James 6
He checked the stranger's pulse again, then slid into the cruiser control center. For several long minutes he sat staring into space. A strange kind of numbness swept over his body. He inhaled deeply and let it out slowly. He leaned forward, resting his head on the manual guidance unit in hopes of regaining stability. A kaleidoscope of thoughts and feelings, people and events tried to coalesce in his mind. The past, present and future tried to present themselves at the same moment. Fragmented pieces of his life in different shapes and colors, presented themselves in a huge jumbled picture. Each fragment reflected itself in the mirrors of his mind. James closed his eyes tightly and let the numbness sweep away the confusion. The past few hours seemed so unreal.
As if in a trance, James started the cruiser and backed into the street. Without thinking, he drove to the all night shopping area. He gathered up a few groceries, some extra medicine and a few things they might need. When every item had been passed across the computer plate, the total appeared on the small screen in red digits. James then placed his right hand, palm down on the glass plate. Within seconds, the red digits changed to green zeros to let him know his debit had been deducted from his credits. He picked up his purchases and headed for the cruiser as the small screen flashed 'Thank you' in bright green letters.
"Going somewhere, Mr. Marshall?" said a voice from behind him.
James froze. Is this the way it will end?, he thought. Shot down in front of a shopping area with an armful of groceries? James turned around very slowly, ready to look into the face of death. He caught his breath. It was only the security guard. As his fear faded, he managed a slight smile.
"Good morning, Mr. Simms."
"Mornin', Mr. Marshall. What brings you out so early this fine mornin'?"
"Just doing my job."
"Chasin' anybody I know?"
Carefully, James put the groceries in the passenger side of the cruiser then slid in behind the mamual guidance unit.
"I don't think so, Mr. Simms. See you later."
Slowly, James backed the silver cruiser into the street and waved to Mr. Simms as he had done so often in the past.
The sun was peeking over the horizon as James headed the sleek cruiser toward the mountains. He drove hypnotically down the highway as if trying to disappear into the rising sun. The hours seemed to pass as rapidly as minutes, until they reached the cabin.
He checked the cabin thoroughly for the traps usually left by the System's people and disposed of them without incident. Cautiously, he opened the trap door that led to the cellar. After a close check, he found that the cellar hadn't been bugged, so maybe the System didn't know it was here. It was small but it was the safest place he could think of, so it would have to do for now. The shelves that lined both sides could be used to store the food and clothing. There was enough space across the end of the room for the small cot that was upstairs in the cabin. There was also a small table and two wooden chairs upstairs that would fit nicely in the small cellar.
James went to work and in record time, he had the cellar ready to be inhabited. It was difficult to get the unconscious man through the trap door and down the ladder without causing further injury. He checked the bandages and covered him with a blanket. He turned the micro-illuminator down low and went to hide the cruiser.
Since he had been in the area a few months before, he went to a place down by the stream. There he located a large cave that had been washed out by the water. It was large enough for the cruiser to be completely hidden inside. He carefully cleared a path then drove the cruiser into the cave. He concealed the entrance with rocks and brush then covered the tracks with fallen leaves. While he walked back to the cabin, he wondered if there was anything he had forgotten. Or rather, if he had forgotten anything that might make any difference in his life - or his death.
When he climbed down the ladder, the first thing he saw was fear in the clear green eyes of the stranger.
"It's about time you opened your eyes," he said as he turned up the illuminator. "I thought you'd be out for the rest of the week."
"You a doctor?" the man inquired as he glanced at the bandages around his wrists.
James sat down in the chair beside the cot.
"Not really. I'm James Emmerson Marshall IV. I studied to be a doctor when I was young, but now I'm just another wanted man."
"You saved me?"
James nodded, then added, "If that's what you want to call it. How do you feel?"
"I'm Joseph Paul Thompson and I don't feel so good."
James noticed the fear in the green eyes had been replaced by pain.
"I'm glad to meet you, Joseph. I think I had better check those bandages, they may need to be changed."
James took the medical kit from the shelf and proceeded to check the wounds and change the bandages while they talked.
"Call me Paul. Where are we, anyway?"
"In the cellar of an old cabin in the mountains."
"This your place?"
James shook his head.
"How did you find it?"
"Well," James said as he looked Paul straight in the eye, "I used to have a job that made it my business to know where to look for outlaws."
Every muscle in Paul's body tensed. His eyes blazed with fury.
"You're a D.O.G.!" he yelled.
"Wait just a minute," James said as he tried to hold him down. Paul proved to be quite strong for a man in his condition. "Just calm down."
"You're a dirty, stinking D.O.G.," he yelled as he struggled desperately to get up.
"Think man! I'm on the run, too."
The struggle lessened.
"Use your head. I cut you down. Think about it. I'm an outlaw now."
Paul thought for a moment, then ceased to struggle. His body went limp as he gave in to exhaustion.
James continued with the bandages. His expression was blank and his touch lacked its previous warmth.
"Are you a D.O.G.?"
"I was."
His answer was only cold words - devoid of emotion.
"Once a D.O.G., always a D.O.G. 'was' don't change anything."
"That depends on how you look at it."
Paul thought for a minute.
"What made you do it?"
James didn't respond.
"You know they'll kill you. They'll kill us both as soon as they find us.." He paused but James still didn't respond. "When they catch me, they'll probably shoot me down where I stand. But you...They'll really make it bad for you. "I'm lucky I guess. I heard that if a D.O.G. goes astray, they really torture them." He paused longer this time, to let his words soak in. "Are you scared?"
James taped off the bandage and pulled the blanket over Paul's chest, leaving the front of his tunic open. He avoided eye contact by pouring a glass of bottled water while he answered.
