Brittle, Chapter 7
15 March, 2001
Author: Ellen Million
Webpage: http://www.ellenmilliongraphics.com
Archive: ask
************
"Doc!" Gen walked into the pharmacy with a bright smile pasted on her lips. "I've got an overseas assignment and need some stock."
Doc, who went by that name for no one but Gen, was the short, stocky type who looked as if he could bench press an elephant and not break a sweat. He'd been in several armed conflicts, but preferred the order of his shelves and pills. He grunted, and took the form that Gen handed him. He scanned it, and Gen reminded herself, silently, not to look nervous. "You're feeling conversational today," Gen quipped. She had spent several hours on Logan's computer using art programs to forge a number of supply and release documents, some of which she hoped were not put under scrutiny. She'd even spent time with the chiseled edge of one of Logan's fancy pens to emboss a seal into the thick paper on some of the documents, much to Logan's frustration. "I can't just flit into the Seattle base at any hour of the morning without raising suspicion," Gen had explained to him impatiently. "I'm scheduled to go in every other week on Mondays. Tomorrow is Monday. No one will notice if I am a week out of sync at the regular time. They will notice if I come onto the base at two in the morning. Now stop hovering over me and go pack or something." Logan, looking abashed, had wheeled himself into another room.
Doc scrawled a signature at the bottom of the form, apparently satisfied by its authenticity, and commented gruffly, "That's a mighty pile of Tryptophan-D." He dropped the form in a desk tray and stood up.
Gen let a flash of pain cross her face and turned away as if she were hiding tears. "My seizures have gotten worse," she said quietly. She turned back with a brave face. "The Old Man doesn't want to raise suspicions by having to request such an odd item from a pharmacy in Asia."
Doc nodded; sympathy looked out of place on his gruff face. "It'll take about 20 minutes to get this together for you."
Gen smiled at him, letting a little wobble at the corners of her mouth betray a hint of uncertainty. "Thanks, Doc." She leaned towards him impulsively and kissed his cheek. "You're the best."
She left pretending to wipe a tear from her cheek, and let no hint of her inner glee show in her body language. She took an ironic pleasure in using the lessons that Lydecker had taught her so well against her teacher.
The guard at the front gate had been one that she knew, and with gentle, gossipy persuasion, she had discovered that a prisoner had been brought here last night, and that 'he' was being held in the western area of the compound. The compound had once been a manufacturing complex for Boeing, but with the Pulse, production of planes had been moved almost exclusively to Asia and to Australia and the army had taken over the large plant when Boeing had gone out of business. Lydecker had an office in one of the sprawling place's west wings, and Gen knew that he would want to keep Max close to him.
Gen glanced at her watch and shifted the black pack on her shoulder. It was a trendy-looking leather bag, nicer looking than her sheepskin coat, but it had the advantage of looking like a purse and handling cargo like an ox. Twenty minutes would leave her with just enough time to carry out the rest of her plans.
The first stop was one of the back-up generators for the base. It was simplicity to set the timed cutter at the outlet lines, hidden below the controls cowling, and to turn the fuel valve off. A soldier came by on patrol just as she was finishing, but she stayed behind the generator housing until he went on by; he wasn't looking around, and appeared to have only a cursory care for maintaining his beat at all. For once, Gen was relieved that economic times were hard. The government didn't have much to pay its employees, and that meant they didn't feel an awful lot of commitment to their jobs. Which was fine as far as Gen was concerned.
With ten minutes down, Gen sauntered across the main parking area, flirted with one grateful soldier, and headed for one of the electrical hubs in the westernmost building. She picked the lock to get in, much more skilled than she had let Max guess, and eased into the room with a smile of pride. The compound hadn't been designed for military standards; most of the security was add-ons, and during an economic crunch, fancy electronic security was primarily un-funded. Upgrades were un-heard of, and even the existing systems were showing their age. Gen was able to put a timed short into the magnetic door locking mechanism for the building, and, not for the first time, she was glad that she had snagged a pile of digital timers from one of the distasteful contacts she had established under Lydecker.
She locked the door on her way out and walked back to the pharmacy.
Doc had her medicine laid out for her. Tryptophan-D enough to keep her good for about a year, if the seizures didn't get too bad. She planned to give half of it to Max, of course, and it was stronger than standard Tryptophan, so perhaps 6 months worth for herself, maybe a year for Max, whose seizures weren't as frequent. Two bottles of a supplement that increased her naturally low mucus levels, and one bottle of Sulphihydrominate*. Perhaps a months worth. Gen suppressed a shudder, looking at the last bottle in the lineup. She hadn't told Logan all of Lydecker's methods of retaining her loyalties. Gradually over the first several months in confinement, Lydecker had fed her the sulpha-based drug, first to see if it could do anything for her brittle bone problem or her seizures, and later because it improved her reaction time. Unfortunately, the drug was highly addictive, and her blood's ability to carry oxygen was nearly entirely dependant on it after 6 years.
