Abduction (19 page)
Authors: Robin Cook
Tags: #Fiction, #Suspense, #Onbekend, #Unabridged Audio - Fiction, #Suspense & Thriller
A short time later the two drunken divers were swooning with pleasure in Mura's arms. It wasn't sex
per se, since in their drugged state neither was capable of consummation, but nonetheless they couldn't have been more content.
Sart had observed Richard's arrival from the far end of the pool. He was both attracted and repelled by Richard. Mainly, he was curious. After tiring of swimming he got out of the water, dried himself off, then walked over to the blissful threesome. Mura smiled up at him. She had her arms around both divers, who had fallen fast asleep.
Mura motioned for Sart to sit down on the bed. She'd been gently stroking both divers' backs but was happy to let Sart take over with Richard. That freed her to concentrate on Michael. Sart initially just stroked Richard's back as Mura had been doing, but tiring of this, he began to improvise. First he rubbed Richard's exposed arm and shoulder. Richard's skin felt intriguingly strange to Sart. It wasn't as firm as Interterran skin and had many curious, tiny imperfections. Sart transferred his attentions to Richard's head, where he'd noticed a small, poorly defined, bluish red discoloration within the hairline above his ear. As Sart bent over to examine this flat blemish more closely, touching it gently with the tip of his finger, Richard's eyes popped open. Sart smiled at him dreamily and went back to his tender stroking. "What the hell?" Richard cried. He knocked Sart's hand to the side. With drunken clumsiness he leaped from the bed.
Sart stood up as well. He wondered if the mark above Richard's ear was inordinately sensitive. Maybe he should not have touched it.
Richard's sudden movement was enough to awaken Michael. Sleepy and dazed, he sat up despite Mura's restraining arm. He saw Richard swaying by the bedside and glaring at Sart, who looked somewhat guilty.
"What's the matter, Richie?" Michael asked with a slurred, gravelly voice. Richard didn't answer. Instead he wiped his hand over his head while continuing to glower at Sart. "What happened, Sart?" Mura asked.
"I touched Richard's blemish," Sart explained. "The one above his ear. I'm sorry." "Michael, come here!" Richard snapped. He waved Michael away from the bed while walking unsteadily in the direction of the pool. Michael got to his feet feeling giddy from the short snooze. He followed Richard. The two men staggered out of earshot. Michael could tell that Richard was major-league perturbed. "What's going on?" Michael asked in a whisper. Richard wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He was still glaring back at Sart. "I think I figured out why all these guys don't care if we make it with their women," Richard whispered
per se, since in their drugged state neither was capable of consummation, but nonetheless they couldn't have been more content.
Sart had observed Richard's arrival from the far end of the pool. He was both attracted and repelled by Richard. Mainly, he was curious. After tiring of swimming he got out of the water, dried himself off, then walked over to the blissful threesome. Mura smiled up at him. She had her arms around both divers, who had fallen fast asleep.
Mura motioned for Sart to sit down on the bed. She'd been gently stroking both divers' backs but was happy to let Sart take over with Richard. That freed her to concentrate on Michael. Sart initially just stroked Richard's back as Mura had been doing, but tiring of this, he began to improvise. First he rubbed Richard's exposed arm and shoulder. Richard's skin felt intriguingly strange to Sart. It wasn't as firm as Interterran skin and had many curious, tiny imperfections. Sart transferred his attentions to Richard's head, where he'd noticed a small, poorly defined, bluish red discoloration within the hairline above his ear. As Sart bent over to examine this flat blemish more closely, touching it gently with the tip of his finger, Richard's eyes popped open. Sart smiled at him dreamily and went back to his tender stroking. "What the hell?" Richard cried. He knocked Sart's hand to the side. With drunken clumsiness he leaped from the bed.
Sart stood up as well. He wondered if the mark above Richard's ear was inordinately sensitive. Maybe he should not have touched it.
