Evolution (The Repatriate Protocol Book 7)

by Kelli Kimble

  At the end of that week, I was feeling even more content. It niggled at my mind; I didn’t feel like it was right. Could they be making me feel this way somehow? Or was it just because I was being fed, and I felt relatively safe? Thinking about my safety reminded me of Elton.

  “Hey,” I said to Talika that night, as she paced the room restlessly. “When am I going to see Elton?”

  She wasn’t really listening. “Who?”

  “Elton. Our friend?”

  She looked at me blankly.

  “From school?” I prompted. “He had a major crush on you?”

  “Oh. Him. We’ll see him soon. Don’t worry.” She resumed her pacing, but I was tired of feeling left out of the plan.

  “When?” I asked. “I want to know when.”

  “It’s not up to me,” she said. “I don’t really know.” I stared at her, and she stopped pacing, but she couldn’t meet my eyes. “I’m going to bed,” she said.

  I got under the covers in my own cot, the coils squealing in protest.

  ◆◆◆

  The next morning brought a change. I woke up before Talika this time, just as a telepath was delivering our change of clothes for the day. She handed them to me. She looked at Talika, but I put a finger to my lips. She needed some sleep. Even though her bed was much quieter than mine, I’d heard her thrashing around all night.

  Only you in the lab today. Talika needn’t come, the telepath said.

  I glanced at the door, certain someone would be coming to discipline her for speaking to me. But, nobody appeared. Maybe our room was a safe zone. I nodded, and she left. Then, I did as I’d done every other morning for the past two weeks—except I did it by myself.

  At the lab, the technician gestured me towards a chair, instead of the exam table. She drew blood and attached all the customary sensors. When she was done, she slid a tray into place in front of me. It was shaped as if something should be placed upon the tray, but I suspected its real function was to restrict me to the chair.

  The doctor arrived. Her expression was as uncaring as it ever was, but I caught a glimmer of hope in her eyes, as well. She came directly to me. “You understand the basics of a telepath’s abilities, right?”

  “Yes,” I said. “They can speak to a person, or a group of people, using the chip implanted in their brain. Some people, like engineers, can also communicate with computers.”

  “Right,” she said, nodding. “That is correct. Those are the standard abilities. What we’re here to explore today is whether you are limited by those standard abilities. We know you can hear a broadcast from someone else like you. But, can you hear a broadcast from someone with an implant?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I can.”

  She looked startled. “But, how do you know that? Nobody has been allowed to speak to you.”

  A prickle of heat started up my back and collected at the nape of my neck. I didn’t want to get anybody in trouble; I’d heard the thoughts of numerous people since I’d arrived. “Before I came here. I heard a lot of different people. Animals, even.”

  She looked startled again. “Animals?”

  “Yeah,” I said, laughing. “It sure was a surprise when my dog started asking me for food all the time.”

  Her expression was serious, and my smile faded. She pulled a stool over and sat on it. “That’s remarkable,” she said. “You definitely heard animals? Domesticated animals?”

  “Wild ones, too. Squirrels, mostly.”

  “They used language you could comprehend? English?”

  “I didn’t really think about it at the time,” I said. “I suppose my brain translated it into English. I can’t really say if they were actually speaking English.”

  “Well. That is definitely something we’ll need to explore. But, for now, let’s return to hearing the thoughts of telepaths. Today, you are going to listen for Faith here to speak to you.” She gestured towards the technician. “Then, we’ll progress from there. Someone, get her a pen and paper,” she said to the room in general, then turned back to me. “This will be just like with Talika. She’ll say some words, and you’ll write them down.” She handed me the clipboard with the paper on it, and a pen.

  It was an easy test, and familiar, so we were able to get through the entire battery before lunchtime.

  “Before we stop for lunch,” the doctor began, “I just want to tell you what a good job you’re doing. When we come back, we’re going to strain your abilities some. So, make sure you fill your belly.” She patted my head, in the way she might pat an obedient dog. I didn’t like it, and I flinched away from her touch. She didn’t seem to notice.

