by W D County
Nathan headed for the exit and Miles started to follow. Gordon called out, “Miles, arriving late doesn’t mean you can leave early.” Nathan glanced over his shoulder in time to see Miles respond with a one-finger salute. Nathan quickened his stride toward the observation room, but Miles caught up in a few steps.
“I’m not going inside the vault,” Nathan said.
“Damn right.” Miles pressed something hard against Nathan’s back. “Twenty-two thousand volts won’t kill you. Well, probably not.”
Nathan stopped walking. “What do you want?”
“A private chat. Turn around, we’re going to the security office.”
I could refuse. If Miles were bluffing, he’d lose credibility, making future threats meaningless. If he weren’t bluffing, the unprovoked assault would get Miles expelled from the team and probably lead to a court-martial. Either outcome was fine but not worth the risk of pain. Nathan pivoted on one foot and strode toward the security office. “All you had to do was ask.”
At the security door, Miles pressed his thumb to the scanner and tapped in the access code. He shoved Nathan inside the office. Nathan took a seat and put his feet up on the desk. Miles knocked them off.
“Okay, Slick. Why’d you try to kill me?”
She did try! He feigned surprise. “What?”
“Don’t play innocent. It’s just you and me, no witnesses, no surveillance cameras. Why did you try to kill me?”
“Suppose you tell me what happened to make you think I did.” His acting skills were more than a match for this blunt attempt at interrogation, which depended on hollow threats.
“Where were you between 1800 and 1900 yesterday?”
“In my room. Why? Someone tried to kill you yesterday afternoon?” Nathan enjoyed baiting the soldier. It would be fun to read his mind, but Miles didn’t seem to have one.
Miles leaned over him, trying to amplify the intimidation factor. “What were you doing in your room?”
“None of your business.” He let indignation creep into his words.
“Reading minds,” Miles said, “and putting thoughts in people’s heads.”
“I’ve been blessed with the ability to hear the thoughts of others, but it’s a one-way street. I can’t send thoughts, let alone take control of somebody.” Nathan chuckled. “Tell me what I’m supposed to have done. Make you cut yourself shaving? There’s a scratch on your neck.”
“This isn’t funny. You won’t leave this room until you give me the truth.”
Nathan scowled at the moron’s impudence, and then gave a mental shout-out. Barry, I may be late delivering the next batch of color. Miles is being a nuisance.
The reply came instantly. Miles. Of all those gathered to bear witness, he is the only person not visible to my inner eye. Is that not strange?
It’s dangerous, thought Nathan. But I’ve taken steps to eliminate him. Nathan expected appreciation for his initiative. Instead came a sudden inundation of dismay and anger.
DO NO HARM TO THE SOLDIER.
Nathan winced as Barry’s words boomed like thunder inside his brain.
Miles said, “I see you understand my resolve. Now, admit to me exactly what you did yesterday.”
“I did... nothing,” he said in a tone of defiance. Why, Barry? Miles wants to kill you. We need to stop him.
Our God is a loving God, and He works in mysterious ways.
Miles leaned even closer. “In your acts, ever use hypnosis?”
“Of course. So what? No one here is in a trance, although Laura thinks we’re all delusional.” A little less mystery would be appreciated. What’s the plan, Barry?
Before my ascension, miracles are required. The dead shall rise. The blind shall see.
“Hey, pay attention,” Miles said, grabbing Nathan’s chin and staring into his eyes. “When Laura hypnotized Zita, you telepathically added commands of your own. Admit it.”
“You’re crazy. I’m leaving.” He shoved Miles’s hand away and stood up. An instant later the soldier had him face down on the floor with a knee pressed into his back.
“Not until you confess,” Miles said.
“Fuck you.” Help me, Barry! He’s too strong.
Do you believe in me, Nathan?
You know I do. Come on! I can’t breathe. Help me.
A tingling sensation swept through him, followed by a new and disorienting awareness of the exact position of every object surrounding him. With that awareness came the understanding of how to change the position of any object by sheer force of will. He focused on Miles and shoved with mind and body.
