Acquisition

 

     John ran his hand over his forehead as he opened his eyes and they adjusted to the dim prison lights. He found, as he wiped his hand on the blanket that he immediately kicked off, that he was drenched in sweat. It had been the same dream as before, watching Karen spin in the machine... listening to that lunatic laughing the whole time... watching his son's skin bubble and burn under the hot sun rays. He couldn't let the corporation locate his family- he had to find them before Men-Tel did.

 

     He coughed and, shivering with sudden, fierce chill, pulled the blanket back up. The sweat was wearing off, but he still felt groggy. But not just groggy... something more. Something definitely not right. John turned his face into his pillow to muffle a rather wet "hukstchhh!" sneeze. As he pulled his head out, he felt the need to sneeze again, already and turned back into it, "hkxuhh!"

 

     "Shuddup!" he heard a cellmate comment gruffly. It certainly wasn't a 'Bless you, John' but then again prisoners, convicted felons, murderers, spies, and rebels don't usually sound polite when they're woken up in the middle of the night.

 

     John sniffled wetly into the pillow and kept his face there this time. Yes, there was definitely something not right. He felt sick, and not the kind of sick that went from eating the pink prison slop food, or from being stuck in the bubble all day. No, this was the sort of sick that seemed too pesky to let drag him down... and yet he felt too bad to not give into. But here he was, getting sick in prison when they were trying to devise the ultimate escape plan. And as wonderful as the group was, and as unique they all were with talents, the brains behind it all were certainly his and there was little way he could lead them to freedom like this. Perhaps, he thought as he closed his eyes and forced himself back to sleep, perhaps a good night's sleep would help significantly.

 

*          *          *          *          *

 

     "Kutchum! hutchufff! ketchechh!"

 

     "He's been sneezing like that all morning," Marcus remarked to Elena, who settled on John Brennick's cot looking not too worried.

 

     "Fever?" she asked to whoever would answer. Marcus just shrugged, turning to tinker with some wires and a little black box. Elena, smooth and elegant, reached for John's forehead but John pulled away.

 

     He wrapped the blanket tighter around himself with a shiver and turned his face into the pillow. "Go away," he commanded, his accent coming through stronger than normal.

 

     She rolled her eyes. The brave rebel always turned into a sniveling baby when he took sick; she'd known him long enough to say that. She also knew the easiest way to get him out of bed was to mention outstanding obligations. "John, it's almost eight. We've gotta get to work detail."

 

     He groaned, looking up as the monitors flickered from a brilliant waterfall to a head-banded woman who looked much too perky for her own good. It was clear the prison exercise program was not taped early in the morning. "Are we all ready to stay fit and battle that artificial gravity today?" the woman asked.

 

     "No!" John answered, pulling the blanket up over his head. "ekushhh! Huhshhhoo!" Sick. That's what he was. Sick and Karen wasn't there to take care of him. Oh, how sweet she was to him when he was sick. She would wrap him in a throw blanket and hold him in her arms, cradling and rocking. Karen would make them all soup, and spoon feed John to make him eat. And she'd let him stay the whole day in bed. Danny would climb in between them and snuggle, too. One big, happy family. But not if Men-Tel had anything to say about it. The evil, manipulative corporation controlled their lives already... and now it controlled his health. "Damnit," he mumbled, pulling himself up, sniffling and rubbing his face with his palm.

 

     Work, that morning, was generally no different than any other day. Sato was off harassing others for a pleasant change, so John and his group of quirky friends luckily scored the inside job of moving boxes around and cleaning. Once in a while, John needed to pause to catch his breath. The sneezing was becoming more steady, and small fits of coughing brought his already weary body to a dead stop several times. Like always, he kept an eye out for something that would aid in the escape... be it a gum wrapper or a broken television set. But today he was much more keen in smuggling away small pieces of scrap paper for use in blowing his nose whenever he got a chance to turn away from the others.

 

     The hold was dark, dirty, dusty, which was doing little to help his perpetually runny nose. But it did hide him a little, giving him a bit of privacy when he needed to sneeze. He'd slink back between boxes, holding his hands both over his nose to muffle the sound as best as possible. "ihkushh! ehchosh!" His sneezes were never very loud in the first place, but he didn't exactly want everyone to see and hear them.

 

     But before long, it was time for lunch. John was dragged there straight from the storage bay and found the time much more useful to sleep rather than eat the pink gooey slop that was served. He folded his arms on the cold metal table, lay his head down on top, and within seconds he was asleep. However he only remained that way for a few more seconds. "hurushhoo! Hektushh! Heh..." His head still buried in his arms, he rubbed his nose against his sleeve, mouth hanging open with great, panicked breaths. "heh-Ketchuhh!" He rubbed again, sitting up with a tired sniffle and a yawn.

 

     He could feel the others staring at him, could feel their eyes looking him over, assessing, evaluating. John kept his head turned down towards the table, his eyes on the pink slop in his bowl. He really wasn't hungry in the least, but he swirled it around on the end of his spoon as if he were intending to eat it eventually. What he really wanted was to be back in bed, under the covers, alone. Where there was no one to bother him, no one to watch him suffer.

