At Death’s Door

- 1 -

I watched her die.

They brought her in, stripped naked, and chained with her arms raised toward the ceiling. Her legs remained free. She looked scared and embarrassed. Her eyes darted frantically around the room and at the two men and one woman who had escorted her inside the room.

Her lower lip trembled and I could tell that she wanted to cry. I'll give her credit for that. She must have been terrified, but bore it surprisingly well.

The slick-clad woman rolled the mounted box into position in front of the girl. Its blunt, innocuous-looking nozzle pointed at her torso. I swallowed against a tightening lump in my throat.

I stared through the transparent barrier that separated me from the girl. Her eyes found mine and she pleaded silently for me to help her. If I couldn't free her, then at make her to understand why this was being done to her.

I didn't look away, knowing that the truth would do little to comfort her.

In the small chamber from where I observed these proceedings, I was not bound. There was no need. Two guards, both as heavily armed as muscles held positions behind him at the door. With considerable effort, and even larger amounts of luck, I might be able to defeat one of them. Against two of them: I had no chance.

In the booth next to me, secure behind shatterproof glass, the old woman studied me. She said nothing. I don't think she planned to. This was intended to be a lesson to me—a punishment for my failure to tell them anything of significance.

The problem was: the young girl knew nothing. She had been nothing more than a passing dalliance on my way to my next destination. I had been careless, not noticing my shadows until much too late. Unfortunately, she was one who was going to pay the price for my lack of attention.

The old woman turned her head toward the chamber where the girl was being held. She gave a slight, silent nod to the woman. The woman's fingers moved at the controls of the machine.

I heard a faint hum, barely audible through the thick barrier. The young girl whimpered, trembling and fidgeting as if bothered by an immense itch. A moment later, the pitch of the sound changed. It was less audible, but yet more noticeable.

The young girl moaned. Her thigh and abdomen muscles tightened and flexed. At a gesture from the old woman, the woman adjusted the controls again.

The young girl screamed. Every visible muscle in her body contracted.

They held her like that for several long moments. Her head thrashed, causing the flow of her copper hair to dance like manic lightning about her head.

Her scream because a high-pitched howl. She threw her head backward, exposing the thick cord of her head. I kept my gaze fixed in her direction, but forced my awareness elsewhere. Her scream transformed into a thick gurgle before fading into silence.

I let my mind witness the scene in front of me once more.

Her head fell forward. I knew that she was dead and had not simply passed out from the pain. There is a definite difference between a body that become relaxed from unconsciousness and one slack with death. Most people tell the difference; I have seen it too many times not to know.

A thin drooling line of blood ran from the girl's mouth. This was followed a moment later by thick ghastly mucus of yellow, green, and brown.

I might have still saved her: if an emergency evacuation team was waiting right outside the body, if they could put her into stasis immediately, and if the best surgeons in the world were available and ready. If she survived, I doubt that she would thank me—not with the kind of life that she would have with most of her lower organs reduced to gelatin.

The old woman looked away. I think even she was disgusted by the sight. I couldn't be sure through the refracted light that separated us.

In the chamber in front of me, the two men released the chains that held the girl upright. They let her fall into a soft heap onto a tarp that had been placed beneath her. Both looked unnerved. I could see hesitancy in their movements. They were not at all pleased with their task. I would let them live. They were only following orders. I knew how that was.

The woman at the controls shut down the machine. Her eyes were unnaturally bright. They kept watching the motions of the dead girl's body. I was certain I saw satisfaction masked in her expression. Her I would kill—in as similarly suitable a manner as I could manage.

The two men finished covering the girl's body with the tarp. They dragged it from the chamber, showing a respectful amount of care. This reinforced my decision that they might not need to die when it came time for me to leave this place.

Unfortunately, it was not yet time to do so. I still had much to do.