The Prisoner - Carlos J. Cortes [10]
Everyone who had undergone such an experience was changed. Fear of death was forever lost. Laurel felt similarly reborn.
When she heard a high-pitched whine, she glanced upward but couldn’t find the source of the noise. Suddenly she spotted movement out of the corner of her eye. At the edge of the tank, the surface broke and another cocoon started to emerge. Raul or Bastien. She narrowed her eyes and smiled at the glossy ebony skin inside the net. Bastien. Let’s see how you fare when they yank the plug from your mouth, buster.
chapter 5
17:41
Nineteen minutes to computer shutdown.
Lukas held his breath as the wire harness pulled the woman clear from tank 913, dreading an explosion of blaring alarms, but nothing happened. The subroutine he’d slipped into the station’s computer when he started his shift had worked like a charm. Donald Duck had said it would and, so far, the quacking man had been true to his word. Obviously, only someone familiar with Hypnos’s internal procedures could have written the code. During the daily backup routine, when the machine connected with the mainframe at the corporation’s headquarters, engineers would probably detect the rogue program. Then all hell would break loose. But by then he hoped to be out of the reach of the DHS’s long arm.
With another ten inmates left, processing the new arrivals was only halfway done. At three minutes each, he and his team couldn’t deal with all the new guests before the computer would start its backup. After a moment’s hesitation, Lukas turned to a squat gray cordless box on his desk and blinked to bring it online. The box turned dull red.
“Instruction to all controllers,” Lukas said.
The chameleonic box changed to green.
“Please continue processing for twelve minutes, until seventeen fifty-three, then prepare to shut down until backup is complete. Secure all unprocessed inmates.” He paused. “Lukas Hurley, supervisor.”
The box seemed to shrink as it returned to its gray standby status.
He could have scheduled another inmate, or two, but he didn’t want to tempt fate. If any of the inmates struggling through the admission freaked out—and a few did—it would add minutes to the schedule. They would have to seal the room where the wretch happened to be at the time, then, after sedating the prisoner with gases, a security crew would have to carry him physically to the intubation bed. The procedure would add a good three minutes to the schedule. No. There was no need to risk cutting it too close.
A man’s image filled the center screen. Lukas frowned. The guy must be pushing seventy. Thin as a rake, he shook like a tree caught in the crosswinds. The nose plugs had slipped twice through his fingers. If he carried on, they would have to use the gas. Damn!
Again he blinked toward his communications console. “Audio.”
“Relax. Bend over, let your arms hang loose, and breathe deeply. Relax. Breathe deeply once more. Good. Relax. Again, breathe deeply. Relax.” Lukas listened to Sandra Garcia’s soft voice issuing from the yellow box and nodded. She had overridden the computer and was coaxing the old man through the plugging. Come on, Granddad. Stick the plugs up your nose. Piece of cake.
The inmate straightened, reached for a plug, and rammed it up his nose.
“Attaboy! Now the other.”
After a short delay, the thin man staggered toward the intubation bed, both green balls dangling over his upper lip.
“Control Room.”
A pause.
“Line to controller Garcia.”
Lukas straightened his back and looked over his screens to a station where a young woman swiveled in her seat to look in his direction.
“Excellent job, Sandra.”
She gave him a thumbs-up.