“Can you walk?” Vatta asked.
“M-maybe.” Gossin felt light-headed, almost faint, with relief.
“Here—” Vatta signaled someone behind her and moved to the next float chair. “First one, quick.”
Men she didn’t know lifted her out of the chair and down off the back of the truck. She felt pavement through the thin fabric slippers but managed to hobble to the much larger truck behind them. She felt a steadying hand on her arm, and then a lift through the side door of that truck. This time she recognized the face—Corporal Inyatta, her hair now dark fuzz instead of the neat braid she remembered. “Staff Sergeant,” Inyatta said. “Let me help you.” Full-sized couches had been fastened to the bed of the cargo space here. Inyatta eased her down onto the soft cushions, then brought a stack of clothes. “You can start changing if you want. They may not fit exactly.”
Uniforms. A uniform that was almost her size, just a little big, with the proper patches for her grade, her former unit. She looked around; in the back corner of this truck were two enclosed spaces like tiny closets. Even as she picked up the clothes and stood, Chok was hoisted through the door, and with two helpers walked back to another couch.
The closet contained a toilet, a sink, a stack of washcloths and towels. Gossin felt tears on her face; she stripped, took off the hated diaper, cleaned up, used the toilet, and dressed. Proper underwear. Real shoes. A uniform jacket. She was breathless by the time she’d walked back to the couch, where someone in a medic’s tunic was giving one of the two other people on it—McLenard and Kurin, Gossin saw—an injection. On a different couch, Chok sat blinking, brow furrowed. Then he shook his head.
The medic looked up at Gossin. “Antidote for the sedative load. You’re looking pretty good; try this pill instead.” He handed her a pill and a paper cup of water.
Gossin wanted to ask questions, but he was busy. Inyatta, at the front of the truck, was helping another—Cosper, she saw, the last of the five—to the third couch.
“You’re probably hungry,” the medic said. “There’s food in the cooler behind that couch.”
Gossin’s stomach rumbled. She remembered her grandmother telling her that those exercises might make her hungry. But now others were entering the truck—none of them in military uniform. Finally Admiral Vatta, who closed the side door and looked around, her expression as grim as when she had killed Master Sergeant Marek. Then she saw Gossin looking at her, and her expression softened. She moved to the center of the truck and spoke to the medic. “How is everyone?”
“One alert; haven’t done the mental status exam yet. The others in various states of sedation. What’s our status overall?”
“Page nine, line seventeen.”
The medic laughed. Horns started honking. “Clear?”
“Just about.” Vatta turned away from the medic and came to Gossin. “You might want to sit down; we’re going to move.”
“Yes, sir,” Gossin said, automatically, though Vatta wasn’t in uniform. She sat at the end of the nearest couch; Vatta sat down as well. “What—how did you do it?”
“We haven’t done it yet, Staff Sergeant,” Vatta said. “Not until you’re all free and able to testify in court. But in the meantime, have you eaten yet? The antidote lowers your blood sugar.”
“No, sir—”
“Well, I’m hungry and you will be. Hang on.”
The truck lurched forward and to the left; Gossin grabbed the couch arm, and Vatta put a hand on Gossin’s shoulder, then moved quickly around the couch. “Hot or cold?” Vatta asked.
“Anything, sir.”
A wrapped sandwich sailed over the back of the couch and landed beside her. Gossin unwrapped it and bit down. More flavors than she’d had since Miksland flooded her mouth; she ate rapidly until it was gone. Vatta handed her a hot-mug. “The medic said no caffeine after the antidote; that’s cocoa. I told him chocolate’s also got a stimulant and he said it’s not the same. Hope he’s right.”
The truck was picking up speed now and then swerved—but less jerkily—to the right.
“Where are we going?” Gossin asked.
“To the nearest town, a warehouse where you’ll transfer to another truck that’ll take you to the airport. Then you’ll fly directly to Port Major and then to the Joint Services Headquarters.”
“All of us?”
“All of you. Not me. I’ll be circling around trying to pull a similar trick on the next transport.”
“What about the truck we were in?”
“Well… it’s going to be towed to the next nearest town, where law enforcement will discover the driver is dead drunk, there are two dead people with no ID in the back, and the logo on the truck is a fake. That will keep them busy for a while. Especially since the tow truck will take the long way around Swallowtail Lake to get to Fordham.”
Gossin nodded. “How long has it been?”
“Since we left Miksland? Four tendays. Longer than it should have been,” Ky said. “I didn’t know about this—that you’d all been drugged and confined—until Barash, Inyatta, and Kamat showed up at the Vatta city house. Neither did the Rector. I was mired in legal matters when I got back to Port Major, first with stuff related to a family business matter, and then with citizenship challenges.”
Gossin felt her jaw drop. “You got caught in the new citizen and immigration law?”
“Yup. Never heard of it, family never thought to mention it. We all thought since I was born here, I was good for life. My cousin and I both had to reapply.”
“But you—”
Vatta shook her head. “Even so. Immigration came knocking on my aunt’s door, ready to cart me off to prison. I’d been on the planet for over a half year and never turned myself in.”
Gossin couldn’t help laughing. “You were stuck in a lifeboat and then on Miksland—like the rest of us.”
“Yes. And finally that was accepted and I now have a court date for a final determination and the Citizens’ Oath.” Vatta stood up. “I need to check on the others. Another sandwich?”
The truck was moving smoothly; Gossin levered herself up, glad that she could. “I can get it—and if there’s anything I can do—”
“Eat first.”
Gossin retrieved a sandwich. Vatta was up in the front of the truck, talking to a man in an unmarked jumpsuit. She looked around. Kurin was awake now, sipping something from a mug and looking around. Chok came out of the makeshift bathroom, and Corporal Barash was there to offer support to a couch. Then Barash moved to McLenard, his eyes now open, but bleary, and spoke to him. With her help, he stood up and she guided him toward the bathroom. A well-run operation, as she’d have expected from Vatta.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
By the time they reached Weekes City, all the Miksland survivors were awake and able to move around independently.
“Admiral,” Staff Sergeant Gossin said. “We could be a help with the next rescue—we’re up to it, at least most of us.”
“Staff Sergeant, I appreciate your willingness, all of you. But we need your testimony; you’ll have recorders on the plane, and Sergeant Major Morrison will help you get it all down. We’re on a very tight schedule; we’ve got to have you all back in Port Major, in uniform, before a board that’s being convened to decide your fate. We can’t risk any of you on the subsequent retrievals.” She could see the resistance in Gossin’s face. “I know you want to help. I know you’ve been mistreated and you want to get back at them. But this mess is going to shake up everything—not just the military, but the government as well.”
“Yes… I see. But I don’t like it.”
“Understood.” Ky turned to Rafe. “I’ll be back in a few.” To Gossin she said, “Let’s get the group together back here. Everyone should hear this.”