Tekgrrl (11 page)

“Wait, you
let
them put blocks up? After what else they did to me?” I got to my feet in horror.

She tried to touch me, and I dodged her hand like it was poisoned. “Mindy, you don’t understand. You can’t understand.” She wiped her eyes with a handkerchief. “The Kalybri were horrified about what happened…”

“They should be!”

“And so was I. I had done this to you, I had unwillingly put you into the hands of monsters, and I wanted to make things right.”

“By doing it again?”

“They said it would make you better. And it did.”

“Why didn’t you say anything to me about it?” I asked, crossing my arms on my chest. “Why did you lie to me? Did you know that anytime someone even brings up Kalybri I get a headache?”

“If you knew, you’d just make it worse by trying to think about what happened. They told us with the blocks would come a side effect.”

“What about the dreams? And the voices?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. After it first happened, you had dreams for a while—until we figured out that hormone fluctuations would for some reason work against the blocks, your subconscious working its way around them.”

“Well, my headaches are all the time, not just when I try to think of Kalybri.” Even I had a feeling I knew what that meant. “I think the blocks are beginning to fail, Mom.”

My mother was turning pale. “Oh God, Mindy, I’m so sorry. I never should have let you go there. We thought it would be the best thing for your future, we never dreamed…The decision has haunted me every day since.”

“Is that why you’ve avoided me since I came back?”

“I never!” she blustered, until I fixed her with a glare. “I might have buried myself a bit in my work, but I never avoided you. No more than you’ve avoided me.”

A knock sounded on the door behind me, and we both turned to see the secretary peek in. “Excuse me, Dr. Clark, but your next appointment is here.”

“Of course, Isla,” my mother said, taking the bottle of mineral water her minion held out. “We’re just finishing up here.”

I wasn’t finished, but she was obviously finished with me. “Did Paul know you did this to me?”

My mother hesitated, and then nodded. “He suspected after your interview. I explained what had happened and cautioned him not to say anything. I didn’t want to cause you any more unnecessary pain.”

“Well, these blocks are hurting me now. I’m taking them down in whatever way I can.”

My mother dropped her bottle of water and it crashed to the floor, shattered. Ignoring the mess, she stepped over it and reached out to take my arm. Her grip was viselike. “Don’t do it, Mindy, I’m begging you.”

“What?” I looked at her, trying to shake her off. “You want me to get a brain aneurysm or have a stroke? Whatever’s waiting on the other side of those memories has to be better than this.”

She tightened her grip impossibly. “You had to be restrained to keep from hurting yourself or others, Mindy. For the love of God and your sanity, please don’t take the blocks down. Have your scientist friends monitor your brain patterns and see if there’s any way a telepath or a magic user can help, but whatever you do, please don’t take those blocks down.” She was shaking. “You…you won’t be able to handle it.”

Her secretary reappeared with another stuffed-shirt scientist, who took one look at the mess on the floor and then asked my mother hesitantly, “Is everything all right?”

My mother straightened, dropping my arm and returning to a cool and composed demeanor. I rubbed at the bruises she’d left on my arm. “Everything’s fine. My daughter was just leaving.”

I nodded. “Good-bye, Mom. Give Dad my love.” I turned and followed the secretary down the hall and to the elevator, went down and tossed my clearance badge on the desk of the shell-shocked receptionist.

It wasn’t until I’d reached the comfort and safety of the car, with the shade up between me and the driver, that I let myself burst into tears, but then I sobbed all the way home. What in the hell had happened to me? My mother couldn’t deal with what she had unknowingly done, and I couldn’t handle not knowing. But if what lay on the other side of my memories might drive me insane, was staying in the dark a better option?

By the time I arrived home and went upstairs, my eyes were dry and I knew what I had to do.

Paul didn’t mention my red-rimmed eyes, if he noticed them. “Yes?” he asked, looking up from his computer screen as I appeared in front of him.

“Run whatever tests you want.”

What seemed like hours later, I was still a guinea pig. Paul was running what seemed like every possible test on me. I had been poked and prodded, scanned and monitored, and I was more than a little sick of it. It took me back to my first days returned to Earth, or at least the ones I remembered, where I’d lain in a hospital bed while machines beeped and doctors buzzed around me.

