Chapter Fourteen

Scott was caught in a nightmare that felt as if it had no end. The darkness that had surrounded him for so long was back and for once he welcomed it. For what seemed like an eternity he had been striving to see, to feel, to be part of the world once more but after what he had just experienced he allowed the darkness to claim him again without so much as a struggle. He no longer knew how long he had lived in this limbo of existence. Was it a week? A month? He could not tell and for now, he did not care.

He had shot his brother! He had shot John! He, Scott Tracy, the eldest of the Tracy brothers, had shot one of his younger siblings, one of the closest people to him in the world. One of those whom he would give his life to protect!

He had held the gun in his hand. He could feel it – for maybe the first time since this whole nightmare had begun he had actually been able to feel something, a physical item, cold and hard and brutal in his hand. He had come back from the darkness and seen John's broken face in front of him, bleeding and hurt. He had seen the pleading in John's eyes – pleading, for what? Mercy? Had he been pleading for mercy from his brother? Pleading for his life? Scott did not know. He could recall only the voice – the voice that had come to dominate him and control him. The voice telling him to take the gun. And he had taken it, and pointed it at John.

He had not wanted to shoot him. God knows he had not wanted to. He had fought against his own nerves, his own muscles until the heat released from the battle had caused his body to break out in sweat from the exertion. Every thought, every energy he could summon he had directed towards the hand that held the gun and the arm that was gradually moving it upwards to take his brother in its sights. He had looked at his brother, seen by John's face that he realised that Scott was fighting, doing what he could to resist the insistent voice that was controlling his body. He had watched as John staggered upwards to his feet – ye Gods there was so much blood tracking all down his face, coming from his head and his mouth – how much punishment had he taken before Scott had come back to himself and taken in the scene before him? How much other damage had there been to the rest of his body that he had not been able to see? How long had he stood by and done nothing while his brother was beaten not ten feet away from him? How much had John understood? How long had he been calling out to Scott for help? Surely he must have thought that his brother did not care? That his brother had deserted him?

He could not stop it. He had been slowing the movement of the gun as much as he could but when that voice had come again the little strength he had to resist had weakened and the movement had quickened. He had known then that he would not be able to stop himself shooting his brother when he was told to do so. John had known – he saw it in his eyes when he looked at him. John had known that he would die that day at the hands of his eldest brother. That last ditch attempt to run had been all he could think of. 'Run John. Run. Get away. Don't let me do this to you.' He would have given his life to have been able to speak at that moment, to have been able to beg his brother to go, to run. John had understood. He had tried but it had not been enough. When Mestari shouted, the last shred of control had been ripped away from Scott and his finger had closed on the trigger. At the last minute he had tried to jerk the gun off target but he had been too slow, and it had not been enough.

If he could, Scott Tracy would have thrown back his head and howled in rage and despair. But he could not. He was trapped inside his own body, unable to move or talk of his own volition. Able only to think. And think he did. He thought of the stillness of the normally tall, lithe form of his blond-haired brother as it lay in the dirt at his feet. As it lay still where it had dropped after sliding down the cavern wall, the eyes closed, unmoving behind the lids. He thought of the paleness of the skin of his brother's neck – one of the few parts of exposed skin that was not already darkening with bruising from the beating he had sustained. He thought of his own hand, shaking from the battle he fought within himself, reaching out to rest on the neck to find the pulse and finding....

Scott tore his thoughts away from the scene – unable to bear the thought of how he was going to tell his father and his family when he saw them again – for he would see them again. With that thought Scott Tracy found the inspiration that he needed. He found the target to focus on, something other than the darkness and the numbness that had filled his senses until now. John had come. John had found him. Somehow John had found him. That meant there had to be hope – the rest of his family could not be too far away – they would be looking for him and he would be ready when they came. Now he had to concentrate on taking back his body from the automaton that was using it.

Gradually Scott did a mental survey of his senses, assessing what he could feel or sense. At first there was nothing, just the blackness of the limbo that he already knew but gradually, as he concentrated, he became aware of a regular shaking, a vibration coming from his feet. He could feel his feet as they met the floor – faintly, very faintly, as if his whole lower body had fallen asleep on him – but he could feel it. He was walking. Encouraged he concentrated on his leg muscles and was relieved when after a few seconds he began to perceive the rhythmical contraction and relaxation of muscles as his legs paced forwards but disappointingly no matter how hard he tried he could not seem to affect the movement. He could not slow it or speed it up – it just continued.

Turning to other areas Scott could just about sense the brush of his fingers against material and reasoned his arms must be hanging at his side. Concentrating on his arm muscles he found he could just force a small amount of movement into his arms so his hands began to swing weakly – causing an increase in the brushing sensation meeting the nerves on his hands. Trying again he was almost certain that he managed to get his fingers to contract – he could feel the soft touch of his fingernails against his palms.

Relief swept over him as Scott realised this state of limbo was not permanent – he could feel more now than he had been aware of before, and he was gaining a small amount of control over his hands. Things were changing. Buoyed up with hope he turned his attention to his other senses.

Hearing provided the most information. Earlier he had only been able to hear the voice of his captor, giving him orders and controlling his body. Even though he had seen John's lips move he had been unable to detect any sound. Now, however, the muffler that had fallen over his senses appeared to be weakening. As he listened he could hear footsteps – faint, as if coming to him from a distance or through a partition, but becoming clearer with every passing second. Multiple footsteps, scrunching on an uneven, hard floor that reflected the sound. Echoes came back to him, resounding off nearby surfaces, multiplying the effect.

