Implant Page 8

  *****

  He was in a dead sleep when his shoulder was thumped with rough force.

  Come on, lazybones, get up!

  Was that his thoughts, his dream, or someone speaking to him?

  Get up, it’s time to go. Don’t be a baby and try to tell me your back still hurts, you’re all right. Get up.

  His shoulder was pounded again. He forced himself to wake up and open his eyes. Doc’s craggy face came into view. “I have no patience with lazy men,” he grunted. “Up and dressed, come on.”

  Gordon couldn’t help wondering if Doc had patience with any men, lazy or otherwise. But he staggered up and looked down at his bare torso, blinking groggily. “Where’s my shirt?”

  Doc gripped him by the shoulders, his hands rough against Gordon’s skin. “Wake up. Come on, kid, rise and shine. Your shirt isn’t good for anything but scrubbing pots and pans after yesterday. Besides, you’d stick out like a sore thumb at the Academy dressed like that. I rustled up a disguise for you.”

  The only light came from a kerosene lantern on the table in the corner, and the shadows flickered unevenly across Doc’s body as he reached into a corner for something. There was no sound outside the tent now.

  “Here,” he said, handing Gordon a black jumpsuit and a pair of black combat boots. “Get into this.”

  Gordon took the clothes and looked around for somewhere to change.

  “Never mind all that, just get dressed!” Doc insisted. “We’re going to be late.”

  After changing and having some gruel shoved down his throat, Gordon found himself in the passenger seat of an old blue jeep. The jolts as they rattled over the rocky ground shook him awake.

  It was still dark, though the horizon had turned light blue. The vehicle’s headlights illuminated the hard red soil, alerting Doc to the occasional tree he needed to swerve to avoid.

  As they drove, the light-blue spread over the sky, and the Academy dome ahead turned gold and purple in the rising sun.

  “You awake yet?” Doc grunted when they were almost there.

  “Yes.”

  “Good. I’m gonna take you around into one of the buildings. Act inconspicuous.”

  He waited for Doc to explain more of the plan, but no more came.

  As they rumbled the last few yards, he realized the absence of pain in his back. He partially unzipped his jumpsuit and reached around to feel it. Numbness lingered, but solid, smooth skin greeted his fingertips. Doc had said he had some third degree burns, but there were no signs of grafting. And even though his entire back had been burned, there was no soreness either.

  Doc stopped the jeep with a jerk that threw Gordon forward, then back against the seat.

  “Keep your face down, kid,” Doc said, handing him a pair of sunglasses. “And wear these until I say to take them off.”

  Gordon put the sunglasses on and looked towards the ground as he followed Doc through the barrier. Doc didn’t slow as he headed towards a tall, dull-brown building, far to the left of the Visitor’s Center, connected to the others via the concrete passageways he’d noticed before. As they approached, Doc pointed to another building beyond it. This building was different from the others. It was round and silver, the top encased by a hemisphere that glinted in the sunlight.

  “The Control Center,” he said. “Up in the dome is the Inner Sanctum. That’s where the Head stays.”

  Gordon shivered as he wondered how many had been killed long-distance by the touch of a button.

  They passed several people, all in black, most of whom nodded at Doc and took no notice of Gordon. When they reached the brown building, Doc opened the door and ducked in. Gordon followed, taking off his sunglasses and tucking them in his collar as he entered the room.

  It looked like a storage area. Crates, equipment, and industrial furniture were stacked and piled around the edges of the dim space, but otherwise it was empty.

  Doc closed the door and gestured to a covered ventilation shaft high in the middle of the wall across from them.

  “Really?” Gordon half-laughed. “The ventilation shaft?”

  “Next time we’ll try to come up with something more original,” Doc grumbled, moving to a small table that stood against the wall. Gordon rushed to help him drag it to the shaft.

