Dedication (The Medicean Stars Saga Book 1) (19 page)

“If we go floor by floor, we’ll just be increasing the chance that while we’re on one of the lower floors, someone will see us through the windows,” she begins. “And, I mean, why would they bother going to all that trouble to set a trap? Couldn’t they just storm wherever we’ve been hiding, it’s not like we’re armed.”

With Sara providing the clear insight for their move forward, they head towards the internal stairwell to begin their upward trek. This building, being one of the tallest on campus, has a mountain of stairs to climb. Each floor looks the same: white walls, a door, and a number indicating their relative position to their starting point. The only real change is their slowly shortening breath. With each floor, their legs burn a little bit more, and breathing in the confined space of the stairwell becomes a little bit harder. Eventually they reach the top and are greeted by another nondescript door. This one’s number must surely be lying, because it feels like they’ve climbed at least one hundred flights of stairs, and this number is much closer to ten.

Sara, being the fastest up the stairs, is the first to try the door at the top. The handle turns, but the door doesn’t budge, seemingly still locked in place. She kneels down and pulls out her set of picks to try in the lock above the handle. Settling on her haunches, she begins her efforts, slowly exploring the inner workings of the lock.

“This may take a while guys, you might as well sit down and catch your breath,” she chides, apparently not in the least bit tired by their climb.

“Ummmm,” is all the more response Jon can get out, for as he turns to sit, facing back down the stairs, he sees the two men in masks on the landing below pointing automatic rifles at them.

“Show us your hands! Slowly,” commands the man on the right, causing Jon, Ryan, and Sara to freeze where they are.

The Capital

Behind Closed Doors

The sweat-suited figure runs through the tight corridors, between towering concrete pillars, pursued by four other sweat-suited figures. The pursuers all carry wooden clubs, while their quarry carries nothing but a bundle, wrapped in cloth, in the crook of his left arm. At each turn, he glances back to gauge the proximity of his would be assailants, and, at each corner, they appear to have gained on him a little bit.

The path narrows, then breaks into a three direction tee. Without slowing, the lone figure takes the left-hand path, hoping that is the correct one to lead him to an exit. It is not; the corridor dead ends shortly after he enters it. He turns back the way he came, for the first time facing one of the cameras that has been monitoring his progress.

William’s face is sweaty and flushed, but he grins as he turns to face his pursuers. The feral defiance of his expression permeates through the screen, into the darkened room, prompting much shuffling of paper.

“It is interesting that this particular subject’s profile didn’t mention any such tendencies,” one of the forms in the room says, indicating the report in question by grinding out a smoldering cigar on its cover page. “Should we be reexamining the other files as well? Perhaps the doctor in charge should be replaced, if this is level of quality he is producing.”

“We have seen some results like this in the other teams, but nothing to this extreme, nor at this speed,” the form controlling the video feed supplies. Before he can continue, the feed shows the pursuers rushing the lone figure, brandishing their clubs. “It seems that attributes that were latent, or were not primary traits, are in some cases amplified by the team interactions. In this particular case, the interactions seem to be catalyzed by this subject.”

The image has zoomed in on William, seemingly trapped at the center of his four pursuers. The feed is paused at a frame in which all four clubs can be seen descending to strike crippling blows on William. With no way to avoid or block all of them, his fate seems sealed.

“Three members of the team seem to have been injured quite seriously,” another voice adds, indicating William’s imminent demise. “Are you concerned that this might affect the team cohesion?”

“It’s unlikely,” says a silky voice from the seat beside the controls for the screen that dominates one wall of the room. “Our other studies have shown that, in the majority of cases, this sort of physical hardship encourages the members who are injured to trust each other more and form a more cohesive bond. This is why we encourage this type of behavior.”

Sensing that the scripted portion of the presentation has ended, another voice joins in.

“I believe the teams are structured of five people, are they not?” he asks patronizingly. “This team seems to only have four members present for the exercise. I would think that if the team is not fully formed, it wouldn’t represent a viable sample for the study.”

