Psion Delta (4 page)

“Yikes.”
Dr. Rosmir turned Sammy’s wheelchair left. “Don’t think we want to go that way.
Better to steer clear of rough waters, agree?”

They
went inside a small exam room, and the doctor asked Sammy to sit on the
examination table while he washed his hands at a small sink. “How are those
glass wounds feeling today?”

“Not
bad. A little tender, I guess.”

“And
the leg?”

Sammy
shrugged. “Hurts.”

Dr.
Rosmir seemed to expect that answer as he lifted Sammy’s gown and inspected the
wounds. “The stuff we use to stimulate the muscle to repair itself is pretty
nasty, but it gets great results. Tomorrow, it’ll hurt even worse, and Thursday
will be particularly unpleasant. After that, the pain will subside quickly.
Does it hurt when I push here?”

Sammy
nodded as Dr. Rosmir turned to a cabinet full of equipment and began rummaging
through its contents.

“Eureka.”
He set a box on the table next to Sammy’s exam chair, removed a visored helmet
from inside, and wiped it down with alcohol pads. Then he plugged most of the
cords into matching sockets in the wall.

“What
is that?” Sammy asked. “Do my tests involve me playing video games?”

Dr.
Rosmir chuckled. “That would be nice. I call this helmet
Medusa
. Most of
these wires connect the helmet into our computers. It’s kind of like a VR game,
the test.”

“What
test?”

Rosmir’s
eyebrows went up. “The baseline test I told you about when you said you were
listening to me.”

“Oh
right, yeah.”

“Right.
These three cords attach to cups—” he said pointing to suction cups with small
metal plates in their centers, “—which act like the metal plates that interact
with your brain on a normal VR helmet, only they’re far more sophisticated than
what you’d usually see with gaming equipment. I’m going to try them on you,
make sure they fit, then get the team who will observe you. Okay?”

After
wiping Sammy’s recently-shaved head with enough alcohol that his skin
practically sizzled, Rosmir attached the three cups to Sammy’s forehead. They
were tight and the suction cups felt like they were trying to extract Sammy’s
brains through his pores.

“I’m
going to flip the switch and then turn it off again to make sure it works,” the
doctor said. “You should experience a sort of white flash.”

As
he said this, Sammy’s field of vision went completely white for several
seconds. Then everything came back into view. Dr. Rosmir pulled on the cups;
each came off with a loud
POP
! Then off came the helmet. Despite rubbing
the spots, Sammy still had the feeling that something was sucking blood out of
his forehead.

“You
saw the flash?” the doctor asked.

Sammy
nodded. “Bright and white.”

“Good.
That means it’s working. I’ll be back in a couple minutes to get you started. I
have several other doctors who want to witness the test.”

The
room went quiet after Rosmir left. The last time Sammy had been in a hospital
psych ward was in Johannesburg after his parents died, but that room had movies
to watch and games to play. Here he had nothing. His thoughts went back to
Jeffie and Brickert. He wished he’d had a chance to talk more with Brickert. In
fact, the more he thought about it, the more he wondered if Jeffie and Brickert
had planned Brickert’s exit to the cafeteria so she could speak to him alone.

Wouldn’t
surprise me
, he thought, chortling.

As
the minutes passed, Sammy wondered what was taking Rosmir and the other doctors
so long. His position on the exam table made his leg throb uncomfortably. He
tried to occupy his mind with pleasant thoughts, but they inevitably fell upon
darker subjects: Al’s near death in Baikonur, Toad and Dr. Vogt’s death in
Omaha, Katie Carpenter, and Stripe. He knew he didn’t have to dwell on these
things, and he tried not to, but he needed more time to replace the bad
memories with some good ones.

Like
kissing Jeffie.

“Come
on, Rosmir,” he muttered. “What’s taking you so long?”

