Twisted Time

20 - Showtime

The control room, 01:46

Dan reaches for the console with wobbling knees and prevents herself from falling at the last moment. She clenches her teeth and swallows the bile rising in her throat. Transfer sickness doesn't get easier to bear with more experience, it seems.

The situation in the control room hasn't changed much. Ric stands with raised hands a few steps in front of her. Steff aims a menacing, three-barrelled thing at his head, his stance stiff and both arms stretched out.

Ken strides up and down in the confined space in front of the TA chamber, speaking to Ric. He hasn't spotted her yet. "So. You insist you're working solo. But why should I believe you? This isn't a building petty thieves break into with fake code cards. Now, you will tell me—"

"Ken, stop. We have a visitor. His partner is back."

The older man turns towards her with a scowl. Dan straightens, and the wrench stabs into her back. It doesn't convey as much self-confidence as she hoped for. Her eyes follow the movements of Steff's blaster. It's a futuristic piece, the shiny grip covered with tiny blinking lights, the thick, blue-rimmed muzzles staring at her like evil eyes. They wander back and forth between herself and Ric like the head of a cobra seconds before the deadly strike. Her wrench suddenly seems like a poor substitute for a defensive weapon.

A few quick steps bring Ken to stand in front of her. The gun keeps staring over his shoulder, moving its attention towards Ric and back to her in a mesmerising sway. "And who are you, lady? How does your disappearing trick work? We..."

Dan could swear she sees a spark of realisation light up in Ken's eyes. He grabs her left forearm and pushes up her sleeve in an eerily familiar, rough gesture. For a few seconds, he scrutinises the inner side of her wrist and then drops her arm to stare into her face, his brow wrinkled in a frown. "No clan mark. I hate bloody freelancers. Where did you gain access to transfer technology? And ... why didn't you flee while you had the chance?"

Dan struggles to reply, but her wits seem lost in transfer. She is glad when Ric speaks up, his tone sharp.

"Leave her, she's new. She hasn't yet learned to control the process. Probably catapulted herself back here in a classic slingshot reaction. Happens with modern tech."

Ken contemplates Ric's remark, lips pressed tight, and turns back to Dan. "Move into the light, lady. Steff, keep them covered while I search her for weapons."

Dan hesitates, her glance fixed on the gun, observing a tremble of its holder's hands. Perhaps he gets tired from holding it up.

But Steff doesn't lower his weapon, and Ken steps aside to gesture for her to move forward. Dan takes one wobbly step and stops to support herself on the cooler, trembling, and breathing too fast.

Ken's scowl deepens. "Come on, chick, we can't spare all night. I want you over here, in the proper light."

She follows his order with stumbling steps, her attention still glued on Steff and wondering if his sour expression reflects satisfaction, tiredness or sympathy. However, he holds the gun with pale knuckles in an iron grip. Empty hope, then.

Dan staggers to the spot pointed out by Ken and turns to face her captor. Ric stands now two steps behind her, to the left. Can he see the wrench? Will he choose to use it? Glad she didn't hide it under her pullover, she is determined to continue her act and offer her partner the chance to fight back. She reels, and with a groan, she presses the heels of her hands into her eye sockets. Ken spares her a disgusted glance and turns to Ric. "What's wrong with her? Is she tripping? If your means of transport causes these reactions, it belongs on the scrap heap."

Dan is tempted to point out the weaknesses of his own technology, but refrains. Instead, she falls back on her acting experience from grade school. This is a once-in-a-lifetime chance to play Juliet's death scene in front of an audience. A hand pressed against her throat, she gags and rolls her eyes. Ken, about to search her, steps back. Steff forgets to sway his weapon and stares at her. "Hey, the chick is about to barf. Told you the tech is unhealthy. Do you need more proof?"

"Shut it, Steff. You've no idea what you're babbling about. Look at me, lady!"

Dan ignores the order, and Ken slaps her hard across the face. She doubles over, her hands on her upper thighs, and intensifies her retching, her act now supported by genuine nausea. The coppery taste of blood in her mouth makes her gag, her left cheek burns, and her nose throbs. She fears it might be broken. Her head droops, and without being able to check if the men's attention is on her, Dan hopes her performance does the trick. It comes as a relief when Ric yanks the wheel brace out of her waistband, leaving a painful bruise on her back.

Dan drops to the floor and rolls sideways to move out of Steff's firing line. Seconds later, another body hits the ground beside her. She stares into Steff's unconscious face.

While she struggles to sit up with shaking limbs, she takes in Ric, aiming Steff's bulky weapon at a wide-eyed Ken. How has he done this?

Her heart races. While she has to pause, Ric swings his left arm and wheel-braces his adversary onto the head. Ken's knees buckle, and he crumples to the ground, silent, almost in slow motion, slipping into the land of dreams.
Dan stands up and massages her bruised back. "I feel like the clueless heroine in a B-class action movie. A bad one."

"I'm sure even low-paid actors don't get slapped that hard. How's your face?"

Before she can answer, a sharp voice cuts through the silence, distorted by the loudspeaker. "Ten minutes passed, and I'm still waiting for your report. I'm about to lose patience, Ken. What's the matter down there?"