  After lunch, I was seated in the chair again, with the tray slid in place and locked. The doctor approached me a little warily. “This is going to be somewhat uncomfortable,” she said. “Talika says when she first started to hear other people talking directly to her, she found it unpleasant. Even somewhat painful. Was it the same for you?”

  I nodded, remembering I hadn’t liked it when Aunt Rue spoke to me; it had felt invasive, as if a bee was caught in my ear canal.

  “Uh-huh. Yes,” the doctor continued. “So, I believe this will stimulate a similar response. We’re trying to find the limits of your abilities, so it will likely be unpleasant. But, one must know one’s limits, mustn’t they?”

  My eyes slid to Faith, who was standing just behind the doctor. Her head moved a fraction of an inch, just enough for me to realize she was prompting me to agree.

  “Yes,” I said. “I’d like to know my limits.”

  “Good. Then, let’s get started. You’ll notice today, everyone is wearing a different-colored kimono.” She swept her hand across the room. I hadn’t noticed before, but she was right. Instead of their usual monotone color, they were dressed in a rainbow of shades. “They’re going to speak to you: First, in broadcast, and then, just to you. Sometimes, only one will be speaking. Sometimes, more or all of them will be speaking. I want you to write down everything you hear, and note the color of each speaker’s kimono. Can you do that?”

  I nodded. It seemed an easy enough task.

  “Good. We’ll begin.” She pointed to Faith.

  I felt a pulse of . . . sound or power hit me. If I’d ever felt an explosion, I’m sure it would have been similar. It rattled me, but it was apparently the starting signal.

  Orange. It was Faith, broadcasting the color of her kimono.

  Purple.

  Blue.

  Yellow.

  Green.

  The colors chimed at me from around the room—though nobody but Faith and the doctor actually appeared to be paying attention to me. I was instantly overwhelmed. The pen hovered above the paper, but I couldn’t make myself write anything. I didn’t know what to write.

  Faith touched the doctor on her arm and shook her head.

  “What is it? Did you start?” she said to Faith.

  Faith nodded.

  The doctor rounded on me. “I thought you said you could hear people.”

  “I can,” I said. “I did. It was just so much. I can’t sort out what’s being said, or who is saying it.”

  “Just say it out loud,” she said. Her patience was wearing thin. “What did you hear?”

  I listed off the colors and pointed to the people as I listed them.

  She shook her head. “That doesn’t show anything. They all named what they were wearing. I need to know. Can you hear them or not?” She clasped a hand on each side of the tray on my chair and leaned her face down to mine.

  I licked my lips. “I can hear them,” I said. “Maybe we could start with just two people.”

  She stood up and pinched her nose. “They haven’t even stopped broadcasting yet. This is the easiest part of the test.”

  The technician put a hand on the doctor’s arm and smiled. She held up her hand, pinching her forefinger and thumb together in the sign I’d come to know as “a little bit”.

  “What? What’s she saying to me?” the doctor d
emanded.

  “She’s telling you I need to start small,” I said.

  “Did she talk to you?” The doctor glared at Faith.

  “No,” I said. “She uses that hand signal a lot. She means something small. She’s just trying to help.”

  Faith smiled and nodded.

  “All right,” the doctor said. “We’ll start small. Adjust the directive.” She pointed to the others, and Faith nodded. “Let’s begin again.”

  The test progressed this time, and I could discern the voice and location of each person who broadcast to the room. I wrote everything on the clipboard. When that was finished, they switched to two at a time. Then, three. Then, four. With the slow buildup, I was able to keep pace. When all seven people in the room were speaking, I was able to tune in to each one and determine who it was, and what they were saying. They just had to keep repeating it long enough for me to pluck each thread in my mind.

  “Okay, time for the next step,” the doctor said. “Do it,” she said to Faith.

  You’re doing very well, Nimisila, Faith broadcast. Now, we are going to change it up. Now, everyone will be speaking only to you. It’s different, and it is likely to be overwhelming. Much more so than the broadcasts. We’ll be taking it slow, one at a time. Okay? She glanced around the room, looking for physical confirmation that everyone had heard. Everyone gave some sign of agreement. I had the sense they weren’t particularly happy to be participating.

