James Axler – Stoneface

“Continue the search for Mr. Cawdor’s companion,” the Commander ordered. “She somehow escaped the city. Your identification badge was found attached to a firearm. A check on the model, make and serial number showed it was one traded to Helskel over a year ago. So far, the woman has misled the search teams. They’re very annoyed about it, so go and take charge of the operation.”

Doug hesitated. “Sir, I shouldn’t leave you alone with this renegade.”

The Commander draped a paternal arm around Ryan’s shoulders. The arm felt like a beam of steel. “Nonsense. We’re going to have a talk, that’s all, and your presence will inhibit our discussions. Be off with you now.”

Doug scowled at Ryan, then turned toward the elevator. The Commander led Ryan down the corridor.

“Do you know who I am?” he asked in a conspiratorial whisper.

“The Commander.”

“Short for commander in chief. A euphemism for President.”

Ryan managed to keep his surprise from showing on his face. “President of what?”

Gesturing to the corridor, the man said, “This. The United States. You went through Washington and visited me in the Oval Office, didn’t you?”

Ryan knew a bit about predark history, and this man didn’t resemble pictures he had seen of the presidents whose terms preceded the nukecaust.

The arm tightened around Ryan’s shoulders, and his shoulder wound screamed in pain. “Didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” Ryan said quickly. “When were you elected?”

The arm relaxed. “I wasn’t elected. It was an office I assumed after the chain of command had been broken. This complex became the seat of government. It wasn’t easy, making this place the nerve center of the country. But careful design, meticulous attention to detail and good, sound American craftsmanship paid off.”

Nodding in agreement, Ryan asked, “How large is the complex?”

“The tunnels run all through the mountain, leading down beneath it. We have fifteen levels aboveground. I have lived here for” the Commander frowned slightly, as though he were dredging his memory. “for many years. I still find it inspiring.”

“An installation this size must require a lot of care, a lot of maintenance to keep it in operating condition.”

“Oh, quite. The problems are many, and we devote a great deal of time to repair and improvement. But the topic is far too technical to go into now.”

“Why did you retreat here in the first place?”

“I did not ‘retreat,’ young man. My reasons aren’t open for discussion at present.”

The Commander turned toward a doorway, still leading Ryan. The door slid aside at their approach. The room was very large, alloy-plated and was obviously a laboratory. It was staffed by men wearing white smocks, reading clipboards, checking gauges and thermometers.

Inside glass cases and fluid-filled jars were human internal organs floating livers, pumping hearts, eyeballs, loops of intestines, and in one large cubicle was the naked body of a man. A metal framework extended from where the right arm should have been.

Ryan was both repulsed and fascinated. In glass-paneled cabinets were arms and legs, hands and feet and torsos, wires extending from the blood-rimmed stumps of necks, arms and thighs.

“Before your trade agreement with Helskel,” Ryan ventured, “how did you acquire the organs and body parts you needed?”

“We managed to stockpile quite a number, primarily from personnel in nonessential positions. Spouses and children of staff members provided us with what we needed, at least for several decades. We began to deplete our supply over the last few years.”

If Ryan’s mouth hadn’t been so dry, he would have spit. “Was it worth it, just so you could exist in this frozen prison?”

The Commander waved a hand around the room. “Hardly a prison, Mr. Cawdor. This installation is my gift to the country of my birth. It is devoted to bestowing order upon chaos. You have no idea how many years I have worked toward this. It’s been a long life, a full life, a rewarding life.”

Nauseated and angry, Ryan said, “You’re a cyborg, a droid that never grows old.”

“Not precisely,” the Commander replied. “I have a new heartmy thirda few joints are prosthetic replacements, my face has undergone surgery to replace radiation-ravaged flesh, but I’m hardly a cyborg. Nor am I immortal.”