“Are you cold?” Paul asked, and I realized that I was shaking.

“A little,” I admitted, running my hands up my arms, trying to soothe the goose bumps popping up with my memories. “These hospital gowns are a little thin.”

“Well, we’re almost done,” he said, fixing an electrode to my head and double-checking the reading.

Our animosity hadn’t changed, as we hadn’t really addressed what was said previously. We’d had to travel to an actual hospital, because the EHJ didn’t have all of the necessary equipment. My mind started buzzing with the possibility of building it for us, but that would take a bit of work. And I didn’t have a medical background like Paul, so I’d probably need his help. He’d stand there and tell me I was doing everything wrong, like the know-it-all he was. Big, smug jerk.

“What was that?” Paul asked, holding up the printout and showing me the spike. “What were you just thinking about?”

“How much I hate you,” I growled.

He frowned. “That’s not funny.”

I shrugged.

He tore the printout off and clipped it to his clipboard. “We’re done. Get dressed and I’ll meet you outside.” He got up and walked away.

Thankful to finally be done, I yanked the electrodes off my body and got dressed, not wanting to spend any more time here than absolutely necessary. When I stepped out into the hospital hall, Paul leaned against a nurses’ station, talking in low tones to a white-coated doctor. Seeing me, he straightened and they both fell silent.

“You’d better not be talking about me,” I said. “Doctor-patient confidentiality and all that.”

“You’re not my patient, you’re my coworker,” Paul replied. “And get over yourself, Mindy. Not everything and every discussion is about you.” He picked up his clipboard. “The car’s waiting downstairs; they moved it to the lower-level parking garage to get away from the paparazzi.”

“The press found out we’re here? How?”

“Some orderly probably tipped them off.” He led me through the maze of hospital corridors to the elevator, and we rode down in silence, staring straight ahead. Paul seemed to think he was above small talk, and that was fine with me.

As soon as the elevator door opened we were met by popping flashbulbs in the face. I growled and held up a hand to try to ward them off. Paul grabbed my arm and yanked me toward the car.

“Tekgrrl, White Heat, why are you here?”

“No comment,” Paul said. “Move, please.”

“Tekgrrl, is it true you have a drug problem?”

“What? No!” I said indignantly, and mentally cursed Paul for getting me into this. He continued to pull me along.

“White Heat, who’s leading the Elite Hands of Justice? And would you like to make a comment on your former teammate, Simon Leasure, and his new government position?”

“Absolutely not,” Paul said. “Now you really need to move.”

My head was back to pounding again, probably from the stress, and I just wanted everyone to get out of the way so I could get into the car and get out of there.

Abruptly, all of the photographers moved backward, as if in response to my wishes. Paul seized the moment to shove me into the car and get in, too.

“Go,” he ordered the driver as the paparazzi swarmed forward.

The driver did as he was told, and we careened out of the garage, leaving the press in our wake. We’d probably have a few jump into their cars to follow, but we were free for the moment.

“Thank God they moved,” I said. “I didn’t think we were going to get out of there.”

“Glad they listened to reason,” Paul said. “They’re usually not so cooperative.” He sounded thoughtful.

“So, do I get a clean bill of health?” I asked, interrupting whatever reverie he was in.

“Hmm?” He snapped back to attention. “Well, these mental blocks are going to be hard to detect medically, but everything else looks okay. No abnormalities, other than what they did to you.”

“What’s
that
supposed to mean?” I was worried.

“Well, you know they increased your intelligence when they experimented on you.” At my nod, he continued: “Your brain’s lit up with more neural connections than most people’s. It’s like a circus in there.” He tapped my forehead with a finger.

I swiped it away. “So what else is new?”

“Most people don’t have the capacity to learn and retain all of that information. Whatever genetic tinkering they did, they upped your retention factor by huge gains.” He held an X-ray up to the light and frowned. “If we compared a scan of your brain and the Reincarnist’s, I have a feeling they would be somewhat similar.”

“He forgets things all the time. Every lifetime,” I reminded Paul.

