The Experiment (Book 3): Infectious Thinking

by Micah B. Edwards

  "Close your eyes and calm your mind. Try to feel your heartbeat. Focus on that, and let everything else fall away. If you can't feel your heartbeat, concentrate on your breathing. Let it flow in and out. In and out. Feel the air refresh you as it enters your lungs, then release it into the world on the exhale. Breathe. Just breathe."

  I lie there, eyes closed, listening to Regina's modulated voice. In my mind's eye I picture my calming beach, ocean in the background, warm sand everywhere. Regina is standing over me, reciting the instructions, and as I focus on her I start to feel the warm prickle of the sand grains beneath me.

  The prickling intensifies, and it's like having ants walking on me, tickling my hairs. I open my eyes and the sensation persists. I raise my arm to my face, peering closely at the skin. Very faintly, I can see pale flecks appearing as the skin covering starts to generate itself.

  Noticing my movement, Regina asks, "Dan? Is everything all right?"

  "Well," I say, "you were certainly right about the meditation."

  - - -

  After a hearty breakfast, I text Doc Simmons, who writes back to ask for samples in a "sealed, nondescript container." The best I can do for her is to stuff the arm-skin into some Tupperware, folded up so that it doesn't look precisely like a human hand in there, and wrap it in some Christmas paper left over from last year. I briefly consider writing "Merry Skinmas" on the outside, but decide that that sounds more pornographic than I really want it to. Also, it sort of screws up the "nondescript" part of the package.

  Regina and I drop the package off at the hospital and head back home for another fun day of sifting through security tapes. We stop by the electronics store for a cable to connect my computer to the TV, so at least we can watch from the comfort of the couch. I order Chinese food for us for lunch and try to pretend that this is just a particularly plotless movie. At least the food is good.

  My early bedtime comes as a relief, as it's an excuse to quit slogging through the videos. At the end of the day, we've made it through another four of Regina's shifts, working backwards from the time her powers hit. So far, though, there's been nothing suspicious about any of the customers, and I'm starting to think that we're on the wrong trail. Without any other leads, though, we might as well keep at it, discouraging though it is.

  The next morning, Regina drops me off at work as usual. Christopher is already punching in when I enter the office, so I give him a casual, "Hey, man."

  His back is to me, and I see his shoulders tense slightly, but he doesn't respond.

  "Christopher?" I say. "Everything good?"

  He turns, a slightly forced smile on his face. "Oh! Hi, Dan. Yeah, it's good to see you."

  His voice sounds flat, like I've offended him. We were fine when we left work a couple of days ago, though, and I can't imagine any way I could have irritated him with my greeting. Whatever it is, it's clear he doesn't want to talk about it, so I mentally shrug it off and move on.

  Christopher seems to thaw as the day goes on, and after an hour or so we're chatting like normal as we haul, mix, pour, and flatten. I've definitely done something, though, because I'm getting the same kind of vibe from the other guys at the site. No one's explicitly doing anything, but I'm seeing a lot of side-eyed glares, like they suspect me of kicking their dogs or something.

  At lunchtime, I track down Mr. Steele to see if he knows what's going on. He's at his desk, and when he looks up to see me at his door, his gaze hardens.

  "Dan," he says in a tone that's bordering on unfriendly. "What can I do for you."

  The intonation makes it clear that this is a formality, not an actual question, but I press on anyway. "Hey, this may sound weird, but I feel like everyone at the site is ticked at me today. Did I screw something up?"

  Mr. Steele looks at me for a moment before answering coldly, "Not everyone has to like everyone, Dan. Just get your work done."

  "I do get my work done!" I protest. "You've even complimented me on it!"

  I watch as Mr. Steele's expression evolves. I see him process this thought, remember our interactions, examine them for any problems he's had with me, find none and realize that he likes me, all in the span of less than a second. His tone is much warmer when he speaks.

  "As far as I know, you've done nothing wrong. In fact, I'd say you've been a model employee." His brow furrows for a moment. "I haven't heard any complaints at all."

