Technomancer (Unspeakable Things: Book One)

unlawful restraint, illegal use of prescription drugs…oh, and let’s not forget about assault. I would say five to ten years each in the federal pen should do it.”
    She swallowed. “I was just doing my job.”
    “Is that why you went for a gun under your desk rather than calling the cops?”
    “I’m not in charge here. I follow my employer’s orders.”
    I smiled. “Not a novel defense. But I’ll accept it. Just cut this cast off me and take me to your leader, the honorable Dr. Meng.”
    “She won’t be down until—”
    I cut her off, pointing with the black barrel of her pistol at the clock on her wall. It read five thirty.
    “Shift change at six?” I asked. “Things are pretty quiet around here. I’ve never seen such a quiet hospital at night.”
    “We’re private, and Sunset isn’t exactly a hospital. It’s a sanatorium.”
    I nodded slowly. That explained all the safety glass and the lack of external windows in my room.
    “I get it. When does the good Dr. Meng get to work?”
    Miranda chewed her lip. “Six,” she said.
    “We have just enough time then. Cut this thing off me.”
    Miranda got up and led the way. I humped along close behind her, expecting a trick, but she didn’t try anything. We went into an exam room and she produced a small circular saw built for the precise purpose of cutting off fiberglass casts. I sat up on the exam table and threw my leg onto it. I kept the pistol lying on my belly with my hand on top of it.
    She pointed at my toes, which I could see in the brightly lit room were fairly purple. “Are you sure about this?” she asked. “The fracture is only about a week old.”
    “That’s long enough,” I said, hoping that it was. I didn’t feel much pain inside that cast. I would have liked to leave it on to be certain, but I knew I couldn’t run with that thing. Of course, if I cracked the bone again I would be crippled. I breathed through my teeth as she began sawing.
    It didn’t take long. When she’d made the cut, I reached out and cracked the cast wide open with my hands. Inside the fiberglass and cotton, my leg was pale and crisscrossed with black sutures. I lifted my leg out and placed it gently on the floor. I leaned down with increasing weight. It tingled, but it held.
    “See?” I said.
    “I can’t understand how you can walk on it. And there were more fractures, ribs mostly.”
    “Don’t worry about it,” I said. “Now, take me to the doctor’s office. We’ll wait there.”
    Miranda looked at me uncertainly. “What do you intend to do?”
    “Find out what the hell is going on—starting with why I’m here.”
    Dr. Meng’s office was totally unlike the rest of the sanatorium I’d seen thus far. There were expensive paintings, a high wall of real books in a cherry wood bookcase and thickly padded chairs of shiny leather. I sat myself behind the cherry wood desk and threw my sickly looking leg on top of it, knocking aside a tablet computer, an elaborate phone, and a cup bristling with gold pens.
    “Nice setup,” I said, looking around.
    “I’ve got to go back to my station now,” Miranda said, taking a step toward the door.
    I shook my head. “No way.”
    She halted, looking at me sidelong. “If I’m away for much longer, someone will notice and come looking for me.”
    “They won’t come in here.”
    She hesitated. “Well, what about Ron? I need to give him first aid at least.”
    “Ron’s asleep and doesn’t care about that right now.”
    Her shoulders slumped as she realized I wasn’t letting her go. I still had the pistol in my hand, aimed at the ceiling.
    “You really are a bastard. Has anyone ever told you that?” she asked.
    I reflected on it for a moment, but couldn’t recall. “Probably,” I admitted. I picked up Dr. Meng’s tablet computer and pecked at it.
    “Pull my records up on this thing, will you?” I asked.
    “Do I have any choice?”
    “We always have choices,” I said, waving the pistol in the air a little.
    The nurse tapped at the screen angrily and shoved it back at me. She looked at the clock nervously. It was ten minutes to six.
    “I see,” I said, studying my own record. I was determined to recall details. There weren’t many; apparently I was as blank a slate to these people as I was to myself. There was no prior address, no employer listed, and no primary care physician. No relatives were in the records either. There was only a list of injuries and operations, followed by a link