Brother to Dragons, Companion to Owls - Jane Lindskold [65]
Once dressed, I bring my denims and shirt, which whisper to me of the Jungle, out to the woman.
Wrinkling her nose, she accepts them, “Right. March her up to Comp-C. Dr. Haas and Dr. Aldrich are waiting for her.”
As we walk, I try and recall if I remember a Dr. Aldrich and decide that I do. Vague memories of a very tall man with a soft, deep voice come back. He must have been very important for me to recall him so immediately upon hearing his name.
Although the complex is able to house many people, we pass relatively few, making me believe at least some of Dr. Haas’s tale of economic hardship. Comp-C turns out to be an antiseptic upper floor filled with the subliminal hum of electricity and large machines. Almost everything that is not white is painted a brilliant neon orange that shrieks at my eyes.
My guards escort me to a door that opens in anticipation of our approach. I step in alone. Dr. Haas, in her familiar lab coat and predatory smile, awaits, but I dismiss her to study the other.
He is not so tall as in my memory, but still he towers over me. Like many very tall people, he stoops forward and the stoop has been permanently frozen into his bones, nearly concealing the incongruous potbelly that juts from his skinny frame.
“Sarah,” he says, holding out a hand. “Welcome. I am Dr. Aldrich—you may remember me from years ago.”
I do and only with the greatest self-control can I offer my hand in return. He beams, seeming unaware of my discomfort.
“I see you’ve had your hair done. Very good. For the next several weeks, we are going to do numerous—painless—brain scans on you. All that thick, lovely hair would have gotten in the way. Once we know what we need, you should be able to grow it all back.”
He is lying. I can tell this so easily that I am amazed that he even bothers. Dr. Haas only smiles.
The next hours are a blur to me. I am lightly strapped into a chair and various things are attached to my shaved scalp. Some hurt, most do not. Some of the tests seem remotely familiar, but the rest mean nothing. I think that I am doped because when I begin to focus again, the light from the one high window is gone. Dr. Aldrich is musing aloud to Dr. Haas.
“So, the language block is genuine, not an act. It’s a wonder she has as much control as she does.”
“We will be using the direct link then.”
“No choice, I’m afraid. Should be fascinating. Wonder how she’ll take it?”
“Wonderfully, I’d guess.” Dr. Haas chuckles. “My guess is that she’ll find it quite addictive.”
“Yes.” Dr. Aldrich sounds bemused. “Dylan did, didn’t he.”
Hours spin into days as I am shuttled from test to test. I come to recognize the staff regulars and guards. Only three are really important: Dr. Aldrich, Dr. Haas, and Jersey.
Jersey must have another name, but I never learn it. He is a chunky man, overweight, with watery grey eyes—he also is as bald as I am. Jersey is the operator and, I think, designer of the machine by which Dr. Aldrich plans to circumvent my inability to speak as other people do.
Despite his sloppiness and the fact that he smells like rotting potatoes, I like Jersey. Perhaps because, as with Head Wolf, I recognize that he is utterly insane.
“We’re not going to bother to explain what we’re doing, Sarey,” he says one morning, “because you wouldn’t understand it. What’s going to happen—now, that’s important, so tune in and listen carefully.”
I fold my hands around Betwixt and Between and sit very straight in my chair so he will know that I’m listening.
“Now, in a bit, we’re going to link you up with my computer here. Dr. Haas’ll give you some stuff to make you drifty and mind that you take it, otherwise the probes don’t feel so good. I know, I’ve done it both ways. You’ll feel like you’re going to sleep and then do you know what will appear?”
“A miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer?” I suggest.
He grins. “Nope. Better. We’ll be in a nice, comfortable room and you’ll know it right off because it’ll have a picture like this