Doc was in the back room, and came out wiping his hands with a steri-pad. "I called Lydecker about the Sulphi treatment. He said you weren't scheduled to pick any up until next week, and I shouldn't worry about it."
Gen eased one hand into her pocket and willed her heart to start beating again, keeping her expression still. She liked Doc, and had desperately hoped it wouldn't come to this. "Liking people has no bearing on what I have to do," she thought fiercely to herself.
As her fingers caressed the action on the 38 in her pocket, Doc continued. "I told him I just wanted to get some work done ahead of time." He walked around Gen and shut the door behind her. He handed her a slip of paper. "This is the name of a doctor in Renton who can supply you with the Sulphi supplement. I went to school with him."
Gen felt her face slide into something expressionless. She took the slip of paper with her free hand, keeping her right hand in her pocket. "You'll be in trouble for this." She shot a look at the cameras that decked every high security room in the compound. She could feel the muscles in her legs, taut and ready to leap away from the trap as it sprung. Surely there was a trap.
Doc sighed. "I don't blame you for being mistrustful. But I took care of the cameras, and I can manipulate the records on the medicine. Gen, not everyone at Manticore approves of the program. You think I haven't had serious qualms with some of the prescriptions I've been asked to fill? It's a job. I do it to feed my family, not to meet my moral requirements. You got the short end of a really short stick, and some of us think you deserved better." He gestured at her hand, still hidden in her pocket. "You probably would have killed me anyway. Manticore's training is top of the line, and I didn't have any illusions about you doing anything other than taking me out if I were in your way. Lydecker did a good job on you, kid. And I'm not sure that's a good thing."
He leaned back against his desk and shoved his hands in his pockets. "I'll sleep better knowing you're out of here. It soothes my conscience knowing that I've helped one of you out. Do an old man a favor and leave. For good."
Gen wished she remembered how to let her face take genuine expressions. Doc deserved better than a Manticore-brand trained expression, but that was all that she had left besides the blank look she gave him now.
****
Author's notes: Coming Next week: What is Logan up to in the meantime? How is he dealing with the fact that Max is back in Manticore?
Things I've worked hard to portray in this story that I'd love feedback on: That the Pulse happened, that the setting of this story is not America as we know it. That Lydecker is not a dumb, faceless, flat bad guy. That Gen is a complex, interesting person who has to deal with being caught in a terrible life. I've tried very hard to keep Max and Logan in character; successfully?
*Completely made up, including the effects. Probably a cleanser solution, knowing my luck.
15 March, 2001
Author: Ellen Million
Webpage: http://www.ellenmilliongraphics.com
Archive: ask
************
"Doc!" Gen walked into the pharmacy with a bright smile pasted on her lips. "I've got an overseas assignment and need some stock."
Doc, who went by that name for no one but Gen, was the short, stocky type who looked as if he could bench press an elephant and not break a sweat. He'd been in several armed conflicts, but preferred the order of his shelves and pills. He grunted, and took the form that Gen handed him. He scanned it, and Gen reminded herself, silently, not to look nervous. "You're feeling conversational today," Gen quipped. She had spent several hours on Logan's computer using art programs to forge a number of supply and release documents, some of which she hoped were not put under scrutiny. She'd even spent time with the chiseled edge of one of Logan's fancy pens to emboss a seal into the thick paper on some of the documents, much to Logan's frustration. "I can't just flit into the Seattle base at any hour of the morning without raising suspicion," Gen had explained to him impatiently. "I'm scheduled to go in every other week on Mondays. Tomorrow is Monday. No one will notice if I am a week out of sync at the regular time. They will notice if I come onto the base at two in the morning. Now stop hovering over me and go pack or something." Logan, looking abashed, had wheeled himself into another room.
Doc scrawled a signature at the bottom of the form, apparently satisfied by its authenticity, and commented gruffly, "That's a mighty pile of Tryptophan-D." He dropped the form in a desk tray and stood up.
Gen let a flash of pain cross her face and turned away as if she were hiding tears. "My seizures have gotten worse," she said quietly. She turned back with a brave face. "The Old Man doesn't want to raise suspicions by having to request such an odd item from a pharmacy in Asia."
Doc nodded; sympathy looked out of place on his gruff face. "It'll take about 20 minutes to get this together for you."
Gen smiled at him, letting a little wobble at the corners of her mouth betray a hint of uncertainty. "Thanks, Doc." She leaned towards him impulsively and kissed his cheek. "You're the best."
She left pretending to wipe a tear from her cheek, and let no hint of her inner glee show in her body language. She took an ironic pleasure in using the lessons that Lydecker had taught her so well against her teacher.
The guard at the front gate had been one that she knew, and with gentle, gossipy persuasion, she had discovered that a prisoner had been brought here last night, and that 'he' was being held in the western area of the compound. The compound had once been a manufacturing complex for Boeing, but with the Pulse, production of planes had been moved almost exclusively to Asia and to Australia and the army had taken over the large plant when Boeing had gone out of business. Lydecker had an office in one of the sprawling place's west wings, and Gen knew that he would want to keep Max close to him.
