Zach Hughes - The Stork Factor

Actually, it was what Luke wanted to do, lie perfectly still, only his chest moving with his breathing, his heart pounding, blood flowing through his veins. There was a soreness in his chest which pulsed with the beat of heart, as if his very heart muscle were tired. He heard voices. He recognized the voice of the Brother who had put him on the rack. His pulse pounded, but he made no movement. «Have you not revived him?» «I'm a doctor, not a miracle worker.» «You will address me with the respect which is my due.» «Sir.» The word oozed with contempt. «You bastards think the universe turns around you. Remember, my friend, no one is indispensable.» «Indeed, Brother. I agree. And, so, I think it would be only democratic for you and the rest to realize that and take your chances with the general populace.» «I can put you on the rack, doctor.» «Sure you can. And sometimes I think that would be the best thing. It would be quick with me. I'm not young and strong like this fellow.» «The arrogance of these quacks—» «Who keep you and others like you alive—» «I order you to be silent.» «Yes, sir.» «This criminal. Why is he not revived?» «Because you've almost killed him.» «Nonsense. I want him aware. I want to question him.» «Then talk with your God. I have done all I can.» Luke held his breath. He'd never heard anyone talk to a Brother in such a manner. And the remark about God. It sounded, in tone, like rank sacrilege. He expected the wrath of the Brothers and of God to fall upon the old man. But there was a moment of silence. He heard movement, felt the nearness of someone, kept his eyes closed. «When will I be able to question this Lay?» «Do you mean put him back on the rack?» «If necessary.» «It may not be necessary. You may have killed him already.» Luke felt a touch of fear. But the man had told him he would be all right. «I want this man to talk!» The Brother's voice was hard. «I will do my best, but I'm afraid that his heart was damaged. I've told you that these people, who are beset by every pestilence known to medicine, who have never had the first minute's care, cannot survive under your methods of questioning. If you insist on sending a killing shock through them, I can only warn you again that they will not talk. You don't talk when you're dead.» Luke felt like crying out. They were talking about him. The man in white was talking about him! He was the one who was dying! But, with the great, exhausted numbness in him, he lay still, breathing evenly. «If you let this one die, I'll—» «You'll do what?» The old man laughed. «A long time ago a man said, there is no satisfaction in hanging a man who does not protest. All you can do, Brother, is kill me. And sometimes I think that wouldn't be too bad.» The Brother made an angry sound. «Let me know the minute he revives.» Then there was a movement. Silence. Then, «All right, son. He's gone.» Luke opened his eyes. «What you said—» «About you dying?» He chuckled. «Don't worry. You're strong as a horse. I don't understand why, but you're in better shape now than most who have not been shocked.» He put his hand on Luke's arm. «We're going to get you out of here .» Then, with a smile, «But you're going to have to die to do it. « «Huh?» Panic. His heart thudding. Soreness. Pain. «At least they'll think you're dead. You won't be, I assure you.» He was doing something with a long, gleaming needle. Luke watched fearfully. He flinched away. «You

won't feel anything. You'll go to sleep. When you awaken you'll be in a safe

place. You'll be able to hear but you won't be able to move.» The needle bit. «Relax. You're safe. Safe.» Safe. Safe. Safe. The word rebounded in his skull. A wave of dizziness came over him. Then a numbness spread. He felt himself going limp, felt his breathing slow, halt. Yet there was no panic. His heart thudded, bumped, slowed and then, seemingly, it stopped. Waves of peace billowed up, covered, engulfed him. And he was not breathing and his heart was stopped and the soreness no longer bothered him and he could hear the old man moving about, making a thin, whistling sound through his teeth,

heard the clicks, the voice. «Tell your boss he won't be able to question this one. He's dead.» And long periods of silence and someone talking as he floated on a sea of softness and dim light and they were talking about him, about his body. «—keeping you alive—need subjects—train young doctors—-body—» and the time suspended and then a floating and other sounds, some known, some not known and traffic around him, ground-car movement and peace, peace. CHAPTER SEVEN «Where am I?» «You're safe. Safe.» Safe, safe, and safe safe safesafesafe… Coolness. The bite of a needle in his arm. A low sound of music. Clean air. Coolness at his lips. Swallowing. «Am I in heaven?» A low laugh. «Not quite.» Time passing endlessly. Coolness Comfort. Clean, sweet air. Chewing.

