Wild-born

by Adrian Howell

  The doctors thanked me for my assistance, but I could only mumble a half-hearted, “You’re welcome.” Alia was visibly upset with me for making her talk to Dr. Kellogg. I had to remind myself that if I hadn’t pushed her, someone else would have. And after all, this was exactly the kind of thing I had signed on for when I made the deal with Dr. Otis.

  In the afternoon, Alia, being the first healer to come to the Psionic Research Center, had to begin a series of physical examinations that were even more extensive than mine. But Alia was already stressed out from her morning telepathy session, and as we entered the examining room together, I could tell that we were in for an even bumpier ride.

  For Alia, even some of the most basic examinations were emotionally unbearable simply because she couldn’t stand to be touched by a stranger. When a doctor tried to listen to her heartbeat, Alia was terrified not of the stethoscope but of the woman’s hand holding it to her chest, and no amount of reasoning could get her to breathe normally.

  Like I had done when Alia got her control bands, I offered to hold the end of the stethoscope for the doctor, who looked a little insulted but agreed. It worked, and I helped out as best I could with Alia’s other tests as well, such as applying the electrode wires for her electrocardiogram.

  Unfortunately, that tactic didn’t work for everything. I couldn’t assist the doctors when they wanted to take a sample of Alia’s blood. Alia threw a violent fit as they approached her with the hypodermic syringe, and I decided it was time to try out my newfound authority as her guardian. I promised the doctors that Alia would take her blood test in a few days when she was calmer, and they didn’t press the issue. I tried my best not to show it on my face, but I was elated that I had succeeded. Some of the doctors joked that Alia was “more scared of the people than the needle.” I didn’t find it at all amusing (mainly because it was true) but I dutifully laughed with them.

  At the end of the day, I accompanied Dr. Kellogg to the doctors’ evening meeting. Alia tagged along uninvited, if not at all unexpected. Chaired by Dr. Otis, the evening meetings were for quick summaries of each day, announcements of last-minute changes to the next day’s schedule, and for the planning of future tests. I still hadn’t met nor heard anything about the four other psionics here, and Alia and I were only admitted to the meeting during the part where they talked about Alia. Dr. Denman complained loudly about the blood test and certain other tests Alia had skipped, scowling at her and insisting that it was a mistake to treat her…

  “Like a child?” I asked, unable to contain my temper.

  “Silence, Psionic!” he shot back savagely. He was the only doctor who never called Alia or me by name, choosing to use our identity codes P-46 and P-47, or refer to us as “the psionics.”

  Still, Dr. Otis and Dr. Kellogg were on my side, so Dr. Denman had even less authority than I did regarding Alia’s treatment here.

  Alia went through another three days of tests, starting with a detailed history of her life and powers, which I told as completely as I could. Not surprisingly, they didn’t have any past medical information on her.

  Once her medical exams were finished, we moved on to more experiments with her telepathy, testing its range and how well it traveled through various substances. Alia could think her way through three yards of solid concrete.

  I was told that Alia’s healing ability would not be tested until she was more comfortable in the lab, but I also knew that it was her healing that made her so valuable to the research at this facility. They already had telepaths here before.

  A basic testing routine was established: There would be three or four days for me, and then two or three for Alia. We might get a day off between our shifts, but that was never promised. The general agreement concerning the actual testing was that Alia would rarely be experimented on without my consent, and certainly not out of my presence.

  I knew perfectly well that my authority over Alia’s experiments depended on my complete submission to mine. I did everything they asked of me, including a series of painful medical tests that I didn’t quite understand the purpose of. I also started working up to moving, levitating, and blasting larger objects in Lab-C. If the doctors ever feared that they were training me to be a more powerful telekinetic, they didn’t show it.

  Dr. Denman did his utmost best to make our lives miserable. He would corner Alia and me in the corridors and taunt us with threatening remarks, or tell us stories about what happens to psionics who try to escape.

