VECTOR ONE, BOOK ONE: SET-UP CHAPTER FOUR:: "Give me a reading." "We're at Vector 0.8." In form and function, this laboratory was nearly identical to the clandestine one which the Imperial Police had shut down on Enaia. One major difference was that this lab was an IP facility, dedicated to the ongoing research of the Vector Process, as well as for creating V-slaves. "Push it up another notch." Another difference was that the lab technicians here showed no concern at all for the well-being of the short, blond-haired man on the 'rack', as the table was commonly known in this place. Nor was the man himself here willingly. No one ever was. All V-slaves were prisoners -- convicted killers, rapists, thieves, and anyone else who went against Imperial law -- prior to being rendered into zombies by this machine and all the others like it. They spent the duration of the process in intense pain, usually screaming for mercy, until their minds overloaded from the sheer influx of energy and simply shorted out. This mindwipe generally would occur somewhere between Vector 0.4 and 0.8, after which the subject would become totally silent and endure the remainder of the procedure, stoic and uncomplaining. The readouts had just reached Vector 0.85, .05 points higher than the normal maximum, and this one was still screaming. "Sheesh!" one of the technicians griped, not having checked those readings yet. "Isn't there any way to shut him up?" "Yeah, you're doing it now," the other retorted. "Reading?" "Vector 0.85," the first observed. "And still no mindwipe?" the second said. "Either this is one incredibly sturdy guy, or..." The first tech finished the thought for him, focusing his attention on the device which had been jury-rigged into the slaving machine: "Or that thing we obtained from the Enaia raid was some kind of stabilizer. Somehow I doubt that's what Rath was paying them to build." "Well we certainly have no use for it," the second snorted. "V-slaves that can think, now -that's- a scary thought. Oh well, I suppose it's not as important that we have it as that they don't." He paused, considering for a moment. "Wanna try for Vector 1?" "n-no... please..." the prisoner gasped. The pain had broken him a hundred times over; he should have been dead by now. Ignoring him, the first tech grinned broadly. Who knew? With this 'stabilizer' active, it might actually work. "Sure, what the hell, give it all we got!" "no. p-please. gods, no--" the prisoner tried to beg, but his pleas fell on deaf ears. The first technician gripped the power lever firmly and shoved it all the way to the top of the scale. Immediately the victim began to scream at the top of his lungs. "Vector 0.9, 0.91..." the tech called out over the din as the numbers and energy output rose higher and higher. Smoke began to pour from every opening in the screaming man's head, and just as the readings reached "0.94", his body caught on fire. "THERE HE BLOWS!" the tech shouted, he and his comrade jumping backward as the prisoner was incinerated in a blinding flash of light, every cell in his body spontaneously combusting as the energy influx became too much to bear. Automatic safety systems deactivated the machine as soon as this happened, and the hum of power faded away within a few seconds, leaving behind the stink of burned flesh. "Phew! What a smell!" the second tech wrinkled his nose, waving the stench away. They hadn't really expected it to work, but it had been worth a try. (And perhaps, just as well that it hadn't, really.) "Oh well, enough failure for one day. In the mood for some lunch?" "Sure, I could go for something fried," the first joked. Enjoying a good laugh, the two made for the commissary, leaving the cleaning droids to scoop up the pile of ashes which had once been a zhaiman being. * * * At long last, trying to think, let alone move, was no longer a Herculean task. Though wherever he was, it certainly wasn't comfortable, and a moment later he realized that his hands were tied behind his back and chained to some kind of restraining bar. "Hey, Ron, you okay?" Ron forced his eyes open, getting nothing but a dark blur at first, but shortly his vision cleared and, mercifully, stayed that way. Sitting up as straight as the restraints would allow, he saw that John, Steve and Trevor were here, in what looked like a small rectangular room, similarly restrained. "Whuh? Guys?" he asked, as his brain attempted to piece together the last fragments of consciousness he could recall since the incident in Becker's lab. "Where are we?" "In the back of a truck," John answered. "You wouldn't happen to know where they're taking us, would you?" "N-no..." he glanced around again. "Where's Becky?" "They haven't picked her up yet," Steve replied. "They split us up after the... whatever it was. Now we're being gathered up again." "Hey Ron, did they take samples of your blood?" John asked. "I really don't know, I couldn't stay conscious for some reason." "We've all been like that," Trevor nodded. "So what is this place? Where are we?" "Isn't it obvious, man?" Steve replied with a mixture of fear and irritation. "We're dead!" "Then this is one suck of an afterlife," John grumped. "I mean, I haven't been *that* bad of a boy!" "No, we're not dead..." Trevor spoke up, his eyes seeming to focus inward like they always did when he was concentrating heavily on a problem. Had his hands been free he would have been rubbing his chin as well. "We're in Becker's alternate universe. Looks like it wasn't made of pure energy after all." Naturally, this got the attention of all the others right quick. Ron was first to speak. "Explain." "It was an incredible coincidence. We hooked into an identical experiment, causing a feedback loop. When the extractors on both ends overloaded we were close to the exact center of the event, so we weren't harmed. Sort of like the eye of a hurricane. Unfortunately, the side effect was that we were sucked through into the other universe." "You told us to get close to the extractor... you KNEW this would happen?!" Steve blurted. "It was either that or die, Steve!" Trevor snapped, highly annoyed. "You STRANDED us here, you son of a bitch!!" Steve roared. "When I get my hands free--" "Steve, can it," Ron sighed tiredly. It wasn't the first time Steve had flown off the handle and it was highly unlikely to be the last. "Look, Trevor, this seems a little farfetched." "It's the only logical explanation," Trevor answered. "This is obviously a highly industrialized nation, and yet the language they're speaking is one I've never seen or heard before. Plus there's the matter of the natives' fascination with our blood." "John said something about that." John nodded. "They drew off some of mine, and kept looking at it like they'd never seen anything like it before." Ron would have pondered that matter in more detail, but at that moment the back of the truck opened, and two guards shoved Becky in, tying her to the restraint bars in the same manner as the others, then leaving. All four of them called out her name and asked if she was okay at roughly the same time. "Hi guys..." she answered, very quietly. Her expression was blank, vacant, and right then and there Ron knew that something was very wrong. "The four of us have been swapping experiences," he said. "Yeah!" John seconded. "Did they examine your blood?" "Uh-huh," Becky replied. "They examined my blood. They examined lots of it. Then they examined me. One of the scientists made a very personal examination." A nasty chill crawled up Ron's spine. "What do you mean?" "I mean he r... He r--he ra... rape--" That was about as far as she got before breaking down completely, falling against Ron (as far as the bindings would allow) and sobbing uncontrollably. Everyone in the back of that truck was utterly horrified, and angry, but none so much as Steve, who at that moment would have happily tracked down the bastard who had done this and beaten him into a thin paste, had he the power to do so.