Mindlink (8 page)

Thumps of fists on flesh and feminine cries uncurled a hot
surge in his abdomen and drove him to his feet. She’d gained no reprieve with
her ferocious defense and the workers would kill her in the most merciless way
possible. He’d never dreamed how differently the world operated two quadrants
over, or how this imbalance of power could provoke a primal longing to smash the
guards in the face.

“Cease,” he commanded them. His hands curled into fists.
Automatically. As if protection came easily to him, though he’d never struck
another. It felt...appropriate.

Abruptly the sickening sounds stopped and the workers’
attention snapped to
One
. The Mora Tuwa groaned and
tried to sit up, but the worker cuffed her back to the floor.

“Are you talking to us?” he asked over his shoulder, his voice
rough with exertion.

Clearly his intelligence wasn’t average either.

One
had little at his disposal
other than his leadership skills and he’d not reasoned out the next steps before
speaking. A miscalculation, but amendable. “Citizens are above such barbaric
behavior. Return to your quarters and allow the Mora Tuwa a dignified death via
recycling.”

Death
. Death by either means seemed
regrettable for one as complex and riveting as The Redhead.

The workers glanced at each other and the second one said, “Sit
in the corner over there like a good citizen and stay out of this.” They turned
back to their sport, cutting off any respite
One
may
have gained for the Mora Tuwa.

He’d failed.

An uncontrolled spiral of anger flexed his muscles and
propelled him impetuously toward the cell’s doorway. The containment frequency
crashed through his head, buckling his knees and drawing moisture from his tear
ducts. He hit the ground, breathless, and wiggled away.

Inability to take action weighed him down. But committing
suicide would not help. He’d reacted out of sheer impulse, regardless of the
consequences, with that same useless concern for others which had resulted in
incarceration. The Telhada frowned on such things for a reason and clearly he
had not yet learned the lesson.

Helplessly, through watery eyes, he forced himself to observe
the spectacle in the opposing cell. After all, he was responsible for The
Redhead’s current predicament. Not for the first time, he cursed the list.

When they’d finally had enough, the workers exited the cell,
cracking their knuckles and eyeing
One
as if to warn
him against further interference. He met their glares, daring them to try their
sadistic games with someone closer to their own size. They didn’t accept the
invitation. Cowards.

When the echo of their retreating footsteps fell silent, he
sought out The Redhead.

She lay still as death. Her hair had flipped over her head,
veiling her face. One arm stretched toward him, halted midway in its quest for
assistance. Assistance he’d been prevented from giving. The cell wall hid the
remainder of the crumpled body.

Dark masses spotted the white floor—some perfect circles, some
smeared and clumpy. Blood. He had little experience with blood in such quantity.
Blood which had been drawn by heavy fists against the pale, fragile flesh of the
Mora Tuwa.

His stomach rolled and something heavy spread behind his
breastbone. He fell to his knees, gasping for cleansing oxygen to settle the
sick waves. These subjects from Earth existed to assist the king in his quest to
solve the issues inherent in any established society. Sacrifice in the name of
research. One’s entire life had been molded toward this end.

It seemed hollow in the presence of this damaged figure.

She hadn’t moved. He couldn’t determine if she was breathing
and called out in a hopeless attempt to rouse her. His hands clenched into
futile fists.

How much harm had the workers done for her to still be
unconscious? The other Mora Tuwa must be against the far wall, outside the range
of his vision, though her condition was likely similar.

Intellect warred with his subconscious. The workers had every
right to treat the prisoners as they saw fit—it was their duty, like it had been
his to bring the humans here in the first place.

However, the Telhada frowned on violence and taught that a lack
of baser impulses divided them from lesser species. Citizens were punished for
extremes in behavior, just as they were for failure to produce results.
Societies who did not react swiftly to such issues ceased to exist. History
proved this over and over, here on Alhedis and on Earth.

He watched her for an eternity, strangely anxious to hear her
voice again.

