6

After the guards let me in, I spotted the good doctor immediately. The sole occupant of what had been an officer’s suite was tied to a chair and only half conscious. He was balding, slightly overweight, and covered in dried blood.

I took a bucket of water, a shop towel, and cleaned him up like a bedridden invalid who’d been sitting in his own filth for too long. Nothing could take away the stink, but he slipped out of his daze and watched me with increasing interest.

"You're not one of them," he said, speech slurred like a drunk.

"It doesn't matter who I am. Are you Doctor Hastings?"

Tears leaked from his eyes as he nodded vigorously.

"I'll be right back."

The hard part of the ruse was maintaining the lazy, disinterested shuffle of a defeated man. My acting skills were a bit rusty. And I was angry.

The stoic guard ignored me, preferring to watch the hallway like he would shoot the next person he saw. The other one looked me up and down, made a disgusted face, and waved me toward the exit.

I drew my silenced pistol and shot them both dead—catching the bodies as they fell.

“I’m assuming you assholes were really bad people who deserved this.”

They were speechless of course.

“If it makes you feel any better, I’m probably not far behind you,” I said to their corpses.

I dragged them into another room and closed the door. There was blood, but luckily, I was the best janitor on Dreadmax. Got blood smears? Call Halek Cain and make the body disappear today!

Drying my hands on the stolen poncho, I returned to the interrogation room.

Doctor Hastings had moved away from his chair while I was gone. He was standing with his arms crossed, hugging himself as he looked through the window to the main hangar below. It was like a private booth at a stadium and it made me wonder what the Union officers who originally ran this place had talked about while watching their minions.

"This wasn't always a prison," he said.

"Step back from the window," I ordered.

He looked at me, then complied, moving away. "I'm not an idiot. The glass slants outward from the bottom of the windowsill, suggesting there is considerable glare when viewed from the outside. I doubt anyone down there could see us, even if they were looking," he said, unperturbed.

The party was ramping up again. Music thumped the walls. A caravan of vehicles with Red Skull Gangsters hanging off every side rail and bumper rolled into a large bay door at one end. Engines without mufflers revved. Air horns blasted a juvenile call and response that quickly got on my nerves.

Each truck had a cage in the back.

Doctor Hastings went pale. "I was hoping she got away."

Several pieces of the puzzle fell into place. “What are you doing here, Doctor?"

He faced away from me when I asked the question, wiping something from his eyes as he moved toward the door like he might run for it. I had to give him credit, he was playing it pretty cool for an amateur.

"I wouldn't do that,” I warned. “I mean, how did it work for you last time?"

"I haven't tried to escape. They have my daughter. She tried, continues to try to get away, but they always catch her and three other young women. It's part of some inscrutable gang law they have. One girl escapes, and they bring back three extras for the cages. Nothing makes Slab and his Red Skull thugs happier than a drunken killing spree.”

"You didn't answer my question."

"Research. I was here on a research project.”

I crowded into his personal space and brushed imaginary dirt from his battered jumpsuit. It was one of the original prison uniforms. Someone had scrawled his name on the tag, misspelling it: H-a-y-s-t-i-n-g-z.

"How many attempts have there been to rescue you?"

"I don't know," he sputtered. “Just you and your team, I suppose.”

"You don't know because I'm the first person to get this far. Think about that for a second. You should be realizing that I’ll be the last. If you want out of here, you're coming with me and you’re going to do everything I say."

"I can't live without my daughter. There’s no reason to rescue me if you don’t help her escape too.”

“She’s not part of my mission,” I replied.

“There must have been some kind of mistake. The Union cares more about her than me. Call someone for new orders. They won’t let us leave Dreadmax without her.”

“Why?” I asked.

“She’s my daughter. Please rescue her,” he pleaded.

“What are you doing here, Doctor Hastings?” I asked, repeating the question.

“Please, sir. Don’t make me go against the Union.”

Ignoring his oddly dispassionate plea, I spoke so softly he had to lean forward to hear me. "I need information to do my job. Answer the question."

He shook his head and backed away. “I can’t abandon my work. Just leave me here."

The RSG music continued to shake the floor. Bass thumped a driving beat that filled the entire facility.

"That hurts my feelings, X. He's more scared of the Union than me," I said.

Doctor Hastings perked up when he realized what I’d just said and what it meant. “You are talking to a nerve-ware AI. Are you a Reaper? I thought they were all dead."

"You would think that. The fact that you even know what a Reaper is means something. What are you doing here, Doctor, and why do they have a destroyer with three companies of soldiers and multiple teams of spec ops commandos ready to storm the place?”

Looking at his feet for several seconds before he answered, he exhaled forcefully.

“About a year ago, I realized the Union had quietly taken over my daughter’s boarding school. I made inquiries to civilian and military officials I’ve worked with over the years. They had their theories and reassured me this was just something that happened in the Union. I knew, however, that they were holding my daughter hostage.”

