Title: Lost In Darkness
Authors: Sita/T'eyla
Genre: Angst/Drama
Rating: PG 13
AN: Thanks to Exploded Pen, Gabi (wow, danke! Schön, dass dir die Geschichte immer noch gefällt. Du hast sicher Recht, über Reeds Vater kann man geteilter Meinung sein, aber in Malcolms Character deutet schon einiges darauf hin, dass er keine so gute Kindheit hatte, oder? Jedenfalls haben wir uns sehr über deinen Review gefreut und hoffen, dass du die Story auch weiterhin gerne liest! LG zurück ins Allgäu aus München (Landkreis) :-)! ), VanishingP2000, KaliedescopeCat, Ocean, The Libran Iniquity (... and it's about to get worse! eg), DA, Silvia, Kool-Cat, Skye29, Les1 (glad you liked the characterisation, thank you!) , soultoast and loz for reviewing! You're all very encouraging, thank you! Sorry about the long rambling author's notes, but, to quote Archer, we've got a lot to say ;-). Here's Chapter 5, hope you like it, please r&r!
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Chapter 5
The Guard raised his head, looking back at the screen. The alien hadn't moved for over fifteen minutes now, sitting huddled up against the wall with his eyes closed. He had wrapped himself in the blanket the Guard had brought him earlier, and appeared to be sleeping. He'd been sleeping a lot these last two days.
After taking him back to the cell two days ago, the Guard had been quite sure the alien wouldn't survive the night. When he'd come to the cell the next morning, however, to his surprise the alien had still been alive and his condition seemed to even have improved a little. By now, the Guard had the distinct impression that for this species sleep was some kind of natural cure. He had no intention of including that particular piece of information in his observation log, though. If he did, the Researchers might decide to give the alien some drugs to keep him awake, and the Guard wanted to spare him this additional ordeal. The Researchers had what they wanted, and this one was soon going to be dead, anyway. It wouldn't hurt to let him sleep a little.
Besides, the Guard was kind of glad the alien was asleep most of the times when he went into that cell. That way he didn't ask any more questions about his companion, like he'd done when the Guard had taken him back from the interrogation room two days ago. The Guard had found these questions to be quite unsettling, and considering what was going on in the Laboratory at the moment, there were no answers he could give that the alien would like to hear. The tests had been going on for quite a while, and the Guard didn't think it would be much longer now. The tests never took much longer than two days, at the most.
From the corner of his eyes he noticed a movement on the monitor and, raising his head, he saw that the alien had gotten up. Picking up the jug the Guard had brought him this morning, the alien poured some water into the plastic cup and sat back down against the wall, cradling the cup in his hands. He took a few sips, then put the cup down onto the floor next to him, pulling the blanket around his shoulders again.
Sighing, the Guard picked up his pencil to make another useless entry in his observation log - Subject 2 takes a drink of water - when suddenly the intercom beeped.
He pushed a button. "Go ahead."
The Supervisor's voice came from the small speaker on the wall.
"We need you in the Laboratory. Bring the observation log with you."
"Yes, sir."
He got up, taking one last glance at the monitor where the alien was still sitting motionless. Picking up the log, he paused, considering whether he should finish his last entry, then decided against it. It didn't matter anyway.
When he entered the Laboratory, he saw the three Researchers standing together, scrolling through their padds and comparing their notes. It looked like the tests were completed. As he noticed him standing in the door frame, the Supervisor raised his head.
"Did you bring the observation log?"
"Yes, sir."
The Guard watched as the Supervisor leafed through the pages of the log, half awaiting another rebuke for not being precise enough. The Supervisor, however, put the log aside without another word, gesturing at the back of the room.
"We are done. You can take him away now."
The Guard turned his head and for the first time he noticed the other alien, the small one, lying on the examination table, obviously unconscious. Dead, maybe.
He looked back at the Supervisor. "Is he still alive?"
"Yes," said the Supervisor, casually gathering up various padds from a nearby table. "But we don't need him anymore. You can dispose of him now."
The Guard was silent for a moment. "What about the other one?" he asked then. The Supervisor, who'd already turned back to the Assistants, looked up again.
