Much
pain.
Too
much fucking pain, in fact.
Kevin
stirred restlessly, regretting it instantly as lightning pain arced
from his chest down his entire left arm and finished up in his shoulder
for good measure.
Where am I? How the hell did I get here?
He
couldn't remember what had happened. He'd...hadn't he been in the
Nethers? With...with...Kevin screwed his eyes up tightly, trying to
remember.
Andersen.
He
groaned aloud. It was starting to come back; Andersen had...what? Not
attacked; that was too dramatic a word. He'd...pulled out his gun, said
something that Kevin couldn't for the life of him remember – in fact,
what the fuck had he been doing with Andersen in the Nethers in the
first place? – and...shot him.
Kevin
tensed suddenly, viewing the experience again through his mind's eye;
the sudden pain followed by numbness, his collapsing onto the concrete
and how it had felt cold, but distant, as though he was detached from
his body, and how one thought along the lines of You IDIOT had
been going round and round in his head.
Why
had he trusted Andersen enough to turn his back on him?
For
that matter, why had he trusted Andersen at all? What had they been
talking about before the other acolyte had shot him?
Kevin
gave it up. Straining his brain wasn't going to do much except give him
a splitting headache to add to his troubles. Dull, red hot pain was
already starting to pulse behind his eyes, and he didn't want it to get
any worse; he had enough pain to be going on with for the moment.
He
drew in a deep breath, noticing the distinctly clinical smell
surrounding him.
Medical centre. I suppose it'd be too much to ask for it
to be a Librian one.
Kevin
forced his eyes open, then squeezed them shut again almost immediately.
Oh dear god...
He'd
seen enough. In that one short glance, he'd seen enough. Mildewed
walls, a damp concrete floor with a bare bulb for a ceiling light which
was mercifully dark, and an electrocardiogram which looked incredibly
out of place in the surroundings. Next to him was a small table with
his dark glasses on (and Kevin was supremely thankful for that much, at
least). He could feel a slight tug on his right arm when he tried to
move it, and looked over to see an IV drip attached to his arm, causing
a fresh wave of panic to surge through him.
Oh god, please let them have sterilised that line before
shoving it into me.
The
acolyte went limp. Just the simple act of looking around and trying to
think about what had happened had exhausted him. He was on the verge of
drifting back into sleep when voices, faint but perfectly audible, came
from off to his left.
Rebels!
Kevin
stiffened, adrenaline blasting through his veins, burning away any
remaining vestiges of tiredness.
No,
that's stupid. Relax. Don't tip them off; wait and listen, see what you
can learn. Then blast them to pieces if you still want to.
They
don't know what happened. If they...if Andersen... Kevin
floundered. He knew what he wanted to say, but his brain seemed to have
shut down.
Go ahead then. Tell them about Andersen. Tell them
you're a sense offender, not through choice but because you happen to
be immune to Prozium. You'll have...what? About two seconds before they
try and rope you into spying for them, and face facts, pal; you're in
no fit state to stand, let alone fight your way past what could be over
a hundred armed rebels. And even if you manage it, what happens if
someone here gets pulled in for CI? You gonna break them out? That's a
downward spiral into oblivion and you damn well know it.
Something
stirred in his mind, a comment that an announcer had supposedly made to
a famous EC-10 band before the start of one of their concerts.
The
light that burns twice as bright burns half as long...and you have
burned so very, very brightly.
Alright.
Kevin took a deep breath. So I'll die down here.
In a
way, it was a relief to have the decision taken out of his hands. He
was both physically and emotionally drained; it would be nice to stop
looking over his shoulder for the metaphorical dagger in the back every
hour of every day. He'd been running on pure adrenaline for most of his
life, leading everyone he met an elaborate dance in an attempt to save
his own life, he'd had to arrange the death of one yearmate who had
never done him any harm, not to mention his own parents (and oh god,
didn't he get some bad dreams about that one when the lights
went down, even if he had been far too young and naïve at the time to
know what would happen to them).
Right,
Kev. That's always been your excuse, hasn't it? 'I didn't know'.
'Nobody told me'. You may be mature and downright old when it comes to
life in the real world, but I think you and I both know you still have
a shitload of growing up to do...so why don't we start with taking
responsibility for your own actions and see where we go from there?
Shut
up. Kevin was vaguely aware of the delirium in the back of his
mind, knew he was only lightly tethered to reality.
What
did you think the Tetra Grammaton would do with them? So they were your
family. Big deal; everyone that lives or dies is someone's family. The
Council doesn't give a fuck about that kind of thing and you know it;
they were just two more sense offenders to add to the statistics. You
found them both listening to Mozart together when you were three years
old, and so you toddled off to the Vice-Council because you'd been told
that very day what you should do when you found a sense offender, for
the sake of Libria, and at the time you were young and stupid enough to
believe they'd get off with a slapped wrist, or something like that. As
it was, you had to watch them burn, and you didn't even know that was
going to happen until the furnaces were actually lit, did you?
