December, Year 19 of the Anglo-American Alliance
The knife gleamed cold and silver in the half-light.
Amanda Grayson marked days off religiously on the wall of her cell, and she had a good sense of time. She knew that it was early on the morning after Christmas, but that date had little meaning outside, and even less inside the walls of the experimental facility.
The place, though its main function was a prison for anyone who was different, was not called an experimental facility for nothing. Although they hadn’t explained anything to Amanda when they had locked her with a pretty young woman who appeared Anglo-American in a room empty but for a large knife hanging on the wall, this experiment would seem to be about suicide. No doubt they were testing rates of suicide across the ranges of male and female, young and old, alone and in pairs, with and without food, as well as “ of course “ by race.
Amanda had been in the room, with plenty of water but very little food, for five days now, and neither she nor the young woman had used the knife yet. They had developed a routine of talking together, then sitting in silence, then sleeping, then talking again. Amanda had learned that the young woman’s name was Christine Chapel and that she was in the XP because she had refused to change her forbidden name. In turn, Amanda had explained that she was there because she had married a foreigner and given birth to a son with certain physical deformities. While this was not exactly true, it was close enough.
Now, Amanda stood up, sweeping her lank, wavy hair “ more gray than brown now “ out of her face and moving closer to the knife. It was large, very shiny, and quite sharp. Interesting choice of weapon to provide the two with, but perhaps that too changed from test subject to test subject “ one more variable in this equation of death, Amanda thought, and derived grim pleasure from the metaphor. She was, after all, a writer… or she had been once. Gazing at her distorted reflection in the knife, she wondered how that elegant writer could have become the grimy, wild-haired woman she saw now…
“Amanda, no,” said a now-familiar voice behind her, and Amanda turned to find Christine standing there. The young woman was stretching her arms as if she had just woken up, but her blue eyes were sharp and alert. “Don’t do it.”
“I wasn’t going to,” Amanda said. “Just looking.” She turned back to the knife.
Christine reached past Amanda and took the knife off its hook, hefting it experimentally. “Heavy,” she commented, then turned it over. “You could do quite a bit of damage with this.”
Amanda raised her eyebrows. “Oh?”
“I should know,” Christine said, carefully replacing the knife. “I am “ I was “ a nurse.”
“You never mentioned that.”
A smile spread over Christine’s lovely face. “What else haven’t I mentioned?” she teased.
Amanda squinted as if trying to remember. In fact, Christine had mentioned quite a lot. She had told Amanda about her former fiancé, Roger Korby, a brilliant scientist who had joined the Enforcers and turned Christine in. She had talked in depth about her childhood and about the psychology of why the Enforcers did what they did, and Amanda had been amazed at how quietly intelligent the girl of only twenty-four was.
Amanda herself had taught not only English but general psychology at a college before the Alliance had taken over, and she had jumped eagerly into the conversation, not thinking where Christine might have learned it all. But if she was a nurse, studying to become a doctor… medical doctors were taught advanced psychology, especially in places where the Enforcers had little influence, like Christine’s home state of Tennessee.
Amanda and Christine looked up at the sound of bolts being drawn back and of a key in the lock. Together both women moved toward the thick metal door as it was pulled back, scraping harshly against the stone floor.
After a moment, a man who appeared to be in his early to mid thirties entered, carrying a large black bag. He wore a rust-colored Enforcer uniform, and he had an unpleasant scowl on his face as he came toward Amanda and Christine.
Taking a notepad and pencil out of his bag, he muttered as he wrote. “Test 46… neither committed suicide or harmed the other…” With a touch of sarcasm in his voice, he said, “Happy Winter Festival, ladies.”
“Merry Christmas,” Christine rejoined, and the man’s lips turned up slightly at the corners.
“You must be Nurse Christine Chapel,” he said, “which makes you Amanda Grayson, doctor of linguistics and psychology.” He stuffed the pad and paper back in his bag, sticking out a large hand. “Leonard McCoy, MD.”
Neither woman took the hand, and he sighed, taking them both by the elbows and steering them out the door. “Stop looking at me like that. I’m a doctor, not a prison guard, and it’s time for your annual physicals.”
