Chapter 3

"I am thoroughly impressed with this young pilot," someone was saying to someone else, "he actually managed to reach the point of self-sustaining energy. If his body had survived the process, he might actually have continued to enhance himself all on his own. Now if only I could replicate the process and keep the subject alive..."

It took Ben a few more seconds of consciousness before he connected the voice with Dr. Rommel. Ben was having trouble thinking clearly; it was as if a dull fog surrounded all of his senses. He could also feel what he could only describe as a sensation of having been through a meat grinder. He hardly knew one muscle from another, and every time he attempted to open his eyes, his foot would spasm. From the way his gut felt, he was pretty sure that his internal organs were having the same dilemma. His heart was probably storing food while his stomach tried to digest his lungs.

Within a few more minutes of recovery, Ben became aware of a few more facts. He could no longer hear the sound of the life support systems, nor the monitors that had been previously attached to his body to record his vital signs. He thought he had heard Rommel saying something about him having died, but he could not be too sure; he still was not feeling terribly lucid.

Ben finally managed to open his eyes, wincing against a bright light for the second time in as many hours. This had to stop happening. Hangovers were one thing... continually waking up in a mad scientist's little hellhole, quite another.

Before he could manage to formulate any plan of action, loud klaxons sounded inside of Rommel's ship. He recognized the standard Interstellar Defense League Battle Stations alarm; Rommel was under attack.

"What in the hell is going on?" Rommel asked someone nearby, obviously failing to notice Ben's half-open eyes less than a meter away.

"Sir," a junior officer reported, "part of the Third Fleet is converging on our position. We have less than two minutes before the first battleships enter firing range. The captain doubts our ability to hold out even in a short conflict with the fleet, and is requesting permission to activate the stealth field and retreat to Liodammian space."

Rommel nodded at the officer, sending him on his way to pass on the permission to retreat.

Ben could not help but smile. It looked as if Rommel and his mighty research ship were about to be turned into nothing more than a few tons of ash.

Then an important fact penetrated his partially addled brain: he was on the ship that was about to be turned into ash.

"Excuse me," Ben managed to croak out, sounding slightly drunk, "I wonder if you could possibly let me out of these restraints? They are a might bit uncomfortable, and I really need to be catching the next flight out of here."

Ben let his eyes roll around languidly, smiling softly as if lightly drugged on some kind of opiate.

Rommel just stared at him.

A few seconds later, he blinked.

Then he stared at him again.

"You're dead," Rommel stated.

"Really?" Ben asked genuinely. "Why didn't anyone bother to tell me? Why am I always the last one to find out about these things? I am a little tired of fleet medical personnel..."

It took Ben a few moments to gain his foothold on reality again. Ship. Ash. Not dead. Will be. He thought he had it. Hopefully.

"Whelp," Ben said, "I think you can let me down now. I want to get off this ship before it blows up."

Rommel just stared at him again, an incredulous look plastered upon his face.

Ben tested his restraints. He pushed against them, and thought for a second he felt a little give in one of the bolted down titanium bands.

Rommel finally snapped out of his stupor, grabbing a stun rifle from a nearby lab station. He leveled the large rifle towards Ben, letting off a three second burst of intense nervous system disruptive energy.

Ben was completely unfazed. In fact, if anything, his head had cleared a bit; perhaps it worked something like electroshock therapy. There would be time to figure it out later. For the time being, he focused all of his energy onto getting out of the restraints.

He let out a loud scream as his right arm strained. Right when he figured his bones would give instead of the metal, bolts began popping out rapidly. The titanium restraint was hurled across the room, Ben's right arm free.

"Much better," he said between gasps. Then he grabbed a hold of his left arm's restraint with his right hand, and both pulled on it with his free arm and pushed against it with his pinioned arm. It came off much quicker than the first one.

"Impressive," Rommel muttered. "Very impressive. Guards!"

Four guards ran into the room, plasma rifles at their shoulders. They all immediately took aim at the still struggling Ben, who had just removed his head restraint and was in the process of freeing his legs.

"Open fire!" Rommel ordered.