The Mountain King Part 5

Overhead, the night sky was a comforting blanket of opaque ebony.

A tiny pinprick of light appeared, despoiling the calm, perfect darkness. It grew larger: a single star that shone brightly in the heavens, a remorseless eye that looked down upon the face of the world.

Sitala looked up, locking her gaze on his. Her dark hair framed her beautiful, terrible face, cascading over her shoulders in a waterfall of black silk. Her eyes flashed cold fire.

The lone star seared the heavens, brilliant and hard as Sitala's eyes, relentless as the death that spread across land and sea alike.

Wave after wave of shimmering death swept out, rolling over the planet, sterilizing everything in its path.

Inexorable.

Final.

Alone.

Makepeace sat bolt upright in bed. Clenching his hands in the blankets, he tried to scream, but his throat was closed with a horror not his own.

"Colonel!"

Makepeace barely heard the cry. He was still trapped, caught up in the murder of an entire world. His eyes saw only darkness, his soul overwhelmed by an abyss of loss, of grief, of inhuman hatred and unbearable sorrow. He gripped his hair in his fists and squeezed his eyes shut, trying not to see, not to remember...

"Sir, stop--"

Hands wrapped around his wrists, forced his arms down. He fought against them.

"Colonel, please, wake up--"

He knew that voice--it was part of another life, a saner life, not the smothering horror of a relentless alien logic. Makepeace's eyes snapped open. Tom Henderson was leaning over him, still gripping his wrists. Makepeace broke the hold then clutched at Henderson's arms, his fingers digging through fabric into flesh, until Henderson winced and protested.

"It's dead," Makepeace gasped out. "Everything's dead."

"No, sir, no one's dead. We're all here, we're all alive."

"No, it--"

"Sir, please, calm down. It was a nightmare."

"A nightmare?"

"Yes, sir, a nightmare."

A nightmare. Makepeace stared at Henderson, taking in the familiar features, barely visible in the dim light. The room was almost completely dark, but from somewhere nearby a night light provided a tiny amount of illumination. The dreams faded as he grew more aware, their taint of horror receding with them. His racing heart slowed, his breathing calmed. He felt sweat cooling on the bare skin of his chest and arms.

Henderson gazed back, his face a shadowy mask of worry mixed with fear. Why fear? Makepeace blinked, realizing he still held Henderson's arms in a death grip. He loosened his fingers, joint by painful joint, releasing the corporal.

Henderson sat back, rubbing his bruises, watching him with clinical wariness. "Feeling better, sir?"

Makepeace nodded. He let out a shaky breath. He was in bed, in a darkened room, but he didn't know how he'd gotten there. "What happened to me?"

"You had a nightmare."

"Not that." The evasion exasperated Makepeace. "Before. Something happened to me. My headache. It got worse, then it felt like my head exploded." He remembered his other symptoms, too: shaking hands, bloody nose, then everything became jumbled, confused. "Something was really wrong with me, wasn't it?" He saw the apprehension on Henderson's face, and insisted, "Tell me. Please."

Henderson nodded with reluctance. "Vara's language probe must have caused more serious damage to you than we all thought," he said, watching Makepeace closely. "You had some kind of a seizure, and Vara's servitors took you away. We were told that Vara was going to 'fix' you. Do you remember anything after that?"

Makepeace thought back. He hesitated. "I remember--"

"Yes? Sir?"

"I remember a room, all black and chrome, with bright lights, and instruments-- Machines-- I--" Terror clawed at him again.

"Sir?" Concern edged Henderson's voice.

"I think it was a lab, or maybe an infirmary, or something like that," Makepeace forced out. "I blacked out. That's all."

"You were unconscious when the servitors brought you back to us. Godfrey told us to let you sleep. He said you'd be all right in the morning."

"Godfrey?"

"Our hologram butler." Henderson smiled. "Sergeant Andrews named it."

Makepeace also smiled. With his customary irreverence, Andrews had named the hologram after a character from an old screwball comedy about a butler who was far more than he seemed. "My Man Godfrey," Makepeace said, remembering the title of the film. He hadn't seen that flick in years. Years and years and years.