 

     The tickles in his nose were worsening with every passing minute, and it was all he could do to keep his hand up to his face, fingers pressed against his nose, holding back the sneezes as they snuck up on him. He leaned on one elbow, trying to look casual, as if there were nothing at all wrong. And when he sneezed, he sneezed forward in short, wet bursts. "heh-Ihshhh! Ketchoo!" Sniffling, and straightening up immediately afterwards, he tried to make even those look casual, natural.

 

     Lunch was over quickly, and they returned to work already hungry for dinner and exhausted from their work earlier. John had taken to sneezing into his arm, and rubbing his nose against the sleeve of his work shirt. "heh-Keshoo! ehhh...ehh-Kishhh!" He carried the contents of one box across the room and packed it carefully into another. "hih-Keshh! Heh-Cheshhh! uhhhChhuhhhh!" He reassembled mechanics, passing over a spare screw to swipe in place of a grease rag he used very briefly to blow his nose. "heh-Cheshh!" All he wanted was to be asleep in bed. "heh-Cheshhh! hih...ehhhhKetchhh!" All he wanted was for work detail to be over for the day.

 

     When at last, at long last, they were prodded back to their cells, John collapsed on his cot, motionless while his friends buzzed and moved around him.

 

 

     "Come on, Brennick. Get up." Elena tugged a little on his arm, but he wouldn't budge. "Come on, you've got to shower. You've been working all day and you're lying filthy in bed. It's the rules."

 

     He grunted, sniffed, and turned his head, but not before pulling his arm away from her and tucking it beneath his shivering body. "I dod't wadt to go addywhere." He sniffed strongly. "I'b sick."

 

     "'Sonly the sniffles," Marcus commented with a laugh as he swung his shirt over his bare, dark shoulders. "Now get up and take a shower. You smell like shit, man."

 

     But John shook his head, nose back into the pillow for, "huh-huh-hehhh...Hushhhhoo! hetchuhh! huhshhuh!" Then adding a miserable, "Go away."

 

     Elena sighed. "You need a shower, Bren--"

 

     "Go away!" John tried again.

 

     Elena settled down on the edge of his bed, rubbing his back soothingly. "Now, John. Don't make me drag you there like I did in Mexico."

 

     There was a harsh coughing. "S'dot the sabe thig," came his congested voice, muffled from speaking into the pillow. "I had ad upset stobach thed."

 

     She laughed. "Upset stomach my ass! John you had the forty-eight hour flu! You would have gotten sick all over the hideout if I hadn't dragged you to the bathroom and held your head over the toilet. Besides," she sounded soft but amused, "how could you forget us holding all our meetings on the bathroom floor for days so you could pitch in ideas between attacks of nausea?"

 

     John didn't answer, but he did try to pull his blanket up over himself, an action which Elena countered with helping him up. "No sleep until you've showered."

 

     He looked up at her with disgust, wishing his wife were there instead. She would have let him sleep if he wanted to. As he sat up, Sato passed by the cell, giving him an evil, suspicious look. John quickly took back what he'd thought so selfishly and wished Karen and Danny were safe on the run still. Safe, hidden, alive. That was the most important thing. John cupped a hand over his nose and mouth, using the other to steady himself on the cot. "hek-Tushhh! huffushhh! Heh-heh-Ehhshhhh!"

 

     Elena pulled him up to stand by his arm. "There we go, sick boy. Off to the showers, now."

 

 

     The showers were packed, and John found himself leaning against the divider between him and Elena for support as the warm water rushed over him and he shivered helplessly. His face wrinkled as the shower spray tickled his face, and he sneezed freely towards the floor. "ehhh-Keshhh! hufchhhh! hehh-huh-Ekkufffshh!" He let the water run over his face, and the back of his neck to alleviate his headache for just a moment. Then he pulled himself out of the shower at the sound of alarms signaling the end of the time there. John could almost feel Elena staring at him as he did so, but he didn't care. He threw on clean, prison-issue clothes and followed behind the lines heading back to their cells. Once back in his own, he flopped back down on the cot, smelling dirt and sweat from before but not caring about that either. He wrapped himself up in the blankets and, sniffling, fell quickly to sleep.

 

*          *          *          *          *

 

     Burning hot torture. He was burning and freezing all at once while spinning in the giant wheel. Laughter surrounded him on all sides, enveloping him, taking him over completely. Burning rage. Anger billowing inside as he tried to hold his stomach in and tried to keep his mind off the torture. Insanity, inhumanity, indecency... all were trademarks of the Men-Tel corporation now. He was trapped again. Trapped in space, in pain.

 

*          *          *          *          *

 

     "John? John, honey, wake up."

 

     John stirred, sniffling. "Kared... " he smiled, opening his eyes to instead find Elena and Marcus hovering over him. It all came flooding back to him, and he closed his eyes again. His smile faded, "Oh" And he sniffled.

 

     Elena reached down and put her palm to his forehead. "You're burning up. You need to go to the infirmary."

