George Martin - Busted flush

"Hello, Drake," he said. "Welcome to your new home." He headed down a concrete ramp with Drake in tow.

"I don't need a new home," Drake puffed. "I want to go back to Pyote, where my family is."

They reached a large, metal double door with guards on either side. One of them waved Drake and the BICC man through. The door opened into an elevator. The man guided Drake in and waited for the doors to close, then inserted a key and turned it. They began to descend. It took a long time. In fact, it was probably the longest elevator ride of Drake's life.

"Who are you?" Drake tried unsuccessfully to push the hand off his shoulder.

"You can call me Antonio," the man said. "Or you can call me Justice. It's up to you, but use a respectful tone in either case. That goes for how you speak to everyone here."

"Yes, sir." Drake almost choked on the words. The doors opened into a reception area with more guards and a couple of people sitting behind their desks, typing or maybe just trying to look busy. They all stopped what they were doing when they saw Drake.

Justice guided Drake over to the nearest desk. There was a woman sitting behind it. Her pinched face and ugly-ass hair made Drake think she hadn't had any fun in her entire life. "Show Drake Thomas as arrived."

"Affirmative, sir." She pushed a button on her desk and another door opened with a faint hiss.

Drake followed Justice into a huge, brightly lit area. The illumination came through a glassed-in ceiling at least twenty feet above the floor and looked like natural sunlight. Drake didn't see how that could be the case given how far down they'd come. Corridors radiated out from the center in several directions, like the spokes of a bicycle. There was a kiosk in the very center with a couple more guards. Drake could see they were carrying automatic weapons and heavy batons. Again, no one was smiling. This was feeling more and more like a prison to him.

"Follow me," Justice said. Drake did as he was told. His footsteps echoed noisily off the metallic flooring. Justice paused about fifteen feet down the hallway at a doorway. He inserted his BICC badge. The mechanism beeped, and he pushed open the heavy door. "This wing of the facility is the taupe area. All the sections are color-coded based on the type of guest who's staying there."

"What kind of guest am I?" he asked.

"The kind who isn't going to be any trouble, I'm sure," Justice replied. His tone wasn't mean or taunting, just instructive.

I just want to go home. Someone get me home, Drake thought.

The walls were painted a soft tan. The hallway itself branched in several different directions from the main corridor, reminding Drake of an ant farm. This place was bigger, much bigger, than he'd imagined. Halfway down the hall, Justice opened a door, this one leading to a small room. There was a single bed, a half-open door leading to a bathroom, and a television bolted to the wall. Drake brightened at the sight of the TV. He hadn't had access to one since things went all to hell.

"At least you gave me a TV. That's something." Drake looked around for a remote.

"Right. All you can watch right now are the DVDs. There's only a few but we'll try to get you some more," Justice said. "I'll give you a tour of some of the facility later on, but for now you'll be required to stay in your room. We also need you to take that." He pointed to a pill in a plastic cup, sitting next to a glass of water on the end table.

"I'm sick of pills and stuff."

"I'll make it worth your while."

Drake shrugged and took the pill. They'd only force him if he didn't, and he was curious about the payoff.

Justice walked over to a paper bag on the floor and fished out a T-shirt, which he tossed over to Drake. "Just so you know we're not the bad guys." He gave Drake an unconvincing smile and left, locking the door behind him.

Drake unfolded the shirt, which had the familiar Joker Plague logo on it. He tossed his other shirt and pulled it on, stretching it tightly over his belly. Score one for me, he thought, wondering how long it would be before he could get full access to the TV. He'd worry about that later. Right now he was getting sleepy.

Dr. Pendergast leaned forward in his easy chair, scratching the salt-and-pepper Vandyke on his chin. "It's healthy to grieve," he said.

Niobe wiped away a tear. She looked around the room, looking for words. Diplomas on the walls documented Pendergast's extensive medical pedigree. The photo on his desk showed Pendergast in a tuxedo, smiling, with his arm around the shoulders of a centaur. Niobe gathered that the horse guy was some famous doctor. Pendergast often spoke fondly of his time at the Jokertown Clinic.

"They're scared," she said. "But if I'm strong, if they feel that, it gives them hope, you know?"

"It isn't healthy to ignore your feelings."

"I'm not. But I need time." She glared at the doctor, twisting the tissue paper in her hands. "You called me for another session even before Xerxes had died. I can't do it that often. It was too soon."

Pendergast nodded. "Unfortunate timing. I am sorry about that. But consistency is crucial to our work."

She exhaled through pursed lips, crossed her arms over her chest, and looked away.

"You've grown much self-awareness since you came here. You should take comfort in that, Genetrix." She'd lost the name battle long ago. The new identity was his idea. "You've come a long way. Do you remember how you first came to BICC from your parents' estate?"

Of course she did. She remembered lots of yelling, lots of blood, an empty bottle of scotch, a straight razor. If one of the maids hadn't found her in time, she might have bled out right there on the floor of the master bath.

Her tail still had the scars. Little ridges of skin where the ugly pig hair wouldn't grow.

Quietly, so he wouldn't press the issue: "Yeah. I remember."

"You're a different person now. I'm proud of you."

Niobe lowered her eyes, nodded. She sniffed again. "It helps having people who care about the kids. Like you. And Christian."

"And we're making progress. Two years ago, a full month would have been unthinkable. We'll beat this thing. The important thing, Genetrix, is not giving up."

Niobe didn't say anything. More tears came. The room went out of focus.

Pendergast stood. He paced over to his desk and picked up the candy jar. In a lighter, more jovial tone, he said, "Quite a trio in this clutch!"

He offered her a chocolate. Niobe declined. Sweets made her break out even worse than normal.

"Yectli certainly was a shock."

One corner of her mouth curled up in a half-smile at the pun. She snorted. Then she looked up, worried.

"Was anybody hurt? He didn't mean to. He just wanted to impress me. Kids are like that."

Pendergast waved away her concerns. "No worries. He frightened the technicians, and fried an expensive camera, but otherwise no harm done. I found it funny, myself."

"Do you think he's a joker? The albinism, I mean?"

He shrugged. "Who can say? Your hatchlings vary so greatly from one to the next…" He trailed off. "Do you think he's a joker?" He narrowed his eyes and scratched his beard again. "Were you thinking about jokerism when you were with Christian?"

"No. Why?"

"I want to show you something." Pendergast opened a wooden cabinet to reveal a flat-screen television and a DVD player. He pressed a button and the static blinked into a view of therapy room two from behind the mirror.

She watched herself saying, "Maybe we can leave the curtains closed, just once."

Then Pendergast fast-forwarded until Yectli hatched. Yves's head kept bobbing into the frame as he danced on the ceiling. "Watch what I can do," boasted Yectli.

Zap! The image returned to static.

"Quite a coincidence," said the doctor. "You expressed unhappiness with the camera, and then poof! A manikin with the power to address your unease."