Evil Intent
Chapter 2
John awoke with a start, nagged by a familiar feeling that he was probably in an unfamiliar place. The unpleasant bite of metal restraints on his wrists and ankles confirmed his suspicions – an unfamiliar and dangerous place. (Those two words came together in sentences way too often for his liking.) A fuzzy head, dry throat and scratchy eyes told him he'd been drugged – again.
John did a quick survey of his surroundings: grey-painted cement-block walls and recessed lighting, no windows, and a very solid-looking metal door that must have been fitted with a high-tech lock; there was no doorknob or key hole. It was all designed to give the occupant the message "good luck getting out of here."
He lay, slightly upright, on a padded chair similar to the kind you could raise or lower in a doctor's office. A large, unlit light fixture on a flexible arm was positioned a few feet above his head. To the right of John's chair was a metal cart with a cloth that undoubtedly was covering something he wouldn't like. God, was he a prisoner of some evil dentist? Beyond the cart was an institutional-style metal desk with some papers, a phone, and a bedraggled-looking houseplant on it. Looking to his left he – wait, what? Unless the local garden club, AT & T, and General Electric (whose brand name he now noticed was affixed to the lamp) had gone intergalactic, then he had to be on Earth, right? This time, he apparently hadn't been grabbed by the Wraith or the Genii or whatever alien-of-the-week felt like kidnapping him. So…who had? The last thing he remembered was walking to his quarters and, and…what? Hold on - someone had been in the shadows, a man. But John didn't remember going through the 'Gate with anyone, and surely somebody would have noticed if he'd been drugged and dragged through the Gate room. Had he been brought to Earth on a ship?
John really needed someone to come in and clear up his confusion, even if it did mean he'd find out what was on that tray…
Marcus Nash walked briskly down the corridor of the derelict and, as a result, very private former hospital his corporation conveniently owned. Four imposing, muscular and heavily-armed young men accompanied him. Their "guest" had awakened a short time earlier; it was time to get started in earnest. Things were moving along very well - so far. Sheppard had arrived in one piece, and Lt. Daniels had been disposed of, to Nash's extreme satisfaction. It had been so easy to wave money, play on his hatred of military service, and turn him traitorous. But once he had delivered Sheppard to them, the gullible young soldier was a dangerous loose end.
John looked up as the door, with a beep and a click, opened to reveal his captors. The beefy bodyguard types didn't surprise him, but the 60-something, rather handsome but balding man in the designer suit did.
"Hmm, I guess you're not here to take care of this loose filling, huh? Sheppard couldn't resist quipping.
"That's very good, Colonel! Nash shot back. "A positive attitude in the face of dire circumstances. You'll be needing that."
Sheppard ignored the sudden chill seeping into his gut. "OK, I'll just recite the standard dialogue from the movies," he countered, "to speed things up? Who are you, how did I get here, and what the hell do you want?"
Nash laughed in genuine amusement. If the situation had been different, Sheppard would have made a terrific addition to his corporate empire. It was too bad that much of this intriguing young man before him, who he would soon exploit in the most unconventional of ways, would cease to exist.
"My name is Marcus Nash, founder, President and CEO of Nash Industries."
"Quite the creative name for your company," Sheppard snarked.
Ignoring him, Nash continued. "I'll 'cut to the chase.' My corporation, like so many others, has discreet and extremely 'off the books' access to technology made possible through the Stargate program and research carried out at Area 51. It's quite a lucrative arrangement, for governments and private industries alike"
John didn't even consider opening his mouth and (futilely) 'playing dumb.' This was serious.
"You asked how we brought you here. This is how." Nash folded back part of the dreaded cloth on the cart to reveal…
"An iPod?" John couldn't control his surprise.
"iPod-like, and yes, a similar concept. You were dematerialized, incorporated into this device, and rematerialized a few hours ago in this facility. My apologies for drugging you, by the way."
"I'm a human iTunes download, then…?"
Nash suddenly leaned down towards Sheppard, a disconcerting intensity burning in his eyes. "My researchers have taken the immense data storage capability of alien technology and adapted it to allow for an extremely stable, and compact, transference of the entire human "database" - a person's consciousness and physical body. We can't store a person indefinitely right now, but maybe we could someday. Think about it, John: Wraith culling beams, Ancient and Asgard transporters, they all maintain your "pattern" in a buffer as you move from point A to point B, but the technology is unwieldy. You've observed it yourself. At Nash, we've just done what everyone else has been doing – making our technology smaller and smaller, our processors faster and faster. My God, do you know how easy it was to bring you here? Cell phones come in all shapes and sizes. Music storage devices nowadays can be as small as a matchbox. You can slip a digital camera into your back pocket. Wondrous technology, Sheppard, immensely popular, prettily packaged, about as common as a toothbrush, and as easily ignored. That young lieutenant had no trouble at all getting you away from Atlantis."
"Back it up a minute, Nash. Who exactly brought me here?" John's flippancy vanished in an instant, replaced by a simmering anger. The man in the shadows had been a Marine. Someone in Sheppard's own command had betrayed him, kidnapped him.
"Lt. Matt Daniels. But don't worry; he's no longer a liability to Atlantis - or to me." Dead, then. But John couldn't dwell on that now; he had much bigger problems facing him.
Forcing some bravado back into his voice, Sheppard resumed coaxing as much information as possible out of the talkative Nash.
"So, Mr. Nash," drawled John, with a grin he hoped masked his mounting anxiety, "since this is all starting to sound like an Austin Powers movie plot to me, do you think we can jump to the point where you, the overconfident villain, tell me your nefarious plans so that when I escape later – and I will – I can defeat you? Because you sure as hell didn't bring me here all broken down into molecules just to show off. Where do I fit in?
"You won't escape, John." Nash said quietly. "And you can't imagine how you 'fit' in.
(Shades of twirling black moustaches! TBC...)