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She’s never been late before. She’s always here at the same time, give or take ten minutes.
The more I think about it, the more agitated I become. I take a shower. I dress. I try to come up with something to occupy my mind, but I know every piece of equipment in the lab. There is nothing of any interest here. I try to access more information about Errol Spat, but I find nothing new.
It’s been over fourteen hours since I last saw her.
Since the day I first woke up, I haven’t been apart from her this long. My hands begin to shake and my thighs start to tremble. I swallow a couple of times, but I can’t get rid of the sour taste in the back of my throat.
If something has happened to her, I have no idea what I will do.
Briefly, I consider what might become of me. I know there are other doctors who share Dr. McCall’s belief that my treatments have been a mistake. What if she were left in charge of me? Would she alter the treatments or just have me voided, whatever that means. Would they wipe out my memoires again and make me start over?
Kill me?
I have no idea.
I’m already heading to the door, not sure what I will do other than bang on it and scream for someone to find Riley, when the door opens and a haggard Riley walks in. I immediately grab her up in my arms and hug her tightly to me.
“Where the fuck have you been?” My voice carries both anger and relief. I’m practically crushing her to me, but I can’t relax my grip.
“Sten…oh, Sten, I’m so sorry!” She reaches up and strokes the side of my face and then my arm. “I didn’t mean for all that to take so long.”
“What were you doing?”
“I’ve been appealing to Colonel Mills to abort this mission. He’s not going to do it though. He says Spat is too important, and this is the only chance we may ever get.”
Her fingers rub the skin on the inside of my arm, and I felt like melting into her.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t back here sooner.” She smiles at me.
“It’s all right now,” I say. It is, too. Now that I have her in my arms, smell her sweet scent, and feel her skin against mine, everything is fine.
Chapter 11
Isaac, Pike, and I are loaded into a passenger car on a monorail. We’re briefed by Captain Mills along the way to the border.
“I know I don’t have to remind you, but this is not a training exercise. This is a real mission and a critical one at that. Errol Spat defected from the Mills Conglomerate eighteen months ago, and this is the first real intel we’ve had on his whereabouts since that time. He holds critical technical information, not just about Project Mindstorm and the implants that provide each of you with the abilities you have but also about other advanced projects as well. He’s a technical genius, and we can’t afford to let him out of our grasp again.”
She focuses on the tablet in her hands before providing us with the specifics of the caravan—the number of trucks and what each is carrying. I sit back and take it all in my head as Riley jots down notes.
“If we can take control of the grain vehicle,” Captain Mills says, “it will make the rest of the season very hard on Haprin and give us a definite advantage. It could even put us in position to take control of the area. Still, this is secondary. Your primary goal is retrieving Errol Spat.”
I wonder why the Carson Alliance uses roads instead of rail. As soon as the question is in my head, I discover the answer: they simply don’t have the technological resources available to the Mills Conglomerate. The monorail systems they have were sabotaged early in the war, and they haven’t been able to repair them since. Errol Spat’s importance makes more sense to me now.
A few questions are asked and answered as the monorail speeds through desolate countryside. We pass near a few drab cities but never slow down. Before long, I see the top of the wall on the horizon. It’s twenty feet high and topped with razor wire. Guard towers stand every five hundred meters with armed guards watching the perimeter.
The monorail slows to a stop inside the perimeter of the base. We get looks from many of the uniformed soldiers we pass as we disembark and make our way to a hangar, but no one addresses our group until we get inside. An older gentleman with a colonel’s insignia awaits our approach. Captain Mills walks up to him.
“That’s Colonel Graham Mills,” Riley says quietly. “He’s the head of the whole Mills Conglomerate.”
I nod. I recognize his face from the historical information inside my head.
“The Captain’s uncle, right?”
“Right.”
There are no introductions. It’s late, and Riley and I are led to quarters with two small beds and a bathroom where we are left alone. Other than the beds, a small dresser is the only furniture. The walls have a dark wood paneling, and a bare bulb hangs from the ceiling. The bathroom has a small sink, a shower stall, and no room to actually put any toiletries.
I deposit my duffle bag of clothing and personal items on the floor near the dresser.
