Nomad was pleased that he got to walk to the truck by himself. He went handcuffed and surrounded by guards, and had to get into the cage at the end of the short trip, but that he walked on his own feet was a sign of his reliability.
Doctor Risman seemed edgy, worried or maybe irritated. He didn't like it. Knock it the hell off, he thought. It ain't good for 'em to see the captain like this. Then he frowned, because Doctor Risman was not a captain. He didn't think she was military at all, though she was his CO in every way that mattered.
Once he was in the cage, the guards piled boxes into the rest of the truck to hide him, and he sat down to wait.
*
The trip in the truck was long, interrupted only by a muffled conversation that he decided was a border crossing. Some hours later the truck stopped and was unloaded. Nomad's cage was transferred from the truck to the hold of a cargo airplane.
The flight was even longer. By the end of it he was painfully hungry.
*
The new facility looked a lot like the old one, down to being built to the same plan. Nomad thought that was pleasing efficiency, though of course there were different details, the result of people customizing in use.
Once he was settled in his quarters (the word "cell" drifted through his mind and he ignored it) he had to wait. (This life, you're either bored out of your skull or scared out of your mind. It ain't like in the pictures.) It was tempting to pace but he'd learned not to waste energy, especially when he was hungry. It had been hours more by the time he heard the tap of Doctor Risman's heels.
She stopped on the other side of the bars, flanked by guards. One of them held a tray; Nomad only realized his attention was fixed on it when Doctor Risman said, "Look at me."
"Sorry, ma'am," he said, annoyed with himself. His physical needs were less important than careful attention to his CO.
"That's all right," she said. "I understand, but I need you to focus first." She held a folder out to him through the bars. Nomad accepted it and flipped it open to reveal a black-and-white picture of a man. "Describe him."
"Caucasian male, mid-twenties, dark hair, eyes probably blue," Nomad said. "I can't tell you how tall he is without scale but proportion suggests above-average height. He's military, a specialist. Sniper. He's--"
Doctor Risman made a click of her tongue and he looked up. His heart sank at her disappointed expression. "Put that down," she told the guard with the tray, and the man did. "I don't know how long I'll be busy." She turned and walked off down the hall, her guards trailing her.
Nomad lasted almost an hour before he tried to reach the tray. It was three inches beyond his fingertips.
*
He was alone in a room with a man who was handcuffed to a bolt in the floor. Nomad couldn't tell for sure but he suspected the man was gagged under the bag that covered his head; he had said nothing coherent.
He loaded the pistol with the one round he'd been provided, and waited. Hunger clawed at him; he couldn't completely stop his hands from shaking.
"This man is a murderer," Doctor Risman's voice said. The hooded man's head shook. "Kill him. Then you can return to your quarters."
Nomad swallowed and forced himself to focus. "Ma'am, this seems very irregular."
"Sometimes unconventional methods are necessary," she replied. Her tone softened. "There will be a meal waiting for you in your quarters. Better to get this over with."
Nomad thumbed back the hammer. The prisoner made a strangled sound of fear. "Who did he kill?" Nomad asked.
"His second-in-command found out he was selling weapons," Doctor Risman said. "He killed her to keep her quiet."
Nomad said, "You have thirty seconds to make your peace with God." He counted them off silently. At thirty, he pulled the trigger.
Re: FILL: Lie Down on the Wire 8/?
Doctor Risman seemed edgy, worried or maybe irritated. He didn't like it. Knock it the hell off, he thought. It ain't good for 'em to see the captain like this. Then he frowned, because Doctor Risman was not a captain. He didn't think she was military at all, though she was his CO in every way that mattered.
Once he was in the cage, the guards piled boxes into the rest of the truck to hide him, and he sat down to wait.
*
The trip in the truck was long, interrupted only by a muffled conversation that he decided was a border crossing. Some hours later the truck stopped and was unloaded. Nomad's cage was transferred from the truck to the hold of a cargo airplane.
The flight was even longer. By the end of it he was painfully hungry.
*
The new facility looked a lot like the old one, down to being built to the same plan. Nomad thought that was pleasing efficiency, though of course there were different details, the result of people customizing in use.
Once he was settled in his quarters (the word "cell" drifted through his mind and he ignored it) he had to wait. (This life, you're either bored out of your skull or scared out of your mind. It ain't like in the pictures.) It was tempting to pace but he'd learned not to waste energy, especially when he was hungry. It had been hours more by the time he heard the tap of Doctor Risman's heels.
She stopped on the other side of the bars, flanked by guards. One of them held a tray; Nomad only realized his attention was fixed on it when Doctor Risman said, "Look at me."
"Sorry, ma'am," he said, annoyed with himself. His physical needs were less important than careful attention to his CO.
"That's all right," she said. "I understand, but I need you to focus first." She held a folder out to him through the bars. Nomad accepted it and flipped it open to reveal a black-and-white picture of a man. "Describe him."
"Caucasian male, mid-twenties, dark hair, eyes probably blue," Nomad said. "I can't tell you how tall he is without scale but proportion suggests above-average height. He's military, a specialist. Sniper. He's--"
Doctor Risman made a click of her tongue and he looked up. His heart sank at her disappointed expression. "Put that down," she told the guard with the tray, and the man did. "I don't know how long I'll be busy." She turned and walked off down the hall, her guards trailing her.
Nomad lasted almost an hour before he tried to reach the tray. It was three inches beyond his fingertips.
*
He was alone in a room with a man who was handcuffed to a bolt in the floor. Nomad couldn't tell for sure but he suspected the man was gagged under the bag that covered his head; he had said nothing coherent.
He loaded the pistol with the one round he'd been provided, and waited. Hunger clawed at him; he couldn't completely stop his hands from shaking.
"This man is a murderer," Doctor Risman's voice said. The hooded man's head shook. "Kill him. Then you can return to your quarters."
Nomad swallowed and forced himself to focus. "Ma'am, this seems very irregular."
"Sometimes unconventional methods are necessary," she replied. Her tone softened. "There will be a meal waiting for you in your quarters. Better to get this over with."
Nomad thumbed back the hammer. The prisoner made a strangled sound of fear. "Who did he kill?" Nomad asked.
"His second-in-command found out he was selling weapons," Doctor Risman said. "He killed her to keep her quiet."
Nomad said, "You have thirty seconds to make your peace with God." He counted them off silently. At thirty, he pulled the trigger.