With a startled grunt the soldier skidded across the floor. Nathan sprang to his feet and pulled the door open. He ran into the hall feeling suddenly giddy. Telekinesis. You gave me telekinesis.
Heavy, fixed objects like the wall didn’t move at all. Loose, lightweight objects like his cell phone moved easily. He giggled as the phone floated in the air next to his ear. He considered calling Gordon to show off the latest step in paranormal evolution.
“We’re not finished,” said a voice behind him.
Nathan spun to see Miles, gun in one hand, Taser in the other. Nathan reached out with his mind. It would be so easy to make Miles shoot himself.
NO. Barry’s thoughts reverberated in his head. Admit what you did and apologize.
Nathan resented the dictatorial commands. I won’t. Miles is a threat. Let me handle him. Nathan reached out again with his mind, focusing on the gun. The surveillance video from the hall camera would prove suicide beyond any doubt.
The cell phone crashed to the floor as he lost contact with the objects around him. Confession is good for the soul, said the voice in his head. Miles took a threatening step forward. Didn’t the guy know when to quit? Nathan tried to levitate his phone without success. The memory of how to reach out with his mind lingered just beyond recall. So, the Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. At that moment he hated Barry more than Miles. Nathan clamped down hard on that thought and hoped it hadn’t been heard.
All right, Barry. You win. “Miles, I’m sorry. Yes, I did place a hypnotic command in Zita’s mind. I ordered her to put you to sleep. Then she was going to come to my room. What can I say? She’s hot.”
A sigh filled Nathan’s mind. You can lie to him, but not to me. I can plumb the depths of your mind. An unpleasant probing sensation filled his skull.
Miles pointed to the camera and microphone mounted on the ceiling. “Now you’re on the record. Screw up again and Gordon sees this video.”
Nathan nodded, anxious for Barry to stop rummaging through memories. “It won’t happen again. I promise. Okay? No hard feelings?”
Miles’s unforgiving stare answered.
A sudden tsunami of anguish flooded his mind. They killed her.
Who? thought Nathan, straining to hide his mental strain from Miles.
She treated me with kindness when others showed fear and loathing.
The one Miles tried to kill? thought Nathan. Aloud, he said, “Are we done?”
Miles refused to kill her, Barry mused.
He’s a threat that has to be dealt with, Barry. It’s dangerous to ignore him.
“Yeah. For now.” The Marine spun and marched back to the mess hall.
I must learn more from Colonel Hauser. Master your new power quickly. I shall guide your hand during Sonja’s demonstration.
The mental probing abruptly ceased, and the ability to directly sense external objects returned. Too bad he had to keep that power hidden from Miles, but Barry called the shots. For now. He nearly levitated his phone when he remembered the surveillance cameras. With an angry sigh, he bent to pick up it up by hand.
Chapter 36
“Yes, yes, glad to help,” Laura said as she strode to her room with Zita keeping pace. The sooner Zita feels safe the sooner she’ll leave me alone and I can see Barry. Gordon, Sonja, and Doc remained in the mess hall discussing the upcoming demonstration. Miles and Nathan were entering the secu
rity office at the far end of the hall. This gave a narrow window of opportunity to visit Barry alone, and she didn’t want to waste that time dealing with Zita.
She slid her keycard into the lock, waited for the click, and opened the door to her room. Laura went directly to the dresser where she plucked the Pavlok from the top. She handed it to Zita and explained how to set the timing and voltage. She gave Zita the charging stand as well, and then steered her to the door. “If you have any questions, let me know.”
Zita paused in the doorway. “Actually, I do. Not about the watch though. When I was in a trance, you and Doc left me for a few minutes.”
Laura blinked. “How did you know that?”
“Doesn’t matter. But while you were out, could someone else have given me post-hypnotic suggestions?”
“Oh, not at all. Dr. Harrison locked the infirmary when we left. It was still locked when we returned.”