  I'm not sure why this last statement puzzles him. In fact, this whole exchange has left me a little more confused than I was before. He seems happy enough with me now, though, and even smiles at me when I thank him for his time. So I suppose it was a helpful conversation.

  I mull over this as I eat my lunch. If I didn't do anything to cause this, then something else is going on. In my experience, whatever it is is unlikely to turn out to be positive.

  - Chapter Five -

  Over the course of the workday, I notice a pattern in people's willingness to talk to me. Although pretty much all of the guys are cold-shouldering me, if it's someone I know and have worked with before, it only takes a couple of minutes of working together before they shake the bad attitude and things are fine. On the other hand, any time I'm working with guys I haven't talked with much before, they won't give me the time of day.

  The whole thing feels like I'm back in high school and someone's been spreading rumors about me. Construction workers aren't usually the gossip type, though. If someone's got a problem with someone else on site, it's expressed through threats and cursing, not hints and glares.

  I ask Christopher about it, and he shrugs. "I think I just woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning, Dan. I heard your voice this morning and it just ticked me off. Like – I've got this one cousin who doesn't work. Not can't, just doesn't. Spends his time sponging off the family, traveling around from one sucker to the next. He did a stint on my couch a year or so back, spent a couple of months drinking my beer until I kicked him out.

  "And this morning it was just, like, all of that. Just this no-good, total waste of space, making-my-life-worse leech. I heard you and that's just where I went."

  "Whoa, man! What did I do to deserve that?"

  "Well, nothing, right? Like I said, I think I just woke up on the wrong side of the bed. I'm sorry if I took it out on you this morning. Monday, hey?"

  "Yeah, Monday," I agree. What else am I supposed to say to that?

  Doc Simmons texts to ask me to stop by the hospital after work, so I let Regina know not to pick me up, and hike to the nearby bus stop at the end of the day. I'm more than half-expecting the driver to sneer at me when I get on, but we have the same neutral non-interaction that I usually have with the bus drivers. I take a seat, and no one glances at me twice. So it does seem to be something I've done at the construction site after all, not just something about me in general.

  The doc's all business when I show up, as usual. "You say you grew this overnight?" she asks, waving a slide at me.

  "Hi to you too, Doc. Yeah, I woke up with a skin sleeve over my arm."

  "It weighed over a half a pound, did you know that?" She's looking into the microscope, carrying on the slightly-disjointed conversation as an afterthought.

  "No. Is that bad?"

  "That's closing in on the amount of skin most people shed in a year. To create it as a temporary coating – it must have taken a tremendous amount of energy. Have you weighed yourself lately?"

  "No, I didn't really think to."

  The doc tsks without looking up. "We'll do that today. How's your intake?"

  When I don't immediately respond, she finally lifts her head from the microscope to look at me. "Food, Dan. Are you eating more?"

  "I know what intake is," I say, irritated. "I was just trying to remember. I guess I did order more from the Chinese place than usual last night, and I made a couple of extra sandwiches for lunch."

  The doc stares at me. "When's the last time you ate a vegetable, Dan?"

  "Hey! There were vegetables in the ch
ow mein, and I had a pickle with lunch. Anyway, if the 'bots are cannibalizing the food, what does it matter what I eat?"

  Doc Simmons winces. "In order of least to most egregious errors: you can't use 'cannibalize' to describe a symbiote using your energy, fried and brined vegetables are not a good way to get vitamins, and if the nanomachines are siphoning from you, that means you need to pay more attention to nutrition, not less."

  "If they're just going to use it anyway, it seems like I should just go for high calories, no? Like an all-cheese diet."

  "Dan, I honestly cannot tell sometimes if you're really this clueless, or if you're just baiting me."

  "The first one, I guess. Hey, speaking of being clueless, what do you think about me?"

  "In general? You remind me of why I don't have pets. I don't have the talent or schooling to train a dog, and I don't have the patience to deal with one if it's untrained."

