Chapter 6
Reality Strikes Back
Disclaimer: Yeah, Landmark owns it all. This is the same disclaimer you read all over the internet and web. Let's be truthful, though – this could have been a great show that Landmark and Mattel let slide into oblivion. Shame on them for being before their time in the entertainment business.
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Jon's head felt muddied with confusion and pain as his senses slowly synchronized themselves with reality. He was laying flat on his back, stark white lighting above him blasting his eyes. His jaw tightened, fighting the stabbing pain. He found the strength to get his forearm over his eyes, temporarily stopping the onslaught.
"You're looking as good as I feel," Hawk said from a distance.
Jon's perception of time and his surroundings caught up with him at lightning speed. He sat bolt upright in the cot. Hawk sat across the cell on another cot, his heels dug into the mattress as he leaned against the wall.
They were imprisoned. He remembered what they had witnessed when they entered the treatment area. Jon mentally smacked his forehead in frustration. How could he have been so naïve? He should have known it was a trap. Now, he had two problems. Both he and Hawk were essentially prisoners of war, and there was no telling what had happened to Jennifer.
The cell was nondescript, with white walls and white linen on the cots. A red field hummed across the doorway, locking them inside with energy neither of them dared to test with a bare hand. Jon reached to activate the badge on his chest, but his fist found only the soft cloth of his uniform shirt.
"Mine's gone, too," Hawk said glumly. "I guess the Healer isn't a fan of armor."
Jon's head was clearer. "I guess not. How long have we been out?"
Hawk shrugged. "Couple of hours, near as I can tell. I woke up with a hell of a hangover, just like you. We seemed to have had all our toys taken, including chronometers. If I had to guess, I'd say it was the wee hours of the morning."
"No visitors?"
"Just the occasional guard with a sunny disposition."
In the hallway outside the cell came the clanking sound that had sent Jon reeling in the triage area. He was on his feet immediately and at the cell entrance, followed by Hawk, careful not to make contact with the energy field. The long hall that led to the cell was dim, but he could see the dull red glow of the Healer's hardware, fused into the body of . . . a woman.
Jon's vision focused, and he saw her clearly for the first time as she walked, flanked by two human guards. She was older, limping with the weight of the mechanical leg. The servos on the limb whined quietly with each step as the knee flexed. The Healer was tall, nearly Jon's height, with short sandy hair that was beginning to age with strands of white. She wore a brown robe over her dark clothing that hung straight on her lean frame.
As she neared, he noticed she was carrying something under one arm, a bundle of dark blue cloth with the yellow imprint of circuitry. Jon's heart stumbled as his fear grew. The Healer drew closer to the doorway.
Jon looked at the bundle, his heart tripping several beats. "Jennifer . . . "
One of the guards pulled a chair from the side for the Healer to sit upon, and she accepted the offer. She looked at Jon without emotion. "Corporal Chase is alive, Captain."
He focused on the Healer's face and saw that the red glow that had taken his attention before was not an artificial eye. Rather, it was a component of an implant on the side of the Healer's head. Her eyes were sharp and serious, dark and intelligent, and completely intact.
"But the powersuit," he began.
She brought it forward to her lap. "Yes, the powersuit. It's an amazing piece of work. Unfortunately, it was interfering like hell with our A.L.S. unit when you brought her here."
"The seizures," Hawk concluded.
"Correct, Major. Apparently, the suit is finely tuned to the physiology of the wearer. Only when we had removed it completely did we manage to stabilize your pilot enough for surgery."
Jon fought to contain the questions in his head. There were so many he wanted to ask, but he knew his chance for getting answers might be limited. "She's okay, then?"
The Healer shook her head. "That's not the word I'd use at this point. She was critical when you brought her through the door. We have her on life support right now, but that's no guarantee. She had massive internal injuries."
Hawk stepped closer to the field. "Can we see her?"
The Healer straightened her mechanical leg, causing the servos to whine again as the hydraulics lubricated the metal joint. "Provided we have an understanding, yes, you can."
Hawk leaned against the frame of the cell, suspicious. "And that is?"
"This base relies on its security. It's hard enough to keep the outsiders at bay. The last thing we need are problems on the inside. I need your word that you'll control yourselves no matter what you see from this point on."
Hawk folded his arms. "You mean like the mechanical mafia you have walking the halls?"
