8. Lucid (Update, Part 2)

A slow fingertip flicked through the glowing squares, the electronic ID tags. It passed over name after name: Dr. Alvarez, Dr. Cushing, Dr. Kin, Dr. Morton, Dr. Sperry, Dr. Salvatore. It finally rested on Dr. Whitaker. Whit grabbed the badge and shoved it in his pocket, then headed toward Surgery.

What a raw deal to be called in at this hour, he thought. But something had gone wrong and the new kid was having seizures. This happened sometimes, and Whit knew there were only a few options left to him. Though he had worked in medicine for years, he had only been at this facility a few weeks. It was no hospital.

***

The image slipped away from the back of Penny’s closed eyes. Next, she began to hear voices inside the cavernous building, but could not detect the direction from which they came. Somehow she knew it was a doctor and another man, an auditor or an investor, maybe.

“What does it do?”

The other answered like an advertisement. “Have you ever imagined your mind transplanted into another body, sir? Have you ever wanted to be two places at once? To attend to everything in your environment, down to the slightest detail, without being utterly overwhelmed? Have you ever wanted to know exactly which strings to pull in order to influence someone else---to make them forget something you’d rather they didn’t think of again, or to call up some distant memory that it would have otherwise been impossible for them to remember?

"This is our attempt. By rearranging the connections between neurons--- by redirecting the course of a developing brain---that’s what it does.”

“Why?”

“Why, progress!  Expanding human possibility, understanding one of the most complex systems in our universe. We may use it to better ourselves, but also to harness the potential of these otherwise hapless Naturals who don’t understand their talents and cannot refine them and apply them in a useful way. It could also prove a helpful tool in quashing rebellion, should it ever arise.”

The auditor thought a moment. His voice came back much older than the doctor’s. “From the Rurals, you think?”

This made the doctor chuckle. “No, no. If it happened, it would most likely come from within. Students, turncoats, the like. Even if the Rurals had the brains and the technology, they don’t have the information. Their primary enemies are each other. They have bred so much suspicion and prejudice among their clans that they hardly imagine that there is a larger force at work. And if it even occurs to them, they can hardly give this opponent a name or a face, much less pinpoint a location. They are not the danger.”

“Careful now!  I grew up a Rural.”

The laugh the two men shared was hollow. Then the auditor proceeded.

“Can you scan his brain, see what he’s thinking, what he’s feeling?

“We can create feelings, but we can only direct thoughts. He is young, but not young enough for us to have the sway we would have liked. Pity he was born out there and wasted so much time. But to return to the matter of your question, a scan will show us some things. Rudimentary things, such as his ability to understand speech---and yes, he will learn to speak several of the most useful languages, and to read and write many more. You see, we can only start small. It may seem trivial, but it is progress." 

"What you're telling me then is that what you find on a scan now merely validates what you can already observe in his speech and actions?" The auditor removed his eyeglasses, rubbed them on his shirt, and began to shuffle some papers into his metal briefcase.

"Not 'merely,' sir. It offers more insight for us than he might volunteer on the surface. We may detect whether he is tired, for example, or whether he is paying attention.” The doctor seemed dissatisfied with his answer. He added, "And we find he is always paying attention.”

Penny could see them now, even though she had still not opened her eyes. A screen in front of the two men revealed an infrared view of a chamber where a figure lay on its back.  A small square of light glowed in its cranium.

The auditor jabbed his finger toward the scene. “What happens if that malfunctions? What if he loses control? Or you do?” His questions were now deadpan, as though he were reading from a script or checklist.

The doctor’s teeth gleamed. “Nigh unthinkable. But in that case, we are very good at hunting.”

Penny bolted from her sleep into a sitting position. She was unsure whether it was a drug or a dream that had whispered to her, or something else entirely.

 ***

Minutes later, Kai turned over slowly, rubbing his eyes. The room was bright and steely. He looked down at his arms and was reminded of the time he had fallen into a briar patch at the age of 5. His scalp felt extremely sensitive. It had been shaved, and when he touched it, he found it was covered in bumps. A small mirror on the wall beside him revealed more, leaving him open-mouthed; he had never seen stitches in anything but cloth before.

Kai blinked at the ceiling and spotted a camera embedded there. He examined it with wide eyes for some time before calmly addressing it. “I know that you can see me,” he murmured.  “I am awake now. What will we do next?”

7. Winds (Update, part I)

(Second part to come soon!)

Ryan stood next to Sciarpa on the silent helipad. The sun was just coming up, its rays blinking from the crowd of glass-paned towers that spread out in front of them.  He still wondered why she’d brought him along on her investigation of Hank’s house.

