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This is a work of fiction copyright Radical Gopher and may not be duplicated in whole or part without the author's permission. This story contains adult situations and should not be views by anyone under the age of 18.

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THIS WAY MADNESS LIES - part 4

I am re posting this story chapter with a number of changes that flesh it out much more and hopefully smooths out the structure and diction. Enjoy and feel free to comment. (No really... comment, I want feedback.)

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Faulkner strode purposefully down the long, cement-lined corridor. It has been over three months since his last visit, but not much had changed. He thought back to his days in the army and the number of visits he had made to this particular facility, never realizing the Directory, for which he now worked, had their own branch office here. But, that was the nature of clandestine operations. Agencies within agencies within agencies, none of which suspecting what lay within the shadows of their own organizations.

Reaching the end of the corridor he waited while a guard summoned an elevator from the surface. A light flashed and the door silently opened. He stepped inside. Unlike normal elevators there were no buttons to press. "Level One," he commanded.

"Identity and codeword, please," came a soft, feminine voice.

"Faulkner... Barcelona 27,"

There was a soft hiss and the elevator swiftly rose to ground level. The Colonel stepped out onto a smooth, clean hanger floor. He looked toward the double doors, watching as the Gulfstream G650 exited the taxiway and headed straight toward him. Warm desert air washed across him. Even after sunset the temperature tended to hover in the mid-eighties until after 11 p.m. He glanced south and could see the distant mountains silhouetted by the perpetual glow of Las Vegas.

The small jet pulled up directly in front of the hanger before shutting down. No one climbed out. Instead a flight line crew immediately hooked up a tow bar to the front gear and pulled it inside with the aid of an electric mule cart. The hanger doors slid shut behind it, sealing everything off from prying eyes. Dim hanger lights flashed brightly and the door of the aircraft opened. From the elevator behind him a medical team rolled out a gurney and parked it next to the aircraft's door. Moments later the hatch opened, dropping down to form an access ladder.

Three figures descended, two of them were carrying the figure of a young, red-haired woman in a business suit, while the third held aloft an IV drip intended to keep the subject both hydrated and sedated. They placed her on the gurney and the medical technicians took over, strapping her down and hanging the IV bag from a collapsible pole attached to the gurney. Faulkner walked over to the woman and looked down at her. His brows knit together in anger.

"What the hell is this?"

"Sir?" the senior agent responded.

"I was told you had captured Dr. Strathern."

To his credit, the agent neither raised his voice nor became apologetic. "We did sir. This is her."

"Don't give me that," Faulkner replied tightly. "I've met the Strathern woman. She's in her mid thirties. This ‘girl' can't be more than 21 or 22 years old."

"Yes sir... we were a bit surprised ourselves, so we did a quick DNA and fingerprint scan. It's definitely her."

Faulkner was annoyed. He went silent for a moment or two as he thought things through. Someone along the intelligence chain had failed to pass on this little bit of information and, at least in his mind, made him seem like a fool He knew the Outlander was perfectly capable of healing himself from what, on a human, would be fatal injuries. It therefore stood to reason that he could somehow regenerate not only his own DNA, but that of others as well. This was going to prove to be a very interesting interrogation.

The colonel's cell phone beeped twice. Uniquely modified, it contained a special scrambler and could override any security blocks currently in use, even the ones in place at this facility. He quickly fished it out of his jacket and flipped it open. "Yes?"

"Has the package arrived?" came the director's voice.

"Yes," Faulkner replied, "about two minutes ago.

"Be careful. I know the kind of opportunity this presents, but it's absolutely essential that the Boy Scout never knows what happened. I'm giving you a twenty-four hour deadline."

"Agreed. We'll perform the procedure then dispose of the package where no one can find it."

"Who are you using?"

"Cassandra and Aries."

"Rather brutal... aren't they?"

"Yes sir... brutal, efficient and experienced. They'll get the job done with time to spare."

* * * *

Jillian's eyes slowly fluttered open. As her vision cleared she looked around the room. In many respects is resembled a dentists office. The walls, floor and ceiling were all white, as was the padded dentist's examination chair she found herself strapped into. Above her was a set of powerful operating room lights mounted on an armature so they could be pointed in any direction desired. A number of rolling equipment cabinets lined one wall, varying in color from white, to red, to black. There were also a couple of rolling stools, both black in color next to one of the cabinets. Looking down she saw a powder blue hospital blanket covered her body above the straps. Her regular clothes were nowhere to be seen.