  Once it was positioned directly under the opening, Doc straightened up and explained. “That shaft connects to the plumbing shaft, which connects all the buildings. Once you get to the pipes, you can crawl to another opening that leads outside the building and into the passageway. You can climb over the pipes then, to avoid the security cameras, until you get to the Control Center door. Once you’re there, work fast, because you can’t avoid detection.”

  “If I’m disguised, why do I need to avoid detection?” Gordon asked.

  “The cameras also track Implants to identify who’s on camera. When they notice you don’t have one—well, you’ll get in, just not the way we want. There are two doors in, but only one door out.”

  Before Gordon could ask for an explanation, Doc rushed to finish.

  “It was risky enough bringing you here at all, but hopefully with a lot of people around, the cameras won’t notice.” He handed Gordon a two-way radio. “Go on, get in. I’ll direct you.”

  Gordon glanced up towards the shaft, visually measuring the distance from the top of the table to the bottom of the opening, then he took the radio and climbed onto the wooden surface.

  He stood, and found that the lower border of the square opening was level with his chest. Clipping the radio onto his coveralls, he pulled the flimsy, vented covering off the shaft and set it on the table. Then he grasped the edge of the shaft, grimacing at the sticky, oil-soaked dust beneath his fingers. With a deep breath, he jumped, using his arms to propel him up, and managed to get one knee inside. His other leg hung down towards the table, dangling above it.

  “Well, go on,” Doc ordered.

  Gritting his teeth, he stuck his head into the dank, musty passage, which was less than a yard square, and felt inside with one hand for another hold. Finding a groove in the wall, he gripped it and pulled himself forward. His other leg followed him in. After creeping forward, pulling the rest of his body inside, he turned his head and called back, “All right, I’m in!”

  His voice echoed through the passage and reverberated far down into the building. Doc’s voice crackled quietly over his radio. “Don’t yell, you dimwit! Somebody will hear you.”

  “Sorry,” he whispered into the mouthpiece. “What next?”

  “Keep going until you come to a fork.”

  Gordon obeyed, wincing as each hand came down repeatedly in an unidentified slimy moisture. He had difficulty getting a good enough grip to move himself forward, but kept inching along until he came to a fork, as Doc had said. He whispered again into the radio, “All right.”

  Panting, he listened to Doc’s instructions. “Take the right shaft. Stop when you reach another fork.”

  Gordon obeyed, finding it harder and harder to garner the strength to move himself along. He shivered. How would he climb across the pipes later if he wore himself out before he got there?

  He set his teeth and kept crawling, trying not to breathe the mildewy air too deeply.

  When he reached the next fork, he found three paths instead of two. The right and left paths were connected by a long, thick, rusty pipe that ran through them, and the middle was just more empty, slimy metal. “All right,” he whispered again.

  “Take the leftmost way,” Doc said. “That’ll lead you to the end of the building.”

  Gordon grimaced again, staring down the dark shaft. Nobody had bothered to patch or repair the pipe where it leaked, so liquid that he didn’t want to think too much about oozed from worn spots every couple feet.

  Despite the slime, he managed to get a firm grip on the pipe itself, and he started scooting along the passage towards the light he could see about thirty feet away. The mildew was mixed now with the scent of urine and rotting mea
t, and he couldn’t stop from gagging as he crept along.

  “All right,” came Doc’s voice, “when you get to the end, you should see the door to the Control Center. Just stay there and watch. I’m going to go in, and I’ll be gone for about ten or fifteen minutes. Then I’ll come back for you, and I’ll tell you how to get out.”

  That was all. Gordon groaned as he moved forward. He did not want to spend ten or fifteen minutes in the disgusting shaft, but it didn’t sound like he had a choice.

  When he reached the opening, he found that it was just barely big enough for him to fit through. As he reached it and looked out, he saw Doc enter the corridor below through a heavy metal door on the right wall. Without glancing at Gordon, he walked towards a smooth metal door at the far end of the tunnel, about forty feet away.

