The Sound of Madness

[Ethan Neufeld 0]

Ethan woke choking, sputtering, retching; one swift, brutal attack dumped the contents of his stomach on the floor next to him and tied muscles into rock-like knots. He swiped the back of his hand across his mouth, coughing on the acrid taste of retreating bile with a painful cringe. Wounds sharply protesting from the sudden exertion, he tightly gasped as he fell back. He wasn’t sure how long he laid there dazed, weakened; eyes closed to the consuming pain and dizzying migraine that left him teetering on the edge of consciousness; listening to the ringing in his ears and the sounds within as he swallowed against persisting, severe nausea. He didn’t know how long he’d been unconscious. He didn’t know where he was and if he was still alone. But the scrape of boots on the ground nearby snapped his eyes open and put him in motion, guided by training so ingrained that it was automatic. His hand went to his holster and found his sidearm missing.

“We took your handphaser and rifle, your knife and your grenades; and your detonator,” a feminine voice explained.

Partially on his feet with a hand to the ground and poised to rise fast, Ethan remained there for a tense moment as he weighed the situation, eyes falling on the woman. She wasn’t alone; a Klingon stood watch at the doorway behind her and was staring at Ethan, his expression devoid of challenge and yet prepared to receive whatever resistance Ethan might attempt. But Ethan wasn’t in a condition to put up much of a fight unarmed and against uneven odds. Nor was there an exigent need to fight. He wasn’t trained to submit to the enemy; the exact opposite, in fact, and there was a reason special warfare was prized for never being captured by the enemy. But Starfleet had also valued sagacity over automatons. They could have killed him where he’d fallen or here now. They wanted him alive for the moment. That might prove useful, if he played it smart and could endure a bit longer.

He pushed back to slump against a convenient wall and exhaled from a subtle grimace, instinctively guarding the wound to his stomach with his free hand. The quikclot gauze he’d wedged there prior to setting the Comp U had become saturated and was drying into a stiff, tacky wad. The external bleeding had apparently slowed. But his captors hadn’t administered any sort of medical care beyond what he’d done himself: it seemed his long-term survival wasn’t a high priority on their list.

The woman remained where she had stopped, saying nothing and tilting her head as she studied him with clouded eyes. She might have been an attractive human once, before the corpse-like veil of the Motoroils had consumed her. She was nothing more than a puppet now; a shadow of someone former. He had heard rumors of puppets that could conceal the Motoroils; appear like their former selves. But she either couldn’t or wasn’t trying.

He was still underground. They had removed him from the cave to a room that was roughly twenty square meters carved out of solid rock and illuminated by bare light bulbs tacked to the ceiling. A long, composite table and a dozen chairs occupied a spot off-center. Cargo crates, marked in an unfamiliar language, were stacked at one end of the room into to a makeshift counter space, atop which a portable cooking stove and plastic tub had been placed. The motor of portable refrigeration hummed nearby. Kelin’s body was not there and neither were Ethan's weapons.

The doorway which the Klingon guarded was the only obvious entrance to the room and possessed no door. It lead into a brightly lit corridor; perhaps the same one Ethan and Kelin had entered from the building in the port city. He could see another doorway that lead to a dimly lit room on the opposite wall, a bank of active monitors glowing within and silhouetting the antennate humanoid who manned the terminals. Ethan tried to focus on the terminals, but couldn’t make sense of their displays beyond what looked like camera feeds of the surface.

He reached up to the pouch in which he kept his radio, remembering that he hadn’t managed to call Alex before losing consciousness. The radio was still there. Why?

“That will not work down here,” said the woman bluntly, snagging his attention. “The natural mineral-ore deposits in this stratum prevent the propagation of any electromagnetic signals.”

Ethan glanced at the rock walls. He hadn’t immediately radioed Alex after Kelin had attacked him in the cave, hoping that he still might have an advantage. Using that to set the demolition charges had been the priority. Radioing Alex to call off their extraction had been secondary. He’d meant to release the detonator’s safety and then radio just prior to squeezing everything into an explosive oblivion. He’d conveniently passed out instead and, unfortunately, hadn’t landed on the detonator.

He looked at his watch -- there was still time to tell them he wouldn’t make it, to call off the extraction. If Alex had successfully stalled Maxwell, the Capricorn would still be in orbit; if not, they might catch his transmission before they were out of range. He failed to set off the explosives in the cave, but Maxwell might be willing to drop a few torpedoes and succeed where he’d failed. Ethan had every intention to request an orbital bombardment on his position. If he could get a signal through and if his captors would let him.

