Arriving at the gym, he paused to survey the occupants. A few men were working out on the weight machines, but the workout mats were empty. Well aware that what he wanted was too close to lethal weapons, he asked for one of his guards to retrieve the wooden sword he had used the previous day. Taking the sword by the grip, he went to the middle of one of the mats and started stretching and twisting to loosen his muscles. The guards came to the edge of the mat, holding their rifles at the ready and watched as Tracker went through his warmup. Tracker took up the sword from where he’d lain it and began working through his exercises, working slowly and precisely.
Nearly an hour later he finished and knelt on the mat, laying the sword crosswise before him and going through the motions of cleaning it. Though his head was down, his eyes roved over everything he could see in front of him while his ears told him what occurred behind him. The gym was silent. All the sounds of the weight machines, treadmills and other activity had vanished. Several men stood around his mat, watching him with an air of expectancy. He picked up the sword at hilt and tip, and bowed to it. Rising, he approached the wall rack, paused, and looked back at his guards. When one of them nodded, he raised the sword to its place on the rack and set it reverently on its hooks. He slowly walked back out to the center of the mat and surveyed the men standing just off its edge.
He locked eyes with one person in the group who looked like a fighter. With a smoothness possible only to one who is absolutely sure of his balance, he moved through a series of simple unarmed blocks and parries without taking his eyes off of his chosen partner. Then he backed off the mat and gestured for the man to take his place. Despite the good-natured prodding and shoving from his companions, Tracker’s chosen sparring partner shook his head and bowed. Tracker bowed in return, and glanced at the rest of the men. Seeing no takers, he bowed again to the group and walked to the door.
His guards had to hustle to catch up as he headed for the pile bundled pipes and cartons that lay outside against the wall. After a moment’s study, he turned.
”Where can I find the tools I need to build this?” he asked.
”We have a supply room in the storage building; the other end of the building with your cell,” one guard pointed. “You can probably find whatever you need there.”
Tracker found the supply room easily enough, and with the guard’s help, he signed for a selection of tools and headed back to the gym to begin construction of the maze.
He spent the rest of the day constructing the jungle gym, working on no fixed plan, but building a basic cube, leaving random bars missing.. At twelve, he stopped for his lunch, again of raw meat, and reported to the armory to get his belt changed. His two guards watched as he worked. By the end of the day, they had relaxed, chatting and joking with him whenever he took a break. They still watched him, but without the tense alertness they had shown earlier.
Late that afternoon the General came by. After inspecting the half-finished gym, he called Tracker over to him. “That looks good, my boy. When will it be finished?”
”I should finish it tomorrow, General.”
”Good, good.” The General patted him on the shoulder. “I’ve got a couple of things I want to show you. Come with me.”
The General led him off to one side of the complex, towards two buildings set slightly apart from the rest. The smaller building was the communications shack, where he was shown an interstellar “hyperspace” radio. “Our allies, the Valani Empire, gave us that radio,” the General said. “With a time lag of about five weeks, we can keep fairly current with what is happening in the Valani Empire. We know that their Royal family has been exiled and the new rulers want to expand their Empire towards Earth We intend to help them annex Earth, and if you do your job right, we’ll annex the Valani Empire.”
The General rambled on about Castile’s goals and how recovering Jon would put them back on schedule as they moved over towards the second building. Getting closer, the General brought up a different subject.
”This whole complex used to be a mental hospital before I bought it for Castile,” the General bragged. “It had just about everything I needed, especially the remote location. I can do anything I want out here without worrying about nosy neighbors. If the Valani ever decide to send me some more supplies, they can land their ship right out there and no one will ever know.”
”But there’s another reason I wanted this location. As a full working hospital, it had certain materials I needed as well. I have a surprise for you, Redd.” The General led Tracker to the door. “This used to be the hospital’s medical clinic and laboratory. It’s less clinic than lab now, but I’ve kept this building pretty much as I found it.” He stopped at the door and looked at Tracker. “Go on in, my boy,” he added as Tracker hesitated. Cautiously, Tracker opened the door of the lab and entered, the General a step behind.
Tracker stopped suddenly, startled. Bending over a microscope stood a man in his early seventies, a man he hadn’t seen in nearly sixteen years.
”Mon Père! Father!” he cried. The old man looked up, lowering a pair of glasses from his brow so he could see.
”Jon?” he asked quizzically. “Son! What are you doing here?”
He ran to the older man and gripped him in an ecstatic hug. “<Father, how are you? Have they hurt you?>” he chattered in French. “<Are you all right?>”
”<I’m fine, son. Quit acting like a puppy!>” The old man smiled and returned Tracker’s hug. “<I’ve missed you, son,>” he said softly. “<Let me look at you.>” He held Tracker at arm’s length and gazed admiringly at him. “<You look good, son. You grew into the man I envisioned.>”
”Enough of that, you two! If you can’t speak English, don’t talk at all, you hear?” the General interrupted. “Doctor, show him the children.”
Tracker’s ears rose alertly as the doctor gestured to John to follow him to a room off to one side, near some animal cages. Opening the door to the room, the doctor announced, “Son, meet your brother and sister!” Reaching into a crib, he pulled the blankets down to show two babies, each about six months old. They both had Tracker’s vulpine features, hands and bone structure, only smaller and chubbier. The fur had the same reddish cast that he had, but the markings on their coats were enough different from each other that he could tell the two apart easily.
Brother and sister, Tracker thought. Now I have a family. He stared at the two infants. I can’t let them grow up in Castile’s control. When I escape, I’ll have to take them with me somehow. Antoinette would like them, he thought with affection.
Fifteen minutes later, the General broke up the reunion. On the way back to Tracker’s cell, the General spoke.
“Redd, until I am sure of you, you’re going to stay under lock and key at night. During the days you’ll have free run of the base except for the armory. At all times, you will have at least one guard with you, two when you’re loose on the grounds. Is that understood?” Tracker nodded. With a sharp gesture, the General turned on his heel and headed for his office.
Before dusk, Tracker returned to his cell. He found towels and a bottle of dog shampoo lying on his bed, along with, yet again, a tray of his usual food and drink sitting on the table beside the bed. He spent the evening looking out the barred window and thinking, going to bed before lights out and hoping he wouldn’t be as tired when he woke in the morning.