Jillian's head pounded something fierce and she felt more than a little nauseous. Both were undoubtedly chemically induced. Bob, sensing her discomfort from his "shotgun" position in her mind, dampened down those particular synapses.

"Thanks," she thought, sighing in relief. "How long has it been since we left you at the hotel?

"I'd say about twelve hours." Bob responded. "That sedative they gave you was pretty effective. I couldn't tap into any of your sensory inputs the entire trip... and to answer your unspoken concern, I don't think we have to worry about anyone finding me for at least another 36 hours. After all, you did pay for the room several days in advance."

"Yes, but it wasn't with this particular contingency in mind." She paused trying to remember something. "Did you talk to me while I was knocked out? It's not hard to remember... but it is sort of fuzzy like a dream."

"I did... I had to focus on your subconscious mind since you were unable to respond to me normally."

"How far do you think they moved me?"

"Judging from the strength of our mind link, I'd say a couple thousand miles," the Kerachaw responded.

"Can you hold that kind of link over such a distance?" Jillian thought

"Yes... I've held a passive mind link over several light years distance, though admittedly I was helped by my own ship's relay systems..." Bob's thoughts faded out slightly and he became silent as the reassurance brought back images he tended to avoid. Thoughts of his old home and people. Thoughts of death... It always made him feel alone, even here within Jillian's mind.

She immediately sensed the Kerachaw's heartache and recalled the images she herself had seen. "Sorry," she quietly sympathized. "I didn't mean to dredge up any bad memories."

"No need to apologize. It isn't anyone's fault except the Destroyers. They were the ones who crushed the World-ship and slaughtered my people." There was a brief moment of silence and then Bob changed the subject.

"It's interesting that even though your race is not telepathic, you do possess an amazing level of empathy."

"Thank-you for the compliment, though I wish we would be less selective with it than we presently are," Jillian thought. "It might have prevented a whole lot of pain and suffering throughout history."

"Perhaps if your people..."

Their exchange of thoughts was suddenly interrupted by an electronic hum. "Good morning," came the heavily disguised voice over a wall mounted speaker. "It's nice to see you Dr. Strathern."

"I think you've got the wrong person," Jillian replied. "My name is Jill Smyth."

"Please... you're not going to stick with that fiction, are you?" the voice asked. "We've already run your fingerprints and DNA. The false ID cards you were carrying were good, but far from being of a quality good enough to fool us."

"One can only try," she said, forcing herself to maintain a kind of detached composure. There was no sense in letting them know how scared she really was. Feeling Bob's presence in the back of her mind helped considerably.

"I must compliment you on your plastic surgeon. You look years younger than your rightfully should. Care to tell me how you did it?"

"I spent a week at a Palms Spring health spa. You should try it. It might improve your disposition."

There was a bit of a pause before the voice continued. "You know doctor, your flippancy will only get in the way of things here. You should really take time to evaluate your current status."

"Oh?" said Jillian, raising one eyebrow. "You mean aside from the fact I'm in some weird, over-sanitized examination room?"

"I'm referring to the reasons you're here in the first place."

"And exactly what would those reasons be?" she asked.

"Treason... Conspiracy... Domestic and International Terrorism... You and your friend have been pretty busy upsetting the status quo and there are a lot of power players who'd like nothing better than to see your ass in jail and that alien stuffed and mounted in a museum."

"He scares you... doesn't he, Colonel Faulkner,"

"... Why would you think I'm Faulkner," the voice asked.

"Who's playing games now?" Jillian asked. "You're the only person at your Directory who I've met face to face. Logically, you'd be the only who'd need to conceal his voice when talking to me. The electronic disguise doesn't make sense otherwise."

There was a small click from the speaker then Faulkner's voice came across crisp and clear. "I assume my employment by the Directory was something your ‘pet' Kerachaw picked up from Archbury. Have you given him a name yet?" he asked mockingly.

"He already has a name," Jillian responded.

"Yes... We know!" said Faulkner. "Krosbobai V'avalun... isn't it; but then he probably never told you that."

"The accent is on the second syllable of his last name, not the third one," Jillian replied sardonically. You might be surprised by what I know about him."

" I'm sure I will be," Faulkner replied. "Did he ever mention he was one of only fifteen members of his race who were genetically ‘modified' to act as both guardians and advanced scouts? It was his task to search for a new world the Kerachaw could populate. If they had found Earth before their destruction they would have acted as invaders... wouldn't they?"