  However, I soon found that thanks to the stringent security system that recorded every second of our lives on Level 10, Dr. Denman could not carry out any of his many threats of violence. In fact, he could do little more than sneer at us. I soon got used to it and even paid him back in kind, but then he started doing it more to Alia, who was terrified of him. I complained to Dr. Otis, and for a few comparatively blissful days, Dr. Denman tried to pretend that we didn’t exist.

  At the evening meetings, the doctors humored me by asking my opinion on the results of various tests, though Dr. Denman was quick to stop me from talking very much, or at all if he could. Some of the doctors even called me “Dr. Howell,” which made the veins bulge on Dr. Denman’s furious wrinkled face.

  I could easily see that Dr. Denman was hated by all of the other researchers as well. They only tolerated him because he was exceptionally smart, being one of the top neurobiologists in the world. Even so, it was hard to know exactly what his medical field really was because he had opinions on everything, and was quick to put down other doctors’ ideas. Even when the others agreed that he was right, they clearly disliked his attitude toward them.

  I started making special efforts to get on his nerves, mimicking his arrogant tone and making fun of the things he said during the meetings. I could tell that all the other doctors really loved it, even Dr. Otis. They rarely tried to stop me, preferring to watch our heated exchanges with quiet amusement. At times, they did pretend to disapprove of my disrespectful attitude toward Dr. Denman, but none of the doctors were very good actors.

  It wasn’t all fun and games, though, especially for Alia.

  Alia still couldn’t handle being touched, and the doctors had refused to yield a second time on her blood test. They held her down, kicking and screaming, and Alia spent the rest of that day in teary-eyed silence. I was horrified to learn that we would have to submit to these blood tests every few days.

  I discussed the problem with Dr. Kellogg, and at his suggestion, the doctors agreed to teach me how to use a hypodermic syringe. From then on, I drew Alia’s blood myself. It took a lot of practice at first, and it must have been pretty painful for Alia since I kept missing her veins. It was a testament to how much she hated being touched by strangers that Alia didn’t complain.

  True to his word, Dr. Otis continued having me as Alia’s guardian, making sure to get my consent on any experiments they planned for her. I didn’t want to push my luck too far, so I kept my overruling to a minimum and even sided with the doctors from time to time, coaxing and bullying Alia into doing certain tests she disliked.

  Yes, they could sedate her if it was absolutely necessary for an experiment. No, they couldn’t give her any drug I couldn’t pronounce, at least until they had tried it on me first. Yes, they could see how her power worked in freezingly low temperatures. No, they couldn’t test how well she could heal burns and bruises on her own body. Exactly how were they planning to do that anyway?!

  There were gray areas. I couldn’t stop them from testing Alia’s healing on mice, guinea pigs, dogs and monkeys. The animals were given anesthetics and tied to an operating table for Alia to heal while the doctors studied the speed of the animals’ recovery and recorded Alia’s brainwave patterns using sensors attached to her head. I really didn’t want Alia exposed to any more blood, but the doctors would not yield. I usually held Alia’s free hand, or at least stood by her side while she worked her power. Alia took it as well as I could hope for, silently saving the animals’ lives so
that the doctors could cut them open again.

  And yes, I conceded, they could test on humans, but only so long as Dr. Denman was used as the guinea pig. I got a good laugh at that one during an evening meeting. However, as much as the other doctors probably thought it was a great idea, they overruled my request, so then I offered my own flesh in Dr. Denman’s stead. After testing Alia’s healing on a soldier volunteer who was, as Dr. Denman reminded me, “more human,” Dr. Otis actually did take me up on my offer. It didn’t hurt since they shot my left forearm with an anesthetic before slicing it open lengthwise, but I made sure to remind Dr. Denman of his cowardice at every opportunity.

  “I’m getting really sick of you, Psionic,” hissed Dr. Denman one morning, having cornered us on our way to Lab-A, where Alia’s test animals were kept.

  “Good!” I said as savagely as I dared. “Why don’t you do something about it?”

  “Now that P-46 has proven how well she can heal other psionics, perhaps in the near future, we’ll revisit our plans to experiment on her self-healing.”

