Kidnapped (17 page)

In spite of all, watching the doctor handle garments that seemed to belong to a can-can dancer was a little funny, and she managed a thin smile when she answered, "Thank you. I don't know what I would have done without you."

It was late afternoon on the station already, and he made them dinner.  The food looked almost exactly like seaweed to her. It tasted rather good, but she mostly poked around in it. She didn't want to eat; she wanted to cry. She made a valiant effort and swallowed a couple of mouthfuls to be polite, thinking she needed to eat, and that it was probably good for her.

The silence hung heavy over the table. She couldn't remember ever being this depressed before, and she didn't have the energy to even try to talk. He was considerate enough to leave her alone, and he eventually sighed softly and went to make a bed for her on the couch, saying kindly, "He might get out of it, you know. This isn't the first time Travis is in trouble with the Alliance. They might not even know about you, it might be something entirely different."

She nodded, trying to take some comfort from his words, but it didn't work very well. As much as she tried to, she hardly slept. Her mind kept replaying the first night on Travis's ship over and over. She'd had a nightmare and he'd spent a long time sitting on the side of the bed, even though he had no idea why he was doing it. The memory finally released the tears, and she cried until it felt like her very soul was empty.

The next morning, Samuel came in to check on her before going down to the clinic. He asked kindly, "How do you feel?"

"Dead," she answered honestly. Then it was time for the illness that had come upon her every day lately, and she exclaimed, "Excuse me, be right back," and ran out to throw up in the toilet.

When she came back, her new friend was rubbing his forehead, looking very tired, and patted the couch, urging her to sit down next to him, asking simply, "Does he know?"

Patricia played dumb, "Does he know what?" In retrospect, it was strange Travis hadn't noticed. He must have been more preoccupied than she'd realized.

Samuel looked amused. He chuckled quietly and said, "Oh, my dear girl, now you're talking to a doctor and not to a socially impaired Alliance officer. I even have a couple of children of my own, remember. How long has it been?" 

She mumbled, "Not long"

"Why didn't you tell him?" Shaking her head a little, Patricia finally looked into his eyes and replied, "I don't know, or, well, I do know, I've been such a burden to him as it is. And then this happened, and I didn't want to make it all worse."

Samuel sighed softly, answering in a mild voice, "You know, I don't think he would see it that way."

Hearing those words felt like being hit in the face. She had kept one of the most important things in his life a secret, and now there was a good chance her lover would die without ever knowing he was going to be a father. She mumbled, "Oh my god," and at that moment, something inside her changed. An insistent voice told her to stop being a victim, to stop having faith in everyone else sending her around between them as if she was a pet or a doll. "I've got to do something."

His voice was serious when he answered, and in stark contrast to his appearance which quite frankly made her think of hobbits in a Tolkien book, "I understand you feel that way, but there's not much you
can
do. And if they don't know about you, blundering into it will only make everything worse."

She looked right into his eyes. "I'm not going to just sit by and let him die. If you don't want to help me, that's fine. I'll just find someone else who will."

Her friend rose up and walked around the room, and when he stopped again, he stared at her with a helpless look on his face. "You do realize that if he survives this, he'll kill me for helping you jump into harm's way."

Patricia shrugged a little, surprised at her own resolve, "Not if we don't tell him."

*****

It took a couple of days for them to come up with something, and Patricia spent the time telling the little doctor about her adventures since the day William accidentally materialized in front of her car. Samuel was astounded; these were things that just didn't happen.

He tried to stall, hoping she'd rethink if she got some time, but Patricia's mind was set, and she just shrugged when he said, "This is suicide, you know that, right? You're all going to die, all three of you instead of just him."

She answered fatalistically, "If that's the way it's supposed to be, that's the way it will be," thinking the world without her lover wasn't all that great anyway. It might have been different if she'd been home, but she couldn't even pay someone to take her there, because she had no clue of where home was. Saying, "It's the third planet from the sun, and it's kinda blue and green and has a moon," wouldn’t get her far.

She had been trying to remember everything he'd ever told her, everything she'd learned from the ship's computer and from Aaren, and she was as prepared as she could be. She had a small weapon and some money, and absolutely nothing to lose, and when Samuel told her, "I think I've found something," she actually smiled.

It was a freighter, seemingly legal, but also smuggling things to and from the rebels, and when visiting the doctor to get some old wounds tended to, the Captain confided they were transporting something to the Redeemer. They'd just make a short stop at Central first, delivering supplies from one of the outer colonies, hiding their real mission under legitimate work. It seemed almost too good to be true.

Samuel admonished her seriously, "For all I know, you're on your way to meet up with your friends, and after what you told me, I'm sure William would take you in again. If you decide to sneak out when they're docking with Central to see if you can get any news, well, I don't want to know the first thing about it."

Patricia hugged him and thanked him warmly, thinking it would be nice, if she ever got a chance, to make up for everything people did for her.

She entered the freighter as their only passenger, and if the crew thought there was something strange about the pale girl with the sad eyes, none of them mentioned anything about it.

*****

Patricia started out much later than Travis had, on a ship slower than his was, and she was terrified he'd already be dead when she got there. She spent much time pacing around her small room, and the days crept by slower than ever before. 

The people on board were friendly enough. Samuel had told them she was a friend of William's, and they respected that, but she kept mostly to herself, surprised every day she retained her sanity.