  Well, ouch. Still, that's better than what I heard from Christopher this morning, and honestly it's not a surprising comment coming from the doc. Still, it stings a little. I know I'm not on her level, but a poorly-trained dog? Harsh.

  I shift the focus before I learn any more about Doc Simmons's opinion of me. "So why not have a cat, then?"

  "Single woman living alone with a cat?" The doc shrugs. "Too cliché."

  - - -

  Brian catches me on my way out of the hospital. "Hey man, what're you up to tonight?"

  "Heading back home for an exciting evening of watching fast-forwarded security footage. Why, you want to join in?" I joke.

  "Yeah, sure, why not? Two heads are better than one. Or three, I guess. Regina's there, right?"

  "Yeah, I'm not watching this stuff on my own. I'd make it about ten minutes in before I fell asleep on the couch. It's like watching the world's most pointless silent film. You sure you want to subject yourself to this?"

  "I mean, I'm not doing anything tonight anyway, you know? I'll come hang. You need a ride?"

  "Sure, man, thanks!"

  "Cool, I'm off in ten. Chill for a bit while I go straighten up."

  On the ride home, Brian asks me, "So how are things going with you and Regina?"

  "Going well, I think! She's not overmagnetized anymore, so she's using the phone and computer like a normal person. I think she's applying for jobs again now that she can use modern technology. She hasn't said, but I think she's not psyched to be freeloading."

  "Yeah, cool. So you guys are good, then?"

  "Yeah, sure! She's a good roommate, totally not in my way. Plus it's been nice getting a lift to work in the mornings instead of waiting for the bus. I should really get around to getting another car, but I want to get a bit more saved up first."

  "Makes sense, sure." Brian drums his fingers on the steering wheel briefly, and we ride on in silence for a bit before he turns on the radio.

  At the house, Regina's already downstairs on the couch, watching the footage speed by. "Hey, Dan. Oh, hey Brian. Come to see the lowlight reel of my convenience store days?"

  "Yeah, it sounded so compelling when Dan talked about it, you know? I just had to come check it out for myself." Brian sits on the couch next to Regina, and I flop down in the corner seat, sprawling my legs out. Brian gives them a shove.

  "Dude, quit manspreading."

  "It's my couch! I'll manspread where I want."

  "Are you two going to watch the tapes?" Regina asks, a mock-serious expression on her face.

  "Yes, ma'am. Sorry, ma'am," Brian says solemnly, hiding a slight grin. I put my legs on his lap, and he shoves them to the floor. Regina turns pointedly away from both of us to watch the television.

  With our audience ignoring us, we quit clowning around after a minute and settle in to watch. Unfortunately, it is extremely boring and we are easily amused, so it isn't long before Brian and I are filling in internal monologues for the customers on the screen, and Regina is pretending not to laugh.

  This lasts until a woman with an honest-to-goodness beehive hairdo appears on the screen, and Regina says, "Oh! I remember her!" and begins doing a monologue of her own.

  Soon, Brian is up off of the couch and wandering around the room, doing exaggerated impressions of the customers on the screen. Regina and I are in hysterics watching him, especially since in between characters, he droops limply like a discarded muppet, springing back to life as soon as the next sped-up person arrives on screen.

  His current character appears to be a human-sized crab. He's scuttling sideways across the room, gathering imaginary groceries and clutching them to his chest, and I'm only checking in with the TV enough to confirm that he's not totally inventing this. This may not be the most attention we've paid to the tapes, but it's definitely the most fun we've had watching them.

  Brian sags into his null position, arms swaying slightly, and I catch my breath from laughing and wait to see what he'll do next. After a moment, he gangles to life, arms flapping up and knees high-stepping, parading across the room like an animated scarecrow. I start to laugh, but something about it looks familiar. When I check the television, my attention is immediately arrested.

  There on the screen, arms and legs whipping about in 4x speed like loosely-lashed sticks, strides an ungainly man I've seen before. He's wearing the same slightly shiny undertaker's suit as the last time I saw him, and it still looks like his frame was built entirely out of broom handles.

