Implant Page 4

  The silence wrapped Gordon in a suffocating blanket. He tried to fill his lungs, and failed.

  “You’re crazy.”

  “Glad someone agrees with me,” Doc muttered.

  “But why me?” Gordon cried.

  “You were… you were convenient,” Neil defended, with a slight shrug of his shoulders. “I’m really sorry, but we knew exactly where to find you, and we have no other hope…”

  “Well you picked the wrong guy.” Gordon could hear his voice raising in pitch, rising with the beating of his heart. “I can barely ride my bike to work. You think I can destroy some control center, when all of you have failed?”

  Doc crossed his arms again and stared at Neil.

  “Gordon.” Neil pressed his fingertips to his forehead. “We have no other choice. They keep infiltrating the base. Every spy causes more deaths… we can’t leave, we can’t access the Head…”

  “Who is this guy? Why do you just call him ‘the Head’?” Gordon demanded, heart still pounding.

  “Nobody knows. Only two people are allowed into the Inner Sanctum, where he stays. One is Doc, and the other is…”

  “Wait, wait, hold it.” Gordon slammed the tray down on the cot and waved his hands back and forth. “Hold it. Doc is allowed to see this… this Head?”

  Doc kept silent. Neil rubbed the back of his neck. “Look, Gordon… I know this is strange, and hard. But please calm down…”

  “Right,” Doc scoffed, “because you’re never worked up yourself.”

  “Doc, shut up or so help me…”

  The tent flap flipped up with a heavy swish, causing all three of them to look towards the young man who stood in the doorway.

  Neil beckoned to him. “Did you take care of Ray’s body?”

  “We brought it inside, sir, but we thought you might want an autopsy.”

  Neil frowned and looked at Doc, who got to his feet. “I’ll save time by certifying death by Implant detonation right now. We all saw it.”

  Neil rubbed his face and nodded. “I don’t see how it matters. Bury him. Has anybody notified Amy?”

  “That’s the other thing I came for, sir. Amy’s here.”

  Neil jumped up, thin brows furrowing. “What does she think she’s doing?”

  “She asked for you, Doc,” the man went on. He leaned forward and whispered the next sentence, but Gordon heard him clearly. “She says its her time.”

  Doc growled and pushed past the man, and Neil turned just long enough to say, “I’ll be back later, Gordon,” then he rushed out the door.

  Gordon stared as the tent flap swished behind them. He breathed slowly, then closed his eyes, trying to take it all in.

  Something still didn’t make sense. Surely he wasn’t the only person they could have gotten. Just because they knew where he’d be right before he got an Implant? There were plenty of strong, smart leaders that they could have gotten. Olympic medalists, for instance. History would record the times and places they had been when accepting awards. Or presidents taking an Oath of Office. How about generals being promoted or accepting surrender?

  No, the part about knowing where to get him was a lie.

  Was there something in his future that made him valuable?

  What future? I’m going to die in less than five years.

  A scream from somewhere close by shattered his thoughts, and he stiffened. It was a woman’s scream.

  Curiosity propelled him out of bed, and he found he could walk without limping. He still seemed to move in slow motion, feeling heavy yet lightheaded, but the pain in his chest and legs was gone.

  Another screech pulled him forward, and he could feel the hard dirt floor through his socks. When he reached the dingy, fraying tent flap, he looked out.

  A network of half-fallen buildings and old salvaged tents stretched out before him for blocks. Only a few ragged inhabitants paced the streets, leaving a deserted, quiet air over the place. Most people must still be at dinner. Everyone had a weapon strapped to their back or wedged in their belt, and every building and tent was patched and mismatched.

  Above it all stretched the blue fuzziness of the force-field.

  The scream broke the air again, and he turned to the left to see another tent with a faded Red Cross emblem, next to the one he was exiting. He took a step towards it, then hesitated.

  If it was what he thought it was, he might not be welcome there. But he was a doctor’s son, and another doctor’s errand-boy. He was hardly a stranger to these proceedings.

  He darted into the tent.

