Zero's Return (51 page)

“Girl,” the
technician said.

“Told you,” the
soldier snickered to his friend as they walked out.  “Fifty bucks, asshole.”

Once they were
gone, the technician took a deep breath, the hollows of his eyes dark and
haggard.  “Hey kid.”

Six Six Five
immediately stopped running and went into attention.

“Yeah okay.” 
The technician looked agitated.  “Look.  I’m tired as fuck.  Girlfriend moved
out on me last night—she was packing dishes and screaming at me at like two
fucking a.m.  I found out she was banging this high-schooler at Arby’s, you
know?  A
burger-flipper
.  Not really in the mood to deal with any of
this shit.  You know where medical is?”

“Yes, sir!” Six
Six Five shouted.

“Well, you just
take your ass to medical and tell them to fix you up.  You’re one of the last
ones, anyway.  I’m taking a page from those idiots’ book and going home.”

“Yes, sir!” Six
Six Five barked.

“Yeah,
whatever,” the man replied.  “Just go.  Codgson went home hours ago.  He had
golf
in the morning.”  Face twisted with disgust, the technician turned to leave.

Six Six Five
spoke before she realized what she was going to say.  “Sir?”

The technician
paused.  When he turned, it was with a little frown on his face.  “Yeah?”

“Are they going
to kill Six Two One, sir?” Six Six Five asked, her chest clenching at the fear
of what she was doing, asking a question without leave, of showing
curiosity
.

The technician
continued to frown at her a moment, then glanced over his shoulder before
looking back at her, a wariness in his face.  “They don’t kill anyone.  Where’d
you get that idea?”

“I heard the
soldiers talking about how they were gonna kill her, sir,” Six Six Five lied,
her voice coming out in a terrified babble that was only half faked.  “Are they
gonna kill her for getting culled?”

“Those fucking
idiots,” she heard him mutter under his breath.  Then, in the formal, sharp
tones the adults always used when they were telling them what to do, he said,
“You soldiers are Earth’s greatest hope for freedom.  They don’t kill the
culls.  That’s ridiculous.”  He turned again to go.

Despite her
instincts to keep quiet, despite her fear of asking questions, Six Six Five had
to know more.  “So what do they do with them?” she insisted.  “Will she be a
doctor, then?”

The lab
assistant blinked at her, and for a moment, Six Six Five saw her own oblivion
in his eyes.  Then, yawning, he ran a hand over his face and checked the time
on the wall.  “Fuck, it’s getting late.  Yeah, that’s right.  She’s off to be a
doctor.  Just like Molotov.  Now get your ass to medical.”

And, because she
needed to, Six Six Five believed him.  She watched as he turned and departed,
leaving Six Six Five alone in the gym.

Standing there,
utterly unsupervised for the first time in her life, Six Six Five’s first
instinct was strangely to follow the adults and see where they went when they
were off duty.  Then she realized that to do so would, without a doubt, result
in her getting culled.  Instead, she closed her eyes and told herself, over and
over, that Six Two One was going to be a doctor, and that someday she would see
her again when she was sick or injured, once they had both completed their
training.  She actually began to feel better about it, knowing that Six Two One
would be happier not having to fight.

Then she
remembered Colonel Codgson’s knife against her throat, his whisper against her
ear. 
“You are a cull.”
  The way he had said it, he hadn’t meant she was
going to be trained as a doctor.  It had been a sneer, a gloat, a satisfied
goodbye.  It had been…final.

Then Six Six
Five realized she had been ignoring her orders much too long, and if any
technician happened to walk in on her, standing there, she would be given
chores to do.  She jumped into motion, hurrying down the corridor towards the
medical wing.

She was almost
there, one more right-hand turn to reach the final hall to her destination,
when a weird gurgling sound from the hall ahead stopped her cold.  It sounded
eerily similar to the sound Six One Eight had made, as he had died on the floor
at Colonel Codgson’s feet.  With it came a rhythmic rattle, like someone
shaking a food cart.  Frowning, Six Six Five peered down the hall at the little
blue door on the end.  The sounds continued, gurgle-rattle, gurgle-rattle…

Biting her lip,
she glanced at the empty hall behind her, then at her intended destination. 
Down the hall in the medical wing, she could hear adult voices discussing
something.  She swallowed hard and glanced again at the little blue door.