There
was no clock in the room, so he couldn’t be sure how long he’d been alone, but
he guessed at least fifteen minutes. Finally the door opened, but it wasn’t Dr.
Rosmir. It was a boy of about seven or eight. He wore a hospital gown identical
to Sammy’s, chewed gum, and held a blue racquetball. He bounced it twice as he
came in, dribbling it off his hand like it was a basketball. He had a very
small nose and one of his eyes always seemed to drift off in the opposite
direction of where the other eye stared.

“Oh,
hey,” the kid said when he saw Sammy. Then he blew a large pink bubble between
his lips. “What’re you doing in here? Are you a wacko?”

Sammy
frowned at the boy. “No. I’m waiting for someone to come back very soon. Are you
allowed to be in here?”

“Sure!”
the boy said. “I own this place.” He bounced the ball a third time, and as he
did so, his right shoulder and facial muscles twitched badly enough that he
missed the ball and it hopped away from him, resting between a garbage can and
the equipment cabinet. “I own the whole hospital.”

“Sure
you do. What’s your name?”

“Nope,”
the boy answered matter-of-factly.

“What
is it?”

“Nice
try.” The kid gave Sammy a melodramatic glare as he retrieved his ball. Then he
sat on the floor and bounced the ball off the wall in a well-timed rhythm.
“Strangers . . . ” he added, shaking his head.

For
some reason Sammy found the beat of the bouncing to be exceptionally grating,
especially when the boy’s right side jerked up after every few throws.
Sometimes his tic wasn’t too bad, other times the twitching made him miss a
catch.

“Do
you always come in here to do that? Bounce the ball?”

“Every
day. Sheesh, I told you that I own this place.”

“Right.
And you don’t want to tell me your name?”

This
time the boy didn’t answer, but kept throwing his ball against the wall and
catching it. Sammy wondered if he’d scared the boy and thought about
apologizing. “So where do you sleep?” Then he realized that question sounded
like something a pedophile would ask. “What I mean is, do you live here?”

Again
there was no answer. He couldn’t see the boy’s eyes, but noticed how the ball
smacked the wall and rebounded with perfect rhythm. The right-sided jerks had
stopped, too. Had the kid gone catatonic? Sammy made another attempt at
conversation.

Again,
no response.

“Will
you please say something?” he asked with an edge of frustration in his voice.
Where
are you, Rosmir?
He rubbed his temples to calm himself, but it didn’t work.
“Can you please stop bouncing that stupid ball!”

The
kid turned and scowled. Then he threw his ball and hit Sammy square in the
forehead.

Sammy
cursed at the kid as he grabbed his forehead where it stung. “Okay, get out!”
He stabbed his finger at the door. “I’m serious. Leave right now!”

But
the boy didn’t move.

Sammy
hobbled up from the exam table and ushered the kid out the door with a firm
grip on his arm. The kid stood outside the room scowling. “Jerk!” Then he
walked off in a huff. “Big, stupid jerk!”

Sammy
didn’t respond, but checked up and down the hall for Dr. Rosmir. No sign. “Are
you kidding me?” he said aloud as he closed the door again. He picked up the
boy’s ball and lay back on the examination table so he could toss the ball
against the ceiling and catch it. When he got bored with that, he began
blasting it from hand to hand. After another fifteen or twenty minutes, someone
tapped on the door.

“Finally.”

He
got up and opened it. Someone blew in past him and slammed the door shut so
hard it hurt Sammy’s ears. A lady leaned against the door, panting for air.
Just as quickly, she turned and looked at the door as if there were a peephole
there; only there was no peephole.

“No
one coming east . . . or west. Coast clear.” She reached up to her temple and
pretended as if she were holding down a button like on the older coms that
required touch activation. “All quiet on the eastern front,” she announced.
“Move in.”

She
waited, stared for a moment at Sammy, then turned her attention back into the
non-existent peephole. Her long red hair was matted in several places, sticking
up in others, and most of her teeth were a light brown, although she didn’t
look old. Sammy guessed she might be in her early or mid thirties.