Jillian laughed. "Why don't you wrap your mind around something other than 1950's style paranoia and joint the rest of us in the 21st century, Colonel."

There was a momentary silence from the speaker.

"I suppose now is when you get to brag about how clever you were to obtain those tiny morsels of information," Jillian mocked.

"On the contrary, doctor. Now is when I get to question you about your friend."

The door at the far end of the examination room slid back and two technicians entered. One of them, a tall female with long, raven colored hair, sunken cheeks and black, dead eyes, crossed over to Jillian and began checking her straps, tightening them firmly and adding a few more across her pelvis, chest and forehead. The other, a short male with close cropped hair and a thin mustache, selected one of the rolling cabinets and brought it over to the chair. They were both dressed in what looked like white hospital scrubs that had a kind of plastic sheen to them. The man opened the cabinet to reveal a wicked looking selection of needles, scalpels and alligator clips, all made from the finest surgical steel. He then reached up and snapped on the overhead lights, focusing them directly into Jillian's face. She winced at their intensity. Even with her eyes shut, their glare hurt.

While the female carefully examined each instrument, the other technician went back to the wall and rolled a second white cabinet over. It was opened to reveal a standard hospital-style monitoring cart. He removed the blanket, exposing Jillian completely. The chilled air of the room caused her nipples to stand erect. He applied several EKG pads to her body; occasionally, and deliberately brushing his hands across her chest in the process. He then removed a small rod from the machine. Reaching down between her legs he deftly spread her lips and slipped the sensor into her vagina.

Jillian gasped slightly at the sensation but there was no pain. The technician casually ran his hand up through the thin, soft strip of pubic hair and up to her belly button.

"A natural red-head," he observed smiling, his thick Russian accent penetrating the professional silence of the room. "You don't see that very often." He quickly withdrew his hand when the female pointedly cleared her throat. He turned back to the monitor and switched it on.

Jillian heard Bob's voice in her mind. "I don't like where this is going. It's time we end this. I'm going to dampen the pain receptors for your eyes. When I do, you look straight at the nearest technician. I'll find out where we are then return to my own body and come back for you."

"No! What about getting more information about their operation here?" Jillian thought frantically.

"I'm not going to allow you to be hurt just for the sake of some information. I did not anticipate this."

"Bob... I can take it, if it helps unravel how they know what they know!"

It took the Outlander only a moment to determine not only how scared she was, but how firmly Jillian was set on this course of action. There was a long silence before he responded. "I don't like it!"

"Neither do I," she thought, focusing on Bob, "But the end result will be worth it. Besides, how long will it take you to return?"

"Moving at full speed, perhaps thirty-five, maybe forty minutes," the Kerachaw responded."

"Then use the time you're in my mind to obtain what information you can. When you have enough intelligence to act, then you can mount a rescue."

The Kerachaw did not respond, but Jillian could feel his silent, and reluctant assent to this course of action. She quietly worried about him. He was about to see the worst of human behavior through her eyes. She hoped it wouldn't permanently affect him, though she had a deep-seated fear it might.

The speaker crackled once more, interrupting their silent conversation. "There are any number of techniques we can employ to do this," Faulkner announced. "Though I suppose they all boil down to either doing it the hard way or the easy way."

Jillian turned her attention back to Faulkner. "Do I get a chance to hear your questions before your goons start playing operation?"

"Actually... No!" replied the speaker. As if on cue the female technician took one of the long, thick needles and rammed it through the sole of Jillian's left foot. For an instant, there was a flash of searing pain and despite the straps holding her down she arched her back. She would have screamed, however Bob managed to immediately dampen the pain down to a dull ache, causing the sound to come out more as a weak gasp of surprise.

The woman's technique was superb. She impaled Jillian's foot through and through while drawing relatively little blood. What did seep out she carefully blotted away with an antiseptic wipe, which stung in and of itself. She looked at the individual lying before her. The technician's eyebrows raised slightly, surprised by her subject's subdued response to the needle.

Jillian locked eyes with her and Bob immediately went to work, slowed by his efforts to minimize Jillian's pain. He was careful with his scans, unwilling to alert the technician that someone had entered her mind. Hopefully, there would be enough surface information here to at least know where they were.

"You were asking about my first question," Colonel Faulkner said. "Well, it's simple enough... Where is the Outlander's base of operation?"