Shut.
UP. Kevin gritted his teeth. Was this how you went mad, by having
arguments with yourself?
If so,
he should have been put down for insanity years ago...
The
memories shattered and whirled into a crazy kaleidoscope of images
before dissolving into nothingness. Kevin sank back into sleep, only
stirring again when he heard the voices again. Most of what they were
saying was gibberish to his still hazy mind, and his forehead creased
in a frown as he strained to listen, to understand. His mind was really
starting to wake up again now. It was sluggish, but it was there.
"What
did you do with his weapons?"
Unfortunately,
so was everything else. Most of his body was rapidly weighing in with
the report that it would much rather be somewhere warmer, somewhere
more comfortable and, if neither of these options were available, then
couldn't it at least be stuffed full of painkillers for the duration?
"Put
them in a locker. None of the others liked the idea of him waking up
and blasting this unit to pieces in a panic."
What's
wrong with that? Kevin tried to say, but failed. His tongue seemed
to have tripled in size, he had a sick headache throbbing behind his
eyes and his chest hurt like hell.
"Who
is he, anyway?"
"Acolyte
Kevin Halls, according to his ID."
"One
of ours?"
"I
don't think so. He had a Prozium unit with him. He must have found a
sense offender who shot him in a panic. You'd think Gun-Kata would have
helped. Maybe he's just incredibly inept."
That's right; kick me when I'm down, why don't you?
"I've
heard they send all kinds of agents on excursions," the second person
said. "He might be a sweeper cadet."
Correction;
now they're kicking me when I'm down, Kevin
thought sullenly.
"Anything
to be done?"
"No.
He's still on the drip; we'll know more when he wakes up. I have to
run; I'll see you at the meeting tonight."
There
was the sound of a door closing, painfully loud to Kevin's ears,
followed by footsteps as the second person left.
Kevin
tried to speak, to ask where he was, what had happened and – most
importantly – how soon he could get out of there.
"Urg,"
he managed, after considerable effort.
"Are
you awake?"
Kevin
attempted to moisten his lips, but his tongue was so dry that this
didn't have much effect and so he settled for retrieving his shades,
somehow managing to put them on one-handed and opening his eyes instead.
"Where...?"
he croaked hoarsely.
"Here."
The medic passed over a glass of what looked like water. "Drink."
Somehow
Kevin managed to summon enough strength to slam a hand into the glass
and knock it to the floor, where it shattered.
"Fuck
you," he said, hoarse but clear. "How do I know what you put into it?" How
much poison, for example?
"Why
on earth would I want to poison you?"
Kevin
hadn't realised he'd spoken aloud, and scrambled to gather his thoughts.
"Oh, I
don't know. Maybe because you're a sense offender and I'm a Grammaton
agent. You must have lost people to my colleagues before now."
"You
think I have some sick idea of revenge?"
"Don't
you?" Kevin shook his head. "Why the hell did you save me? You
and me, we're enemies, or had you forgotten that little fact?"
The
medic drew a pale liquid into a syringe without answering, causing
Kevin a moment's unease.
"What's
that for?"
"You're
very weak. You've lost a lot of blood."
"Tell
me something I don't know," Kevin grated, struggling to sit up.
He failed. Miserably.
"I don't think you're going to sleep
all the time you think you're in danger, and sleep's the one thing you
need right now."
"Screw
that. I'll sleep when I get back to Libria."
"Back
to Libria?" The medic shook his head. "Forget it, kid. You're not going
anywhere, not for a long while."
Kevin
tensed.
Great. You save that Jurgen shit and how do the rebels
thank you?
Well...
Alright,
so they'd saved him, but that was beside the point!
The
acolyte slumped, momentarily exhausted. Keeping his muscles tense was
beyond him at the moment, not to mention it hurt like hell.
"Look.
I don't know how long I was out, but trust me, I'm okay. I can go
without sleep a little longer."
The
medic shook his head.
"I
don't know what you think I'm going to do to you, but whatever it is,
you're wrong." He reached out and took hold of the acolyte's wrist.
"Don't
touch me!" Kevin spat, wrestling away with a supreme effort, adrenaline
giving him the temporary boost he needed to get free. He winced,
throwing his head back, teeth bared in a rictus of pain. "Ow! Oh
fuck that hurts!"
The
rebel backed off, hands raised, the calming effect somewhat spoiled by
the fact that he was still holding the syringe in one of those hands.
"Okay.
Okay. Take it easy, son, nobody's gonna hurt you."
"Don't
fucking patronise me either!" Kevin closed his eyes and concentrated on
slowing his breathing down. Man, he'd kill for a cup of coffee right
about now. "Just tell me what's wrong with me," he added.
