Breakout (11 page)

Then she was gone, leaving him to monsters and darkness.

And pain.

11

The Knife of Failure

Dred raced for the front doors. Vost must have fixed his bandages and clothing, then followed because he was at the control panel not long after. He powered down the force field and opened the blast doors, then Jael stumbled inside. The smell struck her first, totally wrong,
not
Jael, and it overpowered even the reek from the merc's wounds.

But first she needed to close off retreat options, if it turned out she was right. “Lock us down. Quickly.”

He complied, likely because he suspected there might be enemies on Jael's six. She took Vost's arm and pulled him away from the still unsteady Jael. Even if his scent
wasn't
all wrong, she'd never seen him react this way to being hurt. He was too used to pain.

“Get back,” she said.

Vost glanced at her, a frown furrowing his brow. “He needs medical attention. We can bandage him up at least.”

“Do you smell the blood on him?” she asked.

The merc tilted his head as Keelah came a few paces closer, her nose twitching. “She's right. There's no scent of injury. And he smells completely off. More like—”

“Hex,” Dred finished.

The illusion flickered and went off, revealing the alien. Her bad feeling intensified. If this thing had tried to trick them, there couldn't be an innocent reason.
It didn't want us to know Jael was missing, at least not right away.
That probably meant that its mandate was infiltration.

It was supposed to make us think Hex was dead, Jael was safe, then turn off our security so Silence could finish us.

“Get it in restraints,” she said. “But be careful, I don't know anything about Azhvarians.”

“They have the ability to project whatever appearance they choose,” Tam said quietly. “Similar to a hologram. And they have poison spines hidden in the suckers on their fingertips.”

“You bastard,” she breathed.

That's how it took Jael down.

“Then I won't get close,” Duran said. And shot the alien in the chest.

Then he walked over to make sure Hex was dead. The body looked so small and fragile, and the wound was violent, a red black hole in the torso. Part of her wanted to scream at the merc; they should have questioned it before execution. But really, what did it matter? It had to be allied with Silence, so nothing else mattered. There was no one else who could have taken Jael.

“Space it,” Vost said.

Calypso lifted the corpse and carried it over to the chute near the docking-bay doors. This asshole didn't deserve any kind of a service and certainly wasn't worth a trip to the recyclers. In seconds, the machinery hummed and sucked the dead alien out into vacuum. Dred dropped into a crouch, metering her breath until she felt less frantic. Knowing Death's Handmaiden, the things she might do? With his reduced healing capacity, she could actually kill Jael. She couldn't hear for the terror careening in her veins and the cacophony of her heartbeat.

“Not all aliens are good and gentle,” Keelah said.

Martine knelt beside her. “We'll get him back, don't worry.”

“No matter how you look at it, this is a win for the crazy bitch,” Duran muttered. “We go after his ass, and she's drawn us out, bait for the trap.”

She let herself have these seconds of weakness, then she locked it away. Fear wouldn't save her man. Only decisive action could. Dred touched Martine's arm in silent gratitude over her attempt at consolation, then she reveled in the rage building behind her eyes. Now her pulse didn't drum with fear; instead, it pounded out a message, no, an edict.

Kill. Kill. Kill.

“We need a plan,” she bit out. “Ideas?”

Tam said, “I've spied on Silence
many
times. I'll do some recon and find out where she's holding him. If possible, I'll also take a head count though it may not be fully accurate, depending on how many she's sent on patrol.”

“I'll go with you,” Martine offered.

Tam shook his head. “This is a solo run.”

“We've had this conversation before,” she said with more than a hint of bite. “Have you forgotten how this works? Just in case, here's a refresher.
I
decide, and
you
obey.” She flashed her sharp teeth in what Dred couldn't properly call a smile.

Something sparked in Tam's dark eyes. And then he nodded. “Let's get moving.”

After checking the monitor to make sure the area was clear, Vost let them out with minimal drama. “Be careful,” he said as he locked the bay down again.

Dred straightened her shoulders. “There's nothing we can do for Jael until they get back with intel. So let's get started on our primary objective.”

Keelah patted her shoulder and moved off to check out the external maintenance rigs. Calypso went with her, and the low hum of their voices echoed slightly in the vast space. Vost lingered, probably because he felt some sense of responsibility, even though he wasn't really in charge. Funny how command became an imperative after a while.

“Two things. First, you let me deal with the heinous mess on your chest. Then I need you to look at the handheld we found.”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Not remotely. Come with me.” She led the way to the dorm and cracked open the first-aid kit. The antiseptic was beyond expired, but the bandages were still sealed. “How long does Nu-Skin stay good?”

“Not sure. Isn't there a date on it?” He watched her with an inscrutable expression.

Dred turned the package over in her hands and shook her head. “Should we risk it?”

“You're too calm,” he said.

“Why?”

“It's unnerving. I thought you cared about him.”

The words sank in deep, but she didn't show it.
Who cares if Vost thinks I'm an unfeeling bitch?
“Panic won't save him. Until there's something I can do for Jael, I have to keep moving. Inertia is death.”