“There is a fifth member, I believe his designation is Mike E2-02-X0-00,” the voice running the presentation corrects, somewhat hesitantly. “We researched this member, and it seems that he is among the best-performing subjects in this particular facility. However, during this exercise, he focused primarily on arming himself and watching the activities of the other teams unfold. By our analysis, this suggests a deliberate and thoughtful approach to the exercise, and, as a result, we’ve recommended that this individual receive a commendation for the exercise.”

“The team cohesion seems to be forming adequately; I propose we move to the final ground phase,” the first voice suggests. “I’d say this team should make an ideal candidate for an expeditionary squad after all.”

“We should be careful though,” the patronizing voice counters. “As this team is freshly formed, its members may not be fully indoctrinated in the mission objectives. It would be a shame if they turned out to lack complete buy-in.”

“With the appropriate reward structure, we should be able to encourage their full cooperation,” responds the voice of the man who has primary responsibility for the facility. “But if, at any point, they fail a specific exercise, the program is designed to immediately demote them to the reserves. If this team doesn’t work out, we have plenty of alternates to fall back on.”

“All right,” concludes the most senior member of the gathering after taking a long pull on the glass filled with fine whiskey that he has been nursing throughout the presentation. “If there are no more questions, then I think we have a green light for the final ground phase. The construction is on schedule, so we should have initiation before the next election, providing us all with a helpful boost in the polls. Gentlemen, ladies, this meeting is adjourned.”

Western Mountains

Underground Training Facility

Several weeks have passed since their initial trial in the maze. William spent the first couple days after it ended in the infirmary, recovering from the beating he received at the hands of the other team once they’d discovered they’d been tricked. True it had been painful, but he’d been lucky enough to get a hospital bed near the end of the row; which meant when Maria came in with one eye swollen shut and a severe limp, he could get her attention. She’d snuck out of line to say hello, and when he’d made a joke about how beat up they both were, she smiled, revealing several missing teeth. But the chance to see her smile again made the stay in the bed bearable, even if laughing was the most painful experience he’d ever had thanks to his fractured ribs. She’d tried to cover her mouth with her hand, embarrassed by the new gaps, but as William had been half laughing half groaning in agony, she instead reached to comfort him. He’d wanted to say something as simple as: “Hey, I still like you, even with redneck orthodontics,” just to get her to laugh again, but before he could work up the courage or regain his breath, one of the guards came over and forced her back into line. William wishes he’d had another chance to see her since, but their teams have been on different rotations. The occasional whispered “hi” and smile in the hall have been all the interaction they’ve been able to steal. Last time he saw her though, her teeth had been re-implanted, meaning she’d been willing to give William the full effect of her smile.

As William and his team have healed they have drawn closer. Scanning their faces, William corrects himself; they haven’t all bonded in the same way. Antonio, the only member who insists upon using his standardized name, Mike, hasn’t really fit in with everyone else. The most likely reason that William can think of is that, while the rest of the team—himself included—still carries the healing bruises from the first day in the maze, the only thing that Mike carries is a reward for outstanding performance during the exercise. Jackson in particular has taken offense at the slight, seeming to think that Mike was plotting against them the whole time. Mike, meanwhile, seems to like needling at Jackson just to see if he can get under his skin, so William is hardly surprised that, when his gaze falls on Jackson, he is glaring intently at the back of Mike’s head.

The instructor drones on in front of them. It would seem that today’s exercise is at least another interactive one, like the maze. It should be more interesting than the lectures and studying that they have been enduring since they became injured. Even if what they’re learning has practical value for their apparent future as space-faring explorers, twelve hours a day of lectures is enough to turn anyone’s mind to mush.

Their mission, they learn, is to apply their tracking and foraging skills to secure a particularly valuable outcropping of rock and a prize within it. Of course, like before in the maze, there will be other teams with the same objective and no mercy expected. This time instead of clubs, they will all be armed with guns loaded with knockout rounds.

“This exercise will be taking place above ground within a secured valley,” the instructor continues. “Your insertion point is here, at the north end of the valley. You will have forty-eight hours to locate and secure the site of interest. If one of the other teams manages to take possession of the site and successfully call in extraction before you do, you will fail the exercise. Are there any questions?”

The question, being rhetorical, doesn’t illicit a response from William or his team. While today’s briefing was much longer than their preparation for the maze, William doubts it is anywhere near comprehensive enough to allow them to find their target with any ease.

