“It will render your ocular implant inoperative,” the man said, his tone crisp. “You don’t need it. You no longer have a PALM or connection to the CORE.”
The words turned her stomach, but she held still, given strength by the Tellusian behind her even as his touch unsettled. The blond man pressed the metal rod to her temple. She felt nothing, but the rod made a shrill tone before he pulled it away.
Tucking the rod into his satchel, he swapped it for a knife. Alarmed, she pressed fully against Mace to get away, but the man gripped her bound hands and sliced through the polymer. She flexed her wrists.
A section of the bulkhead lit up where he touched it. “Biometric scans. Place your hands and eyes here.”
With Mace’s threat fresh in her mind, she obeyed. The scanner hummed, then something pricked her hand. “Ow.” She rubbed the skin, seeing a red mark, and scowled at the blond man.
“Blood test for an identity match.”
Her stomach sank, her skin growing cold.They’ll find out who I am.They would ransom her. Only last week, she’d seen two ransom victims returned to the CORE on a media broadcast, swapped for two POWs who had been in CORE prison for years. The two CORE citizens, ruling-class members of the Muller family, had been beaten severely, to the point of near death.
Being ransomed would only mean pain.
Would it be better than what’s about to happen?
With fear lodged in her throat, she followed the blond man as he led the way down the corridor. A portion of panel slid open. He reached inside. “Your new vambrace, Commander.”
Mace extended his left arm. The curved piece of tech enveloped his forearm. It hissed itself closed, then beeped, tightening to form a solid piece of metal from his wrist to elbow. The controls on the length of it brightened in gold.
“This way,” said the blond man, walking further along the corridor. “We have a few more things to take care of.”
He led the way farther along and placed his hand on another panel, activating it. “What is your name, age, and last rank and position held?” he asked her, his tone impassive.
She licked her lips but didn’t speak. Why should she tell them this? Everything could be used against her. They already had her blood.
“If you’re uncooperative, we’ll assign you a random designation and place you in the manual labor pool.” He stated the facts with an unblinking gaze.
“Nia.” Her nickname was safe, unknown to the public. “I’m twenty-seven.”
The man nodded, entering the information into the panel. “And your last held position?”
She pressed her lips together.
“It’ll help us place you for employment,” he said, but didn’t sound like he really cared one way or the other.
“She was in triage onElara Five,” Mace answered.
She tipped her face to glare at him. His eyebrows lifted.
The man turned away from her, tapping the panel. “It would be better for you if we knew the specifics of your post, but we’ll put your rank as the lowest held in triage for the moment—”
“Surgeon Lieutenant Colonel.” She winced. Her pride made her answer. Why should she care if they recorded her as a medical assistant? She pressed her fingers to her throbbing temple.
With raised eyebrows, the blond man entered the information. Another section of panel popped open. He withdrew two bundles of metal. The malleable ovals looked like jewelry, but she knew they couldn’t be.
“Our newest model of bonds,” the man said, stepping closer. “Organic metals.”
Prisoners’ bonds.Her heart thumped hard in her chest. She looked around frantically, needing an escape, knowing there wasn’t one, and jumped when they encircled her wrists.
The sensation of the warm metal against her skin made her stare. The man pulled a computer palette, slightly larger than his hand, out of his satchel and tapped it. The bonds shrank, tightening against her flesh, then activated with a beep. She rotated her wrists, watching the metal bend and move. Each had a green light on the side, and a small screen graced her right wrist showing the time: 17:09. Did they use Earth’s twenty-four-hour clock like the CORE did?
“Make sure they’re synced,” the man said.
Mace touched his vambrace.
Her wrists flew together, locking on a click, the metal now solid and immovable instead of flexible, the lights red. She tried to pull them apart, rip the blasted things off, but they wouldn’t budge. Another touch of Mace’s vambrace and her wrists separated.