"Yes, sir. Andrews is into that old stuff." Henderson prattled on, gabbling about trivialities associated with the movie and Sergeant Andrews's sometimes Byzantine reasoning processes.

Makepeace gazed off into space as he listened to the comforting chatter, letting it calm and lull him, knowing that was the intent but letting it happen anyway. He needed the reassurance of normalcy, just for a little while. It helped ground him in the real world. He yawned hugely, feeling sleep stealing over him again. He resisted its seductive call and stayed sitting up. "Henderson?"

The corporal broke off. "Sir?"

"How long was I gone?"

Henderson hesitated.

Patiently, Makepeace repeated, "How long was I gone?"

Sighing, Henderson said, "Hours." He gestured to the darkened windows. "It's night, now."

Hours? Night? Makepeace felt disoriented, out of sync. He tried to marshal his thoughts, but they wandered in odd ways. He suddenly felt exhausted, like he couldn't stay awake another moment. Obviously, his body needed more time to recover from whatever had been done to it. Unable to stop himself, he lay back against the pillows, staring up.

"Status," he said, falling back on procedure in his confusion, fighting a losing battle to keep his eyes open, to keep sleep at bay. "What's the situation?"

"We're still prisoners, sir. We're getting good treatment, though. As gilded cages go, it's not too bad." Henderson paused. "There's nothing you can do, for now. You look tired. You should rest. We'll give you a full sitrep in the morning."

Makepeace felt himself relax into the soft, warm bed. Henderson was right; he was so tired he couldn't think straight. Henderson didn't seem too concerned about the situation. It couldn't be dire. Probably was the same as before, probably didn't require an immediate strategy session. Probably. His eyelids drifted shut.

As his awareness leached away into the night, he vaguely noticed that Henderson was arranging the covers over him. Other than the occasional overbearing doctor or nurse, no one had tucked him in since his childhood, but with Henderson he was amused rather than indignant. He murmured drowsily, "You've got a good bedside manner, you know that? Strong enough to manage an old warhorse like me."

"Thank you, sir." Gentle humor laced Henderson's tone.

"You ought to go back to school. Finish that M.D. like you're always talking about."

Henderson made a soft, amused noise. "And miss out on all this adventure? Med school can wait. When am I ever going to get another chance to explore other planets?"

"Makes sense, I suppose," Makepeace mumbled.

Henderson said something else, but Makepeace didn't hear. He slept.

* * * * * * *

The room was filled with light the next time Makepeace opened his eyes. He was glad to wake up. His nightmares hadn't returned, but the rest of his dreams had been filled with sorrow and an intense, alien loneliness, so poignant it broke his heart.

"You awake, sir?"

He turned his head. Lieutenant Johnson sat by his bedside, watching him. Makepeace smiled. "Good morning. I think."

Johnson broke out into a relieved grin. "Good morning, sir. How are you feeling?"

Makepeace thought about the question. He didn't hurt anywhere, and thankfully his headache was a distant memory. But for that alien sense of loss, and a strange feeling of detachment, he felt perfectly fine. "I think I'm okay. Really, this time." He propped himself on his elbows and considered the man looking down on him. "You guys sit up with me the whole time?"

"We took turns. Had to pull watch shifts anyway, so we did 'em in here. Henderson said you had nightmares last night."

"Yeah." He only had vague memories of those night terrors, about a star and the Goa'uld and death. With a sigh, Makepeace sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. The covers fell away, and he saw he was naked. For some reason, that didn't surprise or concern him. He wrapped himself in a blanket and stood up.

Johnson rose from his seat. "You sure you should get out of bed? Maybe Henderson should check you over first."

"I feel fine." Makepeace glanced over at one of the tall, floor-to-ceiling windows. Raindrops speckled the glassy surfaces. Outside, low, dark clouds loomed, obscuring the mountain peaks, shadowing the desert. "It's raining."

"Yes, sir, it is."

Makepeace walked over to the rain-spattered window and stood there, looking out at the gloomy view. Using an index finger, he traced the path of a large drop, until it rolled out of reach. He placed his hand against the pane. "Vara's lonely."