Richard's sudden movement was enough to awaken Michael. Sleepy and dazed, he sat up despite Mura's restraining arm. He saw Richard swaying by the bedside and glaring at Sart, who looked somewhat guilty.
"What's the matter, Richie?" Michael asked with a slurred, gravelly voice. Richard didn't answer. Instead he wiped his hand over his head while continuing to glower at Sart. "What happened, Sart?" Mura asked.
"I touched Richard's blemish," Sart explained. "The one above his ear. I'm sorry." "Michael, come here!" Richard snapped. He waved Michael away from the bed while walking unsteadily in the direction of the pool. Michael got to his feet feeling giddy from the short snooze. He followed Richard. The two men staggered out of earshot. Michael could tell that Richard was major-league perturbed. "What's going on?" Michael asked in a whisper. Richard wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He was still glaring back at Sart. "I think I figured out why all these guys don't care if we make it with their women," Richard whispered
back.
"Why?" Michael asked.
"I think they're all a bunch of queers." "Really?" Michael looked back at Sart. The possibility had crossed his mind at the gala when he'd seen so many men walking around arm in arm, but then he'd forgotten about it in the general excitement. "Yeah, and I'll tell you something else," Richard said. "That little nerdy squirt over there has been rubbing my back and head. The whole time I thought it was the girl." Michael laughed despite Richard's evident rancor. "It's not funny," Richard snapped.
"I bet Mazzola would think it was funny," Michael said. "If you tell Mazzola, I'll kill you," Richard hissed. "You and ten other people," Michael scoffed. "But, in the meantime, what do you want to do?" "I think we should show this little twerp what we think of his kind," Richard said. "The guy had his hands all over me, for chrissake. I'm not about to let that pass without a reaction. I don't think we should let any of these people get the wrong idea of our persuasion." "All right," Michael said. "I'm with you. What do you have in mind?" "First, get rid of the girl!" Richard said. "Oh, no! Do we have to?" Michael questioned. "Absolutely," Richard said impatiently. "And ditch the long face. You can tell her to come back tomorrow. It's important to teach this guy a lesson, and we don't want an audience. She'd yell bloody murder and the next thing you'd know we would be dealing with a couple of those worker clones." "Okay," Michael said. He took a breath to fortify himself and walked back to the bed. "Is Richard all right?" Mura inquired.
"He's fine," Michael said. "But he's tired. In fact, we're both tired. Maybe exhausted is a better word. Plus we're drunk, as I'm sure you've noticed." "It hasn't bothered me," Mura said. "I've been enjoying myself." "I'm glad," Michael said. "But now we're wondering if we could put off any more palm pressing until tomorrow. What I mean is, maybe you should leave." "Certainly," Mura said without hesitation. She immediately slid off the bed and began dressing. Sart did the same.
"Why?" Michael asked.
"I think they're all a bunch of queers." "Really?" Michael looked back at Sart. The possibility had crossed his mind at the gala when he'd seen so many men walking around arm in arm, but then he'd forgotten about it in the general excitement. "Yeah, and I'll tell you something else," Richard said. "That little nerdy squirt over there has been rubbing my back and head. The whole time I thought it was the girl." Michael laughed despite Richard's evident rancor. "It's not funny," Richard snapped.
"I bet Mazzola would think it was funny," Michael said. "If you tell Mazzola, I'll kill you," Richard hissed. "You and ten other people," Michael scoffed. "But, in the meantime, what do you want to do?" "I think we should show this little twerp what we think of his kind," Richard said. "The guy had his hands all over me, for chrissake. I'm not about to let that pass without a reaction. I don't think we should let any of these people get the wrong idea of our persuasion." "All right," Michael said. "I'm with you. What do you have in mind?" "First, get rid of the girl!" Richard said. "Oh, no! Do we have to?" Michael questioned. "Absolutely," Richard said impatiently. "And ditch the long face. You can tell her to come back tomorrow. It's important to teach this guy a lesson, and we don't want an audience. She'd yell bloody murder and the next thing you'd know we would be dealing with a couple of those worker clones." "Okay," Michael said. He took a breath to fortify himself and walked back to the bed. "Is Richard all right?" Mura inquired.