“Yes, because there is only so much room. He still doesn’t lose what the rest of us do. What I’m saying is…you two have similar capacities, and that’s a lot more than the rest of humanity.”

“So I’m supersmart, that’s nothing new.”

“No,” he said, sighing. “I suppose not. So…your brain is healthy, if crowded with information, which is good news. But a memory block won’t show up unless it’s associated with head trauma. The best we can do is monitor your brain waves and patterns every so often to make sure they aren’t hurting you.”

“They’re giving me headaches,” I pointed out.

“Hurting you more than the average migraine,” he amended. “And…I’m not sure what the best course of action will be if they’re truly failing: to try to fix them or to let them fail.”

“My mother said I needed to get them fixed,” I said, shivering at the reminder of her warnings.

“Well, I’m going to talk to some of my contacts to see what they think. Until then, you need to let me know if any more symptoms present.”

“All right,” I said.

I suddenly realized I shouldn’t be so hard on Paul. He was just trying to help. It wasn’t his fault that I was so traumatized by what had happened on Kalybri that I freaked out whenever a doctor came near. And he might be a stuffed shirt full of antipersonality, but how many of those had I known throughout my life? That’s just how truly brilliant scientists were, and he was trying in his own way to help out a teammate. I had to make nice.

“Thanks for making sure I was okay, Paul. I know I’m a pain when it comes to doctors,” I said. My voice was quiet.

“We’re only trying to do what’s best for you,” he said. He seemed similarly subdued.

Our car detoured and pulled into our hidden garage; the paparazzi must have been lying in wait outside our building and I hadn’t noticed. Paul got out and held the car door open. “Keep a record of how often your headaches come, how intense they are, and what you’re thinking about before they happen. Also keep a record of how often the dreams are coming, and if they coincide with the headaches.”

“I will be nothing if not meticulous,” I promised.

“I’ll let you know as soon as I find out anything,” he said. “And if any further tests have to be run, I’ll try to make sure I’m the one who does them. That way, it’s someone you know and not a complete stranger.”

“I appreciate it,” I said.

“So, what were you working on?” he asked, walking over to the elevator and pushing the button.

“Huh?”

“When I interrupted you, what were you working on? It looked interesting.”

“Oh, it’s going to be a gun-transporter. Instead of shooting a criminal with a bullet, I’ll shoot them with a pulse that will transport them to preset coordinates—like, to a jail cell.”

“Interesting.” He nodded as the elevator door swished open and we got in. “How are your trials on it going?”

“So-so. I think I fixed something, but that’s what I was getting ready to check before you interrupted.”

“Well, let me know how it goes. Did you discuss patent rights yet?”

“Military commissioned it.”

“Have our lawyers look everything over,” he directed.

The elevator dinged and we were met by Luke. He looked a bit worried.

“Great, you’re back,” he said. My heart leapt. “You were gone for quite a while.”

“Paul wanted a lab rat,” I joked, by my heart wasn’t in it.

Luke eyed me. “Is everything okay?”

“Mindy’s fine,” Paul said, as if we’d all been overreacting. “We just need to keep an eye on things. Let me know if you experience anything else out of the norm,” he said to me.

I nodded like a good little employee. “Yes, sir.”

“So, she can go out on patrol tonight?”

Paul studied me, then nodded. “I think she’s fine for duty.”

“Well, let’s go, girl,” Luke said to me with a grin. “It’s past patrol time.”

I didn’t realize it had gotten so late. “I’ll go change and we’ll head out. So long as we can pick up takeout. I’m starving!”

Paul looked alarmed. “No eating while in uniform! It looks tacky.”

“Yeah, who wants to promote the stereotype that women eat? Even heroes,” I retorted.

“Not while in uniform! Eat on your own time,” Paul griped. “Next thing you know, people will think we’re endorsing Taco Hut because Tekgrrl was seen eating there.”

“I eat there in my off time!”

“And you’re not Tekgrrl then, you’re Mindy Clark.”

I barely saw the distinction, though I understood it. But I was still hungry.

“We won’t eat, sir,” Luke said, but as soon as his back was turned, he mouthed to me the opposite.