"We won't need that one anymore, either."
The Guard walked over to the examination table and again felt that strange pang of regret and maybe even anger as his eyes fell on the alien's badly abused body. Under the various cuts and bruises the man's face was pale and sweaty, and the Guard recognized the typical look the subjects usually had to them when the tests were over and the drugs began to slowly intoxicate their metabolisms. The alien's whole upper body was covered in burn marks and lacerations, probably injuries resulting from the pain endurance tests they had been performing on him. After taking a close look at him, the Guard was surprised that the alien was actually still alive, after all. He looked back at the Researchers who were still busy discussing their notes, and suddenly felt disgusted. These people were his superiors, and the realization that he felt no respect for them whatsoever came to him almost as a surprise.
"And, what did you find out this time?" he asked, not bothering to keep the anger out of his voice. "Have you come to any enlightening conclusions already?"
The heads of the Researcher's came up abruptly at these words. The Supervisor's voice, however, was as unemotional as ever as he spoke.
"You are forgetting your place," he said. "I will not tolerate this any longer. Take this one away, and dispose of the other one, too. Now."
With these words he turned and strode towards the door. The two Assistants quickly gathered up their padds and followed him, the door swishing shut behind them. The Guard stood there for another moment, staring after them, then turned back to the examination table.
Strange, unfamiliar feelings were swirling through his mind as he set himself to unfastening the restraints on the alien's wrists and ankles. He wasn't used to this kind of thing, but lately a lot of things had happened that he wasn't used to. This place where he'd been for so many years now had changed, he himself seemed to have changed, and while he didn't completely understand what this change was all about, there was one thing he knew for sure: He wasn't willing to end any more innocent lives, not if he could help it. He'd done it before, many times, never really thinking about what he was doing, but he wasn't sure if he would be able to do it this time. He wasn't sure if he would be able to do it ever again.
Removing the last of the restraints, he picked up the seemingly lifeless body and lifted the alien onto his shoulder. He didn't really know what he was going to do now, but he'd see to that soon enough. There had to be something he could do.
Crossing the room, the Guard opened the door and left, never looking back as he strode down the corridor.
-###-
Trip took another sip of the water and put the cup back down on the floor. The vile taste on his tongue was still there - somehow he couldn't seem to get rid of it - but still the cool liquid felt good in his aching throat.
Pulling the blanket tighter around his shoulders, Trip closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall. He wished he could go back to sleep again, but at the same time knew he wouldn't be able to do so. He'd been sleeping for what seemed like days, only waking up for short periods of time, but now his mind wouldn't let him escape into oblivion anymore. His body was slowly healing, and while he still felt quite weak, he was at least able to walk again.
The guard had come to the cell a few times to bring him water and some more of that lumpy bread. Last time he'd even given him that blanket, dropping it onto the floor before he left without another word. Actually he'd never said anything at all, ignoring Trip's urging questions about Malcolm, not meeting his eyes as Trip demanded to know what was going on.
At times, Trip felt he was coming very close to losing it completely. Being locked up in this bare cell with nobody to talk to, left with nothing to do but wonder whether Malcolm was still alive or not was driving him crazy. He didn't understand what was going on or why Malcolm would suddenly decide to cooperate in these tests. Maybe they were lying, maybe they had killed him already and this was just another one of their perverted psycho games...
Of course he's not dead, the small, desperately optimistic voice in his head spoke up, but by now it had taken on a slightly weary undertone. Of course he's not. And you're gonna get out of this. Both of you.
Somewhere deep down in his mind Trip knew that this wasn't true, that Malcolm was probably dead by now and that neither of them had much of a chance of ever getting away from here again. But he couldn't accept it just like that. If Malcolm was dead, then that would mean he was all alone in this place, and Trip knew he wouldn't be able to stand that. So he kept listening to that optimistic voice, even though it sounded rather strained by now. Every time his mind turned to what they might be doing to Malcolm at the moment, Trip forced the thought away. Not thinking of it had been quite easy before, when he'd been sleeping all the time, but now that didn't work any more. He hated himself for doing this, for just pushing away these thoughts, but if he was to give in to these dark images, he knew he would lose his sanity completely. It was as simple as that.