The Healer smiled slightly at Hawk's description. "I assure you that what you see is quite benign. If you give me your word that you'll behave, I'll take you to your pilot and explain a few things on the way."
"What about our gear?" Jon asked, even more troubled that their badges had been confiscated.
"Trust is earned, Captain. Demonstrate a little control and I'll consider it." She turned to the guard on her left. "Lower the field."
The guard moved to a control panel and deactivated the field to the cell. The red shimmer disappeared, falling away into nothingness. Hawk straightened and stepped forward, taking a good look at the Healer's prosthetics. Jon sensed something pass between the two of them, a fleeting sense of recognition. Neither acknowledged the notion, if that was truly what it was.
The Healer stood and handed Pilot's suit to the guard. She turned and headed toward the exit at the far end of the hall with Jon and Hawk in tow.
"I want to introduce you gentlemen to your new shadows," the Healer said, looking back at the entourage. "Lyle and Burgess will accompany you throughout the base until we're on solid ground in the trust department. When I trust you, you'll be free to roam Sanctuary. Until then, you get a babysitter."
Jon fell in step with the Healer, who took a slow pace with the limitations of the mechanical leg. "What is this place?"
"The product of private overspending and paranoia. At the start of the Metal Wars, private investors threw money into this bunker and created the lap of luxury, intending to outlive the wretched refuse on the surface. Unfortunately, they didn't take into account the travel time needed to get here in the event of a catastrophe. They were caught on the surface and became victims of fate, just like the rest of us."
Hawk shoved his hands into empty pockets. "So, how did you become den mother down here?"
"That's a long story, Major. Suffice to say that when a Special Ops unit came across this place, fully stocked and operational, they secured it and made it a launching point for maneuvers."
"And Dread hasn't caught on yet?"
"We've had overunit probes, but we manage to mask our energy signal well enough to keep us hidden. The investors thought of everything, including stealth rigging for the generators."
Jon was intrigued by Sanctuary's history. "So, this is staffed by regular military?"
"A good number, yes. Some are survivors from the surface who proved they could be trusted. Now, Lyle and Burgess, here – they are Spec Ops and have no problem killing you if the need arises," she said, paraphrasing Holcomb's warning in the elevator.
Jon glanced back at Lyle, his assigned shadow. For a brief moment, he thought he detected amusement on the man's face. The corner of Lyle's mouth turned up briefly and he gave Jon a nod as if to say the Healer was right on the money. Judging from Lyle's bulked physique, there was no doubt in Power's mind that the shadow was capable of carrying out that promise.
A beam of light in the ceiling caught the Healer's face, and Jon saw that she was older than she first appeared. Her skin was marked with tiny wrinkles that showed her age. She looked tired beyond her years, as though she had not slept in a long while.
"At this point," Jon said, "I don't think we're in a position to cause you trouble. Our concern is for Corporal Chase. We're grateful for your help. I apologize if our reaction gave you the wrong impression. We're not used to seeing biomechs that weren't shooting at us."
The Healer smiled. "I suppose it would have been more helpful had Holcomb explained what you'd see here. Even if he had, I suspect your reaction would have been the same."
"In any case," Jon continued, "I hope you don't see us as a threat. We're both fighting for the same thing."
They came to the end of the hallway. The Healer did not respond to Jon's last statement, and it unsettled him. The sense of vagueness in her purpose with Sanctuary had been there since the conversation began at the cell. He could only imagine the details of the Healer's operation and what things the Special Operations forces thought a priority.
She stopped and opened the door. Beyond it laid the triage area. Down the hall from there was a medical ward with individual rooms. Some had patients inside them, resting.
"All these rooms you see here," she explained as they walked, "were intended to be offices or suites of some sort. We had no choice but to convert it all into a medical ward to handle the casualties when the fighting got heavy."
Jon counted eight rooms all together. "What's heavy fighting to you?"
"We've had times where we're stacking six to a room. We're limited when treating mass casualties, but we're sustainable when there's less than eight. That's including limited supplies and medical personnel."
"How many on your staff?"
The Healer chuckled. "Not enough. You've met Holcomb, and you've met me. We have a staff of nurses and corpsmen, but they're trained on the fly, so to speak. They know what we've taught them, and that's it. But, I will say, they're damned good in a crisis and don't give up."
"So, Holcomb is a doctor?" Hawk asked.