“Sounds terrible,” I said, nonplussed.

“The situation grated on me for a few weeks before I made my first mistake. I’m not a soldier or a spy or whatever you are. My world is about research, using the scientific method to test theories—Occam’s Razor. You know it?”

“All things being equal, the simplest explanation is most likely correct,” I said.

“Exactly. One morning, I awoke with the firm conviction the Union wanted something from me that I wasn’t providing them. All that was needed was information.”

“You confronted the Union?”

“I set up an appointment and had a meeting. By the time I returned to my laboratory I’d been reassigned to… a place I can’t talk about. It wasn’t all bad. The facility and the brilliant minds I worked with were a dream come true for a scientist like me.”

“But they put your daughter on Dreadmax to keep you in line.”

“I didn’t know that until later. We talked every day by video conference,” he said, acting more like the man I assumed he was. The memory refreshed him. “Something went wrong and now the Red Skull Gangsters have her.”

“The secret laboratory must be near Dreadmax if they were able to have a video conference in real time,” X-37 commented in my head.

“She’s a wonderful young woman,” Hastings continued.

“I’m sure she is. If I can grab her, I will, but I can’t do that while I’m arguing with you. We’re leaving and you’re doing whatever the fuck I say without hesitation. Understood?”

He nodded.

“I need to grab some things, then we’ll call for extraction.”

“Weapons, I assume.”

“You’re a smart guy, Doc. And observant. You wouldn’t happen to be a medical doctor with trauma experience?”

“I have advanced medical degrees, but most of my work is in other areas.”

“PhDs?”

“Several.”

“Good to know. I’m sure they’ll be useful when we meet the cannibals.”

We moved out, fast enough that I had to drag the doctor onward more than once. On the way, I spotted a hopper full of surprisingly clean, perfectly folded jumpsuits. I found one of the smaller sizes, rolled it so tight it nearly disappeared, and shoved it into a side pocket.

"Why don't we just find a side door and use the maintenance trenches to reach your weapons and armor?" Hastings asked.

"Well, because I'm not shitty at my job. I checked for side doors, windows, and access hatches before I made my approach. It's called reconnaissance, useful when planning a rescue."

The building was full of activity—not just guards now, but anybody they’d been able to motivate with threats of violence and brandished weapons. Not everyone was here for the party. Some worked like slaves—fixing machines, cleaning up bloodstains, dancing for drunken assholes with guns.

"There must be other exits," Hastings asserted, looking over his shoulder nervously at the sound of a door slamming.

The lights went out, plunging the corridor into darkness until red emergency panels called the original crew to battle stations. I doubted Slab and his thugs understood what battle stations meant, but they’d pushed the button.

"There are doors, but they open into areas with a lot of folks I’d rather not meet," I said.

We moved into a new section. Hallways and doors were now metal walkways and staircases. The grating above us shook from the sound of running feet. A group rushed down one of the ladder-like staircases.

"That's our cue to head the other direction," I announced.

“We can’t go back the way we came,” Hastings said, starting to panic. “Are we being attacked? Are they sending in Union soldiers?”

“Someone hit the alert button, but that doesn’t really mean anything. They probably think it’s a fire alarm and use it to wake everyone up. Thank whatever gods you pray to that the music is so loud.”

“We have to do something! Let’s wait here for the soldiers.”

“Chill, Doc. Take a breath. The cavalry isn’t coming.”

I'd seen this before. He'd get more worked up each time we encountered a problem. There wasn't time to reassure him.

"Let's move," I ordered.

"I can't. I mean, we can't,” he clarified at my look.” It's too dangerous."

I grabbed the collar of his jumpsuit with one hand and poked him in the ribs with my pistol. "I can't afford to waste a bullet on you and I don't want to carry you, but there will come a time when you're better dead than left here to be compromised," I informed him.

None of that was part of my briefing, but I made certain assumptions. The look on his face confirmed his research was illegal as hell, the type of thing that got a person silenced rather than expose the entire operation.

His reaction meant something. I filed it away for later consideration.

"I'm not arguing with you. I just don't think this is a good idea," he responded, hastily.

I dug the pistol into his rib cage and pushed him in the direction I wanted him to go, toward a stairway. I heard people coming down from two levels above and hoped we could outdistance them.

It took several steps before I got the doctor to move on his own. This really would’ve been easier with a team. I needed two people to manage Hastings and at least one to cover our back trail. If I was a real Reaper, I would've had authority to impress dark ops agents or spec ops soldiers into service, which would’ve been useful about now.

We reached the main level and ran across the launch deck. The main hangar was full of people. Some were looking for us and others were partying. A few seem to be doing both. The sound of loud music, slamming metal doors, and occasional gunfire filled the room.

"What are they shooting at?" he asked, nervously.

