“Toss him into the pit. I’ll be standing on the observation platform above. And he stays until he’s shown his love and affection to the pig of his choice.”
Doc gave out a bellow of protest, which was clamped down to a whimpering sound, like a whipped dog, after Strasser smashed the butt of a shotgun into Doc’s gut. Soon he found himself standing among the terrible-smelling pigs.
“And Doc, don’t take too long, or I might see if you prefer porking piggies of the same sex. Being a pig-fucker is bad enough, but a homo pig-fucker is even worse,” Strasser yelled down from above, much to the amusement of his lackeys.
The long hour spent in the pen seemed like the most painful nightmare Doc had been forced to endure since being taken away from his wife and children, and as it was, only by focusing on their faces and voices and memories was he able to detach himself from the current situation he was being forced to participate in and do the requested deed.
Never in his life had he felt so degraded and alone.
Chapter Sixteen
In Puerto Rico, within the confines of a modified mat-trans gateway designed not only for simultaneous matter transfer but also for quantum leaps into the past or future, the gaunt figure known to friends and family as Dr. Theophilus Algernon Tanner ceased to exist.
The man, Doc Tanner…wasn’t.
Yet, he was, and there he stood, his knees unbowed, in the center of a mat-trans chamber. “Most curious,” he murmured to himself. “I usually return to these unearthly carrels horizontal and sick of mind and body, not erect and invigorated.” Other than the queer sensation of tingling flesh, as if he were covered in a layer of squirming insects, Doc felt wide-eyed and alert.
His eyes searched the colors of the tinted arma-glass walls and saw they were an unfamiliar brown. No sign of blue was to be seen anywhere around him. He touched a wall and received a slight electric shock. Looking at his hand and arm, Doc noted a faint halo of light that seemed to dance around his entire body, like a glistening silver cloak of silk.
“I wonder where this might be?” he said softly, debating whether to cross the small room and open the waiting door or remain standing until he had more opportunity to assess his situation. He regretted the absence of his trusty Le Mat now more than ever, and cursed himself for a fool for having left it behind in Puerto Rico. He could stand there as long as he liked, but eventually would need to cross the threshold and see what waited outside.
If events held to the norm, outside would be an anteroom leading to the control center for the mat-trans gateway he now resided in. Some blinking lights, a few soft noises of comps talking to themselves in binary clicks and Doc would be all alone. He hoped. Squatters in redoubts were rarely the friendly sort.
All of this was true, if events held to the norm.
Pausing cost Doc any element of surprise. While he stood woolgathering, the heavy armaglass chamber door swung open.
“He who hesitates is lost,” flitted through his brain. If Ryan were here, he’d undoubtedly remark that such an expression sounded like something the Trader would say. Doc had met the Trader, and spent many a day traveling in his company. Despite the origins of the phrase, the Trader would have agreed with the words, or at the very least, the sentiment.
Doc held his ebony swordstick in both of his elegant hands, long fingers wrapped around his lone possession in a manner indicating there would be no taking of the cane unless he were unconscious or dead, the latter being most likely. One of his age-spotted hands was at the base of the silver lion’s head atop the stick, and the other was lower, ready to unsheathe the hidden blade within-readying himself, for what, he did not know-but he wanted to be as prepared as a man facing the unknown could be.
He peered out through the open door and into the anteroom and spotted three figures, all dressed identically in formfitting white bodysuits.