"Asides
from your attitude?"
"Don't.
Start," Kevin said. His voice was barely above a whisper now; he really
must have been out for a while for it to get to that stage. "Give me my
current medical condition."
"Without
patronising you?" He definitely hadn't imagined the sarcasm in the
man's voice this time, and strove to match it with his own.
"If
it's not too complicated for you, yes please, that would be fabulous.
Now, for the third time of asking, what is wrong with me?"
"You
have a compound fracture of the left scapula and a comminuted fracture
of the number three left costal bone."
Kevin
raised a mocking eyebrow.
"Broken
shoulderblade and splintered rib?" he said. "That would explain why it
hurts like hell every time I have to breathe. Electrocardiogram as
well, which means there must be someone here who knows what they're
doing, even if they don't have much to do it with." He coughed. His
throat was bone dry and he wished he hadn't turned down the drink now.
"So someone must have wanted to keep an eye on my heart rate for some
reason. Did someone check my blood pressure when I was first brought
in?"
There
was a short, disgruntled pause.
"Yes."
"And?"
Kevin was showing off and he knew it, but he didn't seem to be able to
help himself.
For a
minute he thought the stranger wasn't going to answer, then:
"Ninety
over fifty."
"Okay.
That would explain the electrocardiogram, I guess, and someone bandaged
me up pretty tightly. Again, someone who knows what they're doing. Now,
the real question is, how soon can I get out of here?"
The
medic shook his head, as though he didn't understand why anyone should
want to leave the Underground.
"Look,
relax, will you? You're badly injured and you need rest."
"I am
also a Grammaton acolyte." The words sounded stupid, even to Kevin
himself. How the hell could he defend himself with one useless arm, a
broken rib and shattered shoulderblade?
"That
doesn't mean you're invulnerable." The medic shook his head and raised
the syringe again. "Look, this is just a simple sedative to help you
sleep. It's not going to hurt."
"I
don't care. You are not putting it anywhere near me," Kevin
said quietly, although part of him was wondering how the hell he was
going to prevent it. His muscles seemed to have turned to water. He
couldn't remember being this weak since the first excursion to the
Nethers.
"What's
your blood type?"
The
question caught Kevin off guard and he answered before he could think.
"K-Zero.
Why?"
"We
want to do a blood transfusion. Why do you think?"
"Really.
Let me give you a little information." Kevin summoned all his remaining
strength and managed to roll over to face the man, regretting it almost
instantly as fresh pain flared up in his chest. "There are
approximately three people besides me in the whole of Libria who have
that blood group, and I'm not compatible with any other kind. So what
are you planning to do? Clone some of mine?"
"No,
what I'm planning to do is try and get you to relax." The medic
sounded like he was seriously reaching the end of his tether. "Now hold
still."
"Anyone
ever suggest that your bedside manner could use a little work?" Kevin
sniped.
"Anyone
ever suggest it to you?"
Kevin
snorted.
"News
flash, my job isn't the one that requires good people skills.
You can take that needle away as well. According to Librian medical
practice, a patient also has the right to refuse any medication or
refuse to be treated by a particular medic, and I'm exercising that
right. I don't want any more fucking drugs, especially since I don't
trust you to dose yourself with Prozium."
"So
who would you trust?" When Kevin didn't answer right away, the
medic sighed. "Look, believe what you want, kid, but the truth of the
matter is that I want to get you back on your feet as soon as possible."
"Really?
Is there a bonus in your unit for bringing in a Grammaton agent?"
"No,
of course not. But on that subject, the cell leader is very interested
in you."
What
little blood there was left in Kevin's veins turned to ice.
"For
what? Target practice?"
"He
just wants to talk to you."
"Talk
to the finger, asshole," Kevin said bluntly, adding the appropriate
gesture.
The
medic smiled slightly, as though he thought it wasn't worth his time
arguing.
"You're
confused. You think that there's nobody here who's in exactly the same
situation as you?"
"I'd
say that's a pretty fair assumption, yeah," Kevin said acidly.
"It
gets better. Once you're through the initial phase, your biochemistry
should readjust to manage without Prozium."
They
think it's withdrawal! Kevin almost laughed aloud. That was one
thing anyway; he could be as much of a bastard as he wanted to here and
just blame the Prozium. Act confused, throw in the odd "Huh?" and
"What?" and he might just get out of this one alive.
"Have
you ever skipped a dose of Prozium before?" the medic said suddenly.
"No,"
Kevin answered, with perfect truth. "Why?"
"Most
of the time you were unconscious, you were tossing and turning in a
manner usually associated with nightmares. People on the dose don't
usually suffer from such things."
"People
on the dose aren't usually imprisoned in a Resistance cell either,"
Kevin retorted before he could stop himself.