  The interior was exactly like the one he’d just left. Another rickety cot sat against one side, a folding card table was situated in the corner, and a three-legged wooden stool was pulled up to the cot.

  Except here, the cot was occupied by a woman, stomach round and bulging, and Doc was seated next to her. Gordon couldn’t tell if he was gripping the woman’s hand, testing her pulse, or both.

  Neil stood with his arms crossed a few feet from Gordon and with him stood a young man, probably close to Gordon’s age, in a crumpled army jacket.

  The woman cried out again, causing beads of sweat to tremble down her face. Gordon saw her hand tighten around Doc’s, squeezing it in a vice grip. Then her hold relaxed, and she panted heavily.

  “No anesthetic?” Gordon couldn’t help asking.

  Neil turned sharply, saw Gordon, and shook his head. Doc stood up and wiped his hand on a cloth he dug from his pocket. “What would be the sense in that? It’ll be over soon enough, and then she’ll be all right.”

  Anger throbbed in Gordon’s chest, but before he could protest, Neil spoke up quietly.

  “We can’t afford to spare anything like that unless it’s really necessary.”

  Silence followed, broken only by the woman’s labored, shallow breaths. Doc tucked the cloth back into his pants and turned abruptly to the young man. “When was the first contraction?”

  “About eight this morning,” the boy answered, his gaze fixed on the woman.

  Doc swore. “Should be any minute now, then. He moved to the foot of the bed and said with surprising gentleness, “Breathe, Amy. Deep breaths. Come on, darlin’, deep. There you go.”

  Gordon watched as the woman managed a deep breath and let herself go limp.

  “Dr. Crater,” came a feminine voice from behind Gordon. Gordon sidestepped as a woman in the typical mismatched and wrinkled clothing looked through the tent flap. “Disturbance in the armory district.”

  Without a word Neil hurried out, beckoning to the young man beside him. Glancing worriedly back at the woman, the boy left the tent with the others.

  Gordon watched as Doc checked the woman’s blood pressure with a frayed-wire sphygmomanometer that looked like it had been patched together from several different devices. Then he hurried back to the foot of the bed just as she tensed and let out another scream. She pushed herself up on her elbows and cried, “Ray!”

  “Hold her hand,” Doc ordered loudly, positioning his hands to guide the baby as it came.

  Gordon froze. “I’m not a doctor,” he insisted, but Doc cut him off.

  “You don’t have to be a doctor to hold a woman’s hand, now get over here!”

  Not daring to disobey, Gordon scooted to the stool, sat on it, and timidly put his hand into the woman’s. Her hand clenched his, and he winced, but said nothing.

  She cried out again, and her hold tightened. Gordon wouldn’t have thought the small, pale woman could have such strength.

  “It’s all right, Amy,” Doc’s graveled voice called soothingly. “It’s gonna be okay.”

  “Doc,” she panted, “where…”

  “Don’t talk, honey, don’t talk. Breathe. It’s almost over.”

  Her hold loosened just slightly, and Gordon felt blood surge into his hand. Then her fingers tightened again and she let out another cry.

  “It’s coming along all right,” Doc assured, and Gordon watched him poise himself to turn the baby. “Head’s
almost out. Don’t give up, keep pushing, hon. Come on, that’s it, we’re almost there. Almost there, just keep pushing. Amy, keep at it. There you go.”

  “I can’t,” she cried out, tightening more than ever. Gordon thought his bones were going to crack, but he compared it to what she was going through, and kept silent.

  “Yes you can, Amy. You can do it. You’re almost there. And you’re gonna be all right.”

  “The baby?” she gasped.

  “It’s gonna be fine. Breathe, and then push again.”

  She obeyed, then screamed, the loudest yet. Gordon felt the urge to cover his ears, but even if he’d wanted to disengage his hand he couldn’t.

  The scream stopped as she breathed, then started again. Doc yelled, “Come on! One more, just one more push, honey, you can do it!”

  With an iron grip on Gordon’s hand, she pushed again, and Gordon saw Doc move forward to turn the baby’s shoulders.

