The man pushed him aside and stepped forward.He leaned into a bronze box mounted on the wall at head level, andhe pressed his face close to a concave indention. A blue pulse oflight washed over his face.
The shimmering tendrils winked out, and theguard stepped through. The second guard shoved Basilard frombehind.
They entered a chamber cluttered with pipes,equipment, moving machinery, and tanks of yellowish blue liquid.Flesh-colored blobs floated in some. Machinery and pipes filled thecenter of the space and one could go left or right down confiningaisles jammed with consoles and narrow tables, or perhaps thosewere beds. Some lay horizontal and others were tilted upward tostand against the wall. Trays near them held scalpels, saws, andscissors.
Basilard swallowed. He did not know what thisplace was, but it was nothing so innocuous as an engine room.
The men prodded him toward the far aisle. Herounded a tight corner and stopped. Two red-haired women leanedtogether, heads almost bumping. One wore her hair in a long braidand the other had hers pinned up in a wild swirl of hair. Theyspoke in soft tones. Litya and the sister…. What was the name?Metya.
One of Basilard’s guards cleared his throat.The women turned in unison. They were twins, identical except for afew freckles and an old half-moon scar on one’s temple. He pickedLitya out as the woman without the marking.
As one, their eyes shifted up and down,studying Basilard. Under other circumstances, he might have flushedwith embarrassment-he was naked, after all-but there was nosexual interest in their perusal. He struggled to keep fromsquirming under their scrutiny.
The aisle behind them held more beds,occupied by nude men and women. Most were propped upright againstthe wall, the people held tight by leather straps, but the bedbehind the twins lay in the horizontal position with a muscular manon it, not strapped like the others but chained, the links sosecure that he could do no more than lift a hand or twitch a toe,though he did neither while Basilard watched. Cords snaked from amachine to coin-sized, spider-like devices with the tips of the“ legs” digging beneath the skin on the man’s naked chest.Translucent tubing ran from a pulsing green globe, and a viscousfluid of the same color flowed through it and into a needle in hisarm. Not just his arm. His vein.
“Put him on that table.” Metya pointed to anempty one behind her. “I have the pok-tah solution ready.”She stepped to the side, so the guards could shove Basilard past.“Once we hook him up, he won’t-”
Basilard sucked in a startled breath when theview opened up and he saw the face of the man on the table. Heshould have guessed. Sicarius.
His eyes were open. That surprised Basilardagain-he would have assumed, even with the restraints, someonewould keep Sicarius unconscious if they dared to detain him. Whenthose dark eyes swiveled toward Basilard, though, they were glazedand dull. No sign of recognition glinted in them.
The guard shoved Basilard, trying to forcehim around the end of Sicarius’s table and toward the vertical onea few feet away. He balked and groped for a way to communicate.
“Wait.” Litya pointed the pen at Basilard.“Do you know him?” She shifted the pen and tapped Sicarius on abare toe.
Basilard choked on her audacity. He didn’tthink even Amaranthe would poke Sicarius’s toe, and hetolerated more from her than anyone else.
“Well?” Litya demanded. She grabbed aclipboard from a wall where it dangled on a string, a penattached.
Basilard did not know whether admitting heknew Sicarius would help him or hinder him. He just knew he wouldhave to make his escape attempt soon-if these people strapped himdown and drugged him, he might never wake again.
Basilard lifted his fingers and signed,Can you understand me?
“Why does it matter?” Metya asked. She stoodnear the second bed, tapping buttons beneath a dark orb identicalto the green one at Sicarius’s station.
“Aside from this one-” Litya waved her pen atBasilard again, “-the assassin is the only one here whose lineagewe haven’t been able to discover. He proved resistant to the truthelixir, and he’s the one I’m most curious about.”
“It’s not crucial,” Metya said.
“No, but the information could prove usefulfor our studies. He’s already what our clients wish us tocreate.”
Basilard lifted his eyebrows. Assassins?Gifted warriors? Superior athletes?
Metya sniffed. “I’m sure we can makeimprovements.”
