live. If not…” Wallace shrugged.
Doc’s face cracked wryly. “You hardly give me a choice. So be it.”
Wallace nodded. “Good. I will get Sarj Murphy and his guard to escort you back
to your companions until we’re ready for you.”
As the Gen bellowed Murphy’s name, and the chief sec man opened the door, Doc
wondered what horrors awaited him.
Chapter Seven
“Stupe move. Never give anything.”
Jak’s sharp opinion was echoed by Dean, who shook his head when Doc, safely
returned to the dormitory by Murphy, told them of the outcome of his interview
with Wallace. It amused Doc that Murphy, obviously still remembering Panner’s
fate, had kept his blaster trained on him from five yards distance, not allowing
the old man any scope for an attempted assault.
“I disagree,” Mildred said. “The crazy old buzzard has done nothing more than
buy us time, but at least he’s done that.”
Doc inclined his head. “I shall accept that with the graciousness that you no
doubt intended,” he murmured.
“You’re both right,” Ryan snapped. “It was stupe in some ways, but what else
could Doc do? What we need now is to work out how we get out of here.”
The one-eyed warrior surveyed his friends. His biggest concern was the lasting
effects of the psychological weapons they had endured. Physically they weren’t
in too bad shape. His balls still hurt like hell, but the rest of his wounds
were nothing more than abrasions and bruising. Running and fighting would make
his balls feel like they were about to fall off, but he could stand that if it
was a choice between resting them and being chilled.
J.B. and Mildred were in a similar condition. Minor abrasions, nothing more.
When Ryan mentioned his own injuries, J.B. winced, so he, too, may be slowed by
the injuries inflicted by the cane seat. They would have to take that into
account. It could make the split-second difference between escape and buying the
farm.
Dean had been left more or less alone, his “reward” for telling Murphy who he
was, Ryan figured. Doc was okay. That was a weird one. What did these coldhearts
have in mind for him? Old tech could mean anything, if it was still working.
Ryan looked across the room at Krysty, who was lying on a bed, trying to get
some sleep. She was bruised and had a split lip where Murphy had whipped her
with that ring hand he loved to use. Ryan idly wondered if he would have an
opportunity to cut it off and ram it up the sec man’s ass before they left. It
was only a passing thought. Revenge was a luxury they couldn’t afford.
It was Jak who worried Ryan most. He was a born fighter, with reserves of
stamina and strength that belied his slender frame. But Murphy had enjoyed
working on Jak. His face was marked with new scars and scabs, his lips swollen
and one eye totally obscured where the flesh had puffed and discolored. His body
had mostly been left alone, but he, too, had been tortured on the cane chair,
and at one point he remembered being cut loose and kicked across the floor of
the interrogation cell. Mildred had examined him and had found no evidence of
broken bones, but she was concerned that he might have a hairline fracture of at
least one rib that could cause problems.
Jak caught Ryan’s stare with his one good eye. He seemed to know what Ryan was
thinking.
“We break, leave me if slow us up.”
“You know better than that, Jak,” Ryan said, but it was what he would have said
in the circumstances. It was what any of them would have said.
But he’d be damned if he’d do it.
Ryan sank back on his bed. Now to wait.
It was Wallace’s move.
IT WAS HARD to know how much time had passed. No one had a wrist chron, as they
had all been taken away, and the seconds dragged. J.B. in particular found his
fingers itching without blasters to strip and clean, ammo to indent and grens to
check. Jak was lost without his leaf-bladed knives to clean and practice