"He was a general physician when we met. But, necessity brought out his skills. The more tricky jobs, like your pilot, he leaves to me."
They came to a room with its door closed at the end of the hallway. The Healer stepped in front of it, blocking their entrance. She faced them and pulled her robes closed in front of her, as if for warmth.
"Gentlemen," she said, "I want prepare you for what you'll see in here. There will be some mech technology in use with the life support systems, but I assure you it's only temporary until the corporal's body heals. The terms of your stay here are still in effect. Lyle and Burgess will give you privacy, but they'll be stationed outside the door."
Jon signaled understanding. "Okay," he said quietly.
"She needs a lot of rest to make it through this, so nothing loud or erratic. You'll only have a few minutes with her." Then the Healer paused, sympathetic. "The best thing you can do is let her know she's not alone. I can fix the wounds with surgery, but I can't fix the spirit of a patient. That will be up to her and you."
With that, she turned and opened the door. The room's overhead lights were dimmed, and a soft lamp glowed in the corner. The Healer led them in to where Holcomb sat at Jennifer's bedside, checking a bank of monitors to the left. Jon's breath caught in his throat as he saw what the Healer had warned them of in the hall. A machine was breathing for her via a tube in her mouth, and her fractured wrist was bound in a metal cast that seemed to be fused into her skin.
A white sheet covered her naked body, hiding any other devices the Healer may have employed during the surgery. Jon was not sure he could have handled more than he was already seeing. Her shoulders were plagued with bruises where debris had slammed down upon her, and a thin sheen of perspiration glittered in the diffused lighting. A new device was in place where Holcomb had first inserted the A.L.S., but it had the same black finish that conformed to the curvature of her neck.
What was most startling was the silver metal shell molded into the side of Jennifer's head near her temple, much like the casting on her wrist. A dull red light glowed on the side, just like that of the Healer's mask.
Holcomb looked up at them. He addressed the Healer. "Doctor," he said in greeting.
He stood and invited Jon to take his place at the bedside. "She's sedated, Captain, so don't expect any response," he said, nearly in a whisper.
Jon sat down, with Hawk standing next to him. His eyes were drawn to the silver plate that was outlined by bruising from the laceration underneath it.
He had difficulty finding his own voice, but when he finally did, he managed to bring forth the questions in his mind. "What is all this?" he asked in a hushed tone.
The Healer joined them at the bed. "As I said, she was very badly injured, Captain - more than your initial scans showed. Major Masterson was correct that her spleen was damaged, but we also found microlacerations on her liver and tears in the abdominal wall. Her kidneys look like they took quite a beating, too. If I had to guess, I'd say she took a direct hit from Blastarr. She lost a lot of blood, but getting her into stasis as soon as you did saved her life."
Hawk wiped at his upper lip and quietly cleared his throat. His voice sounded tight, his silvered tongue quiet and subdued. "What about her head? What is that thing?"
"It's the same technology used to heal the fracture in her wrist. It knits the tissue and bone using ultrasonic therapy. It's not the best medicine the world for cuts and breaks, but it's all we have for the time being. It'll come off in a few days."
The Healer moved to the other side of the bed and examined another bank of monitors. "The tube you see is to breathe for her. As long as she's sedated, she'll have that. Once the internal injuries heal a bit more and she can breathe on her own, that will be gone, too."
Jon stared in astonishment at the turn life had taken in only a few short hours. Before he realized, the Healer and Holcomb left the room. He and Hawk were alone with Pilot. Then Hawk moved to the other side of the room and sat on the floor, giving Jon the privacy to talk to Jennifer.
As when they were in the jumpship, he put her hand in his. It felt so small and lifeless, yet it was warm to the touch, giving him the slightest twinge of hope. He cradled it gently, afraid he might cause more damage.
"Jennifer, I'm here," he whispered. "You're not alone. Hawk and Tank and Scout – we're all here. You've made it too far to give up. We need you."
No, he corrected himself, saying, "I need you."
For some time, he watched her rhythmic breathing, thankful she was alive. His mind drifted in a chorus of memories, good ones he wished would come again. They had made the last year bearable and had sustained him. He lay his head down on the bed, holding her hand. God, he was so tired. His body ached from war and death and the fight they continued to wage against Dread.
"Some day," he told her, his eyelids growing heavy with exhaustion, "some day, this will all be over."