Chapter 18
1016 Words
As darkness fell, we positioned ourselves in the designated clearing, the false distress signal still broadcasting from our location. The tracking devices felt heavier than their actual weight, reminders of the surveillance we were voluntarily accepting.
"Contact," Elena's voice whispered through our hidden communicators. "Three aircraft are converging on your position. Remember, you're desperate refugees who've realised the outside world is too overwhelming."
The first vessel descended with mechanical precision, its searchlights cutting through the amber night. Two more followed, forming a triangle around our position. When the doors opened, familiar figures emerged—Dr. Thorne and his clinical staff, their faces hidden behind protective masks that seemed unnecessary in the clean air of Haven's Gate.
"Miss Jackson. Prince Costa." Dr. Thorne's voice carried the same clinical detachment I remembered from our awakening, as if six hundred years of failure had taught him nothing about human connection.
"You made the right decision contacting us," he continued, approaching with measured steps. "The psychological stress of temporal displacement is well-documented. You're experiencing classic adaptation failure."
I allowed my shoulders to slump, my expression to crumple with fabricated relief. "The Sanctuaries aren't what we thought they'd be," I said, my voice deliberately unsteady. "Everyone expects us to understand this world immediately, but everything's wrong."
Costa's hand found mine, his grip conveying strength even as his face projected vulnerability. "We just want stability again. Structure."
Dr. Thorne nodded, satisfaction evident despite his mask. "Of course you do. The human mind isn't designed to process such extreme cultural shifts. That's why the preservation program was created—to ease transition gradually."
The medical staff surrounded us with practised efficiency, scanning devices humming as they assessed our physical condition. I felt a momentary panic as one of them paused near my bracelet, but they moved past it without comment.
"Your vital signs show significant stress markers," Dr. Thorne observed. "Exactly as anticipated. The resistance's methods of 'integration' are dangerously primitive."
"They meant well," Costa said, adding a touch of Stockholm syndrome to our performance. "But they don't understand what it's like to lose everything familiar."
"No one does," Dr. Thorne agreed, his voice softening with what might have passed for compassion if I hadn't known better. "Except us. We've dedicated centuries to understanding the preservation experience."
The lead vessel's boarding ramp extended fully, revealing an interior that mimicked the sterile environment of New Avalon. The sight of it sent genuine shivers down my spine, memories of countless awakenings flooding back unbidden.
"We have a new facility," Dr. Thorne explained as his staff guided us toward the ramp. "Purpose-built for rehabilitation. No more crude resets or memory suppressions. We've evolved beyond those primitive methods."
"What kind of facility?" I asked, injecting hesitant hope into my voice.
"A sanctuary of our own," he replied. "Where science and humanity work in harmony rather than opposition."
As we boarded, I caught one last glimpse of Haven's Gate through the closing doors—the warm lights of the settlement now distant pinpricks in the darkness. Elena would be tracking us; the resistance was mobilising according to our plan. But in this moment, we were truly alone with our former captors.
The vessel's interior was unsettlingly familiar, the same clinical efficiency, the same humming equipment, the same sense of being specimens rather than people. Medical staff directed us to reclined seats that were uncomfortably similar to the preservation pods we'd escaped.
"These will monitor your biological responses during transit," a technician explained, attaching sensors to our temples. "Completely non-invasive.”
“Sir, bio scans suggest that Miss Jackson is no longer a virgin based on her previous medical file,” another stated.
Dr. Thorne's masked face turned toward us, and I could feel his clinical interest intensify even through the protective barrier. "Is that so?" His voice carried a note of satisfaction that made my skin crawl. "Excellent. The bonding process will be far more efficient now that you've completed the natural pairing sequence."
Costa's hand tightened almost imperceptibly in mine, a warning to maintain our act despite the invasive observation.
"The what?" I asked, allowing confusion to colour my voice while internally recoiling at their reduction of our intimacy to mere biological function.
"Physical union creates neurochemical pathways that strengthen psychic resonance between compatible subjects," Dr. Thorne explained with the detached enthusiasm of a scientist discussing lab results. "Your resistance to previous conditioning attempts was partially due to incomplete bonding. This development will accelerate the rehabilitation process significantly."
The vessel lurched slightly as we lifted off, Haven's Gate falling away beneath us. Through the small viewport, I watched the settlement's lights fade into the amber darkness, hoping Elena was tracking our trajectory as planned.
"Where exactly are we going?" Costa asked, his voice carefully modulated to sound tired rather than suspicious.
"Sanctuary Prime," Dr. Thorne replied, settling into a seat across from us. "A mobile research facility designed specifically for advanced consciousness integration. Think of it as evolution, we've moved beyond the crude methods of the old preservation program."
A technician approached with a tray of what looked like nutritional supplements, the familiar synthetic smell making my stomach turn. "For the journey," she explained. "Your bodies are still adjusting to post-stasis metabolism."
I accepted the offered drink, noting its slightly altered colour compared to what I remembered from New Avalon. Whatever they were planning, it was starting now.
"The resistance told us terrible things about the Council," I said, taking a small sip and fighting not to grimace at the medicinal taste. "But being out there...it's so chaotic. No structure, no guidance. People just making decisions without any oversight."
"Precisely the problem," Dr. Thorne agreed, his masked head nodding approvingly. "Democracy is a luxury that humanity cannot afford in its current state. What's needed is benevolent guidance, informed leadership that can shepherd the species toward optimal outcomes."
The supplement was beginning to take effect, a subtle lethargy creeping through my limbs. Costa's eyelids were growing heavy beside me, though I could see him fighting the drowsiness.
"How long until we arrive?" he asked, his words slightly slurred.
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