“Yes,”
she hissed through clenched teeth. “I copy that.” She touched her temple again
and paced, wringing her hands together as she did so.

Sammy
watched her with his mouth hanging open.

“You
a Beta, kid?”

Due
to confidentiality agreements, Sammy could not answer that question.

“Of
course you are. Which corps are you in?”

“Huh?”

“Which
corps,” she repeated slower. “Are. You. From?”

“Uh.
. . . ” Sammy didn’t think he was allowed to answer her.

“It’s
not a difficult question. Psion, Ultra, or Tensai.” She looked him over
skeptically. “You don’t seem very smart, so probably not a Tensai.” She darted
forward and smacked him on the cheek.”

“What
the heck!” Sammy shouted. “Don’t touch me!”

“Not
very fast, either. Not an Ultra. Is your dad or mom a senator or something? How
come you’re here?”

“This
is my exam room! Get out!”

The
woman continued to gaze at him with a creepy passivity that made Sammy very
uncomfortable. “Mission control, come in,” she said with her hand back on her
temple. “Possible spy spotted. Undercover child Thirteen, perhaps? Will observe
and report back. Over.”

“I’m
not—” Sammy started to say in a heated tone as he glanced around the room for a
call button. Finally he saw it on the wall behind him and pushed it. “Whatever,
lady. You’re outta here. This is nuts.”

The
lady’s pacing began anew. “What do you know about the CAG initiatives?
Poisoning water sources? Attacking energy plants? Creating chaos to destroy
civilization?” With each question she asked, her voice grew louder. She stepped
closer to Sammy until she was right in his face. “
Stripping citizens of
their basic rights
! What do you know about that?”

“I
don’t know what you’re talking about!”

She
sniffed him several times. “You reek of the CAG. Mission control, I have a
suspect. Possibly interrogation . . . even using hostile methods.” She crossed
over to the cabinets above the small sink and took things out at random. Then
she hurled them at him one by one.

“Stop
it!” Sammy shouted as he covered himself with his arms.

“Then
you stop pretending to belong in here!” She shoved him hard in the chest.

Sammy
pushed her back. “Shut up! If you touch me again, I will hurt you. Get out of
this room!”

“Mission
control—”

“GET
OUT!” he ordered even louder.

“Must
subdue at all—”

Sammy
prepared to blast her away from him. His heart thundered as the familiar rush
of action threatened to conquer his reason. However, before he acted on that
impulse, the door burst open and three security guards came in. Two of them
grabbed the woman’s arms while a third prepared to tranquilize her.

“CAG
AGENTS!” she screamed. “CAG AGENTS! HELP!”

As
the chemicals took effect, the crazy lady’s eyes rolled back and closed, her
chin fell to her chest, and a long stream of drool fell from her lips. The
security guards dragged her to a wheelchair outside the door and were about to
wheel her away when Sammy called to them.

“Do
you think you could find Doctor Rosmir and remind him that I’m waiting?”

One
of the guards grunted something unintelligible as they escorted her away. Sammy
watched them go as the door closed. Then, with a long sigh, he threw himself
back onto the exam table and looked around for the ball, but it was gone. He
lay back and stared at the ceiling, remembering the time Commander Byron had
forced him to watch a video about proper etiquette. He wondered how many other
videos like that Byron had at his disposal. As bored as Sammy was right now,
watching another one didn’t seem like such a bad thing.

Not
more than a minute later, the door opened and Dr. Rosmir reentered the room.

“Finally!”

“Sorry
for the delay,” the doctor said in a harried voice as he brought the wheelchair
over to the bed. “It turns out they want you in another room so more people can
observe you.”

“How
many people?”

“I
don’t know,” the doctor answered. “Keep in mind there will be several doctors
working on your case over the next few days. They are all interested in you, so
they’re all interested in seeing your test.”

“You
mean because of my double anomaly?”