Sweet taste. His eyes still closed. Soreness. Moving his arms. People lifting, moving, pushing, rubbing. He awoke. Light, a cool, early morning light. He could see. A form moved when he tried to raise his head. He was in a huge bed. «Ah, we're awake, are we?» A feminine voice. He turned his head. A female face near. He shrank. «How do we feel?» He was naked under a sheet. He felt ashamed. A woman close and him naked under the sheet. Coolness at his lips. «Drink this.» Swallowing. And when next he awoke, full awareness. The room was large, clean, white. A window, or what seemed to be a window, was closed. There was a distant hum of power. He was alone. Experimentally, he raised his head. There was no soreness. He moved each limb in turn, sat up, put his feet off the edge of the bed. He felt good. He looked around for his clothing. The door opened. He scrambled back under the sheet as the woman came in crisply. «Well, look at us. All bright and chipper.» Luke swallowed, his face flushing. «Hey, how about my clothes?» «Ah, we feel that good, do we?» The woman, smiling, walked on padded feet to what he'd thought was a window but what was actually a small door which opened outward into the room. The woman removed a folded, white garment, tossed it onto the bed. «Here. Try that for size.» Luke crouched under the sheet. «Well, put it on!» Luke squirmed uncomfortably. «Oh, all right,» the woman laughed. She paced out of the room. Luke stood. His legs almost gave way. He had little strength. He lifted the one-piece coverall. It seemed to weigh a ton. He managed to step into it and sat down, exhausted. The door flew open. The bouncy woman was back. «Ah, not so chipper after all, huh?» «I'm all right,» Luke said. «Feel like walking?» «I don't know,» Luke admitted. «Just sit tight.» She was gone again. She came back with a wheelchair. Luke sat. She moved him briskly out of the room, down a hall. There were no windows anywhere. The air, however, was clean and fresh. The lighting was recessed into the ceilings. People passed, nodding, brisk, moving about their business as if it were of some importance. Nearing a door, the woman turned, backed into it, pulled Luke and the chair through after her, wheeled him around with a swiftness which made his head go dizzy for a moment. The white-haired man sat behind a huge desk. There was a nameplate on the front on the cluttered desk top. Dr. Zachary Wundt. He

looked up, smiled. In the clear light of the office Luke could see dark spots on the skin of this man's face. «How do you feel?» «Fine,» Luke said. «Sore.? Weak?» «Yes,» Luke said. Behind him the woman shifted from foot to foot. «That will pass,» Wundt said. «I imagine you have some questions.» «Well, gee…» Luke said, not knowing where to start. «OK,» Wundt said. «You're two hundred feet below the surface of the Earth. Never mind what particular section of the Earth. You're with friends. You were brought here from Old Town under the influence of a drug with an unpronounceable name which made your metabolism slow down to a crawl. To the naked eye of one not experienced in medicine, you were dead. You're here because you did something the other night in Old Town which interested the Brothers—and us.» «The healing—» Luke had not understood it all, but he knew the man in the white coat was talking about the healing, about his power. «The healing. We want to know how you did it.» «Oh, God,» Luke said. «I told them. I've told you.» Wundt smiled. «Sure, son. You've told us. We believe you. It's not unknown, you know. Others have healed with a certain—power. Not as spectacularly as you did, I'll admit. But the phenomenon is not unknown to us. A fellow named Jesus."—-Luke caught a quick breath, shocked by the casual reference to the Lord—"did it. Some of his people did it. Preachers from time to time have healed, in minor ways. We just want to talk with you about the—power. Maybe have you try to use it again. OK?» «I guess so,» Luke said. «Can I ask you something'?» «Shoot,» Wundt said. «Are you a—a—doctor'?» «I am.» «You can heal?» «Some things,» Wundt said. «We can heal some things. We can't make a belly wound close up instantaneously, however.» «And you took me away from that place,» Luke said. «Why?» «Hummm,» Wundt mused. «There's no simple answer to that, my boy.