“Then let’s begin.”
As she began the procedure, Jay disconnected a part of her mind, setting it to recap and analyze the events of the past few weeks.
Being back on her home turf hadn’t proven as satisfying as she had expected. There had been too many unknowns, too many demands on her attention, too many tasks for one cyborg to achieve to her satisfaction. Thus, she could summon no anger over learning Sixer had broken their agreement—albeit due to extenuating circumstances. No, all she felt was an upwelling of immense gratitude for the quick actions that had kept Marissa safe, and the information Sixer had freely chosen to share with her. Not that she had any other choice right now, but Sixer was an excellent watchdog at a time when Jay had her hands full. She would even go so far as to admit he had seamlessly transitioned from an ally she harbored grave doubts about, to one she trusted.
Thankfully, Marissa had not been subjected to another visit from the trio claiming to represent the FBI. And the only fallout to date had been dealing with Michael’s panicked phone call after he’d learned what had gone down. Marissa, for reasons of her own, had decided to keep the encounter, and Sixer’s role in it, a secret for seven whole days before spilling the details to her horrified husband.
When Michael had calmed enough to be rational—or as rational as it was possible for a human male to be under the circumstances—Jay had put forward a strong case for Michael to pack up his wife and baby son, and take a long overseas vacation. Her generous offer to pay for the vacation had been turned down: Neither Michael nor Marissa were willing to leave their older offspring until “everything” was resolved to their satisfaction. Besides, Michael claimed he couldn’t guarantee his teaching position at Hillside Prep would be waiting for him once he returned from another leave of absence. A couple of weeks off after the birth of a new baby was one thing, but a prolonged leave of absence at short notice for an overseas vacation? Highly unlikely that would be looked upon favorably by the school administrators.
Jay didn’t waste her breath offering to pay Michael a commensurate salary until he found another job. Instead, she immediately downgraded her offer to an apartment in a gated complex near the school, with 24/7 security, and a private car complete with driver-cum-bodyguard to ferry Michael to and from his workplace, and be on call for Marissa. Jay thought it prudent not to mention that she owned the complex, had already purchased the private car, and would be vetting and paying the salaries of the security staff and driver.
As Jay had hoped he would do, Michael had fallen right into her trap and pointed out that moving out might trigger alarm bells if someone was watching them. She’d immediately reeled him in with an elegant solution to all his problems: the limit-less credit card she’d given Marissa for emergencies could be used to renovate the house—renovating being a perfectly valid excuse for Michael to move his wife and newborn into an apartment for the duration. The card was in Marissa’s maiden name, and Jay covered the bills—not that there had been any, Marissa being immensely stubborn about what she considered “emergencies”.
To seal the deal, Jay had then played dirty by relaying the offer directly to Marissa… who’d immediately accepted. Michael, finally recognizing the extent of his wife’s fear at being left alone while he was at work, and knowing when he’d been outplayed, had no choice but to agree to the solution.
Jay suspected Michael might have been a little less agreeable if he’d realized she had drafted Sixer to watch over him, Marissa and Danny from afar. But, as humans liked to say, what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.
The problem of Tyler’s sister Caro and her boyfriend Matt was easily solved thanks to Jay’s unique vocal abilities. Caro duly received what she believed was a call from a local radio station staff member claiming her phone number had been randomly chosen, and because she’d been at home to take the call, she’d won an all expenses paid, month-long trip for two to Paris. Another phone call—this time to Caro’s college—and a substantial donation, had insured Caro’s tutors didn’t balk at the prospect of one of their students hurriedly organizing a leave of absence to soak up the ambience of one of the fashion capitals of the world. And, after a flurry of panic over whether Matt could take time off, and whether or not their passport applications would be processed in time, Caro and Matt had jetted off a week ago.
Tyler had proven surprisingly amenable to Jay’s need to protect him until she solved the mystery of who had been behind incident at the parking building. He hadn’t much liked being “babysat”, as he called it, but he assured Jay he understood the necessity of having her chauffeur him to and from his classes. Nor had he fought Jay’s requirement that he call her in to accompany him if he needed to leave the college grounds.
