The Lost Command (Lost Starship Series Book 2) (8 page)

Riker muttered to himself quietly.

Maddox slouched lower in the seat. “Wake me up once we’re in French air-space.”

“Will do, sir.”

Maddox folded his arms against his chest, resting his head against the canopy.

As Riker headed due east, he knew this was a long shot. The enemy had gone to ground with Meta, and the Earth was a vast place in which to hide someone. Instead of working from the bottom up in the normal Intelligence manner, they were going to the source and working down.

Could the captain beard Octavian in the tycoon’s best-laid web? They would find out soon enough.

As Maddox began to breathe rhythmically, old Sergeant Riker raced the flitter across the vast Atlantic Ocean.

-7-

Meta blinked groggily. The last thing she remembered was a gray-haired wrestler spraying her in the face with something.

I’ve been unconscious
, she realized.
He used a knockout gas on me
.

Fear coursed through her body. A second later, she suppressed it, letting her eyelids slide shut. She relaxed her muscles next. If someone watched her, let him think she almost came out of it but slipped back into unconsciousness.

I’m sitting in a chair. It’s chilly in here. I feel like I’m in a basement or a meat locker
.

Meta let that settle. After the knockout gas, Kane must have taken her somewhere else. She had no idea why or where.

That will come. They’ll tell me. So, I don’t need to worry about it just now
.

“What’s taking so long?” a man asked. “Why isn’t she coming all the way out of it?”

“I’m unsure,” another man said, one with a reedy voice.

The first man—Meta recognized his voice. He was the pale-skinned shooter, the one who had fired a tangler capsule at her. The second speaker—she had no idea who he was.

“We’re supposed to work fast,” the pale man said.

“Perhaps a stronger stimulant is needed,” the other said.

“No! Slap her in the face. That will wake her up.”

There was a half beat. Did the other man have to think about that? Before Meta could decide, she heard approaching footsteps. The charade was up, so she opened her eyes.

The pale man moved toward her with ugly intent. He was medium-sized, wore a sweater and had sparse blonde hair. As soon as he realized she saw him, the man retreated, disappearing out of sight.

That proved easy to do down here.

Meta sat in a metal chair with her ankles and wrists secured by steel bands. She still wore her sequined dress and was barefoot. Harsh lights in the ceiling blazed down. They limited her field of vision to what was directly before her. Behind the light, she heard movement and then whispering. The two men must be conferring on what to do next.

Meta tested the metal bands around her wrists. They didn’t give her much play, and they would secure an ordinary person. Maybe if she had enough time she could break them. The metal chair felt sturdy, but she thought she felt a loose screw holding down one of the bands.

“Lower the light’s intensity,” the pale man said.

The overhead lights softened a fraction. It allowed Meta to see two men in black leather jackets, the ones she had stunned earlier in her apartment. They wheeled a large trolley toward her. It held a tubular machine. Behind them followed a thin man in a white lab coat.

The bigger of the two street thugs had dark circles around his eyes, and he moved sluggishly. That must be because she’d zapped his head several times with the shock rod. It told her she hadn’t been unconscious that long. The smaller of the two—the original attacker in her bedroom—glowered at her. His mouth looked stiff. Someone must have popped his jaw back into place.

“I ain’t forgotten you, sister,” he said without moving his lips. Even so, pain creased his face.

The lab-coated doctor concentrated on the thug as if surprised. “No, no,” the doctor said. He had the reedy voice. “You mustn’t talk to her. Didn’t I tell you that already?”

While avoiding the doctor’s eyes, Mr. Black Leather Jacket nodded carefully. Meta believed his name was Jacques.

As the thugs latched the trolley’s wheels, the doctor removed a penlight from his front breast pocket. He clicked it on and approached Meta, shining a blue light in her right eye.

“Hmm,” the doctor said. He had a garlic odor and compressed his lips in a pinched manner. Switching to her other eye, he repeated the performance.

Clicking off the penlight, stepping back, he told Meta, “You are lucid.”