  A keypad on the wall to the right of the door drew Gordon’s attention. From this distance, he couldn’t make out the numbers on it. He watched Doc press a button above the keypad, then speak into an intercom. Doc listened, waited, then turned as the door slid upwards. He walked in. The door dropped the instant he was through.

  Gordon realized he’d been holding his breath and tensing his muscles, and he relaxed and breathed deeply. The act brought dank fumes into his nostrils, and he fought the urge to cough.

  He focused on the keypad. Their one problem. There had to be some way to get the code. If only he were a little closer to it, he could watch for Dagny Dalton to enter the code, and maybe see what it was! But he couldn’t possibly from this distance—besides, Dagny Dalton would likely stand in front of the keypad, hiding it from view.

  Although—

  If he could just find some other place to hide—if he got closer so he could see the numbers—

  He peered out into the tunnel. A small building adjoined the Control Center at a right angle on the left, with a door into the corridor from there. A door with a dirty glass transom above it.

  If he could find his way there, he might be able to see the keys.

  Doc had said that the pipes connected all the buildings.

  It only took him a moment to decide. That code was the one thing standing between them and their goal.

  He scooted himself backwards through the shaft, looking for an opening that might lead toward the smaller building. After going a few yards, another dark and dirty passage opened up, heading to the left before turning in the general direction he was trying to go.

  He paused. He knew Doc was concerned about him being recognized, and who knew whether the other building would be empty or not? But besides Tanner, Sol, and Dagny Dalton, only a small handful of people had actually seen his face. If he kept his face down, and put the sunglasses back on—

  And if he couldn’t get in after all, it would be easy enough to come back here and wait for Doc.

  He started into the shaft.

  This passage was smaller, and he had to keep his head down as he crawled. He had already gotten more used to the smell, and could therefore focus his mind on tracking his movements, exerting his sense of direction to find the other building.

  Another turn to the right, then one more to the left, and the pipes ended, taking with them the worst of the smell. Now he could hear footsteps and muffled conversation overhead, and he crawled along silently, trying not to put his hands and knees and boots down too hard against the metal. A hazy light ahead gave him hope, and he moved more quickly, but still cautiously until he came to a vent in the floor of the shaft.

  He could fit through it, but how would he get the cover off? Closing one eye, he pressed the other to the grimy slats and peered into the lower room.

  More boxes and furniture, but he didn’t see anyone. He pressed his ear there, and heard nothing from below.

  Sitting up again, he pressed firmly on the vent. It wiggled.

  He took a minute to think, then unclasped the synthetic fiber belt from his waist and pulled it off. He stretched his fingers, then poked one end of the belt through one of the vent openings with precision. Biting his lip, he reached his forefinger and thumb through the opening adjacent to it and fished for the end of the belt until he managed to catch it. He pulled it up.

  Letting himself relax, he tied the belt into a firm knot, then kept his hold on the loose end. Taking a deep breath and trying again not to cough from the dust, he scooted back until his feet were next to the vent.

  He pulled one boot up, paused, then kicked downwards, slamming his heel against the loose metal.

  The boot went down as the vent pulled away from the ceiling, but his grip on the belt kept it from clattering to the ground. Quietly, he pulled his foot back up into the shaft and turned the vent until it would fit through the hole, then set it gently down.

  Doc would be wondering where he was before much longer. Not taking the time to untie and retrieve his belt, he gripped the opening, closed his eyes, clenched his jaw, and slipped through the hole.

  Gravity pulled his body down, and the metal edge of the shaft scraped his fingers as he fell, drawing blood. He clamped his lips shut and grunted as he fell a few yards to the wooden floor, landing on his hands and knees.

  For a moment he just stayed there, trembling. His fingers stung, cold with blood. His knees were sore, and his shoulders ached, but he was fine. He was okay.

  He breathed deeply and closed his eyes, then sat back on his heels.

  It was okay.

  Opening his eyes, he glanced around the room. It too seemed to be a storage area. He could still hear muted commotion from above, but there was no one here. The door and transom he’d noticed were on the wall just in front of him.