  It was Faith who started. Nimisila. Please, write down the word ‘flower’. she said. The sensation was unpleasant but much less so than it had been when Aunt Rue did it. I wrote it down. She nodded.

  I felt the same pulse as before, and another voice spoke up. Nimisila, the word I am saying to you is ‘book’.

  And I am telling you, ‘school’, another voice said.

  The phrases went around the room, one after another. The buzzing in my ear increased as each additional person spoke. They weren’t all speaking at the same time; rather, it was like their thoughts were collecting together and stirring around my eardrums, piercing them and giving me a sensation of vertigo. By the fifth person, I couldn’t stand it. I clapped my hands over my ears and yelled, “Stop!”

  The doctor snapped her head up. She’d been wrapped up in watching what I wrote down. “What?” she asked. She turned to Faith. “What’s she doing?” Faith inclined her head at me, and the doctor turned back. Her nostrils were flaring, and she squinted heavily.

  “It’s too much,” I said. I shook my head and rubbed my ears with my palms. It didn’t help. The sensation lingered. I started to tip sideways in the chair, but the tray stopped me from falling out of it.

  “How can it be too much? You’re just sitting there, listening,” she said.

  “Their thoughts feel real,” I said. “They’re like bugs crawling in my ears, biting me. They hurt.”

  “That’s ridiculous. They don’t have a physical manifestation.”

  “I know it isn’t real,” I said. “But, it still hurts.”

  The doctor blinked at me, while her nostrils continued to flare with each breath. I couldn’t stop staring at her nose. “Can you give her something? For the pain?” she asked Faith.

  Faith shook her head.

  The doctor tsked. “Then, what are we supposed to do?”

  Faith made the “little bit” signal. The doctor rolled her eyes. “Fine. Do whatever you have to do to get some progress out of her.” She went to the door. “When I get back, I expect her to be able to handle the full test. You have an hour.”

  A tear worked its way free from my eye. I was glad the doctor didn’t see it. But, Faith did. She pursed her lips and tipped her head, her face a sea of sympathy. She smoothed her hand over my hair. That sounded harsh, I know. But, it won’t take long for you to work up the tolerance. I bet you’ll be able to do it in half the time, Faith said. I bet just hearing my voice was easier this time. Right?

  I flicked the tear away and nodded. “Okay,” I said. “Let’s get started.”

  Faith restarted the test. It was still painful at five people, but more tolerable than before. They stopped and gave me a minute to rest and wait for the sensation to clear away. Then, they started again. The fifth person wasn’t so bad this time. We repeated it. By the seventh time, I was able to tolerate a sixth person. By the fifteenth time, I could take on the seventh. It took just under 40 minutes.

  I knew you could do it, Faith said. Why don’t you have a bathroom break? I’ll get you a snack.

  I had just entered the bathroom, when I heard the doctor speaking in the hall. The door hadn’t yet swung shut, and I stuck my finger in the jamb to hold it open, just enough so that I could hear. The voices came closer. It was the doctor and Mrs. Darit.

  “She’s making progress. What about the other one? The boy?” said the doctor.

  “He’s resisting,” Mrs. Darit replied. “But, don’t worry; I know he’ll break. He can’t hold out much longer. We’ll get it out of him.”

  They continued past the door, and their voices became muffled. Who were they talking about? It had to be Elton or Marve. Instead of going to the bathroom, I rushed back across the hall to our room. Talika was lying on her cot, reading a book. I closed the door quietly and tiptoed across the room to her.

  “I just heard the doctor and Mrs. Darit in the hall,” I whispered. “They said they’re trying to break a boy. Which boy? Elton or Marve?”

  “What do you mean, break?” she asked casually.

  “Shh,” I said. “Keep your voice down. They said he’s resisting, and he can’t hold out any longer.”