At last, she groaned and stirred. With a shaky hand, she swiped
the hair out of her face and met his gaze. Black ringed her eyes and dark
streams leaked from both nostrils. Her jaw worked and she spat something onto
the floor. More blood.

His throat tightened as bile crept up the back of his tongue.
She was hurt and likely in pain, which he could do nothing to resolve. But she
was alive.

For now.

“You aliens sure know how to make a girl feel welcome,” she
said, her voice quivery and thick, but melodious. Something quickened inside as
she spoke. “Next time, I’d prefer a martini and an ocean view.”

He had no idea how to respond, but believed she meant the
comments to be humorous. They weren’t. She’d been beaten—almost to death—and
chose humor instead of complaints. A Mora Tuwa worthy of admiration. And if he
thought that, perhaps psychiatric evaluation was in order.

“Just goes to show everyone gets off on having someone to push
around.” She twisted onto her side, and as bruised body parts came in contact
with the unforgiving floor, she flinched. Her distress punched him square in the
midsection and the injustice of it spread with fingers of heat.

All at once, his former ignorance, when he had no knowledge of
the atrocities being committed in other quadrants, seemed extremely attractive.
But he knew and must act.

The king would not condone workers being allowed to run rampant
through the penal system, behaving so barbarically. The full truth must be
revealed.
One’s
former superior had become the new
Security Division High Chairman and the Penal System Director reported to him.
The High Chairman needed
One’s
firsthand account in
order to solve these blatant issues.

The failure of the list paled in comparison to the decay
One
witnessed happening among his own people. The king
must grant him an audience so
One
could explain
these issues. With proper timing, he might also trump the High Priest’s
interrogation into a nonexistent plot against the king. The king might
appreciate
One’s
report enough to grant him a
pardon.

Then he’d be in a position to correct further injustices
against The Redhead.

* * *

Everything hurt.

Cold ached deep in Ashley’s bones and she’d stopped being
hungry a long time ago. If someone asked her to choose between a blanket and a
cheeseburger for her last request, the blanket won, hands down. It might have
been preferable to still be unconscious.

Ashley had earned every one of her bruises clashing with the
brutish aliens and wore them with pride. By some miracle, the guards hadn’t
opted to add sexual assault to the menu, and for that, she was pathetically
grateful.

She’d prepped for this role, working harder than she ever had
in her life. And for what? No one had even acknowledged how great a performance
she’d given. She’d even convinced a suspicious Natalie she was a scientist. Only
a mind reader could have seen through it.

Just her luck.

Sam had grown quiet and Natalie still hadn’t regained
consciousness. She crawled to the limp woman, wincing as an ice pick of pain
shot through her knee, and checked Natalie’s pulse. Still alive. Why that
cheered her was a mystery since it wouldn’t be true much longer. She huddled
into a ball against the hard floor and stared at the white alien ceiling,
absently stroking Natalie’s matted hair.

At least the interlude with the guards yielded useful
information—the force field could be turned on and off with their palm tappy
things. Also, the aliens knew nothing about fighting, clean or dirty. Other
prisoners might take what the guards dished out but she’d had absolute terror on
her side, as well as an unanticipated drive to protect Natalie.

Someone owed her a refund for the self-defense classes she’d
taken in case of stalkers and overzealous fans. The instructors hadn’t explained
all the technique and skill would drain out of her head in the moment and the
battle would turn into an adrenaline-laced means to survival.

The aliens would come to get them in the morning. She couldn’t
stay here and be turned into tomorrow’s milk jug. But what could she do to get
out of here? Even Princess Leia had to be busted out by Han and Luke. What
chance did Ashley have on her own?

She drifted, exhausted enough to ignore the sour stench of her
body, the agonizing aches radiating from every muscle, and crusty blood smeared
across her bruised skin.

Footsteps echoing in the hall woke her.

Absolute panic zapped her heart into overtime. An off-beat
rhythm pulsed in her throat. Her eyelids flew up, and she peered into the hall
sideways without moving her head, hoping—praying—the aliens might ignore her if
she remained motionless.