  “The head’s out,” he stated. “it’s beautiful, Amy. It’s almost over, but you have to give me a little more. I’ll help you. Don’t talk. Just push. Almost over.”

  Her hand was slippery with sweat, and Gordon felt it slide as she tightened her grip again, and she obeyed, breathing loudly and heavily.

  Another cry broke the tension, the cry they’d been waiting for. Gordon let out a relieved laugh.

  The woman let go of his hand and reached for the crying baby. Doc cut and tied the cord, but didn’t bother to do any examination. He just wrapped the baby in a faded, but clean cloth, and placed it in Amy’s waiting arms.

  “A girl,” he said.

  “Theresa,” the woman whispered, tears mixing with the perspiration on her pale face. “We were going to name it Theresa if it was a girl.”

  There was no feeling in Gordon’s hand, and it was covered in sweat, but he didn’t care. He just sat still and watched as the woman as she cuddled the tiny, crying baby, and the look in her eyes imprinted itself in his mind.

  She tore her gaze from the child for a moment and smiled wearily at him. “Thank you.”

  Gordon smiled back, and rested his fingers on the baby’s shoulder gently.

  Footsteps signaled an approach outside the tent, and Neil burst in. “Sorry, I…” he began, then stopped. “Healthy?” he asked.

  Doc nodded, wiping his hands again. “As far as I can tell. Guess I’ll give it a quick check in a minute.” His tone was as hard and gruff as before.

  Neil turned and called outside the tent. “Jackson, go get Pete and bring him back here. Get Miss Holland too, she’s an R.N.”

  “Yes sir,” another voice said. Gordon realized the bustle outside had returned during the birth.

  Neil approached the cot with a smile, and laid his pale, long-fingered hand on the baby’s head. “Congratulations, Mrs. Landaker. I just wish Ray could have been here.”

  She didn’t answer, but seemed unwilling to take her eyes off the child. At last she said, “Don’t you think—is there any way…”

  “Neil,” said Doc, stiffening, “I’d like to see you in the next tent.”

  Neil frowned. “You just interrupted Mrs. Landaker.”

  “I know it. I’d like to talk to you before she does.”

  “Doc,” Neil said, a tinge of anger in his voice.

  “Neil Crater, you know what I have to say to you. But I’m saying it anyway. You want me to say it in front of Amy?”

  Setting his teeth, Neil turned to Amy and tried to smile. “Be back in a minute. Miss Holland will take care of you and the baby.”

  Amy didn’t smile back. She just stared at Neil.

  As they turned to leave, a short young woman with a red cross sewn onto her jacket entered, along with the young man who’d been there previously.

  Neil clapped the boy on the back. “She’s all right, Pete. Go on and meet your new niece. We’ll talk to you later.” Then, before leaving he called back, “Gordon, I want you, too.”

  With a quick glance back at the baby, Gordon followed them, feeling dazed. The memory was already dream-like, and it was hard to believe it had really happened.

  Doc barely waited until they were in the other tent before starting. “You know we can’t keep them here.”

  Instead of answering, Neil turned to Gordon. “I thought I told you to rest.”

  “I heard the screams and wondered what was going on,” Gordon explained. Then he hastened to ask, “Why can’t you keep them here?”

  Doc answered before Neil could get a word in. “They know she came here. The most important thing to them is to make sure that every person on earth has an Implant. They’ll stop at nothing to get her, and it’s too big a risk. That’s the rule, and you know it.”

  “But Doc,” Neil went on, fire in his large blue eyes, “you know what will happen if we send them out. If they’re here, there might at least be a chance.”

  “Maybe. But they have to go.”

  Veins stood out in Neil’s neck. “Doc, you’re a heartless brute!”

  “And you’re an emotional baby,” Doc said calmly. “They go, and that’s the end of it. Else we’ll have every pregnant woman in the country trying to get in.”

  “What am I supposed to say to Amy?”

  “You can say what you like, or I’ll talk to her. But they go.”

  Despite his obvious anger, Neil didn’t argue.

  “Where’s the father?” Gordon asked.