"His what?" Jillian asked, pretending not to understand. She was rewarded with a second needle being driven through the sole of her right foot. This time she did scream. Focused as he was in scanning the technician's mind, it took Bob a moment to dampen down the new pain. After a second or two, the agony faded from her right foot but the memory of it left her gasping for air. Her body broke out into a cold sweat.

"Do not play games with me, Dr. Strathern," growled Faulkner. "You'll find I am not a very patient man."

The Outlander sifted as quickly as possible through the technician's mind. Bits and pieces of thoughts, memories, ideas, dreams and other mental flotsam slowly began to come together into recognizable patterns. Bob saw images of where they were, paths down hallways, entrances and other necessary details before getting an identifiable name. He'd heard of it before while searching through Earth's shared database. Something called Area Fifty-One. He carefully implanted the name into the forefront of the technician's mind and was rewarded with a mental map of where the Directory's facility was located on the base and where this room was.

A stronger image came into his mind as the technician started to focus on the task at hand. Thoughts bubbled up... previous interrogations and procedures she had performed for the Directory. He discovered that in addition to being an "Interrogation Consultant" she also worked as an Autopsy Technician. Memories of her work flowed silently across the Outlander's mind. Her mind focused briefly on some of her more interesting recent work...

Bob's thoughts suddenly froze. Horrified by what he saw he broke off his search and retreated back into Jillian's thoughts.

"I'm going to have to leave... Now!" he told her simply. "I can't delay your rescue any longer. If I do, things will just get worse."

"Do you have what you need?"

"I have enough for now," he thought tightly, "When I return, I'm going to show Colonel Faulkner exactly why he should be afraid of me!"

The Kerachaw's tone frightened Jillian. She had never felt him so intense, so near the edge of rage. "Are you all right?" she thought nervously.

"I don't know..." he mentally whispered. He focused once more on Jillian. "I'm going to place a kind of mental shunt in your mind," he told her. "It should effectively block out all sensation of pain from the neck down without impairing either your autonomic or voluntary nervous system."

"Like a local anesthetic?" Jillian offered

"Yes..." he confirmed. "I don't know how long it will last, but no matter what happens, just believe... I am coming back for you."

"I know," she thought. For a brief moment, that was a sensation like warm water washing across the inside of her head, and then he was gone. Alone, for the first time in hours, Jillian felt afraid.

* * * *

The Outlander opened his eyes and looked around. He was once more sitting of the floor in the bathroom of the New York hotel. His digigrade legs were crossed in a standard meditation pose. Rising to his hooves, he quickly went to the bathroom door and scanned the room beyond with his mind. Sensing no one else, he grabbed the large metallic travel case that had been sitting next to him in the bathroom and tossed it on the bed, snapping its locks open with one, fluid motion. From it he removed a short, silver-gray rod, a pair of lightweight wrist-bracers, an amber colored visor, a metallic collar, several vials of different colored fluids and a set of five, small silver spheres, each about the size of a ping-pong ball.

He dressed quickly, snapping on the bracers, visor and collar. He could hear the soft hum as each item in turn booted-up. Normally, he preferred to deal with situations using his own innate abilities, but this was different. Not only was Jillian in danger, but the vision he had seen in the technician's head demanded he be as ready as possible to deal with the unknown. He shivered briefly at the memory as both fear and fury wrestled with each other for control of his thoughts. Breathing deeply he quickly rammed the conflicting emotions back into their box. As he did his hands stopped trembling. Too much was at stake to give in to feelings that could distract him. They'd have to wait until later.

Removing the flying disc from a pocket in his robe the Kerachaw let it settle to the floor, ordering it to expand to a diameter of about five feet as it did. He stepped up on the disc, took one of the vials, uncapped it and swallowed its contents, placing the remaining five in one of his belt pouches. As always the nanite solution left a bitter, coppery taste in his mouth. It quickly spread throughout his body, augmenting his own natural reserves. He held the rod lightly in his left hand, flicking it so it extended to its full six-foot length. Bob placed two of the small spheres in a second belt pouch then held the others in the palm of his hand and concentrated. Within moments they became warm to the touch. Each sphere slowly lifted from his hand and began orbiting his body in a tight, elliptical pattern.

He glanced at himself in a nearby mirror and watched as a thin, silver liquid spread across his body, encasing him in a flexible metal shell. He was now ready. Looking toward the balcony window he made a quick gesture with his hand. It slid silently open, allowing the cool night air to waft across the room, billowing the curtains. He paused just long enough to retrieve a few of Jillian's more personal articles before he floated out the window, accelerating rapidly into the night sky.

...To Be Continued