  "Back it up, slow it down!" I say, and Regina obliges. At regular speed, we watch him enter, take a single lap around the store, select a bag of candy without seeming to look at it, and approach the register. Regina rings him up and reaches out to accept the money for his purchase, but instead of just handing it to her, he seizes her hand and holds it in both of his for a second.

  Regina pulls away, looking disgusted, and puts the bills in the register. She places the change on the counter and pushes it over to him, but the man is already turning away, heading toward the door with that awkward walk of his. Regina stares after him for a second, then scoops the money into the "take a penny" tray, shaking her head.

  "There! Him!" I say, pointing. "Do you remember that?"

  "A weirdo who wanted to touch me?" Regina says, arching an eyebrow. "That was pretty much every night. He's not ringing any particular bells."

  "I saw him at Børger the day I discovered my pyrokinesis. He was there when the fryers caught fire, and I thought he'd done it at first. But then – I don't know. I mean, obviously it was me that did it, before I got it under control. But he was there, and he was there with you. And you saw how he grabbed you! That was probably where he gave you the 'bots, right there."

  "Did he ever come to the museum?" asks Regina.

  "Maybe. I don't know. I don't remember him, but maybe."

  "Well, does the museum have tapes?"

  I make a face. "Could be."

  "What are you scowling about?"

  "My ex-boss," I say, and Brian chimes in with me: "Edgar."

  "What's so bad about Edgar?" Regina asks.

  "Okay, imagine someone was always following you around, straightening up everything you did. Even minor stuff, like fixing the way you'd put a book down or something."

  "Did he do that?"

  "Worse! Because now imagine that that habit came to life, and followed you around on its own. And was in charge of your paycheck."

  Regina laughs. "He couldn't have been that bad."

  "Tell her about 'Dobson's Dos and Don'ts," Brian chimes in.

  "Oh, man. So for a while, Edgar was really looking for a reason to fire me, and started putting out these daily memos of how to behave at work. And I just kept following the letter but not the spirit, and the memos got worse and worse. So eventually I collected them all into an official-looking handbook. Everyone thought it was pretty funny except for Edgar, who just about bit my head off over it. That was where I finally told him off, actually."

  "How'd he take it?" Regina asks curiously.

  "Like a volcano about to blow. I went off
to get dinner while he was still trying to come up with an answer – and actually, that was the last conversation I ever had with him."

  "Oh? Did he just avoid you after that?"

  "Um. Well, that was sort of the night you showed up at the museum."

  "Oh," says Regina quietly, pulling in on herself. There's an awkward silence for a moment.

  "So," Brian says brightly, "you think Edgar's still got tapes of you?"

  "Could be! Depends on what his procedures call for. If they say to keep tapes for a year, then he's still got them. If they call for them to be destroyed after ninety days, those things were destroyed three months to the day from when they were made."

  "What about months with thirty-one days?" asks Brian, and I shoot him a dirty look.

  "Yes, thank you Señor Semantics, less than three months. Point is, he might have them. I doubt he'd be interested in showing them to me, though."

  "But he'd probably turn 'em over to the cops, you know? Maybe your friend Peterson can help you out here."

  "Probably! I'll give him a call. I bet he'll be happy to help."

  - Chapter Six -

  Officer Peterson is not happy to help. I explain what I want, and he is skeptical at best.

  "So you're not alleging any crime. You just want to look at the security tapes on a hunch that you might see someone you recognize."

  "Well, I mean, injecting someone with nanomachinery without their knowledge has to be some sort of a crime, right? I mean, probably not specifically, but it's got to be a violation of the Third Amendment or something."

  "The Third Amendment protects against the government quartering soldiers in your home."

  "Fine, the Fourth, then. Or whatever, it doesn't matter. My point is, it can't be legal to inject people with stuff randomly!"

  "But it's also not legal to go obtain tapes to spy on private citizens without probable cause."

  "Two people who have run into him have superpowers now. That seems pretty probable!"