Chapter Twenty One
The Box
"Oh, for God's sake. Not again." Lucas complains, "Why the hell can't you stay upright?"
Because he can't bloody balance: that's why. He'd say so, but the fall has squashed all the air out of his lungs, and he can't actually get any words out. With his wrists pinioned behind his back, Malcolm has found the walk far harder than Lucas; as, without the use of his arms, his ability to correct his balance is highly compromised. Worse, when he does fall, he can't save himself. Consequently, he has grazes on his knees and his face; something has torn the seam of his sleeve away from the right shoulder of his shirt, leaving a gape that has already attracted at least one insect bite, and he is sure that he'll have a magnificent black eye later today, though the swelling is currently threatening to force his left eye entirely shut.
Gradually, he manages to get his breath back, and wriggles onto his side to try and roll himself back onto his knees again. The skin being badly grazed, doing so is very painful, and he groans as he is obliged to take his entire weight on to a tender kneecap in order to prepare himself to stand.
It would, of course, be considerably quicker and easier if Lucas helped him; but given how much the ghastly man is making Malcolm's skin crawl, he is grateful that no assistance is being offered. He is not entirely sure that he could bring himself to accept it, and Lucas is quite annoyed enough.
For a moment, his throat narrows, and he can feel tears pricking at his eyes. God alone knows where they are - he hasn't the first idea. How the hell is Taylor going to find them? Is he even going to see his home again? I want to go home. Oh God, I want to go home…
He hovers on the edge of the precipice, just for a few moments; before an impatient grunt from Lucas reminds him where he is, and who he is with. No. No he won't break. He won't give Lucas the satisfaction of watching him come apart. Damn him. Taylor will be looking for him by now; and won't give up. If not for his sake, then for the sake of Yseult - for her, he'd never stop looking. He couldn't save Niall, there's no way he'd ever allow himself to do the same thing again.
Don't think of Max. Don't think of her. Don't…don't…
His eyes squeezed tight shut, Malcolm starts to multiply in his head, forcing himself to concentrate on the numbers. If he lets himself think about Yseult, then he really will go to pieces. He can't afford to do it - nor can he afford to feel sorry for himself. It has to stop. He has to hang onto that hope that Taylor won't abandon him. He wouldn't have done it before the occupation, so he certainly won't now.
"You done?" Lucas asks, boredly, "We could, if you like, stay here for the next few hours until something gets us. If it does, then I'm afraid I'm not using the sonic to save you."
Equilibrium restored, Malcolm raises his head and eyes Lucas with hostility, "I'm 'done', as you put it. If I'm going to walk, then I need to be able to breathe."
"You think my Father's coming to get you, don't you?" Lucas says, casually, as they resume their walk, "He won't, you know. Why waste resources? You're valuable, yes, but more to me than to him at the moment. If I remember, everyone was immediately willing to believe that you were repairing that terminus because you saw it as an intellectual challenge - or you were too cowardly to object."
"They know what really happened now, Lucas; that I wouldn't do anything until it became clear that people would die if I didn't."
"He didn't trust you with his whereabouts, did he? If he had, I'm positive you'd have blabbed in the end." Lucas turns to him, "Someone must've told you, though - otherwise you would've gone back to the colony instead of disappearing into the forest. Who was it that Taylor trusted more than you?"
"It wasn't a question of trust. It was a question of protection; why tell people and risk having them tortured? At least you only inflicted that on me. If I didn't know, then who else would've?"
"It was Bucket." Lucas says, more to himself, than Malcolm, "Of course it was. Once he knew about her mother, she was flavour of the month again. It must be nice to know that Taylor trusted a spy more than he trusted you."
"Why are you blaming Taylor? How could he have told me anything? He was outside - we were inside. He had no way of getting messages in. If anyone's to blame for not telling me, it'd be Jim Shannon. He found Taylor's bullets with his co-ordinates carved on them - but didn't tell anyone who didn't need to know - and he was right to keep it quiet. How many other people would you have had tasered, Lucas? Anyone except Skye - am I right? But then, you thought she'd switched sides, so she was the only member of the resistance who was actually safe."
