wasn’t listening to him. I was thinking about the man in the boots. The man in charge. He was Vice Admiral Shaw to me—but who was he really?
=10=
Within a few minutes, I was able to move again. Shaw’s voice boomed through the ship full of dead and wounded.
“Everyone who can walk must now move to their individual cell. Anyone not in their cells will be purged in five minutes. This is your only warning. Move!”
Struggling to get up, I found Samson was trotting away down the passage. I saw his feet slapping on blood, hair and leaving a trail on the deck. He certainly seemed to be in a hurry.
Where his feet struck the floor, the floor glimmered yellow now. Red had meant open combat. Green had meant enforced safety—what could yellow mean? Could it mean the environment itself was dangerous?
I didn’t know, but I levered myself up and onto my feet. My side stung where Dalton had stabbed me, and my head was a swollen mass of lumps.
Figuring my cell must be the one I’d started out in, I stumbled to it and stepped inside. There’d never been a door on this chamber, but when I entered one appeared behind me, sealing me in. The floor beneath my bloody feet went green then. Apparently, this was my home sweet home.
Squatting in there, I rubbed my injuries. I checked the wound in my side, expecting to see a bloody mess. It wasn’t pretty, but it was already healing. Could that be the work of my sym? The idea of something slithering inside my blood was upsetting.
After several minutes, I began to hear wild screams outside the door. I thought it was—yes, it had to be Gwen’s voice.
“Gwen?” I called out.
“Leo? I’m hurt. I’m frying!” she could hardly get the words out between screams.
“Get up and find your cell!”
She screamed some more. I struggled with the wall where it had been open before. Could this be why she’d been picking at it earlier? Had she seen these doors open and shut?
I called out to her a few more times, but I didn’t hear anything more. I didn’t know if she made it or not. At last, it was quiet outside.
Then things changed. I thought I felt my cell move. I was sure of it. It felt like being in an elevator, like I was being shunted somewhere.
The feeling was an unpleasant one. I had no trust whatsoever concerning my captors. What could be their purpose? They might be doing all this just for their own entertainment. I wouldn’t have put it past whoever had designed these cruel games.
The sensation of movement suddenly stopped. My club was in my hand, and I stood where the door should be. I was breathing hard, ready for anything—or so I thought.
Every few seconds, my eyes flicked down to the floor, checking the color. It was still green.
“There will be a rest period before the next phase,” announced the walls. “Survivors of the first phase will be required to socialize and recuperate.”
“Screw you, Shaw,” I muttered to myself.
Thinking it over, I decided I hated Shaw most of all. Dalton was an evil prick, sure. Samson had shot Kim to death before my eyes and sawed her head off. But I hated Shaw even more because he was orchestrating this torture-session.
The doors vanished again. I’m using the term “door” loosely here. In reality, a section of the honey-combed wall simply melted away.
The passages I’d seen before were gone. Instead, there was an open area. All around it, cells were standing open. Five of them.
Warily, the inhabitants leaned out to look at one another. I recognized the faces. Dalton was to my left, eyes slitted, shoulders slumped. Samson was to my right. He filled the doorway of his cell.
The fourth door revealed a cautious face. One I hadn’t expected to see again.
Gwen stood in the cell across from me. I wouldn’t have seen her at all, except for the fact she couldn’t hide in there. She was at the back of the space she’d been trapped within. Her eyes slid around wildly then fixated on me.
“Gwen?” I asked,
=10=
Within a few minutes, I was able to move again. Shaw’s voice boomed through the ship full of dead and wounded.
“Everyone who can walk must now move to their individual cell. Anyone not in their cells will be purged in five minutes. This is your only warning. Move!”
Struggling to get up, I found Samson was trotting away down the passage. I saw his feet slapping on blood, hair and leaving a trail on the deck. He certainly seemed to be in a hurry.
Where his feet struck the floor, the floor glimmered yellow now. Red had meant open combat. Green had meant enforced safety—what could yellow mean? Could it mean the environment itself was dangerous?
I didn’t know, but I levered myself up and onto my feet. My side stung where Dalton had stabbed me, and my head was a swollen mass of lumps.
Figuring my cell must be the one I’d started out in, I stumbled to it and stepped inside. There’d never been a door on this chamber, but when I entered one appeared behind me, sealing me in. The floor beneath my bloody feet went green then. Apparently, this was my home sweet home.
Squatting in there, I rubbed my injuries. I checked the wound in my side, expecting to see a bloody mess. It wasn’t pretty, but it was already healing. Could that be the work of my sym? The idea of something slithering inside my blood was upsetting.
After several minutes, I began to hear wild screams outside the door. I thought it was—yes, it had to be Gwen’s voice.
“Gwen?” I called out.
“Leo? I’m hurt. I’m frying!” she could hardly get the words out between screams.
“Get up and find your cell!”
She screamed some more. I struggled with the wall where it had been open before. Could this be why she’d been picking at it earlier? Had she seen these doors open and shut?
I called out to her a few more times, but I didn’t hear anything more. I didn’t know if she made it or not. At last, it was quiet outside.
Then things changed. I thought I felt my cell move. I was sure of it. It felt like being in an elevator, like I was being shunted somewhere.
The feeling was an unpleasant one. I had no trust whatsoever concerning my captors. What could be their purpose? They might be doing all this just for their own entertainment. I wouldn’t have put it past whoever had designed these cruel games.
The sensation of movement suddenly stopped. My club was in my hand, and I stood where the door should be. I was breathing hard, ready for anything—or so I thought.
Every few seconds, my eyes flicked down to the floor, checking the color. It was still green.
“There will be a rest period before the next phase,” announced the walls. “Survivors of the first phase will be required to socialize and recuperate.”
“Screw you, Shaw,” I muttered to myself.
Thinking it over, I decided I hated Shaw most of all. Dalton was an evil prick, sure. Samson had shot Kim to death before my eyes and sawed her head off. But I hated Shaw even more because he was orchestrating this torture-session.
The doors vanished again. I’m using the term “door” loosely here. In reality, a section of the honey-combed wall simply melted away.
The passages I’d seen before were gone. Instead, there was an open area. All around it, cells were standing open. Five of them.
Warily, the inhabitants leaned out to look at one another. I recognized the faces. Dalton was to my left, eyes slitted, shoulders slumped. Samson was to my right. He filled the doorway of his cell.
The fourth door revealed a cautious face. One I hadn’t expected to see again.
Gwen stood in the cell across from me. I wouldn’t have seen her at all, except for the fact she couldn’t hide in there. She was at the back of the space she’d been trapped within. Her eyes slid around wildly then fixated on me.
“Gwen?” I asked,
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