Chapter Three: Days and Nights

He collapsed on the way back to the cell, one shove too many from the Fusion warrior's clawed hand proving to be too much for him to withstand in his condition. Unable to rise, he was bodily seized and dragged the last hundred feet. Thrust into the cell by the inhuman strength of the Mech, he staggered and fell to his hands and knees again as his sister's alarmed shriek filled the room.

"Dexter!"

She would have tackled him and crushed him in a hug, so glad was she to have him back. He raised his hand, warning her off for the moment as he collected himself, and so instead DeeDee knelt before him. He was glad for her piercing voice, because she sounded perfectly well and even angry on his account. It was a while before he could lift his head, and by then his monstrous escorts were long gone. He squinted up at his sister.

Her gasp told him everything he dared not ask. He had not been beaten, not per se. Nothing so crude just yet. He had been questioned and cajoled and tempted and finally threatened for hours on end before his interrogator had gotten physical. The experience was so far beyond anything he had faced before that the entire incident seemed some strange, surreal nightmare where voices and pain and hunger blurred into an endless stream of consciousness. If he had woken up just then from some delerious fever dream, he would not have been surprised.

Even now it hadn't ended. The room was colder than before, so cold he could just make out the wisps of breath as he panted and shivered and tried to calm himself down. His dark clothing was soaked with sweat and the chill penetrated to the bone, and he shivered.

"What did they do to you?" whispered DeeDee, tears springing to her eyes. She smoothed his red hair out of his eyes with gentle fingers. "You're whiter than your coat."

"I . . . I'm not sure," he rasped faintly, his throat aching and raw from screaming so loud and long. "Some . . . some of it was electrical, I think. At least it felt like all the times I've shocked myself, only worse. Some chemical . . . that . . . I couldn't see very well," he hastily finished, hoping she didn't press for more details. He put a hand to his aching head, sighing in absolute exhaustion. "They . . . they tried to probe my memory. Those devicess are hard to resist, but not impossible. It was all in a laboratory as cold as this room. Only one person spoke the whole time. I don't know if there was anyone else." He dropped his hand and looked up at her again, sensing that he was rambling and forcing himself to stop. "Did they hurt you?"

"No. I'm okay. A Mech brought some food and water before. It's awful, just some old field rations, but I saved you some. Do you want to eat?"

He shook his head, worn out and queasy. "Maybe later."

She leaned close and laid her hand on his pale, cold cheek. "Dexter," she whispered anxiously, "are our friends still safe?"

Nothing other than the knowledge that he had not broken could have brought a smile, however faint, to his lips. DeeDee's eyes grew wide, and she glowed with pride.

"Come on," she said, carefully helping him to stand. "Let's get you warmed up."

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It was DeeDee who remained awake that night, watching over her brother as he slept. She had wrapped him in his lab coat and chafed his aching hands (his gloves were gone) and he made no protest when she pulled him into her lap and did her best to wrap her long limbs around him. Sleep took him almost instantly, and he lay with his head pillowed on her narrow shoulder. DeeDee smiled to herself, remembering a time not terribly long ago when she had first held her newborn baby brother with his shock of blazing hair and bright blue eyes. She adored having a little brother, even one that was quite capable of blowing up the world in the name of science. That he was loyal she had always known, that he should be so strong and daring once removed from his element had been proven in the past, but that he should rely solely on her for help was shocking to DeeDee. In facing a challenge, she had never known him to need anyone.

And right now, even she could see how desperately he needed her to be tough and feisty and to protect him as best she was able. DeeDee had nothing to do the whole time he had been gone except to think. Boredom was a rare experience for her since she was so easily entertained by the least thing, but with a total lack of distractions she was surprised to find herself with little else to do than mull over what Dexter had told her early that morning. It had suddenly occurred to her that this situation was much worse than even she realized, and that Dexter was terribly, completely frightened. He hadn't really shown it, but his gestures, his expressions sang out to her in retrospect. And still he had walked away with those hideous Fusion Mechs, just to keep her safe.

She looked down at his face, at his lips puckered in sleep. In the wane light of the overhead panel he was still very pale. He hadn't spoken much after being dragged back and he couldn't eat. At her nervous insistence he had tried and he had vomited the food right back up. Gently, she reached up and smoothed his red hair, wondering once again what had been done to him in that lab. She could not imagine, but then she was not very imaginative. But neither was she ruthless and cruel and the desire to inflict pain was beyond her experience. It was then that she saw the small, dark burn mark on his temple, barely hidden by his hair. Carefully she probed on the other side of his head and found a similar wound scabbing over. Oh, what had they done to him? Was that how they had tried to probe his memory? She didn't wonder if that had hurt, but how badly.