Trip shifted and felt that dull pain in the pit of his stomach flaring up again. It wasn't as bad as it had been some time ago, but it still hurt like hell when he moved too quickly. Giving up his hopes of catching some sleep any time soon, Trip opened his eyes again and reached out, groping for the cup. Although he'd been drinking as much of that water as he could get, his throat still felt sore and parched, as if he'd caught a cold.
Clumsily, Trip poured himself some water and had just set the cup to his lips when a sound outside in the corridor made him freeze. Footsteps, coming nearer. Putting down the cup, Trip got up. This time he would make that guard tell him what was going on, he'd make him answer his questions-
The door slid open. Trip's eyes fell on the guard standing in the doorway, and he'd already opened his mouth to speak when he noticed something big slung over the guard's shoulder.
"Malcolm!"
Trip took a step forward, but stopped in his tracks when the guard raised his hand, pointing a weapon at him.
"Stay back," he said and there was something to his voice that made Trip comply. He stayed where he was, his heart pounding in his chest as he met the guard's eyes.
"Is... is he alive?" he asked, his voice cracking as he spoke. The guard motioned with his gun, ignoring the question.
"Come," he said, but Trip didn't move.
"Is he alive?"
"Yes," the guard said, impatiently waving the gun. "Come now. We have to go."
Hearing the guard's curt reply, Trip felt a relief so deep it came like a shock to him. He realized that despite his forced optimism he'd been almost sure that he'd never see Malcolm again. For a moment he just stood there, and the guard motioned with his weapon again.
"Come," he said, sounding quite urgent. "We have to go."
"Where are you takin' us?" Trip asked, and shrank back as the guard took a sudden step forward, shoving the weapon into his face.
"It would be better for you to just come with me," he said quietly, and after another moment Trip reluctantly complied, slowly walking towards the door.
"Take the blanket with you," the guard said. Trip looked up in surprise, then turned around and picked up the blanket that was lying in a tangled heap on the floor by the wall.
"Why?"
The guard motioned him to the door. "You ask too many questions. Now come."
Trip stepped out onto the corridor, casting a worried glance at Malcolm's still body as he passed the guard. He felt the barrel of the gun in his back, pushing him forward, and walked faster. Walking along that dimly lit corridor that was quite familiar to him by now, Trip pressed the bundled up blanket against his chest, an uneasy feeling rising within him. This couldn't mean any good. It was quite obvious that the tests were over, and judging by the way these people had been treating them so far, the only thing left to do now was to get rid of them. But if that guard was really taking him away to kill him, why hadn't he just shot him in the cell, and why had he bothered to bring Malcolm with him? And why on earth would he want him to take that blanket with him?
The uneasy feeling he'd experienced before deepened, and Trip half-turned his head, trying to get a glimpse of the guard's face.
"Where are you takin' us?" he asked again and stumbled as the guard shoved the weapon in his back.
"Shut up."
The corridor made a sharp turn, and as they walked along a narrow hallway, passing countless of those gray metal bulkheads, Trip briefly considered just trying to run for it. Then, however, he decided against it. The guard would shoot him for sure, and even if he managed to get away, Trip felt he couldn't leave Malcolm.
The corridor came to a sudden end and Trip found himself standing in front of a door, which, unlike the others, was painted in a pale red colour. He turned around to the guard and saw him punching in a code on a panel beside the door.
All of a sudden, the bulkhead in front of him slid aside, and Trip took a startled step backwards as a cold gust of wind hit him in the face.
"Move."
He felt the guard push him again and stepped outside, the cold wind making his eyes water. First, he saw nothing but a blinding whiteness all around him, feeling his feet sink ankle-deep into snow. Blinking, he tried to clear his vision and slowly things came into focus. They were standing just outside a huge one-store building whose gray concrete walls were half hidden behind a large snowdrift. There was nothing but snow and ice as far as he could see, a white plain stretching in all directions. At the horizon the whiteness seemed to merge with the grey of the sky. Trip turned back to the guard who had followed him outside.
