The Transport

Chapter 5 - HERBERT

Herbert was surprised at Carling's fast reaction. The man must have had some basic self-defense training. Herbert had anticipated that Carling would jerk away from the syringe, so he had grabbed the man's upper arm with his other hand to keep him still. But Carling made a jump forward which caused the syringe to slip out of the arm before the plunger was completely down.

How much did he get? Half the dosage? Did this mean double the time until the knock-out effect would set in? Herbert's mind raced.

To his horror, Carling did not stop by stepping away, he started screaming, too. "What the frack, asshole, what's this?" He held his upper arm, feeling for the injury. Carling's eyes fell on the needle tip of the syringe, still in Herbert's right hand. Carling charged him, another prepared self-defense maneuver, punching forward with the balls of his hands, right, left, right, left, while stepping into Herbert's proximity. The first two blows were harmless, still an arm's length away, but then Herbert needed to walk backwards to avoid damage, his brain in overdrive, information starting to sweep into his consciousness in sort of rapid-fire commands. Herbert definitely was no fighter and had no idea what to do. This was not part of the plan.

Blow after blow rained onto him, hitting his breastbone, his face, his stomach. Herbert raised his hands to protect his throat and, ouch, received one against his lower lip, which started to bleed. He stumbled backwards into the table with the ready-placed syringe collection, the whole thing toppling over, syringes raining on the floor.

But Carling made a mistake. Instead of simply running away for help, he now started kicking at Herbert, too, who scrambled backwards through the spilled table content, crunching plastic underneath his feet. More out of desperation, Herbert kicked back, connected with Carling's shinbone. A grunt of pain, but the man stopped his attack.

Both men stared eye-to-eye, puffing. Slowly Carling showed a first symptom of the roofie's half-dosage: he blinked several times and lowered his hands, wavering.

Herbert's right hand acted as if detached from the rest of his body. He gave the groggy man a punch into the stomach, nothing violent, just to stop the fighting. Carling made an 'Ouff' sound as air escaped his lungs, tried to turn away but only moved in slow motion. Herbert consolidated his upper hand with a follow-up kick into the groin. Carling whimpered and fell to the floor, both hands covering the source of pain. Herbert thought about a kick against the head, more out of anger than of necessity, but remembered the instructions. Don't damage the Converts! He grabbed a new syringe from the floor, saw that the needle was bent, searched for another one, also bent, and started frantically searching for an undamaged one.

Carling tried getting up, was already on all fours, dragging himself towards the exit door. "What? What? What?" he muttered as if in a trance, still processing the situation.

Herbert found a pristine syringe, removed the protector, and unceremoniously plunged it into Carling's behind. The man dragged along for a few more feet and finally collapsed for good. Game over.

Herbert breathed in and out, still on the floor. Undamaged! Now continue the plan, Herb! Everyone counts on you!

He surveyed the damage from the fight. Man, the table with the medication! A lot of syringes had bent needles or were crushed. Bad; very bad. He had planned to use them all to subside his intended victims and bring them around again. "Clever man!" he chided himself. "Thirty people, thirty syringes, well prepared, and now most of them ruined! And of course, Herbert, you have no spares!"

To obtain the drug already had been risky. Herbert had to scout shady bars and nightclubs and had paid black market prices to buy date-rape drug dosages, as Legion Analytics had nothing of this sort in its own chemical cabinets. And the large quantities needed, had meant he had to go out and buy many times, noticed by the critical eyes of some of his dealers. Luckily, he hadn't run into an undercover DEA operation or had a dealer snitching on him.

Herbert undressed Carling, starting with shirt and tee. The boxers went last, and his boss lay naked now. Herbert dragged him through the room underneath the arms. He had never trained for this, a trial-and-error with a living and breathing but completely lifeless real person. To the bathtub. He tried Carling's legs first, putting them over the rim. But when he tried to lift the upper body, grabbing under the arms, the legs slipped out again. He turned, tried to lift the upper body first, but the bathtub itself was in the way.

"Stupid game!" Herbert panted, Carling's naked skin slipping through his hands.

After two more tries, Herbert found the right approach, the man had to take his bath ass-first. Lift him up, seat him on the side wall of the tub, carefully dip the behind, turn the upper body so that the head still was above the waterline. The tub had a comfortable armrest, the upper body could rest upright after the elbows were positioned correctly. Finally, the legs. The right leg already hung outside of the tub, over the right wall. So Herbert only needed to take the left leg and move it into the same position on the other side.

He stepped back to admire the result. Carling looked as if he was ready to give a water birth. The man's eyes were mere slits, groggy from the drug, but he might be seeing what was going on.

"Good man. I heard, it will only hurt a moment."

Herbert walked to one of the computer workstations, typed in a command. An interface let him select the needed glass tube container.

Herbert referred to a prepared checklist lying beside the computer to make sure that he did not mess up any of the necessary steps.

He typed, Ready to convert.

An immediate answer came back. Understood. Careful. No damage!

Of course. Begin sequence.

Herbert continued with the checklist, speaking aloud to keep things straight for himself. "Select pod. Shutdown nutrition, shutdown life support, shutdown links, shutdown power. Disconnect."

One of the pods on the first row of glass tubes gave a little noise, as if a high-pressure hose had been loosened.

"Perfect." Herbert approached the glass tube, physically disconnected the various tubes and cables on the top and bottom.

"Ready to roll." Herbert crossed the room, came back with a serving cart on four wheels that held twelve prepared holes on top. He heaved down the disconnected tube with some effort and placed it carefully into one of the holes on the cart and rolled it over to the bathtub. Unscrewed the top of the glass tube, and poured the whole content into the lower end of the bathtub.

Something greenish flashed through the milky fluid and vanished in the tub.

For a moment nothing happened. Then, the milky fluid started moving, as if a large fish was passing just underneath the surface.

Suddenly, Carling's body jerked violently several times and fluid splashed over the sides of the tub. Herbert stood behind the man and held him steady at the shoulders to keep the body in position.

"It will be over, soon!" Herbert cooed to the semi-conscious man.

Between Carling's legs, the splashing continued.

And the milky fluid turned red.

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Now, it will be over soon for Carling, it seems. But Herbert just has started, hasn't he?