  She stilled and gave me a stern look. “I don’t know what you think you heard, but you are making too much of it. Go back to the lab.”

  “But, Marve, or Elton! We have to do something.”

  “We’re not going to do anything,” she snapped. “This is what needs to happen, so they can get what they want. When they get it, we’ll all be fine, and life will go on.”

  I retreated to the door. Once, Talika had been a kind and generous friend. Moody, yes. But, kind and generous. I couldn’t see any of that in the person in front of me now. She felt like a stranger.

  “Go back to the lab,” she urged me. “You’ve got work to get done.”

  I went back to the lab. The doctor was waiting, tapping her toes. “Where have you been? We’ve got work to do.”

  I climbed into the chair. It crossed my mind to reply that I knew she’d only just arrived, but I bit my tongue. The doctor instructed Faith to demonstrate the test. It was nearly pain-free, and I sighed with relief when it was done.

  I thought it would be the end of the day, but Mrs. Darit entered the room.

  “Faith, you can go,” the doctor said.

  Mrs. Darit went to the control panel and jostled past Faith. Faith’s gaze went to the floor, and she took a step towards me.

  “Don’t make it messy,” the doctor said.

  “Hello, Nimisila,” Mrs. Darit said. “I heard you’ve been doing very well with the tests. We’ve got a new one we’re going to try today, okay?”

  Faith’s eyes shot up to meet mine. They were wide, and her face looked worried.

  What is it? I said to Faith.

  I’m sorry. She turned and left the lab. My stomach did a flip-flop. What was happening?

  “First, we’re going to try a test where everyone talks to you at once,” Mrs. Darit continued. “I’m going to give you a word to listen for, and you’ll identify who said it to you. Easy, right?”

  I nodded. It did sound easy.

  “Right. I want you to identify who is saying the word ‘meatloaf’. Ready?” She didn’t wait for me to respond. I felt the pulse, and then intense pain. It was like someone was jabbing needles into my ears. My hands went over them—though it didn’t help. Mrs. Darit jerked my hands away. I expected my palms to be covered in blood, but they were dry.

  “That won’t help, Nimisila. It’s not real,” she said. Her lip was curled up in di
sgust, or maybe annoyance. Over her shoulder, the doctor mirrored her expression. They were definitely related.

  The sensation faded. I squirmed in the chair. “Please, that’s too much at once. Can’t we work up to everyone talking?” I made the ‘little bit’ gesture.

  The doctor crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. “This one. Why did you pick this one, again?” the doctor asked Mrs. Darit.

  “You know why,” Mrs. Darit replied. “Now. Nimisila. We’ll try again. This time, just with two people. Okay?”

  I nodded. The voices of two people immediately invaded my brain. The words were muddled together, but if I concentrated, I could pick out the particular sound of one voice over the other. I pointed to the speaker.

  “Great,” Mrs. Darit encouraged. “That’s great, Nimisila. Now, we’ll add more.”

  Three voices were talking. It was harder now to discern who was saying what. But, I managed. Mrs. Darit continued, until all seven people were talking to me at once. Sometimes, I could tell who it was immediately, and sometimes, it took a lot of concentration. I identified a phrase from each of the seven speakers. The stabbing sensation dulled to an uncomfortable but tolerable pinch. I felt out of breath at the end of the test. I hadn’t realized I was doing it, but I was sitting straight up, with my back pulled away from the chair, and my belly pressed against the edge of the tray. I relaxed and melted against the chair back. It was over. I could go back to my room.

  “You’ve done very well, Nimisila,” Mrs. Darit said. She put a small, metal disk on the tray. “This is a new test. Something to test the boundaries of your ability. You understand your abilities are not bound to an implant, right?”

  I nodded.

  “Good. So, I want you to concentrate very hard on this disk, and I want you to move it across the tray. From here . . .” She put her finger on the disk. “. . . to here.” She slid the disk to the other side of the tray.

  I reached to touch the disk.

  She slapped my hand away. “No. You can’t touch the disk. You do this with your mind.”

  “That’s impossible,” I said.