"He's fine," Michael said. "But he's tired. In fact, we're both tired. Maybe exhausted is a better word. Plus we're drunk, as I'm sure you've noticed." "It hasn't bothered me," Mura said. "I've been enjoying myself." "I'm glad," Michael said. "But now we're wondering if we could put off any more palm pressing until tomorrow. What I mean is, maybe you should leave." "Certainly," Mura said without hesitation. She immediately slid off the bed and began dressing. Sart did the same.
"I don't want you to get the wrong impression," Michael said. "I'd like to see you tomorrow."
"I understand you are tired," Mura said graciously. "Don't worry. You are our guests, and I will return tomorrow if it is your wish."
Sart cinched his braided rope around his waist and looked back at Richard, who'd not moved from where he was standing halfway to the pool's edge. "Sart," Michael said, following the boy's line of sight. "Why don't you hang around? Richard wants to apologize for scaring you when he leaped off the bed." Sart looked at Mura. Mura shrugged. "It's up to you, my friend." Sart looked back at Michael, who smiled and winked at him. "If the guests wish me to stay, I will stay," Sart said. He stepped back to the bed with a bit of swagger and sat down.
"That's wonderful," Michael said.
Mura finished dressing and went first to Michael and then to Richard to press her palm against each of theirs one last time. She told them both that they had given her great pleasure to be with them, and said she was eager to see them the following day. Before closing the door behind herself she bid them good night.
After the sound of the door closing drifted away, there was a brief, uncomfortable silence. Richard and Michael eyed Sart while Sart looked back and forth between the two men. Sart began to fidget. He stood up.
"Perhaps I should call for more drink," Sart said, to make conversation. Richard forced a smile and shook his head. Then he approached Sart with a gait that suggested he didn't quite know where his feet were.
"How about more food?" Sart said.
Richard shook his head again. He was within an arm's distance of the boy. Sart took a step back. "Me and my buddy here have something important we want to say to you," Richard told him. "This is true," Michael said. He walked equally as unsteadily around the end of the bed to join Richard, effectively boxing Sart in a corner between the bed and the wall. "To put it bluntly, so there is no misunderstanding," Richard continued, "we can't stand queers like you." "In fact they make us a little crazy," Michael said. Sart's eyes darted from one drunken, sneering face to the other. "Perhaps it would be best if I go," Sart said nervously.
"I understand you are tired," Mura said graciously. "Don't worry. You are our guests, and I will return tomorrow if it is your wish."
Sart cinched his braided rope around his waist and looked back at Richard, who'd not moved from where he was standing halfway to the pool's edge. "Sart," Michael said, following the boy's line of sight. "Why don't you hang around? Richard wants to apologize for scaring you when he leaped off the bed." Sart looked at Mura. Mura shrugged. "It's up to you, my friend." Sart looked back at Michael, who smiled and winked at him. "If the guests wish me to stay, I will stay," Sart said. He stepped back to the bed with a bit of swagger and sat down.
"That's wonderful," Michael said.
Mura finished dressing and went first to Michael and then to Richard to press her palm against each of theirs one last time. She told them both that they had given her great pleasure to be with them, and said she was eager to see them the following day. Before closing the door behind herself she bid them good night.
After the sound of the door closing drifted away, there was a brief, uncomfortable silence. Richard and Michael eyed Sart while Sart looked back and forth between the two men. Sart began to fidget. He stood up.
"Perhaps I should call for more drink," Sart said, to make conversation. Richard forced a smile and shook his head. Then he approached Sart with a gait that suggested he didn't quite know where his feet were.
"How about more food?" Sart said.