"Sir?" Johnson sounded confused.

"Vara's been alone for thousands of years," Makepeace said. His voice sounded faraway, even to his own ears. "Ever since Sitala came. Sitala came and everything died."

"Sir, why don't you get a shower and something to eat? You'll feel better..."

"A shower?" Makepeace turned around and regarded Johnson quizzically. How was he supposed to take a shower on a planet so alien that even the toilets were unrecognizable? Then he looked about in surprise. "Good Lord," he said mildly. "When did all this happen?"

The room was huge and filled with furniture--real, human-style furniture. There were several large, overstuffed armchairs with footrests. A table and set of chairs stood in one corner. The bed he had recently slept in was king-sized, with fluffy pillows, smooth sheets, and warm, downy blankets. Nightstands were placed on either side of the headboard, supporting porcelain lamps, and a matching dresser sat against the opposite wall. A smaller chair was pulled up beside the bed. The floor was covered in thick, plush carpeting. His toes curled into the deep, soft pile as he stared around in wonder.

Everything was done in a palette of cool, aqua shades. The walls were a deeper blue at their base, to match the carpet, then shaded upwards into swirls of lighter hues, until near the ceiling they were almost white. While it wasn't a decorating scheme he would have chosen, Makepeace rather liked the colors; they reminded him of the sea. He'd always enjoyed sea duty.

There were two doors--tall rectangles rather than the tripartite entrances used elsewhere in the alien city. Both were open. One led to what looked suspiciously like a bathroom; the other to a larger chamber, probably the common room.

He'd been too distracted by the mess in his head to notice the change in his accommodations. The memory of Varayimshaeta's sorrow was a heavy shroud, weighing him down, numbing his senses.

Johnson answered his question. "Last night. I think it was two or three hours after Vara's servitors took you away." He shrugged. "My time sense is all screwed up, but it seemed that long. More of those spheres showed up and brought us here. The whole suite is like this." He swept out a hand, indicating the comfortable furnishings. "We've all got our own bedrooms and private baths. Even the plumbing is like back home." He shook his head. "Guess Vara must've finished that scan on you."

Makepeace exhaled a gust of air at Johnson's implication. He'd thought he was compromised before, but the magnitude of this put the previous violation in the shade. Yet, he was still feeling too adrift, too lost in Varayimshaeta's loneliness, to muster up much concern. He said only, "Well, at least something good came of it."

Johnson gave him a sharp look.

Makepeace pulled the blanket tighter around himself. "I'm all right, Johnson. I just need some time to get back on my feet, that's all."

Curious about the new setup, he wandered out into the common room. Johnson followed him in uncomfortable silence. Makepeace could feel the lieutenant's eyes boring into the back of his skull. He knew Johnson was worried about him, but with Varayimshaeta's traumatic emotions still echoing in his brain, he couldn't make himself care or put forth the effort to reassure his friend.

The common room was unoccupied. "Where are Andrews and Henderson?" he asked. Alarm punched through the fog in his head. Had Varayimshaeta not been satisfied with scanning his own mind? Had the computer taken his men, as well?

Johnson answered, "Out exploring."

That put some of his concerns to rest, and awakened a pragmatic interest. "What? You've found a way out of here?"

"No, sir." Johnson sighed. "This morning Godfrey told us we weren't confined to quarters anymore. We don't really understand why, but I doubt we'll be let out of the city, or into anything important. Probably Vara's just built us a better Habitrail, that's all, but I thought they should check it out anyway."

Makepeace smiled at little at the reference to the elaborate hamster homes--boxy plastic cages connected by a maze of tubes. It seemed appropriate. "You never know what those two will find. There might be a chink in the armor somewhere."

"My thoughts exactly, sir."

Relieved, Makepeace looked around at the Earth-style furniture, the unobtrusive color scheme of cream and beige and tan, the great, floor-to-ceiling windows that lined one curved wall. He saw rectangular side doors on other walls, no doubt leading to those bedrooms Johnson had mentioned. He snooped in all of them. They were just as Johnson had said: huge bedrooms with private baths and assorted furnishings. Off to one side, there was a fully equipped kitchen. On a counter lay a heap of MREs. Obviously, this morning's breakfast.