Amanda caught Christine’s eye, and Christine raised an eyebrow at her. The man certainly didn’t act like an Enforcer, but Amanda had an idea about that. The Enforcers often drafted doctors, since it was a rare profession these days and since few doctors would join the Enforcers willingly. This man, Leonard McCoy, had probably only responded to the draft to save himself and his family from death or, worse, imprisonment in the XP.
“So, Dr. Grayson,” said McCoy, “I hear your son had some interesting physical differences. Escaped three years ago, right? Good for him.”
“How can you talk like that out here in the open?” Amanda hissed.
McCoy shrugged. “I’m not under surveillance. I’m a doctor, remember? There are so few of us we get special treatment. Right in here, Dr. Grayson, Miss Chapel.” He propelled them into a small doctor’s office and let go of their elbows to close the door.
“Now,” he said cheerily, clapping his hands together. “If you two could escape from here, what would be the first thing you’d do?”
“Take a shower,” said Amanda.
“Get some clean clothes.”
“Find my son.”
“Dye my hair.” When the other two looked at her, Christine shrugged. “I’m sick of this color.” Her hair, though wavy and thick, was plain, mousy brown.
“Okay,” said McCoy. “I’m supposed to be examining you, so I actually don’t have time to examine you. There are shower stalls through that door.” He pointed. “You’ll find clean clothes in your size, and though I haven’t got any hair dye, Miss Chapel, I’m sure you can do that once you’re out.”
“What do you mean?” Christine demanded.
“Dammit, I’m helping you escape,” McCoy snapped. “But you can’t escape looking like you’ve just escaped, so go get cleaned up!” He spun them both around, placed a hand on each of their backs, and pushed them in the direction of the door to the shower stalls.
--
An approving smile spread over the face of Dr. Leonard McCoy as he surveyed the two women. Both clean and dressed in clean civilian clothes, Amanda’s hair in a long braid and Christine’s in a long ponytail, the women looked perfectly normal. Also, they were both Anglo-Americans, which would make it that much easier for McCoy’s friend and former coworker to take them to a safe house.
“All right, come on,” McCoy said. “But quietly! You don’t want them hearing you.”
He led the women out through the shower area and down a disused side passage. Dr. Mark Piper would be waiting for them outside; he was to take Amanda and Christine to his home, where the former would be reunited with her son and where the latter, an excellent scientist, could help with the mysterious “project” that Piper constantly alluded to.
McCoy’s eyes clouded over as he thought about Amanda, her missing husband and her escaped son. He had once had a family too, but Jocelyn had divorced him when he had accepted the commission offered by the Enforcers. Jocelyn had never seemed to realize that he was only doing it because the Enforcers would kill her and their daughter Joanna if he refused. Besides, from this position he could help people escape… as he was doing now.
McCoy turned down a hallway and slid his access card through a slot by the door. The door slid open, and he led the women through into another, dimly lit stone corridor. There was a large door at the end, with the large, glowing red letters EMERGENCY EXIT above it.
McCoy hurried over to the keypad next to the door and tapped in four numbers. “That disables the alarm,” he told them, and pushed open the door, flooding the hall with brilliant sunlight.
Immediately, a loud, screeching alarm began. His heart suddenly racing, McCoy shoved the women through the door and into the sunlight. “Go! Run, run, run!” he yelled. “Piper! PIPER!”
A middle-aged, gray-haired man who had been lounging casually near the door jumped up. “You idiot!” he roared. “They change the code on major holidays!”
McCoy bit his lip. Hard. Then he noticed that the women were still standing there as if frozen to the spot. “Run!” he yelled, as Enforcers began to pour out of the building.
“Get them!” someone shouted, and “It’s McCoy!” Cursing, McCoy seized Christine’s arm and dragged her along as he dashed through the courtyard. Seconds behind him, Piper grabbed Amanda and ran with her. As they reached the fence surrounding the XP, the Enforcers not far behind, Amanda stumbled and fell with a cry.
“My ankle!”
“Amanda!” Christine shrieked, half-turning, but McCoy kept a firm grip on her and kept running, diving through the gap under the fence and pulling her after him.