One of the things she had realized earlier that day was that she and Dexter were absolutely helpless while they were here. She'd never felt this way before and it frightened her, but she found her concern was more for Dexter than for herself. She was only here to be used against him. He was the one they wanted because he was smarter than anyone else in the world.

That thought had led to another, and another, and DeeDee pondered harder than ever before in her life. Gradually she had come to realize that whatever they did to Dexter would not stop until he was dead or they got what they wanted from him. If they got what they wanted . . . then what? They wouldn't be allowed to leave, would they? She didn't think so. And if they killed Dexter, and she was only here because of him, what would happen to her?

A whole series of revelations followed as the sheer enormity of their situation struck her. They had nothing, nothing to work with. They had nothing but each other.

She didn't know if it would be enough.

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"Dexter! Dexter, wake up! You're having a nightmare! Dexter!"

Blind, pained, he opened his eyes with a loud gasp. For a moment he stared at her, shocked and appalled to wake up in his sister's arms. Then the events of the previous day flooded back and with another gasp he clung tightly to her, burying his face in her shoulder. In that same instant, the lights came on, glaring bright.

"Oh, no!" moaned DeeDee, snatching him close against her. She knew what this meant. "No, no!"

The door opened. Once again there were three towering, heavily armored monsters made of green Fusion matter standing outside and once again the flat, computerized voice commanded:

"You. Dexter. You will accompany us. Resist and the female will be killed."

He drew a shuddering breath, pulling away from her once again. Unsteady on his feet, he shrugged off the lab coat and held it out to her.

"Keep it," she said. It was the nearest thing he had to armor.

"They'll only take it." His voice had not recovered in the brief respite he'd been allowed and he spoke in a harsh whisper.

She knew right now they could not afford to lose a single resource, and she took the coat. "I'll guard your glasses."

He swallowed, nodding, closing his eyes briefly to marshal his defenses as he turned to face their captors. In comparison to yesterday he seemed much smaller, much younger, and the fact that her only brother was about to be subjected to tortured filled DeeDee with a fury she had never known before. She wanted to lash out, to strike back at them for hurting him, but she knew it would be useless. She did not possess sufficient strength. That was not to say she was not strong. In her own way DeeDee had matured more in the past three days than in all the years of her life.

"Dexter!" she called after him, her expression blazing fiercely. She was angry beyond caring if they hurt her or not.

Once again he paused, turning to face her. His movements were stiff and slow.

"They're nothing but a bunch of chickens."

He stared at her speechlessly, and then his mouth quirked in the swiftest of smiles. She knew in that instant that had been the exact right thing to say.

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He did not walk back under his own power that day. Not one step.

Dragged back by the arm, the mech threw Dexter bodily into the cell. He landed with a small grunt of pain and remained still, helpless to rise. DeeDee hurried to his side and glared at the robot until it withdrew with its fellows. Then she leaned over her brother, afraid to see what he had withstood.

There was blood on his mouth, by his nose and eyes and ears, too. Even around his fingernails was encrusted with dried blood. She did not know what to say or think or do to make it better. Stunned into inaction, she stared, shaking her head in disbelief. When a hoarse noise gurgled in his throat she was yanked back to the grim reality of the situation. He was depending upon her. She was all he had. Almost tripping over he own feet, she hastened to fetch some water from the stuff that had been brought today. As gently as she could she lifted his head, holding the cup for him. He coughed on a mouthful, turning the water pink with blood. Wetting a corner of the lab coat, she tried her best to wipe up the blood. He hissed and drew back when she tried to clean his fingers and she immediately stopped. He didn't need her hurting him as well.

"Dexter," she whispered, "are our friends still safe?"

There was an alarmingly long pause, and then he faintly said, "I think so."

"Then that means they'll come for us. I know they're looking. It won't be much longer."

He didn't say anything, just let his breath out in a rattling sigh and leaned into her embrace. In moments he was limp in her arms, his breaths deepening. She would have liked to think he was asleep, but even DeeDee knew he had passed out.

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"You monsters! Leave him alone! He can't walk!" She was on her feet in a heartbeat, putting herself between the inevitable three Mechs menacing her from the doorway and her brother. "Go away!" She stamped her foot, and the nearest machine swung its huge, clawed arm at her. It caught her in the mid-section, brushing her aside and knocking the wind out of her as she spilled to the ground.

"No! DeeDee! Don't! Please . . . don't."

She froze, gulping for air. His voice was hoarse and weak, but he still commanded. DeeDee turned to face him. Wretched, pale, with traces of dried blood marking his face and hands, Dexter shook his head at her attempt to save him another day of torment. It was pointless for both of them to be hurt. He doubted he would be able to feel most of what they did to him today. He hoped.

"Don't waste these tears," he rasped, dragging himself upright. He wavered, pale in his dark clothes.

"But . . ."

"They won't kill me until they have what they want."

"Don't give them anything, Dexter!"