Fighting Pax. Robin Jarvis

them opened his mouth to call out when Spencer came from the refectory to join her.

      “I’ll finish that off if you like,” he offered.

      “Nah,” she said, thanking him with a smile. “I might as well do it now. Not as if I’m missing anything.”

      “Gerald was a bit weird just now. Said we couldn’t stay here.”

      “What did he mean by that?”

      “I dunno. Something Nabi said spooked him.”

      “Oh, blimey, what else has Lee been teaching her?”

      Before Spencer could reply, the guards began to shout. The teenagers looked back at them in surprise. The men were pointing at Maggie and beckoning.

      “What’s up with them?” the girl asked.

      “They want you to clean their bit as well.”

      “But we’re not allowed over there.”

      “They just don’t want to have to do it themselves. It’s women’s work, you know.”

      The guards became impatient and started to advance down the corridor towards them.

      “Well, they can sod off,” Maggie declared through a phoney smile. “I’m not cleaning a floor I’m forbidden to walk on. The lazy, sexist buggers.”

      Spencer took the mop and bucket from her. “I’ll go,” he said. “You find Gerald and see why he was so rattled.”

      “All right, I’ll ask Nabi what she’s been saying first. She’s a right little madam that one. Her dad’s going to have his hands full when she gets older. Can’t see her being a party drone like her sister. She’ll probably be leading the revolution single-handed.”

      “It wasn’t like that,” the boy tried to tell her. “It was to do with cutting up the Shark or something.” But Maggie had already breezed back into the refectory.

      Spencer approached the guards, whistling a few bars of The Good, the Bad and the Ugly theme to himself. They seemed a bit put out that Maggie had gone and barked at one another.

      “I can handle a mop,” he assured them when it looked like they were about to follow her into the refectory. “It’s not gender-specific you know.”

      They regarded him for a moment then nodded and led him away. Spencer smiled to himself. With the rest of the world in chaos, it was almost funny, perhaps even comforting, to encounter this unyielding chauvinism.

      A bitter draught blew down the stone steps that led to the terrace on the left. Spencer shivered and glanced in at the last door on the right before the corridor bent sharply. This was Lee’s room. He was slouched on his bed, glaring down at the steel cuffs on his wrists. When he was in that mood, he was best left alone if you didn’t want your head bitten off. Spencer had never been the most socially adept person. Even before the Jax phenomenon, he’d been a loner at school and at home. Back in the camp, Lee had been the first to stick up for him, and accepted him and his oddball devotion to that Stetson. Spencer had never forgotten that and, as he set the bucket down, he determined to brave the boy’s temper and go talk to him – as soon as the floor was clean. After all, even if he did get his head bitten off, it was no big deal; there was no hat to put on it.

      But now the guards were shouting again.

      “All right!” he said. “I’m doing it as fast as I can. What’s the hur—?”

      Without warning, one of them snatched the mop away and threw it to the floor. The other covered the boy’s mouth with his hand. Crying out was impossible and there was no time to struggle. Startled and fearful, Spencer was dragged further into the prohibited area. Locked doors flashed by and he was hauled into the lab where Doctor Choe Soo-jin was waiting.

      “On the table,” she ordered severely.

      The guards slammed him on to the gleaming metal surface. He barely registered his surroundings, but he saw the body of the Marshal covered in the blanket and, suddenly, he understood why Gerald had been so alarmed. The shock of realisation was like a violent punch.

      “You’re not serious!” he yelled when the guard uncovered his mouth and began fastening the restraints about his wrists. “You can’t do this! You’re crazy!”

      Terrified, he began to yell at the top of his voice and twisted and kicked, hitting one of the men in the face. A brutal fist struck him in return and Spencer shouted even louder.

      “This room soundproof,” the doctor said. “No one hear you.”

      Spencer continued to fight frantically. They caught his right foot and strapped it down. Doctor Choe moved closer to check the strap was secure and he booted her in the shoulder with his left. The woman went reeling sideways. She crashed against the other table and fell across the Marshal’s corpse.

      Springing back, she snapped at the guards and they hastily buckled the other foot down.

      “Make final strap tight!” she commanded. “Then wait outside. I am not to be disturbed, by anyone or anything.”

      The last restraint was pulled under Spencer’s chin and over his throat, almost strangling him and flattening his windpipe. He choked and gasped and his cries were crushed into desperate croaks.

      The guards bowed smartly and left the lab. Spencer was pinned fast to the table. He could only turn his head around a fraction before the thick strap bit into his neck. Struggling for breath, he watched the doctor move in and out of his line of sight and heard the ring of metal against metal as she sorted through her instruments. When she crossed his vision again, she was holding a syringe.

      “You can’t do this!” Spencer rasped, sweating in horror. “I’m not a specimen you can cut up and examine. When Martin finds out, he’ll tell the Chief of the General Staff. They’ll have you shot – you’re raving mad!”

      Doctor Choe disappeared again as she moved to the drugs cabinet and unlocked it. He heard the door open and the clink of small bottles as she examined the labels.

      Spencer wrenched and heaved on the straps. He contorted his hands and feet and tried to slip them free, but the restraints were too strong and tight. There was nothing he could do. He turned his face as far to one side as he could, only to find himself staring at his dead neighbour. The boy grimaced and peered through his spectacles at the macabre sight. When the doctor had fallen against it, she had displaced the Marshal’s arm and it was now hanging over the side. Tark the Shark was still clutching a green book in his hand. Even in death the Jaxers didn’t let go of it. His blood dotted the cover.

      Spencer’s mind was racing. He couldn’t break free, he couldn’t call for help, what else could he do? What else? He remembered back in the camp, when he’d been at his lowest, and had wanted to run outside after curfew so the Punchinellos would shoot him. Marcus had saved him then and made him realise that you had to keep battling, you had to keep looking for chances – you never gave up. But what chances were there here? Unless someone came barging in to the rescue, he was done for.

      “Was Chief who lift restriction,” the doctor’s voice informed him. “Martin Baxter, him only important for study. His brain should be most interesting. Reason for immunity must be found. Democratic People’s Republic depend on my skill to find answer. I must create vaccine.”

      “Brain?” the boy gasped. “You want our brains? You really are sick in the head. It’s your brains what need bottling! You’re out of your ruddy skull!”

      “Brain of subjects only first avenue of study,” she told him. “Other organs may also hold clue that is vital.”

      “There is no cure, you silly cow! It’s not a disease. When are you going to start listening to us? It takes you over. It’s evil – full stop. You get possessed. There’s no vaccine for that.”

      He heard her flat heels turn on the tiled floor and, moments later, she was leaning over him. The syringe