Hatch was on the last screen, and he wasn’t in a cell.
He was strapped to a silver chair, with a series of IVs in his arms and his head held locked in place by a cage.
They were attempting to drop him into the memoriam.
“You understand what is at stake. Of the four men who worked on the project, Mr. Benedict is the closest fit to our needs. We only need to complete his cerebral mapping.”
Except Hatch hadn’t been the one supporting the framework or the constructs. He’d supplied technical data and knowhow. He’d been instrumental, from the outside, in making it work. My gaze kept tracking back to the monitor where he lay, his expression stony and unforgiving.
Nothing like my Hatch. Nothing of the cheerful scoundrel, with the twinkle in his eye and a flirty comment on his lips. Of course, he could be serious, but only when absolutely necessary. Otherwise, he played at life like it was a delightful game, and I adored him for it.
With his head shaved and the sensors placed all over him, he looked more like what he was—a prisoner of war about to be subjected to experiments. All wielded by a man who was looking at a bottom line, not life.
At least…
“What is the end goal?”
“Excuse me?”
“What is your end goal? You’ve said you want your technology back. We can’t actually return it. Then you say you want me to upload into your system, a system I should remind you is not calibrated to the specifications required to sustain me or my mental framework, to do what exactly?”
“Our projects are proprietary and none of your concern.”
“All right,” I said, keeping my tone agreeable, even if my heart fisted as I let my gaze slip over Hatch once more before I turned on my heel and headed back to the bed.
“Where are you going?” he yelled.
“Nowhere, apparently,” I answered him in the same patient tone I would use to explain to an assistant who failed to understand even the basest parameters of an assignment. After easing onto the bed, I stretched back and closed my eyes. It took everything I had to put myself in a vulnerable position.
Discipline allowed me to regulate my breathing. Years of yoga, even in the memoriam, had kept me in the practice.
“Dr. Bashan, I think you are gravely underestimating my level of conviction.”
I didn’t respond.
“Don’t ignore me,” he snarled after several seconds where I just breathed.
In.
Hold for four.
Out.
Exhale for four.
In.
Hold for four.
“Dr. Bashan!”
Out.
Exhale for four.
My breathing regulated until my heart slowed, and even the pulse of anxiety eased. No matter what I did in the next few minutes, they planned to make the attempt with Hatch. It wouldn’t be the first time either. During the debrief, both Hatch and Oz mentioned the earlier attempts during Hatch’s captivity. He’d shrugged it off, but I couldn’t imagine the process had been any fun for him.
“Fine. You have only yourself to blame for what comes next, Dr. Bashan.”
My breathing never changed. The level of anxiety and irritation echoing in his voice, however, continued to climb. Swallowing the spit in my mouth, I kept my eyes closed. Pain jolted through me from head to toe, and even expecting it, I couldn’t keep from gasping.
I snapped my eyes open, and I could see Hatch’s face, twisting in a grimace as something pressed against the side of his head. I couldn’t see anything but him, but I could feel him. This close to him, there was no way to miss the flashes of agony pulsing toward me.
His rich blue eyes opened, pupils blown, and I stared into them. Carefully, I took a deep breath, and he mirrored the gesture, then we exhaled together.
One breath.
Then another.
The pain intensified. It was like someone was driving a hot metal spike right into my brain. The memoriam had done this when it fought me on my way out. The construct desperate to keep me inside, it inflicted pain.
But pain could be compartmentalized. It was the result of neurons firing, warning of danger. What they were doing could cause him brain damage. I saw it, they had to see it. Another breath.
The jolts came with far less frequency, but no less intensity. The muscles in my arms began to spasm, and my fingers jerked open and then clenched. Even my breathing came in shakier gulps. Still, Hatch never looked away from me, and the sweat soaking the back of my neck joined the sweat dripping from my brow.
How long this hell went on, I couldn’t say, but I never let him go. Not once. I refused to break the connection. As long as I could share the pain, I could halve it and hopefully prevent any permanent neurological damage.
As brutally as the pain had begun, it ceased and he sagged in his seat.
“Fuckers,” he muttered. “No damn clue what you’re doing.”
I smiled, even as his words slurred and his eyes fell closed. The whole image vanished, as did my sense of him.
He wasn’t dead.
The logical side of my mind understood that perfectly. He wasn’t dead. The strain of the connection, of what they’d tried to do to him, it had knocked him down and he’d passed out.
Sleep was the best thing for him, and I was desperate for some of my own. There was no way to disguise what was wrong with me, and I could only hope their dark lighting and UV lamps hid enough of it.
I needed to rest before they tried to repeat the process. I somehow doubted that these idiots understood that they typified the definition of insanity.
“Dr. Bashan.”
If I weren’t so damn tired, I would have jumped. The voice was no longer filtered by the mechanics of a speaker. I cracked my eyes open to find a man with a bit of a paunch and receding hairline standing in the room with me. He also wore a mask over the lower half of his face.
Did he think I was contagious or something?
Interesting.
“Mr. Smithson, I presume.”
He inclined his head. “You were right.”
“I am right about a great many things, Mr. Smithson. Would you care to identify which one you’re discussing?”
The man stiffened. His posh accent and mannerisms suggested he was the one used to talking down to others. Not the one who was treated like the imbecile he’d acted. He’d extracted a heavy cost in blood and pain for what?
“I need your help.”
Those four words were not what I was expecting. But I’d take the opportunity.
“And why would I do that?”
“Because…” he gritted out. “You may actually be the last chance humanity has.”
Chapter 12
“The secret of freedom lies in educating people, whereas the secret of tyranny is in keeping them ignorant.” - Maximilien Robespierre
DIRK
The door to the cell opened, but Dirk made no move to exit. Instead, he just waited. Every muscle in his body ached. Even his bones were sore. More than all of that though, he was angry. Fucking furious that these cunts had come after her again. He had no idea where she was. They might have plugged her back into that abominable machine already.
What he did know was they better kill him, because he would take every single one of them apart until he got to her. Hatch appeared in the doorway, and Dirk started forward. “You got out?”