Richard shook his head again. He was within an arm's distance of the boy. Sart took a step back. "Me and my buddy here have something important we want to say to you," Richard told him. "This is true," Michael said. He walked equally as unsteadily around the end of the bed to join Richard, effectively boxing Sart in a corner between the bed and the wall. "To put it bluntly, so there is no misunderstanding," Richard continued, "we can't stand queers like you." "In fact they make us a little crazy," Michael said. Sart's eyes darted from one drunken, sneering face to the other. "Perhaps it would be best if I go," Sart said nervously.
"Not before we're absolutely certain you know what we're talking about," Richard said.
"I don't know what you mean by 'queer,' " Sart admitted. "Homo, gay, fag, fairy," Richard said derisively. "The term doesn't matter. The point is we don't like guys who like men. And we have a sneaking suspicion you fall into that category." "Of course I like men," Sart said. "I like all people." Richard looked at Michael then back at Sart. "We don't like bisexuals either." Sart made a dash for the door, but he didn't make it. Richard grabbed one arm while Michael grabbed a handful of hair.
Richard quickly got Sart's other arm as well and with a triumphant laugh pinned both behind the boy. Sart struggled, but it was no use, especially with Michael still clutching a shock of his hair. Once the boy was immobilized, Michael punched him in the stomach, doubling him over. Both divers let go of the boy and then laughed while they watched him take a few staggering steps. Sart was desperately trying to catch his breath. His face was purple. "Okay, pansy," Richard slurred. "Here's one for putting your filthy paws on me." Richard lifted Sart's face with his left hand and hit him with his right. It was not a jab but rather a wild, roundhouse uppercut behind which he put his entire weight. This second blow caught the boy full in the face, crushing his nose, sending him hurling backward off his feet, and inadvertently smashing his head against the sharp corner of the marble nightstand. Unfortunately the cold stone penetrated several inches into the back of the youngster's skull.
Richard was initially unaware of the fatal consequences of his powerful punch. He was too preoccupied by the intense pain of his bruised knuckles. Wincing, he cradled his throbbing hand with his other and cursed loudly.
Michael watched in horror as Sart's flaccid body came to a rest. Bits of brain tissue oozed from the ugly wound. Suddenly sober, Michael bent down over the stricken boy, who was making gurgling sounds. "Richard!" Michael called out in a loud whisper. "We got a problem!" Richard refused to respond. He was still in pain, pacing the room and shaking his hand in the air with his fingers widely spread.
Michael stood up. "Richard! Christ! The guy's dead." "Dead?" Richard echoed. The finality of the word shattered Richard's self-absorption. "Well, almost. His head's caved in. He hit the goddamned table." Richard staggered back to where Michael was standing and looked down at Sart's motionless form. "Holy shit!" he said.
"What the hell are we going to do?" Michael demanded. "Why'd you hit him so freakin' hard?"
"I don't know what you mean by 'queer,' " Sart admitted. "Homo, gay, fag, fairy," Richard said derisively. "The term doesn't matter. The point is we don't like guys who like men. And we have a sneaking suspicion you fall into that category." "Of course I like men," Sart said. "I like all people." Richard looked at Michael then back at Sart. "We don't like bisexuals either." Sart made a dash for the door, but he didn't make it. Richard grabbed one arm while Michael grabbed a handful of hair.
Richard quickly got Sart's other arm as well and with a triumphant laugh pinned both behind the boy. Sart struggled, but it was no use, especially with Michael still clutching a shock of his hair. Once the boy was immobilized, Michael punched him in the stomach, doubling him over. Both divers let go of the boy and then laughed while they watched him take a few staggering steps. Sart was desperately trying to catch his breath. His face was purple. "Okay, pansy," Richard slurred. "Here's one for putting your filthy paws on me." Richard lifted Sart's face with his left hand and hit him with his right. It was not a jab but rather a wild, roundhouse uppercut behind which he put his entire weight. This second blow caught the boy full in the face, crushing his nose, sending him hurling backward off his feet, and inadvertently smashing his head against the sharp corner of the marble nightstand. Unfortunately the cold stone penetrated several inches into the back of the youngster's skull.
