Authors: S. A. Lusher
“
What have we figured out?” Starck approached a trio of men gathered around the device.
“
Nothing yet,” one of them replied. Starck began to reply, but then stopped speaking. Greg realized that she was being hailed on the radio. She turned away from them, talking quietly for a long moment.
“
You're sure about this?” She turned and seemed to be staring directly at Greg. “It's confirmed then? I don't want any mistakes. We have to know for sure.”
A brief pause passed. Greg was aware of a growing tension in the room. He swallowed, readying himself for anything. Everyone else in the room seemed to be silent now, staring at him and the others.
“Good. Prepare the ships.”
In one swift motion, Starck pulled out her pistol and shot Greg in the neck. He expected an explosion of pain, but instead felt a sharp, piercing stab.
There were shouts and chaos then, and a few shots fired, but all Greg wanted to do was sleep. He slumped to the ground.
Chapter 20
When Greg woke, the first thing that ran through his mind was,
I'm making a habit of this whole getting knocked out thing.
The second thing was,
Holy fucking shit.
He was strapped to a gurney, immobile, being pushed through a brilliantly lit, sterilized-white corridor. Memories hovered at the edge of his psyche. Things like facts and specifics hung just beyond his grasp, all he could glean for now were emotions. Pain, terror, rage.
What happened?
He looked around, trying to glimpse his surroundings, but all he could see was the endless white corridor, broken occasionally by a door with a nearly-invisible seam. He glanced up. Someone in a titanium white suit of bio-hazard gear, complete with an ominous gasmask that sealed away the wearer's face, pushed him down the corridor.
Greg tried to speak, coughed, and cleared his throat.
“Where are you taking me?” He might as well have not said anything at all. The pusher gave zero reaction. Greg jerked. “Where the
fuck
are you taking me?”
No response. He struggled, but the straps binding him didn't give a centimeter. Blind terror threatened to overwhelm him, but Greg forced himself to relax, to keep it at bay. He summoned up his most recent memories, closing his eyes.
They came to him in a series of still shots, like photographs.
The mining complex.
Fighting the Undead.
The capsule, deep underground, smooth and flawless, like a pill-shaped pearl.
Starck shooting him in the neck.
Greg's eyes snapped open. The rage returned. He'd been right. They'd walked into some kind of trap. But why? She'd been saying something on the radio, attempting to verify something...and when that verification came down the line, she'd shot him. Greg replayed it over in his mind to the best of his ability as he wheeled silently on.
There were too many unanswered questions. Greg didn't want to think about it, for the moment. Too much. Too confusing. He'd need time. He glanced back up at the man pushing him. Or was it a woman? He couldn't be sure.
“
Hey, fuckstick, you got a name?”
Nothing.
“I guess I'll just call you fuckstick. How's your day so far, fuckstick?”
Still nothing. Greg suppressed a heavy sigh. He might as well have been on an automated gurney or pushed by a voiceless robot. The gurney changed directions. Greg grunted, figuring that the turn was likely more abrupt than it needed to be. So maybe the faceless pusher wasn't so emotionless after all.
They moved down another corridor and then there was another turn. Greg could see a door at his feet. There was a brief pause, and the door opened. They went through and came into a narrow room divided by a glass wall. A section of the wall was missing, approximately the width of a doorway. Greg was pushed through the door and turned around, so that he was facing the way he'd come. The pusher turned and left, closing the glass door and the far door behind him. Greg sighed, lost in a sea of white silence now.
Time passed. Greg struggled again, but to no avail. He surmised that he wasn't going to get out of here unless they let him out. Whoever
they
were. He took in the room he was in. There was nothing on his side, it was completely bare. That gave him a bit of relief. This obviously wasn't meant to be a cell or a torture chamber.
Unless they brought in the tools separate
ly.
On the other side, however, was a single chair. Greg swallowed, trying to remain calm. He focused on breathing. The far door opened to admit a thin, pale man in a white jumpsuit. Greg studied him the best he could from his restrained position. He was older, past middle age. He kept his head shaved bald and his eyes were a deep, deep jade that seemed to flare with a quicksilver intellect and dark intent. Despite this, he wore a genuine smile on his face.
He sat down, easing his tall frame into the chair. For a long moment, the man simply stared at him. The first thing Greg noted was that there were no insignias, no markings of any kind on his suit. It was blank. Not even a nametag.
Finally, the man spoke.
“Hello, Greg. I'm sorry it came to this, but we couldn't risk anything happening to you...if you could please, tell me your name.”
“
Fuck you,” Greg replied.
The man sighed. He pressed something on the arm of the chair and abruptly the restraints fell away. Greg rose swiftly to his feet. He stood, swayed briefly, but held his ground and approached the glass wall.
“Please, I'd appreciate your cooperation. I understand you lost your memories...I could help you with that.”
That got Greg's attention in an instant. He stopped looking for a way out of the cell and focused on the man.
“My name is Greg Bishop.”
“
And your rank?”
“
Corporal.”
“
Who do you work for?”
“
Security-Investigations.”
“
Excellent. You seem lucid, able to reason. I was hoping the dart had worn off by now...let me start by saying my name is Doctor Williams. I'm in charge of the DI team here on Dis, managing the outbreak.”
“
I don't think you're DI,” Greg told him.
Williams raised a single, white, well-groomed eyebrow. “Oh?”
“You're too well-armed, too well-organized.”
“
You must think lowly of DI, then. We pride ourselves on our efficiency. Either way, it currently doesn't matter. What does matter, Greg, is you. We've made some fascinating discoveries. Would you like to be filled in on the details?”
Greg hesitated, but only briefly. Whatever apprehension he felt about this man, about this situation, was momentarily brushed aside by his need to know about his past, his situation, how he'd ended up in that wrecked ship.
