Leaving Clevennes, Asthana planet
Michael stared out of the mobibot’s window, still depressed by Jaruzelska’s less than enthusiastic response to General Cortez. Bakker sat up front in grim silence; all she’d said was that they were heading for a new safe house. Where it was and how long it would take to get there, Michael had no idea. Before long, he drifted into sleep and his head toppled over onto an already unconscious Sedova’s shoulder.
Bakker’s voice dragged Michael up and out of the darkness. “Wake up!” she shouted, punching his shoulder to get his attention. “Wake up!”
“What’s up?” Michael asked, bleary-eyed and confused by the panic in her voice.
“Not sure,” Bakker said, “but we were passed by a mobibot five minutes ago, and two more have just turned up behind us. That’s not normal, not on this road.”
Adrenaline flooded Michael’s system. In an instant he was wide awake, and his mind went up a gear as he struggled to work out what to do. “We should abandon this bot, take off on foot.”
“Too late. Look out the window.”
“Shit,” Michael hissed when he spotted the surveillance drones-a cluster of tiny black spots against the morning sky-dropping into position around them.
Then their options ran out. The road ahead was blocked by two mobibots, and four figures, hooded and armed with assault rifles, waited for them. The road behind them was closed off by two more fast-approaching vehicles.
“I’m sorry, guys,” she said, her voice thick with defeat. “I think we’re about to get screwed.”
Fear, malevolent and all-consuming, surged through Michael’s body, turning his guts to water and his mind to mush. Every instinct told him he had to get away. He lunged for the door. “Go, Kat, go!” he shouted. He slapped the controls to open and threw himself out. He hit the ground hard, too hard. He rolled and tumbled; gravel ripped his shirt off and tore at his back. He slid to a stop. Ignoring the pain, he started to his feet. He got no farther before he was hit hard in the small of his back, first one blow and then another and another. A microsecond later, every nerve ending in his body exploded into white-hot agony that plunged him into unconsciousness before he’d even reached the ground.
Michael was confused. Why was his face cold and wet? Why was he so tired? He just wanted to sleep, but he was being shaken and the light was getting brighter and brighter. It drove splinters of agony into his brain. His head thrashed from side to side in an attempt to get away. “Too bright,” he mumbled. Then a hood was slipped over his head, and the light was gone.
“He’s awake,” a distant voice said. It was a man’s voice: flat, metallic, nasal. The man was using a processor to conceal his accent. With a rush, memory flooded back, and with memory came a raw terror that devoured his self-control, a terror fueled by the awful certainty that somehow the Hammers had found him. “I’ll get the medics,” the voice said.
Michael put up with the indignity of being stripped naked for a complete medical examination. It’s not like the Hammers to worry too much about the health of their victims, he thought, so they must want me in good shape. But why? For a show trial?
His sprits sank into utter despair.
The examination over, hands grabbed him and lifted him to his feet. “Who are you?” he asked as he was hustled forward.
“Don’t waste your time asking questions,” the same flat voice said. “You’ll get no answers from us. Now, we’re going to put you in the shower. You can take your hood off, but do not turn around. If you even think about trying, I’ll stunshoot you. Understood?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. When you’ve finished and dried off, tell us. We’ll put the hood back on, and you can get dressed. Then we’ll take you to a cell. Once you’re inside, you can take the hood off, and we’ll get you some food. Any time we bang on the door, stand up and put the hood back on. Is that all understood?”
“Yes,” Michael said.
“Right, let’s do it.”