Richard was initially unaware of the fatal consequences of his powerful punch. He was too preoccupied by the intense pain of his bruised knuckles. Wincing, he cradled his throbbing hand with his other and cursed loudly.
Michael watched in horror as Sart's flaccid body came to a rest. Bits of brain tissue oozed from the ugly wound. Suddenly sober, Michael bent down over the stricken boy, who was making gurgling sounds. "Richard!" Michael called out in a loud whisper. "We got a problem!" Richard refused to respond. He was still in pain, pacing the room and shaking his hand in the air with his fingers widely spread.
Michael stood up. "Richard! Christ! The guy's dead." "Dead?" Richard echoed. The finality of the word shattered Richard's self-absorption. "Well, almost. His head's caved in. He hit the goddamned table." Richard staggered back to where Michael was standing and looked down at Sart's motionless form. "Holy shit!" he said.
"What the hell are we going to do?" Michael demanded. "Why'd you hit him so freakin' hard?"
"I didn't mean to, okay!" Richard shouted.
"Well, what are we going to do?" Michael repeated. "I don't know," Richard said.
At that moment Sart's battered body let out a final sigh and the gurgling stopped. "That's it," Michael said with a shudder. "He's dead! We got to do something and fast." "Maybe we should get outta here," Richard said. "We can't get out of here," Michael complained. "Where are we going to go? Hell, we don't even know where we are."
"All right, let me think," Richard said. "Shit, I didn't mean to hurt him." "Oh, sure," Michael said sarcastically. "Well, not that much," Richard said.
"What if someone comes in here?" Michael questioned. "You're right," Richard said. "We've got to hide the body." "Where?" Michael demanded urgently.
"I don't know!" Richard yelled. He looked around the room frantically. Then he looked back at Michael. "I just got an idea that might work." "Good," Michael said. "Where?"
"First help me pick him up," Richard said. He stepped over the body, rolled it over, and then got his hands under Sart's arms.
Michael got Sart's feet, and together they hoisted the boy off the floor. CHAPTER TWELVE
The new day arrived gradually just as it would on the earth's surface. The light slowly increased in intensity, causing the darkened, vaulted ceiling to lose its stars. Its color went in stages from deep indigo to a rosy pink and finally to a pure sky blue. Saranta began to stir. Suzanne was the first of the earth surface visitors to awaken with the arrival of the artificial dawn. As she scanned her room, taking in the white marble, the mirrors, and the pool, she realized with a start that the surreal Interterran experience had not been a dream. Slowly she turned her head to the side and gazed at Garona's sleeping form. He was on his side, facing her. She was amazed at herself for having allowed the man to stay the night. This was not her norm. The
"Well, what are we going to do?" Michael repeated. "I don't know," Richard said.
At that moment Sart's battered body let out a final sigh and the gurgling stopped. "That's it," Michael said with a shudder. "He's dead! We got to do something and fast." "Maybe we should get outta here," Richard said. "We can't get out of here," Michael complained. "Where are we going to go? Hell, we don't even know where we are."
"All right, let me think," Richard said. "Shit, I didn't mean to hurt him." "Oh, sure," Michael said sarcastically. "Well, not that much," Richard said.
"What if someone comes in here?" Michael questioned. "You're right," Richard said. "We've got to hide the body." "Where?" Michael demanded urgently.
"I don't know!" Richard yelled. He looked around the room frantically. Then he looked back at Michael. "I just got an idea that might work." "Good," Michael said. "Where?"
"First help me pick him up," Richard said. He stepped over the body, rolled it over, and then got his hands under Sart's arms.
