Octorl quietly opened the exit of the chute, and the hospital was empty save the three creeping through an exit into the corridor leading to the hanger where Garth worked. Only on two occasions did Miles need to jump behind a crate in the corridor for cover, a talkative Callos started a conversation with Garth, and when several Callos left for lunch from their work in the hanger.
“These crate have never been moved, the laziest Callos ever is in charge of moving them and they have been here for months. You can fit between them and the wall while I take Octorl to the mechanic.” Garth suggested.
With a moan Miles agreed to hide behind the crates in the corner of the hanger, because it was lunch time Garth was certain that he could get some alone time with Ralt Yorf. Garth ran up the metal staircase connected to the hanger’s command tower and tapped on the door.
“Ralt. It’s Garth, open the door.” Garth called.
“Go away its lunch you stooge! There isn’t a reason I need to work through my break!” Ralt shouted back.
“Ralt. It is just some quick job. Then you can go back on your break. I need you to do me a favor.” Garth asked.
“No. I am taking my break, come back in twenty-five minutes!” Ralt responded.
Garth raised his fist to pound again on the door, but thought that an unhappy Ralt likely wouldn’t be of any help. As much as Garth didn’t want to be exposed, he realized that neither he nor Octorl were in danger of anything. Miles was hidden. So he would just need to wait.
Miles leaned against the wall and slid down into a sitting position; he was completely covered by the dusty crates and was finally safe, somewhat. Miles hadn’t slept in about two days; his unconscious kidnapping didn’t exactly count as sleep. He closed his eyes and entertained the thought that this, whatever this is, was only a dream he would soon wake up from. His whole being assured him that he wasn’t dreaming, but he needed an escape, not to mention his eyelids felt really heavy.
Miles laid his head against the wall, and wrapped his arms tightly in a mock hug. The survey suit he was in wasn’t form-fitting, so he tugged at a strap on his neck and tightened the suit to be a better fit. It was the first time Miles felt warm since he had been on CLERGY 5; the ship’s interior was cold which apparently didn’t faze the Callos. Miles jolted awake; he hadn’t realized he had been asleep. He peeked to the side of one of the crates and saw Garth and Octorl idly waiting by Ralt’s door. So he closed his eyes.
Mile’s consciousness drifted and he was transported to a brightly lit room, the radiant white floor expanded so far in each direction the horizon itself became the walls of the room. Miles stood in place, he knew from his last encounter with loneliness to remain still, he knew that nothing awaited him in any direction. He noted something unusual; a faint wind stirred around him, his shirt rippling slightly by the warm breeze’s tug. Miles’ hands grasped the familiar 100% cotton shirt; he was clothed as he had been so long ago. The breeze became a whisper:
“You are here.” The whisper said.
“Yes. I am ‘here’.” Miles agreed. “I am your chosen one.”
“Chosen one?” the whisper said with uncertainty. “There is no chosen one…rather, you who were brought out of your land to ours.”
Miles thought: ‘out of your land to ours’ this whisper is obviously a Callos.
“Follow me into the depths of what you do not understand.” The whisper asked.
“Why are you so cryptic?” Miles asked with slight frustration.
“I am what I need to be. Allow me to show you.” The whisper demanded.
Miles obediently followed the whisper, its crackling effect sounded to Miles like the laughter of a miniature people. Miles followed the invisible, though it seemed to lead him nowhere, he stepped onward in faith. His feet carried him far from the spot he had said he wouldn’t leave, but in the bright white landscape that spot didn’t matter much. He was so accustomed to seeing the ground expanse in front of him that he didn’t notice that color had crept into this dream world. The whisper had stopped, but Miles knew to continue onward through the slate grey corridors, he was underground or in some sort of building the echoes of screaming reached his ears. Though he could clearly hear someone screaming in pain he did not increase his pace, rather he slowly approached the source of the commotion.
“You b******!” Miles flinched and covered his ears at the shrill voice of a woman. Miles came around the corner to see a small slate grey room, a brown rug on the floor, and a square window on each of the other three grey walls. He blocked the doorway and witnessed a struggling Callos woman being kicked by a Callos male wearing crimson boots and a black suit. The Callos male directed with his hands for two strong-looking Convoy members to restrain the female, the male in the crimson boots addressed her in a haughty voice:
“Please stop. You’re embarrassing yourself. You really thought as a fugitive you would be able to escape the Convoy? Do yourself a favor and shut up.” He kicked her in the stomach and she coughed blood.
“Stop! Here I am!” Miles stepped forward to intervene, but his arms failed to block the Callos. He was invisible and apparently inaudible to those in the room. He refused to only observe, nothing in the room responded to his touch, even the purple curtains of the room fazed through his hand.
“I…” the female Miles started to recognize as Lalia Tarrus, was interrupted by another brutal kick, this time to the gut. She clung to her stomach and cried in pain.
“Doctor, please get up.” He ordered, yet she lay writhing in pain. “Get up!”
Three of the Callos reached for her and hoisted her is standing position, blood and tears streamed down Lalia’s arms as they gushed through her fingers.
“Alvar, where is Alvar?” the Callos male asked another to his right, “If the Admiral’s idiot brother isn’t here to see this. Then I won’t get any of the credit.” The Callos in the crimson boots retrieved a syringe from his coat pocket, with a tap and a squeeze excess air was released and syringe was prepared.
“Doctor, this is something my research has founded. I recognize you, too, are a researcher. Perhaps you understand the effects of Ovanium on the Callos mind.” The crimsoned Callos threatened.
“The Ovanium will act quickly and establish the link. Both of our problems will be solved immediately.”
“Melric, don’t do this.” Lalia choked as she pleaded. The Callos restraining her released her and she fell to the floor with an audible thump. Miles dropped to his knees in a position to comfort her, though she would be unable to feel or hear him.
“Don’t give up. You’ll get out of this. You escaped once before.” Miles assured Lalia and himself in tears.
The crimson Callos named Melric plunged the oversized needle into Lalia’s arm; her eyes rolled back into her head and she began to convulse. Miles screamed in agony and fear, she was dying and there was nothing he could do to save her. The convulsions stopped and Melric’s men leaned in to see whether she had died. She then snapped into a seat position with her mouth gaping open; she made a loud gasping noise.
“What is she doing?” one of the Callos cried in fear; “Make it stop.”
But Melric held his hand up in the air to signal silence. He then signaled for each of the Callos to leave the room.
“We are done here. Let’s head out.” He directed.
The four Callos left the room through the door which Miles had entered. Melric followed them afterward;
“See you soon.” He whispered in a sickening voice to Lalia.
Miles crawled over to the Doctor he had never known, and tried in vain to cup her head in his hands.
“I’m so sorry I couldn’t do anything.” He told her.
Her mouth began to move, and Miles heard the whisper:
“I’m sorry too.”
The color disappeared from the dream and Miles was once again in a field of blank white.