Don’t ask
questions,
Colonel Codgson had instructed them, in one of their first
formations. 
Questions are weakness.  The weak do not survive.  Only the
strong
survive.

Her heart
jumping into a palpitating rhythm in her chest, Six Six Five took a tentative
step towards the little blue door and its tiny metal window.

Questioning
your training is like saying to us you aren’t prepared to do your job.  Your
job is to do what you’re told.  Your job is to save the Earth.

Six Six Five
took another step, unable to hear over the blood rushing in her ears.

Soldiers have
to be strong.  The weak will be culled.  Only the strong can do what needs to
be done and save our planet from the aliens.  Only the strong will not ask
questions.

Six Six Five
continued, foot by terrified foot, adrenaline burning her veins.

Those who ask
questions are enemies of Earth.  Enemies of Earth will be culled.

Six Six Five
stopped at the little door with the strange sounds coming from behind it. 
Light was streaming out the crack under the metal jamb.  Six Six Five wasn’t
tall enough to peer through the window, even on her tiptoes, so with shaking
fingers, she put her hand to the latch.

Soldiers
don’t ask questions.  Soldiers do as they’re told.

Gingerly, as
quietly as she could, Six Six Five twisted the latch.  Unlike the other doors
in the halls, this one was unlocked.  It slid down all the way, until it
clicked and the latch’s resistance gave, allowing her to push the door open a crack.

Inside, she saw
rows of kids on tables, clear plastic bags on stands beside them.  One of them
was shaking and convulsing, the gurgling sound coming from his frothy open
mouth.  His eyes were white where they were twisted up into his head.  Beside
him, a technician in blue was injecting something into the tube connected to
his arm, checking his watch.

Six Six Five
frowned, opening the door just a little more, to get a better view.

Then she saw Six
Two One’s frothy mouth, open and limp against the table that held her.  Her
green eyes were wide and open, the pupils dilated.  At first, Six Six Five
thought she was looking
at
her, then the technician bumped her foot in
moving around the shaking soldier’s table and her body jiggled unnaturally, her
head sliding back and forth, smearing froth on the metal table that held her.

Six Six Five
yanked the door shut and bolted.  She dove into the first hallway she found and
kept running, having no idea where she was going, just that she had to get
away
. 
Behind her in the other hall, she heard the door open, heard the technician
call out…  Six Six Five turned another corner and lunged into the bathroom,
where she huddled in a stall, knees to chest, rocking, crying.  She thought she
was alone for several minutes until she heard movement in the stall beside her,
felt someone tentatively push open her door, saw Doctor Molotov’s
mascara-streaked face…

“Shael, damn it,
what the soot?”  Shael came to the sudden realization that a big hand was
shaking him.  “Twelve-A!  What the soot is wrong with her?!  She’s having a
burning
seizure
, man…”

Shael shoved
Joedobbs’ hand aside.  Whimpering, too unsteady to rise from his coils, Shael
uncurled from the ground and crawled away. 
You are a cull.
  The words
echoed in his head, the cold black eyes filled with malice.

Gasping, sucking
in ragged breaths that ended in weird, hoarse sounds in his chest, Shael saw
his vision blur, his eyes stop working.  All he could see was an empty cage. 
White froth, staring eyes, an empty bunk, an empty cage…  He heard himself
whining, and he crumpled forward again, arms and legs tucking tight against his
chest.

 “Hey,” the word
carried unmistakable gentleness.  A warm hand touched Shael’s shoulder. 
“You’re going to be all right.  They’re gone.  I swear to you, they’re gone.” 
When Shael didn’t respond or throw him away, Joedobbs’ voice softened further. 
“Here.  Easy.  They’re gone.”  He reached down and tucked his big arms under
Shael’s great form, hefting him up into his lap.

And, in his
gratitude for the warmth of Joedobbs’ arms, the comfort of another’s touch,
Shael let the Voran hold him.

#

“Okay,” Joe said
softly, once the woman had fallen asleep again in his
arms
, without even
dismembering him for the insult, “I’m starting to get really creeped out,
furg.  What’s going on with her?”