Michael got Sart's feet, and together they hoisted the boy off the floor. CHAPTER TWELVE
The new day arrived gradually just as it would on the earth's surface. The light slowly increased in intensity, causing the darkened, vaulted ceiling to lose its stars. Its color went in stages from deep indigo to a rosy pink and finally to a pure sky blue. Saranta began to stir. Suzanne was the first of the earth surface visitors to awaken with the arrival of the artificial dawn. As she scanned her room, taking in the white marble, the mirrors, and the pool, she realized with a start that the surreal Interterran experience had not been a dream. Slowly she turned her head to the side and gazed at Garona's sleeping form. He was on his side, facing her. She was amazed at herself for having allowed the man to stay the night. This was not her norm. The
only way she'd shown some restraint had been by staunchly refusing to remove her silken tunic and
shorts. She had spent the night with her clothes on, such as they were. Suzanne wasn't sure she could blame her decision to allow him to stay on the small amount of crystal she'd drunk or whether it was simply Garona's handsome looks and winning flattery. As much as she hated to admit it, when it came to men, physical attractiveness was important to her. In fact, it had been part of the reason she'd remained mired in a volatile relationship with an actor back in L.A. long after it had ceased to be healthy.
As if sensing her gaze, Garona opened his dark, liquid eyes and smiled dreamily. It was difficult for Suzanne to feel much regret.
"I'm sorry if I woke you," Suzanne managed. He was as handsome in the first light of day as he'd been the night before.
"Please, don't be sorry," Garona said. "I appreciate being awakened to see that I am still with you." "How is it you always say the right thing?" Suzanne said. She was being sincere, not sarcastic. "I say what I would like to be told," Garona said. Suzanne nodded. It was a sensible variation of the Golden Rule. Garona rolled toward her and tried to envelop Suzanne in an embrace. Suzanne ducked under his arm and slid off the bed.
"Please, Garona," Suzanne said. "Let's not replay last night. Not now." Garona flopped back onto the bed and stared up at Suzanne. "I don't understand your reluctance," he said. "Could it be that you don't care for me?" Suzanne groaned audibly. "Oh, Garona, for all your sophistication and sensitivity, I can't imagine why this is so hard for you to grasp. As I told you last night, it takes me a little time to get to know someone." "What do you need to know?" Garona questioned. "You can ask me any personal question you like." "Look," Suzanne said. "I certainly care for you. Just letting you stay here is a testament to that. It's not usual for me when I've known someone for such a short time. But I did let you stay, and I'm glad I did. But you can't expect too much from me. Think of everything I'm trying to take in." "But it's unnatural," Garona said. "Your emotions should not be so contingent." "I disagree!" Suzanne remarked. "It's called self-protection. I can't go around allowing spur-of-the-moment desires to dictate my behavior. And it should be the same for you. After all, you don't know anything about me. Maybe I have a husband or a lover." "I assume you do," Garona said. "In fact, I would be surprised if you didn't. Anyway, it doesn't matter." "That's nice." Suzanne put her hands defiantly on her hips. "It doesn't matter to you, but what about me?" Suzanne stopped herself. She reached up and rubbed her sleep-filled eyes. She was getting herself
shorts. She had spent the night with her clothes on, such as they were. Suzanne wasn't sure she could blame her decision to allow him to stay on the small amount of crystal she'd drunk or whether it was simply Garona's handsome looks and winning flattery. As much as she hated to admit it, when it came to men, physical attractiveness was important to her. In fact, it had been part of the reason she'd remained mired in a volatile relationship with an actor back in L.A. long after it had ceased to be healthy.
As if sensing her gaze, Garona opened his dark, liquid eyes and smiled dreamily. It was difficult for Suzanne to feel much regret.
"I'm sorry if I woke you," Suzanne managed. He was as handsome in the first light of day as he'd been the night before.
"Please, don't be sorry," Garona said. "I appreciate being awakened to see that I am still with you." "How is it you always say the right thing?" Suzanne said. She was being sincere, not sarcastic. "I say what I would like to be told," Garona said. Suzanne nodded. It was a sensible variation of the Golden Rule. Garona rolled toward her and tried to envelop Suzanne in an embrace. Suzanne ducked under his arm and slid off the bed.
