man had called this place. It had to be a base of some kind. But whose? It could all be a cruel, convoluted trick pulled by the Lysandrans, but Victor doubted it. If they had wanted to torture him further, there were more efficient ways of going about it.
He glanced down at his undershirt and boxers, and decided to look around for more substantial clothing.
He walked to the room’s single bureau and pulled open the top drawer, finding several neatly fold shirts of varying colors. He pulled out a black shirt, as well as a matching pair of pants from the drawer below.
He dressed himself and looked at the mirror set in the wall. Dressed all in black, as a man in mourning should be.
His stomach growled and practically dragged him to the food-and-drink dispenser. He hit a button labeled Breakfast , and, after a few minutes, a plate with a steak and eggs came out.
He grabbed the knife and fork included with the meal, and dug into the high-protein food. Neither the steak nor the eggs were the real thing. They had the slightly odd texture of cultured food. Not that it surprised Victor. One shouldn’t expect real food to come from a dispenser.
The meal was still satisfying. He felt his mood improve gradually as he digested, hard to believe as it was. He wondered if the food had been seasoned with mood enhancers but decided against it. He had captained starships long enough to know that few things could improve morale like food.
“Enjoying your breakfast?” asked the man over the hidden speaker.
Victor looked up. His senses were sharper this time, and he could pinpoint a spot on the ceiling where the voice must be coming from, though no speaker was visible. He suspected the voice could have been projected from any part of the room. The man probably elected it to come from above for effect.
“That dispenser is first-rate. Makes me wish I had one on the Osprey .” Mentioning his old ship hurt, but it was a dull pain.
“Yes, it’s been, oh, forever since it was last used. I’m glad to see it’s in good working order.”
Victor’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “My memory is a little hazy from the drugs and all, but I distinctly remember you calling this the Stone during our first conversation. What is this place?”
“Ah, yes. This is my home base of sorts.”
“I gathered that much. But it doesn’t really tell me what or where this place is. Is this a space station or a planetary base? I could be on a starship for all I know,” Victor said.
“It’s probably best I show you.” The room’s door opened.
Victor’s curiosity overrode his suspicion, and he walked to the door. On the other side, he saw a tubular corridor of polished rock with a flat bottom. Am I underground?
A solid line appeared on the floor, leading to Victor’s left. “Follow this line please. This place is a bit of a labyrinth.”
Victor stepped into the corridor. “What if I don’t want to follow the line?”
“You’re welcome to explore the Stone if you like, but you won’t find anything interesting. Unless you follow the line, that is.”
Feeling contrarian, Victor turned right, away from the direction the line indicated. The corridor was long, with doors on either side. Closed doors with no visible ways to open them. He approached a few to see if they had motion sensors, but they remained shut.
Victor looked down and noticed the line of white light had attached itself to his feet like a glowing string. A rather passive-aggressive reminder of the direction the hidden man wanted Victor to go.
He continued to explore for several minutes, running his hands against the walls of the corridor to feel the smooth rock. After nothing but similar corridors, boredom took hold.
He sighed and turned around to follow the line. After several more minutes, he reached what looked like a circular blast door, closed tight.
He took a step toward the door but hopped back when it opened. The hinges didn’t so much as squeak when the door swung
He glanced down at his undershirt and boxers, and decided to look around for more substantial clothing.
He walked to the room’s single bureau and pulled open the top drawer, finding several neatly fold shirts of varying colors. He pulled out a black shirt, as well as a matching pair of pants from the drawer below.
He dressed himself and looked at the mirror set in the wall. Dressed all in black, as a man in mourning should be.
His stomach growled and practically dragged him to the food-and-drink dispenser. He hit a button labeled Breakfast , and, after a few minutes, a plate with a steak and eggs came out.
He grabbed the knife and fork included with the meal, and dug into the high-protein food. Neither the steak nor the eggs were the real thing. They had the slightly odd texture of cultured food. Not that it surprised Victor. One shouldn’t expect real food to come from a dispenser.
The meal was still satisfying. He felt his mood improve gradually as he digested, hard to believe as it was. He wondered if the food had been seasoned with mood enhancers but decided against it. He had captained starships long enough to know that few things could improve morale like food.
“Enjoying your breakfast?” asked the man over the hidden speaker.
Victor looked up. His senses were sharper this time, and he could pinpoint a spot on the ceiling where the voice must be coming from, though no speaker was visible. He suspected the voice could have been projected from any part of the room. The man probably elected it to come from above for effect.
“That dispenser is first-rate. Makes me wish I had one on the Osprey .” Mentioning his old ship hurt, but it was a dull pain.
“Yes, it’s been, oh, forever since it was last used. I’m glad to see it’s in good working order.”
Victor’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “My memory is a little hazy from the drugs and all, but I distinctly remember you calling this the Stone during our first conversation. What is this place?”
“Ah, yes. This is my home base of sorts.”
“I gathered that much. But it doesn’t really tell me what or where this place is. Is this a space station or a planetary base? I could be on a starship for all I know,” Victor said.
“It’s probably best I show you.” The room’s door opened.
Victor’s curiosity overrode his suspicion, and he walked to the door. On the other side, he saw a tubular corridor of polished rock with a flat bottom. Am I underground?
A solid line appeared on the floor, leading to Victor’s left. “Follow this line please. This place is a bit of a labyrinth.”
Victor stepped into the corridor. “What if I don’t want to follow the line?”
“You’re welcome to explore the Stone if you like, but you won’t find anything interesting. Unless you follow the line, that is.”
Feeling contrarian, Victor turned right, away from the direction the line indicated. The corridor was long, with doors on either side. Closed doors with no visible ways to open them. He approached a few to see if they had motion sensors, but they remained shut.
Victor looked down and noticed the line of white light had attached itself to his feet like a glowing string. A rather passive-aggressive reminder of the direction the hidden man wanted Victor to go.
He continued to explore for several minutes, running his hands against the walls of the corridor to feel the smooth rock. After nothing but similar corridors, boredom took hold.
He sighed and turned around to follow the line. After several more minutes, he reached what looked like a circular blast door, closed tight.
He took a step toward the door but hopped back when it opened. The hinges didn’t so much as squeak when the door swung
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