"What now?" he asked, trying to keep the nervousness out of his voice. "Is this supposed to be part of your tests? Freezin' us to death?"
The guard regarded him for a long moment. "These are not my tests," he said then. Bending forward, he released Malcolm and Reed slid off his shoulder, dropping into the snow rather unceremoniously. Immediately, Trip got to his knees beside him and drew in a sharp breath as he took a close look at his friend for the first time. Reed's shirt was gone, and Trip could see the numerous injuries that covered his face and upper body. What caught his attention, though, was the thin film of sweat on Reed's brow and his irregular, shallow breathing. It almost looked like he was under the influence of some kind of drug that was causing these symptoms. Feeling hot fury rise within him, Trip looked up at the guard.
"Why did you do this to him? What has he done to you-"
"I did not do this," the guard said, his voice not betraying any emotions. Trip got up.
"Look, I don't care who did this! What I know is that your people abducted us, tortured us just for the fun of it, and now you decide you had enough of us, kickin' us out here to let us freeze to death! What the hell do you want, anyway?"
Instead of pointing his weapon at him like Trip had expected he would, the guard simply stood there, looking at him with a rather strange expression on his face.
"I have orders to kill you," he said and Trip who'd just opened his mouth to say something more, closed it shut.
"But I will not do this," the guard continued. "I do not approve of what the Researchers are doing. You will have to go now, though."
Trip stared at him. "Go where?"
"There is a town several miles due east of here," the guard said. "That way."
Trip looked in the direction in which the guard was pointing, but he couldn't make out anything in the snowstorm that was raging over the white plain. By now he was shivering uncontrollably in the biting cold wind, and his feet felt as if they were slowly turning to ice.
"We're not gonna make it," he said. "Malcolm's injured, and I can't carry him. He'll freeze."
The guard simply looked at him, and Trip realized he was wasting his breath, arguing with that man. Kneeling back down beside Malcolm, he was just about to wrap the blanket around Reed's bare shoulders, when something landed in the snow next to him. Trip picked up the small bundle and realized it was a shirt and a jacket. Malcolm's jacket. He looked up at the guard who gestured at Reed.
"You had better get him dressed," he said, his voice as expressionless as ever. "It is quite cold, and he is very weak."
Trip watched him for a moment, trying to read what was going on behind that blank features. The man actually seemed to be trying to help, but Trip could think of no reason why he would do so. Maybe all of this was just another one of their cruel tests, to try and see how far they would get out here...
"Why are you doin' this?" he asked, lifting Malcolm's upper body off the ground, starting to pull the shirt over his head. The guard didn't answer, and Trip looked up again.
"Why are you doin' this? Why would you try to help us?"
The guard stared at him for another moment, then looked away. "I told you, I do not approve of what they are doing."
Trip closed the zipper on Malcolm's jacket and paused. Reed's skin still had that waxen look to it, and despite the cold he wasn't shivering at all. He looked dead.
"You have to go now."
Trip raised his eyes and saw the guard throwing a glance over his shoulder at the building.
"They must not get suspicious. You have to hurry."
Trip got up. "Look," he said, "this is crazy. He's not gonna make it. You can't leave us out here. He'll die."
When the guard simply ignored him, turning around and walking back to the building, Trip felt a sudden panic tighten up his chest. He couldn't do this, he couldn't just leave them here, they'd freeze-
Quickly catching up with the guard, he grabbed him by the arm.
"You can't do this!" he said, his voice hoarse with fear. "Please don't do this, we'll freeze out here-"
The guard pushed him away, and Trip stumbled, landing in the snow.
"Go now," the guard repeated. "Try to reach that town."
Trip scrambled to his feet. "Please," he said desperately, "don't you see? This won't work, I can't carry him that far. Can't you... can't you hide us in there somewhere-"
"I cannot help you," the guard said. In the meantime he had reached the building, and stepped inside, turning around to take one last glance at Trip. "Go now."
The door slid shut. Trip stared at the closed bulkhead for a moment, not believing this was actually happening. Maybe this really was another test, maybe they wanted to see how he'd react to this kind of thing-
Deep down in his mind, though, Trip knew this wasn't true. This was for real, and there was no way he was going to get out of it. Pounding the door with his fists, he began to shout, not stopping even as his voice started to fail.
