Brother to Dragons, Companion to Owls - Jane Lindskold [66]
Taking a card from his pocket, he slides it across to me, “Know it?”
I shake my head.
“That’s Van Gogh’s Olive Orchard,” he says with a sigh, “one of my favorites, and I’ve got it—there at least. When you see it, let it be a sign to you that you are able to talk and we’ll have a chat. Got it?”
I nod slowly, still confused.
“Don’t worry,” he smiles. “It’ll be flipping great. In fact, why should we wait and let you get nervous? C’mon!”
He goes to the intercom and pages the doctors. There is some brief discussion, then argument, but when he comes back to me, he is smiling again.
“We’ll be ready in an hour. I’m to either send you to your room or keep you distracted. Your choice.”
I study him, reaching, sense no threat or hidden motive. Wanting a friend in this place, I smile.
“God Almighty first planted a garden,” I offer. “And, indeed, it is the purest of all human pleasures.”
“You want to garden?” Jersey asks incredulously.
“I am tired of four walls and a ceiling,” I explain, feeling a pang as I recall Professor Isabella using the same words. “I have need of the grass.”
“Okay,” he says, “but only the roof garden. I’m no jungle beast.”
I smile and if he wonders at my amusement, he does not say.
The roof garden is hot and humid, the air heavy with a thousand scents. Betwixt and Between puff their approval from where I carry them. We walk around on the gravel paths, looking at orchids pale and bright that evoke images of prom dresses and weddings. This continues for nearly a half hour, until Jersey is streaming with sour sweat.
I return indoors without protest, knowing cooperation is essential. Once we are in, I struggle for words to try and thank Jersey.
“Don’t worry, Sarey,” he says, smiling mysteriously. “Don’t fight for it. You’ll be talking easy in just a bit. Now, sit quiet and I’ll go and rinse off and be back.”
After parking me in his office and pouring me some iced tea, he leaves. When he returns with Dr. Haas and Dr. Aldrich in tow, he has not only showered, he has changed into loose pants and a top similar to those that I am wearing. Patting the back of my hand as he walks by, he grabs a handful of wires and other gizmos and then motions us all through another door.
The annex is twice the size of his office and whereas the one is cluttered with gadgets and related debris, this room is nearly spotless. The walls are painted a restful shade of blue that in no way competes with the array of computer equipment that borders the four walls. The only other furnishings are four strangely sinuous chairs and a startlingly prosaic table.
I am given no time to frame questions or grow concerned. Dr. Aldrich motions me into one of the chairs, his impatience a blunt, musky thing.
Gingerly, I lower myself onto the weird stretch of ebony plastic and gasp when it conforms to me so perfectly that I tap the surface to confirm that I am indeed sitting on something.
Jersey glances from where he is arranging wires and electrodes on the table and chortles at my expression.
“Flip you, did it?” he asks. “Won’t bug you with the details, Sarey, but that thing is so sensitive to posture and other comfort signals that it’ll react to a fart.”
Dr. Aldrich makes a disapproving noise.
“Hey, that’s scientifically accurate and necessary,” Jersey grins. “When a human is interfacing with the computer, minimal distractions are best. These chairs guarantee that there will be no physical discomfort and the other senses will be dealt with during the hookup. Now, I want you to set me up first so Sarey can see what will happen to her.”
Dr. Haas makes as if to protest, but Jersey waves her down. “No, I’m the expert here. If you’d listened to me more in the first place, maybe Dylan wouldn’t have…”
He trails off, suddenly at a loss. I look blank, as if I hadn’t heard the last exchange.
Hurriedly, Dr. Aldrich steps into the gap. “Fine. You first. Then Sarah. Let’s just get onto it.”
Although I listen as Jersey narrates the placement of various electrodes about his head and body, I only catch that they