Twelve-A’s
response was a long, nervous pause.

“Burn it!” Joe
hissed, careful not to be loud enough to wake her.  He turned to face the
minder, who had taken up residence a safe distance away.  “She’s a furg-loving
time-bomb and I
know
there’s something you’re not telling me.” 

From where he
sat against his tree, giving Shael a nervous frown, Twelve-A said,
I think
the brainwashing machine is wearing off.  They kept her in it most of the time,
to make her think she was Jreet.

Joe grimaced,
having suspected something similar.  “Okay, so what do we do?”

Twelve-A was
silent so long that Joe had to look at him.  The minder appeared nervous,
watching the sleeping woman with something akin to anxiety.  He scratched one
of his large, pointy ears absently.

“Hey, Lobo,” Joe
growled.  “I’m talking to you, wolfie.”

Twelve-A dropped
his hand and scowled. 
Normally,
he grudgingly replied,
I’d try to
change her memories.  Give her ones that didn’t make her cry.

“And?” Joe
demanded.  Not having the woman with the brain-popping goodness crawling around
the camp in the dark, sobbing, was definitely a good step in the right
direction.  He had been half sure she had been about to explode his cranium for
touching her, but he also instinctively knew she was about to start throwing
around her handy rock-crushing trick if he didn’t get her calmed down. 

And someone
already did that
, Twelve-A said. 
What you’re seeing are her
real
memories coming back.

Joe’s mouth
formed a little O.  “Burn me,” he whispered, looking down at her sleeping
form.  “What happened to her?” he whispered.

Twelve-A
considered for much too long. 
Her dreams are for her to tell you,
he
said finally.

Joe frowned,
remembering what she had shouted after powdering the boulder.  “What did she
mean, her dreams, your weakness?”

Twelve-A’s head
jerked up and his blue gaze grew sharp. 
I don’t have a weakness.

Joe cocked his
head.  For a long moment, they just sat there like that, the telepath glaring,
Joe studying him, wondering exactly what that weakness was.

I could
remove your memory of this conversation,
Twelve-A warned.

“You could,” Joe
agreed.  “Or you could trust me.”

Twelve-A’s eyes
darkened. 
I don’t trust soldiers.
  He abruptly got up and walked off.

“Funny!” Joe
called after him, “’Cause I seem to remember you sleeping around me!”

Keep pushing
it,
Twelve-A said,
and you won’t remember what we’re arguing about.

Joe opened his
mouth to push it, then felt the telepath’s mental fingers tightening down on
his brain.  He sighed, deeply.  “Fine, Wingnut.  I’ll let you tell me when
you’re ready.”

After a moment
of hesitation, the mental fingers retreated and the camp once more descended
into silence.  Joe hastily checked to see if he could rewind the conversation
in his head, and he was somewhat surprised that he could.

Score one for
the good guys,
Joe thought, tugging Shael closer into his arms.

I am a good
guy,
Twelve-A said. 
I’m trying to decide what you are.

A decade ago,
Joe would have laughed, but now he just dropped his head and stared down at
Shael’s sleep-slackened face.  “Yeah,” Joe said softly, after an eternity.  “Me
too.”

#

CHAPTER 19 – Bubble Manium

Slade Galvin Gardner, or
Sparrow That Tends the Valley if one were to translate his alias literally,
hated sparrows, valleys, and gardens.  He liked simulated combat games, moving
credits from somebody else’s bank account to his own, and fine, rare steaks
served on gleaming ruvmestin platters in fancy skyrise resorts.  The fact that
Congress had taken all of those things away from him and thrust him into a
valley with sparrows and gardens made him want to kill another prisoner.

Slade looked back over
the huge group of people he was herding east and scanned the faces for a likely
candidate, but was disappointed to find not a single ounce of resistance among
their weary numbers.  As of yet, the Harmonious Society of God—HSG for
short—had more than five hundred members, and that number increased every time
they ran across another ragged band of survivors.

His ever-evolving plan,
as leader of this emerging new civilization, was to build a city on the Great
Plains, in one of the areas that was still fertile, and spread God’s word
throughout the continent.