Adjacent to the kitchen was an attached dining area. It held a glass and marble table with a set of four chairs, a buffet, and even a china cabinet--complete with china. He was amazed at the details that Varayimshaeta had managed to extract from his head. He hadn't realized he knew about half that stuff. His ex-wife's influence, he supposed. Or his mother's. They'd both had similar tastes in decorating.

"If you're finished with the inspection, sir..."

The tense quality of Johnson's voice startled Makepeace. The lieutenant was watching him, a mix of emotions on his face: concern, dismay, indecision. Makepeace finally understood how he must look, wandering around wrapped only in a blanket, hardly talking at all. Not real good. No wonder Johnson was worried.

"Old habits die hard, huh? Sorry, couldn't resist taking a look around." He forced out a laugh. "I think you're right, a shower would be a good idea." He glanced down at himself. "And some clothes."

Johnson smirked. "Don't blame us for that. You ask me, that Vara's some kind of perv."

Makepeace quirked a brow, but all he said was, "So I'm stuck with this blanket?"

"Your clothes are in the top drawer of your dresser, sir. They were delivered at the same time you were."

That time both brows rose. However, Makepeace merely thanked Johnson and beat a quick retreat back to his bedroom.

He dropped the blanket on the bed and went into the bathroom. The lights came on automatically as he stepped through the threshold. He had to admit, this bath was far more impressive than the two he had in his house back in the Springs. Bigger than both of them put together, in fact.

The walls, floor, and ceiling were made of a smooth, sea-green material with a creamy, frothy design that reminded him of sea foam. A counter lined a wall, inset with a faucet and sink. Above it was a large mirror. He peered at his reflection, half expecting to see some of his hair shaved away, a scar, something. All he saw was his own face, his own head of thinning hair, all looking perfectly normal. Whatever Varayimshaeta had done to him hadn't left any physical traces. Maybe it hadn't even been physically invasive. Just mentally invasive, his mind whispered. He winced, put aside that thought, and turned away from the mirror to finish inspecting the bathroom.

On the wall behind him was a heated rack with a set of fluffy towels hanging from it. He investigated an alcove on the left, and found the most important item of all: a good, old-fashioned, American-style porcelain throne, complete with a big roll of toilet paper. After that humiliating alien contraption he'd used earlier, the toilet was a welcome sight.

In the rear of the bathroom stood a spacious, glass-enclosed shower. To its right, in another alcove, was a huge whirlpool bath.

Stranger and stranger. Why treat prisoners so well?

He became aware of a rather basic but demanding physical need, so before he did anything else, he tested out the toilet. It worked perfectly.

Then he grabbed a washcloth and turned on the shower. The spray had been pre-adjusted to the temperature he preferred. He supposed he shouldn't be surprised, since the patterns for just about everything around him must have come straight from his own head. The mere idea was creepy, and he didn't dwell on it.

There was even a bar of soap in the soap dish. This, however, he recognized as having come from SG-3's supplies. Or so he assumed. He used it anyway, happy enough for a decent scrubbing. The hot water pounding on his body helped him shake off the last of the alien melancholia, and he felt more like himself. What a relief, to be rid of that burden, to be able to think clearly again.

After he had left the shower and toweled himself off, he checked out the dresser. His clothes were in the top drawer, just as Johnson had said. What the lieutenant hadn't mentioned, however, was that they had been cleaned, pressed, and folded neatly. Even, he was amused to see, his skivvies.

He dressed quickly, again wondering about the motives of their jailer. His boots he found waiting on the floor, next to the dresser. He picked them up and crossed to the bed to sit and put them on, and got another surprise. The bed, which he had left rumpled, had been made with military precision.

It struck him as highly unlikely that Johnson had snuck in to make the bed while he'd been in the shower. No, obviously Varayimshaeta was keeping tabs on its prisoners. While Makepeace had often fantasized about having a self-making bed, being confronted with the reality of such a thing was just a bit too much. He dropped his boots and plopped down on one tight-creased corner, and rested his head in his hands.