The
medic was silent for a few minutes, then he said quietly, "You think
we're keeping you prisoner here?"
Kevin
looked him straight in the eyes.
"Aren't
you?"
"Of
course not!" Now the man appeared, as far as Kevin could tell, highly
scandalised. "We don't take prisoners in the Underground."
Kevin
continued to stare at him before saying softly, "Then give me my
fucking guns and let me out of here."
There
was another silence.
"I
can't do that."
The
acolyte rolled onto his back again, now staring dully at the ceiling.
"Why
am I not surprised?"
"If
you go out there now, in your current condition, you'll die in a matter
of hours. It's a near miracle we managed to pull you out of it at all,
although your vital signs stabilised much faster than I expected." The
man sounded almost put out by this, as though he couldn't stand to be
proved wrong.
"I
see," Kevin said pleasantly. He looked over at the electrocardiogram.
"So if I've been stable, where does the ECG fit into this?"
"It's
a vital part of the healing process."
"Bullshit,"
Kevin said succinctly. "You only have it there because you think if
there isn't a machine which keeps going bleep, bleep, bleep with spiky
lines, buttons and flashing lights in the room, then it's not a proper
hospital." He nodded towards the electrocardiogram. "There's probably
some poor guy on the verge of heart failure somewhere in this place who
could actually do with that thing. Bottom line, you just put it in to
try and blind me with medical science and make yourself look smarter
than you are. I might've needed it for a time when I was unconscious,
but now...?" Kevin let the sentence trail off and gave a one-shoulder
shrug, then frowned. "How long was I unconscious for, anyway? What's
the date today?"
The
medic hesitated.
"How
old are you?" he said suddenly.
"Fifteen,"
Kevin answered, dismissing this with a flick of a finger. "What's the
date?"
"November
thirteenth."
The
acolyte went bone white, all bravado suddenly gone.
"That's
not possible," he said hoarsely. His voice seemed to suddenly belong to
someone else.
"Yeah,
it is. You've been out in a coma for almost three months."
Kevin
shook his head violently, as though the vehemence of the motion could
somehow change the facts.
"No.
You're a fucking liar. I don't believe a word of it."
The
medic didn't blame him. He supposed he'd be less than happy himself if
he'd been shot, left for dead, brought into a totally foreign
environment and on top of that had a complete stranger tell him that
he'd just lost three months of his life. Instead of attempting to
argue, he simply turned the digital calendar next to the acolyte to
face him and said, "See for yourself."
Kevin
stared wordlessly at the red numbers on display, completely and utterly
poleaxed.
11.13.2492
"Sixteen,
then." Kevin shook his head, fighting to clear it. "I'm sixteen."
Three months...
"So
what the fuck happened to me?" he added. "I only got shot once. And who
the hell are you, anyway?"
"Name's
Mark Cross," the medic said matter-of-factly. He waited for Kevin to
volunteer his own name and then, when the acolyte remained obstinately
silent, continued. "As for what happened, the bullet took your rib on
the way in and your shoulderblade on the way out."
"That's
not answering my question. How did I get from a bullet in the chest to
three months in a coma?"
Cross
hesitated.
"I
think coma may have been a poor choice of words on my part."
Kevin
didn't believe what he was hearing.
"So...I
wasn't in a coma? Then where the fuck was I for
those three months?"
"There
was a slight...complication."
The
acolyte dropped his head back onto the mattress with a groan that had
nothing to do with the pain. Closing his eyes, he said, "Alright, let's
get this straight. I have been studying the extra-credit module in
medical science ever since I began serious study in the Monastery; in
other words, since I was old enough to read. As far as knowledge goes,
this puts me roughly on a par with a fully qualified nurse. I may not
be trained up to doctor level yet, but I speak the medical language at
least as well as you do and, from what I've seen so far, I'd say a good
deal better. You drag me into this place, dump me in a room that I
wouldn't keep a rat in, bandage me up – well, at least you managed that
– and then you have the gall to tell me that losing three months of my
life is a slight complication? Tell me the truth, medic, and
tell me now. What happened?"
Cross
shook his head.
"I
can't tell you exactly, because we're not sure. You picked up an
infection when you were lying in the Nethers; we think you must have
been there for at least twelve hours before someone found you.
Hypothermia had only just started to set in, which didn't help matters.
You were out for the count, but sweating and shaking enough to let us
know there was definitely something wrong with you. You weren't in the
deep unconsciousness of a coma, at least, not as far as anyone could
tell, but nothing we tried could bring you around either."
Kevin
stared at him in disbelief.
"What?
You mean you brought me out of what must have been a pretty large
puddle of my own blood, brought me down here with two bullet wounds and
as many fractures and you didn't notice there was anything wrong until
I actually developed a fever?"
