My lip curled as I eyed my bruised face in the mirror. My shoulder was a mottled set of colors, and there were handprints on my forearms and biceps. I put my hand against them.
They were much larger than mine.
There were more bruises on my legs.
Different hand sizes.
With care, I slid a hand between my legs and checked. No bruising or tenderness. Well, that was something. Distaste curved through me as I washed my hands, then tugged the hospital gown back on and tied it in the front before I went back out to search.
I focused on the walls. There was no discernible door. But they could have an airlock and the lighting and shadows would make it difficult to track. So I relied on touch. I made it three steps before a wash of feeling hit me and I saw Hatch.
His expression tightened, but he pressed a finger to his lips. The thread of tiredness that was suddenly pooling in my veins left me swaying a little. Or maybe it was the relief that I’d managed to connect to him. With a couple of sharp gestures, he signed, Prisoners. Trust no one.
I exhaled, then nodded. Fresh bruises covered his face, and he cut his gaze away from me. Wherever he was, he wasn’t alone. I tucked my thumb against my palm as I lay four fingers over my heart. Please let him understand. If he thought we were being observed, he wouldn’t want me to talk. A hint of dizziness assailed me.
We couldn’t linger like this. Especially when we had no idea how it was even working. I wanted to reach out and touch him, but he finally glanced over at me again, and his eyes gentled. The same longing racing through me resonated in his eyes. He tapped his hand to his leg, and I glanced down to see four fingers.
They were safe.
Well, as safe as they could be here. Either with Hatch, or Hatch knew where they were. A door on the far side of the room whiffed open. It was like the doors in the memoriam. Sliding to the side, a pocket door.
All electronic.
Quiet rage echoed through me. But it wasn’t my rage. Rage twisted with helplessness and frustration.
Hatch wanted to be here, he wanted to fix this. I took a deep breath and forced my heart to slow and the rest of me to calm. The itch of his powerful feelings twitched under my skin.
“Dr. Bashan, if you could step into the next room,” a male voice greeted me. “We can begin.”
Arms folded, I leaned against the wall. “A conversation presupposes both parties are aware of each other.”
“We are aware of each other, Dr. Bashan. I am offering you the courtesy of entering the room of your own volition. Your choice.”
Head tilted, I considered the room. There had to be a device in here somewhere allowing them to monitor me. Likely they’d seen me wake up and go through the whole process of removing the sensors. That part bothered me less than what they were doing with the guys.
I gave it another minute. He had said it was my choice, after all.
“Dr. Bashan.” The voice carried no small amount of aggravation. “Do you want us to force you?”
“I think you’re going to do whatever it is you want, including sacrificing lives. So I think I’ll stay right where I am until you do me the courtesy of an introduction and an explanation of what exactly it is you want from me.”
The sense of Hatch faded away, and I blew out a breath. I was already wearier than I’d been when he first appeared. Whatever allowed us this odd connection had to have something to do with the memoriam, and I wished I had time to explore it more. Not only had we not discussed it while we’d been together, there’d been no time for it. Whatever these people wanted, they did not need to know what we could do.
It might be our only advantage.
Especially if we could learn to manipulate it without the toll of extreme fatigue.
“My name is Alexander Smithson, and I’m the COO of the Blossom Foundry. We spoke on the phone.”
“Ah. You’re the man who tortured Dirk and Hatch.” It was a guess.
“I did what was necessary. I am more than willing to torture you if I must, but you have what we need. The technology was proprietary, and your people stole it.”
“What are you going to do?” I asked, more curious than anything else. “You destroyed the equipment when you attacked my compound. I can hardly return what you destroyed.” It was a gamble, and one I should probably not play.
Hatch had told me what they wanted.
They wanted me.
Well, now they had me, so I just had to figure out how to turn the situation to my advantage.
“You are far too intelligent to play that game, Dr. Bashan. You were in the memoriam. You supported the framework. You made it work for you. You now have my proprietary technology in your brain, and you’re going to return it.”
Outside of a lobotomy, I had no way to give him a piece of my actual mind and I had zero intentions of suggesting anything of the kind. Pushing away from the wall, I headed for the open door. I walked with slow, deliberate purpose, as though I needed time to consider my options. The reality was the weariness weighing in my veins from that too brief connection.
The room beyond the one I’d woken up in was as shadowed as this one. The UV lights gave it the same eerie glow. I stood in the frame of the doorway and then leaned against it rather than step all the way in the room.
“You want me to re-enter the memoriam.”
“Yes.” The voice came from a small box on the wall. “You have the ability to create a framework. I need you to re-enter it, then upload the information…”
“You were the ones running the cerebral mapping.”
Silence.
“You did it for years, did you not?”
More silence.
“Mr. Smithson, allow me to be perfectly clear with you. I would hate for us to misunderstand each other.”
“Go on,” he said finally, when I went silent until he gave me some sort of response.
“What you are asking for is further exploration of a framework that doesn’t exist unless I am in the memoriam. It is not a freestanding entity.”
“I am very aware of that, Dr. Bashan. Your service to humanity will be well-remembered.”
“What exactly do you propose to do with it once I become a part of the machine?” That was what they were asking, as far as I could ascertain. They wanted me to upload into the machine, allow a framework to be established, then support it with my faith and mental acuity.
I somehow doubted he actually understood what he was asking.
“Exactly what I said, you need to provide us with all the data on how it is done. This is proprietary technology that is even allowing you to be alive right now.”
A faint smile touched my lips. “So you think I owe you.”
“I know you do.”
“And if I do not agree?”
“Then we will find a way to compel your cooperation.” Four monitors lit up along the far wall. One for each of my guys.
Andreas sat in the middle of a cell, his legs crossed, his wrists on his knees, and his head back but his eyes closed. Meditating. He looked perfectly relaxed and at ease, save for the ugly bruise running from his temple to his chin.
On the second screen, Oz sat with his head down and his shoulders slumped. Agitation reflected in the way he clasped his hands together. But I couldn’t see his face to know if he, like Andreas, was also wounded.
Dirk stood in the center of his cell. The littering of injuries over the visible portions of his tattooed arms and his battered, shaved head, too numerous to count. The fierce expression he wore was absolutely defiant.