The Dark Remains (47 page)

“Whatever the case, it must be a violent period there. The subject can’t talk to us, but the scars, the multiple injuries to his bones, tell a story of brutality. I know this hypothesis isn’t particularly scientific, but I believe that, were he awake and unrestrained, he would kill me with his bare hands.”

Silence.

“This is Dr. Ananda M. Larsen. End recording.”

A sigh, shuffling noises, then the scrape of a chair being pushed back. The shadow stood.

Beltan let his eyelids droop shut. That was the first rule of a prisoner of war. Make your captors believe you were helpless. The woman—the
doctor
named Larsen—was not
completely wrong about him. Were he free, he would not have killed her, but he would have done anything else it might take to be free of this place and these people who were holding him.

A sound he did not recognize rose on the air—a series of chiming noises. Then came a heavy
thunk
followed by a grinding sound that on any world meant a lock was turning. He was trapped. And alone.

A rattle, followed by a soft
whuffling
of breath.

No, not alone after all.

Beltan opened his eyes and craned his neck. From the steel cage in the corner, the
chin-pasi
gazed at him with intelligent brown eyes.

“Hello,” Beltan said, his voice a dry croak. “So you’re still here, too.”

The creature tilted its head, then ran long, dark fingers over the wire mesh of its cage.

Beltan frowned. “You understand me, don’t you? Not my words, maybe, but you’re like I am to them. You know more than they think you do.”

The
chin-pasi
stretched long, scarred arms toward one of the glowing bone-pictures on the wall: a high, delicate skull with too-large eyes.

Beltan tried to lift his head, found he could a little, and examined his surroundings. He was still naked, but they had cast a thin sheet over him. So perhaps he was not just an object to them, but a man. The myriad wires and tubes of his last awakening were gone, and now there was only one tube that led from a clear bladder above to a needle stuck in his arm. He was still restrained, but the bonds seemed a fraction looser than before, as if carelessly tied. Again, they had not believed he could wake so soon. As far as he could tell, there were three bands beneath the sheet: one that passed over his arms and chest, one that bound his hands beside his hips, and one that held his legs.

Gritting his teeth, Beltan strained against the bonds.
Whatever the straps were made of, it was stronger than he. He tried wriggling instead. This was more effective; he was nearly able to pull his right hand free from the strap around his waist. If there was just a little more space.…

He strained, but after several minutes—exhausted and right wrist burning—he stopped. There was not enough room inside the strap. The only way he could pull his hand out was if he chopped off a limb.

Think, Beltan. Your muscles are gone, so use your brain for a change, if it hasn’t completely withered over the years. Think about saddling your charger. A horse always takes in a breath when you’re cinching the girth, so that when it breathes out the girth loosens and the saddle slips down. Breathing out won’t do you any good—the strap is around your hipbones. But is there a way you can make yourself smaller?

Then he had it.

He pushed upward against the straps. The looseness left an inch between his back and the steel table, but he needed a little more. He gritted his teeth and felt a cool tingling, like a swarm of pinpricks over his body. The straps creaked as they stretched. Somehow he was stronger after his ordeal than he had thought.

There—it was enough. The fingers of his left hand crept along the metal. He tucked his hand beneath him, into the hollow at the small of his back. Then he pressed his body back down, hard.

He held his breath, and like a horse he forced the air from his lungs. He pulled on his right hand. There was resistance—

—then with a bright jolt of pain it popped free from the encircling strap.

Beltan stared at his right hand. It was bleeding. He’d torn off a good strip of skin. But it was free.

Quit staring, you stoneskull, and move
.

The strap around his hips was loose now, and it was
simple to pull his left hand free. Loosening the band around his upper arms and chest was a harder feat. However, after much grunting, and a fair amount of popping on the part of his elbow, he was able to work his right hand over to the clasp that held the strap in place. He couldn’t see what he was doing, and his fingers were numb; it was going to be impossible to figure out the strange clasp.