"We
didn't know you were infected. We cleaned out your injuries as best we
could, but sometimes even the best medical equipment can't pick up an
infection." Cross paused. "And the things we have down here are far
from the best."
"You
don't say," Kevin said innocently.
"There's
something else; you contracted MRSA while you were here. You're pretty
much over it now, though," Cross added, in a look-on-the-bright-side
tone.
Kevin
took a deep breath.
"MRSA?
Great. Tell me something, Cross; hasn't anyone
here ever heard of sterilisation? It's a wonderful invention; the
pre-Librians came up with it to try and prevent infections like, oh,
for the sake of argument, MRSA!" The thought occurred to Kevin that
Cross probably didn't deserve to be on the receiving end of his anger –
he had done his best, after all, and in all fairness he'd probably
saved the acolyte's life – but he didn't seem to be able to stop
himself. "You know, if you hadn't brought me down here, I might've made
it. They'd have sent out a search party for me once Andersen got back
to Libria, just to confirm his story, whatever that was," he
added in the privacy of his own mind. "Instead I wind up being cared
for by someone who not only sees nothing wrong in sharing IV tubes and
needles, but who doesn't seem to know even the basics of sterilisation!"
"While
we're on the subject of needles," Cross began, starting towards Kevin
with the syringe again.
"Forget
it," Kevin told him emphatically.
"Why?"
The
acolyte paused. Candidly, he had no real reason, except that his
instincts were telling him that allowing himself to be injected with
whatever was in that syringe would be the biggest mistake of his life.
And for you, Kev, that's really fucking saying
something, isn't it?
Kevin
racked his brains. He didn't have a problem with needles or sedatives
in themselves; he'd studied them enough to understand the roles they
played. So why the hell was he reacting so strongly to Cross?
They
might torture you when you're unconscious, him and his friends,
something inside him whispered and almost immediately the answer came, Where's
the fun in that? Added fear and a feeling of helplessness when he
woke up and saw what had happened, perhaps, but they could get that
just as easily if they strapped him to the bed.
Keep your mind to yourself, genius. You wanna give 'em
ideas?
Kevin
shivered. No, he most certainly did not. It probably wasn't a good idea
to keep antagonising them either, not unless he wanted to give them a
genuine reason to hurt him. He sighed.
"Look...I'm
sorry if you think I'm being a shit. You're most probably right. But
you must admit I've had a fucking lousy time of it so far, and now I
find out that in trying to save my life, you almost bloody killed me!
Forgive me if I seem to lack confidence in your medical capabilities."
There
was a tense silence.
"I
think you're forgetting something important."
"Wouldn't
be the first time if I did," Kevin said tersely.
"You
happen to owe us your life, boy. We brought you down from the Nethers
and took you in. We gave you medical attention, treatment, food, water—"
"—MRSA—"
"—MR..."
Cross broke off and glowered at Kevin. "That was an accident!"
"Never
said it wasn't."
Cross
floundered slightly.
"Well...alright
then."
"Still
damned inconvenient for me, though," Kevin added, not quite under his
breath, and swung his legs very carefully over the side of the bed.
"What
do you think you're doing?" Cross demanded.
"What's
it look like I'm doing?"
"You're
not strong enough to stand yet! You need at least another week in—"
"The
hell you say." Kevin stood gingerly, hanging onto the IV stand for
support and praying that it wouldn't roll away. To his relief, it
stayed solidly in one place, possibly because it was too old to move
anywhere without the aid of two strong hands to shove it and, if
possible, a foot to kick it over door lintels. "I'm fine," he added.
"Just need an hour or two to gather my strength, that's all."
"Kid,
it's below freezing in the Nethers right now. If you want to do this
damn stupid thing, don't do it this damn stupid way. At least wait
until morning."
Kevin
rolled his eyes. He supposed that this was pretty sound advice, but he
was damned if he'd let Cross know that, and so he settled for subsiding
irritably instead.
"Fine.
Whatever."
He
took a couple of cautious steps, wincing as the motion jarred his rib,
using the IV stand as a kind of crazy zimmer. He could walk alright.
He'd have to take it slow, and avoid any excessive activity including
Gun-Kata, but he thought he could probably make it back to Libria
without aggravating his injuries.
He'd
just about made it around the room when Cross' next question hit him
like a sledgehammer.
"Who's
Ivans?"
Kevin
froze, and almost let go of the IV stand in his shock.
"What
did you say?" he said at last, his tone very carefully neutral.
"Who's
Ivans?" Cross repeated, in the manner of one prepared to go on and on
asking the same question until he gets an answer.
"What's
that to you?"
Cross
shrugged.
"We
didn't catch most of what you were screaming in your sleep, but the
names Ivans and Andersen kept cropping up over and over."
Kevin's
mouth tightened briefly. Andersen. God, he'd forgotten about that
bastard.