It took him a moment to compose himself. What was the purpose of all this? Why wait on prisoners hand and foot? The constant surveillance wasn't a surprise, but this VIP treatment surely was. Alien, Makepeace told himself, this thing is alien. Who knows, he thought, maybe this is normal treatment for detainees. Or maybe it regarded them as some kind of envoys--not necessarily trusted, but not actual enemies, either, since it must realize by now that they weren't Goa'uld.

He had a hard time believing either of those options.

Was Varayimshaeta's loneliness the key? He thought about that as he reached down to pull on his boots and lace them up. If so, it behooved him to remember as much as possible about his dreams. However little he liked the idea, it was clear to him that they were some of Varayimshaeta's own memories. As such, they should be helpful in divining the computer's motives.

The melancholia had been nothing more than an impression--an overpowering one, to be sure, but nonetheless formless. He needed something more concrete. Something with actual images or ideas. Reluctantly, he concluded that the best place to start was with his nightmare.

Only fragments of that remained. The star, the Goa'uld Sitala, death. The Goa'uld were too much a part of his life these days to be a good starting point. Death--he remembered the shimmering curtain of death, the death of all living things. It was too immense to grasp, too overwhelming, too horrifying. Too...personal? That stuck him as odd, but he couldn't force himself examine it more closely. Not a place he wanted to go right now.

That left the star.

Makepeace closed his eyes and imagined only blackness, then put a single, bright point of light in its center. A feeling of dread and despair came over him, so strong it set his heart to pounding and broke his concentration. He gnawed his lip. The experience was frustrating and unpleasant, but gave him some confidence that a few memories might remain. He only had to find a way to retrieve them. Perhaps he could talk them out with Johnson.

He got up and headed to the door. Low voices came to him from the common room. It sounded like Andrews and Henderson had returned from their little sight-seeing expedition. He heard his name, and paused just inside the doorway to listen.

"He's been acting weird," Johnson was saying.

Henderson asked, "Weird, how?"

"At first he was kinda spacey, like he was dazed or something. Took him a while to pull it together."

"He had some kind of head injury, before Vara 'fixed' him. I figure a little adjustment time is to be expected. He recognized you, right? He improved after a while?"

"Yeah. Seemed quiet, though. And he didn't slap me down when I got outta line."

"Cut him some slack, Lieutenant." That was Andrews. "He's had his head screwed over by an alien bogeyman. I'm sure he'll be back to his usual cheerful and sunny self in a little while."

Good thing he'd done some eavesdropping. Andrews's comment annoyed him, but he also appreciated the support. They sounded really worried, like they were expecting him to freak out on them, or worse. Makepeace leaned against the wall, pondering, recognizing that his subordinates had cause to worry.

Suck it up, Marine, he told himself. He decided this would be a good time to put in an appearance, before they really got themselves worked up. He stepped into the room, saying, "His cheerful, sunny self thanks you for the vote of confidence."

Three faces, wearing identical expressions of shock, swiveled in his direction. As though their movements had been choreographed, Johnson, Andrews, Henderson all stood up in almost perfect unison.

"Colonel, I--"

"Sir--"

"Colonel Makepeace--"

"I'm touched. Really." Their reactions were actually comical, Makepeace thought with malicious amusement. So much for that "cheerful and sunny" crap. He grinned, enjoying their chagrin in a way that he acknowledged as petty.

Johnson recovered first. Schooling his expression into an admirable poker face, he said, "Glad you're feeling better, sir."

"Thanks." Makepeace fixed his gaze on the other two miscreants. "So, I hear you two went exploring. Find anything useful?"

Andrews and Henderson exchanged a glance. "Not really," Henderson said. "The ways out of this tower are either locked or guarded by those spheres. At least we think they were exits. Might've just been places Vara doesn't want us sticking our noses into." He paused. "The rest was weird."

So. Johnson's guess had been right. Their "Habitrail," as he had called it, had been expanded. "Weird?"