"Resistance. I like that - and you think you were a part of that?"
"I was a part of it, you idiot. Why do you think it took so long to mend the bloody terminus? I could've had it working in a quarter of the time, but I kept it as slow as I could. When Jim was back on his feet, and we knew where Taylor was, we were ready to get started on taking our home back. Did you really believe he'd lost his hearing, and his concussion was as bad as I made out that it was?"
Lucas utters a sort of amusement, "And there I was thinking that everyone hated your guts for being a cowardly turncoat."
"They did; for a while, at least. Until Jim told them about McCormick - and they realised that you wouldn't have stopped with him if I hadn't agreed to help you. Once they knew about that - my stock went right back up."
Lucas shrugs and chooses to fall silent. Now that he is no longer concentrating on the conversation Malcolm notices that the trees are starting to thin out. In less than another half hour, they emerge into stubby grassland, and - as promised - a rhino is awaiting them.
"Take a seat." Lucas says, shoving Malcolm to the ground, "I'll check there are no nasty surprises in the back." It seems that even he is not reckless enough to leave someone waiting for him.
Now that he is out of the cover of the trees, Malcolm squints painfully against the brightness of the light, and is surprised at the increase in temperature. The worst of the summer is yet to hit - but out here, it's hard to believe that. With no shade, the sun is beating down quite uncomfortably. It must be in the upper twenties celsius, possibly even into the low thirties. For a moment, he considers asking Lucas if he has any water - but somehow, he is convinced that, if he does, Lucas will refuse to allow him to drink. Unlike his father, Lucas Taylor is extraordinarily vindictive, and has a vicious cruel streak: best not to awaken it.
Watching his captor, Malcolm briefly toys with the idea of attempting to escape; and, again, rejects it. He can't use his hands - the cable tie is just too strong, and if he tries to break it, its thinness bites into his wrists. The only means he has of cutting it would almost certainly be the parang, which Lucas is carrying at his waist. Assuming he could even get it out of its holster, would he have time to set it somewhere so he could cut through the plastic before Lucas recovered from any blow that he could inflict? With no means of driving the rhino while he is bound, any attempt would get him nowhere, and would almost certainly make matters worse. No. There's no point. Best to wait until they reach the encampment, and hope to God that Taylor works out that's where he's been taken.
"Wise move." Lucas observes, as he sees that Malcolm has stayed where he is, "I've put so much into this that I'd hate to have to throw it away by killing you."
"Even you're not that much of a twat."
"Twat? How picturesque. I find your old-world vernacular so charming." He indicates the passenger side of the rhino, "Up."
Awkwardly, painfully, Malcolm clambers to his feet again, and seats himself in the cab. The only good thing about this is that he's not going to have to walk any more, "How much further?"
Lucas gets behind the wheel, "About five hours."
"five hours?" Malcolm stares at him, "How bloody far out are you all?"
"About 150 miles. We had to get to the point where the fracture opens - what did you expect? A shopping mall and all amenities? It's not like we can whistle and get it to chase after us. I have to go no faster than 30 miles an hour, or we could end up dead in that terrain." He starts up the engine.
"I'd discuss my algorithm with you," Lucas resumes as they pull away, "but I guess you're not smart enough to understand the math."
"I'm smart enough to think it's a load of bollocks."
"My, my, my: you're seriously throwing out the Anglo-Saxon, aren't you? I seem to have touched a nerve."
"How many people have you condemned to death with this rubbish, Lucas?" Malcolm asks, suddenly, "The impression I get is that they've got barely a month left on their current rations, and with nothing being hunted, it's pretty much the end for the lot of them."
"Once the terminus is working, it's hardly going to matter anymore. It's all I need. You can repair it, while I finalise my calculations. Then it'll be done, and I'll be back in 2149, ready to try again."
