Day 3
It wasn't impossible to lie to a mind-reader. It was just incredibly difficult, and if Shaw was lying he was doing a damn good job of it. Of course, given his apparent age he'd been dealing with his abilities longer than I have, and he was a Trooper, so chances were good that this was exactly what he was doing.
"Are you going to get a doctor for her, or am I going to have to start banging my head against these bars? I know you want me alive, I'm no use brain-damaged." I replied. I was honestly at a loss to reply to his absurd lies; at least I was hoping they were absurd lies, if there was even a glimmer of truth to them then things were operating more backwards than I had thought.
There was a core of truth, though. Shaw was an officer and a telepath. The Troopers I knew wouldn't allow that to happen.
Shaw looked at me for a long time, trying to pry into my thoughts, but having lost control earlier I was keeping a tight lid on what I allowed through. Finally he shrugged.
<< I'll have a doctor in here to look at her, and that's all. I personally have witnessed enough death that I'd rather your friend not end up that way. But don't think I'll stop it if you don't cooperate. <<
With that he turned and walked down the corridor, closing the door behind him.
"Chatty fellow, wasn't he?" John said. "Want to fill us in on his side of the conversation?"
I shook my head and paused. "Some of it's kinda personal." I said, which he instantly knew meant that the Troopers were trying to use the memory of my father against me. It was some trick; they seemed to think that I'd actually known him when in truth I only knew him from the electronic journal he'd left me, the same one I keep this record in. Still, anytime they picked me up they mentioned him. "But he's promised to at least get a doctor in here to look at Dana."
"I felt like just yelling at him!" Jamie spoke up suddenly, her pent-up need to speak finally overflowing her self-restraint. "I didn't because I knew you two were talking, but the way he just stood there and stared! I know I'm too new to be an important prisoner, but come on!"
I smiled at that. "Don't worry Jamie, you'll crack the top wanted list one of these days."
The humor felt strained, or maybe it was just that I felt strained. I sat back down on my bed and laid back, still tired from both the stunner and my contact with Dana as well as Shaw's little visit. It didn't make sense, my kind in power? The Troopers rose to power during the Plague Wars because they were one of the more organized groups, but they stayed in power afterwards because of their effective ways of keeping the virus from spreading. Afflicted were kept in quarantine zones, no exceptions. Despite the fact that I'd never in my lifetime seen any non-afflicted become infected by one of my kind, the quarantines had apparently been effective in curbing the spread of the disease. Oh yes, the Troopers cared deeply about us Afflicted. We were to be set away, cared for, and - if necessary - put out of our misery.
I slept, briefly. I didn't dream, and awoke with the same headache I had hours ago when the effects of the stunners had first worn off. I felt much more awake, though, this time around. When I extended my awareness to the rest of the area, I could tell John was sitting at the wall where his cell met Dana's, and Jamie had herself decided to go back to sleep. I couldn't tell anything about the presence or absence of people outside the cell block, though. There wasn't a jammer, so either we were shielded somehow, which was expensive, or nobody was there. Or Shaw was there, that was a possibility that hadn't crossed my mind before. He could be on the other side of the door listening in for all I knew. Or picking up our thoughts, for that matter.
Then, suddenly, I did feel someone, and it was farther away than just our door. "We're getting a visitor" I announced quietly. John glanced up at me and nodded. Jamie stirred awake; she'd only been with us a short while but already she was learning to get sleep when she could and wake up when needed. I went to the bars and looked down the corridor to the door - not to see who the visitor was, I could tell now it was the doctor that Shaw promised to send us, but to see if anyone else was guarding us.
The door opened, and I got a brief glimpse of an empty corridor behind the man who was entering. He was old, stooped and apparently very irritated at having to perform a house-call. His thoughts were a whirl of the other things he could be doing instead of dealing with us, most of which involved sitting at his desk and reading the newspaper or less work-suitable publications. He carried with him the sort of black bag that I wasn't even aware doctors had anymore. His pocket bulged with what was probably a stunner - further reading indicated that it was and he was in no way trained in its use, having had it foisted upon him by Shaw before coming in here. He wore glasses, a lab coat, and one of those damned helmets.
