Tick turned his attention to the very different occupants of the other two beds, which lay at angles to either side of the workman. A large, odd-shaped tube, maybe ten inches in diameter, snaked from rafters in the ceiling and connected to the two bodies at the chest—right over the heart—linking them together. The left bed contained a large raven—black as oil and two feet tall. The bird barely moved; every few seconds its wings twitched, making Tick think it must be awake on some level and suffering horribly.
A good-sized black bear occupied the bed on the right side. It was bigger than the bed and looked underfed and abused, lying there as if asleep, its big paws occasionally twitching. The bear was also strapped down, that tube arching out of its chest to the rafter above before continuing across the ceiling and then back down to the bird.
Tick focused on that tube. It didn’t seem to be made out of artificial material—it looked . . . alive. Like skin. Blue veins ran throughout the long object, just underneath the pale, translucent material, pulsing and changing shades from dark to light to dark again. The ends connected to the raven and the bear looked as if they had grown there like a natural extension. There was no sign of stitches or staples.
Two beds with two bodies. A bird and a bear. Connected by some kind of bio-engineered, monstrous-looking tube. The third bed was empty.
What did it all mean? What horrific thing was Jane doing to these poor creatures? Tick’s hands shook; he reached out and pressed his fingers against the lower sill of the window to steady them. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that Paul and Sofia had actually clasped their hands together.
The third bed. What was the third bed for?
Jane spoke from behind them, her voice soft and low. Never before had it sounded so evil as it did then.
“What you see here—and more important, what you are about to see—is a miracle of science and technology that today’s doctors and scientists can’t even imagine, or wish for, or dream about. It’s simply beyond their wildest spheres of possibility, beyond their capacity to comprehend. And even if they could, they’d never be able to make it happen. Not unless they were here and had a hundred years to figure it out.”
“I think what you really mean,” Tick said, throwing all the hatred he could into his voice, “is that they wouldn’t be evil enough to do something like this. You’re sick, Jane. Totally psycho. I don’t feel bad for what I did to you anymore.” He shouldn’t have said it; he knew that. Not yet. Not until things with the Haunce were worked out. But he couldn’t stop himself.
“I told you not to speak,” Jane said in a completely calm voice, as if she hadn’t heard his actual words. “Say one more word before I allow it, and I will hurt Paul. I promise.”
Tick looked back at her. She stared at him, waiting for his response, practically begging him to call her bluff. He fumed, his breathing stilted. Luckily Paul didn’t say anything. Finally, using all of his willpower to show restraint, Tick simply nodded. No more words. No more apologies.
“This first observation room is relatively early in the process,” Jane said, in her tour guide voice, as if she hadn’t just threatened bodily harm to Paul. “The genes and blood and cells haven’t been consumed yet, haven’t been . . . processed. The next room down the hall will show you what these two subjects will look like in about twenty-four hours. On we go.”
She set off walking, her Staff tap-tap-tapping on the stone floor.
Tick followed, hating how she’d called the animals “subjects.” Hating every single thing about this horrible woman.
When the next window came into view up ahead, Jane spoke again, over her shoulder. “I hope you haven’t eaten in awhile. What you’re about to see is amazing and wonderful, but might be a bit disturbing.”
Chapter 49
The Miracle of Birth
Sato had wanted to climb the wall himself, but Mothball made it clear that wasn’t an option. She said they couldn’t risk having their leader shot in the eyeball with an arrow to start things off. Sato grumbled, of course, but in the end he sent up a crew of six Fifths to peek over the top edge. He got back at Mothball by not letting her go, telling her she had to stay by his side as his second in command. When she grumbled as well, he had to hold in a laugh.
“Ready the Ragers and Squeezers!” he yelled when the six tall soldiers—Sato had decided to start calling them that—reached the point where all they had to do was pop their heads up to see the other side.
“Gotcha, Boss,” Tollaseat said, his hands full of Ragers. His wife, Windasill, stood next to him, her hands full of the black, wire-filled grenades called Squeezers. Sato had told Mothball’s parents they were supposed to stay near him as well, to be used for long-range action like this.
“You guys ready up there?” Sato called out.
Instead of speaking, the three men and three women above simply gave him the thumbs-up, a sign that was evidently universal.
“Okay. Tollaseat and Windasill will throw the cover weapons on my count of three. As soon as you hear the first round of explosions, pop over and climb down as quickly as possible. Start firing those Shurrics, and the rest of us will be right behind you.”
Another round of thumbs-up.
“One. Two. Three!”
Mothball’s parents brought their hands low then flung them toward the sky, letting go at the right moment to send the weapons flying up and well over the top of the wooden fence and the waiting Fifths. A few seconds later, the clatter of the weapons raining down on the other side was immediately followed by the ripping static thumps of the Ragers exploding. Then came the Squeezers’ metallic clanging and sounds of wires whizzing through the air. All muted and distant, but loud enough to be heard clearly.
“Go!” Sato yelled. “Go now!”
The six soldiers were already on the move. They grabbed the very top of the fence and swung their legs over, the bulky Shurrics already gripped in one of their hands, ready to start firing. They disappeared from sight.
Sato started climbing the wall after them. “Go! Go! Come on!” He didn’t need to say it—every last Fifth was already scaling the clunky wood face of the fence.
Just before Sato reached the top, a soldier’s head suddenly popped back over, looking straight down at him. It was a woman, and she had a puzzled look creasing her skinny face.
“What’s the matter?” Sato asked.
“You need to see this,” was her response. She disappeared once again.