Unfocusing my eyes, I give him a lunatic grin as I mirror his action: rubbing the back of my fingers over his cheek. “You should start a blog.”
His enormous hand covers mine, warming my cold fingers as he closes his eyes for just a moment. I lie still while attempting not to show my surprise at his reaction. A moment later he gently pulls my hand from his cheek and lets go of it. He gets to his feet, saying gruffly to the medic, “Monitor her. I won’t be long.”
The medic watches Kyon’s retreating back as he moves across the station. A youngish-looking Striker meets Kyon at the other end of the long room and leads him to the gilded saer doors of the overup; they’re the same ones I’d taken to Defense Minister Telek’s office. When Kyon’s large frame disappears behind the sliding doors, the doctor turns his attention back to me. That’s when I reach up and shoot him with the same tranquilizer gun I’d pulled from his pocket.
Holding him by the collar with one hand, I use all my weight to pull him nearer to me again. He exclaims loudly, “What are you doing?” His hand goes to his neck as he growls at me.
My thumb dials the dosage higher as I say between my teeth, “Not enough?” I press the needle of the gun beneath his chin and pull the trigger again. His tongue swells up in his mouth and he slobbers unintelligible words while his eyelids droop down over his eyes. He falls face-first next to me onto the cot. “Good night,” I whisper as I look around to see if we’re being observed.
No alarm is raised, so I peel off my red overcoat and toss it over the medic’s face. I’d like to trade him for his uniform jacket, but he’s too freaking big to move, and it would look odd on me, attracting the kind of attention I want to avoid. Upping the dosage on the tranquilizer gun, I check the pathway to the stairs. It’s not very far away, but I have to make it to the top if I have any hope of getting out of here. Taking a deep breath, I stand. I sway on my feet, light-headed.
Hiding the tranquilizer gun in my waistband, I stumble away from the cot occupied by the curer. Reaching the edge of the partition, I pause, waiting for the soldiers near the stairs to finish their conversations so I can go. I clutch the column next to me, letting my cheek rest against it as a bout of dizziness hits me. Pressure on my elbow alerts me to the fact that someone’s at my side.
“Do you need help?” It’s a tall, blond-haired soldier; his gun is strapped to him in a shoulder harness, its long barrel is pointed away from me. He seems young, but they all do, so I have no way of gauging his age. I must have an apprehensive look because he says, “I’m Keenan. Brother Kyon sent me to sit with you. I’m here to protect you.”
“Oh,” I murmur, looking down, “I was just looking for the umm . . . you know,” I whisper shyly, “the Commodus.” As a point of fact, it’s not a lie; I’m so scared I’m about to pee my pants.
He doesn’t laugh at me. Instead, he looks around, gauging the state of things. “You want something . . . private,” he states, not like a question.
“Preferably,” I agree.
“Can you climb stairs?” he asks.
My heart leaps in my chest. Is he serious? “Urr, yeah. I think so.”
“There’s a Commodus in the gallery above. Would that work, Elle Kricket?” his eyes soften in concern. “I’ll help you up there.”
“Lead the way,” I return with a small smile.
I lean on his arm as he guides me to the stairs, needing his support more than I care to admit. Once there, we climb them together. He pauses several times to let me rest. I play the part of an invalid, because I sort of am one, but I cringe every time he stops, covertly looking over my shoulder to see if anyone has discovered the medic I’ve left in a drug-induced stupor on my cot. I’m also terrified that Kyon will return at any moment. He’s much harder to lie to than everyone else, because he knows what I’m capable of.
When we reach the top of the stairs, I’m ushered to a doorway nearby. “I’ll wait for you here,” he says, allowing me access to the Commodus. As I shuffle in, I search for another way out. The facility is elegant, but there’s only the one point of entry, which is currently being guarded by an enormous, armed giant. I exhale an irritated breath. “Really?” I mutter sarcastically to myself. Since I’m here, I quickly use the facility.
Afterward, while showering my hands with the warm steam spray at the beautiful shell-shaped niche in the wall, I study the ceiling for vents that I can fit into. Nothing. My knees feel weak. I sit down on the floor, and then lie down—the tile is cool, it chills my skin through my dirty shirt. Staring up at the ceiling, I wonder for the millionth time, How did I get here?
After a short time, Keenan’s voice sounds through the open doorway. “Elle Kricket, do you need some assistance?” I don’t reply; I just stare at the ceiling—it’s beveled with clouds projected onto it—it’s a little like being outside on a summer day—blue sky.
Keenan’s bootsteps echo off the elegant walls. “Elle Kricket?” he asks hesitantly, when he sees me lying on the floor. I don’t make eye contact, continuing to stare at the ceiling.
Keenan squats down next to me, touching his hand to my shoulder. “Do you need me to call you a curer?” he asks, nervously looking into my eyes.
I whisper real low, “I need . . .”
He leans his ear close to my lips, trying to hear me better. I move my arm up, pressing the tranquilizer gun against the side of his neck. The gun makes a sharp hissing sound as I pull the trigger. His shocked eyes meet mine as I load him full of sedative. My arm falls away, resting again on the floor with a thud.
His pupils dilate within seconds. “Why?” he asks as he slips to rest with his elbows on the floor. He reaches for his weapon, but his eyelids droop. His cheek crashes onto the tile next to my ear. When his eyes close, I exhale a deep breath.
Gazing up at the ceiling once more, I point to a passing cloud on the screen—it looks like it has a long neck. “Giraffe,” I say softly to my unconscious companion.
I ease myself up off the floor. My joints creak like I’m a thousand years old. Every muscle I own is stiff to the point of cramping. I glance at the gauge on the tranquilizer gun: it’s empty. I let it drop to the floor. Next I strip off the rehyde-pack from my arm, letting the discarded cylindrical tube bounce with a clatter onto the hard surface.
I pull Keenan’s weapon from his shoulder and place the strap across my chest, before examining the gun. It’s not as heavy as it looks. It has readouts on the side. Notchlike finger grooves indicate where the gun is supposed to be held. It’s long like a rifle, and unfortunately, my arms aren’t nearly long enough to hold it the way it should be held. I let the gun swing around me so that it rests against my back.
Turning toward Keenan, I pat him down, searching him for something I can use. I tug an earpiece from his ear. I hold it up near my own ear and listen—I think I hear Kyon’s voice coming through it, but it’s faint. I rub the earpiece on my pant leg before I place it in my ear.