Chapter 20

I didn't even have the luxury of getting sick. At Victor's orders, Chip had pulled me to my feet and was shoving me down the hallway, following the two white-coated scientists through a maze of cinderblock hallways. I tried to keep some sense of where we were, but apart from the vague sense that we were in corridor F and passing Wings G and then H, I had no real clues. I kept running escape fantasies through my head, but I was obviously no match for Chip and had no idea where to run even if I did manage a lightning spring away from his grasp. And if I hadn't been able to convert Chip before by the power of sweet reason, I was pretty sure a few whispered insights now weren't going to do the trick. So while I was pretty sure I wasn't going to like where we were going, I didn't really see a way to extricate myself from the party.

We walked for the better part of twenty minutes, and since I couldn't think of anything brilliant to say, the journey was a silent one. We ended up in front of a door unmarked except for the numbers B3F44 on it, which I committed to memory because any hope is better than none and because I had nothing better to do right then anyway. There was a card reader by the side of the door that looked familiar, and Victor waved his ID badge in front of it. Its little red light flipped to green and I heard a click, and Victor pushed open the door and entered, with the rest of us following.

This was a small antechamber, with a large metal door that also looked familiar: a twin of the one underground back in Ithaca. Victor opened this as well and we were through.

This room was obviously the deluxe version: shiny white walls and all sorts of electronic equipment, as opposed to the relative sterility of the dome in New York. But the dish looked identical, as did the raised circular platform beneath it.

Victor turned to me and grinned happily. "What do you think, Mr. Lawyer?" he asked. "Just like home, eh?"

I looked at him. "I feel like Han Solo," I said evenly. "I have a bad feeling about this."

He started back at me for a moment and then barked a short and humorless laugh. "By God, you're a cool customer, eh?" he said. "I'll give you that. Anyone that isn't down on their knees right about now begging me not to use this on them... well, I figure they're just not smart enough to understand what might happen. But I know you know exactly what might happen." He paused, then shook his head. "You've got balls, I give you that." He paused again, and then smiled slowly. "Not for too much longer, but you've got them."

He gestured. "Get up on the platform."

"Don't want to," I said tightly.

"I give you credit for being brave. Let's not turn this into a mockery, ok? Chip, if he doesn't get on the platform, shoot him. Try to hit his knees, but shoot him. Then when he's lying there bleeding, pick him up and throw him on the platform."

Without turning my head, I could hear Chip unholstering his pistol. He was too far way for a desperation attack to have a prayer of working. Victor and Meg were both out of reach, as well. I sighed, my one moment of defiance gone. If I could have imagined any reasonable chance of succeeding, I would have done... something. But I wasn't Jackie Chan or Chuck Norris, and I told myself that anything the machine could do to me could be undone. Close on the heels of that thought was the knowledge that someone other than me would have to be the undoer.