Standard issue to most Troopers who were likely to find themselves in the field, the helmets had apparently been developed fairly early after the Plague Wars for use in the quarantine. Not every Afflicted was telepathic, in fact the vast majority of those exposed to the virus ended up scarred or disfigured, with no compensation whatsoever. Some were changed physically and mentally, and the mental changes didn't always mean telepathy. Mostly it meant insanity. Telepathy didn't always mean controllable telepathy, after all hearing voices in your head does tend to go back to the whole insanity idea. In short, people like me who have full control over the talent are very rare indeed, but Afflicted who are dangerous, well that's a whole lot more. The helmets were not cheaply made, but interfere with telepathy in a very basic way. As far as I understood their construction, they shielded minds inside. Like an old-fashioned tinfoil hat, only effective and probably bulletproof too. Their only drawback was that they didn't work, at least not on me and several other second-generation telepaths I'd spoken to. The shielding was static, built into the helmets on time of manufacture and unable to be changed afterward. Our minds, it seemed, were a bit more adaptable.
Technically speaking, I was a rebel. John, Dana, even Jamie all belonged to a cell of the resistance, but even saying that much makes it sound far more organized than it is. It's very loosely done, because Troopers offer bounties for dissenters and don't ask too many questions when you turn one in, so we tended to end up interrogated and of course we can't tell what we don't know. But even among our loose group, it was known that the secret of the failed helmets had to be kept a secret at nearly all costs. If the Troopers changed manufacture, or worse yet discovered some more effective way of keeping us out, it'd be a big setback. Granted the jammers were still effective, but they were far more expensive to operate, plus they were only portable via truck. The helmets were our advantage, for now.
The problem in this case was that I'd been hoping they'd send the doctor in unprotected; I'd even begun expecting it after seeing Shaw come in without a helmet, but of course he'd had his own protection. If I mentally overpowered our visitor, it'd be obvious to Shaw that I'd done it despite the helmet.
John was looking at me intently as the doctor slowly made his way down the hall. His expression was the one he wore on those rare occasions where he wanted me to read his mind. Though he wasn't altogether comfortable with the idea that his thoughts were an open book to me unless he was really trying, he was quite ready to admit that it came in handy sometimes.
"Just make this guy let us out, and kill him and Shaw. Nobody will figure it out!" his voice sounded in my head. I shook my head emphatically. I wasn't a killer and didn't intend to become one, and though we'd been armed to the teeth in the house that had become our prison before we'd been moved to an actual prison, it was only because we knew that our opponents had on bullet-proof vests. Plus we had no way of knowing they'd want us alive.
The doctor slid an identification card through the reader next to Dana's cell. This prison wasn't the newest available, but it had been created sometime after the wars and therefore with a modicum of technology involved. This meant that a Trooper-issued ID was enough to get past most doors. That'd come in handy if the plan forming in my head was to work. For now, though, I kept listening in on the Doctor's thoughts.
They'd beaten her, that much he knew and I'd already known. Apparently they'd kept kicking her while she was down - her ribs were bruised or possibly fractured. He didn't seem too worried about internal bleeding except for her head, though. She'd been hit hard enough she'd been knocked unconscious, and anything hitting that hard does damage. He didn't want to move her, and his frown deepened as he found himself wondering how long she'd last if she had to stay here. Shaw had apparently just told him to look her over, but not administer anything. After doing exactly that he got up and started walking back down the corridor.
"Hey, hey doc!" I called out. I glanced over to John quickly, hoping he understood what I was going to do.
The doctor had been given a quick overview of us, it seemed. He'd been specifically told to stay away from me, but despite this it seemed Shaw had full faith in the helmet's ability to keep me out of the doctor's head. I intended to use this to my advantage, but I still had to be subtle or he'd figure out what was happening.
>> Humor him. >>
He shrugged, thinking that the helmet was protecting him, what harm could I pose, he might as well humor me. He walked over to my cell, standing directly outside the bars just like I wanted him to. I stood just on the other side, talking low to make it seem like I didn't want my companions to overhear.
"How is she?" I whispered.
>> He's worried. >>
The doctor nodded knowingly, feeling sympathy for the worry he thought I felt. "Your friend is okay for now, but she's hurt. I'm going to talk to your captor, see if I can get her released to a hospital."
I shook my head. "My captor, as you put it, wants to use her as leverage."
He frowned. "I took an oath when I started studying. I won't let her die on my watch."
"You're a good man." I said to him. "I'm sorry."
He blinked rapidly, opened his mouth to object, then slumped to the floor. I held the stunner on him for a bit longer to keep him under.
I grew up as an orphan living in the quarantine zone, and I wasn't always as subtle with my telepathy as I am today. One of the first subtle tricks I learned, in fact, was to keep people in a conversation with me while I picked their pocket. The doctor's stunner was mine now, and when the report of our escape was made, it'd just look like he was careless.
