Chrysalis Cage

Chapter 1-2

He came out of it an unknown time later. Okay, pain was bad, but at least he still had feeling. That had to be good. But he needed to get a look at his legs. The pain had eased to a dull ache, and he had enough sensation to feel that they were encased in something. But he couldn’t move them. He had to get the damn bedcovers off to take a look. This time when he tried to move his hand, he actually managed to get it out from under the sheet, but he couldn’t keep it from flopping over the side of the bed.

“You’re awake!”

The voice came from somewhere else in the room, and if Jarrett could have moved, he’d have jumped right out of his skin. So much for instincts. A dark shape somewhere on the other side of the room moved closer, and in his helpless state Jarrett cringed, his heart racing.

“Who’s that?” he gasped, trying to put some authority into it. The figure still moved forward, but more slowly, and came close enough for him to focus on it.

The angel. f**k, he was real. The face Jarrett had seen before, somewhere in the middle of life and death. The angel sent to him, to be with him eternally, was a man. A real man.

And Jarrett had fallen in love with him.

He wanted to laugh. He must have been in a hell of a mess however long ago that happened. Still, he wanted to reach out to this real man, real angel, as he came close and bent over Jarrett.

“Who are you?” Jarrett asked, voice weak and cracking.

“My name is Marc,” the angel said. Marc said. He was beautiful, but Jarrett could see fine lines in his skin, the odd blemish, even a gray hair or two. His eyes were not quite so huge and luminous as Jarrett recalled, his hair not quite as thick and shiny. He wore not a gleaming white robe but a baggy shirt, once white, but going dull from too much washing.

But when he smiled Jarrett lost sight of all the tiny human flaws, and the angel was in the room again.

No, he had to stop that. Not an angel—a man, a civilian. A nurse? Maybe. Not a doctor, surely? He looked too young for that and wasn’t dressed like one either.

“Marc what?”

“Marc Satie. You’re safe,” he said. He still smiled, but it was a nervous expression. Nervous why? s**t, did he know who Jarrett was?

“Safe where?” Jarrett and Marc might have different ideas of what constituted safety.

“You’re in the infirmary. It’s fully stocked and equipped. You’ll be okay, but you have to rest.”

Jarrett managed to raise his hand enough to reach toward Marc. When he touched him, Marc flinched.

“My legs?”

“They were injured in the crash.”

Jarrett’s head filled with memories of screaming alarms. Ground proximity. Decompression. If he hadn’t got into that pressure suit…He tasted the cold dry air again. What had happened after the crash? He remembered nothing. Knocked cold, he supposed. Was that why he could barely see—or think—straight?

“My head?”

“You have a concussion too. The medical scanners think it’s minor. You’ll be all right.”

“The legs,” Jarrett croaked out again. “Broken?”

“Yes,” Marc took another step back, beyond Jarrett’s reach. “Both. I…I set them. You were unconscious. I had to give you drugs to keep you out.”

Jarrett was grateful for that. He’d seen a leg set in the field before. Not something it did a person any good to be awake for. And this guy wasn’t a doctor or a nurse. He’d sounded as freaked about setting them as Jarrett felt thinking about it. So why had he set them? If Jarrett was in an infirmary, where was the medical staff? Marc wasn’t much more than a kid. So he had another question.

“Can I talk to whoever’s in charge?”

“I—Do you want something to drink?”

He came close, and before Jarrett could protest, Marc was holding a cup of water to his lips. Jarrett was getting hydration from a saline IV, but the water soothed his dry mouth and throat. It tasted delicious, and he gulped it down, forgetting everything else for a moment. But when Marc took it away, his mind went right back to where it had been.

“I want to talk to whoever’s in charge.” He thought about it and added, “Please.”

“That…isn’t possible right now.” Marc backed off, becoming a blur. “You should rest. And later I’ll bring you something to eat.”

A whooshing sound made Jarrett jump, but it was only the door opening behind Marc. Jarrett couldn’t see what lay beyond. He did see Marc reach toward something on the wall beside the door, and the light went off.

“No!” Jarrett gasped. s**t, no, don’t leave me in the dark. He started panting as the terror came back to claim him. He saw the crowd already, all here with him in the dark. He spoke again, doing his damnedest to keep his voice level. “I want the light on.” The words came out through gritted teeth.

“Oh. If you like.” Marc raised a hand, and the room flooded with light again. Jarrett flopped down on the pillow, and he sighed. Marc left, the door sliding closed behind him.

