Winter's Warrior: Mark of the Monarch (Winter's Saga 4) (34 page)

“It makes complete sense,
Senator.  Now, during our tour you mentioned something about ‘the perfect concussion.’  Would you please tell me about that now?”

“I’ll do better than tell you; I’ll show you!”  Arkdone waved his hand toward a corridor with an excited flourish.

“My engineers have perfected a project I began working on two decades ago through my connections in the US Counter Intelligence Agency.  At the time, you see, the CIA had so many subprojects under my advisement; some fell by the wayside not because they weren’t completely valid, brilliant ideas, but because the technology of the time wasn’t advanced enough.”

Arkdone’s lips pulled back exposing what looked
to Bjorn like razor-sharp teeth.  The doctor blinked deliberately and saw Donovan Arkdone frown slightly.

“You have had a long day, doctor.  Perhaps we should wait until tomorrow to see ‘The Perfect Concussion’ device in action.”

“I’m sure it’s just a little jet lag, sir.  My curiosity wouldn’t allow me to sleep without seeing the device tonight.  That is, if the offer still stands?”

“Of course, Fredrick.”  Arkdone nodded happily at his newest companion’s dedication to what Arkdone considered an art.

With a flourish, the Senator opened the thick doors leading to what looked as much like a workshop as it did a laboratory.  Arkdone walked around the room with a sparkle in his black eyes as though he was about to open birthday presents a day early.

Arkdone’s b
ody moved with grace as he made his way to the back corner and began pushing a few buttons.  “I truly believe,” he was saying, “that the only way to work enjoyably, other than doing what you love, is to listen to music you love.” And as if on cue, the speakers Bjorn hadn’t even noticed mounted to the ceiling of the room came to life singing. 

“‘Lacrimosa’ by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.  The string
ed instruments dance hauntingly over the ominous bass and tenor voices while the soprano and alto voices offer forgiveness in their melodies.”  Arkdone swayed slightly to the music and closed his eyes as though savoring a delicate wine.  “It was his last piece, you know.  A Requiem he only partially finished himself.  He predicted it would be played at his own funeral and he was right.  He died at the age of thirty-five.  Did you know that, Fredrick?”

“Sir?”

“Mozart.”

“I believe I
’ve read that somewhere.”

“You may wonder why I chose to play this particular song for you,” Donovan smiled surreptitiously.

“It is a Requiem.  Music performed during a funeral.  Am I correct?”

“You are a good listener, Fredrick.  I like that about you.”

“Thank you sir.”

Bjorn stood still waiting patiently to be shown the device.  He’d worked with enough geniuses to know it was best to let them digress as much as they needed to because once they arrived at their intended destination, it was truly brilliant.

“This is what I want to show you, my good sir.”  Arkdone walked over to a table on which several dozen sliding levers were positioned just so.  Connected to the machine by a thick assortment of colorful wires was a helmet of sorts.

“This is the Perfect Concussion,” he said so happily he nearly giggled.  “It exposes the prospective candidate to a precise subaural frequency blast, rendering their memory nonexistent.  It’s so beautiful in its simplicity, really.” 

“When would you use the device?”

“Well, sometimes, I find it necessary to start a candidate with a blank slate of a mind, so to speak.  It makes them so much more malleable for my programmers.”

“How complete is the memory loss?”

“We’ve perfected it after dozens of human trials.  I have the frequency so precise that the candidate maintains all their mental functions but no memory of who they are, where they are, where they’ve been or of what they are capable.  They are beautiful blank slates. Would you like to see for yourself?”

“Yes, of course.” Fredrick answered immediately.

“Please, feel free to don
some gloves.  I’ll need your help with our subjects.”  Arkdone said as he grabbed two for himself.

“Will we be using humans?”

“No, tonight I’ll just have to show you with some well-trained rats.”  Arkdone walked to a cage, opened it and pulled out two rats: one brown, the other white. 

“If you would, Fredrick, in the refrigerator behind you, you’ll find a plate of cheese.  Please remove it and place it at the far end of the rodent maze we used before.  This time we’re going to see the creatures run the entire maze perfectly, as they have memorized the path.”

“Fascinating,” Bjorn offered, genuinely interested in what was about to happen.  He placed the cold glass plate of cheese at the far end of the maze and watched.

“All right, let’s begin,” the
Senator said and put both rats at the start of the maze. 

Both rats scurried through the
course just as Arkdone said they would.  Neither of them ducked down any wrong paths and both arrived at the cheese inside fifteen seconds.

“Yes, they’ve obviously memorized the maze,” Bjorn nodded excitedly.

“Now, choose one and bring them to The Perfect Concussion device.”

Bjorn wasn’t fond of rats in the least, but he obeyed the
Senator out of obligation.  He chose the brown rat.  The white rat ignored his chosen colleague and continued nibbling on the cheese. 

The
Senator was holding an electrode in one hand and smearing some jelly onto its surface with the other.  “Just hold him still for a moment while I attach the device,” the Senator ordered. 

Bjorn obeyed, though fear ran up his spine like ice at the thought that he was holding a creature connected to that machine.  “Sir, forgive me for asking, but is it safe for me to hold the creature during the frequency blast?”  The rat now was wearing the electrode at the base of its skull and squirming in Bjorn’s hands.  Afraid the creature was about to bolt, the doctor clinched his fists around his middle, only to see the rat’s eyes bulge alarmingly.  He loosened his grip on the rat, but was so preoccupied with it that he hadn’t noticed the giddy grin on Arkdone’s face as he reached to flip the switch.

A loud thumping sound startled Bjorn so effectively; he nearly dropped the rat stiffening in his gloved hands.

