Parallelogram : Day Two : Chapter 47
Five Days, Thirteen Hours, Fifteen Minutes
"It's good to know," Parker began, "that the world is going to hell in a hand basket, and we're just going to sit this round out."
The escape plan hadn't quite worked out as well as any of them had hoped. In fact, it was a virtual disaster. The doors had closed in the knick of time, staving off the advance of the heavily-armed soldiers; the elevator had descended downward, clicking and clanking from disuse past several levels; and then ... it had stopped. Halted. Ended. The doors didn't open on any floor. The lights had flickered for several moments, trying hard to stay illuminated, but, in the end, even they had given out. Now, the four of them – Frank Parker, Ebdon Finkle, Nina Welles, and the Mallathorn – sat peacefully in the closed unit waiting for some miracle to happen.
"You are overly hard on yourself and your friends, Frank," the alien said.
Parker lifted his head long enough to glare at it. "Shut up, Larry."
"It's got a point, Frank."
"You shut up, too, Ebdon."
"All right, son. I was just trying to keep it interesting."
"Yeah, yeah." The chrononaut fidgeted with the nine millimeter on the floor, eventually twirling it around in a complete circle. "Hey, does anybody wanna play spin-the-pistol?"
"Oh, Frank," Nina muttered.
"What?" he quipped. "Don't tell me that you're going to start in on me now?"
She faced him in the darkness, turning away from the exposed control panel. Even in the dim light, she guessed that he could see the derision in her expression.
"My bad," he said.
"It isn't anyone's fault," she finally replied, again focusing on the panel. She held her arm up to it, gradually pricking and poking some of the exposed wires with the power cable from the containment suit. "The Mallathorn told you that he's never had any cause to use this escape shaft. You know – as well as I do – that nothing lasts forever ... especially if it sits unused for so long. Quit complaining and just ... just ... just spin your pistol."
"Does that mean you want to play?"
"No, I don't want to play."
Abandoning the weapon where it lay, he crawled over to where she worked in silence. He admired her tenacity. If it weren't for his fatigue – how long had it been since he had had any good sleep? – he would've been more helpful. Right now, he found it increasingly difficult to concentrate. He was out of his element. In most BackStep missions, he was pumped up on adrenaline, running around, guns blazing, saving the world. Here, he sat in a pair of hospital-style scrubs on the floor of an elevator with nothing but his social skills to avert disaster ... and it wasn't working.
"How's it going?" he asked.
A spark danced between the cable and an exposed red wire. She jumped, more shocked than hurt, and let out a brief shriek.
"I guess I don't need to ask."
"It's not going well," she admitted finally, ignoring the challenge and slumping to the floor, joining her roommates. "I wish ... I wish it were going better."
"Don't we all?"
"I'm not so sure that we do."
He knew he wasn't being the most social collaborator, but he didn't think he deserved that insult. "Take it easy, Nina. We're all tired. Can't you tell?"
"Yes," she agreed, clearing her throat and resting solidly against the wall. "I know that, Frank, and I'm sorry I snapped at you. To tell you the truth, I think I'm getting suit-fatigue."
"Oh," he said, sliding closer so as to give her some support to lean against. Sensing his shoulder, she eased her weight onto him. "Yeah ... having been out of that thing for so long, I've forgotten what a burden it can be. How are you doing?"
She sighed, allowing her body to relax, molding as lazily as she could to the wall and his shoulder. "I think pulling the power cable might not have been such a bright idea after all."
"What do you mean?"
Reaching up, she tapped her gloved finger against the helmet. "I may've short-circuited the re-breather," she confessed. "It helps remove the cardon dioxide we naturally exhale from the filtration system. If it's operating normally, you should be able to hear the soft hum of the coolant fan."
"Can you hear anything?"
She grimaced behind the clear faceplate. "Well, I can hear it, but it's starting and stopping intermittently. I'm not exactly an expert on this equipment, but I wouldn't imagine that's a good sign."
Parker felt her sink into him briefly, and he brought his arm up, over her head, and clasped her on the shoulder, pulling her closer to him. "Then ... take a break, will you? I know we have to get out of here, but you've been working as those wires since the elevator came to a stop. That and the lack of sleep probably have all of us on edge."
"I don't want to sleep."
"I won't let you fall into a deep sleep, Nina," he cautioned her. "Just nap. You know? Catch a few zee's. Ebdon and I are right here. We won't let anything happen to you."
"Not a deep sleep, right?"
"You have my word."
At that, he watched as she smiled, closing her eyes and allowing her mind to drift. After a few minutes of silence, he noticed her mouth slip open a bit, guessing that she had succumbed to her own exhaustion, and he balanced her weight against his chest.
"You are very noble, Frank."
Parker glanced up into the wide-open oval eyes of the alien.
"What's that supposed to mean, Larry?"
"I've watched you in your time travels," it confessed, its tentacles dancing lightly in the air. "You've always shown a tremendous compassion for y our fellow man, often at the expense of your own personal safety."
"That's what a great American does," Finkle chimed in. He had started to relax, as well, shutting his eyes but keeping his hand on his pistol. "Frank's a great American. You should be happy that he's here."
The chrononaut smirked at the irony: Larnord had made it entirely possible for Parker to be here. He thought about correcting the old man, but then he decided against it.
"Is this part of your re-ordering time, Larry?" he asked.
"What?"
"This," he said. "The four of us? Trapped like rats in a cage."
"I do not believe we are trapped, Frank."
"Sure we are," he told the being. "What's going to happen once those commandos who raided your bedroom up there get the bright idea to climb down after us?"
"They are persistent," the Mallathorn agreed.
"Yes, they are." He felt Nina shift a bit to get more comfortable, and he paused. "Great Americans tend to be noble, but other great Americans can be misled ... like those soldiers up there. They've been obviously given an order to take you, Larry, and I don't know if that means 'dead' or 'alive.' Did you think about that before you did your temporal housekeeping?"
Calmly, the alien shook its head. "I am doing – like you are, Frank – what must be done for the good of all."
"Keep telling yourself that, pal."
Suddenly, Parker heard Ebdon snoring, and he knew that he'd better serve his friends by shutting up, letting them sleep, and using the quiet time to figure out some way out of this mess.
"I meant no harm, Frank."
"Yeah," the chrononaut muttered. "No one ever does."
END of Chapter 47