"Hey! Hey!! Let me in! You can't do this! Please, we'll die out here! Let us in!"
There was no reaction, the only sound being the whistling of the wind over the plain. After a while, Trip gave up and dropped his hands to his sides in frustration and utter despair. It was no use. Slowly turning around, he walked back to where Malcolm lay and crouched beside him on the ground. Reed's lips had a slight blue tinge to them by now, but he still wasn't shivering or showing any kind of reaction that would tell Trip that he was actually still alive. With fingers that were stiff from the cold, Trip felt for a pulse, and for one agonized moment he wasn't able to find one. Then, however, he detected a weak, unsteady heartbeat, and briefly closed his eyes in relief.
The fact that Malcolm was still alive somehow gave him the strength to push away the weariness that had crept into his mind. The thought of simply lying down in the snow and giving up hadn't felt all wrong a minute ago, but now Trip knew he couldn't do this. He had to at least try and get Malcolm out of the cold. He couldn't just let him freeze to death here.
Trip picked up the blanket that was lying crumpled up nearby on the ground and shook the snow off it. Carefully, he began to wrap Malcolm in the blanket, then put his arms around Reed's upper body and tried to lift him onto his shoulder. Malcolm was heavier than he had expected, and as Trip tried to straighten up with the heavy weight on his shoulder, he slipped and lost his balance. Pain flared up in his stomach as he crashed into the snow, and Reed slid off his shoulder, landing face-down in the snow as well. Gritting his teeth as the waves of pain slowly subsided, Trip got up again and once more tried to lift Malcolm onto his shoulder. This time he succeeded, and although his legs felt as if they were going to give way under him any moment, he somehow managed to stay on his feet. Taking a careful step forwards, Trip found to his surprise that moving with the additional weight on his shoulder was actually easier than he'd expected it to be. Slowly making his way through the snow, he set off in the direction in which the guard had pointed earlier. He knew they weren't going to make it, but felt he had to at least try. There wasn't much else he could do anyway. In a way, he almost felt relieved to finally get away from this place. And maybe, just maybe he would be able to reach that town after all.
-###-
As the door slid shut behind him, the Guard paused for a moment. This was not what he had expected. Actually, when he'd decided to disobey the Researcher's explicit orders to kill those aliens, he hadn't thought much about how the aliens themselves would react.
He'd certainly not expected them to pound on the door, begging him to let them in again. He'd decided not to end any innocent lives anymore if there was another possibility, but by now he began to wonder if there actually was one. The alien was right, it was only a matter of time until they'd die out there. They had no chance.
The Guard felt profoundly confused, a feeling he'd never experienced before. He knew his decision not to kill them had been right - it was wrong to kill innocent, helpless people, wasn't it? - and he couldn't understand why he would experience that unsettling nagging feeling in the back of his mind that he'd still done something wrong. Would it have been better to shoot them, to just get over with it instead of sending them out there, leaving them to die a slow, agonized death in the snow? But he'd decided he wouldn't kill anymore. The Researchers were used to killing without a second thought, throwing away the bodies of their "subjects" as if they were mere rubbish to be disposed of, not living beings. And he didn't want to be like them. He couldn't follow their orders anymore.
But he hadn't expected the people whose lives he intended to spare to start arguing with him, to ask him what he expected them to do now. As he remembered the panic in the eyes of the young alien when he'd realized that the Guard was going to leave them out there, he felt guilty. He'd told him to try and reach a town several miles away from here, but of course there was no town. There was nothing but snow and ice for hundreds of miles, and no place to find shelter. They were going to die.
Pushing the thought away, the Guard walked down the corridor, trying to concentrate on the matters at hand. He had to clean out the holding cell, disinfect it so it would be ready when the next subjects arrived. New subjects for the Researchers to perform their tests on. Subjects that would become useless after a few days, that he would have to get rid of in the end-
No. The Guard forced the matter out of his mind, and had he been human, he would have shook his head to make these thoughts go away. Better not think about it anymore.
TBC...
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