Except that it wasn’t. Again came the cool tingling, in his fingers this time, which moved with a dexterity he was fairly sure he had never possessed before.

The strap went slack. Beltan sat up.

The sheet fell down, and he stared. The last time he had glimpsed himself, he had been horribly thin, like the people of a village he had passed through one spring, where mold had spoiled the winter store of grain and folk had nearly starved to death.

Not today. He was still thin—far too thin. There was no trace of his old ale belly, and he could easily count his ribs. But his skin glowed with pink warmth, and flat sheets of muscles worked visibly beneath. His wound from last Midwinter’s Eve was a rough, white line snaking down his side. He flexed his arms. They were stiff, but he had the feeling he could swing a sword with them if he had to.

But that was impossible. A sickly man could not put on a stone’s weight in such a short time.

Whatever the answer to this mystery, it would have to wait. He threw back the sheet. The straps around his ankles were easily removed, but he was less certain about the tube in his arm. He gripped it, clenched his teeth, then jerked it out. There was some pain and blood, but it was not as bad as he had thought. Carefully, he swung his feet around, then pressed them against the cold floor. He pushed himself up from the bed, and for the first time in two months Beltan stood.

It was almost the last time. A rushing noise filled his ears, and the room spun around him. He stumbled and might have fallen, cracking his skull on the hard floor,
but at the last moment he grabbed the steel rack beside the bed and hung on it like one of the clear bladders of fluid.

He breathed and spat; gradually the dizziness passed.

Slow this time, he took a few steps. With each one blood and confidence pumped through him. In moments he had reached the door. He was sweating, and breathing ridiculously hard for having walked no more than a dozen steps, but he had made it. Hanging from a hook by the door was a thin, white coat like the doctor had worn. He shrugged it on and held it around him. It was too small, but it was better than nothing.

A soft, hooting sound.

The
chin-pasi
gazed at him through the mesh of its cage. Its brown eyes were soft as it made a low sound. The thing almost seemed concerned for him. But then, maybe it was. Close as he was to it now, he could see it was female.

Beltan grinned. “I’m all right, my lady.” He lifted a finger to his lips. “Now, be quiet. We don’t want anyone to know what we’re up to.”

The creature kept watching through the wire.

The door was made of steel. It did not have a bar to hold it shut, like most doors Beltan knew, but there was a steel handle that obviously worked as a lever to open it. Beltan tried to move the handle.

It didn’t budge.

He leaned all his weight on it, but it was no use. What kind of lock was this?

Another hoot. The
chin-pasi
had stuck its fingers through the mesh and was waving them at him.

“Not right now, my lady,” he muttered. “I’ve got to find a way to get this door open.”

He examined it more closely. On the doorframe was a small box. The box had a glass window in which crimson symbols glowed, eerie as the pale lights behind the bone-pictures. Beneath the window, on the box, were ten raised
metal squares. A symbol was engraved upon each of the squares, but he did not know what they were. Whatever power enabled him to understand the speech of this place, evidently it did not allow him to read it. But then, even on Eldh his skill at letters was poor. Reading was for priests, highborn ladies, and kings, not bastards.

Again he ran his hands over the door, but he could see nothing—no opening, no weakness—he might exploit. There were no hinges on this side. Only the box with the squares and the glowing symbols.

He swore. If they found him like this, out of his bed, they would bind him far more tightly. Or cage him, like the
chin-pasi
. He had to get out of here before they came back.

The rattling of wire mesh, followed again by the hooting sound. It was higher this time, more urgent. Beltan looked at the cage. Inside, the
chin-pasi
moved rapidly up and down, then it squatted, held one hand flat before it, and poked at it with a long finger. What was it doing?

Now the thing rose and once more wiggled its fingers through the mesh, pointing at Beltan.

No, you fool. Not at you. Behind you
.

He turned, and his gaze fell on the box with the shining crimson symbols.

“This thing.” He moved to the box by the door, then looked back at the creature in the cage. “You want me to do something with this, don’t you?”