The darkness that surrounded Scott was dissipating. As he thought about it he was amazed that he had previously given no thought to the fact that he was effectively blind – his progress seemed to have been steady and unwavering and it was only now, as the darkness around him became muted into a lighter shade of dark grey, that he realised that he had no idea where he was or what his surroundings were. As his thoughts were suddenly flooded with the automatic fears of this realisation he felt a sudden pressure on his left arm and the vibrations from his legs and feet ceased.

"Sit"

The single word came at him from the ether and before he had time to think about it he became aware of a change in his orientation. Nerves along the backs of his legs and his buttocks informed him that he was now seated on a hard surface and he felt the muscles in his lower back tightening to hold him upright.

"Leave us."

Footsteps moved away and Scott felt the gentle movement of air across his cheek as a door closed.

"Buffoons!" The word was loaded with derision and contempt "I don't know why I hired them. They couldn't keep a budgie in a locked cage."

Scott would have jumped if he could as a flicker of colour crossed the blanket of pale grey that was now his sight. Desperately concentrating he sought to make out more but further details eluded him.

"They will be the first to go when I have the power I deserve." The voice continued on from a distance, straining slightly as if its owner was stretching to reach something. There was the clinking of a number of glass items knocking together and a jolt on Scott's left arm, just above his elbow as something long and smooth knocked against him. Scott barely noticed as, at the same moment, the blanket of grey dissolved into a wispy mist that danced and wove in front of him, tantalising him with glimpses of colour and definition that hovered behind the curtain of obscured sight.

"Soon they will recognise me for what I am. Soon they will see the genius of my work. My work!" A loud crash accompanied the phrase as a door was banged shut. "I am not a thief! I have stolen nothing! What need have I to steal someone else's work? No-one is on a par with me. NO-ONE!"

The voice was further away now and the sound of several containers banging together gave evidence of the state of mind of the speaker.

"They were fools! All fools! It was my chance to shine. My chance for my work to be seen on the world stage after years of research. And what did they do? What did they DO?" another bang echoed through the air as Scott tried to will messages of movement through his shoulders and upper arm muscles. "They TRIPLED the dose! TRIPLED it!. And they wondered why it did not work!"

The sound of several items being dropped into a container came from Scott's left and then footsteps, as the voice approached where he sat.

"All my work, all my study, wasted, gone for naught. And my name disgraced, made a laughing stock! Well, now they will see. Now they will know that my serum works, and works well!"

A hand roughly grabbed Scott's left wrist, lifted his arm up and banged it down on a flat surface for emphasis. As a second hand pushed up his sleeve Scott switched his attentions solely to the fingers of his right hand and concentrated on developing the movement that had already begun in them.

"You are the beginning my friend, only the beginning. Brady was a weak-willed fool. He did not have the gumption to play the game on a world stage. He accomplished his task and now I am well rid of him."

The fine mist finally evaporated leaving Scott sitting on a stool, at the side of a table, in a room set up as a laboratory. From the corner of his vision Scott saw the owner of the voice turning away from him to take something from a container on the table.

"Once the powers of this world understand that even the secrets and agents of the great International Rescue cannot stand against my serum then they will see the potential I hold. The World President himself will not be safe. Those interfering busybodies interrupted my auction in London. It is a shame," there was a pause as the man concentrated on his task for a few seconds, holding something up to the light with both hands, "I would have liked to honour the country that gave me my home for so many years. But, no matter."

One hand replaced something on the table as Mestari turned back to Scott. There was an object in his right hand but Scott, try as he might, could not shift his field of vision from the wall directly opposite where he sat. "I'm sure the warlords of the Asiatic states would be willing to pay handsomely for your machine and for the information you can give them."

A hand gripped his left wrist again and pulled it forward, extending his arm slightly and the other hand came to rest on his upturned lower arm.

"Of course, their serums will not be as painless as mine." A sharp prick in the skin of his arm told Scott what Mestari had been holding in his right hand "But at least you'll be well used to needles by then won't you my friend."

The thumb of the scientist rubbed the injection site roughly to disperse the injected material as he withdrew the needle.

At that instant the door of the room crashed open and Mestari jumped to his feet.

"What is going on? How dare....?" His voice faded into silence as his mouth dropped open.

"Take your filthy hands off him!"

"No, this cannot be!" Mestari took a step forwards, his eyes wide with disbelief. "You are dead!" He took a half-step backwards and started to turn towards Scott "You said he was dead!"

A fist of solid bone rocked into his face and knocked him off his feet and back against the wall where he staggered and slumped sideways as his eyes glazed slightly and lost their focus. The voice that met his ears was rough with disuse.

"I lied."

o o o o o o

Author's Note:

Jules47 & Phoenix – Well guessed indeed. Yeah, he's alive – for now anyway. Phoenix – I'm sure they would buzz his watch if they could – but Mestari's boot heel put paid to that idea.

Amandurial: Remember Orophin! As if I would ever !!!

Many thanks to everyone who has reviewed and I'm sorry to be so long with the next chapter. Just when I was thinking of posting fanfiction decided to to play games. I'll try to get the next one out a bit more quickly.

Please note, the Gerry Anderson characters belong to someone else, they do not belong to me. That includes both the main characters and anyone else you may happen to recognise. Anyone you don't recognise is doubtless a figment of my imagination.