He hadn’t given in to her demands entirely without a fight, however. In return, he’d extracted her promise that covert nighttime expeditions were no-go zones unless he tagged along. In his own words, “No way are you taking off without me in the middle of the night again until this shit is over.”
He’d been quite insistent. So insistent, in fact, Jay had been forced to assign him the role of medical assistant during last night’s expedition to transport Bea to the lab. It was either that, or tie him to the bed so he wouldn’t follow her—a solution she’d been reluctant to resort to after Tyler made it clear he’d move out and sleep on Nessa and Matt’s couch if Jay so much as looked sideways at a scarf, tie or belt.
Jay had thought it prudent not to mention she’d planned on using plastic cable ties.
Consequently, they’d dropped Brum off at Allen’s, and headed off on what appeared to be a weekend away, with Jay employing every method at her disposal to evade any vehicles attempting to tail them to their true destination.
Sam had already laid the groundwork for Bea’s extraction by leaking to the grounds staff that “Miss Smith” was undergoing an experimental treatment, and they had high hopes she would regain some, if not all, of her mobility. Thus, Bea had been loaded onto a stretcher, and into a private ambulance, without fear of anyone thinking it unusual. Jay had arranged for the ambulance to stop at a midway point, where Bea was transferred to the back of an unmarked van—a necessary precaution to insure her arrival at Seth’s safe-house would go unremarked. With luck, no casual observer would think twice at seeing such a vehicle enter the garage.
The plan gone off without a hitch—a relief to all parties involved, and Jay most of all. If a crude cybernetic hand was worth pursuing, one could only imagine the storm that would break over their heads if certain as yet unidentified interested parties discovered Bea’s existence.
She sutured the last incision—the sutures more for everyone else’s comfort than Bea’s. Based on Marg’s observations over the years she’d cared for Bea, Jay had no reason to believe Bea’s self-healing body wouldn’t quickly heal the physical trauma suffered during the procedure. Like Jay, Bea would doubtless “self heal” anything short of an amputated limb or decapitation. Hence the biggest drawback to this course of treatment, for if Bea’s brain identified the optical cuffs as foreign bodies, and deemed them unbeneficial, her body would either attempt to absorb them, or expel them. However, there was little point dwelling on all the things that could complicate Bea’s recovery.
“All done,” Jay informed Seth, who’d proven an excellent assistant throughout. “As expected, a fairly straightforward procedure. You can call them in now.”
Jay rearranged Bea on the gurney, and insured she was decently covered while Seth exited the lab to summon Marg and Sam, who, along with Tyler, had insisted on waiting around while Jay performed the procedure.
“Everything went to plan,” she informed them when they’d filed in, and each had found a stool to perch on. “However I was not able to discern any damage that might conceivably have ‘interrupted’ the nerve impulses in the larynx.”
“So Bea might not be able to talk when she wakes up?” Sam asked.
“Correct.”
“Doesn’t matter. There are
other ways to communicate. Sign language, for example. I can teach her that.”
“Yes.” Jay could have mentioned that if everything went to plan, Bea could learn sign language in the time it took Sam to brew a cup of coffee, but there was merit in having a human teach her the language. Jay, too, had been programmed with the ability to speak any language required, but she’d learned programming did not automatically bestow the ability to understand or utilize the myriad nuances a native speaker could impart.
“How long before you can run the algorithms?” Sam wanted to know.
Translation: How long before Bea would be up and around?
“Be patient,” Jay said. And then, realizing these two people who’d proven they cared deeply for Bea deserved more, she endeavored to explain. “Bea does not experience and react to pain the way humans do. However, her brain will recognize she has been subjected to pain, and must deal with the trauma. In Bea’s case, the trauma is likely to come as more of a shock after a prolonged period of kind and careful treatment. It may take her brain a while to process it and set it aside.”
Marg nodded slowly. “Makes sense.”
Sam’s lips flattened and he narrowed his eyes, his gaze accusatory. “Then why the hell didn’t you use some form of anesthesia?”
