| Subject: Out of the Darkness - Part II |
Author:
Cathy Myers
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Date Posted: 20:07:51 03/09/01 Fri
In reply to:
~dawn
's message, "Repost of "Out of the Darkness Part II" on 20:06:02 03/09/01 Fri
Out of the Darkness - Part II
Nikita lay buried in the closed coffin, unmoving. Having stayed so long in a world of sensory deprivation, she had become disconnected from her surroundings. She felt confused, disoriented, and surreal. Her mind, devoid of outside stimuli, had created its own brand of entertainment, wild, wonderful worlds of form and color. Nikita liked her new world. Far removed was it from the unspeakable horror of her reality.
Bands of streaming color swirled and undulated against the black sky, interspersed with flashes of blinding light. Half-seen visions mingled freely with half-heard voices giving impressions of events, too out of reach to be clearly revisited. Gradually, the night sky dominated a world that was too kaleidoscopically fragmented to represent reality, except to the totally insane. Centering on the clear, star-filled sky presented a peaceful reprieve. To float, to fly, to flow, gliding past worlds . . .
"Nikita. Nikita, are you there? Nikita, answer me. Make a noise. Nikita, its Birkoff. Nikita."
No, I won't answer. I'm far away, and you can't reach me. I'm a tiny dot in my mind, a pinpoint safely hidden. I can hear you, but you can't find me.
"Nikita, come in. Nikita, please respond."
No, I won't! Go away.
Birkoff took off the headset and turned to Operations. "She's not responding, sir. I've been trying for fifteen minutes."
"How long has it been since you last communicated with her?"
"About forty-five minutes."
"What did she say? How did she sound?"
Birkoff looked away. "Un, well, she clapped, sir."
Operations leaned down, closing the distance between Birkoff and himself. "Excuse me?" he asked, his tone incredulous.
Straightening up in his chair, Birkoff cleared his throat and tried to explain.
"Well, sir, to help her to conserve her energy, instead of having her go to the effort of talking, I was just having her clap or snap her fingers, or just anything to make some noise, so I would know that she was still alive."
Operations pulled out a chair from behind him and sat down. Now, at eye level to Birkoff, he clasped his hands together and began to explain, slowly, as if to a small child.
"Birkoff, listen to me. The point of keeping in constant touch with Nikita was not to make sure that she was still alive, but to help her maintain consciousness. If she loses consciousness, she might drop the air hose. Are you with me on this?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good, then, try again. Better still, let me try."
Birkoff gave the headset to Operations. After trying for a few minutes with no result, Operations returned the set to Birkoff.
"Can you patch Michael through to Nikita?"
"I think so. It'll take a few minutes, but I think that I can."
"Then, do it."
* * * *
Chester Manfield sat at his desk. Five years ago Section One had destroyed his world, and now, they would give him a new one. They owed him that. Michael Sammuel owed him much, much, more.
La Sheka Knowles had just turned twenty-five when she started working at the institute. Bright and idealistic, she wanted to change the world. Chester knew the moment he met her, that she was special. Sheka saw life the way it should be and said, "Why not?"
Chester married La Sheka that same year, and they joined Red Cell two years later. Every day they worked side by side to improve the world. They believed in their visions of a better life, and felt that they were truly making a difference.
That last day that they worked together started out just like any other day. Chester remembered that the sun had shone brightly that day, after a week of heavy rain, and Sheka said that it was a sign. She chose a yellow flowered dress from her closet and held it in front of her, laughing.
"I'll were this to honor the sun god," she said.
On the way out of the house she took a silk daisy from the plant in the hall and twisted it into her hair. Two hours later, she was dead.
* * * *
"Nikita, wake up. You must try, Kita. Talk to me." Michael's voice broke the silence which had become Nikita's world.
"Talk to me, Nikita. Try." As Michael's voice drifted through her consciousness, Nikita called out his name inside her head.
"Kita? Can you hear me? Nikita, try to talk." Michael tried for several more minutes, his voice alternately softly caressing and, then, harsh and demanding.
"Michael." This time she knew that she had spoken aloud.
"Kita, listen to me. You must stay awake and remember to breathe through the air hose. Can you do that for me?"
"Yes, but I want to sleep."
Michael took a deep breath. "I know you do, but I want you to stay awake. O.K.?"
"O.K., Michael."
"I'm almost there, Nikita. Can you talk to Birkoff while I work?"
"No, Michael. I want to talk to you." Her voice was pleading, like that of a small child.
"I know you do, but I need you to talk to Birkoff, all right?"
"All right, Michael."
Michael switched the channel. "Birkoff, she's awake. You must keep her talking. Are we clear on that? Call me if you lose her."
* * * *
Chester's desk phone rang, chasing away his painful memories.
"The message has been received, Mr. Manfield."
"Good." Chester Manfield could not avoid the smile of smug satisification spreading across his face. "What did he say?"
The voice on the other end of the line paused slightly, before continuing. "He said that he'd provide the information that you requested after the girl was released. He wants to know where to meet you."
"Tell him that I am not unfamiliar with the outstanding resources of Section One. Tell him to make good use of those resources and find me himself. I'll be waiting."
"Yes, sir. Will that be all, sir?"
"No, remind him to hurry. Remind him that time waits for no man."
* * * *
The sun was setting when the plane landed near the first Red Cell base of operations. The quantum probability computer had chosen this site as the most likely location for Nikita's containment.
Michael led the first team around the perimeter of the two-story warehouse, moving carefully to avoid detection. The team found nothing. Michael contacted his man on point.
"Do you have anything to report, Migel?"
"All clear, Michael."
"Switch to dark and keep me advised."
Michael gave the go-ahead signal to the men backing his right flank. They entered the building. Michael switched his channel.
"Birkoff, are you still in contact with Nikita?"
"Yes, Michael. She's doing fine."
"We're entering the building at location one alpha. What's the status of the infra-red scan?"
"All clear, Michael. No hostiles apparent."
Michael began to search the empty rooms. The first floor gave no evidence of recent occupation.
"Michael, we're picking something up." Migel's voice sounded urgent. "It sounds like music."
"Proceed to first mark. I'll meet you there."
As Michael neared Migel's location, he heard the faint sounds of what Migel had described.
"Everyone hold your positions."
Michael followed the sounds to a centrally located room on the second floor. When he opened the door, he was overwhelmed by what he saw. Snapshots lined the walls of the room. Michael reached up and took down one of the pictures. His heart seemed to stop as he found himself looking into the soulful eyes of Nikita. Turning slowly around the room, he realized that all of the pictures were of Nikita. He picked up another one and slipped it into his jacket.
Sitting in the center of the room was a tape player, playing the same song over and over. Michael switched off the tape and the strains of "Ain't No Sunshine When She's Gone", died away. With the music silent, Michael heard another sound, the unmistakable sound of a clock, ticking away the countless minutes that make up life. Even before he looked, Michael knew what he would find.
"Proceed to the egress, now," Michael ordered his team. He had barely cleared the building when the bomb went off. Picking himself up off of the ground, he remembered the picture, and removed it from his pocket. The snapshot was of Nikita. She was lying in a coffin, and her arms folded neatly across her chest, as if she were dead.
The End of Part II
Cathy Myers
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