"I suppose then that, if you fail a second time, you'll just keep on doing it over and over again, until you get it right? Like one of those stupid time-loop episodes they do on television shows from time to time? Not that I've seen any - but I'm told they're ridiculously stupid. Rather like your idea, in fact."
"Actually, I won't have Hooper shoot you next time. I'll have him crucify you from a couple of trees. You can watch your failure, and then die."
"Just as well there won't be a next time."
"That's your limitation, Malcolm. No imagination - no vision. Just think what you could achieve if you weren't so bound up with your procedures and protocols. Did you know that Charles Snow said that anyone could've come with the Special Theory of Relativity? And they could've: it was an idea that was sitting about just waiting to be had. But with the General Theory, on the other hand, it was so radical, so utterly non-intuitive, that, if Einstein hadn't thought of it, then no one would've, and we'd still be waiting for it even now. That's what a genius does: thinks outside the box."
"I know what Snow said about the theories of Relativity, Lucas, and I have no issue with what you're saying. No one's denying your brilliance: no one ever has, and they wouldn't. It's what you're trying to do with that brilliance that I take issue with. I keep within procedures and protocols for a reason: how many innocent people have had to pay for the consequences of your brilliance? At the end of the day, all it's really done is serve the furtherance of a personal vendetta."
"And we're back to my Father again. He took everything from me - don't you get it? I want him to know what that feels like."
"You think he doesn't?" Malcolm stares at Lucas, "He lost his wife, and then he lost his son - he knows exactly what it feels like!"
"No." Lucas says, with horrible firmness, "Don't you believe it. He chose to have my mother murdered. He didn't lose her - he threw her away, and then he threw me away. Until he's lost everything he's ever built, he won't come close to knowing what he did to me."
Fed up with trying, and rather closer to losing his temper than he feels is sensible, or safe, Malcolm turns his attention to the limited view through the louvred windows. The grassland is becoming increasingly scrubby, the ground increasingly dusty. Small dromeosaurids, probably Buitreraptors, are fleeing about in all directions as the Rhino barrels along. Presumably, these were the creatures that the Sixers were hunting for the encampment. The cab is oppressively warm, and he's walked a long, long way. He lets his head rest against the frame of the cab, only to find that the rattling and vibration are too distracting. Hell, he'll never get any sleep like this…
"Wake up." A vicious prod in his ribs, "Welcome to your new home."
Sharply, Malcolm sits up, and squints through the louvres. From what he can see, the place looks like a complete and utter shambles. Mira wasn't kidding, it seems: they really are on their last legs.
"Lean forward." Lucas orders. He complies, and feels as much as hears the snap of the plastic as his cable tie is cut, "You could run now if you want - but you'd not get a mile away."
His hands free again, Malcolm opens the cab door and looks out. Now that he can see properly, matters are not improving.
"Let me tell you something." Lucas says, confidentially, "I cannot wait to see your reunion with Mr Hooper."
To describe morale as 'low' would probably rank as one of the great understatements of human history. Sitting at a camp table in what can best be described as an aluminium hut with louvres, looking at what's left of the inventory, Commander Hooper scowls. Where the hell is Lucas? If he doesn't get his calculations done, and the terminus repaired, then they'll all be dead before they can get back to 2149. But then, if that treacherous scientist hadn't set up the damned thing to blow, then he wouldn't be here, would he?
They've got enough to last a week; though if he can get his remaining soldiers to successfully hunt those dinosaur-bird things that Mira and her crew used to bring back in droves, then they've got something to live on. Otherwise, it's boiled scrub-grass - assuming they can find the stuff in the mass of rock and sand that they now call home. The first thing he's gonna do when he gets back home is go out and order the biggest steak he can find.
Shoving the battered plex aside, ignoring the screen's rather terminal-looking flicker, he calls in one of his men, "Katz; break out the men. Inspection."
"Sir." The man departs from the hut. The men'll hate him for it, but at least it's something to do.