Even with the light on, Jarrett easily fell back to sleep. He must still have drugs in his system. He woke again who knew how long later. This was like it had been in solitary, no indication of the time. He stroked his chin, where he found a healthy amount of stubble, two or three days’ growth at least. He’d been shaved right before he made his escape, and he’d been in the stolen ship about twelve hours, so two days here? Assuming he hadn’t been here longer and been shaved in that time. He had no memory of anything before he woke the first time.

No memory of anything real anyway. No, not quite. Marc. He was real. Not an angel. Just a skinny kid—pretty, though—and Jarrett couldn’t figure out who the hell he was or why he was the only one Jarrett had seen so far.

His vision wasn’t as blurry as before, he realized, though trying to think still felt like doing algebra while someone punched him in the head. His mind went back to what he’d thought about before—that medical facilities had plenty of potential weapons lying around. He had to get out of here. This didn’t seem to be a prison or a military base, but Earth forces would track him eventually. He had to start making plans to get out.

The door whooshed open, and Marc came in, carrying a tray. Jarrett could see him better than before—his vision was definitely improving. Marc hesitated by the door, looking nervous.

“I brought you some soup.”

The aroma of it teased Jarrett’s nostrils and must have activated his appetite, because he instantly felt like he could eat at least a pony, if not a horse. So he smiled and tried to look harmless, not wanting Marc to decide Jarrett was too scary to feed.

“Hello again,” Marc said, walking over and putting the tray down on a table by the bed. “Are you hungry?”

“You bet. Feel like I haven’t eaten for days. Two days since I got here, right?”

“That’s right,” Marc said. He reached down and touched something on the bed. The part under Jarrett’s back and shoulders began to rise, bringing him into a sitting position. He held his breath, fearing another stab of pain, like when he’d tried to move his legs, but he only got a few twinges around his hips before he eased into the new position.

“Is that okay?” Marc asked. “Are you comfortable? I don’t know too much about the dose of the painkillers I should give you. Do you have enough?”

“Maybe a little too much. Head full of fluff. But let’s not risk cutting them down right now. How about the soup, Marc?”

“Oh, yes, of course.”

The tray had legs on it, and Marc settled it across Jarrett’s lap. He took the cover off the bowl, and the aroma this close told Jarrett it was chicken soup. A couple of thinly sliced pieces of bread sat on a plate beside it, along with a glass of fruit juice. A meal for an invalid. He’d have to get some real food inside him before he made his escape attempt. Get some strength back. Marc tried to feed him with the spoon, but Jarrett wasn’t having that and waved him away. He could manage. He did allow Marc to put a towel on his chest to keep him from covering himself in soup.

Marc watched him eat, and Jarrett watched back out of the corner of his eye. Marc had changed clothes, so some time had passed since they spoke before. He had on a sky-blue shirt, which went nicely against his olive-toned skin. Jarrett shook such distracting thoughts from his head. This wasn’t the angel of his half-dream state. This was a young guy who had a fully stocked medical facility but didn’t know how much painkiller to give and hadn’t liked setting Jarrett’s legs. Was this a private home? But Jarrett had been light-years from anywhere. He’d heard of strange folks who built themselves homes on remote asteroids and dead planets and s**t, but they weren’t kids like this.

Most of the nuts who built such homes were rich enough to have servants, though. Could Marc be that? But if that was the case, why hadn’t the owner at least poked their head around the door?

“Marc,” Jarrett said. “Where am I exactly? I barely remember the crash. I was heading for a moon, I know that, but then my ship was damaged, and…that’s all I know.”

Marc looked at Jarrett for a long time, playing with the hem of his shirtsleeve. “It’s a monitoring station. Monitoring the planet. I maintain the equipment.”

“Just you?”

He took a step back, and Jarrett went for the harmless look again. Had he sounded too eager? He felt eager. Could Marc be alone? Is that what he’d said?

“I’ll let you finish eating. I’ll come back in a few minutes to clear up.”

“Wait,” Jarrett called, but Marc bolted out of the door, closing it behind him. Damn.

Could he really be alone? Good news if he was. A skinny civilian like that—Jarrett would get past him anytime he liked. He’d find out what transport Marc had and get out before the Earthers showed up. Were they on the way? Marc must have sent a message, even if he didn’t know who Jarrett was.

Jarrett froze, his spoon partway to his mouth, and a tremor spilled most of the contents onto the towel on his chest. He had to blame the drugs for how slow on the uptake he seemed to be, because he’d only just realized something very important.

Marc did know who he was. He’d never asked Jarrett’s name. Not even when Jarrett asked him his. Marc been careful not to use Jarrett’s name and give himself away like that. But he’d forgotten to pretend to ask Jarrett what it was. He already knew.

Shit.

I have to get out of here.