Chapter Twenty

In another sort of workshop—Gadget and Devin would have been horrified, had they known just how close by it was—a rat named Turner lay very still and listened to the blood pound in his head. It was the first thing he'd become aware of—consciousness had returned grudgingly, a little at a time.

At any rate, he wasn't looking forward to it. At least in his dreams he had been alone with his muffled thoughts, at peace and unable to hurt anyone. Waking up meant he'd soon be dangerous again, and he fought it with all his will. He thought of black empty space, of endless sleep, but instead the world poured back in on him.

And he was missing something.

"Ah! I was wondering when you'd come around. How do you feel?" The vague form of a doctor-rat swam at the foot of the hospital bed.

Artwork by Keith Elder

Come a little closer and I'll strangle you, Turner thought, his paws clenching and unclenching in their restraint straps. "You've opened up my skull and gone fishing in it. How do you think I feel?"

"A bit disoriented still, I suppose. And your head—"

"It feels like it's coming apart!"

"That will pass." The doctor pursed his lips and looked at his subject thoughtfully. "But it's good to see you're angry. Keep that going. Lovely, beautiful thing, anger. When it's pointed in the right direction."

Turner glanced around at the room. He couldn't turn his head, as it was still strapped down. The place was pretty much what he'd expected—the walls were padded and the light was a uniform glare. He'd heard stories and whispers from the others—not everyone came out of these rooms in one piece. Some turned on themselves and ripped themselves to shreds. But getting into one of these rooms—and living through the treatment and recovery—that was part of their Plan. That was how they always put it. Turner shivered with disgust, the closest thing to fear he was still capable of feeling. That they would profane and twist even that—taking Nicodemus' dream apart step-by-step—dear God, what monsters am I living with?

The doctor laid his paw on a syringe with a long needle from a stainless-steel tray and held it up. It glinted in the harsh light. "I suppose you're wondering what this is for."

"Knock me out. I don't want to look at you. Just let me rest again."

"First things first. This isn't a sedative. I am going to take this needle—" the doctor drew his arm back. "—and plunge it directly through your right eye into what's left of your brain. You are going to hold perfectly still or it might be even worse than you think." The doctor's expression did not change as he said this. He reached over with his free paw and undid the strap holding Turner's head down. Turner whipped his neck around and tried to bite the doctor—he pulled back too quickly. "If you turn away, or show the slightest bit of fear—I will press the plunger on the syringe. What's in it will scramble your brains far worse than anything I did with a scalpel, I promise."

Turner sneered and faced the doctor. He did not quiver or plead. The needle was big enough that he could almost look into it. "Get on with it," he growled.

The doctor jabbed the needle forward, a splinter of steel streaking toward Turner's eye—and stopping scant millimeters away from it. Turner blinked and felt an eyelash brush the needle. The doctor put the syringe aside, smiling with satisfaction. "Good. Tell me—what did you feel when I was about to put a hole in you?"

For so long I've been lying to these creatures, these villains, pretending I was one of them, Turner nearly sighed with relief. At last I get to tell one of them just a tiny bit of the truth. "Hate. Sheer, cold hate. If I could have turned that needle on you, nothing would have stopped me."

"But you weren't afraid, right?"

Turner thought hard, but could barely come up with even a memory of fear. "Not one bit."

"Good. That was the whole point behind this surgery, anyway."

Yes, Turner turned it over in his mind. I hate you for what you've done to me, even if you did think I wanted it. But I'm not afraid of you. I'll never be afraid of anything ever again. And that will probably kill me.

Gadget's new bed was much more comfortable than Turner's. It was set into the wall of a small sandstone hollow just off one corner of the workshop, a retreat within a retreat. One of its rare features (for Thorn Valley, anyway) was a thick door, carved out of the surrounding stone but balanced delicately enough that shutting it was easy. Its massive hinges were on the inside, its deadbolt recessed so far into the stone that once thrown it couldn't be reached with any tool short of a jackhammer. All the same, Gadget made up her mind that she'd spend as much time out of her "inner sanctum" as she could, turning to it only in times of rest or desperate need.

As she stretched out, really relaxing for the first time since she set foot back on solid ground again, she recalled an old saying of Mark Twain's that always helped her in risky situations: "Ships in the harbor are safe, but that's not what ships are for." Yes, she sleepily decided. This is a safe harbor, but there's plenty on the outside that needs my attention. Devin, for starters… She sighed contentedly. Tomorrow would be busy--she planned to head straight for the hospital to get the ball rolling on vet school, and to explore as much of the Valley as she could. Despite Elizabeth and Justin's hopes that she could stay out of local politics, she could already feel herself being sucked in--the Justins, Arthur the engineer, and Dr. Ages all needed a visit. Despite all that, she felt glad to be in a warm, soft bed with people nearby who cared about her…one, in particular, who cared about her much more than she'd imagined. The fur on the back of her neck riffled up in goosebumps again at the memory of that kiss Devin had planted on her. Yowsers!

