Kidnapped (3 page)

"How many are here now?"

Turning his head to stare at her, his eyes seemed cold again, and his tone of voice made it clear the discussion was over. "You and me. Stop asking so many questions."

She stopped to stare, mouthing, "WOW," but Travis didn't wait. He was already moving forward and she had to run again to catch up with him.

When he eventually did stop, he nodded towards a door. "You can stay in here. There are clothes in the closet. Behave."

There were so many things she wanted to say, so many questions to ask, but one thing stabbed harder at her mind than everything else. It was just too creepy. "Clothes from other prisoners?"

She paused, and forced the question over her lips. "Dead prisoners?"

Travis shrugged. "They're clothes."

*****

The room was small and sparsely furnished. Besides bare walls, she saw a narrow bed, a metal table, and two metal chairs. Not until the door closed behind her did Patricia realize Travis hadn't followed her in, and she sank down on the edge of the bed, finding it anything but comfortable. "This place
really
sucks. Oh, you can probably hear me, can't you? I mean, don't get me wrong, it's much better than the cell, and I am grateful, I guess. I mean, the cell is even scarier than
you
are. Is there a shower? Why didn't I ask if there's a shower?"

The sound of her own voice was somehow comforting, and she got back to her feet, wanting to find that closet filled with clothes from possibly deceased strangers. Travis picking out clothes for her seemed creepy, but investigating would give her something to do.

When she approached the first wall, it didn't move at all. The second turned out to be a completely unresponsive computer terminal, and the third opened to show a small and peculiar restroom. Her next attempt rewarded her with a long row of clothes approximately her size, of very different colors and models. Holding one up against herself, she muttered, "Does he really expect me to
wear
this?"

After tossing the dress to the side, she ventured over towards the little restroom, where she poked the peculiar faucets and controls, wondering what they might do. Over to the side stood a metallic tube attached to both the floor and the ceiling, and when she stepped closer, the front part slid to the side. "Hmm, I wonder if you're the garbage disposal or the sauna?"

She jumped when the metallic voice she'd once heard on the bridge echoed in the little room. "Please remove your clothing, step into the personal cleanser, close your eyes, and hold your breath."

Looking around, she was both surprised and relieved not to see anyone. "I thought you weren't real. Who are you? Where are you?"

As Travis's words of them being completely alone on the large ship surfaced in her memory, she added quietly, "Are you a figment of my imagination?"

The voice offered no explanation; it just repeated its command. "Remove your clothing, step into the personal cleanser, close your eyes, and hold your breath."

Standing in a steel tube didn't seem appealing, especially not if it required closing one's eyes and holding one's breath, but personal cleanser did sound a little like shower, and she felt disgustingly dirty. She stuck her hand in cautiously and wiggled her fingers. When she withdrew the hand it was still there, and she decided to obey, dropping her clothes in a pile on the floor.

As soon as she stepped in, the opening in the tube closed automatically behind her, and she was trapped. She barely had time to remember closing her eyes and holding her breath before a smelly solution attacked her from all sides, spraying her from top to toe. Less than a second later, it was sucked off with enough force to make her hair stand up, and another solution drenched her.

She wanted to cough, or maybe scream, but there was no time. Hot air blew over her, drying her off with near hurricane strength. It only took a few seconds after she entered the tube before the door opened to let her out, and she staggered back into the restroom, gasping for air. "Personal cleanser? That's a freakin' carwash!"

Taking a look at herself, she made a little face of reluctant approval; she was clean. She lifted an arm up and smelled it, and even if the scent wasn't exactly coconut, it was acceptable.

Bending down to pick up her clothes gave a little shock; they were no longer there. She squeezed her eyes shut and opened them again, but every little piece of clothing, every trace of everything that tied her to the person she once was and to the world as she knew it was gone. Not even a thread of her old self remained.

She yelled, "What the
hell
! Who took my clothes? I was only gone for like five seconds!"

No one answered.

Seconds later, Patricia peeked cautiously into her room to make sure the clothes thief wasn't there, and ran across the floor when she found it empty.  Her new dress looked perfectly alien to her, and she wondered what the original owner might have looked like. Wearing it did make her feel less like a frightened little girl and more like a bold adventurer. It was easier to pretend she was the star in a movie when she no longer looked Earthbound.

The fantasy soon evaporated and reality made itself known through hunger and absolute boredom. The room was better than the cell, but only marginally, and she wondered how long she would be able to stay within flat metal walls without going crazy. A new emotion was making itself heard too: anger. This man had snatched her away from her home, from her friends and family, from her very planet in its comfortable little corner of space, and everyone she knew would consider her dead. "Harmless, pffft, I'm harmless? You can let me out of the cell because I'm
harmless
?"

The knowledge that he was right didn't make it any better. She was baffled by technology in general, and wouldn't be able to figure out how even one of the ship's systems worked if she had a decade at her disposal.

She approached the door, but changed her mind and went back to sit on the hard bed. Then, she got back on her feet and walked over to the little table, running her fingers over it. The surface was cold.

Gathering courage, she went for the door again, close enough for it to open this time, and stuck her head out looking first to the right and then to the left. The corridor was deserted, and she took a couple of tentative steps outside. "I wonder if I'll ever find this place again."

Her voice sounded strange in the long corridor, small and mousey, and she decided not to speak. The situation was grim enough without her frightening herself, and if anything, she needed to think.