Litya gave her sister a slit-eyed glare andshuffled a blank page to the top of her clipboard. She held it outto Basilard. “Can you write? I can read Turgonian, Kendorian,Kyattese, and Nurian.”
Which of those was her native tongue? He tookthe implements and wrote, I know him. What’s in it for me if Ican extract the information?
When he handed Litya the notepad, the othersister came over as well. Not a foot from Basilard, they bent theirheads together to read his message.
If he could grab one, spin her about, and useher as a shield against the guards’ firearms, maybe he could barterfor his freedom.
Before the thought had finished, a coolpistol muzzle pressed against the back of his neck. He sighed. Hewould have to find a better moment, one when the guards were lessattentive.
“Help us,” Litya said, “and we’ll let youwalk out of here when we’re done collecting specimens.”
Purpose of specimens?
“Nothing you’d understand,” Metya said.
“Stay focused,” Litya said. “Are you willingto cooperate for your life, or not?”
All these other people will die?
Metya shrugged.
“Not by our hands,” Litya said, “but ourcolleagues have more invasive experiments. Some of them preferfresh cadavers. However, you were something of a bonus. We’dalready collected our handful of chosen men and women.” She laid ahand on Sicarius’s bare leg and smiled.
Basilard shifted, uncomfortable with theentire situation and not certain how to read her. He had never hadmuch of a knack for perceiving when women were telling the truth,but going along would prolong his stay amongst the upright andun-drugged.
What about him? Basilard nodded toSicarius, then wrote, Will you let him go as well?
He wasn’t sure why he asked it. If Sicariusmet his death here, at the hands of these scientists, that would bea way to see the Mangdorian royal family avenged. It seemedcowardly to shy away from doing it himself, but if God had otherplans, why should Basilard interrupt?
“Well…” Litya started.
“No,” Metya said, throwing her sister a sharplook. “Why do you think we were trying to get him to show up at thestadium where we could snatch him? This is a long-term project, andthe bounty on his head will fund the latter half of our work. It’sfar more than we’re getting from our clients.”
“I wanted him for research,” Lityamuttered.
The speculative gaze she cast Sicarius madeBasilard wonder if this one had more than science in mind.
He wrote, Research for what?
“The main goal of our research is to-”
“Litya,” a male voice said from the corridor.Footsteps thudded, and Taloncrest appeared at the head of theaisle. “I know you’re a newcomer to our land, but here in Turgoniawe don’t explain ourselves to our captives.”
The guards shuffled aside to let Taloncrestthrough, and Basilard took note of the pistols no longer pointeddirectly at him. Unfortunately, people fenced him in on eitherside, so his odds of getting by were poor. Besides, where would hego? He had yet to glimpse a door to an upper deck on this ship oreven a porthole so he could see what lay outside. Footsteps soundedas other people walked in and out of the laboratory, and hesuspected there were far more people on board than he had seen.
“We’re not interested in adopting Turgoniantactics,” Metya said. “Your people aren’t known for theirnegotiating skills or anything else that doesn’t involvebloodshed.”
Taloncrest leaned against one of the tanks,apparently intending to watch. Though he carried no weapons beyonda utility knife at his b
elt, he towered over the women. Sensingthey would be less forthcoming with Taloncrest there, Basilardpointed at Sicarius and indicated he was ready to start.
Can you lessen his stupor? He doesn’trecognize me. I won’t be able to get answers from him.
“I wouldn’t,” Taloncrest said, the first torespond to Basilard’s scribbles. “You girls aren’t from the empire,so you may not be that familiar with his reputation, but he’sdangerous. That you got him at all was…”
“Impressive?” Litya suggested.
“Lucky,” Taloncrest said.
Metya snorted. “We are highly trainedpractitioners. Setting a trap for a mundane warrior is easier thana first-year telekinesis test.”
“Turgonian men are horrible at acknowledgingthat women can be skilled,” Litya said, sharing a look with hersister. “One wonders why the intelligent women living here don’tleave.”
“Perhaps,” Taloncrest said, “you’d have themgo to the Kyatt Islands where they’d be kicked out if theirresearch methodologies did not fit in with the humanitarian valuesof your Polytechnic?”