The noise woke Natalie. She sat up and collapsed against the
back wall, staring blearily at nothing. Lank hair and sunken eye sockets gave
Natalie a no-makeup-needed-disaster-movie-extra look. Before Ashley could hiss
at her to stay still and quiet, guards thumped into view and stopped. Four of
them. Right in front of their cell.

Ashley’s breath stuttered, rattling against clamped lips. One
guard tapped off the force field. She gathered her protesting legs underneath
her and balanced clumsily, poised to spring at the guard the second he took a
step in her direction.

The other guards skirted the first one and shoved, clomping
back down the hall before they’d finished the motion.

Three naked bodies landed in the cell in a heap of tangled
limbs. She hadn’t noticed the guards dragging the new prisoners. Were they
alive? Were they human?

Ashley extended a leg and nudged one with her foot, but got no
response. Since there was no one else to sort them out, she crawled to the pile.
As she turned the first lump over, it shifted and groaned. Still breathing. For
now, anyway—the recyclers were coming soon. Probably after morning tea and
scones, kissing their wives goodbye and speeding off to work, whistling the
alien morning show theme song.

The lump straightened and brushed a hand over its face. Freddy.
A very unattractive Freddy, missing stylish clothes,
GQ
hair and his gloss. Geez, had the aliens sucked the hotness out
of him? She glanced at the other two.

Dr. Glasses. And Sid. Without clothes, or the doctor’s thick
glasses, they’d been hard to recognize. She tried to disentangle Freddy from the
others but he shrank away from her touch, nose in the air at a strange
angle.

“Freddy.”

She gave him time to process her voice, like Natalie had done
for her upon awakening blind on an alien world, after realizing their hosts had
tricked them into coming here. Thank God Natalie had been thrown into the cell
first and had courage to spare. Ashley couldn’t have handled this bare room
alone.

Some people were built for rising to the occasion.

Ashley
V
was built for champagne and caviar. And soap.

“Who’s there?” he called.

“Ash—strid,” she corrected hastily. “Dr. Jonsson.” The charade
was without a doubt over but Freddy didn’t know her real name. “The blindness is
temporary. It’ll go away soon. How is your head?”

Freddy put a shaky hand to his forehead and squeezed. “Feels
like I came out the wrong end of a bender and the beer was cheap. How long have
you been here?”

“A while. There aren’t any clocks and they took Natalie’s
watch, but it’s sometime in the middle of the night,” she said.

“Natalie? The one from the ship?” He shifted his head, peering
through glassy irises. “Who else is here?”

“Sid, the astronautics engineer, and the genetics guy who used
to have glasses.”

Both of the scientists in question groaned. Good. Maybe with
two PhDs in the room, they could figure out how to escape. All that intelligence
had to be worth something.

“Dr. Glasson,” the doctor said and rubbed his eyes. “Dr. Marc
Glasson. My research appeared in... Why can’t I see?”

Sid flopped a couple of times and finally sat up. “I can’t see
either.”

“The aliens blind all the prisoners, but it wears off soon.
Anyway, there’s not much to see. We’re in some kind of holding cell.” Ashley
slumped against the frigid wall, which hadn’t warmed a single degree. “Did you
get the octopus, too?”

“The what?” Freddy asked. He’d lost his cultured tone and just
seemed pathetic and scared. What had she ever seen in him?

“The aliens shoved a stick up our noses and implanted a thing
in our brains that makes you remember things. Did they do it to you too?” Ashley
asked.

Dr. Glasses sat straighter, his puffy eyes squinty and small
without his glasses in place. “The device fuses to the brain and integrates with
its natural processing, which is how the aliens are able to blind us. If it
wasn’t so painful, I’d have been able to study it further. But I did determine
it’s also designed for communication, using images instead of words because a
picture is universal and not subject to misinterpretation if the translation
doesn’t align.”

“Great,” Ashley threw in. “Our very own Rosetta Stone. Much
more considerate than a welcome basket.”