Gen glanced at her watch and shifted the black pack on her shoulder. It was a trendy-looking leather bag, nicer looking than her sheepskin coat, but it had the advantage of looking like a purse and handling cargo like an ox. Twenty minutes would leave her with just enough time to carry out the rest of her plans.
The first stop was one of the back-up generators for the base. It was simplicity to set the timed cutter at the outlet lines, hidden below the controls cowling, and to turn the fuel valve off. A soldier came by on patrol just as she was finishing, but she stayed behind the generator housing until he went on by; he wasn't looking around, and appeared to have only a cursory care for maintaining his beat at all. For once, Gen was relieved that economic times were hard. The government didn't have much to pay its employees, and that meant they didn't feel an awful lot of commitment to their jobs. Which was fine as far as Gen was concerned.
With ten minutes down, Gen sauntered across the main parking area, flirted with one grateful soldier, and headed for one of the electrical hubs in the westernmost building. She picked the lock to get in, much more skilled than she had let Max guess, and eased into the room with a smile of pride. The compound hadn't been designed for military standards; most of the security was add-ons, and during an economic crunch, fancy electronic security was primarily un-funded. Upgrades were un-heard of, and even the existing systems were showing their age. Gen was able to put a timed short into the magnetic door locking mechanism for the building, and, not for the first time, she was glad that she had snagged a pile of digital timers from one of the distasteful contacts she had established under Lydecker.
She locked the door on her way out and walked back to the pharmacy.
Doc had her medicine laid out for her. Tryptophan-D enough to keep her good for about a year, if the seizures didn't get too bad. She planned to give half of it to Max, of course, and it was stronger than standard Tryptophan, so perhaps 6 months worth for herself, maybe a year for Max, whose seizures weren't as frequent. Two bottles of a supplement that increased her naturally low mucus levels, and one bottle of Sulphihydrominate*. Perhaps a months worth. Gen suppressed a shudder, looking at the last bottle in the lineup. She hadn't told Logan all of Lydecker's methods of retaining her loyalties. Gradually over the first several months in confinement, Lydecker had fed her the sulpha-based drug, first to see if it could do anything for her brittle bone problem or her seizures, and later because it improved her reaction time. Unfortunately, the drug was highly addictive, and her blood's ability to carry oxygen was nearly entirely dependant on it after 6 years.
Doc was in the back room, and came out wiping his hands with a steri-pad. "I called Lydecker about the Sulphi treatment. He said you weren't scheduled to pick any up until next week, and I shouldn't worry about it."
Gen eased one hand into her pocket and willed her heart to start beating again, keeping her expression still. She liked Doc, and had desperately hoped it wouldn't come to this. "Liking people has no bearing on what I have to do," she thought fiercely to herself.
As her fingers caressed the action on the 38 in her pocket, Doc continued. "I told him I just wanted to get some work done ahead of time." He walked around Gen and shut the door behind her. He handed her a slip of paper. "This is the name of a doctor in Renton who can supply you with the Sulphi supplement. I went to school with him."
Gen felt her face slide into something expressionless. She took the slip of paper with her free hand, keeping her right hand in her pocket. "You'll be in trouble for this." She shot a look at the cameras that decked every high security room in the compound. She could feel the muscles in her legs, taut and ready to leap away from the trap as it sprung. Surely there was a trap.
Doc sighed. "I don't blame you for being mistrustful. But I took care of the cameras, and I can manipulate the records on the medicine. Gen, not everyone at Manticore approves of the program. You think I haven't had serious qualms with some of the prescriptions I've been asked to fill? It's a job. I do it to feed my family, not to meet my moral requirements. You got the short end of a really short stick, and some of us think you deserved better." He gestured at her hand, still hidden in her pocket. "You probably would have killed me anyway. Manticore's training is top of the line, and I didn't have any illusions about you doing anything other than taking me out if I were in your way. Lydecker did a good job on you, kid. And I'm not sure that's a good thing."
He leaned back against his desk and shoved his hands in his pockets. "I'll sleep better knowing you're out of here. It soothes my conscience knowing that I've helped one of you out. Do an old man a favor and leave. For good."
Gen wished she remembered how to let her face take genuine expressions. Doc deserved better than a Manticore-brand trained expression, but that was all that she had left besides the blank look she gave him now.
****
Author's notes: Coming Next week: What is Logan up to in the meantime? How is he dealing with the fact that Max is back in Manticore?
Things I've worked hard to portray in this story that I'd love feedback on: That the Pulse happened, that the setting of this story is not America as we know it. That Lydecker is not a dumb, faceless, flat bad guy. That Gen is a complex, interesting person who has to deal with being caught in a terrible life. I've tried very hard to keep Max and Logan in character; successfully?
*Completely made up, including the effects. Probably a cleanser solution, knowing my luck.