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Charade
Nineteen

Nineteen

Turner pulled himself up from the floor with a hand on the wall, leaning against it until the dizziness passed.

Rubbing a hand across his head, he felt warm dampness, the communications headset falling to hang down his back. His knees went weak and Turner slid a few feet down.

Placing the hand against the wall again, he forced himself to stand fighting a bout of disorientation.

He had run out of the control room for a reason, but he could not remember what had been so important.

He pushed away from the wall, his hand leaving a bloody print, and fell against the control room door, the wood vibrating solidly at his weight. Fumbling with his keys, he fought to focus his eyes on the door lock. The key scratched against the brass lock as his vision wavered.

The door opened inward, and he fell against something soft, pitching his temporary support to the floor.

Rolling onto his back, Turner looked at the ceiling and waited for the pain to subside.

Cooper pulled himself from under Turner and looked at the man. “Jesus, what the hell happened to you?”

“Close the door, you idiot.” The doctor demanded from his chair by the console.

Cooper closed the door, locked it, then helped Turner to a chair.

“I hit the wall. What happened?”

“Don’t know.” Cooper regained his seat at the computer and searched the data. “Can you take care of him, Doc?”

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“Yes,” with disgust, the Doctor reached for a first aid kit. He examined Turner briefly, covering the cut on his head with an excess of tape and examining the leader’s eyes. “You might have a concussion.”

“Not the first time,” Turner admitted.

Cooper exclaimed. “Got it. You will not believe this, boss. We have some missing time.”

“What? The EMP generator fired early?” The Doc asked.

“Nope, was not us. We still have a full charge on the EMP circuit.” Cooper spoke as he checked more data. “It looks like someone just blasted us for two minutes.”

“How are the actors doing?” the Doc redirected the search.

“We have four in the front yard heading for the gulch. The rest are in the house.”

“Where are they going?” Turner forced himself into the conversation.

“Ah, looks like we have a bright light signature in the gulch. They must be investigating it.”

“What? Did we trip the light somehow?” the Doc looked at Turner with a flash of anger.

“No. The light is still in the tree west of the house.”

“What is the light coming from?” Turner stared at the doctor.

“No idea.”

“That must be what I was going to check,” Turner tried to get out of the chair. His hand slipped from the armrest and he fell to the seat.

“You’re not going anywhere.” The Doc ordered. “I’ll go.”

Something about the idea of the doctor wandering around unattended rubbed Turner wrong, but there was nothing he could do about it for the moment. “Check with the security detachment.”

“Damn. I forgot all about them.” Cooper swore, then switched to the security circuit. “Security One respond.”

No sound came from the computer speaker, complete silence with no static. “I know we connected. There is no response.”

“What else can go wrong?” The Doc snapped as he stood and walked to the door. “Give me ten minutes to look, then assume I’m in trouble.”

“Affirmative.” Cooper waited for the Doc to open the door and depart. When the door closed, he looked at Turner and jerked his head towards the door. “Does he really think we are going to go out there and rescue his ass in ten minutes? Hell, let the aliens have him.”

“What aliens?” Turner closed his eyes and tried to gather the scattered memories of the last few minutes.

“What else can it be glowing in the gulch?”