  “I’d like to see you try!”

  The doctors already knew from past experiments that psionic powers could be suppressed by various chemicals, including painkillers. Thus, any experiment on Alia’s self-healing would require her to be injured without the use of anesthetics, and only Dr. Denman seemed to have no scruples with that.

  “Lab rats are only good for one thing, Psionic.”

  “Better a lab rat than a gutter rat like you!” I spat at him. “You’ve got no chance of convincing Dr. Otis to hurt Alia like that. Everyone knows you’re even uglier on the inside than you look on the outside! That’s why they didn’t cut you open!”

  Dr. Denman didn’t come with us to Lab-A, nor did I see him at all that day. In the evening, Dr. Kellogg joined us in our room for dinner.

  “You sure enjoy getting under Dr. Denman’s skin, Adrian,” said Dr. Kellogg as we finished our desserts.

  “Well, everyone needs a purpose in life,” I joked.

  Dr. Kellogg didn’t smile. “I thought yours was looking after Alia.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Just watch yourself.”

  I didn’t know exactly what Dr. Kellogg was afraid might happen, but of all the people at the Psionic Research Center, Dr. Kellogg was the only one who seemed to have our best interests at heart, so I respected him. I didn’t want to repeat the mistake I had made with Cindy and Mark. I cut down on taunting Dr. Denman considerably.

  Meanwhile, I was still sleep-hovering from time to time, quietly slipping out of Alia’s grasp in the middle of the night and painfully falling back onto the floor or dining table the moment my eyes opened. The noise I made crashing usually woke Alia, and getting her back to sleep was no small task. Once, I even fell on top of her. She jumped up screaming and later had a good laugh at my expense. We never got much sleep on such nights.

  The Central Control Room got all of this on video, and I was astonished to discover that I would float for nearly an hour before waking up. I still couldn’t stay airborne for more than five minutes when I was awake, and that was without trying to move quickly through the air, so I was as baffled as anyone when trying to explain why I could levitate so long in my sleep.

  Like Cindy, Dr. Kellogg also recommended that I sleep with a safety line to keep me from drifting away. I again refused, pointing out that since I was already trapped ten stories underground, I wasn’t about to willingly accept being any more restrained than I already was. Dr. Kellogg nodded understandingly, and I continued to risk minor injuries in my sleep.

  Dr. Denman suggested that I sleep in Lab-C until I sleep-hovered again. That way, the doctors could get readings on my brainwaves when it happened. But that would mean either leaving Alia alone in our room or taking her to sleep in the not-so-cozy Testing Room for who-knew-how-many nights, and I didn’t think she could deal with either situation at the moment. I overrode Dr. Denman’s proposal with Dr. Kellogg’s support, and Dr. Denman stormed away fuming.

  Alia’s birthday came sooner than I expected, and though we didn’t exactly have a party, Dr. Kellogg brought us some chocolate cake. My request for a double bed had been turned down by Central Control for reasons I never found out, but Dr. Kellogg left Alia with another stack of storybooks (mostly Winnie the Pooh) and lots of coloring books. He also brought a big bag of girls’ toys and stuffed animal dolls, including two small unicorns. Our room was not nearly the toy shop Alia’s old bedroom had been, but it was slowly starting to look lived-in. We had been underground now for a month.

  The doctors kept us busy with the experiments, and though Central Control had long since approved my request to overlook Alia’s control band protocol, even on our days off, Alia didn’t want to leave the room. Considering that all we could really do was visit the Level 10 cafeteria and lounges, I felt she had a point. Our meals continued to be delivered to our room so there was never any reason to go out.

  Instead, we spent our free time playing in our room, and in the evenings I read stories to Alia like Cindy used to do. Alia soon discovered that I was no expert at reading aloud myself, often stumbling over the words, but I gradually got better at it. If it was an easy book, Alia would read along with me, and I found that she could read much more smoothly into my mind than I could read aloud with my mouth. I became a little more sympathetic to Alia’s lack of interest in mouth-speaking, and though I felt guilty about what Cindy might have said were she here, I stopped trying to get Alia to speak out loud. There didn’t seem to be much point in it down here anyway, and besides, I figured that, with the intensive testing schedule, Alia was under enough stress already.