I dragged his body closer to the bars and found his ID card, then used it to open my cell.
"Are you going to get a doctor for her, or am I going to have to start banging my head against these bars? I know you want me alive, I'm no use brain-damaged." I replied. I was honestly at a loss to reply to his absurd lies; at least I was hoping they were absurd lies, if there was even a glimmer of truth to them then things were operating more backwards than I had thought.
There was a core of truth, though. Shaw was an officer and a telepath. The Troopers I knew wouldn't allow that to happen.
Shaw looked at me for a long time, trying to pry into my thoughts, but having lost control earlier I was keeping a tight lid on what I allowed through. Finally he shrugged.
<< I'll have a doctor in here to look at her, and that's all. I personally have witnessed enough death that I'd rather your friend not end up that way. But don't think I'll stop it if you don't cooperate. <<
With that he turned and walked down the corridor, closing the door behind him.
"Chatty fellow, wasn't he?" John said. "Want to fill us in on his side of the conversation?"
I shook my head and paused. "Some of it's kinda personal." I said, which he instantly knew meant that the Troopers were trying to use the memory of my father against me. It was some trick; they seemed to think that I'd actually known him when in truth I only knew him from the electronic journal he'd left me, the same one I keep this record in. Still, anytime they picked me up they mentioned him. "But he's promised to at least get a doctor in here to look at Dana."
"I felt like just yelling at him!" Jamie spoke up suddenly, her pent-up need to speak finally overflowing her self-restraint. "I didn't because I knew you two were talking, but the way he just stood there and stared! I know I'm too new to be an important prisoner, but come on!"
I smiled at that. "Don't worry Jamie, you'll crack the top wanted list one of these days."
The humor felt strained, or maybe it was just that I felt strained. I sat back down on my bed and laid back, still tired from both the stunner and my contact with Dana as well as Shaw's little visit. It didn't make sense, my kind in power? The Troopers rose to power during the Plague Wars because they were one of the more organized groups, but they stayed in power afterwards because of their effective ways of keeping the virus from spreading. Afflicted were kept in quarantine zones, no exceptions. Despite the fact that I'd never in my lifetime seen any non-afflicted become infected by one of my kind, the quarantines had apparently been effective in curbing the spread of the disease. Oh yes, the Troopers cared deeply about us Afflicted. We were to be set away, cared for, and - if necessary - put out of our misery.
I slept, briefly. I didn't dream, and awoke with the same headache I had hours ago when the effects of the stunners had first worn off. I felt much more awake, though, this time around. When I extended my awareness to the rest of the area, I could tell John was sitting at the wall where his cell met Dana's, and Jamie had herself decided to go back to sleep. I couldn't tell anything about the presence or absence of people outside the cell block, though. There wasn't a jammer, so either we were shielded somehow, which was expensive, or nobody was there. Or Shaw was there, that was a possibility that hadn't crossed my mind before. He could be on the other side of the door listening in for all I knew. Or picking up our thoughts, for that matter.
Then, suddenly, I did feel someone, and it was farther away than just our door. "We're getting a visitor" I announced quietly. John glanced up at me and nodded. Jamie stirred awake; she'd only been with us a short while but already she was learning to get sleep when she could and wake up when needed. I went to the bars and looked down the corridor to the door - not to see who the visitor was, I could tell now it was the doctor that Shaw promised to send us, but to see if anyone else was guarding us.
The door opened, and I got a brief glimpse of an empty corridor behind the man who was entering. He was old, stooped and apparently very irritated at having to perform a house-call. His thoughts were a whirl of the other things he could be doing instead of dealing with us, most of which involved sitting at his desk and reading the newspaper or less work-suitable publications. He carried with him the sort of black bag that I wasn't even aware doctors had anymore. His pocket bulged with what was probably a stunner - further reading indicated that it was and he was in no way trained in its use, having had it foisted upon him by Shaw before coming in here. He wore glasses, a lab coat, and one of those damned helmets.
Standard issue to most Troopers who were likely to find themselves in the field, the helmets had apparently been developed fairly early after the Plague Wars for use in the quarantine. Not every Afflicted was telepathic, in fact the vast majority of those exposed to the virus ended up scarred or disfigured, with no compensation whatsoever. Some were changed physically and mentally, and the mental changes didn't always mean telepathy. Mostly it meant insanity. Telepathy didn't always mean controllable telepathy, after all hearing voices in your head does tend to go back to the whole insanity idea. In short, people like me who have full control over the talent are very rare indeed, but Afflicted who are dangerous, well that's a whole lot more. The helmets were not cheaply made, but interfere with telepathy in a very basic way. As far as I understood their construction, they shielded minds inside. Like an old-fashioned tinfoil hat, only effective and probably bulletproof too. Their only drawback was that they didn't work, at least not on me and several other second-generation telepaths I'd spoken to. The shielding was static, built into the helmets on time of manufacture and unable to be changed afterward. Our minds, it seemed, were a bit more adaptable.
