonable doctor would. Then he palpated the wounds gently, careful to watch me for signs of discomfort. “Incredible.”
“I do have nice forearms,” I said. “But I assume you’re talking about my injuries?”
He nodded, still bent over my forearm and staring at it in fascination. I wondered if the possibility I might punch him in the throat hard enough to crush his larynx even occurred to him. Probably not. “The cuts are ragged and stitched really nicely considering the conditions the work was done in. The edges of them aren’t swollen or hard like injuries would be on a normal person.”
I thwacked him on the side of the head. He shot bolt upright and leaped back with wide-eyed terror on his face. “What the hell?”
From her spot leaning against the wall, Garcia chuckled. “Girls don’t like being called abnormal, dipshit.”
His face fell, fear instantly replaced by another blush. “Oh. Sorry. I didn’t mean it that way. Your physiology is fascinating, that’s all I meant.”
I looked at Garcia, who put a hand in front of her mouth. “Is he coming on to me? I’m pretty sure he’s coming on to me.”
Barnes put up his hands. “Enough, Jesus.”
I considered asking him exactly how much Jesus was enough, but decided I’d fucked with the guy enough. For now. “So why is that so fascinating?”
He tapped fingers against his chin. “By itself, it’s not that big a deal. It’s that Nero does so many things to the body. It accelerates healing by secreting some interesting chemicals to promote cell growth, and it’s hell on opportunistic infections. Did you know that over time it helps reinforce your body to acclimate to your bouts of Shivers?”
I thought back to Anthony driving a zombie into a tree by lifting it overhead. “I started to get that impression.”
Barnes nodded enthusiastically. “It’s true. It’s obvious when you think about it. Muscle strength increases with the repair of damaged muscle fibers. That’s an oversimplification, obviously, but basically Triggers will tend to get stronger over time because Nero will keep on aiding the healing process. It also increases your hemoglobin count significantly. That’s why we tested how long you could hold your breath.”
Fascinating. “I’m just going to, what, keep getting stronger forever?”
“Not at all,” Barnes said in the tone of a practiced academic. “Your base level of strength will increase, but nothing superhuman. It’ll be like you work out regularly, developing the muscles of a workingman—er, woman. It’s only when you trigger that your body will be able to push past the normal limits.”
“And do it continuously,” I said. “I saw that firsthand. Seems dangerous.”
He nodded. “It can be. In your triggered state, you can push past a lot of limitations. But even if you can’t feel it, you’re probably hurting yourself every time. Nero just doesn’t let your brain sense the damage as it repairs it. And it does nothing for bone density, so even if you can hit like a heavyweight boxer, your fingers will still break.”
He stepped forward and checked the bullet wound in my shoulder, which was thankfully only a shallow furrow. Just enough to make me drop my gun. Whoever had taken the shot either missed or was one hell of a marksman.
“Look okay?”
Barnes nodded. “It’s already got a new layer of skin forming at the edges. Considering how the one in your collarbone healed up, I’m not worried about this at all.”
He stepped back and eyed me critically, his boyish face turning unnervingly serious and adult. “You’re in pretty good shape, but don’t get too reliant on using the Shivers.”
It seemed like good advice for a bunch of reasons, but I was curious. “Why?”
“Mostly because there’s no good substitute for basic survival instinct,” he explained. “I would think it’d be easy to get overconfident and hurt yourself. And then you have the physical problems Nero can bring on, like the blood pressure issues.”
“Yeah, I’ve already learned the lesson about overconfidence,” I said.
“Good,” Barnes said, turning around so I could put my shirt on. “Depression is another thing you’ll want to watch out for.”
That one caught me by surprise. “Say what now? Oh, you can turn around.”
Barnes still had that serious look on his face. “The euphoria when you trigger is probably going to have some long-term effects. I can’t imagine those kinds of serotonin and dopamine shifts won’t screw with your biochemistry.”
“I appreciate the warning,” I said, putting as much warmth into the words as I could. I meant it; the guy didn’t have to tell me any of it, much less try to explain the perils I might face because of my condition. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry about taking you hostage and all that.”
Barnes’s mouth quirked at the corners. “Sorry you did it, or sorry it was necessary?”
“That it was necessary. I’d do it again right now if it would get me out of here. I’d feel shitty about that, too.”
He spread his hands. “Then I guess I should apologize as well. I didn’t like what was happening to you—all of you—and maybe I should have tried to stop it. But there were a lot of factors in play.”
I smiled. “There always are. Too bad I’m probably not going to need to worry about long-term effects.”
“No?” Barnes said.
“No,” I replied. “Pretty sure the colonel and his panel will find me guilty and put me in front of a firing squad or something.”
Barnes darted the quickest of glances as Garcia before looking back at me. “Maybe. But don’t assume the worst just yet. You have a few people on your side.”
24
Every step I took back to my cell grew harder and harder, as if gravity increased on a gradient. I understood why I’d been so playful with Barnes. When you know you’re about to be locked back in your own personal hell, you grab every chance you get to smile and laugh and find small joys. A lot of people never learn this lesson. By the time I was fourteen, it was written into my DNA.
Garcia dropped me off at my cell and I endured a pat down by the guards there to make sure I hadn’t smug
gled in any weapons. No cavity search, thankfully, but it was still one more indignity added to the pile.
When the door clanged shut behind me, I decided I didn’t want to stop moving just yet. Even the limited exercise I got walking between here and the clinic had boosted my spirits, and my brain wouldn’t stop working on the things Doctor Barnes told me.
I couldn’t afford to play around with triggering. Even if the strain on my body weren’t a concern, it cost me a lot of energy. I wasn’t being starved, but neither were they letting me have enough calories that I could afford to waste many of them.
Instead of experimenting, I stretched. When that wasn’t enough for me, I did some basic (and according to my instructor, terrible) Tai Chi.
Given how the little field trip went, I felt bad for not telling Garcia that yes, I thought Jem had done as asked and left the area. He was pragmatic and responsible enough to leave me behind when so many other lives depended on him. And smart enough to understand that coming through something as risky as one rescue operation was pushing his luck right up to the limit.
Still, not giving the enemy information it could use was—
“Oh, fuck me,” I breathed. “I’m such an idiot.”
Barnes wasn’t just being nice. I became more and more certain as I replayed the time in his office over in my head that he and Garcia were trying to make me understand something. He gave me information, the way I hadn’t with Garcia when asked. It was a subtle but definite clue. I was a prisoner, after all. Why should he have said any of it unless the choice was deliberate? Telling me at the end that people were on my side was him trying to put an exclamation point on it.