“Gordon could have overridden the lock.”
“Not possible. That’s why Tom and I left, to meet with Gordon in the observation room.”
“Suppose someone did get in and out undetected. Maybe they borrowed Gordon’s key. Could they have inserted their own commands into my mind?”
Laura pondered the question. “I don’t think so. I had you focus on the sound of my voice. You would have tuned out other voices and noises.”
“Unless the voice was already in my head.”
She chuckled. “Zita, you’re not schizophrenic. You don’t hear voices.”
Zita smiled back. “Just a bit paranoid. Thanks for the reassurance. And the watch.” She craned her neck and looked back into the room. “Oh, are those the MMPI and EEG results? I’d love to see them.”
“No, impossible. Medical privacy laws.” She tried to push Zita into the hallway but the girl slipped past and stepped toward the desk and its pile of records. Laura rushed to cut her off. At the desk Laura turned to admonish the overly inquisitive upstart.
Zita had already returned to the door. She leaned against the frame, hands in the pockets of her leather jeans. “Sorry. I get excited and lose impulse control.”
“I’ve noticed.” Laura closed the door and waited while Zita sashayed to her own room. Then she rushed to the observation room.
The room was empty, but she knew Miles could be watching remotely. She donned protective clothing and turned to the bin that held pads of colored stickies. The bin was empty.
Miles’s doing, no doubt. She considered entering the vault without protective clothing, sacrificing her skin color and trusting it would be enough to bring John back. But once her skin turned gray, she had no idea how Gordon would react. Or more importantly, what John would think of her.
She searched for something colorful and found nothing. My clothes. She peeled off the protective coveralls and removed her blouse and skirt. The cream-colored top had little chromatic value, but every bit helped. The royal blue skirt, on the other hand, was worth several pads of stickies. She put the coveralls on over her bra and panties. She draped the clothing over one arm and hurried to the airlock, fearful of being interrupted. If Miles had seen her undress, he’d be here in seconds, guns blazing.
She tapped in the code, trusting the numbers that popped into her head. The outer door clicked open. She entered, closed the outer door, and used the same code on the inner door. The lock clicked, but she hesitated to swing open the door. Is this what I really want to do?
Absolutely. If I can help bring John back to life and don’t do it, then it might as well be me who killed him, not the heart attack. She pushed the heavy steel door open.
Barry sat on the bed, a white sheet draped over one shoulder and around the waist, the brightly shimmering taint covering about sixty-two percent of exposed skin. He looked like a holy man from biblical days. Perhaps he was.
His smile revealed rainbow-colored teeth. “Hello, Laura. I’ve been expecting you.”
“Good morning, Barry.” She trembled with a nervous shiver, then advanced slowly toward him. “Can you really bring back John if you have enough color?”
“Yes.”
That single word sent a new, more intense shiver through her body. She held up her blouse, watching it turn pale gray. She let it fall to the floor, then held up the skirt. Its exposed surface had already faded as if left too long in bright sunlight. She turned the skirt over, then inside out, making sure every square inch of color fed the taint. It spread across his entire face and farther down his arm.
“I feel the power swell in me,” Barry said. “I am grateful for your offering. But it is not quite enough.”
Her hopes fractured like the San Andreas fault in a major quake. “It’s all I have,” she whispered. She looked around the interior of the vault, desperate to find something yet knowing it was hopeless. “Please, Barry. I need him.”
“I am sorry.” His eyes filled with tears. “I want to help, I do.”
Her gaze fell upon the IV bag and the line dangling from it. Barry must have removed the needle from his forearm, which didn’t even show a bruise. She peeled back the base of her glove to reveal a small patch of bare skin. She found a vein, jabbed in the needle of the IV, and ripped it out again. She didn’t try for neat and painless. She needed blood. Lots of it.
Deep red blood dripped from her arm onto Barry’s mattress. The stain promptly turned gray. They both stared as the gray spot expanded. So did the taint.