Well...no,
he hadn't really. Revenge hadn't been forgotten, just postponed.
"Andersen's
one of my yearmates," he said, so stiffly his lips barely moved.
"And
Ivans?"
"Drop
it, Cross," Kevin ordered him flatly. The medic folded his arms across
his chest and stared at the acolyte stonily.
"No, I
won't 'drop it'. Not until I get an answer. Who's Ivans?"
"I
said fucking drop it." The warning note in Kevin's voice would
have been enough to silence anyone who knew him; even Andersen or
DuPont would have backed down from it.
"Let
me make one thing quite clear to you," Cross said implacably, not
moving. "I don't know what kind of rank you hold back in Libria, and I
don't give a shit either. Here in the Underground, you are not
in charge. I don't take orders from you, no matter how much profanity
you sprinkle them with."
If
Kevin hadn't been constantly aware of being too weak to defend himself,
and therefore not in the resultant helpless mood that seemed to be
comprised of both blind anger and equally blind terror, he could
probably have smoothed things over and thought up a convincing lie. As
it was, he did the first thing that came into his head and shoved the
IV stand with all his strength. Cross barely had enough time to get out
of the way before the whole thing crashed into the medical cabinet,
shattering the glass doors and most of the bottles inside.
"Jesus
Christ, what part of 'drop it' don't you understand?" Kevin yelled.
He took a couple of deep, somewhat ragged breaths – knocking the IV
down had taken more strength than he realised and almost more than he
had to give – and tried to gain some sort of control over himself.
"Those
were our only medical supplies," Cross said, and now the look in his
eyes as he stared at Kevin was bereft of any kind of sympathy,
professional or otherwise.
"You
think I care?" Kevin said. If he counted to two between each word and
held his breath at the same time, he could just about keep himself in
check. "That was just one thing. I can destroy the ECG next and unless
you drop the subject and back off right now—"
"You
think so?" Cross said flatly. He nodded towards the machine. "Go on
then. Destroy it."
There
was a short silence.
"I'm
waiting," Cross said, after about a minute had passed.
Kevin
sat back down on the mattress, and let his head fall back eyes closed
and a hard, mirthless grin on his face.
"Can't.
Not when someone's watching me. It's like taking a piss, you know?"
There
was another, slightly more edgy silence, which Kevin used to reconnect
himself to the electrocardiogram. He didn't think he'd done any damage
to himself by just walking around the room, but it didn't hurt to be
sure.
"Are
you in your right mind?" Cross said at the end of it.
"Dunno,"
Kevin said, in the tones of one who doesn't much care either.
"Sometimes I think so...and then, sometimes I wonder. If you're talking
about the IV thing, I told you twice to drop the subject."
"You're
in no position to give orders, boy."
The
electrocardiogram suddenly went haywire for about half a minute before
dropping back to normal. As if he hadn't been aware of it, Kevin
quirked an eyebrow at Cross.
"It's
not my fault if you're too dumb to understand. That wasn't an
order. It was a polite request. You'll know I'm giving you an order
when I point a gun at your face and snap the safety off."
For a
moment he was honestly afraid that Cross was going to hit him – the
man's eyes had narrowed during the previous dialogue until they were
little more than cold blue slits – but then the medic appeared to think
better of it, whirled and stalked out. Kevin thought that the man
probably wanted to get him back to Libria as soon as possible, not have
to dig into the Resistance's medical supplies to patch up more injuries.
The
smirk abruptly vanished from Kevin's face as soon as the door slammed
behind Cross, the man's parting words reverberating over and over in
his skull.
You're in no position to give orders, boy...
No position to give...
No position...
An
urgent beeping from the electrocardiogram alerted him to his increased
heart rate, and he closed his eyes and took one or two deep breaths,
waiting until it returned to normal.
No sleep tonight either, then. Thanks a bunch, asshole.
He
took another, deeper breath, which he expelled in a sigh. People on
Prozium didn't know how lucky they were. What must it be like to sleep
right through without waking up screaming from one nightmare or another?
Not
this time. I might get the nightmares again, but I won't scream this
time. I won't give that bastard Cross the satisfaction. I won't scream.
I won't.
But he
did.
Kevin was up early the next morning, even by Librian standards. Last
night had been particularly bad, and he didn't plan on repeating it in
the not-too-distant future. The sooner he was out of this hellhole, the
better.
He
tested his weight, and found he could still walk without too much
difficulty. If he could make it back into the Nethers, he was confident
he could get into Libria and from there...well, he'd just have to see.
Kevin
crossed over to the door and tried it, only to find the handle rattled
uselessly in his grasp.
So
much for not keeping me prisoner here, the acolyte thought
bitterly, glancing around. There had to be some way he could escape.
A
slight smile touched the corners of his mouth as he looked at the
walls. In the way of most hospitals, they were seemingly made of glass,
resulting in nothing more than huge windows.
