“Stand here.”
Gossin put her feet on the outlines. The surface was colder than the floor, and slightly rough.
“She’s lost weight,” one of the figures said. A female voice, Gossin thought. “Have you done a nutrient panel lately?”
“They did that at Pingats,” another said. “They were fine then, and they’ve all been on a standard ration here.”
“Draw blood for a standard panel plus nutrient history. It’s got to look normal.”
“Hold her.” Two of them approached her and without looking at her face or speaking to her each took an arm and forced her forward so the third could uncap the IV port on her chest. She could see the hands, the syringe, her blood rising in the barrel. With swift efficiency, the one who had drawn the blood recapped her port and prepared the sample for the lab. The one who had given the orders looked at a hand unit and said, “Get her ready for transport.”
Transport? Transport where? Away from the others? Her stomach clenched. One of the three turned away, left the shower room. One of the others said, “Use the toilet,” and pointed to the steel toilet beside the shower. They didn’t leave. They stood watching her. She knew there were scans in the cells, but she’d never had people standing in the same room watching her on the toilet.
“Come on, hurry up,” said one of them.
She sat down, finished. One held out an adult-sized diaper. No. She did not want that. She remembered from the trip here, the hours strapped to a gurney, unable to move, needing to pee, and finally having to pee into the thing they’d put on her. “She doesn’t understand,” the other one said. “Too much drug. Get her into it.”
Gossin didn’t want those gloved hands touching her again. Slowly, as if unable to move faster, she reached out, took the thing and stepped into it, one foot at a time.
“That’s better. Now pull it up.”
She did that, too; it was better than being handled. Now the second one left the room, and the third pulled a garment off the rack. Orange, one-piece as usual, but this time with long legs ending in overlarge fabric feet. She stepped into it, couldn’t get her arms into it, and the attendant grabbed her arm and yanked on the garment, shoving her arm in. Gossin took a step, and another grab on her arm stopped her even as she felt the thinness of the footed pants and realized they would be useless for walking anywhere outside.
When the attendant had secured her to the chair and opened the door, Gossin saw Cosper in a chair with an attendant behind him. The attendant pushed her back to her cell and left her there, still strapped in. Gossin used the time to explore what she could do with that trick her gran had taught her. If she could raise her temperature—or at least feel warmer—could she do anything else? Speed up blood flow, slow it down? Change anything that would clear the drugs faster? She felt more clearheaded, but then she usually did after a shower.
Gossin was the last in line as they came out the door into the open for the first time. She had expected daylight, because of the breakfast and morning meds, but it was dark, middle-of-the-night dark. Both Slotter Key’s moons were up, giving just enough light to see flat lawn on either side of the wide paved walk, a wall to either side beyond it, and straight ahead a parking lot and a road leading away into the distance. She thought she could see hills there. The attendants wore headlamps on their protective suits, flicking them on only briefly as the walk changed grade down two shallow ramps.
With her head strapped firmly to the headrest, she could not see much to either side or behind; she still had no idea what the building she had been in for all that time looked like. The breeze felt cold; she hunched her shoulders, pushing her head against the strap, but there was no give to it. From behind she heard a deep sigh, and the attendant with her chair dropped a thin blanket onto her and jerked it into place. It cut the breeze a little. She reminded herself of the way she’d controlled her temperature before, and once again felt gentle warmth flow out to her feet and hands. She drew in a long breath. The cold fresh air smelled wonderful, free of the chemical smells in the clinic. With every breath, she felt a little more clearheaded.
Tires grated on the gravel parking lot. Ahead of her, the line of chairs stopped. She saw a dark shape pull up, a vehicle without headlights. Moonlight glinted from its roof; she made out the shape of a medium-sized utility truck. A light flashed at the head of the line, painting the side of the truck for a moment: green, with yellow lettering. Gossin strained to read it, but the light was gone too fast. With a clatter, someone opened the back door of the truck. Light poured out, and a lift whined. Then the light went off.
Gossin blinked, trying to regain her night vision. Another light—an attendant’s headlamp—came on at the head of the line. It wavered in height and direction, but as the lift rose, she could tell an attendant and float chair were on the lift. The attendant’s headlamp vanished as the float chair slid into the truck. A second lamp came on as the truck’s lift whined down, and a second chair lifted into the truck. This time its attendant stayed on the ground.
The line moved forward a few meters. The third chair rode the lift up, was pulled inside. Someone called from the front of the truck, and the line stopped. The attendant at the back went forward, light still on. Now Gossin could read the lettering on the truck’s side—WEST HILLS WHOLESALE SUPPLY—and also tell that it was fresh paint. Under it, in the headlamp’s angled light, was another shadowy shape she could not read. But she knew it. It was a military logo. The truck had once been a military truck. The attendant came back; she got a second glimpse of the side of the truck. The chair just in front of her went up.
Her chair moved forward. Now she was too close to the truck to see anything but what was in front of her: the parking lot, the road leading away. Then it was her turn. In the light of one attendant’s headlamp she could see the legs of the others. She closed her eyes. She saw a red glow as the light washed her face; someone chuckled and said, “She’s finally out, then. Last little piggy goes to market.” Her chair lurched as the lift rose; she didn’t react. Someone inside the truck moved her chair in; clamps snicked onto its base. The doors slammed behind her; she heard the whine of the lift folding into place. Fingers touched her neck, felt her pulse. “This one’s ready.” A low tone came from under her chair; the seat moved under her, shifting fluid from one chamber to another. It was supposed to prevent pressure sores.
She felt the vibration as the truck moved. The attendant at her side went forward, talking softly on the way. “They’re all back down; we can take turns sleeping—shall we toss for it?”
“Sure.”
Gossin concentrated on her breathing. So there were only two of the attendants on the truck. Light came through her eyelids, but dimly; they must have turned on the lights inside or be using headlamps.
“We have to check them every hour,” the first voice said.
“Deliver them alive and in good order. I know.” That was the second. “Wings or fish?”
“Wings.” The truck lurched a moment later, turning sharply, gears grinding. “Snakes! I dropped it. Again?”
“No, I see it. Look. Fish. You bunk first.”
“Hey—don’t you go to sleep, too!”
“I’ve got a vid to watch. Wake you in four.”