“Bring John back. I beg you.” She felt tears flood her eyes and tried to blink them away.
Barry tore a strip of cloth from his sheet and gingerly wrapped Laura’s wrist. “I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in me will live, even though he dies, yet shall he live. Do you believe this?”
“Yes, Lord.”
Barry stood then and in a loud voice called out, “John, come forth!”
Laura felt a ripple pass through her body, the vault, everything, as if reality were a pond into which a stone had dropped. When the sensation stopped, Barry said, “It is done.”
She knelt on the floor, weeping, and kissed his feet. He laid a hand gently upon her head. “Go now to your husband.”
Chapter 37
Zita counted to one hundred before peering into the hallway. Finding it deserted, she dashed next door to Laura’s room. The duct tape she’d placed over the latch’s strike plate worked exactly as intended, allowing her to nudge open the door without need for a keycard. She stepped inside, removed the tape, and eased the door shut. Surveillance cameras captured her actions, but the only one who looked at the videos was Miles, and the four-second duration of the breaking and entering could easily be overlooked.
Eight manila folders sat atop the desk, one for each team member and one for Barry Fletcher. She opened the one marked “Ferrari, Z.” Inside were two sets of MMPI test results, one set dated yesterday, the other from four days ago. Also present were two EEG printouts for those same dates. According to Laura and Doc, basic personality traits were deeply ingrained and couldn’t change over the course of a few days. Time to test that assumption.
Zita wasn’t a psychologist, but didn’t need to be. She searched for differences between the old and new results, evidence to support or refute Laura’s assertion that the team hadn’t experienced any emotional and behavioral changes. Her latest EEG squiggles didn’t look any different than before, and Laura’s note of “NC” on the latest test supported that conclusion.
The MMPI results took up the bulk of paper in the folder. Each MMPI contained 567 true/false questions that fell into ten major categories scattered throughout the test. She longed to interpret the scores and gain insight into her personality makeup but forced herself to search for changes. The only significant change fell into the “paranoia” category. A reaction to the dreams, perhaps, though more likely to actual threats. After all, she’d been programmed like a Manchurian candidate and used against Miles.
Miles. She grabbed his folder and perused it. Like her own file, his showed no changes in EEG
readings or in behavioral categories—except for paranoia. She doubted the test was normalized for people under high levels of stress and dangerous situations. Laura would know that, and may have discarded upticks in that category, which would explain her conclusion of no changes in the team’s psychological makeup.
She breathed a sigh of relief. Her fear of an alien presence taking over their minds now seemed groundless. To be sure, she’d allow herself five more minutes to scan a couple more folders. No more than that. She must be out of the room before Laura returned and had no way to judge how long that might be.
The five minutes became ten and then fifteen, by which time her relief completely evaporated. The latest EEG readings for every other teammate showed abnormal readings, along with Laura’s scribbled annotations such as “unusually large delta waves” and “unexpected lambda waves.” Even more frightening were abnormalities Laura hadn’t annotated. Zita’s savant ability at puzzle-solving noted those “large” and “unexpected” waveforms all waxed and waned in a pattern of its own, as if an entirely new waveform had been overlaid on existing ones, creating a subtle interference pattern. The abnormality appeared in all EEGs except hers and Miles’s.
The latest MMPI results were just as bad. Everyone showed an increase not only in paranoia, but in schizophrenia and hypomania, which, near as she could determine, represented unstable moods and flights of unstoppable ideas. The traits might correspond to increased creativity, even genius; or conversely, to delusions, OCD, and excessive risk-taking.
Barry wasn’t given an initial MMPI, but did take one yesterday, and it showed scores far outside the norm in every category.
Laura had lied. Why? Zita began to sift through various possibilities, none of them good.
A click of the door lock grabbed her full attention. She’d delayed too long. No way out. Must hide. Closet? Too far away, she’d be spotted before making it halfway. The small desk’s open base offered no concealment possibility. Only one option seemed even remotely viable.