Ah...
Thirty
seconds later, Kevin stepped outside, skirting around the broken glass
which now littered the floor, and carefully placed the IV stand down
again before turning to face the row of lockers which were situated
against the opposite wall.
"Wait."
Kevin
whipped around, then regretted it instantly as he leaned heavily
against the wall and waited for the little flashing lights to go away.
"You're
Cross' sidekick, aren't you?" he said bluntly.
"Yeah."
Something about that seemed to jar with the man; his mouth twisted
briefly before he continued. "Look, you want to get out of here, right?"
"Damn
right." Kevin moved upright again, shifting his weight very slightly.
The stranger caught sight of the movement and, surprisingly, grinned.
"Don't
worry; I'm not planning to stand in your way. I'm not that stupid."
Kevin
raised his eyebrows.
"Will
wonders never cease? Finally, I meet a Resistance fighter with brains,
and what's more, one that appears to keep them in his head as well. So
what do you want with me?"
"Are
you going to go after Cross?"
Kevin
blinked. He hadn't thought about it.
"Not
if he stays out of my way," he said candidly. "Why? What's he to you?"
The
rebel took a deep breath.
"I
think there's something you should know," he said, in the flat tones of
one who wanted to say his piece quickly, before he lost his
nerve.
Kevin
paused, irritation washing over him. He could feel a panic attack
starting to roil inside him and his one thought was to get out and quickly,
before anyone else picked up on the fact.
"What now?"
he demanded.
The
stranger took another couple of deep breaths.
"Let
me explain something to you, acolyte..."
The explanation lasted for about half an hour by the clock, and by the
time it was only a quarter of the way through, Kevin had already
forgotten any thoughts of getting out, at least until he'd heard the
rest of it.
When
it finished, the acolyte was white and tight-lipped.
"I see."
"Just
thought you should know, that's all." Now the Resistance fighter seemed
determined not to look him in the eye.
Kevin
nodded very slightly.
"Where
are my sidearms?" he said, a little too calmly.
"Third
locker along from the right. Combination's one-one-oh-four."
Kevin
opened the locker, withdrew his guns and strapped them into place,
trying to ignore the feeling of immense relief that just having the
weapons gave him.
"Acolyte?"
Kevin
glanced at the rebel without much interest.
"What?"
The
man moistened his lips, suddenly apprehensive despite the fact that he
was old enough to be Kevin's father.
"Are
you going to kill anyone?"
For
the first time since waking up in that room, Kevin smirked.
"That's
up to them. How do I get out of here?"
He
could sense the thoughts flickering through the man's mind, could feel
him wondering if it was worth misdirecting him.
"It's
not," Kevin said quietly. "Trust me on this one."
The
rebel swallowed nervously.
"Alright.
Go out of here, turn right at the end of the corridor and keep straight
on. The way into the Nethers is through a small door opposite the
canteen."
"Which
one's the canteen?"
"The
double doors that have the word CANTEEN printed above them in jet black
letters," the rebel said, in over patient tones.
"Ah."
Kevin suppressed an urge to grin. Well, ask a stupid question...
He
nodded to the man and stepped out of the room. His body was responding
well, a little sluggish perhaps, but the acolyte had every faith that
this would soon change once he got back to the Monastery and into
training.
Should
he run? No, Kevin decided reluctantly, he wasn't sure if he was up to that
yet and besides, he didn't want these rebels to think he was afraid of
them. He did pick up the pace though; he didn't want anyone asking
awkward questions.
Something
through one of the glass panes on a door caught his eye and he skidded
to a stop, then cautiously turned and skirted back, one gun already out
and waiting.
The
acolyte glanced up and down the corridor. Deserted. Good.
He
kicked the door open and strode through, emerging in a room that was
slightly larger than the one he'd been in for the past few months, and
a hell of a lot cleaner as well.
So that guy was telling the truth...at least, this part
of it.
Kevin
met Cross' look and drew in a breath that seemed to last a long, long
time. He wasn't angry at the man anymore, just tired.
You thought he was a piece of shit, didn't you? You
believed he wanted you dead or at least, wanted you to suffer as much
as possible before finally allowing you to crawl out with what remained
of your sanity and dignity.
Don't you just hate it when you're right, Kev?
The
acolyte raised his gun and fired, shattering the electrocardiogram.
Catching sight of Cross' stunned expression, he smiled broadly.
"Well,
don't say I didn't warn you."
He
nodded to the patient, who was staring at him wide-eyed.
"Sorry
to have disturbed you. If you're only in for a few stitches—" he nodded
towards the ugly gash on the man's cheek "—you really don't need an
ECG. Oh, and watch it if Cross tries to touch you; he's got an
infection."