On the other hand,  maybe she hadn't. Maybe she had gone mad. Didn't crazy people think they were sane? Luckily, the ship arrived at its destination before she got too much time to think about that. The past few weeks had been too long and lonely, and now it was  sheer determination that kept her going.

By the time the ship docked, her plan had become an obsession, and the only fear she felt was being too late.

The Captain of the little freighter had reported Patricia as part of the crew, no one had demanded any more information about her, and since she'd spent most of her time alone in her cabin, the others wouldn't even notice if she didn't make it back to the ship before it took off. No one would miss her for days. It didn't matter; nothing mattered to her anymore.

She waited until they were all busy unloading, and she was surprised when she peeked out of the hatch. The guards on the enormous station had grown complacent. The only person assigned to watch the ship had his back turned towards her.

Sneaking out was even easier than she had dared hope for, and she stayed in the shadows close to the wall. She didn't even have a bad conscience for shooting the lone guard from behind. She remembered Travis's instructions, and had it set to stun. The man was big, almost too big, but adrenaline made pulling him over the floor, taking his uniform, and tying him up with his own belt much easier than it would normally have been, and she was amazed at her own boldness. Old Patricia would never have attempted anything like this.

Once she found a computer terminal, she had to use every ounce of knowledge she'd picked up from Aaren, and as she was browsing through the confusing menus, she wished her friend was there with her.

She finally found what she was looking for and almost cried with relief. Her lover was scheduled for execution in two days, but he was still alive.

Chapter Eighteen

Travis was sitting on one of the cold metal benches in his cell, eyes closed, and back leaning against the wall. He had been there for a large number of days now, and there wasn't a doubt in his mind they really would execute him this time. He had been threatened with it over and over again, and now they would go through with it. He didn't care.

He could remember fearing for himself, but he suspected it had just been a part of the conditioning from his childhood. If they could make a man not feel, make fear and pain the only things he knew, surely they could make him appreciate that pathetic excuse for a life, too. All the fear in the world would be a useless motivator if the subject didn't want to live. He corrected himself. Wanting to live was a strong way of putting it, maybe fearing to die would be more accurate: no person with even a trace of sanity would wish to continue a life like the one he'd been leading.

His thoughts kept returning to his girl; he hoped she was safe. He wished he could have done more for her, but told himself she'd gone back to Samuel and gotten help. He had to keep telling himself she was alright. Maybe it was typical for someone like him to become completely obsessed with whatever broke through the walls that had been so carefully moulded within him. He was aware he'd just changed the implanted obsession with the Alliance for an obsession with a woman, but he didn't mind. He liked it.

The door slid open, but he didn't even look up. There was no point. It might be Veronica come to taunt him again, it might be a guard come to take him away, either way, he'd know soon enough.

He heard the door close again, and footsteps approached. That was odd; normal procedure would be to stay outside and order the prisoner to come to you. It was a security measure the Alliance made sure to enforce. The horribly dangerous civilian women and children normally imprisoned here might rebel, and kick a guard's boot or something.

There must be some curiosity left in him after all, because he opened his eyes reluctantly. He wanted to keep them closed, wanted to keep daydreaming about his new life. He had tried imagining a happy ending, living happily ever after, doing whatever normal people do, but there was a problem with it: he had no idea of how normal people lived their lives. Even with all the information he'd gathered from Patricia, his fantasy came out rudimentary to say the least.

His life used to be void of imagination, and the only thing playing for his inner eye had been capturing or destroying whomever Veronica told him to. It was a lifetime away.

In front of him, in the middle of the room, was a warder in white uniform, with white gloves and a white helmet equipped with a dark visor. The person was very short for a guard and the uniform looked too big. The arms and legs were too long, and it sagged. This was unheard of. Sloppiness would not be tolerated, not on any level.

The next thing that seemed peculiar was how he appeared unused to the weapons, almost bothered by them, holding them awkwardly. Travis grinned and suggested, "If you have a problem with that rifle, I can help you, soldier."

That was new too; he couldn't remember having a sense of humour before he met Patricia. So many things in his life had changed when he landed on that planet. He had truly been born again, and of the many things in his life he might regret, now that he was free to do so, nothing that had happened after meeting her would be on the list. He wished he'd had more time to repent his many sins, but that just wasn't meant to be.

When the figure in front of him held the weapon out to him, saying in a familiar voice, only slightly distorted by the helmet, "Oh, I wish you would, that thing is so heavy!", surprise, fear and joy skittered through him.

His eyes went wide, and he squeezed them shut and opened them again, checking if he might be hallucinating. He wouldn't be surprised if they'd put drugs in the water. It didn't seem so; the person taking the helmet off still both sounded and looked like her.

He could hear the despair in his own voice when he asked, "Oh no, what are you doing here?"

She answered, for once much calmer than he was, "I think we're running away. Come on."

*****

Patricia stared at the man sitting on the little metal bench. He wasn't moving, and she supposed she hadn't really expected him to. He looked sternly at her, "You know it's not possible, Sweetheart. You have to leave while you can. Don't get yourself killed over me."

She hadn't had much of a plan after the part of sneaking aboard and finding his cell, but she'd had to try. What else could she do? Find her way to the Redeemer and spend an endless row of empty days and nights waiting for an Alliance ship to shoot them down?