Andrews elaborated, "It's this strange mix of alien stuff, and things that look like they might have come from Earth. Saw a few ordinary looking rooms, mostly empty but some of them had regular furniture, like in here. Shit, sir, there was even a head on every floor we checked. It was weird."

Makepeace frowned. "Any idea what the remodeling's all about?"

"Nope," Andrews said. "Godfrey's keeping mum, too. At least we didn't find a torture chamber or anything."

Makepeace grunted. His stomach growled, loudly.

Henderson grinned. "It sounds like you need something to eat, sir."

"So it does," Makepeace said ruefully.

"Hunger's a good sign, sir. Honest."

"Whatever." Makepeace headed to the kitchen counter and scrounged around in the pile of rations. "Where're the canteens?" he asked as he unwrapped and bit into an energy bar. "Don't see 'em."

"In the fridge, sir," Andrews said.

"I hope you know how weird that sounded, considering that we're umpteen zillion light-years from home." Makepeace opened the refrigerator. There was nothing else inside but a pile of canteens. He pulled one out and took a long drink to wash down the energy bar. The refrigerator worked perfectly. The water tasted cold and refreshing, a far cry from the usual lukewarm liquid he'd been half expecting.

"Don't blame me. It all came outta your brain, sir," Andrews tossed out thoughtlessly.

There was an uncomfortable silence. Makepeace eyed his team as he chewed. They were watching him like the proverbial paranoid hawks. He finished his snack, then carried the canteen and another energy bar to a couch and sat down heavily.

A chagrined look came over Andrews's face. "I didn't mean it like that, sir."

"Yes, you did," Makepeace replied. He took a swig of water, opened the wrapper on his second energy bar, and took a bite. They all looked at one other with grave expressions. Makepeace knew he didn't need to reiterate his previous orders to watch him for mental aberrations and take appropriate action if necessary.

"Sir," Henderson finally offered, "we know it's not your fault. It's just..." His voice trailed away and he looked at his teammates helplessly.

"It's weird," Makepeace finished for him. He munched on his food. "You're preaching to the choir, you know. I'm the one who got his head fucked with."

"Yes, sir." Henderson hesitated. "Sir..."

"Yes?"

"Well, I was wondering. Did you get any extra information about Vara, like you did yesterday?"

Makepeace nodded slowly. "I think so. I was thinking about that earlier, but most of my dream recall leaves something to be desired."

Johnson chimed in, "Earlier this morning, while you were still, uh..."

"Spaced out," Makepeace supplied helpfully.

Johnson winced. "Yes, sir. Anyway, you said that Vara was lonely, and you babbled about how everything died because Sitala came. Do you remember that?"

"Yeah." He sighed. "I woke up with this intense feeling of loneliness, but it wasn't mine. I just...I knew it was Vara's. I only just managed to shake it a little while ago. I think it was related to that nightmare I had last night, about everything dying."

Henderson frowned. "But we already knew that Sitala killed the native population here. Vara told us that yesterday."

"No, you don't understand. In my nightmare everything died. Every living creature, plant and animal and insect, even the microbes and viruses. The whole planet was sterilized."

"How? Vara only talked about a plague. That couldn't have sterilized an entire planet. Something alive would have remained--the local rats or cockroaches or lichens, or single-celled organisms. Something. I'm sorry, sir, but it doesn't make sense."

"I know, but that's what I dreamed." Makepeace shook his head, chewing thoughtfully. "Maybe it was just a nightmare, after all." But his voice held a trace of doubt.

Johnson asked, "Colonel, what exactly do you remember from that nightmare?"

Makepeace grimaced. "Not much. A star, and Sitala. And death. The whole world died." He closed his eyes, concentrating again on the star. That familiar feeling of dread washed over him, and then a tumble of images: the horrifying vision of shimmering death, but more detailed this time. He saw eldritch fire, sweeping outwards, consuming everything in its path...

"Radiation," he said suddenly.

"Sir?"

"The planet was sterilized with some kind of radiation. That's why nothing's alive."

Johnson frowned. "That doesn't square with what Vara told us about the plague."

Makepeace shook his head. "That's the image I've got. Radiation," he insisted.

"Did Vara lie to us?" Andrews wondered aloud.