Once more the
chin-pasi
poked at its hand with a finger. Beltan frowned, then stretched his own finger toward the box. He brushed one of the squares.

A screech startled him. He glanced back. The creature was watching. He touched another of the squares on the box. Again the creature screeched, causing him to flinch. He clenched his jaw and touched a third square.

A soft grunt. Beltan hesitated, then pushed the square.

The window on the box went dark, then a single red
symbol appeared as a chime sounded. It was just like the chimes he had heard when the doctor left the room.

Another grunt, urging him on. He froze. Was he mad, letting this half-human beast tell him what to do?

It’s smart, Beltan. Too smart, maybe. Who knows what they’ve done to it? Then again, who knows what they’ve done to you? You’ve got to get out of this place. And sure as you’re a bastard, this creature has been watching them when they didn’t know it
.

He moved his finger to another square.

He got this one in two tries. A second red symbol appeared in the window, accompanied by another chime. The next one took several attempts, as well as several clipped screeches, but he got the following one on the first try. The
chin-pasi
let out a low hoot. Beltan licked his lips and pushed the button.

Chime
.

A fourth red symbol appeared. Then, for a terrible moment, the small window on the box went black. Beltan started to swear, sure he had done some harm, when the symbols flashed into being again, only not crimson now but emerald green. There was a
chunk
as, somewhere inside the door, metal tumblers turned.

He gave the creature in the cage a look of astonishment. It had watched them, and it had learned their secret. Smart indeed.

“Thank you,” Beltan whispered.

The creature sat back on its crooked legs, gazing at him quietly. He turned again to the door, gripped the handle, and pushed. With a
click
, the door swung outward.

“These,” Farr said, unrolling several crackling sheets of paper on the suite’s mahogany table, “are schematics of Duratek’s base of operations in Commerce City, just a few miles north of downtown Denver.”

Vani prowled toward the table. “You have maps of their fortress, Seekers? I have learned what I could from watching, but never have I seen what lies within.”

Deirdre shot her a crooked grin. “Being part of a mysterious international organization has to be good for something.”

“Don’t be too thrilled,” Farr said. “These blueprints were made for the previous tenant of the building. Duratek has occupied the premises for over two months. They might have rearranged all the interior walls in the meantime.”

Vani traced a finger over the map. “No, I don’t think so. They have made only a few makeshift alterations to the exterior for security. I do not believe they intend to stay there long. This base was established for a limited purpose, and when that is completed they will abandon it.”

Grace glanced at Vani. What
was
the purpose of the Duratek base of operations? To open a gateway to Eldh? If so, then why were they holding Beltan?

Maybe he was just a lucky accident, Grace. A bonus prize, something to play with while they figure out they can’t open the gate without Vani’s piece of the artifact
.

“All right,” Travis said, holding the silver coffeepot,
his eyes squinty and his goatee pulled down in a frown. “Is everyone in this room a caffeine addict?”

He tipped the pot over his cup. Nothing came out, earning him four guilty stares.

Grace unfolded her stiff body from the chair. “I’ll call room service.”

It was something vaguely useful she could do. She doubted she would be much help planning an assault on the secret base of a sinister multinational corporation. Trying to put her friends back together after they failed—that was her job.

She dialed and connected to an earful of tinny music; they had put her on hold. Her thoughts drifted. If the Touch worked here on Earth, maybe she could help after all.…

But it doesn’t, Grace. Not very well, at least. You’re not going to be able to sense where in the complex they’re holding Beltan until you’re a few feet away from him. It’s going to be up to Vani and the Seekers to find him
.

And then what? How were they going to get the artifact and the secret of its use from the Scirathi?

You’ve seen her fight, Grace. She does things that don’t seem possible given the laws of physics. Vani said she was fated to bring you and Travis back to Eldh. Maybe fate really does exist
.

No. She couldn’t believe that; she was a scientist. There was no such thing as fate; there was no divine providence shaping their lives. If there was a god, then he was a blind idiot.