“All right, then suit up and prepare for deployment,” the instructor says, indicating the door at the front of the room.

*

Their suits for this exercise are significantly nicer than the sweat suits they wore into the maze. The suits are a dark gray, and the armor patches seem to shift through a spectrum of browns and greens, depending on the angle at which they are viewed. Each one has a built-in system for capturing and recycling sweat into drinking water and boasts a thin layer of hardened material over vital organs, for protection. The one kind of protection they are lacking, however, is sun protection, and the sun in the desolate valley where they are standing is baking everything in sight.

The heat is rising from them like a shimmering veil, seeming to bend their outlines and keep their forms moving, even when stationary. The transport truck that delivered them finishes its turn and tears back down the packed dirt road, back to the air-conditioned command post where their instructors are sitting.

Scanning the valley, squinting as much from the glare as from the dust kicked up by the fleeing truck, William can’t see a single tree or even a bush that stands higher than his knee. The floor of the valley is home to a number of outcroppings and the occasional mound of dirt. There is no visible wildlife and no visible shelter. Somewhere in this vast valley, amongst the towering mountains that surround them, there is a pile of rocks with the program’s logo painted on it and a small transceiver.

William slips the scanner they were supplied with from the loop on his belt and switches it on. The simple device has a directional receiver on one end and, on the other, a small gauge designed to show the signal strength that it is receiving. He sweeps it through a slow circle, starting with the direction from which they came.

“The signal is strongest in that direction,” he says, pointing down the left hand side of the canyon. “But I’m also picking up a weaker signal along the other side over there.”

Checking the readings again, he confirms the existence of the two signals before passing the scanner to Jill so that she can double check him. Jackson and Florence, both significantly taller than her, have no problem looking over her shoulder as she repeats William’s scan. Mike, on the other hand, sits perched on a small protrusion of rock, idly drawing patterns in the dirt with his toe.

“I see what you mean,” Jill confirms pointing down the length of the valley. “There is definitely a clear source that way. But the other source, though less direct, must be closer... or else on the other side of that mountain.” As she comments, she looks up at the imposing mass of granite that towers over them and appears to be the source of the weaker of the two signals. The others follow her gaze, taking in the looming bulk of the cliff and hoping they aren’t going to have to climb it.

“There’s only one source,” Jackson declares, turning back to the group. Seeing the puzzled looks on everyone’s faces, he explains further. “Look closely at the slope of that mountain. See how it stops, and there is that cliff that runs along there. That’s acting like a mirror and reflecting part of the original transmission back at us.”

“You’re just making that up; they probably just made a more diffused transmitter so that some idiot like you would trek all the way down to the far end of the valley,” Mike complains, his voice sounding nasally and wet despite the oppressive heat. “I say we go to the closer one, so we can get out of this heat as soon as possible.”

Jackson bristles, the heat wearing on his nerves as well. But before he can execute on his intent to beat Mike senseless, Jill tosses the receiver back to William and gives Jackson a shove in the chest. Since she is so much shorter than him, her push catches him right below the ribs, ensuring that he notices.

“Calm down you big buffoon,” she scolds, ignoring Mike’s presence. “Don’t waste any energy on him. I’d hate for you to get tired. I mean, if you fell behind, we’d be forced to leave you, since you’re too big to carry. And if you weren’t around, who’d act as my sun umbrella? The rest of these fools don’t cast big enough shadows.”

Her playful words and her defiant stance before him distract Jackson enough that all he does is cast Mike a meaningful glare. The subtext is not hard to read: He’s been pushed too far, and next time there is an opportunity, Mike had better watch his back.

“Whatever, we’re going to the closer one anyway,” Mike says dismissively as he dusts his legs off and stands. “I don’t even need that stupid receiver, I know right where to find it.”

The others look at each other incredulously as Mike strides purposefully off towards the far side of the valley. He takes about three steps before turning back to face them.

“Come on guys, we have to get moving,” he scoffs. “Do you think the other teams are just sitting around on their hands? No, they’re up and moving towards the target.”

“Mike, you can go that way if you want,” William responds, looking at the others. “But we’re going to go to the end of the valley. It’s your call, but make it quick, because we’re moving out now.” They stride off, leaving Mike sputtering in the heat. He may be the most decorated and the most liked by their captors, but William has begun to earn the others’ respect.