“She’s ready then?” asked the man hidden by the lights, the pale man.

The doctor turned around. He raised his voice, speaking into the brightness. “I still suggest we wait twenty minutes before we attempt the operation.”

“You said she’s lucid.”

“Yes, yes,” the doctor said, “we must first have that. The retardant Kane gave her earlier might interfere with the results if we attempt it too soon.”

“What retardant?” the pale man asked.

“He means the knockout gas,” Meta said.

Although they had restrained her, she could still talk. That meant it was possible to influence the outcome. Speech could be a weapon if wielded skillfully. In this situation, her chances of doing that were slim, but it was better than wilting and accepting fate. Far better to fight, no matter how weak the weapon she had at her disposable.

The doctor faced her. He appeared thoughtful. With his thumb and index finger, he pinched his lower lip. “You have a remarkable recovery time. That is interesting. Your cognitive abilities seem fully restored. Perhaps we could speed up the procedure without risk.”

The idea that her talking had harmed rather than helped her made Meta angry. She yearned to hurt the doctor, if only to free a leg and kick him in the shin.

Maybe he recognized her desire. The doctor hastily stepped away from her.

“What’s wrong?” asked the pale man.

“She has a high aggression quotient,” the doctor said.

“Does that make any difference to the procedure?”

The doctor peered into the light. “No, why should it?”

“I’m wondering why you stepped back,” the pale man said.

“Because he’s afraid of me,” Meta said. It was time to take a new approach. “You should be afraid too.”

The doctor pinched his lower lip again, studying her as one would a wild beast.

Meta needed more information on the situation. “Is Kane gone?” she asked. “Is that why you can’t decide what to do?”

Jacques the thug cracked his knuckles. “Leave me alone with her for a few minutes. She’ll beg to tell us what you want to know.”

Was Jacques the weak link? The street thug seemed easily goaded. Meta concentrated on him. “I doubt that,” she said. “I think you’d faint again like you did in my bedroom.”

“Now we see, eh, little sister?” Mr. Black Leather Jacket lurched toward her.

“Jacques!” the pale man said.

The thug stopped and peered into the light.

“Don’t let her prod you,” the pale man said.

“We should teach her better manners,” Jacques said. Gingerly, he touched his jaw.

“No!” the pale man said. “We’re here to extract information. Doctor, are you ready?”

“I’ve reconsidered,” the doctor said. “We’re proceeding too quickly.”

“You said she was ready,” the pale man said.

“I know, but…” The doctor shook his head.

“We have to get started.”

The doctor raised his eyebrows. “Am I to understand you’re unconcerned about her rationality afterward?”

The pale man spoke with bite to his words. “I’ll tell you what. Let’s call Kane and ask him.”

“No need for that,” the doctor said, sounding frightened.

Was Kane nearby or would they use a comm-unit to speak with him? Meta realized the wrestler scared his men, which was good to know. Why wasn’t Kane down here? If kidnapping her was so important, it seemed like the leader should be here during the interrogation.

The doctor cleared his throat. “We will proceed on the assumption she should retain her sanity. That will make my task more difficult, however.”

“You’re unable to do what we need?” the pale man asked.

“Please,” the doctor said, sounding offended. He stepped to the trolley, opening a slot, making small instruments jangle against each other.

Meta noticed that the tubular machine had cables with adhesive leads attached to the ends. That reminded her of the alien creature on the shuttle when they’d stormed
Victory
. Would the doctor hook the cables to her skin and shock her?

“Why are you doing this?” Meta asked. “What am I to any of you?”

With his hands in the machine’s slot, the doctor looked up at her.

“You must begin at once,” the pale man said. “Our time may be limited. You know that, right?”

The doctor withdrew a hypodermic syringe from the machine. He poked the sharp end into a beer-colored capsule. As he pulled the stopper back, a gloppy yellow sludge filled the needle. After removing the needle from the capsule, he approached Meta. He held the syringe up, with a glistening drop of sludge oozing from the tip.