"Please, Garona," Suzanne said. "Let's not replay last night. Not now." Garona flopped back onto the bed and stared up at Suzanne. "I don't understand your reluctance," he said. "Could it be that you don't care for me?" Suzanne groaned audibly. "Oh, Garona, for all your sophistication and sensitivity, I can't imagine why this is so hard for you to grasp. As I told you last night, it takes me a little time to get to know someone." "What do you need to know?" Garona questioned. "You can ask me any personal question you like." "Look," Suzanne said. "I certainly care for you. Just letting you stay here is a testament to that. It's not usual for me when I've known someone for such a short time. But I did let you stay, and I'm glad I did. But you can't expect too much from me. Think of everything I'm trying to take in." "But it's unnatural," Garona said. "Your emotions should not be so contingent." "I disagree!" Suzanne remarked. "It's called self-protection. I can't go around allowing spur-of-the-moment desires to dictate my behavior. And it should be the same for you. After all, you don't know anything about me. Maybe I have a husband or a lover." "I assume you do," Garona said. "In fact, I would be surprised if you didn't. Anyway, it doesn't matter." "That's nice." Suzanne put her hands defiantly on her hips. "It doesn't matter to you, but what about me?" Suzanne stopped herself. She reached up and rubbed her sleep-filled eyes. She was getting herself
all worked up, and she'd only been awake for a few minutes.
"Let's not discuss any of this right now," Suzanne said. "This day is going to be challenging enough. Arak has promised to answer our questions, and believe me, I have a lot." She walked over to one of the many mirrors and cautiously moved into the line of sight of her image. She grimaced at the reflection. Her mind might have been in a turmoil, but there was one thing she knew for certain: she did not look her best in inch-long hair.
Putting his legs over the edge of the bed, Garona sat up and stretched. "You second-generation humans are so serious."
"I don't know what you mean by 'second generation'," Suzanne said. "But I think I have reason to be serious. After all, I didn't come here on my own accord. As Donald said, we've been abducted. And I don't have to remind you that means being carried off by force."
"Let's not discuss any of this right now," Suzanne said. "This day is going to be challenging enough. Arak has promised to answer our questions, and believe me, I have a lot." She walked over to one of the many mirrors and cautiously moved into the line of sight of her image. She grimaced at the reflection. Her mind might have been in a turmoil, but there was one thing she knew for certain: she did not look her best in inch-long hair.
Putting his legs over the edge of the bed, Garona sat up and stretched. "You second-generation humans are so serious."
"I don't know what you mean by 'second generation'," Suzanne said. "But I think I have reason to be serious. After all, I didn't come here on my own accord. As Donald said, we've been abducted. And I don't have to remind you that means being carried off by force."
As he had promised, Arak showed up just after the group had eaten breakfast and asked if everyone was ready for the didactic session. Perry and Suzanne were demonstrably eager, Donald less so, and Richard and Michael completely uninterested. In fact, they acted tense and subdued, hardly their normal brazen selves. Perry assumed they were suffering from hangovers and suggested as much to Suzanne. "I wouldn't doubt it," Suzanne responded. "As drunk as they were it stands to reason. How do you feel?"
"Great," Perry said. "All things considered. It was an interesting evening. How about your friend, Garona. Did he stay long?"
"For a while," Suzanne said evasively. "How about Luna?" "The same," Perry said. Neither one looked the other in the eye. As soon as the group was ready, Arak led them across the lawn toward a hemispherical structure similar to the pavilion although on a much smaller scale. Perry and Suzanne kept up with Arak. Donald lagged a few steps behind and Richard and Michael even more so. "I still think you should tell Donald," Michael insisted in a whisper. "He might have an idea about what to do."
"What the hell is that bastard going to do?" Richard responded. "The kid's dead. Fuller's not going to bring him back to life."
"Maybe he'll have a better idea where to put the body," Michael said. "I'm worried about the kid being found. I mean, I don't want you to find out what they do down here to murderers." Richard stopped short. "What do you mean, me?" "Hey, you killed him," Michael said.
"You hit him, too," Richard said.
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