Arkdone was laughing at the shocked look on Fredrick’s face.

“What’s your name?”

“Dr. Fredrick Bjorn.”

“Well, I guess it was safe enough for you to hold the rat then, wasn’t it?”  He continued to chuckle at his prank. 

Fredrick, on the other hand, felt faint for the first time in twenty-five years.

“I’ll go retrieve the white rat and we’ll start the race to the finish again.”

Bjorn slowly removed the electrode from the back of the rat’s head, enjoying the pain filled squeaks still emanating from the creature.  He walked slowly back to the starting box, looking into the dazed rat eyes as he shuffled. 

He had been working with humans for so long, he had forgotten the thrill he could get from holding a helpless creature in his hands, to feel its heart race against his fingertips, to watch its entire body stand rigid with fear.  It gave him a rush.  Humans were still his favorite, but this rat setup wasn’t so bad, Bjorn decided. 

Now as for Arkdone’s little prank, he would have to remember the bastard’s sadistic sense of humor.  Apparently, he was recruited to replace a former physician who had, in Arkdone’s words, “served his purpose.” 

Bjorn appreciated the challenge his new boss provided and felt a sick sense of admiration for someone so callous to those around him. 

Both rats were back in the starting box.  “Now, let the race begin,” Arkdone announced as though to a crowd of a hundred people instead of just Bjorn and the rats.

The white rat took off running his usual path flawlessly toward the cheese.

The brown rat took a few steps and started wandering back into the starting box, then turned in several circles before stopping to lick his paw and clean his face.

“There, you see?  No memory of the maze he knew perfectly moments before.”

“How permanent is the loss?”

“Completely.  He will never regain his former memory, but we can build new ones on the blank slate that is his mind.”  Arkdone nodded meaningfully.

“You’re planning to use this on the Winter Clan, aren’t you?”

“You catch on quickly, Bjorn.  That’s what I like about you.  I think you’ll fit in just fine here.”  Arkdone patted Bjorn on the back so enthusiastically, the doctor had to catch himself against the maze. 

“They will make beautiful butterflies, don’t you agree?”

“Magnificent, sir.”

The music, playing on a continuous loop came to a dramatic end just as Arkdone flipped the switch off.  “It’s all in the timing,” he mumbled to himself.  “I play Mozart’s Requiem to mark the death of the Winter Clan and the birth of my most powerful Monarch Slaves.  It’s all in the timing, Bjorn.”  Arkdone began to chuckle to himself, but the laughter morphed into gales of mirth that echoed off the stark walls of the laboratory. 

White mouse ate. 

Brown mouse huddled into a corner of the maze and buried his nose.

“Okay, the trap should be right up here past the curve in the road.”

“Why does highway patrol always like to put speed traps between two small towns?” Farrow grumbled. 

“Well, these guys aren’t highway patrol.  They’re local cops and they are probably asked to keep a certain quota of ticketed speeders so their townships gather some funds.”

“Do you know that, or are you just guessing?” she narrowed her eyes at Alik, unconvinced.

“I’m completely guessing,” Alik grinned mischievously.  His head pivoted to watch the black-and-white vehicle as they passed.  “There’s Officer Small-Town now and sure enough he was noshing on a bear claw.”

“You have to be kidding!” Farrow giggled.

“Yeah, I’m kidding.  He was holding his radar gun in one hand and noshing on a bear claw with the other,” Alik chucked at the image he painted.

“Have you ever—”

POP!

Flap, flap, flap

“Damn it!”
  Farrow gripped the steering wheel tightly, trying to control the pull of the wheel toward the blown left front tire.  The whole vehicle shuddered enough to make their heads hurt.

“Okay, it’s okay, just slow down and pull over,” Alik coaxed yelling over the rim on asphalt screams.

“That scared the
hell
out of me.”  Farrow white-knuckled the steering wheel to force it to the right side of the road against its will to pull left toward the flat.  Sparks were flying off the metal rim as the entire rubber tire disintegrated immediately.

She pulled to a stop just off
the shoulder of the four lane road.  She was breathing hard, fear and adrenaline still pumping through the fright of nearly losing control of the SUV.

Alik gave her a moment to be still and breathe before speaking.  “Well, either we have a flat tire or you just gained a ton of weight,” he nodded toward the tilted horizon of the
SUV’s dashboard making his side sit much higher than Farrow’s left. 

“Please tell me we have a spare,” she groaned.

“We have a spare.”  Alik didn’t move to get out of the SUV.

“Please tell me you know how to
change
a tire!” Farrow frowned at Alik. 

“Of course I do!  I was just giving my retro-cog time to process what happened.”  He squint
ed his bright indigo eyes.  “I think a truck passed by here earlier and a few nails rolling around the bed fell out.”

“Great,” Farrow breathed, unbuckling her seat belt.  She checked her side mirror to be sure a car wasn’t going to barrel into her when she opened her door.

Alik jumped out, too.

Together they stared at the tire, or what was left of it anyway.

“We are so lucky we weren’t going 90mph when we hit that nail,” Farrow shivered at the thought.

“No such thing as luck.  It was a blessing
,” Alik heard himself say the same words he’d heard his mother say his whole life.  He looked over at Farrow and grinned.  She was still shaking from the fear of trying to control the SUV.  “You did great, Farrow.  Mom and Theo will be proud of you when they hear how you didn’t lose control of the SUV. You have some skilled reflexes.”

“Oh yeah, well when I get my shakes under control, I’ll help fix this.”

“I don’t need help, pretty little lady,” Alik said in his most exaggerated East Texas drawl.  “I can have this fixed faster than a cat on a hot tin roof.”