 

Pinning the woman in his gaze, he keyed his radio. She didn’t move and his radio didn’t issue the telltale chirp that indicated a successful connection with a receiver. His jaw faintly tightened. The woman hadn’t exaggerated; his radio signal couldn’t penetrate the ground to the surface. It was possible that his radio wouldn't have penetrated the pool cave, had he succeeded in trying then. Sensors would be equally useless from above. He’d suspected the possibility, given sensors hadn't detected the underground network from orbit, but had still hoped differently.

 

He would have to rely on Maxwell and hope his pattern of behavior stuck. Their agreement hadn’t included sending a party for extraction and he suspected Maxwell would refuse to send one after him if he didn't show up for transport. In this case, Ethan fully agreed. They should leave him behind rather than risk others for him. On the other hand, Ethan couldn’t put it past Alex to argue with Maxwell otherwise. She was supposed to stall Maxwell for thirty minutes if they were late. If Ethan missed the agreed extraction window: consider him MIA and irretrievable. But she had her own, stubborn ideas about things. He would have to rely on Maxwell to override Alex; or hope she could set aside fanciful ideas about playing heroes long enough to put two-and-two together when window passed, and have the wisdom to stick to their plan.

 

Ethan was on his own. It was too late for him to evade, and escape or survival were extremely remote, but he had every intention of taking whatever opportunity he could to make it as painful for them as it was becoming for him. His radio might not be able to penetrate to the surface, but maybe he was still close enough to the pool cave. If they hadn’t removed the Comp U, he could set it off with his radio.

Movement in the corner of his eye brought his attention back to the doorway. Another shadow had appeared in the opposite room, blocking Ethan’s view of the monitors, and crossed the corridor, entering the room in which Ethan and his hosts were waiting. A bald, human male or what once was. Ethan tracked him as far as the Klingon guarding the doorway, but feeling wearied and feverish, Ethan gave in and let his eyes close.

“He does not look well,” he heard the female observe.

“He resists transfiguration,” replied a male. “If he does not join us, he will die.” Footsteps chafed the ground and then the same voice, closer this time, asked: “Are you awake, Ethan Neufeld?”

Brow rising at his name, he gazed from beneath heavy eyelids at the one who addressed him, and his brow furrowed with recognition of the human who crouched beside and studied him with an inhuman curiosity. “Gabriel?”

“Why are you on Zoalus?”

“You don’t waste time,” Ethan remarked.

“Did Tolmar send you?”

“No,” he answered, his voice straining as he shifted to sit more upright on the wall. “I came on my own.”

Gabriel again studied the face he had recognized in the video feeds from the mod drone, taking an interest in Ethan's recent cosmetic surgery. “You altered your appearance. Why?”

“There’s a bounty on my head in Tranquility.”

“You are a fugitive?”

“No, it’s not the Guardians.” Unable to fight the urge any longer, Ethan coughed insecurely, the pain it caused working against him and he was certain he would puke again if he coughed too hard.

Inclining his head with a sort of concern on his face that was more analytical than sympathetic, Gabriel quietly considered Ethan’s worsening condition. “You do not hear them, do you? That is rare.”

“Hear what?”

“Your willpower is drowning out their voice.”

“Who?”

“You are mortally wounded; they have stemmed your bleeding for now,” Gabriel explained, pointing demonstratively to the gash on Ethan’s arm. “They would save you if you let them. You do not have to die.”

Ethan glanced at the wound to which Gabriel pointed and his brow furrowed again. The torn flesh had become coated in that black stuff from the cave pool, acting like a clotting agent. Every way he looked at it, he didn’t like the implications.

“I prefer being me,” Ethan replied categorically.

Gabriel’s expression narrowed, apparently displeased by that response. “Why are you here, Ethan Neufeld?”

“To find this place,” Ethan answered, giving in again to the heaviness of his eyelids.

Gabriel stood and reached into a pocket. “For this?” he asked, showing the sample vial he held in his palm to Ethan.

Ethan made the effort to glance at it, but didn’t answer. “You humanoids have an aversion for cages, yet you are quick to imprison what does not look or act like you,” Gabriel said, and when Ethan still didn’t reply, he continued. “Your ship, the people you came here with: they are looking for us also?”

“No.”

“Why are they here?”

“Archeology,” Ethan answered minimally and cringed at a sudden ache.

“We recently detected their weapons fire directed at the surface. Why?”

“I donno,” Ethan shrugged. “We aren’t exactly simpatico.”

“Will they come for you?”

“I’m expendable.”

Gabriel nodded at this. “Good.” He turned toward the door. “Recuperate your strength. I will return in two hours and you will tell me what this is for,” he said, flashing the vial before he returned it to his pocket and left.