Jay held up a hand to halt Seth, whose frown, and open mouth suggested he was about to jump to Jay’s defense and “rip Sam a new one” as Tyler might have put it. “It wouldn’t have worked,” she told Sam. “Our bodies break down the chemicals too quickly—the same reason I can drink alcohol and it will have the same effect as drinking water.”
Seth, who either hadn’t yet decided whether he liked Sam based on their short acquaintance, or couldn’t wait to see the back of him for reasons Jay was yet to discover, spoke up. “I suggested shooting Bea with one of the Directed Energy Projectiles, which would have initiated a system-wide shutdown while we operated. But they’ve only been tested on a fully functional cyborg, and Jay had grave concerns that Bea might not reboot once the DEP was removed. She wasn’t prepared to take the risk—not that she should have to defend her decisions to you. Asshole.”
The last word was muttered beneath his breath, so only Jay caught the insult. She cocked a brow at Seth, amused by this evidence of male rivalry.
Sam’s belligerence faded, leaving his features pinched. He forked his fingers through his hair, scrubbing his scalp, his eyelids squeezing shut. “Sorry. Haven’t been sleeping well lately. Too much on my mind.”
“Bea’ll come through this all right, Sam. You’ve got to keep believing that.” Tyler straightened from his slumped position, and stretched the kinks from his spine, displaying a couple of inches of taut, bare midriff above his low-slung jeans.
Jay might have mentally calculated the exact amount of tanned skin currently exposed except that she was too busy enjoying the view.
Seth nudged her, and muttered for her ears alone, “You okay, Jay? You’re looking a little hot under the collar.”
Oh. Apparently she hadn’t been successful in controlling the heat flushing her body before it washed her cheekbones and alerted Seth to her current state of mind. Jay performed the mental equivalent of a human shrug, and figured she might as well indulge herself to the hilt with a breathy, very girly sigh of the appreciating-a-gorgeous-male-form variety.
Tyler’s gaze found hers, and the world seemed not only to grind to a halt, but to shut out all spectators, leaving only Jay and Tyler, each hyper-aware of the other, each hungry for some quality one-on-one alone time.
When, in a blink of Jay’s eyelids, normality resumed, the expression on Tyler’s face suggested he wouldn’t be averse to dragging her from the room, locating somewhere very private, and doing wicked things to her that Jay knew she would thoroughly enjoy.
She wasn’t certain at that moment what her own expression conveyed, but it might have mirrored Tyler’s, provoking Seth to mutter, “Man. You got it bad. And you’re not the only one.”
Jay shook off the sensual haze and focused on Seth. Who was currently gazing at…. Sam.
Interesting. If she had correctly interpreted Seth’s hint, and the expression on Sam’s face as he gazed at the prone figure on the gurney, Sam had apparently developed a tendre for Bea that went beyond the caring and compassion a caregiver afforded a long-term patient.
Jay switched her attention to Marg, noting a barely perceptible curve of Marg’s lips, and a soft—for Marg, at least—expression that appeared to signify satisfaction.
Tyler cleared his throat, drawing Jay’s full attention back to him. His glance darted from Bea to Jay, to Bea again, then back to Jay. He started to speak, seemed to think better of it, and stood there, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
“Spit it out, Tyler,” Marg said, her tone carrying a hint of weariness.
Jay gave what she hoped was an encouraging smile. “You know you can ask me anything, Tyler.”
“I know.” Whatever was preying on his mind seemed to be making him very uncomfortable but he pressed on regardless. “If you and Bea are identical twins, then how come she looks so much younger than you?” he blurted. “I mean, you’re nineteen but Bea looks like way younger.”
Ah. Tyler was laboring under the erroneous assumption that cyborg “twins” should be viewed in a similar way to their human counterparts. “Bea’s current physical form is equivalent to that of a fifteen year-old human female,” Jay informed him.
The color drained from Tyler’s face, leaving him pale beneath his tan. He looked sick to his stomach, as though he’d swallowed something distasteful and it was churning in his gut. “You’re a Gamma unit,” he said. “You were created after Bea.”