The terrain isn’t particularly rough, aside from some outcroppings of rocks littered about the valley floor. They find themselves walking on either packed dirt or smooth slabs of rock. It is very similar to walking through a parking lot—the ground is relatively smooth, but the sun is baking them like they are inside a blast furnace. And, like walking through a parking lot, there doesn’t seem to be a straight path between where they are and where they need to be, and instead of walking around parked vehicles, they have to circumvent rocks.

They had already begun sweating while simply standing still, but now that they are moving, the slight exertion is enough to leave them all panting and dreaming of cold water. It doesn’t take long for any thought beyond simply moving forward to fade from William’s mind, and so he is surprised when he looks back and sees Mike struggling to catch up. The small head start they gained while he was too indignant to follow has been translated by the heat into a nearly insurmountable divide. Recognizing that even if they don’t want him on their team, they might have a better chance of making it with him along than without him, William scans ahead for a place they can all rest while he catches up.

Passing around a particularly large rock formation streaked with the red of a faded mineral deposit, like some giant cleaned off his blood-covered fingers on it, William spies a shadow on its face. The wind over the years has eroded enough of an overhang that they should be able to squeeze in out of the sun while they wait.

“Guys, hold up, let’s rest a minute in that shade,” he directs from his position at the end of the line.

Only too happy for any small respite, they crowd into the small space. It isn’t any cooler, as the rocks and their own suits have plenty of heat to radiate back to them, but the reduction in glare is an improvement.

“There is no way we can last it out in this heat long enough to get anywhere, let alone out of sight of where they left us,” Jill says, eyeing the road back to the command post with envy.

“What we need is a place where we can stay out of the sun until it sets,” William says, scanning the path ahead for any form of shelter. He notices that beyond the next pile of rocks, the ground seems to slope down, and a higher ridge springs up beyond. There must be a ravine, he thinks. And where there are ravines in this kind of terrain, there should be a wash, hopefully complete with a few small caves, or at least a larger overhang.

As Mike makes his way up the slight incline to the where the team is, it is clear that he wants to argue or insult them for their choice, but the heat has drained him so much that all he can do is stagger into the meager shade, mumbling. Glaring at them, he sucks greedily from the hydration reservoir that is built into his suit.

“Here’s the plan,” William says, talking to the group but staring straight at Mike. “We’re going to scout that wash over there and look for some sort of overhang or cave where we can get out of the sun for the rest of the day and rest. Once it’s night, we’ll continue our search.”

“We should head that way,” Jackson says, pointing down the wash as it cuts across the width of the valley at a slight angle. “It looks like it goes somewhat in the right direction.”

Mike glares at Jackson and opens his mouth, but only a hoarse and unintelligible mutter comes out, the heat having sapped even his insatiable desire needle the larger man. When he notices William staring at him expectantly, he works his mouth like he is going to spit, but no liquid hits the dusty ground. They lock eyes until Mike’s will breaks and he stares sullenly at his feet. The exchange does not go unnoticed by the others, and William sees a look of approval on their faces as he turns to face back down the valley towards their objective.

Stepping back out into the sun takes all the will power that William can muster, but he does it, because he knows they won’t survive without some real shelter. At least the ground slopes downward towards the small gully. Still, with each step the ground seems to drag at his feet as the dirt gives and settles under him. Once at the edge of the gully, he sits down, allowing himself to slide down between the scruffy bushes to the parched bottom.

If anything, the air is hotter in the stream bed. The sun seems to want to beat them into the ground, and, unlike on the plain, there is no hot wind to provide the illusion of cooling. Looking back up the slope, William knows he wouldn’t be able to climb back to the top even if he tried, so he heads in the direction Jackson had indicated, while the rest of the team slides down after him.

The stream bed is covered in smooth baked mud and looks almost like a gracefully sculpted layer of brick. The bed is wide enough for two of them to walk beside each other, but none of them have the energy to catch up to the one in front, so they stretch out in a line, William, Jill, Florence, and Jackson, then significantly farther back is Mike. They are all staring at the ground in front of their feet, only occasionally looking up to scan their surroundings, and that is why William and Jill both miss it.