'All right, then, so why did you build the Archimedes? To find God, as some say?'
Draeger laughed. 'I can't imagine where you heard such a ridiculous notion.'
'During the Wilber Trials, it became clear that you built the Archimedes in order to satisfy President Wilber's religious… impulses.' Draeger shook his head and chuckled, but Kendrick persisted. 'You stated during those trials that you realized Wilber was schizophrenic even before his arrest. But that didn't stop you building the Archimedes for him.'
'This is all very entertaining, but isn't it time that you asked me what you really want to ask me? There's nothing I could tell you about the Wilber Trials, standing here, that you couldn't find out from any number of records concerning those trials.'
'All right, then: why did you bring me all this way? What's the purpose of my trip?'
Draeger studied him calmly. 'What I want, Mr Gallmon, is information.'
'Information? Of what kind?'
'Information concerning Labrats. Specifically those, such as yourself, who spent time in Ward Seventeen.'
Kendrick took a deep breath. 'You know exactly why I'm here. Smeby claimed that you had a cure, that you could… get rid of my augmentations. I want to know if that's true.'
Draeger nodded to himself and took a sip from his own drink. His gaze wandered towards the vast mural.
'Entirely correct, Mr Gallmon. Entirely correct.'
Exact date unknown: 2088 The Maze
As soon as Stenzer had shut the door on him Kendrick was hustled down several steep and narrow flights of stairs. One of his two guards slammed another door open and he was dragged into what appeared to be an underground garage.
He could see only one vehicle, however: a regulation-green truck parked near a steep ramp leading upwards.
The subterranean space was dark and chilly, the damp air filled with the powerful stench of petroleum. Kendrick was marched directly over to a bare concrete wall studded with dozens of bullet holes. Against that part of the wall with the greatest number of pockmarks stood a plain wooden chair.
It wasn't the first time this feeling had come to him but, looking at that chair, Kendrick knew with absolute certainty that he would never escape the Maze. So he did not resist as his arms were pulled harshly behind his back and bound. A blindfold was placed over his eyes and he was shoved down roughly onto the wooden seat.
He heard shuffling, thick breathing, a metallic click. Something cold and heavy pressed against his temple.
He waited long, agonized seconds.
More seconds passed. Someone sobbed – a wretched, guttural sound full of horror. At first Kendrick didn't realize that it had come from his own throat.
The pressure against his temple lessened and he heard footsteps: two pairs of feet shuffling around nearby. The blindfold was pulled roughly from his head.
Kendrick blinked in the sudden light. One of the guards brandished a pistol, its barrel now pointing towards the ground. After an eternity seemed to pass, he placed it back in its holster. The other guard untied Kendrick and he was taken back to his old cell.
There he lay, shivering and semi-delusional, until the next morning when the whole procedure was repeated. He was taken again to the underground car park, bound to the chair and blindfolded, and the muzzle of the gun was placed against his temple. To his shame and horror he wet himself, his bladder voiding as he sat waiting to die.
The next morning it all happened again.
What was the point where you went insane, Kendrick wondered. Was it a recognizable boundary like a road sign, something that would mark the transition? And if he lost his sanity – something he had more than enough time to ponder – would he even know it?
He returned to the basement one last time. This time, as the door into the garage was slammed open by his guards, Kendrick heard a muffled explosion.
He looked over and saw another prisoner bound to the same wooden chair. The man's body was half-twisted off the seat, his legs slumping towards the ground, his arms still secured to the back of the chair.
Kendrick could see that the other man was dead. Blood poured from an enormous wound in his skull, forming a rapidly spreading pool at his feet. Two other guards whom Kendrick didn't recognize stood over him.
This is it, he thought. Everything else had just been a long prelude to this. This is finally it.
Somehow he found the energy to at least try to fight against his two captors, but in his physically weakened state it was worse than useless. He waited helplessly while the corpse was unbound and allowed to slump to the concrete floor. The other two guards proceeded to drag the body by the feet towards the truck that was still parked near the ramp.
Kendrick had little difficulty imagining his own slack torso being flung in there. The other two guards then departed with a nod and Kendrick was left with the men who were finally to be his executioners.
'Your turn now, sweetheart,' one of them said, drawing his pistol and gesturing towards the chair. As Kendrick turned towards it, the other guard kicked him hard in the buttocks. Kendrick landed in the pool of blood and gagged at the stench of it. A hand grabbed him roughly by the neck, hauling him up and pushing him onto the seat.
This time they didn't bother to blindfold him.
Kendrick waited to die.
Then he noticed something out of the corner of his eye. On all the previous occasions when he had been brought to the garage he had been too preoccupied to pay much attention to it. But now he became aware that an elevator directly across the garage from the stairwell had opened and several soldiers were coming out of it. A couple of them were engaged in hauling a large cart stacked – Kendrick was horrified to see – with yet more corpses.
Exiting along with the soldiers were some men dressed in shirtsleeves, incongruous middle-management- looking types such as he had last seen in the days following his arrival. One of them glanced over sharply and shouted something to Kendrick's pair of guards. The one who had apparently been about to blow Kendrick's brains all over the wall lowered his gun from Kendrick's forehead and stared round him with a scowl.
The man in shirtsleeves stepped up quickly, seemingly unaware of Kendrick's existence as he addressed them. 'Sergeant, I thought we made it clear that we need more subjects for testing. Have any of the prisoners you've processed today been cleared through us first?'
Shirtsleeves-man had a tall and narrow frame and wore a pale grey shirt fronted by a thin dark tie. His trousers were neat and pressed. Kendrick didn't learn that his name was Sieracki until much later.
The guard who had been about to execute Kendrick shook his head. 'I don't know, sir. I'm not involved in the admin side. I'm just following orders.'
Sieracki nodded. 'Wait here.' Then he stepped several feet away from them and began to speak quietly into a slate-grey wand.
He returned shortly. 'All right. Your orders are countermanded. Make sure that no more subjects get processed until they've been cleared with us.' He pointed an angry finger at the sergeant. 'Make sure you don't forget that. I'm not going to put up with any more interference with our project, Sergeant Grady. Any more of this happens, I'll come looking for you.'
With that Sieracki returned to the other soldiers, who had now begun to lift the corpses into the back of the green truck.
Grady stared after him, then turned and kicked the chair hard. Kendrick toppled off it, grunting as the side of his head hit the concrete wall. His skin felt sticky and slippery with someone else's blood.
His wrists were unbound roughly. Then Grady grabbed him by the neck, twisting Kendrick's head around until