“We’ll handle this,” Litya said. “Go back toyour research on your side of the lab, the lab that our goldfunded and that we are graciously letting you work in.”
Taloncrest stepped past Basilard to thrust afinger at the woman’s nose. “Don’t order me around. Youpresume-”
Metya closed her eyes briefly, then flickedher own finger. Taloncrest lurched to the side, his head crackingagainst the back of the machine he’d been leaning against. In theprocess, he bumped against Basilard.
Basilard feigned a stumble and used themovement to palm Taloncrest’s knife. The ex-officer glared at thewomen and did not seem to notice. He clenched his fists and stoodto his full height. The veins in his neck strained beneath theskin.
The twins smiled sweetly.
Basilard watched, hoping the confrontationwould elevate into a worthy distraction for an escape, butTaloncrest took a deep breath and stalked back the way he hadcome.
“Tie him up next to the assassin,” Metyasaid. “They can chat from adjoining beds.”
Basilard wriggled his fingers to remind themhe needed his hands free for talking, but Metya had already turnedaway. She stroked the globe controlling the liquid oozing intoSicarius’s veins.
The guards pushed Basilard past her. Heresisted the impulse to make their work difficult. If he cooperatedmeekly, they might be less prepared when he did strike. He kept hishand down, the knife pressed against the inside of his arm. It wasnot a small blade, and it would take luck to keep the guards fromnoticing it while they tied him. Should he strike before then? No,he would probably need Sicarius’s help to escape, and Sicariuswould need to be alert for that.
The guards pushed him back against the tablewhile it was still vertical. Its cold metallic surface pressedagainst his bare flesh. One guard bent to strap his ankles andthighs to the table. Basilard inched the knife around his side.
He wondered if he was being a fool forwaiting and letting them secure his legs. He glanced at the othertable. Metya was still fiddling with the globe, and Sicarius’s eyesremained vacant.
Basilard slipped the blade behind his buttand pressed his cheeks into the cold metal. A heartbeat later, oneof the guards grabbed both of his wrists, yanking them beforehim.
“Leave them free for now.” Litya held out herclipboard.
Basilard hesitated. Would it be a mistake toreveal that Sicarius could understand his signs? At the moment,they did not realize Basilard and Sicarius worked together. Thewriting would be slow, though, and the women would be able to readeverything he shared.
He pointed at Sicarius, touched his owntemple, and signed, He understands, figuring the women wouldget the gist.
Litya’s eyes narrowed. “The assassin knowsyour sign language? Why?”
Basilard accepted the clipboard and wrote,He’s traveled to my country. To slay people.
“I see.” Litya took the clipboard away andflipped it back to her papers. “Give him a few moments, and heshould regain a measure of cognizance. I mixed in some of my truthelixir, too. He resisted it before, but perhaps if he’s familiarwith you and doesn’t see you as a threat…” She eyed him a littletoo knowingly. “The more you can get me, the more favorably thingswill turn out for you. I want to know his parents’ names, whetherthey were distinguished warriors or athletes, and what mix of bloodis in his veins. The Turgonians are mongrels through and through,but most of them are a combination of their ancient Nurian rootsand the brawny tribesmen that roamed these lands before they came.He looks like he might have some Kendorian in him though. Find outas much as you can.”
Basilard nodded. She propped her hip againstSicarius’s table and waited. One of the guards at the head of theaisle yawned. No privacy for this chat.
Basilard waited for Sicarius to come around.Already his own toes felt numb from the straps around his legs andankles. He was conscious of the steel of the knife behind him, itsmetal warm now from his body heat. It reminded him not to squirm,lest he drop it.
His gaze drifted toward the nearest of thestrange tanks where a fleshy blob floated. Something nagged at theback of his mind, a feeling that he should have put the puzzlepieces together and figured things out by now. The women’s wordsfloated through his mind. He’s already what our clients wish usto create….This is a long-term project.
Babies? He stared at the blob. Were theycreating babies? Was that possible? Would that make thecaptured men and women the parents? Not parents. Brood-stock. Likehounds being used to whelp offspring with desirable traits.