  He’d found it.

  With another deep breath, he scrambled to his feet and approached the door. The transom was at least three feet above his head.

  He slipped over to a stack of empty wooden crates along the wall to his right, and dragged them one at a time along the short distance to the door. Testing each one for soundness, he stacked them against the right doorpost, staggering them to make himself a short stairway. When he had finished, he glanced around again, and stepped up.

  When he reached the top, he gripped the sill of the transom and winced and shuddered at the pain of pressure on his cut fingers. But he maintained his balance, and tried to look out the glass.

  Thickly-caked dust blocked his vision. Moving slowly, heartbeat accelerating, he raised one hand to the window and wiped the grime away, polishing it with the cuff of his sleeve.

  Yes, he could see the Control Center door, and the keypad, clearly enough to read the numbers. His chest lightened and his heart continued to palpitate as he leaned his body against the wall for support, and waited.

  One minute. Two. Three. Five. Eight.

  A cramp gripped his leg, but he forced himself to ignore it as he balanced.

  Ten minutes. Thirteen—

  The door slid open, and Doc walked out. Gordon tried to swallow, inhibited by the dryness of his mouth. Doc would go looking for him, and would be suspicious when he didn’t find him in the other building. But it would be all right. Once he reported back with his story, Doc would know once and for all what side he was on. He’d show him—

  A deep, muffled voice from outside startled him, and he pressed against the wall to keep his balance, grunting as his sore fingers pressed firmly against the sill. Peering through his clean circle of glass, he saw Dagny Dalton approach. He couldn’t make out the words, but the tone remained flat and expressionless. Then Doc’s gruff voice replied. The conversation went on for a couple of minutes, then stopped.

  Gordon watched, feeling his heartbeat heighten still more. The two men wavered, and he gripped the transom sill tighter. Not now. He closed his eyes for an instant and forced his body to relax; forced himself to draw and release deep, full breaths.

  When he opened his eyes, Doc was gone and Dagny Dalton was approaching the door.

  Gordon could see the keypad!

  He tensed as Dagny glanced over his shoulder, then poised his hand over t
he keys. Yes—

  No. He put his hand forward and touched a “no smoking” symbol just beside the keypad.

  A flat green square emerged from the wall. Gordon watched, intent, his nose pressed against the glass, excitement building to a boil in his chest.

  Dagny Dalton pulled the black glove off his right hand, and laid his palm on the surface, fingers carefully spread out. He waited a few seconds, then the door slid open and the surface retracted, not leaving a trace.

  Gordon heaved deep breaths as Dagny Dalton walked through the door and it closed behind him. What a trick! Wait until Neil heard—

  “What are you doing?”

  The voice startled him, and he tried to turn, then remembered to hide his face. He’d forgotten the sunglasses—he turned towards the wall again, and felt the crates wobbling under him.

  His fingers slipped, and the pain evoked a cry as he lost his balance. He tumbled off the pile, and his hip hit a box on the way down, making him cry out again. Then his head hit the floor and pain cracked in his leg as a box landed on top of him.

  He was dazed, but still conscious, and one thought consumed his mind. Don’t let your face be seen…

  “Hey, are you all right?” the other voice asked. A man’s voice, a stranger, and the edge in it seemed startled rather than harsh.

  Think fast, Gordon… come on…

  The door next to him swung open, and footsteps approached.

  It was over.

  As he tried in one last desperate effort to turn his face towards the floor, sharp pain in his leg punished him. He groaned.

  “I’ll handle this, Gridley,” Doc’s voice said. Gordon felt the box being lifted from his leg, and he went limp with relief.

  “But what…” the other voice began, but Doc cut him short.

  “Back to your work. I said I’ll take care of it.”

  “Yes sir.”

  Doc ran his fingers over Gordon’s leg and back, but didn’t speak again until the footsteps of the other man had ended.

  “Somebody needs to give you a good spanking,” Doc muttered. “How many times have I saved you now?”