  Doc and Neil glanced at each other, then back at him.

  The awkwardness of the look reminded him of the name Amy had cried out, and Neil’s words earlier, “Did you take care of Ray’s body?”

  The father was the man who’d died protecting him.

  He shivered, leaving his body weak. Because of him, the child would never know her father. That woman whose hand he’d held through that time of combined agony and hope was a widow—because of him.

  Neil placed a hand on his shoulder and said, “Get some rest now. We’ll talk in the morning.”

  He stumbled to the cot, too numb to do anything but obey, and dropped onto it as the two men left the tent.

  He didn’t want to lie awake and meditate on all that had happened, but it kept him from sleep. He watched as the faint shadows inside the tent grew longer, then disappeared altogether as darkness spread over everything. The murmur of activity outside subsided into silence. And still, he was awake.

  He couldn’t sort out his thoughts.

  They wanted him to destroy this “control center,” so they could be free. But—he only had one side of the story. What if the rebels were the real troublemakers? He’d been to the Academy, he’d heard of what the Implants could do. They were designed to be agents of healing, not control.

  The bottom line was, he didn’t want any trouble. For himself, or for anybody else. Why had Neil said he couldn’t send him back even if he wanted to?

  Maybe someone at the Academy could help him figure out another way home. That was all he wanted. To get back to his own world and figure out his own problems, and leave all this business about rebels and guards and force-fields and Implants behind. It wasn’t his business.

  He just wanted to go home.

  “No. I don’t want any trouble,” he heard himself say, in his memory.

  “Gordon. Your father was a good doctor. Everyone makes mistakes.”

  Baum’s words hadn’t reassured him. Baum, of course, wanted him to be a doctor. Because Baum had no son to follow in his footsteps.

  Gordon wouldn’t have minded following in Baum’s footsteps. But he wasn’t Baum’s son. He was Roger Harding’s son.

  And those were footsteps he didn’t want to follow.

  Standing, he groped for his shoes, finally locating them on the ground under the table. He pulled them on in the dark, tied them, and peeked out of the tent.

  There was no one in sight. He slipped out, trying not to make noise against the hard ground.

  The moon was barely visible through the force-field dome, but it shed just enough light
for him to navigate the maze of eclectic structures. He didn’t know where he was, but he figured that if he kept walking, staying in the shadows, he was bound to reach the perimeter of the field at some point.

  It took several minutes of creeping along in the dim moonlight, but he finally came to the end of the buildings and was able to make out a fuzzy blue barrier and the barren ground beyond. Even through the field he could see that the dirt was littered with bodies. He shuddered.

  But he saw no guards. This led him to wonder if there was some kind of alarm that went off when someone passed through the barrier. But he hadn’t heard anything when he jumped through earlier.

  Feeling uncomfortably reckless, he slipped out of the shadows, stepped to the barrier, and stuck a finger through it. He felt the same static buzz as earlier, but he heard nothing. No one jumped out to grab him.

  Quickly, he moved his whole body through it and stood waiting on the outside for something to happen.

  Nothing.

  It didn’t make sense. Surely they would take better precautions than that.

  But what did it matter? He was out and he was going to get away.

  The man who’d first seen him had said something about a guard tower. That sounded like something that would be easy to find. He scanned the horizon for something fitting that description, and saw a tall silver structure in the distance, something that looked a little like an air traffic control tower.

  He took a step in that direction, and hesitated, feeling queasy with uncertainty. Why should he feel like he was betraying Doc and Neil? Or anyone else? He had no affiliation with this place. He barely knew them.

  He wasn’t the man they needed, anyway. He was doing them a favor.

  Standing up straight, he walked towards the tower.

  Chapter Three

  The dim moonlight made the silence eerie, and the bodies littering the barren plain made him want to tip-toe and hold his breath. But he shook off the feeling and forced himself to walk faster, worried someone would look out from the rebel base and see him.

  It was dark enough to make the setting macabre, but not too dark for him to see the faces of the dead as he passed them. They were mostly the scruffy rebels, but occasionally he’d see a prostrate man in a black suit.