Technically speaking, I was a rebel. John, Dana, even Jamie all belonged to a cell of the resistance, but even saying that much makes it sound far more organized than it is. It's very loosely done, because Troopers offer bounties for dissenters and don't ask too many questions when you turn one in, so we tended to end up interrogated and of course we can't tell what we don't know. But even among our loose group, it was known that the secret of the failed helmets had to be kept a secret at nearly all costs. If the Troopers changed manufacture, or worse yet discovered some more effective way of keeping us out, it'd be a big setback. Granted the jammers were still effective, but they were far more expensive to operate, plus they were only portable via truck. The helmets were our advantage, for now.
The problem in this case was that I'd been hoping they'd send the doctor in unprotected; I'd even begun expecting it after seeing Shaw come in without a helmet, but of course he'd had his own protection. If I mentally overpowered our visitor, it'd be obvious to Shaw that I'd done it despite the helmet.
John was looking at me intently as the doctor slowly made his way down the hall. His expression was the one he wore on those rare occasions where he wanted me to read his mind. Though he wasn't altogether comfortable with the idea that his thoughts were an open book to me unless he was really trying, he was quite ready to admit that it came in handy sometimes.
"Just make this guy let us out, and kill him and Shaw. Nobody will figure it out!" his voice sounded in my head. I shook my head emphatically. I wasn't a killer and didn't intend to become one, and though we'd been armed to the teeth in the house that had become our prison before we'd been moved to an actual prison, it was only because we knew that our opponents had on bullet-proof vests. Plus we had no way of knowing they'd want us alive.
The doctor slid an identification card through the reader next to Dana's cell. This prison wasn't the newest available, but it had been created sometime after the wars and therefore with a modicum of technology involved. This meant that a Trooper-issued ID was enough to get past most doors. That'd come in handy if the plan forming in my head was to work. For now, though, I kept listening in on the Doctor's thoughts.
They'd beaten her, that much he knew and I'd already known. Apparently they'd kept kicking her while she was down - her ribs were bruised or possibly fractured. He didn't seem too worried about internal bleeding except for her head, though. She'd been hit hard enough she'd been knocked unconscious, and anything hitting that hard does damage. He didn't want to move her, and his frown deepened as he found himself wondering how long she'd last if she had to stay here. Shaw had apparently just told him to look her over, but not administer anything. After doing exactly that he got up and started walking back down the corridor.
"Hey, hey doc!" I called out. I glanced over to John quickly, hoping he understood what I was going to do.
The doctor had been given a quick overview of us, it seemed. He'd been specifically told to stay away from me, but despite this it seemed Shaw had full faith in the helmet's ability to keep me out of the doctor's head. I intended to use this to my advantage, but I still had to be subtle or he'd figure out what was happening.
>> Humor him. >>
He shrugged, thinking that the helmet was protecting him, what harm could I pose, he might as well humor me. He walked over to my cell, standing directly outside the bars just like I wanted him to. I stood just on the other side, talking low to make it seem like I didn't want my companions to overhear.
"How is she?" I whispered.
>> He's worried. >>
The doctor nodded knowingly, feeling sympathy for the worry he thought I felt. "Your friend is okay for now, but she's hurt. I'm going to talk to your captor, see if I can get her released to a hospital."
I shook my head. "My captor, as you put it, wants to use her as leverage."
He frowned. "I took an oath when I started studying. I won't let her die on my watch."
"You're a good man." I said to him. "I'm sorry."
He blinked rapidly, opened his mouth to object, then slumped to the floor. I held the stunner on him for a bit longer to keep him under.
I grew up as an orphan living in the quarantine zone, and I wasn't always as subtle with my telepathy as I am today. One of the first subtle tricks I learned, in fact, was to keep people in a conversation with me while I picked their pocket. The doctor's stunner was mine now, and when the report of our escape was made, it'd just look like he was careless.
I dragged his body closer to the bars and found his ID card, then used it to open my cell.
posted by Roger Ostrander at 4:59 PM
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