How the hell did it happen? They had the upper hand: armed to the teeth, backed with better technology, greater in numbers; and yet all Taylor needed to wreck it all was one small piece of sabotage in the forest, and one damned big one back at Hope Plaza. He hadn't expected the colonists to be willing to cut themselves off from the future; and, in doing so, cut him off, too. He hadn't known at the time that the terminus had been sabotaged, either: if he had, then he would've sent a soldier with that engineer. If there had been spare parts, he would've had to bring them back. If not, then he would've had the pleasure of shooting the man dead on the spot.
Instead, however, he sits at a camp table, reviewing dwindling supplies on a plex that's on the verge of giving out. So much for the profitable trip into the past and back. Wasn't there supposed to be another fracture out here, or something? Where the hell is it, then? Damn Lucas Taylor and his promises...
Katz skids back in, "Rhino sighted on the horizon. Positive identification - it's one of ours."
There's only one out of the compound: "That's Lucas then. He'd better have an answer, or I swear to God I'll blow his head off."
Abandoning the camp table for the first time that day, he saunters outside as the Rhino pulls up in the drill square. It can only be Lucas - there's no other vehicle off-site - but he's got someone with him.
And then that blasted engineer gets out of the passenger side. What was his name again? Wallace, wasn't it? Not that it matters - it's the man who helped to cut them off from from the future, and he is more than pleased to get a chance at payback.
Before he has any chance to speak, however, Lucas emerges, "Don't even think about it, Hooper. You'll get your opportunity - but if you leave him unable to repair the terminus, then I'll shoot you down and give Katz a field promotion."
"And?" Hooper demands, "Are your calculations ready?"
"Ready for testing, yes - but we need the terminus up and running. I suggest a non-damaging form of torture if he turns you down this time. We're fresh out of lab assistants."
Hooper notices the shaken look on Wallace's face as he turns sharply at the casual mention of a murder that clearly still preys on his mind. It helps to ease his bitter need to take the man aside and beat the crap out of him; but he also begins to tick off the various forms of 'persuasion' at his disposal that will comply with Lucas's demands. Anything that would slow down the repair of the terminus has to be off limits. He's struggling to think of something that would suit both Lucas's requirement to get the equipment working, and his requirement to cause Wallace as much pain as possible. And it looks as though he is going to have to be the one to compromise.
Ignoring the men who are discussing his next few days so casually, Malcolm looks about. Surely more soldiers left for the Badlands than this? It's obvious that they are assembling for some purpose - a drill, perhaps? But there are far fewer than he recalls. Certainly, the more that he sees of the encampment the more he realises that the rumours over their impending demise were far from inaccurate. Half of the buildings, such as they are, are either in a state of bad disrepair, or are essentially in ruins and replaced by large, dusty tents. Only the outer perimeter stockade is in anything close to good condition; but then they'd be completely out of their minds to let that deteriorate. The atmosphere in the gathering crowd is demoralised at best, if not actively mutinous - certainly some of the faces look that way. To his mind, they've reached - or even passed - the point beyond which their options are limited to getting through a time fracture, giving up and coming back to grovel to Commander Taylor and enter Terra Nova; or dying.
And then the Commander, Hooper, is standing in front of him with a highly unfriendly expression. The last time they conversed, of course, he'd cast aspersions upon the soldiers for their carelessness over an accident that was anything but. Lucas has almost certainly disabused him of that notion; and he clearly has a few words to say about it.
"You're one of the men who left us trapped here." He says, as though this is news.
"No." Malcolm says, firmly, "I'm one of the men who stopped you and yours destroying our home."
Hooper lets out a bizarre, snarling sound, and grabs a handful of the front of Malcolm's shirt, "God, when that terminus is repaired, you and I are gonna have it out."
"Not if I don't repair the terminus." How he sounds so calm, he has no idea. Given, however, that they're all likely to be dead before the week is out, what has he left to lose?