 

     He shook his head. "Dod't wadt to draw ady bore attedtiod to byself. Sato... hehhh-Ketchhhh..."

 

     Elena shook her head. "I understand, but--"

 

     "Buts dod't coudt. I cad't risk it."

 

     "Can we get you anything, man?"

 

     John nodded, rubbing a finger beneath his nose. While he could refuse a trip to the infirmary, this was a request he could certainly not refuse. "I could use sobe Kleedex." His wiped his nose with the back of his hand and wrist. "Badly."

 

     "All right, we'll try to find you some." She promised. Elena looked up at Marcus, a worried look in her eyes. "I need to get back to my cell before lockdown. Can you get him something?"

 

     The man rolled his eyes but nodded anyway. In the end, he managed to procure a roll of toilet paper in trade for two partially used batteries. He gave it to John, who hugged it to his chest like a present and quickly blew his nose. "huh...huh-Kehhchh! Heh-Kutchhhh!" It felt delightful to be able to blow his nose as often as he liked, and John fell asleep quickly thereafter.

 

*          *          *          *          *

 

     Searing his flesh, boiling him alive. He felt himself being lowered into a pit. No, a giant vat. A vat full of hot, bubbling liquid which ate at his feet. All around him were flames, hot, bright, burning. He could hear laughing... and he could hear crying. And he knew who was making each sound. John tried to call out to Karen, but in the heat he could not even remember how to talk. He had no idea where he was, what he was doing, why he was there. All he knew was that he was dying, dying without a way to get to them.

 

*          *          *          *          *

 

     John woke as he was raised into the air. His bed disappeared behind him as two men in white uniforms carried him away on a stretcher. He was covered in blankets, but still shivering. And he was sweating from heat, face flushed and hot. "Where are you takig be?" he asked, concerned, closing his eyes as the jerky motion of the stretcher soothed him.

 

     "Up to the infirmary," one of the medics replied. "You've got a fever and you need to be isolated for a few days until you get better. Then they can go back to busting your murdering ass."

 

     But John wasn't sure what the medic was saying. He drifted in and out of terrifying sleep, trying to stay awake and conscious of his surroundings. But in the end, the fever won out. And though he thrashed about on the cot as they lowered him onto an infirmary bed, he had no knowledge of it.

 

*          *          *          *          *

 

     The next time John woke, he made to blow his nose, and found the roll of toilet paper gone. In fact, he found his cell and companions gone as well. In their place was a brilliantly white room with two facing rows of beds. Only a few of these beds were occupied, and most occupants were silent, either sleeping or reading or just lounging. It was nearly impossible to imagine such a clean, comforting, calm sort of place on a prison space station.

 

     The silence was disturbed shortly thereafter by a few sneezes that John tried his best to keep quiet. "hektisht! herktshh!" He rubbed at his nose and noticed an inviting-looking tissue box sitting on the bed stand beside him. He helped himself to a few, rubbing thankfully, then blowing his nose. His eyebrows raised and eyes closed as he sneezed into the bunch of tissues. "herkxchtt!"

 

     "Ah, you're awake." A woman came over with a tray. She was dressed in light green but stood out amongst the white of the room. "It's been two days," she informed him, placing a gloved hand on his forehead, taking the tissues and depositing them in the trashcan. "How're you feeling?"

 

     He shrugged. "Tired, sick, sneezey." He was silenced as she stuck a thermometer into his mouth and had to sniffle strongly through his stuffed nose to breathe properly.

 

     "You fever broke early this morning. Ah, there, you're good. Back to normal." She used a pen light to inspect his eyes, nose and throat. "Still a bit of a cold, but that will pass."

 

     He pulled away from her, wishing Karen were there in bed with him. He cupped another handful of tissues to his face. "hehKetchh! HerChushh!" And sneezed less restrainedly as she, with her firm voice, was louder than his sneezes were.

 

     "Bless you," she commented, handing him a tall glass of ice water and taking the used tissues from him. "It'll take a few hours for the paperwork to clear," she said with a wink. "So if you just settle back and rest comfortably... enjoy a bit of comfort, hmm?"

 

     He nodded, rubbing at his nose, looking as miserably and needy as possible.

 

     She nodded, giving him a bit of a smile. "All right then. You just rest and let that cold work itself out."

 

     John settled back into bed, realizing she'd left the tray by his bedside. After quickly taking a look around to be sure he wasn't being watched, he closed his eyes and made a grab, seizing thermometer and pen light. Both might be terrible important in any scheme to escape. And he decided if he made himself sneeze and cough enough during any strip search, they might leave him alone, not wanting to catch a nasty cold like this from him.

 

     Smiling, he tucked the items away and opened his eyes, careful not to look back to the tray. If they were watching the monitors they would know he'd taken the things. John snuggled into the soft sheets and pillow, closing his eyes again. "hehKetchhh! ehhChishhh!" A pause, then "uhhChishhhh!" He blew his nose thoroughly and closed his eyes now to rest again. He was sleepy and fancied a nap, but wanted to be sure to enjoy the comfort until he was sent back to his cell and Sato beat him to pieces for missing a day of work.