Running a hand through her hair, she stepped back into the room and grabbed a bright green shirt from a hanger. She dropped it on the floor right outside the door and took a couple of steps away, thinking it would be easy to find the only colorful thing in sight. Her eyes registered something impossible and she squeezed them shut, counting slowly to ten before opening them again. The shirt seemed to sink into the floor until it was completely gone. "What the...? Where did it go?"

This must be what happened to her own clothes. Clenching her jaw, she stepped back into the room and grabbed one of the heavy metal chairs. She had to drag it over the floor, but once she reached the corridor it didn't disappear, and she stuck her tongue out at the floor. "Hah, eat that!"

She supposed it must be some automatic cleaning function since everything was so immaculate. It was impossible to imagine Travis going around dusting and cleaning. How it worked, or how it discerned what to take and what not to take remained a mystery to her.

The thought made her look down at her own feet, and she sighed with relief when she wasn't sinking through the floor. Shaking her head at herself, she started to walk down the corridor, glancing back from time to time to check that the chair was still there.

*****

Further down the corridor were more doors. Stopping in front of the first one, she didn't expect it to open for her, but it did, and she peeked into a room looking exactly like hers. The next room was also an exact copy of the others and she grimaced, thinking if these were the crew's quarters, their lives sure couldn't be exciting. Only one wall looked different from the others, but it wouldn't open when she stepped close, and she mumbled, "I wonder if
he
lives there."

The corridor seemed endless, but she eventually did reach the end, and the wall facing her there opened up to the bridge. She recognized it, but had forgotten exactly how gloomy it was. The floor was just a floor now, not showing any planets or stars underneath her feet, but a part of the outer wall had turned into windows, showing the emptiness of space outside. The only light came from various controls and holograms, and her eyes wandered over the consoles, seeking out the tiny spots of color. "He's right. I'm harmless. I couldn't figure this out if I tried for a year."

Not until now did she spot Travis sitting in his chair with his eyes closed. He didn't move, didn't acknowledge her presence at all, and she took a tentative step forward. "I'm hungry."

His voice seemed to come from nowhere, but wasn't unfriendly. "Get something to eat."

Patricia laughed nervously. "Sure, I'll just pop down to McDonalds. I'm sure there's a burger joint at the next star?"

She wanted to retreat when he turned his chair around to face her and opened his eyes, but she held her ground.

"You're really going to be a nuisance, aren't you? I should have left you down below."

He sounded fairly amiable and she decided not to take it as a threat, not even when he got to his feet and walked past her into the corridor. "The computer can provide you with nutrition in your quarters, but since you're here..."

Chapter Three

Patricia followed Travis through the corridor, down a bend she hadn't seen before, and stopped and stared as they entered a gigantic mess hall. Their steps echoed between the walls, and the mere size and emptiness of the room made it eerie.

She stayed closer to him than she would have thought she wanted. He was still scary, but he was also somewhat familiar, and she no longer assumed he would immediately kill her.
That
might not be true when it came to whatever murderous robots, ghosts, or aliens might be lurking in the shadows in a room so vast she couldn't even see the end.

Travis veered off towards a long row of cabinets, opened one, and tossed something resembling an energy bar to her. She fumbled with it but managed to catch it, and he shook his head at her clumsiness as he headed for a chair. Patricia followed, and took a seat opposite him, trying to break through the thick foil separating her from the first meal she'd seen for what might be days.

"This is what you call food? Wow, this won't make you fat."

He shrugged slightly. "Food is fuel for a biological machine. It contains everything you need."

She took a tentative bite of it and grimaced at the lack of taste, but kept on eating. "Why are you alone here?"

She didn't expect him to answer, but he did. "I'm the only one required for this mission."

Patricia couldn't stop herself, and her voice dripped with sarcasm. "Oh yes, kidnapping girls from distant planets. Must be hard work."

"It could be worse; you could be dead. You still can be." His voice didn't betray any emotion at all, and she couldn't figure out if his words were a threat or not.

She ignored his steady gaze on her and munched her food until it was all gone. After folding the wrapper up neatly there didn't seem to be anything more to do, and she blurted out, "Can I ask you something?"

He shrugged. She wanted to find out about his face, but that seemed too forward, so instead she asked, "Why do you wear one glove?"

Travis quirked an eyebrow, and replied, amused, "All this technology, all these possibilities, and you want to know why I wear one glove?"

When put like that, it did seem kind of shallow. "Well, I guess I could ask you how to fly the ship, how to get home, who the rebels are, where you're really taking me, or what'll happen to me, but I doubt it'll do me any good, so yeah, why do you wear one glove?"

He sighed, and she wondered why his face no longer frightened her.  "Fair enough I guess."

He pulled it off, and she oohed softly as she saw an intricate construction of metal rods, hydraulic tubes and multicolored electrical wires. He said flatly, "I wear the glove because I don't like this."

Flexing the fingers he continued, "It's strong, and it shoots people, so I never have to worry about losing my gun, but I still don't like it."

Meeting his eyes, she thought this was probably more than he'd confessed even to himself before. "What happened?"

It wasn't the most tactful question, but it jumped out of her mouth before she even thought about it. She didn't expect him to answer, and he looked surprised too as he said, "My commanding officer cut my arm off as a punishment for not obeying. It was rather messy, but still she did it herself, with an electric knife."

He met her eyes and continued in a detached voice, "There are better artificial limbs out there, but she likes me to have this one. It's supposed to remind me there's a price for disobedience."