“We can’t “ save “ Amanda,” McCoy panted. “That’s Piper’s job.”
But he spared a glance behind him, to see that Piper had picked Amanda up and was carrying her, trying to climb the fence at the same time. He vaulted over the top and jumped the rest of the way down, displaying remarkable agility for a man of his age and weight “ but then, in an instant, there was the awful crack of a gunshot, and Piper was down. One of the Enforcers had shot neatly between the bars of the fence.
As one, McCoy and Christine turned, but Amanda shouted, “No! Go, leave!”
“Amanda!” Christine cried, but McCoy saw that the Enforcers had already overtaken the woman. There was no chance.
“C’mon, Christine,” he said, dragging her behind him as he ran. They barreled around a corner and McCoy yanked Christine into someone’s front patio, shutting the solid wooden gate moments before the Enforcers turned onto the street.
Christine’s thin form was shaking like a leaf. “Amanda…” she whispered. “Doctor, what if they kill her?”
“They won’t. They’ll just put her under tighter surveillance. But Piper…” McCoy shut his eyes and shook his head. “He’s dead already. I should have… I should have…”
The footsteps of the Enforcers faded into the distance, and Christine cautiously stood up, peering over the gate. “They’re gone,” she said quietly, and then glanced back when McCoy didn’t move. “Doctor?” She hurried to his side, touching his shoulder tentatively. “Doctor?”
McCoy looked up at the girl, his eyes wide. “Yes “ yes, of course.” He allowed her to help him to his feet, then led her out through the gate and down the road. After the darkness of the XP, the cold, bright winter sun looked bright and beautiful, gleaming on every surface, but the light and the sharp, fresh air were lost on McCoy.
Almost without thinking, he turned into an alley; though he had never been to the 21st Street Mission, Piper (no, no, don’t think about Piper) had given him very detailed instructions, and McCoy had a good sense of direction. He navigated the complex network of alleys, counting corners and doors, finally arriving outside a peeling door with an overflowing trash can beside it.
“This is it, I think,” he said dully. He glanced at Christine, who shrugged and climbed the stairs, knocking on the door.
They both leaned back against the railings, and in a moment the door was opened by a tall, dark-haired man. His pale eyes widened fractionally at the sight of McCoy’s Enforcer uniform, but McCoy shook his head quickly.
“I’m a friend,” he said. “I’m Dr. Leonard McCoy.”
“Where’s Dr. Piper?” the man demanded, still holding the door firmly.
Piper. God above, Piper. McCoy looked away, shutting his eyes against the tears that threatened to well up. “He’s… dead, sir.”
“No!” The man stared at McCoy, then silently opened the door all the way, letting McCoy and Christine in. The small room was filled with people who looked to be from all over the globe. One young black woman jumped up with a cry, pointing at McCoy, but the man who had answered the door waved a hand, and she sank back into her chair.
“Where’s Dr. Piper?” asked a young man with an Irish accent.
“He’s… d-dead,” McCoy said, stumbling over the words. He knew Piper was gone, but his tongue did not seem to agree. “The Enforcers caught us escaping, and “ “ He fell silent as a tall, thin man, a knit cap pulled over his head, pushed his way to the front of the group.
“Where is Amanda? Where is my mother? You and Dr. Piper were to bring her back.”
McCoy hesitated, chomping down on his lower lip. Finally he said, “She’s alive, but she… she didn’t make it out either.” This must be Dr. Grayson’s son, then.
An awful silence filled the room, until the first man sighed and stepped forward, clapping McCoy on the shoulder.
“Chris Pike. I guess you’ll be staying, then. You can’t go back now “ not if they’ve seen you.” Pike turned to Christine. “And who are you?”
“Nurse Christine Chapel, Mr. Pike,” she said smartly.
“Well, I guess you can stay too.” Pike turned to the group. “I… can’t really say anything that can sum up Mark. You all knew him; you’ll each have to mourn him in… in your own way.”
An Asian man put a hand on a young blonde woman’s shoulder. The black girl gripped the hand of the thickset, dark-haired man next to her. And Amanda’s son walked calmly over to a tapestry on the wall and went through it, disappearing into some kind of side room.