The soldier's expression is one of barely suppressed rage, and he lashes out, slapping Malcolm violently across the face, "You'll repair that damned terminus!" he hisses, viciously, "If you don't, then you'll find yourself in a world of regret!"
"Enough." Lucas says, sounding very bored, "You can play later, Hooper. Right now, Doctor Wallace has work to do. Bring him." He turns on his heel and stalks off.
The walk through the buildings shows even more starkly just how desperate things have now become. Despite the pain of his stinging cheek, and slightly watering eyes, Malcolm can't miss the horrible conditions in which the soldiers are now being forced to survive. Everything's grubby - clearly water is now reserved solely for drinking. There isn't enough to shower, or wash clothes, and they're probably reduced to using field latrines. The soldiers are looking less bulky than they did - obviously on short rations; but they look at him as though he is the Second Coming. Has Hooper really lifted their hopes of escape through a portal so high? God, what will happen when they find out that he's only going to be able to take those raised hopes and dash them to bits?
They emerge into another small space, sheltered by a canvas gazebo. Guzman had said after returning from his reconnoitre that he hadn't seen the terminus - and now Malcolm understands why. It's impossible to see from outside the encampment; presumably kept here to shade it on all sides from the unrelenting sun.
As he approaches it, he can see at once that someone's been messing with it. The panel is still off, but there are signs that tools have been used; minor scratches on the motherboard, a few gouges around the fittings for the induction coils that he shorted out. It's probably not sufficient to render any activity impossible, but at least he can start by blaming someone else for his inevitable failure to make progress. Because that's what's going to happen: without a proper workshop, without the ability to fabricate spare parts, there's nothing he can do. Lucas has, effectively, doomed them all.
"Who's been messing about with this?" He demands, going for his best 'angry scientist pissed off at the amateurs' approach.
"What do you mean?" Lucas asks, bending in alongside him to try and share his view of the machine's innards. In fact, such is his curiosity that he's uncomfortably close, and Malcolm has to fight with himself not to step away.
"Look at the mess in there!" he carries on, "Was it you? Did you have someone try to fix this without me? Now look at it! I'm going to have to mend half of this wreckage before I can even start to effect the repairs you need!"
Astonishingly, rather than grow angry, Lucas actually looks contrite, "I'm sorry, I had someone try and work on it when we first arrived here…"
"Well all they've done is make the damage worse!" After the awfulness of the last few days, being able to bawl someone out is rather cathartic, and he's quite enjoying it, "There's no guarantee that any of your calculations will be of any use if I can't get this cowboy work rectified!"
Then Hooper's leaning in behind them, "Don't push your luck, Doctor. There's nothing wrong with it."
"Excuse me?" Malcolm turns, and glares at the man who is calling his bluff, "Are you a degree-level electrical engineer now?"
"Tell you what," Hooper snaps, "Why don't I have you beaten, and we can settle the matter right here and now?"
"And leave me unable even to start the preliminary repairs?"
"Didn't you say 'non-damaging' torture, Mr Taylor?" Hooper turns to address Lucas, who is looking at the pair of them with a speculative air.
"I wouldn't consider a beating to be non-damaging. Commander."
"Fine. Let's try something else." Hooper beckons over one of his men and mutters something in his ear. Nodding, the man summons a companion and the pair leave. They are gone for a few minutes, before returning, lugging between them a fair-sized aluminium trough in which a large quantity of water slops back and forth in time with their staggering. As they set it down, Malcolm frowns, wondering what they intend to do with it.
He gets his answer immediately, as the two men step either side of him and grasp his arms, twisting them awkwardly behind him so that he is obliged to bend, before forcing him to his knees in front of the trough. And then he understands Hooper's intention; but only just in time to snatch a breath before he is compelled downwards, his head disappearing beneath the surface of the water.
It doesn't last long; he is wrenched back up again before his breath runs out, but the shock of the assault is enough, and he stares up at Hooper in genuine fear. The Commander smiles, grimly, and crouches so that they are face to face, "Now, what were you saying about someone else damaging the terminus?"
