The Acolytes of Crane (Theodore Crane, #1)(72)

I shove all of this food into my mouth, and swallow it completely, poking my finger along the back of my tongue to trigger my gag reflex. I bend my head down, so that turret cannot see my actions. My abdomen flexes, a belch of food lands on my tongue from within, and I jam my finger further until it touches my uvula.

Blaaaaa! I vomit, puking all over that view box. The rookie’s feet shuffle. Hearing the slide open, I drop to this floor. I try to be still with my back to the vault and pretend to be unconscious.

“Sir! There is something wrong with the prisoner!” the rookie yells.

“Call the warden directly for clearance!” The vet shouts from down the hallway, loud enough for me to hear.

“Warden. Prisoner number eight-six-seven-five. Open request. Prisoner is unconscious and immobile,” the rookie says, with his voice shaky and choppy. “Guns hot, I am in position. Waiting for back-up—over. Prisoner. If you can hear me, stand and proceed to the wall to assume the static position!”

I don’t respond. I am near the door and focusing my entire mind listening for clues. I hear the veteran approaching.

“Gun on the door,” the veteran says, “Like in drill. Keep your weapon on the prisoner. Got it?”

The rookie exclaims, “Yes sir!”

“Can I get medical in here? I have a prisoner down. Possible fatality—wait—he is breathing!” the veteran shouts.

To me the rookie says, ‘Don’t move an inch, prisoner!’

The veteran looks up. ‘Can you get someone down here as soon as possible?” I hear light and quick footsteps across the floor, and the veteran speaks, “You know what is wrong with this prisoner? Why does he keep going down?”

I hear the soothing voice of the nurse, warming my heart. “He is malnourished and the brain scan shows his neural levels are consistent with depression and periodic hallucinations. He may die any moment. I have to check his eyes.”

“Ma’am. Don’t place yourself between us and the prisoner!” the veteran shouts, but she carries on, ignoring him.

“It will only be a morget, guard—relax,” she snaps back. She peels my lids upward. This is the first time I have seen her face up close. Stiffening, I fight back every urge to avoid jump up embrace her, because I recognize her. I remember her from the planet Karshiz. She is a member of the Rangier faction for the resistance. I cannot put a name to her face, but man, am I glad to see we are still working in solidarity together.

“Back off, back off,” she shoos away the guards. “I need a better view so I can check his pulse. First, I will make sure our equipment is functioning properly.”

She leans in again. I smell her delicate perfume. She whispers to me, “Theo, hold on.”

After examining me thoroughly with an excellent bedside manner, she finally steps aside, and says out loud, “Prisoner should be stable after about fifteen minutes.” With a tilt back of her head, and jutting out her hip to one side, she addresses the personnel at the turrets. “I will be at the bar Cridovian for drinks later, with the girls. Anyone wanna join me?”

“I’ll be there!” the veteran guard says with a note of delight in his voice.

“I am not going,” the rookie sullenly says, and there is a moment of silence. I sense a stand-off between these two guards. The younger one is attempting to insinuate that the older guard is forsaking his responsibilities, even if it is during his off-duty time.

“Alright, Cridovian it is,” she says, while winking seductively at the veteran guard. “See you, maybe.” The veteran grins, bows slightly, and tips his hat at her.

The hard soles of boots scuffle against the floor and mask the woman’s steps. The closing vault brings me back to reality, but with an inkling of hope. I need to remain still, to carry out my pretense further. Finally, after an agonizing fifteen minutes, as my arms and legs scream out “creeping sleep sensation!” I stretch and restore circulation to my body. Acting groggy, I spend another ten minutes acting as if I were arousing myself.

It is important to act normal. They are watching me. Focus. The warden wants an account, and I will give him one. Time to go back to recording my story.

I use the tablet. It powers up and I say, “Let’s see. I escaped from the Uriel, and then I met Ed for the first time. Oh yeah.”

I heard my trusted emergency robot speak. He said, ‘Please don’t make any sudden movements. You have been asleep for five hours human time. When I examined you with the electrodes, I found the impulses within your brain were firing in a way consistent with an implanted device. You were exhibiting implantitus, an inflammation caused from a software virus within your implant. I removed the device, cleared the virus and rebooted your implant so that it is now clear of any prior programming. I had to reinsert it, which is why you have an excruciating headache and a bandage around your head. But now your implant is clear for any new use, should you wish to do so.’


‘I don’t feel that good,’ I said, groaning.

I stood up with my back to the command shield, and Ed handed me a dry towel to wipe the sweat off my face. I turned around to grab some water.

‘We are approaching a planet as well, sir,’ he said. ‘Its name is Tritillia.’

In front of us was a green planet, vibrant and alive, bathed by the rays of a nearby star. I sat, transfixed by the image on the main screen. Up until now, I only saw pictures of planets in encyclopedias at the library and at school, as well as on the Internet. This planet was different. There were no large bodies of water like Earth, but I did see long and wide river systems.