  Now that things were, if not normal, at least becoming more predictable, I began to get restless about our situation. How much longer would we be kept here?

  Even with Dr. Kellogg’s friendly attitude, life at the research center was both dull and stressful at the same time. Alia and I still had to wear our control bands whenever we left our bedroom, and though it had been weeks since the rods were last extended, I was always feeling slightly drained. I suspected it was partly from all the metal shielding around the facility. But much more than that, it was the dreary white corridors, the complete lack of sunlight, and the sheer hopelessness of our situation.

  When I couldn’t sleep, I would stay up late reading from the library collection Dr. Kellogg had brought me. I read mostly adventure novels at first, dreaming that I was off in some distant jungle or any place far from here. But the people in those stories were having troubles of their own. That was a nice distraction for a while, but as the days wore on, I got tired of reading about other people’s problems. Though I felt embarrassed under the watchful camera eye of the Central Control Room, I actually began to enjoy Alia’s books better, in which talking bears and oversized bunny rabbits held tea parties and generally just had a good time together. I even started to miss my old wardrobe and all its horrid cuteness. The abnormally white shirts and pants we wore at the facility, though replaced every morning and evening, were always exactly the same.

  During all of this time, I certainly had not forgotten about my sister. Cat’s amethyst pendant was the only colorful part of my attire, and did, as Mark had once observed, weigh heavily around my neck. I spent a good deal of my free time thinking about Cat: where she was and what she might be doing now. But I soon realized that those were pointless daydreams. I was trapped down here, and my priority had to be survival for Alia and me. Survival first, and then, if at all possible, escape. Finding Cat would have to wait.

  Meanwhile, although Alia was slowly getting used to life at the research center, not only did she continue to have fairly frequent spells of silence, she was still wetting the bed every few nights, which was disgusting and awkward for the both of us. I forced myself to tolerate it, and even refused Dr. Kellogg’s suggestion to have Alia wear a diaper at night. I didn’t want to make a big deal of it so as to avoid further embarrassment to Alia, who wa
s, after all, already eight years old. At Central Control’s insistence, I consented to having absorbent sheets placed on our bed so that our mattress wouldn’t have to be swapped out every time Alia had an accident, but that was as far as I was willing to go on the matter.

  “You’re absolutely sure about this?” asked Dr. Kellogg as he helped me replace the sheets after another one of Alia’s bad nights.

  “I’m the one who has to sleep with her, aren’t I?” I replied wryly, and Dr. Kellogg laughed.

  I suppose I should be grateful to Alia actually, because without her problem, we might never have met Mr. Koontz.

  During our first month at the facility, I had gradually discovered that Alia’s bedwetting coincided with some kind of recurring nightmare that she was having. Alia rarely talked about her dreams, but I could pretty much guess what kind of night she had by her mood the next day. I was being plagued by a number of frightening dreams myself, so I knew it wasn’t easy for her. Six weeks into our stay, I finally told Dr. Kellogg my theory. He sat silently stroking his shaggy beard for nearly a full minute before getting up and saying that he had an idea. Instead of sharing it with me, however, he left our room and didn’t return until the next day.

  As the three of us walked together to Lab-A the next morning, Dr. Kellogg asked, “Adrian, have you ever met Mr. Malcolm Koontz?”

  “I don’t think so,” I answered, trying to remember all of the researchers’ names.

  “Oh, you’d remember if you met him. He’s one of our longest guests. He’s our dreamweaver.”

  “I haven’t met any of the other psionics yet,” I said, which was true. I had felt the presence of another destroyer here, though I was sure it wasn’t a telekinetic. Aside from that, I knew nothing about the others. Cindy had once told me that a dreamweaver was a kind of controller, but even so, I felt I wouldn’t mind meeting him if only to break the monotony of life at the research center.