"I…" he stares helplessly at his interrogator, and lets out a sharp yelp as he is violently dunked again. This time, he is held down for longer, and the sense of his breath faltering drives him to struggle desperately. Immediately, he is pulled back up, coughing violently. Hooper merely smiles, and nods at the men who hold him, and he is forced back down - but this time to the point that his face is mere millimetres from the surface of the water, and he can hear his frightened breaths echoing back up at him.
"I said 'non damaging'." Lucas intervenes, crossly, "if you mistime this…"
"I won't." Hooper insists, "I just want to hear him admit that he's lying about the damage." Then he bends down, so that he is whispering directly into Malcolm's ear, "It goes like this. Ten seconds. Then, if you won't talk, Twelve. Then Fourteen, then Sixteen. Get my drift?"
"And then I get brain damage from hypoxaemia." Malcolm hisses back, the words echoing back up at him, "And you don't get home."
Hooper stands up again sharply, with a vicious growl, "You," he turns to another soldier, "Get that water recycled."
"He's brave, isn't he?" Lucas observes, casually, "Though whether that's real courage, or just bravado, I couldn't tell you right now."
Malcolm stays silent. He isn't entirely sure, either.
"There is, however," Lucas continues, "One remaining alternative - which, I think, might be the clincher. I'm surprised you didn't think of it, in fact." He looks at the two soldiers who still hold Malcolm by his arms, and beckons, "Shall we?"
Their journey is not long, but it takes them out into an open space towards the far end of the encampment, isolated from the living areas, where a low, square box is set upon a sandy platform of rock. Formerly a packing crate, the aluminium construct has vents around the top, but is otherwise completely enclosed, and can be locked from the outside.
"The soldiers call this 'the box', Malcolm." Lucas advises, as though giving his captive an orientation tour, "There's not one of them who hasn't been in it at least once in the last two years. We have to maintain rather strict rules, you understand."
Malcolm stares at it, nervously. The heat outside is oppressive as it is - his wet shirt is already merely damp, and will soon be dry, while his hair is starting to tuft up again. What kind of hell must exist in there?
"You can guess, I think, what it must be like inside." Lucas continues, "We don't normally leave anyone in there for more than an hour. We once left someone in there for two hours before we realised how effective it is. He was dead, and starting to roast, by the time we got back. That was, admittedly, in the heat of summer, which we're not getting at the moment - but you get my point."
"I can't repair the terminus, Lucas." Malcolm admits, quietly, "With or without any preliminary damage, there are no replacement parts. Unless you've got a workshop where they can be fabricated, then there's nothing I can do."
"There's half a ton of useless electronics lying around this place. Jerry rig it if you have to. If I can create the calculations, then you sure as hell can improvise a repair on the terminus."
"It's not that simple…"
"I'm sure you might redefine the word 'simple' if you spend a bit of time in there, of course." Lucas advises, and nods to the soldiers, who start to force him forward.
"Stop! Stop! I'll try - I…" He knows full well what will happen to him in there. He might not be a medical doctor, but everyone's been trained on how to deal with heat exhaustion and heat stroke; the summer heat is just as oppressive in Terra Nova. His voice is not quite so frantic when he resumes, "…I can't promise anything. But I'll do what I can with whatever you have."
"That's the attitude I was looking for." Lucas beams, a rather unnerving expression on a face that seems mostly to be built for anger or spite, "Shall we?" He nods again, and the two soldiers finally release their grip.
Malcolm stares at the 'box' for a few moments, unable to contemplate the thought of being locked in it. Not just because of the heat - but because of that other aluminium construct…
Don't think about it; just don't…
He can't remember a time when he has felt more helpless, or more lost. For a horrible, lonely moment, he can't believe that Commander Taylor would even want to waste the resources required to get him out of this place. On the verge of tears again, which he forces himself to bite down, Malcolm turns and heads back to the gazebo to begin his impossible task.
