The Elders (Mind Dimensions #4)(22)

Though it goes against my best interests, I say, “Actually, I can hold my own in a fight, so I’m not sure if you should dismiss me as—”

“My only concern is your potential as a threat to the Elders. Given their capabilities, you do not pose a threat. Now follow me,” she says and starts walking toward the plane.

As I follow her, I don’t argue about my fighting skills, since winning this argument might result in me not being allowed to see the Elders. Instead, I ask, “Did you have to make that test hurt so much?”

“Inflicting pain was necessary to ensure you weren’t pretending to be uncoordinated. Your suffering was an unfortunate side effect.” She runs up the small staircase and ducks to enter through Pandora’s small, round door.

I follow her inside, making sure I don’t accidentally bang my head on the door and thus confirm what she said. Even Caleb, the rudest person I know, never called me uncoordinated.

Once inside, I mumble, “A pretty significant side effect.”

“If it makes you feel any better, you weren’t actually that bad—for a layman,” she says, her eyes looking younger for a moment. “There are some Ambassadors whose asses you could kick, though that’s not saying much.”

Yeah, okay. “Where do I sit?” I look around the Spartan, military-looking fuselage, which, at a glance, has about a dozen seats.

“First, I need you to take this.” She pulls something out of her pocket.

I gingerly approach and look at her upturned palm. She’s holding a pill bottle.

“What is that? Why should I take it?”

She opens the bottle and fishes out a pill. “It’s zolpidem.”

“Oh,” I say. “Good old zol-cyanide. Why didn’t you say so before?”

“It’s also known as Ambien.” She walks over and grabs a water bottle off the seat near the entrance before returning to me. “It’s a sleeping pill,” she explains, “and it’s harmless.”

“You don’t want me to know where the Elders live,” I guess, remembering the shot Caleb gave me when he kidnapped me to bring me to the Enlightened. “Thanks for making this voluntary.”

“Go ahead,” Kate says. “Please.”

I reach for the pill and the water bottle and proceed to take my medicine.

“Say aahh,” she says.

Feeling as if I’m five again, I open my mouth. She expertly checks my mouth to make sure I swallowed the pill.

“Now I suggest you sit there.” She points at the seat nearest the cockpit, on the right side.

“All set?” George peeks out of the cockpit. He has a serious-looking headset on, so I’m guessing he’s piloting this thing.

“I’m ready.” I plop down into the chair, which turns out to be very comfy.

George nods and disappears into the cockpit.

I’m determined to fight the effects of the pill. Just because I took the pill doesn’t mean I agreed not to uncover this super-secret location. I heard that if you fight Ambien, you might get a high instead, which would be a bonus.

It takes us about ten minutes to get into the air. With every passing minute, keeping my eyes open becomes harder. I yawn and decide I can still fight the effects of the drug with my eyes closed; it’ll just make the hallucinations that much richer.

I close my eyes and focus on staying as alert as possible.

My consciousness goes out like a snuffed flame.





*





When I wake up, we’re no longer in the air.

Great. There goes my plan of trying to figure out where I am.

I reach for my phone, but it’s missing.

And there goes my idea of using my phone’s GPS to pin this location.

I unbuckle my seatbelt and check the plane. It’s empty, but the door is open.

I exit the plane and find myself in a giant forest meadow that seems to have been repurposed as an airport. Several planes are here, including George’s. There’s a single-piston Malibu Mirage a few dozen feet away, and a twin-engine Super 700 Aerostar a little farther. I’m planning to buy myself a private jet one day, so I did a little research, in case that wasn’t clear. Still, even I don’t recognize some of the other makes, except for one—Northrop Grumman B-2 Spirit, also known as the Stealth Bomber. It belongs here, among these private jets, about as much as a lion would on a rabbit farm.

George is standing barefoot in the grass, doing some kind of stretching exercise. He’s changed into a gray, homemade-looking poncho. It’s drab, but has the feel of a traditional outfit, if the tradition was to take a potato sack, put holes in it, and wear it. The effect is that George now strongly resembles a hippie.

Noticing me, he says, “I’m glad you’re up. That Ambien really knocked you out. Kate and I couldn’t wake you up after we landed. Just as well you got some sleep, though, since nothing happens on the Island at night. We should get pulled into the Elders’ Mind Dimension soon.”

“What time is it?” I ask, my throat dry.

“Early in the morning,” George answers. “Last I checked, it was six-thirty.”

“Good morning then,” I say. “They’ll just pull us in? No hello?”

“Someone might greet us, but not the Elders. You will never see them outside the Mind Dimension. They do everything they consider stressful—and thus unhealthy—exclusively there,” he says with a hint of disapproval in his tone.