Meta knew what she had to do. This was her only chance, and it would be slight indeed. First, she needed to lull them. The easiest way was to make them think she was frightened.

“Why not ask me what you want to know?” she said, with trembling in her voice. “I’ll gladly tell you.”

The doctor smiled, revealing stained teeth. “It should be obvious to you why not. You could spin fabrications.”

“I won’t lie,” she promised. “Please, don’t use the needle.”

The doctor’s eyes shined with enjoyment. He turned to the others, and he spoke with greater authority. “I need one of you to tie her upper arm. That will help me find the right vein.”

“Jacques!” the pale man said.

“I ain’t no nurse,” Jacques complained.

“Would you like me to tell Kane that?” the pale man asked.

Jacques muttered under his breath as he shook his head.

“There is a rubber tie in the drawer,” the doctor said.

“Wait a minute,” Meta said breathlessly. “Please, tell me what you’re going to do.”

The doctor’s smile grew. “Your hostility isn’t quite so pronounced now, is it?”

Meta shook her head.

“No, not so hostile at
all
,” the doctor said smugly.

What was in the needle? How could she find out? “Will I remember any of this?” Meta asked.

“I should seriously think not,” the doctor said, lifting the needle. “I will inject you with Z-592. You won’t remember a thing. Depending on your base obstinacy, a subconscious quotient, I will have to do this two or three more times. It might permanently damage your mind.” He shrugged his narrow shoulders. “But I will most certainly learn what Mr. Kane desires to know.”

“Kane scares me,” she said. “Who is he really?”

Before the doctor could answer, Jacques stepped up with a length of rubber tubing in his hand.

“Tie it around her upper arm,” the doctor said.

Jacques stared purposefully at Meta. She let her eyes drop as if frightened of him. Chuckling, he stepped closer, using his hands to slide the tubing around her arm.

Meta had been waiting for this moment. It would appear Jacques had been sufficiently lulled. No doubt, the thug believed himself tough and strong. With a bound woman before him, those feelings of superiority surely increased. Someone like Jacques failed to recognize that a fighter used whatever means in her power.

For the last minute, Meta had been concentrating, building up an inner martial arts essence or chi, readying herself for a feat of strength. Her years of training in the assassin’s art had taught her to act explosively. Instead of straining harder and harder at a thing, she would use a multiple of power in a single moment of time.

Jacques bent his head nearer as he wrestled with her arm.

Gathering her chi and judging his position to a nicety, Meta said, “
Hey!
”

Jacques looked up. With an explosive movement, Meta struck. Her head snapped forward to smash against his nose. It was a perfect strike. The thug’s nose crackled, flattening against his face as he screamed. His head snapped back, and his body followed. With a meaty thud, it connected against the doctor. The two men sprawled onto the floor in a tangled heap.

Meta shouted as she released her pent-up essence. Savagely, she twisted her right arm, concentrating all her considerable strength against the steel band. She didn’t have any hope of tearing the steel itself. That was beyond her power. Rather, she strove to rip the screws from the holes bored into the chair.

“Doctor!” the pale man shouted.

With a screeching sound, Meta tore the screws loose. Her arm flew upward, as did the metal band.

“No!” the pale man shouted.

Meta used her right hand, gripping the other band, working her fingers between the steel and her flesh. For a tense moment, she gathered her resolve and strength. Then, once more, she concentrated all her effort into one second of time. The other steel band ripped loose from the chair. This one, however, didn’t fly away. She kept hold of it to use as another weapon.

The pale man stepped out of the harsh light and into view. He aimed a gun at Meta. “Stop,” he ordered.

Meta laughed wildly. She knew they feared Kane, that the wrestler wanted information from her.

“Go ahead,” she said. “Shoot me. See what kind of information you get then. Tell Kane you had to kill me.”

The pale man lowered his gun.

Meta threw the steel clutched in her right hand. It flew hard and fast, striking the man in the forehead. He collapsed onto the floor, groaning in agony. Blood flowed from his scalp.