If Ryan hadn’t been more familiar with her, he would’ve been surprised at the mildly contented expression on the detective’s face. But Sciarpa always appeared unruffled and would be loath to reveal any touch of disappointment at leaving the cabin empty-handed. Whether her search had truly turned up nothing, Ryan was unsure. And tired as he was, he found himself growing progressively curious about what he and Sciarpa had seen over the past few hours.  He wondered if he could prod her for clues, even though he knew very well he could not.

 She did not take kindly to blind, haphazard questions for which she did not know the speaker’s motive.  Ryan called this sort of questioning “Go Fish,” after a game he remembered playing with his grandmother when he was young.  This had been back in the days of genealogical records, when people still kept track of their relatives, their parents. When families still lived together. That was only for the rural folk now.

Ryan often had to keep his interest in the past under wraps.  Besides meeting a few days a week with some old-timers at an off-the-record historical society in the suburbs, he did not publically indulge his hobby. Libraries, when he could still find an open one, proved tricky; reference librarians asked too many questions. Antique stores were slowly disappearing as well. Museums were plentiful, but their contents inaccurate.

Stowed away in Ryan’s apartment were as many books and artifacts and memorabilia as he could get his hands on. Yet whenever he left that space, the rest of the world collided with his memories, making him feel as if he had been dreaming for nearly twenty years of his life.

A landing helicopter broke into his thoughts. Sciarpa had just ended a phone call and was putting away her earpiece.  She caught her hair up into a smooth knot before the wind from the chopper blades threatened to tangle it. She looked at Ryan, giving him a joking salute. “You are relieved, Mr. Kesseler.” Her voice was dry, and she began to smile. “Go home, get some booze, and take a nap. You did all right tonight.”

He shouted at her over the noise as they walked toward the parking garage attached to the rooftop: “I wish we’d been able to ride in your car like you said earlier.”  

She continued walking . “Hmm? What’d you have in mind?”

“Just hate those agents and officers breathing down my neck all the time, you know?”

Sciarpa grinned slyly at him.

“It’s reached the point where all you have to do is give me that look,” he sighed, “ and I know you’re resisting the urge to formulate some innuendo about breathing down my neck yourself.  Damn, Sciarpa, who taught you to be professional?”

Sciarpa had two distinct forms of laughter: a soft chuckle and a cackle. She used the latter, then said, “Cut the grumbling. You’re an agent yourself, just a different sort. And I am not the sort of woman who would talk to my partner that way while on a case.” 

Ryan frowned at her. He sputtered a moment.  “Well, I-I’d like to know just what you mean by ‘partner’ and ‘case,’Sciarpa, if it’s not too much trouble, please.”

“Report for your shift as usual tonight. Go see Cohen. You’ll find he’s already had the contents of your desk moved out and over to my office complex. I’ve decided to take you on as a member of my team.”

“Now wait, I didn’t ask for a promotion! If Cohen is firing me, just say so. I don’t need games from you. I thought you were a private consultant.”

“I am, but I find I have need of an assistant. Tonight was a sort of trial run, and I have a temporary project for which I now think you would be well matched. You can terminate our partnership at any time after the completion of this project. And should you choose not to take it on at all, I may be able to look among your colleagues for a suitable replacement.”

“What is this temporary project, what is this? Why do you want me? You know I didn’t do anything in that house.”

Sciarpa leaned toward him and lightly tapped at the waist of his jacket. Something solid rested in an interior pocket.  It made a sound like hissing and spinning gears when Sciarpa touched it. “You stole an item from one of the children’s rooms, didn’t you? Right under the agents’ noses. I’d say that’s a cause for some attention.”

Ryan blushed furiously, but didn’t look away. “Yes, I did,” he mumbled. He didn’t take out the small metal device. Somehow, he sensed Sciarpa knew what it was. Even when he, who had handled it and looked it up and down, still hadn’t the faintest idea.

“It’s all right, agent. Keep it. I’ll see you tonight then, will I?”

“I still don’t understand---“

“Speak with Cohen. You may choose whether you wish to take on the post after you receive more information. But as I’ve already had your things transferred, suffice to say that I wager you will accept. Until tonight, then. That will be all, Kesseler.”

Her heels clicked across the pavement as Ryan stood open-mouthed. He patted at the lining of his coat and quickly ran his fingers over the cold metal object in the pocket. It would be dangerous to keep, he decided. But he couldn’t dispose of it here on the rooftop.

 He recalled how he had once let the name of his grandmother’s card game slip to Sciarpa and she’d calmly told him she didn’t believe such a game had ever existed. He had never been more careful after that--- until the mysterious device in the child’s room had caught his eye. He felt not only the need to possess it, but to understand what it did, from what era it had come, who had made it.

As soon as the detective had vanished out of sight, Ryan also headed for the garage.