"I do not,"
Cross said through clenched teeth. "For the last time, I'm sorry
for what happened to you, but that's no reason to take it out on the
furniture!"
Kevin's
smile became a grin.
"Whatever
do you mean? You told me to do it when I was still bedridden,
remember?" He shrugged. "Like I told one of the Council members, I just
follow orders." He nodded to the patient again, then turned and strode
out, feeling much better than he had all the time he'd been in this
crazy place.
Cross
caught up with him just outside the canteen, grabbing his unhurt arm
and spinning him around forcefully.
"Where
are you going?"
"Home,"
Kevin said flatly. "Back to Libria."
"You
shouldn't have done that."
"Story
of my goddamned life, Cross. Get out of my way."
"If
the leader of this unit—"
"—is
brought into the conversation once more, I will order an A&R team
to take every member of this unit to the Palace of Justice, your
precious leader included. Now stand aside." When Cross didn't move
immediately, Kevin brought one gun up to point at his face and snapped
the safety off. "That was an order, medic."
Reluctantly,
Cross stepped to one side, staring hard at Kevin as though trying to
count the pores in his skin.
"You
owe me your life, kid."
Kevin
sighed tiredly.
"No,
Cross, actually, I don't. Your assistant was the one who nursed me back
to consciousness, not you. You just bandaged me up and took credit for
the whole thing. He told me everything, including how he'd warned you
to sterilise that bloody drip, even if all you could do was boil it in
water. And how you turned around and said that if I survived,
great, and if I didn't, well, it'd be one less fucking agent to worry
about. I seem to remember he said those were your exact words. He also
had to fight you tooth and nail to get you to put me on a glucose drip.
You put me in that pit of a room in the hopes that I'd pick something
up – preferably something long-lasting and painful – set up a couple of
drips and left me to die. If your friend hadn't been a much better guy
and all-round human being than you are, and if he hadn't got me what I
needed by syringing it down my throat, I fucking well would have
died as well. I don't want to think about what might have been in that
syringe that you claimed was nothing more than a sedative either. When
all's said and done, all I owe you is a bandage job and an infection,
you sick bastard."
"Sam,"
Cross whispered. His eyes were blazing, and Kevin seriously doubted
that the man had heard anything beyond the fact that his assistant had
spilled the bean. One fist smacked into a palm. "I'll kill him!"
"That's
up to you," Kevin said impassively. He'd heard far too many death
threats – several of them directed at him – to be moved by one more.
Glancing around to make sure nobody was listening, or at least, not
obviously listening, he leaned in and lowered his voice. "But I'd think
very carefully about it if I were you, because if you want to get into
obligations and all that shit, I owe him my life. And I don't
forget the people who help me, because they have been so fucking few
and far between that they tend to stick out in my memory, you know?" He
shook his head. "I'm done talking at you, Cross. I'm leaving, and I'm
leaving now. Think about what I said."
Kevin
pushed open the door and ducked through into the small and badly lit
corridor beyond before the medic had a chance to reply.
Well, you did it. That's the second time you've managed
to escape the Resistance, only this time you did it under your own
steam. What now?
The
acolyte felt a shiver run through his body, and took a long, deep
breath. He wasn't out of danger yet, not by a long shot, but at least
he was on the way. Thank god for those few intelligent rebels which the
Resistance seemed to possess! If he'd had to stay in that place much
longer, Kevin honestly believed that something inside him would have
snapped.
Then again, maybe that something snapped five years ago.
No. No, don't think about that. Not now. Not here.
It was
already too late. The instant he was outside, Kevin bolted for a
narrow, deserted alley away from any rebels or Grammaton patrols, then
bent double and vomited helplessly until there was nothing left to come
up before dropping to his knees hard, squeezing his head in both hands
as though he was trying to hold his brains in. It took him a long, long
time before he was able to stop shaking.
As
soon as he thought he could trust his legs to support him, he pulled
himself to his feet, staring down at the puddle of vomit as though he
wasn't sure how it had got there.
Great, Kev. You know, it's a bloody good thing you
decided to do that before coming face to face with DuPont. Puking on
someone doesn't usually ensure their cooperation.
The
thought of DuPont's face when he calmly walked into the Vice-Council's
office as though he'd never been away was enough to brighten Kevin's
mood considerably. He was looking forward to that meeting; somehow he
didn't think that DuPont would turn down what he was going to offer him.
And after DuPont, Andersen.
Thoughts
of Andersen's likely reaction upon seeing him come back from the dead
brought a rare smile to Kevin's face, one which broadened into a grin.
If he was smart, and played his cards right, he wouldn't have to do
anything more dangerous or incriminating to scare the shit out of
Andersen than turn up for class.
Kevin
turned. He was still lightheaded, and knew he was far from fully
healed, but he was close enough to it to survive the trek back to
Libria.
After
all, he had an appointment to keep.
