✪
Federal Detention Facility
Gallup, New Mexico
EMMOGENE SAT ALONE in a solitary confinement cell, reading a book. Dr. Grayson had been true to his word. He’d run a battery of tests on her, but the most invasive procedures had been the taking of a blood sample and an MRI. Being in solitary was lonely, but hardly any lonelier than prison had been for her already. She missed being able to go to the library, but the doctor was nice. He brought her books to read. Having new reading material almost made up for never being able to leave her cell, except for when she was escorted to the shower.
Almost.
Still, it was necessary for her own safety. There were other ex-InSec people in the prison, and now that blood had been spilled Emmogene would never be safe. It seemed like she was going to have to remain in solitary for the rest of her sentence, for her own protection.
If we admit that human life can be ruled by reason, then all possibility of life is destroyed. She looked up from the leather-bound copy of War and Peace and contemplated Tolstoy’s words. This book was very different from the pulp novels and nonfiction books that filled the prison’s library, but Emmogene found herself enjoying the intellectual stimulation. With enough reading material, she thought, perhaps spending the rest of her time in solitary wouldn’t be so bad.
Emmogene went back to reading her book, but looked up again when she heard footsteps coming down the hall. She didn’t think anything of it at first; there were a lot of solitary confinement cells in this block, and it wasn’t yet lights-out. She didn’t become concerned until she heard Dr. Grayson’s voice echoing in the corridor.
“Will you just listen to me?” he said, almost pleadingly. “She’s in a traumatized state and is under my care.”
“You sound pretty protective of her, Doc. Need I remind you she’s a traitor?” The other man’s voice was dismissive. He sounded like he had somewhere he’d rather be.
“She wasn’t convicted of treason! Either way, she has rights, damn it! She’s a victim of extraterrestrial experimentation. You can’t just barge in here, waving your damned National Security Letter, and take my patient!”
“Open it,” the other man said, ignoring the doctor.
“Officer, do not open that door,” Dr. Grayson ordered.
“Listen to me,” the other man said, his voice threatening. “You need to open the door. I have authority here.”
“Sorry, Doc,” the guard said, apologetically. The door beeped as an electronic key was inserted from the other side. A loud buzzer blared, the light turned from red to green, and the door slid open.
Emmogene stood and backed up against the wall as several people crowded the door of her cell. Dr. Grayson was there, wearing his white lab coat over his blue uniform. With him was the guard who had opened the door. She’d seen him several times before, but had never caught his name. He stepped aside as a man in a dark suit and tie entered the cell. Two uniformed Homeland Security agents followed him, clad in charcoal uniforms, tactical vests, and helmets with face shields. Unlike the prison guards, the DHS agents wore pistols on their hips.
“You can’t do this!” Dr. Grayson protested, from out in the corridor.
“I can and I am, Doc,” the man in the suit said, without looking at the exasperated psychiatrist. He kept his eyes on Emmogene. “Emmogene Anderson?”
“Y-yes?” Emmogene managed, hoping she didn’t sound as mousy and afraid as she thought she did.
“I’m with the Department of Homeland Security. In accordance with the Extraterrestrial Technology Control Act, I am taking you into my custody. You will be transferred to a different facility for analysis and medical evaluation. Put your shoes on and let’s go.”
“What about Dr. Grayson?” Emmogene asked.
The facility psychiatrist managed to barge his way into the cell. “Emmogene, I’m sorry. There’s nothing I can do. I was required to send a report to DHS. I didn’t think they would overreact like this!”
She was scared now. “Overreact to what? What’s wrong with me?”
“I found something, something implanted inside you. I don’t—”
“That’s enough, Doctor!” the government man said, visibly annoyed. “If you want to keep your job I suggest you step back and let me do mine.”
“I’m sorry, Emmogene,” Dr. Grayson repeated. “I didn’t intend for this to happen.”
“You’ll get over it,” the suit said. Dr. Grayson abandoned the cell, leaving Emmogene alone with the man in the suit and his two armed escorts. There were two more DHS agents in the hall, one of whom was carrying a rifle.
Emmogene was in shock, almost numb, as she slipped on the Velcro sneakers that were part of her prison uniform. Section 37. Alien technology. Implant. The Visitors . . . those alien bastards . . . had done something to her. Before, when Red was about to kill her, she’d felt a buzzing in her head, and her would-be assailant immediately killed herself. Is that what it was? Did she have some control over people? Could she use it to get out of this situation? She knew what was going to happen. Red had been right, they were going to dissect her. Standing up, Emmogene closed her eyes and concentrated. If she had some ability to influence people, it was now or never.
She gasped as a sharp, pricking pain shot into her neck. Her eyes snapped open—the man in the suit was next to her now, with an auto-injector gun in his hand. “What did you stick me with?” she asked, recoiling, her hand covering the sore spot.
The agent watched as his two uniformed compatriots shackled Emmogene’s hands and feet. “Just something to help you relax, Miss Anderson.”
Whatever it was, it was acting quickly. Emmogene felt drunk. Her muscles relaxed and her head started to swim. Suddenly she was very tired, and the urge to lie down and sleep overtook her anxiety. She offered no resistance as the government agents hauled her away.