She nodded. “Correct. According to the data Seth has been able to provide, I can confirm I was created approximately two years after Bea.”
Tyler’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed convulsively, like he had to work up enough saliva to lubricate his throat and force out the words. “You’re even younger than her. You’re…. Jesus. You’re, like, thirteen?” He sank so abruptly on to the stool that one could be forgiven for thinking his leg muscles could no longer hold him upright.
“Oh my,” Seth said, his tone the slightest bit gleeful in the way of a bystander secretly enjoying the drama. “Awkward, much?”
“I was created, not born—you cannot calculate my age as you would a human’s,” Jay said, needing to wipe the half-horrified half-sick expression from Tyler’s face. To have him look at her like that….
It hurt. But to put it in perspective, it was a small hurt stemming from a misunderstanding, and therefore, fixable. Whereas the last time Tyler had looked at her like that, he had accidentally discovered her true nature—a discovery Jay had not been at all confident he could ever come to terms with. “You are making erroneous assumptions,” she said. “For example, if you insist on accounting for my body’s physiological age at the time of my creation, then I am older than Sam.”
The sick expression on Tyler’s face segued into a frown that conveyed something to the effect of, “Huh? Are you nuts? How’n the hell d’you figure that?”
“I’m twenty-eight,” Sam said slowly. From his body language—his torso unconsciously tilting toward Jay—he, too appeared intrigued by Jay’s claim. Only Marg seemed unconcerned. Perhaps she had already intuited the answer. Or perhaps, when you’d seen and done the things Marg had seen and done, in the grand scheme of things such mundane matters as age gaps held no sway.
Jay pondered the simplest way to explain a complex concept. “Like Bea, I was created with the outer appearance of a fifteen year old girl. So by your reckoning, Tyler, I was effectively born aged fifteen. Nineteen of your human years have passed since then, which means I am technically thirty-four years old. Give or take a few months. Depending on the exact date of my creation, of course.”
Her simplistic explanation, rather than resolving matters, left Tyler speechless with some emotion Jay couldn’t discern.
Seth
guffawed, which Jay presumed meant her explanation had amused him in some way. Either that or he was amused at Tyler’s reaction to her explanation.
“You don’t look thirty-four to me,” Seth said. “Or fifteen. Or like a thirteen year old kid, for that matter.”
A flush painted Tyler’s cheeks as he grunted, which Jay took to mean he was embarrassed for some reason, but agreed with Seth’s statements.
With luck, a little further clarification would put Tyler’s concerns to rest. “Bea’s youthful appearance is something that can easily be rectified once she is fully functional. Like me, she will be able to choose to age her outer shell.”
Tyler opened his mouth, failed to speak actual words, and shut it again, leaving Jay to continue her explanation. “After my creator’s death approximately five years ago, I was forced to go on the run to evade those who wanted to possess and control me.”
Marg gave a barely perceptible flinch and her haunted gaze sought Jay’s.
Jay consigned the past to the past with a sharp gesture. “It is of no consequence,” she added, in case Marg failed to understand the gesture. “But I quickly discovered how… inconvenient it was to be perceived as an unaccompanied, fifteen year old female. Hence, I aged my outer shell. It is not something that can be achieved quickly, you understand. And the energy expended left me depleted and therefore vulnerable—a state I could ill afford. By the time I decided to hide in plain sight by enrolling as a student at Tyler’s high school, I appeared to be around seventeen years old in human terms. My intention had been to remain in Snapperton, attending Greenfield High, until I physically resembled an eighteen year old female who could reasonably be considered an adult.”
Tyler was silent, jaw working, doubtless still processing her explanation.
Jay decided to lay it all out in black and white. “After I….” Faked my death? Hurt you so deeply that even to this day I regret it? “After I had no choice but to disappear to keep you and your family safe, Tyler, I knew it would be many months before I could safely approach you again. I continued to age my outer shell to keep pace with your natural aging process. After we reunited, I continued to do so. I find it difficult to believe you haven’t noticed.”
Freaks Under Fire Page 23