Robin Cook - Abduction

“You really think so?” Richard said with obvious disappointment. He wavered, looking back and forth between Donald and the laden table.

“And those mirrors,” Donald said, pointing to the huge sheets that formed the far end of the room. “I’d assume they are two-way, which would mean we’re being watched.”

“Who the hell cares, if they treat us like this,” Michael said. “My vote is we eat.”

Suzanne’s eyes fell on the folded garments on each bed. She had not noticed them sooner because they were white like most everything else and blended perfectly with the white linen. She went over to the nearest bed. She lifted the garments and shook them out. There were two simple pieces: a long-sleeved tunic that opened at the front and a pair of boxer shorts. Both were made of a silky white satin, and both were curiously seamless.

“My word! Pajamas!” Suzanne commented. “Now this is downright thoughtful.” Without a moment’s hesitation, Suzanne pulled on the shorts. The tunic was generously proportioned and came to knee length, covering the boxers. It tied with a gold braided rope. Along the sides were several pockets.

Suzanne’s dressing reawakened everyone’s self-consciousness. The four men grabbed clothing sets from the beds and donned them.

Michael eyed himself in the mirrors at the end of the room. “Not much to these things,” he said. “But they’re comfortable.”

Richard laughed at him. “You look like a faggot.”

“As if you don’t, asshole,” Michael shot back hotly.

“That’s enough!” Donald barked. “There’s to be no fighting among ourselves. Save it for whoever it is we’ll be facing. Which brings me to the issue of setting up watches to stand guard.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Richard asked. “This isn’t some kind of military exercise. I’m going to eat and then I’m racking out. I’m not standing any watch.”

“We’re all tired,” Donald said. “But there is a door to consider that we don’t have any control over.”

All eyes swung around to gaze at the door at the end of the room opposite the mirrors. It was white like everything else and was without a knob, latch, or hinges.

“We have to stay vigilant,” Donald added. “I don’t want these Russians or whoever these people are sneaking in here and doing whatever they want to us.”

“Judging by the pains they have taken with these accommodations, I don’t think your paranoia is justified,” Suzanne said. “And I thought we decided we’re not dealing with Russians here.”

“Well, you people argue about all that,” Richard said. He walked over to the table and lifted the cover of one of the chafing dishes. The savory aroma filled the room.

“What is it?” Michael asked. He leaned over to look.

“I don’t have a clue,” Richard said. He lifted the spoon. The steaming food was cream colored and had a pasty consistency, like hot cereal’s. “It looks like Cream of Wheat, and it smells mighty good.” He brought the spoon to his mouth and tasted it. “Well, I’ll be damned! How’d they know? It tastes like my favorite food: steak.”

Michael took a taste. “Steak? What, are you crazy? It tastes like sweet potatoes.”

“Get outta here!” Richard complained. “You and your sweet potatoes.” He sat down on one of the chaises and helped himself to a sizable ladle of the food. “You’re always talking about sweet potatoes.”

Michael sat opposite and took a portion for himself. “Hey, I’m sorry,” he said sarcastically. “I happen to like sweet potatoes.”

Suzanne and Perry stepped to the table, their curiosity piqued by this exchange. They were experiencing almost irresistible hunger. Suzanne was the next to try the food.

“That’s incredible,” she remarked. “It tastes like mango.”

“That’s hard to believe,” Perry said. “Because to me it tastes exactly like fresh corn right off the cob.”

Suzanne took another taste. “To me it’s mango, without a doubt. Maybe there’s some way it tricks our brains to interpret the taste according to our own predilections.”

Even Donald was intrigued. He came over to the table and tried a minute amount. He shook his head in disbelief. “It tastes like biscuits to me: fresh buttermilk biscuits.” He took one of the chairs. “I guess I’m as hungry as everybody else.”

Everyone helped themselves to varying amounts of the curious food. They found it difficult to resist going back for seconds. They also discovered that the iced drink had a similar variable effect. It tasted different to each person, according to his or her preference.

As soon as the group’s ravenous hunger had been slaked, the exhaustion and sleepiness that they’d experienced earlier returned, and with a vengeance. Fighting against sagging eyelids they pushed back from the table and sought their separate beds. No sooner had they drawn up the covers than everyone but Donald fell into a deep, hibernating sleep. Donald struggled vainly in hopes of maintaining a vigil, but it was impossible. Within minutes he, too, was slumbering.

The moment Donald’s eyes closed, tiny red lights appeared on the canopy of each bed. At the same time, a glow emanated from the canopy and enveloped the sleeping individual below in a violet halo.

The tiny red lights above the beds in the living quarters switched momentarily to green and the violet glow faded. A moment later the green lights blinked off.

Perry was the first to wake up. It was not a gradual transition but rather a sudden change from deep sleep to full consciousness. For a few seconds he stared at the canopy above him, attempting to put the strange structure in context and orient himself. But he couldn’t. He’d awakened to nothing like what he expected: namely, the blank ceiling of the supposed V.I.P. suite on the Benthic Explorer.

Perry was confused, but as soon as he turned his head, it all came back to him. It hadn’t been a dream. The Oceanus ’s horrifying plunge to unfathomable depths had been a reality.

There was a simple, black clothes tree standing within reach of his bed. A set of white satin drawers and tunic similar to those he’d put on were hanging on it. Perry realized he felt quite naked under the coverlet. He lifted the edge of the cashmere blanket and looked at himself. Not only was he naked, he detected the same peculiar ring of puncture wounds around his navel as he’d seen on Richard and Michael when they’d emerged from the spheres.

Perry let out a low-pitched cry, then leaped from the bed to examine his wounds more carefully. He spread the soft skin of his abdomen. The puncture wounds were not deep and they weren’t painful, much to Perry’s relief. Most important of all, they seemed healed.

As Perry absorbed this discovery, he had another shock. His legs and groin were hairy again! He inspected his forearm and discovered that the hair had returned there, too. He put a hand to his scalp, and smiled.

Perry grabbed the clothes from the ebony rack and pulled them on as he transversed the length of the room.

His reflection in the mirror practically made him swoon. His scalp was covered with a full head of hair. It was only about an inch long, but it was as thick and dark as it had been when he was in junior high school. He felt like he’d discovered the fountain of youth.

Perry heard the others stirring. He turned in time to see Donald and Suzanne slipping back into their clothes. Richard and Michael were sitting on the edges of their beds, gawking at the surroundings. Their clothes were neatly piled in their laps.

“Just as I thought,” Donald said to no one in particular. “I knew those bastards would be in here screwing around with us when we were sleeping. That’s why I wanted to set up watches.”