One of Sicarius’s fingers twitched. Basilardwatched his face, waiting for a sign that the drugs were losingtheir hold. It came, not in an expressive show of recognition, butin a hardening of his features-a resumption of the stony mask healways wore. It replaced the blank stare, though his eyes were notas sharp as usual.
Basilard signed, You recognize me?
Sicarius nodded once. His eyes shifted fromside to side, taking in the woman and the looming guards.
I got captured, too, Basilardsigned.
Though Sicarius’s wrists were strapped to thetable like the rest of his body, he could manage some of theone-handed signs. The one he chose was, Obviously.
Basilard clenched his teeth, sensingcondemnation in that brief gesture. Sicarius must assume Basilardhad done something foolish to get here. He didn’t even considerthat Basilard might have been planted as part of a rescue plan fromthe team.
Basilard forced his jaw to loosen. He couldnot read Sicarius’s thoughts, and, even if his guess were close,Sicarius would be right, wouldn’t he? Basilard had beenfoolish and had gotten himself captured.
I was competing at the Imperial Games whenthey got me. How did they capture you?
Heartbeats thumped past with Sicarius doingnothing but gazing impassively. Maybe he had done somethingfoolish, too, and was loathe to admit it. The thought pleasedBasilard. Sicarius was too cursed perfect. Nobody should be soperfect that he never made mistakes. It wasn’t human. Of course,Sicarius might not be responding because he could not explain withone-handed signs what had happened and did not want to speak of itwith their captors listening.
Amaranthe is looking for us, Basilardsigned. She’s concerned about you. He did not know why headded the latter. Even as an incapacitated prisoner, Sicarius didnot look like someone who needed bolstering, and he probably didnot care if anyone ever worried on his behalf or not.
“I presume we have a limited time to talk,”Sicarius whispered in flawless Mangdorian. “Stick to relevanttopics.”
Basilard winced, both because his offering ofcompassion was being shoved aside, and because he was all too awareof the reason why Sicarius had learned his tongue.
“I’ve learned little,” Sicarius added, “onlythat we are in the lake, possibly deep enough that we’d drownbefore reaching the surface if we simply went out a hatch. Ibelieve there are forty people in the facility, half scientists andhalf guards. Have you obtained any in
formation?”
Litya glanced at the nearest guard.
The man thumped Sicarius on the temple withthe butt of his pistol. “Speak in Turgonian.”
Sicarius leveled a cold stare at histormentor. Even though Sicarius was immobilized, the guard steppedback, shifting uneasily.
Even the dullest wolf knows it’s not goodwhen the moose and the rabbit conspire in a language foreign to thepack, Basilard signed.
It was an old saying that usually elicited asmile amongst Basilard’s people. Sicarius stared at him withoutcomment.
I’m supposed to be getting your lineageout of you, Basilard signed.
“My parents?” Sicarius asked inTurgonian.
Basilard suspected it was for the sake ofthose listening rather than a need for clarification. The guardsrelaxed at the words.
I just got here, Basilard signed.If we’re so deep, how do they travel to the surface?
“I was never told,” Sicarius said as hisfingers twitched his real response. With his hands separated andrestrained, he could not make the arm motions that accompanied manyof the Mangdorian signs, and Basilard struggled to follow thewords.
Mental sciences. No thing. Women create whenneed.
Thing? Basilard guessed he meant there was nomagical artifact or other contraption they could snatch to travelto the surface on their own.
…unconscious…don’t know how manydays… Sicarius kept speaking as he signed, “Though I wasgiven to understand it was an arranged mating, and my parents werechosen for their desirable attributes.”
Basilard caught himself listening to thewords. Were they the truth? Had Sicarius been bred like a hound?Basilard had heard what Hollowcrest said in Larocka’s mansion, thatSicarius had been trained from birth to be a tool for the empire,to obey Hollowcrest and Emperor Raumesys. Which meant he hadnot likely had a choice about the assassination mission toMangdoria.
That didn’t matter. He had still done it.
Sicarius was glaring at him, and for a momentBasilard wondered if he read minds in addition to his other skills.But, no, Sicarius signed slowly, with emphasis, and Basilardrealized the glare was for not paying attention.
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