"I have no idea. There's been a lot of random gunfire since I arrived." I pulled him behind a transport vehicle without wheels or an engine. Similar vehicles lined one side of the massive room, still leaving space for the enslaved construction workers, and beyond them, hundreds of GSD gangsters and their thralls.

I could smell the homemade alcohol and some kind of synthetic tobacco or marijuana.

"That's not even a live band," Dr. Hastings said in candid horror.

"Yeah, that's bullshit. I'm filing a complaint. Come on, let's go."

As usual, the man tried to go the wrong direction, but this time, I realized it was for a different reason. He headed for the cages and a young woman I assumed was his daughter.

So far, the search parties hadn’t noticed us among the regular denizens of Dreadmax. That was bound to change. I was running out of both time and patience with Hastings. If he wasn't the principal, I'd leave him here.

"Hastings, get your ass behind one of these trucks and hide. I told you I'd get her if I could. You’re not helping."

He ducked behind one of the parked, non-functional heavy transport vehicles. There were missing pieces that suggested these were often salvaged to service other vehicles.

"Stay there. Don't move. If I have to come rescue you, I can't do anything for your daughter."

"I understand. Thank you. Please don’t let them hurt her.”

“I’m gonna hurt you if you don’t shut up,” I grunted.

“You’re very abrasive for a rescuer.”

“Wait until you really piss me off. Which will happen if you move one fucking inch from here.”

Eyes downcast, the poncho I had stolen pulled up to cover my scars and cybernetic augmentation, I slipped through the workers and pretended to load pallets as I watched the drunken celebration on the other side of the maintenance hangar.

This wasn't someplace I wanted to be. The more time that passed, the more time the real guards had to get organized. There could be checkpoints with pictures from the building’s surveillance cameras soon.

"Hey you, what the fuck are you doing? Those pallets have already been loaded," a foreman said. Behind him, guards worked their way through the crowd examining people.

Three more of the heavy patrol vehicles entered via the bay doors, each with a man on the crew-served machine gun. The work crews shrank backward, clearly afraid the guns being turned on them.

"I'm used to prisons where we have to make shanks out of toothbrushes. These assholes have military hardware," I muttered as I retreated from the angry foreman. "I could use some help, X."

"My only recommendation is to leave. You can't help the girl. You can, of course, disregard this advice if your purpose is to commit suicide," X-37 answered dispassionately.

"You know me better than that, X."

By the time I reached the doctor, there were at least a dozen more guards searching the work crews. They were either being thorough or had guessed how I evaded them.

"We're leaving. If you want me to help your daughter, you'll do everything you can to get to safety. Until that happens, there's nothing I can do for her. I really don't want to knock you out and carry you, so let's fucking go."

He gave in, but not before he started crying and blubbering that we had to save her. The Union would do this, the Union would do that… He just wouldn’t shut up.

* * *

"Stay close. Run when I run, get down when I get down," I said, striding toward the bay door the trucks had come through. "This is going to get dicey."

"Okay, okay. Are you sure we can't just grab Elise and run for it? Please.”

I didn't bother to answer. The professional guards I'd seen on the upper levels moved through the crowd with submachine guns and shotguns. They were searching zone after zone. Maybe they knew what I looked like and maybe they didn't, but if they were half as good as I thought they were, I wouldn't be able to withstand close scrutiny.

The poncho disguise was lame and wouldn't last much longer. Regardless of whether or not they had a viable description, every one of them had seen Hastings.

Picking up the pace, I bumped the foreman who had yelled at me earlier. He fell to one knee and cursed.

"What the fuck is your problem? Didn't you hear me the first time? I saw you try to ditch me!” He strode forward, fists clenched for a fight.

He shoved Doctor Hastings out of his way and got in front of me. I hit him three times in the space of a second: left jab to his temple, right cross to his chin, and a left forearm strike across his neck and the brachial nerve. The final strike had all my weight behind it as I twisted at the waist and lunged forward.

The foreman collapsed.

I grabbed Hastings. "Run for the bay door!"

Twisting on the balls of my feet, I shot the closest guard and took his submachine gun. Throwing down the silenced pistol, I transitioned to the new weapon and opened fire on two more guards.

The crowd surged one way and the guards the other. I fired on the nearest heavy machine gun car and it fired back. I dropped to the floor even as I finished my attack and rolled sideways, hoping I hadn’t made a huge miscalculation.

There wasn't time to evaluate the carnage that ensued. Workers and partiers alike panicked, stampeding toward the exits. I saw Hastings get swept up in the tide and carried outside of the building.

I hadn’t planned it that way but could make it work. Looking on the bright side, the principal was free of the building and hidden in the crowd.

Staying as low as possible, I made my way to the un-drivable vehicles and scrambled beneath the largest. Bullets slammed into it as I came up on the other side and ran along the wall until I found one of the bay doors.

Outside, chaos ruled. Hundreds of people were fleeing the carnage, but what caused the problems were scores of family members running to see what was happening. Panicked parents and screaming children added to the confusion.

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