“Yes.”
“
Excellent. I'll fill in the relevant details. You were transferred to Dis a little over a year ago...to the Dark Core Mining Installation. Part of a deal brokered with SI. Dark Core gets extra security, and SI gets a slice of the profits. Approximately three weeks ago, the miners discovered the chamber holding the capsule. They decided to keep their hands on it. Based on reports and footage, you were there, at ground zero, when they opened it.”
Greg went cold. Had
he
been the one to open it? No. He calmed himself. No, he was just a soldier. The decision wasn't his and they wouldn't leave it in his hands. He took a deep breath, and let it out slowly.
Williams continued.
“It's obvious that those at zero point would be the most important for research. Unfortunately, so far, you're the only one we've been able to find. There were nearly a thousand personnel at the mining installation. At least half have been accounted for among the dead. On the flip side...there was a unique aspect to the capsule. It held
two
items. One was the virus. The other was the cure. Both were released simultaneously. You were among the crew exposed to the cure.”
Williams paused to let that sink in. Greg wasn't sure how to take it. On one hand, he was very glad that there was, in fact, a cure. On the other...how much was he going to have to sacrifice to extract it?
“Now do you see? I admit Starck's reaction was a bit...extreme. I do apologize. She heads up our security forces. I'm in charge of research.”
“
Why was I brought to the installation?” Greg asked.
“
Sometimes Starck has...intuitions. More often than not, she's right. She felt you and your crew would be somehow important. So I indulged her. You see now why we needed you? Starck...did what she did as soon as it was discovered you were on the roster at the base. It was a happy bit of luck that you were
also
exposed to the cure. I believe this exposure is what led to your memory loss.” Williams leaned back in his chair, offered a winning smile.
“
So what happened after the exposure?” Greg asked. He’d hoped that hearing this might jar his memory somewhat, bring it back, even in flickers or flashes, but there was nothing. Was his memory truly gone then?
“
We're still piecing together all of that. What we
have
figured out is that within a few days the infection burned through the installation and its personnel. At some point, several teams took the ships stationed there and went off across the wastelands, disabling any and all communications devices. We believe they were trying to enable a makeshift quarantine...but they failed. I imagine you were part of one of those crews.
“
We've also located the original vessel you were from, based on the story you told Starck. It seems that it suffered a mechanical failure and crashed. Blind luck you managed to survive, it was a bit of a hard landing.”
Williams allowed Greg to piece this together himself. His mysterious origins were coming slowly into focus now. It didn't give him as much satisfaction as he had assumed it would. Greg felt empty.
“Where's my crew?” Here, Williams frowned.
“
They were...less than happy with how Starck decided to apprehend you. They...fought back, sustained injury. They're in our medical bays now, recovering. You'll see them in due time.”
“
I want to see them now.”
“
In due time,” Williams repeated, standing.
Greg thought he was lying, but what choice did he have except to cooperate? Hell, Williams might even be telling the truth. “So, what now?”
“If you'd be so good as to come with me without...conflict, I can show you to your quarters. You're tremendously important to our effort. We'll need to run some very deep scans, take samples of your hair, skin, blood, DNA...it would be a lot easier for everyone involved if you went willingly,” Williams said.
“
Are you going to kill me?”
“
No!” Williams cried, seeming horrified at the idea. “Of course not. We need you.”
Williams hesitated by his chair, finger hovering over what Greg assumed to be a control panel built into the arm. Greg finally nodded. He would play along, for now. Williams pressed the button and the door slid open.
Greg stepped out slowly and followed Williams out of the room. A pair of men in polished, jet-black armor waited, each carrying a snub-barreled shotgun. Williams dismissed them with a flick of the wrist.
“
What is this place?” Greg asked as they walked down a long corridor. He had the feeling of being underground.
“
Our research facility. We began work on it as soon as we landed. It's at the edge of the wasteland,” Williams replied.
“
God, you guys work fast,” Greg murmured, looking around.
Williams chuckled, but said nothing. Before long, they came to another room. It was roughly the same size and shape as the previous one, though not bisected by a glass wall. A single medical table resided in the center, almost like a pedestal. A man in a white bio-hazard outfit stood by the table. It might have been the one who had carted Greg along like a piece of meat, or it could have been someone completely different.
“Lay down, please,” Williams said. “We'll begin the tests. Then we'll show you to your quarters.”
Greg stretched out on the table, hoping for the best, expecting the worst.
* * * * *
Time slipped through Greg's fingers. After the exhaustive scans and first round of samples taken from him, Williams did as promised and escorted Greg to his living quarters. They were a level above the medical wing.
The quarters were nice, although there was someone on guard outside at all times and Greg was told, politely, but firmly, that he was not to leave his quarters unless directed to. Greg took stock of the rooms. There just two of them, the first occupied by a double bed, made up military-style, dresser drawers built into the bottom. There was a desk and a chair. One corner was occupied by a single device that served as both a place to store food and a place to heat it. Another corner held a washer/dryer unit.
The second room was a bathroom, holding just a shower stall, toilet, and sink. Everything looked new and fresh.
Unsure of what to do, Greg checked the drawers and found spare SI Security uniforms. He showered, shaved, brushed his teeth and went to sleep. When he woke up, he felt dislocated from the world, unsure of everything.
The lights were still on, he'd forgotten to turn them off, or maybe he'd left them on. He dressed and brushed his teeth again, certain that he'd slept for a long time, maybe as much as twelve hours. He investigated the fridge and found a stack of sealed meals. One of them claimed to be beef, mashed potatoes and gravy, and corn. After heating it up, he dug in and wondered when they would come for him.
* * * * *