Plenty to do tomorrow. Not all of it bad, by any stretch. But the second-best thing she'd do today, she decided--tallying up the little surprises and discoveries the day had brought--was to get some sleep. The traffic in her head continued to zoom around, but she gave up trying to direct it. Soon there were only a few lone thoughts running near-empty highways, all on cruise control, and she was out.

…they were pushing her out the door.

(Gadget turned uncomfortably in her sleep, kicking her feet, just as she had when it happened.)

Moving at all was torture. She did not want to go out there. There were more of them, waiting. Dear God, let them just kill me. They've done things to me I don't even have a name for.

Gadget stumbled from one horror into another as the laughing shadows shut the door. She was in the main room of the Ranger hideout now--nowhere to hide out from anything. A ring of hungry, merciless rats glared at her, all advancing with obvious intent to inflict more pain and shame. I don't have much left for you to take, she would have said if words had any more power. Her threats, then pleas, and finally wordless cries had won her nothing but further abuse.

The rats suddenly stopped and gave way to one from the back of the room--this one came trailing sharp claws on the furniture, shredding it open with a casual air. He was big, and was one of the few in the black-and-gray uniforms… shriveled and furry things slapped against his belt as he moved. When he was close enough, Gadget saw that they were ears. Lord, lord, don't let him take mine, Gadget mourned silently. She pulled the remains of her tattered workshirt closer around herself.

Treading on a few footpaws, and not seeming to care whose, the uniformed rat muscled his way to the front of the pack. Some of the others muttered under their breath--"He'll kill her sure enough." "Not before he has his bit of fun, he won't…" --but he glared around at the circle and they fell back meekly.

His voice was like oily ice as he sneered and bared his teeth. "So--Gadget Hackwrench. You don't look so proud and mighty now." He stepped closer to her and flicked a razor-point claw up under her chin, forcing her eyes up to meet his. She didn't dare move. "Such a pretty thing for a mouse. It's too bad I didn't get to you earlier." The voice went on in its bone-chilling calmness, but Gadget nearly gasped in spite of herself as she really looked at his eyes for the first time.

They were the eyes of someone who was fighting back the urge to break out in tears.

What the hell? Gadget barely had time to think, as Turner grabbed her by the throat and slammed her against the wall--just hard enough to look painful. It did hurt, but not nearly as bad as it could have.

"Scream--" he pleaded with her under his breath. She was quick to comply, half out of hope that there was a way out of this hell, and half out of sheer terror. "That's better!" he shot back over his shoulder for the benefit of the watching, waiting pack. "You're no fun if you don't fight."

What is he doing? Gadget's mind reeled. Is he telling me not to fight? I couldn't do that, couldn't just let them-- She struggled and shrieked again, weary and confused. The rat pinned her closer to the wall and pushed a careful paw against her face, stifling her cries. She nearly gagged when she realized he'd shoved two bitter pills into her mouth. Is he offering me a choice? Is it poison?

"Live to fight," he urged her quietly. "Get ready for a stage punch--" Gadget swallowed nervously but nodded under the paw, barely getting the pills down.

Turner staggered back suddenly, pulling the paw away from her mouth and cradling it. "She bit me!" he growled in mock fury. Some of the ratpack chuckled and whistled as Gadget recoiled against the wall.

"Better take some of the starch out of her before it's my turn with her," one of them called jeeringly.

"I'll do you one better," snarled Turner, and lashed out at Gadget with a vicious right hook. It brushed Gadget's whiskers as it stopped, and she jerked her head back in perfect timing. She collapsed in a heap, trying to keep from trembling.

A chorus of complaining voices drew near--"I wanted her awake when I--" "She's out cold!" "--spoiled all our fun." "Might as well get out of here, now--"

Please, Gadget prayed, don't let them do anything else to me while I'm passed out. She waited, and could only listen as the rats kicked the place apart in frustration. Every now and then one stepped on her or threw debris over her. She gritted her teeth and used all the strength she had left just to hold still and wait as the pills sent her into an uneasy dream of peace.

Gadget rocketed out of the dream and sat bolt upright. She flung aside the covers and rushed out of her new room as fast as she could.

The next thing Devin knew, someone was waking him up creatively--no easy task. When Devin packed it in for the night, it took enough shaking to register on the Richter scale to get him going. Whoever it was had a novel approach--he had to wake up and kiss the girl just to get a breath of air. "Whoosh!" he exclaimed after Gadget let him go. "Wake me up like that anytime. Speaking of time, what time's it? Time for rounds? Oh, wait. We aren't --yawn-- at the hospital--"

"Shh!" Gadget cut him off. "Devin, I know we all need our rest, but I had to come tell you. I had this dream, it was a bad dream but I think I know now and you have to listen."

Devin blinked sleepily. "Are you related to the Micro-Machine Man? My ears don't go that fast."

Gadget waved her paws, calming down. "Okay, okay. Remember that stash of medical supplies and stuff we found back at the hideout?"

Devin thought for a second. "Yeah. That was strange. It was like a gift out of nowhere. Sure did help with you and Runner, probably saved you from getting your paws infected--"

"--it wasn't out of nowhere. I think I just remembered someone who saved my life."

Button images by Keith Elder