"Why not?"

"Why would it bother?" Henderson countered. "Something doesn't add up. Sir, do you think you can remember any more of that nightmare? I think you're onto something."

"Like what?"

"Like what really happened here. I don't think Vara lied, exactly, but I don't think it told us everything, either." Henderson exhaled. "You obviously got something from Vara last night. Can you remember?"

"I've never been very good at remembering my dreams."

"Anyone ever done any hypnosis?" Andrews asked, half-seriously.

Inwardly, Makepeace recoiled at the idea. Although he knew it was absurd, he couldn't stop the mental pictures of stage hypnotists who made their victims humiliate themselves. He imagined himself clucking and scratching like a chicken, and repressed a shudder.

There was also an even deeper terror that he didn't like to admit--one of further mental violation. He knew that if they got home--when they got home, he corrected himself--the psych boys were going to take his head apart looking for alien memories and potential time bombs. They would probably supplement their hypnotic techniques with drugs, and when they were done the research staff would undoubtedly have their turn with him as well. He accepted all that as necessary, if unpleasant. But to be confronted with it here, so soon...

He couldn't help feeling relieved when his teammates all disclaimed any such specialized abilities. And yet, he also knew, with that same overwhelming but irrational conviction he'd felt yesterday about Varayimshaeta being a computer, that it was essential he remember his dream. That it might be the only way to find out what was going through Varayimshaeta's synthetic brain. Given their circumstances, it appeared that understanding Varayimshaeta was their only hope for escape.

"Probably just as well," Henderson commented. "It might be too soon to try anything like that, considering--"

"I feel perfectly fine, and if I've gotta do it, I'd rather get it over with as soon as possible," Makepeace snapped, irritated. "We wait too long and I'll forget everything. Like I said, I almost never remember dreams." He paused, stared at his hands, then added quietly, "Besides, we've got to find a way out of here before Hammond gets worried."

He didn't need to elaborate on that statement. Everyone was well aware that any rescue team General Hammond sent after them would get caught in the same trap they had.

"Yes, sir," Henderson said. "But since none of us know anything about hypnosis, and you've only remembered a few fragments--"

Andrews broke in, "You look like you got an idea, Lieutenant."

Makepeace glanced over at Johnson. The lieutenant had a pensive look on his face which changed to a grimace, as if he was considering something distasteful. Slowly, sounding as though each word were pulled from him with a winch, he said, "We could always try a guided meditation." He looked at Makepeace. "It can lead to a self-hypnotic state, sir. You'd have complete control over it. It can't hurt, and it might help shake loose a few more of Vara's memories."

Makepeace stared at him, wondering when Johnson had developed telepathic abilities. Was his discomfort with the idea so obvious that Johnson felt prompted to offer reassurances about control?

Andrews asked, "You know about that stuff, Lieutenant?"

Johnson ducked his head in embarrassment. "An old girlfriend of mine was into all that New Age crap. She was really into dreams and meditation and shit, so I was, too. You know how it is."

Andrews laughed. "Fuck, yeah. Anything to get laid. I'll bet you're a certified expert. Probably took all the classes and got lots of practice with her, didn't you, sir?"

Johnson rubbed his face. "Yeah, well, maybe it'll pay off now. Whaddaya say, Colonel? Want to give it a try?"

Time to put up or shut up. Makepeace's fist closed around the remains of his breakfast, crushing the wrapper and energy bar together. A thought occurred to him. "You realize that Vara's probably listening in on every word we say."

"What difference does that make? It already knows we want to leave, and doesn't seem to care." Johnson shrugged. "We won't hear anything it doesn't already know about, and if it tries to stop us, we'll know we're on the right track."

That was true enough. Makepeace got up and walked to the kitchen, aware of his men's eyes on him, annoyed with himself for his wavering and his insecurities.

He looked under the sink. Sure enough, there was a small trash can there. It unnerved him, how Varayimshaeta had all the details right. How Varayimshaeta had obtained all those little details. Makepeace deposited the energy bar in the garbage, then returned to the common room.

"All right," he said. "Let's give it a shot."

Continue to Part 6

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