Arcadian Genesis by Greig Beck

time. He turned to the skinny lieutenant.
    ‘We’ve avoided Moscow long enough; make contact and tell them we’ve picked up a possible infiltrator.’ He nodded back over his shoulder. ‘And seeing you’ve finished off his dinner, you will find him some food and water. Then lock him in the carrier. He can go back to base in the morning and they can send him on to the city.’
    Khamid remained still, but his stomach churned. He needed to break free – once in Moscow, there would be no escape.
    The lieutenant drew his pistol, and, holding it in one hand, untied Khamid’s hands. He tapped him on the shoulder. ‘Get up.’
    Khamid got to his feet and stretched. He was glad he hadn’t brought the disk with him. Not that he could have carried it any farther; his back and shoulders were still screaming from the torturous weight. By now they would have opened it, despite his protests, and exposed them all to its strange effects. They would have all ended up as dust stains in the snow.
    He was pushed out into the cold – he guessed that dawn could not be far away now, as the night seemed at its darkest and his body screamed out for rest. Even though his plan was unraveling, and fatigue was dragging on him, he knew he needed to be alert to any opportunity to escape. Being watched by one skinny, underpaid and underfed soldier presented the best chance he’d have.
    The lieutenant led Khamid to a large military truck at the outskirts of the camp. Most of the soldiers now slept, and the troop carrier itself was covered in a tarpaulin of camouflage canvas. Shoving him into the back, the lieutenant ordered him to sit on one of the long metal benches that ran down each side. An iron ring was fixed to the support struts on the frame every few feet. The soldier pulled Khamid’s arms behind his back and fastened an iron cuff to his wrist. Its long chain was threaded through the ring, and then his other wrist was cuffed.
    He closed his eyes. The truck was cold, and he felt his nose begin to run, snot freezing on his upper lip. The lieutenant reached into a storage cabinet behind the cabin and pulled a few blankets free. He placed one over Khamid’s knees, another over his shoulders. Khamid lifted his head.
    ‘Thank you.’
    The soldier looked down into his face. ‘It is no trouble. You know, I wish you were a dentist. My teeth hurt.’
    Khamid smiled. ‘Hot salted tea. Swill and spit. It will ease the ache for a while.’
    ‘Yes?’ He searched Khamid’s face for a moment, perhaps looking for signs of deception, and then nodded. ‘I’ll try it.’ He turned to the storage cabinet, again rummaging through its contents.
    Khamid sagged in his seat and stared out at the snow-covered roadway and on to the impenetrably dark walls of the forest.
    A movement caught his attention – a tiny creature that looked like a black worm with a single red eye snaked about half an inch into the back of the truck and reared up at him. It hung there for a moment or two, then pointed its red-rimmed head toward his Russian minder. The lieutenant still had his back to the rear of the truck as he crouched over the cabinet, pulling out and examining different items from its shelves.
    In an instant the worm withdrew and in its place a mountainous figure in a white uniform lifted himself into the truck. Khamid blinked; while he watched, the uniform turned dark gray to match the truck’s interior. At six and a half feet tall, the figure moved with a speed and silence that belied his bulk. He crossed to the lieutenant in two steps, wrapping an enormous arm around his neck and chest.
    The Russian gurgled and was still. The giant figure lowered the unconscious soldier onto the bench next to Khamid. Reaching into a pouch behind his back, he withdrew a squat set of pliers. He pulled Khamid forward and reached behind him.
    Khamid saw the muscles strain in the man’s arm; then there was a popping sound and he was free. The man put his finger to his lips;