"I don't know. I haven't really thought about it."
Paul wasn't sure if it were an honest answer or if James was evading the truth.
James took two large tablets and a small one from the medical kit and handed them to him. Paul looked at the medication, then looked up at James.
"For infection." James answered the unspoken question
He helped Paul sit up just enough to swallow the medication with water, then laid him back down. He took hold of his wrist to feel his pulse and noticed perspiration on his forehead.
"How do you feel?" he asked as he put the medical kit back on the shelf.
"I feel like they tried to kill me and almost succeeded. I hope I never run into him again or I just might be tempted to kill him."
"Did you know him?" His expression softened.
"You might say so. You see, he caught me once before, but it was one-on-one and I got away. This time, there were three of them, with knives, I wasn't about to let them butcher me alive. Anyway, the little one wanted to cut me first. They started argueing between themselves and that's when I found out the big guys name was Charmers. I saw a chance to make a break, so I knocked the little guy into the other two and ran for it. I really didn't expect them to shoot me, but I guess I made Charmers pretty mad. Besides, I had already decided I'd rather they kill me than cut me up. I figured they'd probably chase me down and beat me to death. I didn't think they would shoot me. I don't remember much after that. What I remember most was the pain. I must have passed out after that."
"What did Charmers look like?"
"He's a real big fellow. Sort of dumb looking. Broad shoulders, dark hair, tall. He's real brutal."
"I think he's the new man I heard so much about. He can kill a man with his bare hands, without even trying. As for being dumb, I don't think so. He just doesn't realize his own strength."
Paul was a little more relaxed now. He was getting a little incoherent and his mind seemed to drift.
"Are these your clothes?"
James nodded.
"The labels. Did you take out the labels?"
James' only reply was a look of confusion.
"Take the labels out," Paul said as he made a dazed, feeble attempt to get up. "Would you please take out the labels?"
James moved to his side and gently restrained him.
"Why should I remove the labels?"
"Take them out or I'll take off the clothes."
"Why? I'll take them out, if you'll tell me why."
Paul abandon the useless struggle.
"I'll wear no man's name or number on my clothing, my flesh, or my heart. Now, will you remove the labels?"
James took out his pocket knife and began to remove the labels. He still didn't understand why Paul was opposed to wearing the small cloth tag that identified the manufacturer by name and number. He returned the knife to his pocket, put the labels in a dispose-a-bag and sat back down in the chair.
Paul seemed to be satisfied.
"How long do you think we'll be safe here?" he asked.
James shrugged.
"Maybe a day or maybe a week. You had better get some rest now. We can talk later."
James leaned back in the chair and made himself comfortable. He was content to just rest with his thoughts of Rachael to keep him company, but Paul wanted to talk.
"I noticed you're still wearing a wedding ring, are you married?"
"Yes, I was. But it seems like it was a lifetime ago."
"You shouldn't wear it any more. Only D.O.G.S. have rings and valuable things like that."
James shrugged as he slipped the ring from his finger and admired it. 'R.V.M. LOVES J.E.M.IV' was engraved in the gold band that supported the large blue diamond.
"It really makes no difference. Not any more." He paused as he pushed the ring deep into his pocket. "Are you married?"
"Yeah, I'm still married, but I traded our rings for bread to feed the kids."
James noted there wasn't any contempt or regret in Paul's voice. He was simply stating the facts.
"That doesn't seem like a fair trade."
"Maybe not, but it's hard to face starvation when you know the value of diamonds and gold. I was glad we didn't have them engraved. For identification, you know. They said for people to have everything of value engraved so it could be identified if it was ever lost or stolen. It's a wonder they didn't make her put her number on the puppy." He paused as if in thought.
"Terri got a puppy. Did I tell you that?"
James shook his head.
"Terri's my wife, you know. When our baby died, she went out and got the kids a puppy. She was a D.O.G. The baby died and she got a puppy. It didn't make sense...I don't know why she did it... I had to leave..."
"Sometimes," James thought for a moment as he turned down the illuminator. "Sometimes when you see things happening to the ones you love, you would do almost anything if you thought it would make things easier for them."
"Beautifully stated, but I think...I...think..."
James listened to the smooth, rhythmic breathing for several minutes before deciding that the sedative had taken effect. Quietly, he took the stack of stolen papers from the largest suitcase. Sitting close to the illuminator, he carefully read each paper. When he had finished reading the last paper, he knew there had to be more information somewhere. The only clue he could find was that Dr. and Mrs. Dane had been transferred to another project before the experiment had been completed. Perhaps there had been another phase of the experiment. Even if there had been, it was too late to worry about it now. It would be impossible to return to the 'Hall of Records' to locate the file.
As James looked into the faces that stared from the glossy paper, he wanted desperately to know their secret. Another file must hold the key he needed to unlock the past. He gathered up the papers and carefully laid them in the suitcase on the stack of shirts. There was no need to hide them now. He could only be killed once and it made little difference which crime he was killed for committing.
Quietly, he took out the log recorder and began to record in a low voice. His mind was exclusively on the information he projected into the log. Slowly and meticulously he recorded all of the information he had previously acquired. He included the personalities and mannerisms of key personnel, the terminal layout, codes and color codes, computer codes and a list of accepted professional jargon, complete with definitions. He also included the thoughts he had about the experimental projects and the medical condition of Joseph Paul Thompson. He poured it all into the recorder. As he emptied his over-active mind, he consciously listened for unusual sounds.
Temporarily satisfied, he put the log recorder away, turned out the illuminator and settled back in the chair, content to think only of Rachael. He wrapped himself in her warm memories as he drifted off to sleep...