Instead, something like admiration flashed in his face, there and gone, then he peeled off his shirt. “True. Don't kill me, all right? I have so much to live for.”

Dred almost smiled and pulled out her knife. “Hold still, this will hurt.”

•   •   •

WHEN
he couldn't stand the agony, Jael retreated. The monsters yielded to his tormentors, to old ghosts and sorrows.

“Is it good?” Dr. Parvati asked.

Jael had cleaned three plates, and his mouth was too full to answer. This dish had meat and noodles; he couldn't stop eating even though his stomach was starting to hurt. The pain was mild and bearable compared to how he usually felt, but when this fourth dish was empty, he sat back and rubbed his belly.

“Yes.” He really didn't know what she wanted from him.

Dr. Landau had said this was a special program, but she'd used the word “investigation.” Jael didn't know what an ethics violation was, either. Maybe he should ask?

“If you're feeling better, I have some questions.”

“Go ahead.”

“I'll be testing you on the following traits, JL: desire, will, consciousness, ethics, personality, insight, humor, and ambition.”

He nodded.

“What is it that you want from life?” she asked first.

Confusion built at his temples, flowering into pain.
You're not a person. You're a thing. You will obey.

“Do I have a life?” That wasn't the answer she wanted, he could tell. But he'd never been allowed to want
anything
. “For the pain to stop, I guess. To be treated better by the scientists.”

Somehow, she was frightening him more than the lab techs because her disappointment could hurt him in ways that he couldn't yet imagine. Dr. Parvati made a note on her handheld.

“What would you choose to do if you could do anything?” she asked.

“Be a person,” he said without hesitation.

That, she liked. Her smile deepened, and she gave him an approving nod. “That's good, JL. You may find this question disconcerting but . . . who are you?”

That stumped him, so he gave the answer he had. “Subject JL489.”

The sadness surfaced again as she leaned forward. “You haven't given yourself a name?”

His eyes widened. “I can do that?”

“Mmm. Subject limited in self-awareness, little actualization.” That didn't sound good, whatever it meant.

“I'm Jael,” he said then, hoping desperately to show her what she wanted to see.

“That's just an abbreviation of your test-subject identification,” she said gently. “And
I'm
the one who shortened it.”

Worried, he gripped the edge of the table, all the food he'd eaten roiling in his stomach.
I can't get sick. I can't get sick.

Then she asked a bunch more questions, and he didn't know the answers. They were . . . situations, more like.
What would you do if . . . All right then, now listen to this and pick option A, B, or C.
Most of the time, he had no idea what she was even talking about.

Finally, he said in frustration, “How could I save anyone? I'm always in the lab. I'm in restraints. I couldn't, I can't—”

“Hm.” Her expression seemed to darken as she murmured, “Inability to envision theoretical situations,” and made a note on her device. “No ethical awareness.”

“You keep using that word,” he whispered. “And I don't know what it means.”

“Which one?”

“‘Ethical.'”

“Oh. It's the ability to distinguish right from wrong.”

“It's wrong that they keep me here. It's wrong that they hurt me.”

Dr. Parvati sighed softly. “That's what I'm here to determine. Right now, you have no legal status or recourse, JL. None of your counterparts do. I'm trying to establish whether Sci-Corp has the right to continue their research or if you should be released and educated properly so you can contribute to society.”

Relatively little of what she said made sense to him. But he sensed that confusion would work against him. So he nodded, and said, “Oh.”

Dr. Parvati followed with a long series of questions that seemed to contradict each other.
You are impatient. You find it difficult to talk to others. Dreams are more important than principles. Your mood changes easily. You would break the rules if the situation called for it.
He lost track of his answers, and his head was really aching by the time she stopped.

I don't want to do this anymore,
he thought.
I don't like it.
Going back to the lab was the only alternative, though, so he ignored the throbbing in his skull and braced for more.

“Next question. A little boy steals a loaf of bread. Why do you think he does this?”

“Someone told him to,” Jael guessed. That was the only reason
he
did anything, after all.

“Ah.” Another tap of her device, laden with dissatisfaction.

Her scent was changing, too, less of the sweetness. He didn't know the reason for it, but it troubled him.
Whatever we're doing, I'm failing at it.

“I'm sorry,” he said.

“For what, JL?”

“I think I'm doing this wrong.”

“No, your honesty is exactly what we need to come to an accurate conclusion. I appreciate your cooperation and your candor. Only two more areas to address, then we'll be done. What did the fish say when it swam into a cement wall?”

Jael knew what a fish was, but from the books he'd looked at . . . “Fish can't talk.”

“The answer is ‘dam,'” she said, sighing.

“Oh. The scientists say ‘damn' sometimes.”

“No concept or recognition of humor. Finally, JL, I need to learn whether you've ever
tried
to do anything.”

“Like what?” he asked, blankly.

“Anything. Have you ever done anything other than what you're told?”

What was the right answer?
He didn't always comply, and he was usually punished for it. So maybe the truth would work against him? His pulse accelerated.